Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride

by Marguerite Kaye

  All too soon, the port hove into view: the lighthouses on the twin arms of the harbour, the string of fishing boats at the mouth of the bay and the bustle of ships and dhows in the docks. The air was redolent with the scent of spices being loaded on to a schooner: sweet, rich red pepper, nutty cinnamon bark and perfumed cardamom pods. A camel brayed. A pack of mules wheezed. Riggings clanked and sails flapped. The sun burned its way to its zenith in the sky. Stevedores called to each other. Now that her ear was attuned, Constance could pick out some of the phrases, though it was unlikely that Abdul-Majid would have time to teach her many more. Unlikely that she’d have call to use her limited vocabulary at all, once she left Egypt behind. She had probably had her last lesson in Arabic, for Abdul-Majid would be heading to Nessarah to break Kadar’s betrothal. This was probably her last sail. Last night—no, she would save thinking of last night for a time when she was far from here.

  ‘I think it would be best if I left as soon as possible,’ Constance said, the words out almost before the thought entered her head. Too late to retract them now.

  They were on the quayside. Kadar finished securing the dhow before he answered. When he did so, his face was set to his Sphynx expression once again.

  ‘I agree.’

  Two simple words, but they felt like a dagger to her heart. The fact that she wanted to retract her hastily spoken words, that she actually wanted to tell him she would stay as long as he needed her, the fact that she wanted to beg him to tell her there might be a chance he could love her if she stayed, made her certain that she must go, soon and for ever. ‘As I said last night, I am almost finished my map, so there is nothing to keep me here.’

  ‘No, there isn’t.’

  She had expected him to contradict her. Even though she was set on going, she had expected it. ‘And you have a great deal to occupy you,’ Constance said. ‘I do not wish to distract you.’

  ‘No. I must concentrate on the task in hand.’

  ‘So I should— I think it is best if we do not— Last night should be our—our swansong, if you like.’

  ‘Yes. That would be best.’

  The tiny flicker of his eye, the giveaway sign that he was feeling more than he would permit her to see was all she had to comfort her. And it was small comfort at that. She did not want him to be unhappy or regretful. ‘So we are agreed,’ Constance said, pinning a bright smile to her face. ‘A parting of the ways, as soon as possible.’

  ‘I think that would be the most sensible course of action, Constance.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yesterday, last night was perfect.’

  ‘And one cannot improve on perfection,’ she said, with a shadow of a smile. Though they could. If only...

  No, the point was not to think, if only. The point was not to regret what might have been but to relish what she had already experienced. ‘I will speak to Abdul-Majid regarding my travel arrangements,’ Constance said. ‘No need for you to concern yourself with them, you have enough to occupy you.’

  ‘I—yes, that would be helpful.’

  Their eyes locked for a long moment. Kadar took a step towards her and hesitated. She longed to believe that he was as torn as she, but she recognised it as wishful thinking. Courageous Constance, he had called her yesterday. She would not let him down. So she took a step back and slid her feet into her slippers and started to head down the quayside. Kadar followed, but his progress was slow, waylaid by people whose bows he returned, whose respectful greetings he stopped to acknowledge. She was delighted to see this evidence of his progress of coming to terms with his exalted position, but as a result it was some considerable time before they eventually reached the palace.

  * * *

  Though Constance longed for the sanctuary of her bedchamber, it was not to be. As soon as they entered the piazza, Abdul-Majid appeared. ‘Highness, Lady Constance, forgive me but a most urgent matter has arisen.’

  He did not seem surprised to see them together, though he made no comment on the fact. The chief adviser was a great deal more discreet than they had been, Constance thought, blushing. She had not even considered the gossip that their absence together must have given rise to. Yet another reason for her to leave sooner rather than later. ‘If you will excuse me,’ she said, but the elder main shook his head vehemently.

  ‘With respect, Lady Constance, I believe that this matter would be better—in short, I believe your presence would be helpful. An Englishman has arrived at the palace,’ he added hurriedly, perhaps sensing Kadar’s exasperation. ‘A Mr Christopher Fordyce.’

