by Anne Mather
Rachid's rooms seemed in darkness also, but as they approached Abby glimpsed a faint light beyond the shutters of his bedroom. Perhaps he was working, she thought hopefully, and then caught her breath as another thought occurred to her. What if he was not alone? she fretted.
What if that was why the guard had been so reluctant to escort her?
'Thank you, I can make it from here,' she said now, as they reached the terrace, and the guard gave her a troubled look.
'Would you not like me to summon Prince Rachid for you, my lady?' he suggested hopefully, but Abby shook her head.
'I've told you, I can manage,' she replied firmly. 'Thank you for your assistance. Goodnight.'
The guard shrugged, and after a moment strode away, but Abby guessed he would hover within hearing distance until he was assured she had gained entrance. Realising this, she hastily mounted the steps of the terrace and surveyed the heavy iron ring that was suspended by the panelled doors. Experience had taught her that these bells made a deafening sound and were seldom used these days. There had to be some other way of attracting Rachid's attention, and after a moment's hesitation she went back down the steps. A handful of stones should do it, she thought, looking about her impatiently, but as she bent to pick up some pebbles, another pain attacked her.
It was much more severe this time, a distinct jabbing sensation in the lower area of her spine, and she let out an involuntary cry as it caught her unawares. She straightened with some difficulty, mentally chiding herself for making such a revealing sound, and then sighed in frustration when the guard came hurrying back.
'You are ill, my lady?' he exclaimed, with much urgency. 'You cried out. What is it? Is something wrong? Did Prince Rachid not answer your call?'
'I haven't called yet,' Abby retorted, half impatiently, albeit a little troubled herself by the weakening aftermath of the pain. 'I was just about to throw a few stones at the shutters‑'
The guard's instinctive reproof was silenced by another, more aggressive, tone. 'What in hell is going on here, Hassan? Have you no more sense than to argue with your woman outside my apartments?'
Abby swung round a trifle fearfully, as her husband came striding across the terrace and down the shallow steps. He had obviously been preparing for bed, for he was wearing only a loose caftan, made of striped linen, and its open neckline exposed the bare column of his throat. Even in the shadowy light spilling from the open doorway behind him, his features looked gaunt and haggard, and his impatience with the servant was uncharacteristic of his usual courtesy. He had obviously mistaken Abby's robes for the robes of an Arab woman, but his expression changed as the breeze took the silken glory of her hair, and blew it in an aureole of silver about her head.
With a frown replacing the anger he had previously exhibited, Rachid came to an abrupt halt. 'Ah, my apologies, Hassan,' he said, as Abby took a few nervous steps towards him. 'It seems I was mistaken. I did not expect my wife to visit me this evening.'
'I regret the intrusion, my lord.'
All Hassan wanted to do was get away, and with an understanding nod, Rachid gave him his dismissal. Then, as Abby reached the steps beside him, he offered her his arm to mount them and escorted her silently inside the building.
But once inside he released her immediately, indicating the salon to one side of the wide hallway, switching on lamps to illuminate her progress.
When she had traversed half the room and come to a halt beside a low plinth on which resided a bowl of desert roses, he could contain himself no longer, and in low incisive tones he demanded to know why she had come.
'I thought the arrangements were all agreed,' he said, dark brows arching his irritation at the intrusion. 'You leave at ten in the morning. With luck, you should be home before dark.'
Abby drew a deep breath. 'I didn't come to see you about the arrangements, Rachid,' she averred quietly. 'That —they don't concern me.'
'What then?' He was abrupt. 'Be brief, can you? I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.'
Abby gasped. 'You have a long day ahead of you! Do I not?'
'I am assured you did not come here to argue the length of each of our days,' Rachid replied heavily. 'Perhaps I am not very tactful. Perhaps I do not feel very tactful. But I am tired. Of that there is no doubt.'
Abby, still smarting from the effects of his insensitivity, was in no mood to be tactful either. 'Why is that, Rachid?' she demanded maliciously. 'I was told you weren't sleeping. I never thought to ask why!'
