by Jane Toombs
Once and never again? She took a deep breath and eased it out in a sigh. Maybe she’d better begin practicing to hate him right now, before she found herself wandering outside under that crescent moon, searching for him....
Chapter Nine
Linnea assumed they’d be boarding a commercial jet in Reno because that was how they’d flown from New York to Nevada.
Once inside the Reno terminal, Talal led the way, and she didn’t pay enough attention to note they weren’t going in the same direction as other travelers, not until she found herself outside, heading for a parked jet. Two uniformed men approached, saluted Talal, relieved the skycap of the luggage and took up positions to either side. Belatedly she realized the men weren’t wearing any uniform she recognized and it dawned on her they were Kholi.
Talal must have seen her puzzled expression because he murmured, “Palace guards. My great-uncle honors us.”
At that point she realized the plane waiting for them must be a private jet. The size of it—as large as some of the commercial planes—boggled her mind.
As soon as they’d climbed the steps leading up to the boarding door, an attractive young woman wearing a soft flowing dress that only vaguely resembled a uniform showed her first to a fully equipped powder room, then to an upholstered seat that was more like a lounge chair than any airline seat Linnea had ever seen. Another young woman in a similar but different-colored dress hovered over her, asking, in English, if there was anything she could do to make Linnea more comfortable.
“I’m fine,” Linnea said, unobtrusively glancing around for Talal. He was nowhere in sight. Her scan of the cabin made her compare it favorably to a luxurious hotel suite; she even glimpsed a bed through a partially ajar door.
Refusing to be put off balance by the obvious wealth a jet such as this represented, she decided to relax and enjoy being treated like a princess, even if she wasn’t dressed like one. Her clothes were adequate for an international flight but nothing special. Actually she didn’t own anything really special. These past three years she hadn’t much cared what she wore—her wardrobe was far from trendy.
Without asking, one of the attendants brought her iced tea and a cloth napkin. She started to take a sip when a man wearing a thobe, the long white robe of Kholi, emerged from one of the inner cabin doors. A white gutra was wrapped, Arab fashion, around his head, and for an instant, she thought he was a stranger. When she finally understood she was looking at Talal, she choked on her tea.
Immediately both attendants rushed to her side, offering tissues and asking if she was all right. Sputtering, she waved them away, set down her tea glass and dabbed at her lips with the napkin, her actions slow and deliberate to give her time to adjust to this new version of Talal. When Zed drove them to the airport, Talal had been dressed much like his brother, in jeans and an open-necked knit shirt, dressed like a Nevadan. Now he looked like the Kholi he actually was. The plush surroundings reminded her he wasn’t just any Kholi, either, he was royalty.
She’d thought he was impressive in western clothes; in his Arab garb he took her breath away. At the same time she felt distanced from him and could think of nothing to say.
“You’re comfortable?” he asked, easing into the chair-like seat next to her.
She nodded, vexed with herself for being tongue-tied. “I hadn’t realized we were going to fly in a private jet,” she managed to say at last.
He shrugged. “I like to relax when I travel. That’s impossible in most airliners. The reason we flew a commercial jet to Nevada was to keep a low profile because of Yasmin.”
Linnea bit her lip. “I miss her already. I hope she’ll be all right while we’re—while I’m gone.”
“With Danny for a companion, Steve as watchdog, Zeid and Karen as foster parents and Jaida standing by, she won’t have time to miss you or me.”
“You forgot baby Erin,” she said, keeping her voice light to conceal her pang at the possibility he’d raised. She wanted Yasmin to be content and happy, but it hurt to think her new daughter might not miss her at all.
“And the pony,” he added. “And the kittens. Not to mention pizza.” He reached across the space separating them and took her hand in his, stroking the back of it with his thumb.
The sensuous caress tingled along her nerve ends. No matter how he dressed, Talal affected her strongly. Too strongly. Much more of this and she’d be unable to control her wayward impulse to sit in his lap. Reluctantly she removed her hand from his.