  ‘Is this man known to you?’ Kadar asked her.

  Constance wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t think so, the name is not familiar.’

  ‘He could be from the British Embassy in Cairo,’ Kadar said, frowning. ‘It is more than three weeks since I sent them my communication regarding yourself. I suppose it is possible that he has come to collect you.’

  Her heart sank all the way down to her slippered feet. ‘That is—that would be convenient,’ Constance said, the tone of her voice implying the exact opposite.

  Was there the faintest trace of regret in his eyes? She could not be sure. Kadar nodded curtly. ‘Come, let us find out if that indeed is the case.’

  ‘If you will permit a suggestion, Sire. If this Englishman is indeed an envoy from Cairo, it would be better to receive him more—er—formally,’ Abdul-Majid said, with a deprecating look at his Prince’s dishevelled appearance which made Constance wonder what kind of impression she must be making.

  Kadar sighed. ‘You are correct, of course. Can you be ready in half an hour?’ he asked Constance. ‘Good. Have Mr Fordyce wait in the anteroom to the Royal Saloon.’

  * * *

  A little over half an hour later, Constance burst into the Royal Saloon. Bathed and changed, she wore pantaloons and a tunic of pale blue muslin with matching slippers, with a long fitted robe fastened over the top. The pattern was striking, like swirling waves in many shades of blue. With her hair a damp cloud of curls already escaping from the pins with which she had tried to contain it, her curves emphasised by the tight fastenings at her waist, she looked rather less the court astronomer, as Kadar supposed was her intention, and rather more like a court concubine.

  He refrained from telling her so. There was something fragile in her expression that worried him. A set to her mouth he did not recognise. Down on the docks, he had come so close to asking her to postpone her departure, despite the fact that he knew he needed to devote himself to his people. Only the fact that Constance herself seemed to be dead set on leaving had prevented him. Which was a good thing, he reminded himself.

  ‘Do you think he is an emissary?’ she asked him, worrying at a hairpin which had come loose. ‘Do you think he will bring word from England? My parents...?’

  ‘No.’ Belatedly realizing why she had reacted so strangely to the Englishman’s arrival, he hastened to reassure her, clasping her hands between his. ‘They will very likely only have received the first communication, and even if they have received my amended note, the earliest we could expect a reply from England would be another three or four weeks. If that is what is worrying you...’

  She snatched her hands away. ‘I’m not worried.’

  He waited, for her expression was at odds with her words, but Constance seemed to have abandoned her usual practice of strewing her thoughts like rose petals.

  ‘Shall I have him announced, then?’

  She had wandered over to the door. Kadar was standing at the window. ‘You were dressed like this when I first met you,’ she said. ‘And you were standing just there. White silk from head to toe, a gold cloak, a belt studded with diamonds. You looked so—so—so...’ She trailed off, gazing at a point over his shoulder, gave herself a little shake, dislodging a hairpin in the process, and turned back to him with a fixed smile. ‘
I am prevaricating. Let us see what he has to say.’

  * * *

  Christopher Fordyce was dressed for desert travel in a cotton tunic and trousers, a thin cloak, and a headdress, all of which bore the signs of a long, arduous journey across the sands. The scimitar slung on a belt at his waist had the look of a weapon selected for service rather than ceremony, and the lithe figure beneath the peasant robes looked to be more than capable of wielding it.

  Standing by Kadar’s side, Constance watched with astonishment as the Englishman strode into the Royal Saloon as if it were his salon. Skin tanned a deep brown by the sun, brows bleached almost white, threw the bright brilliant blue of his eyes into stark contrast. Mr Christopher Fordyce, whoever he was, was not a man one would forget easily.

  ‘Your Highness,’ he said, making the briefest of bows and holding out his hand. ‘It is a pleasure.’

  Kadar shook the extended hand, but did not return the easy smile. ‘Mr Fordyce. You have me at a disadvantage. You are not, I take it, come from Cairo?’