Rachid's face darkened ominously. 'What are you suggesting now? That I am spending my strength with another woman?'
Abby sniffed. 'I didn't say that‑'
'You implied it.' Rachid's face was grim. 'Perhaps you think I have another woman here, at this moment? Perhaps you think that is why I am eager to get back to bed.'
Abby faltered. 'And—and have you?'
The word Rachid used was not a polite one, and his fingers as they curled about her wrist showed little mercy for the tender delicacy of her skin. Without ceremony he dragged her after him, out of the room and up the stairs, and practically pushed her into the lamplit austerity of his bedroom.
The bed was empty. It had not even been touched, and the stark simplicity of the room reflected the ascetic taste of its occupant. Only Rachid's belongings adorned the mirrored dressing table, and only his clothes lay where he had dropped them, on the jewel-coloured rug beside the bed.
'Are you satisfied now?' he demanded, in a harsh voice, raking back his hair with unsteady fingers. 'I am sorry if I hurt you, but you do not bring out the best in me, and there are times when even I cannot control my actions.'
'I know that.' Abby was feeling terrible now, not least because she guessed that Rachid thought this was why she had come—to check up on him. When it wasn't true!
'So ...' He spread his hand. 'Now that you have satisfied yourself that I am not conducting an affair under your very nose, perhaps you will return to your apartments. I will, of course, accompany you to the airport in the morning‑'
'I don't want to go, Rachid!'
The words burst from her, incapable of measured utterance, springing from her lips with all the fervency of her emotions. Whatever he had done, it was in the past. It was the present and the future that really mattered. Why had it taken her so long to see that?
If she had expected some suitable rejoinder from her husband, she was disappointed. Instead Rachid only looked at her as if he suspected some ulterior motive for her ejaculation, and his dark brows descended with brooding solemnity.
'You do not wish to go?' he said at last. 'But it is all arranged. Your father is expecting you‑'
'I realise that.' Abby caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'But—but I've changed my mind. I want to stay here, with you. I want us to be together.'
To her astonishment, Rachid looked almost angry at her words. 'What is this?' he demanded, between his teeth. 'Is this some new game you are playing? Have I not danced to your tune long enough? Have you realised that while you are in England I will be free of the torment of your tantalising presence?'
'No!' Abby stepped towards him, but now it was he who drew back. 'Rachid, what's the matter with you? I—I thought you wanted me. You said you did. You said you loved me. Has all that changed, now that you're sending me away?'
Rachid put an unsteady hand to the back of his neck. 'I am not sending you away, Abby,' he ground out savagely. 'You wanted to go‑'
'No!'
'—you told the doctor you were unhappy here—'
'No!'
'—what in God's name am I supposed to believe?'
Abby suddenly knew what she had to do. Ignoring his attempts to evade her, she came close to him, putting up her hand to his cheek and turning his face to hers.
'You can believe that I love you,' she said huskily, as his eyes darkened incredulously. 'You can believe that I always did; even when I hated you, I loved you.'
'Abby‑' He trembled as she pressed her body cl
ose to his. 'Abby, do you know what you are saying?'
She reached up to touch the corner of his mouth with her lips, her eyes answering everything he needed to know, and then just as his hands reached for her, she experienced another searing spasm of pain. There was no mistaking its ferocity this time, and an anguished sob escaped her as she slumped in his arms.
'Abby!' His passionate protest brought her erect, and taking a trembling breath, she viewed him through misty eyes.
'Oh, darling,' she said, as comprehension gripped her 'I think our son doesn't intend for me to go to England either ...'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Abby lay in a dreamy state of contentment. She was in her own room again, or at least the room she and Rachid would share from now on. Outside, the sun was already sinking into the ocean, and soon darkness would fall, but she had no fears of the velvety advent of night. Night meant that Rachid would come to her, and even though Doctor Kemal had suggested they occupy separate rooms until Abby was recovered, she would hear none of it. She loved her husband, she needed him near her, and it was certain that nothing would keep Rachid away.