“Yasmin knows we’re coming back,” he said.
She knew he’d spoken to the little girl in Arabic before they left the ranch. “What did you tell her?”
“A story about a mother who’d searched a long time to find a perfect daughter. What she found was a little girl who was naughty at times, got her clothes dirty and didn’t always obey. But the mother loved the little girl, anyway, loved her so much she decided that her new daughter was perfect for her in every way that mattered and she would never give her up.”
“And they lived happily ever after?”
“Eventually. But there’s more to the story. I told Yasmin she’d hear the rest when we came back to her.”
His use of “we” was because he wanted to be certain she and Yasmin were reunited; there was no reason to make any more of it. Would he then accompany the three of them to New York to see them settled in her condo?
Linnea shook her head, unable to picture herself living in that condo with two little girls. But where else would she go?
As though in answer, Talal said, “I prefer Nevada above all the states in this country.”
“Didn’t you once tell me it reminded you of Kholi?”
“Some, yes. But more than that. Nevada welcomes me, the night sky—” He paused and smiled at her. “The Nevada night sky offers me new visions.”
He meant through the telescope. Or did he?
A man’s voice spoke in Arabic over a loudspeaker, derailing her train of thought.
“We’ve been cleared for takeoff,” Talal translated. “Fasten your seat belt.”
He relaxed into the chair as the jet roared down the runway, comfortable in the loose robe he always enjoyed getting back into. After about an hour he’d be accustomed to wearing the headdress again—it was so much a part of his life that he’d soon forget he had anything at all covering his head.
He glanced at Linnea, who was looking out the window. She counted on him to find Malik’s daughter for her. And he would. If the child was in Kholi, as she must be, she couldn’t remain hidden once he’d spoken to his great-uncle. The king didn’t yet know Talal had delivered the wrong child, that was a matter best spoken of face-to-face. He wasn’t looking forward to that task.
The king wouldn’t relish discovering someone had duped him and, though he’d know Talal had no part in the wrongdoing, there’d be a backlash from his great-uncle’s fury that would land on his shoulders. At the very least the king would demand Talal head the search for the culprit as well as locate the right child.
With the king’s power behind him, he couldn’t fail to be successful on both counts. He had never failed his king; he wouldn’t this time. Nor would he fail Linnea.
But Linnea remained a problem. He must make sure she stayed with his grandmother at all times to prevent her from inadvertently violating any of the current stringent religious rules. He must impress upon his grandmother the necessity of seeing that Linnea didn’t wander off by herself, as she might be tempted to do. He intended to strictly obey the rules himself, including his own rule of never being alone with her, even in the privacy of his grandmother’s home. If they were alone together, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her and that would lead to Allah only knew what complications.
Right now his urge to unbuckle her from the chair, carry her across the cabin into one of the bedrooms and lock the door behind them was all but overwhelming. If he gave in to his need for her, the crew would spread the news all over Kholi the moment the jet
landed. For himself the gossip didn’t matter, but it would do Linnea no good to be labeled his play-pretty before she even stepped off the plane.
Why did he care so much what his countrymen thought of her? He’d never worried about any other foreign woman’s reputation before.
Talal deliberately dismissed the reason behind his concern as being unimportant. Unfortunately, he couldn’t dismiss the concern, which meant he’d have to forgo what would have been, at the very least, a diverting pasttime. And, worse, shut up in this jet for hours and hours he’d be tempted by her over and over again. This promised to be a very long, frustrating flight.
Despite being able to stretch out in a bed, Linnea didn’t sleep well and she was exhausted by the time the plane finally set down at the Rabbul airport, Rabbul being Kholi’s capital. She leaned on Talal as they disembarked in the hot evening dusk and found herself almost immediately climbing into a waiting helicopter along with Talal and the two palace guards.
“I’ve never been in a helicopter before,” she said. “Where are we going?”
“Rabbul is in the desert and hot during the summer,” Talal told her, “so at this time of the year the king chooses to live at Akrim, in the mountains where it’s cooler. He has a copter pad outside his quarters there.”