  ‘Good grief, no. If I’d come from Cairo I’d have sailed. I’ve come from the kingdom of Qaryma, actually. In a roundabout sort of way.’ Frowning, Christopher Fordyce turned his extraordinary eyes on Constance. ‘Funnily enough Sheikh Azhar also had an Englishwoman in temporary residence. A botanist, name of Trevelyan. Is there some sort of female expeditionary force here in Arabia from the old country that I’m unaware of? You are English, are you not?’

  ‘Allow me to present Lady Constance Montgomery, who is indeed English, and is currently serving as my court astronomer.’

  Christopher Fordyce took Constance’s hand, though his bow was every bit as brief as the one he had bestowed on Kadar. Despite his ramshackle appearance, he was clearly a man accustomed to commanding respect at the highest level. ‘How do you do, Mr Fordyce.’

  ‘Montgomery, you say? You wouldn’t happen to be related to William Montgomery, by any chance?’

  ‘He is my father,’ Constance said, now thoroughly intrigued. ‘May I ask how you come to be acquainted with him? A business associate, perhaps?’ she hazarded, though she could not imagine that this man would be easily hoodwinked as Papa. Charming smile and easy manner aside, those piercing eyes of his burned with a fierce intelligence, the lines around them, she was willing to bet, testament to harsh experience as well as the hot desert sun.

  As if to confirm her thoughts, Christopher Fordyce gave a crack of laughter. ‘I fear my pockets are too light, and my outlook too jaundiced to be of interest to your father. Oh, forgive me, Lady Constance, I am rather in the habit of speaking my mind, having been away from polite company for some time. I did not mean to offend you.’

  ‘You spoke the truth. It is only that I was accustomed to thinking knowledge of my father’s somewhat chequered business history—I thought that it was not common knowledge, you see,’ Constance replied, flustered. ‘You have not told me how you do come to know him, Mr Fordyce.’

  ‘Nor what your business is here in Murimon,’ Kadar added.

  ‘A man who likes to come to the point,’ Christopher Fordyce said with another of his smiles. They did not reach his eyes, those smiles, Constance noted. And he was turning back to Kadar, deliberately avoiding her question. ‘I’ve come with regards to this,’ he said now, producing a piece of jewellery from a pocket concealed somewhere about his person. ‘Have you ever seen anything similar?’

  It was a gold amulet set with jewels. Kadar took it, studying it carefully. ‘This is a very ancient and very valuable piece of jewellery. How did you come by it?’

  ‘Oh, perfectly legitimately. My mother left it to me.’

  ‘And how, may I ask, did your mother come to own it?’

  ‘You may ask, but I’m afraid I’m not prepared to tell you.’

  Brilliant blue eyes clashed with grey-green. Tension crackled between the two men. For a moment Constance wondered if they might actually fight. Then Kadar shrugged, handing the amulet back to its owner. ‘There is a stone missing.’

  ‘Yes, that’s part of the mystery.’

  ‘Mystery?’ Constance interjected.

  ‘I am striving to locate the original and therefore legitimate owner,’ the mysterious Christopher Fordyce replied. ‘I can now, presumably, eliminate the kingdom of Murimon from my list.’

  ‘I believe you can. I have seen nothing like this produced here. It does look to be Arabian rather than Egyptian, but it is definitely not from this region of Arabia.’

  Christopher Fordyce sighed, secreting his bracelet away. ‘Then I must thank you for your time, and take up no more of it. I must say, though, that is a spectacular jewel you’re wearing on your belt. It’s a red diamond, if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘I suspect you rarely make mistakes, Mr Fordyce.’

  ‘Never seen one before. Heard of them. They’re very rare. Even those smaller ones on your headdress must be worth a king’s ransom. Glad to have seen them, my journey is not completely wasted,’ Christopher Fordyce said with a wry grin. ‘Now, I’ll bid you good day and resume my quest. Your Highness. Lady Constance.’