It was six hours already since she had been delivered of their son, and in spite of his precipitate arrival into the world, he had instantly made his presence felt. Despite his size—he had weighed only six pounds four ounces—he had a healthy pair of lungs, and Abby had teasingly told Rachid that he took after his father.
And in truth, he did resemble Rachid more than anyone. Even so, his hair was feather-fair, and his father had commented that he would tantalise the ladies when he grew up, with such unusual colouring.
Rachid himself had stayed with her throughout the night, and' she had drawn on his strength when her own grew weak. His love had sustained her, and in her more coherent moments she had wondered how she would have coped without his boundless energy. If he was weary, he never voiced it, and his gentleness and encouragement gave her the will to succeed. She refused to allow the doctors to give her anything to ease the birth; she wanted to be
totally aware of every moment. And when their son made his entry into the world, she experienced the real fulfilment of motherhood.
For Rachid, it was a wonderful moment, too. He had been so worried, so anxious, blaming himself for what had happened. He had half believed his own rough treatment of her had precipitated the crisis, and Abby had had to reassure him that she had already had warning of what was to come.
Nevertheless, the baby was premature, seven weeks premature to be precise, and no one was prepared for his arrival. Doctors were hastily summoned, nurses made their appearance, and Rachid interrogated all of them with a fervency that betrayed his inner turmoil. He was absolutely adamant that if anything should go wrong, anything at all, they were to concentrate on saving his wife before the baby. Nothing should separate them now, he told her, and if she had had any doubts that it was herself he wanted above all things, they were dramatically set at rest.
In the event, everything went smoothly. Abby gave birth without too much discomfort, and the thrill of holding her baby in her arms and of seeing the look of love and pride in Rachid's face more than made up for any pain she had suffered.
'My lady ...'
Suni's gentle voice interrupted her reverie, and she turned bemused eyes in the girl's direction. The little maid had never been far away throughout her confinement, and she had been as enthusiastic as anyone when she first learned that her mistress had a son.
'Hello, Suni,' Abby murmured now, holding out a lazy hand, beckoning her towards the bed. 'You've seen the baby, haven't you? Don't you think he's beautiful? Don't you think he's just the most adorable baby ever?'
Suni smiled. 'He is most beautiful,' she assured her mistress eagerly, coming closer to the bed. 'Just like his mother.' She straightened the sheets. 'So—are you feeling a little less sleepy? Would you like to have a visitor?'
Abby blinked. 'A visitor?'
'It is only me, Abby,' said an elderly voice from the doorway, and as Suni moved aside Abby saw Rachid's grandmother hovering on the threshold, supporting herself on a cane.
'Nona!' she exclaimed, half propping herself up on her elbows. 'Oh, come in. Come in! Did you come to see your great-grandson?'
Nona indicated that Suni should leave them, and approached the bed slowly. Then lowering herself into a chair set close by, she said: 'Yes, I have seen my great-grandson. And admired him, as you expected.' She grimaced at Abby's indignant expression. 'Don't deny it. He's a beautiful child.'
Abby relaxed against the pillows. 'Yes, he is, isn't he?' she agreed, with some satisfaction. 'Mmm, I can hardly believe it's all over.'
Nona straightened her spine. 'Is it all over?' she enquired tautly. 'I should have thought it was just beginning.'
'Oh, it is, it is,' said Abby contentedly. 'I only meant— this time yesterday—I never dreamed‑'
'No, I can believe that.' Nona studied her intently. 'I can see you feel very pleased with yourself. Why is that? Because you've given Rachid his son, or because you've gained your freedom?'
Freedom! It was a curious word for Nona to use, and Abby looked at her doubtfully. It was as if the old lady was angry with her. As if she resented the fact that Abby had had the child without her being prepared for it.
'I'm happy I've had a boy, of course,' she answered now, wondering what all this was about. 'Why shouldn't I be? It's what we both wanted.'
'Is it?' Nona's mouth was a thin line. 'Didn't you know Rachid was praying for a girl?'
'No!' Abby stared at her. 'That's not true.'