Dazed by her fatigue, it took her a few moments before her mind shifted gears. “Your grandmother is in Akrim as well?”
He nodded. “Everyone who can goes to the mountains in the summer. You’ll spend the night with her and will be brought to meet the king sometime tomorrow.”
At the moment she didn’t care where she was to go as long as the accommodations included a bed. When the helicopter reached its destination, Talal led her to a waiting limo, whose driver opened a rear door. Talal helped her inside where a black-veiled woman already occupied a seat.
“This is Ailia, my grandmother’s personal companion,” he said. “She’ll escort you to the house. ”Ailia, this is Ms. Swanson.”
Ailia murmured what Linnea presumed to be an Arabic greeting and she mumbled an English response. Only when Talal started to close the door did her sluggish mind understand he wasn’t coming with them. Fear clogged her throat. She needed him with her.
“No!” she cried. “Wait Where are you staying?”
He leaned into the car. “Calm yourself,” he ordered. “I’ll be with my great-uncle. A car will pick you up tomorrow and bring you to his quarters. I’ll see you then. Good night, maddamti.”
He shut the door. Linnea sank back against the seat and closed her eyes. Despite the apprehension caused by what seemed to her to be Talal’s desertion, she half dozed and had to be roused by Ailia when they reached their destination. In a daze she followed the woman to a bedroom, plucked off her outer clothes and would have fallen into the bed in her bra and panties if Ailia hadn’t insisted on sliding a sheer white nightgown over her head.
Linnea woke completely disoriented in a warm, darkened room where sunlight sneaked along the edges of blinds covering the windows. Above the bed, a ceiling fan swung noiselessly. Groggy, she sat up and struggled to focus her mind on her surroundings. She was in Kholi. In Talal’s grandmother’s house. His grandmother’s name, without the Arabic nuances of her lineage, was Noorah Zohir. Talal had said it would be all right to call her Mrs. Zohir.
While she was putting this together, someone tapped on her closed door. “Yes?” she said.
“Is Maha,” a woman’s voice said. “Maha help.”
“Please come in,” Linnea told her, deducing that Maha was one of the Zohir servants, temporarily assigned to her. She was grateful that the woman knew at least some English.
Maha pushed a large cart ahead of her into the room. She lifted off a tray and placed it on the low table next to the bed. The tempting aroma of coffee tickled Linnea’s nostrils. Heaped neatly on the cart were clothes, most of which Linnea recognized as her own.
After slitting open the blinds to allow light into the room, Maha pushed the cart to a handsome teak wardrobe in a comer and began hanging the clothes inside. Between sips of the very strong, very sweet coffee she’d poured into a cup, Linnea investigated the contents of the tray.
Besides the embroidered napkin and a small, graceful Arabic coffeepot, she found a bowl with dates neatly centered in a circle of orange sections, a pot of honey and a small basket of warm brown bread. After looking in vain for a spreading knife or spoon, she decided that fingers must substitute for silverware in Kholi homes. She’d be expected to dip the bread into the honey.
Maha didn’t talk or approach the bed until Linnea finished eating. Then she brought a dress over, a blue cotton with short sleeves and a skirt that went below the calf, holding it up for approval. “Today?” she asked.
Unused to being waited on, Linnea said, “You needn’t bother, Maha. I’ll do it myself.”
Maha, a tall, thin woman who looked to be in her thirties, didn’t move. “Madame say help Amreekee.”
After mentally translating Amreekee to American and hoping she was right, Linnea gave in rather than upset the woman and maybe be thought to be meddling in household affairs. If Talal’s grandmother wanted the servants to wait on her, she’d just have to accept being pampered while she stayed here.
“The dress is fine for today,” she told Maha.
“I fill bath,” the woman said.