  ‘I will refrain from wishing you luck. I suspect you do not need it,’ Kadar said. The Englishman laughed, but his smile faded at Kadar’s next words. ‘But before you go I would like to know how you come to be acquainted with Lady Constance’s father?’

  The answer was some moments coming. For the first time since entering the Royal Saloon, Christopher Fordyce looked uncomfortable. ‘He persuaded my—a mutual acquaintance to invest in one of his schemes. A man who does not take kindly to failure. A man it does not do to make an enemy of. Lord Henry Armstrong. Now, if you will excuse me, I really must be gone.’

  This time brooking no argument, he strode across the room, his thin cloak flying out behind him. Abdul-Majid, who had been standing guard at the door, looked anxiously at his Prince lest he should wish the guards summoned, but Kadar shook his head impatiently.

  ‘What an extraordinary man,’ Constance declared, as soon as the door closed behind him. ‘An acquaintance of Lord Henry Armstrong too. I have heard of him. I had no idea that my father...’

  ‘Sire. Highness. I beg your pardon Lady Constance for interrupting, but something the Englishman said has given me pause for thought—in short, I wonder if— You see, it might solve...’ A heavy sigh from Kadar made the chief adviser stop, make a strange little bow, then smile slowly. ‘Old habits die hard, Sire. I will get to the point. The diamonds, the red diamonds of Murimon. The Englishman said that...’

  ‘Even the smallest is worth a king’s ransom. What of it?’

  Another little formal bow. Another little smile. ‘Is not a king’s ransom precisely what you need, Sire, to fully implement your plans?’

  Kadar’s mouth fell open in astonishment. A first, Constance thought, trying not to smile. ‘You are suggesting I sell the crown jewels?’ he said.

  ‘Some of them, Sire.’

  ‘Crown jewels which have been part of this kingdom’s traditions for hundreds of years?’

  ‘But will this kingdom survive for hundreds more years if we fail to progress, Highness?’

  Kadar pulled off his headband, studying the diamonds winking there in bemusement. ‘Sell the diamonds? That is an altogether radical idea, Abdul-Majid. And an inspired one,’ he said.

  The chief adviser tugged his beard. ‘I believe I did say to you that even an old camel can learn new tricks, Sire.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Three days later, it was time for Constance to go. Though they had agreed on their return from their idyllic trip to the island of Koros that she must leave sooner rather than later, it was Christopher Fordyce’s surprise visit to the kingdom which had provided fresh impetus to her departure, following the unexpected turn of events which provided Kadar with the answer to all his financial worries. Once he ha
d embraced Abdul-Majid’s radical suggestion he had been transformed, working with a vigour which consumed every available hour. The chief adviser had left yesterday for Nessarah to formally put an end to the betrothal. Kadar’s plans had been presented to Council. The plan room would be opened to the people of Murimon this morning to allow them to both inspect them and comment on them. And under cover of all this activity, while Kadar embraced his future, Constance would slip away and embark on her journey towards her own.

  The last three days had proved conclusively that she could not stay any longer. Kadar had not been avoiding her, and he had not rejected her, he simply had no time for her. In this new kingdom of Murimon that he was building, Constance had no place. She had known this for some time, but to be confronted by the reality of it had been unbearably painful. A prison of her own making awaited her if she remained any longer. So she had made her arrangements to leave with Abdul-Majid’s help, assuring him that she would inform the prince herself of her impending departure, knowing that she would not, and that the chief adviser would be en route to Nessarah and therefore unable to alert Kadar.

  Her clothes and notebooks were packed. She had taken her lovely Arabian mare out for one last gallop along the beach. All that remained was to say goodbye, without actually saying goodbye. Though she knew it was probably a mistake, she simply could not deny herself this final meeting and so, carrying her completed star map, she tapped at the appointed time on the door of Kadar’s library.

  ‘Constance.’ He was dressed in royal blue silk trimmed with black braid. There were dark shadows under his eyes. Though he stood to greet her, he remained behind his desk, indicating that she sat opposite. ‘I am sorry that I’ve not been able to—I have been extremely busy.’