Linnea watched her disappear through an inner door and then heard water running. “I draw the line at letting her wash me,” she muttered, and slid from the bed. Padding across the cool tile floor to the windows, she opened one of the blinds fully. Bright sunlight dazzled her. When she could see clearly, she drew in her breath in appreciation. The window faced on a courtyard filled with colorful flowering plants. Several date palms grew in the center, and stone paths meandered through the foliage.
Turning back to the room, she noted that its sparseness allowed the occupant to admire the intricate fretwork along the walls and the carved wooden crosspieces decorating the high, arched ceiling. The bed, low and wide, the table beside it, a stool with a leather back, the wardrobe and a matching teak chest furnished the room. There were no ornaments on any of the pieces and no pictures hung on the white walls. No rugs were on the floor and no drapes were on the windows.
“Uncluttered,” Linnea said aloud, just as Maha returned to the bedroom.
“Miss?” Maha asked.
“No matter.” Deciding to make her position clear, she added, pointing to the bathroom, then to herself, “Alone. I take my bath alone. Me. Not you.”
“Aiwa,” Maha said. “Yes, miss.”
Climbing into a tub large enough for at least two, Linnea sank gratefully into warm, perfumed water. The toilet, she’d been relieved to note, was modern, the Western type of fixture she was accustomed to rather than the ubiquitous Arabic drain holes she’d heard existed and feared having to use.
As far as the bathroom went, at least, Mrs. Zohir appeared to have opted for the new rather than the old. How would Talal’s grandmother react to her?
By the time Linnea had donned the blue cotton dress Maha had chosen, the sun was nearing its height. Past time for her to seek out her hostess. Chin up to conceal her trepidation, she emerged from the bedroom just as Ailia was coming toward her door. Like Maha, she wore no veil inside the house.
Ailia said something in Arabic, motioning for her to follow.
For a moment Linnea thought she’d said Talal’s name, but then she remembered that a similar word meant “come” in that language. As she trailed after Ailia, she wished the Arab woman actually was leading her to Talal instead of, she suspected, his grandmother.
The large room Ailia led her to was furnished with several couches and a chair. A gorgeous Oriental rug covered the tiles in the room’s center. The most striking object in the room, though, was the white-haired older woman who sat in one of the chairs. As she approached the chair, Linnea felt as though she was being presented to a queen.
“Miss Swanson,” Ailia announced b
efore leaving the room.
Linnea responded in Arabic, choosing the greeting she’d memorized that meant “peace be with you.”
Mrs. Zohir answered in an even, giving-nothing-away tone. The greeting was the same, but for some reason, the words had to be reversed in answer.
Noorah Zohir wore a black dress that reached to her ankles, but there was nothing old-fashioned about the cut or the fit of the dress or the stylish black shoes on her feet. Though she wore no veil, a black silk scarf lay across her shoulders, ready to be pulled over her white hair if necessary. That hair, short and curly, framed a still-attractive round face dominated by assessing dark eyes.
Since Linnea didn’t want to be confronted with words she couldn’t understand, she said, “Mrs. Zohir, I regret that my Arabic is limited to a very few words.”
“Rested, you?” Mrs. Zohir asked in accented English.
“I am, thank you.”
Mrs. Zohir inclined her head. “Please, sit, you.”
Linnea eased into a chair facing her. From the research she’d done after she’d married Malik, she knew that Arabic custom was to preface conversations with more than one polite inquiry into each other’s state of health, but, wanting no misunderstanding about why she was here, she plunged directly into an explanation. “You are, I imagine, aware I’m in your country to find my lost daughter. I’m the only one who can identify her so I persuaded your grandson to bring me here with him. I’m grateful for your hospitality.”
Mrs. Zohir waved a hand. “Welcome, you.” She frowned. “Confused, me. Child, Talal already bring America.”
Linnea explained as best she could about Talal delivering a little girl who was not her birth daughter. “I came to Kholi because I must find my lost child,” she finished.
The older woman steepled her hands, murmuring in Arabic. After a moment her hands dropped back into her lap and she said, “Angry, the king.” She tilted her head and examined Linnea all over again.