'It is true,' Nona insisted. 'I should know. He's my grandson, isn't he?'
'And he's my husband,' said Abby hotly, but Nona only waved her protests aside.
'All right,' she said. 'It seems that for Rachid's happiness I must break my word.'
'Break your word?' Abby was getting more and more confused, and Nona's words about Rachid wanting a girl didn't make any sense. She could have sworn he was delighted when she produced a son, and it hurt to think he had been deceiving her once again.
Nona sighed. 'It's about Farah,' she said heavily. 'I said I would never tell anyone what I knew, but I think the time has come.'
'Farah?' Abby felt all the strength drain from her. Not ; now, she thought weakly, don't tell me now, Nona, but the old lady would not have listened, even if Abby could have voiced the words.
'As you know, Farah is Yashti's sister,' Nona stated flatly. 'She is the older sister, and for a time it was expected that she and Rachid‑'
'Yes, I know,' said Abby dully. 'He told me.'
'Very well.' Nona composed herself again. 'She was a frequent visitor to the palace in the old days. She and Yashti came together. Yashti and Hussein were betrothed, but it was Farah that Hussein really wanted.'
Abby's drooping lids lifted. 'Hussein?'
'Yes, Hussein,' said Nona heavily. 'Even after he and Yashti were married, he wouldn't leave her alone. Oh,maybe she was to blame. Certainly she found it hard to swallow when Rachid went off and married you. Perhaps that was what sent her off the rails. In the event, she became pregnant, and as you know, the child was born out of wedlock.'
Abby could hardly absorb what she was hearing. 'You mean—you mean—it was Hussein's child? Not Rachid's?'
'Rachid was never involved with Farah in that way,' said Nona brusquely. 'And if you had trusted him more, you would have known that for yourself. As it is, I'm forced to tell you this in a last attempt to persuade you not to leave him again. I don't know what he'll do if you do leave. I fear for his sanity‑'
'I'm not leaving!' Abby had to tell her. 'Nona, I'm not leaving Rachid. I told him so last night. That was why I was with him when the baby started. I realised I no longer cared what he'd done. I love him, Nona. I love him. And I couldn't leave him, not again.'
Nona struggled to her feet. 'Abigail,' she said uncertainly. 'Child, is this true?'
Abby nodded. 'Of course it's true. I wouldn't lie about a thing like that. I wa
s going to tell you, but when you started to tell me about Farah, I—I just couldn't get it out.'
'Oh, my dear!' Nona stepped up on to the dais, and bent to press a warm kiss to her temple. 'And here am I poking my nose into your affairs once again! I'm just an interfering old woman, and Rachid won't thank me when he learns what I've done,'
Abby shook her head. 'I can't believe it. Why didn't Rachid. tell me himself? When Yashti accused him, why didn't he deny it?'
Nona sighed. 'Rachid is his father's son, Abigail. One day he'll be ruler here. How could he expose his own brother? What kind of man would do a thing like that?'
Abby was totally confused. 'But Hussein should have told the truth——'
'That's true. But Hussein is not like his brother. He will never be the man his brother is. He knows it, and I suspect Yashti knows it, too.'
'But it almost destroyed our marriage!'
'As it would most certainly have destroyed Hussein's.' Nona nodded. 'Oh, yes, Abigail, there's no doubt about that. You know how precarious that relationship is, how jealous Yashti can be.'
Abby shook her head. 'But how could Rachid be sure‑'
'He couldn't. He took an enormous gamble, and almost lost.' Nona stroked her hand where it lay limply on the sheet. 'My dear, you must try to understand. Can you imagine the scandal there would have been if this had come out? As it was, it was kept within the family, and when the child died ...' She shrugged. 'It was an act of God.'
'But where is Farah now?' persisted Abby, trying desperately to assimilate all she had learned. But all she could think of was that Rachid had borne her hatred and accusations for over two years, and his only weapon had been his love for her.
'Farah?' said Nona now, in some surprise. 'Didn't you know? I thought that was how Rachid persuaded you to come back. She married an American businessman about eighteen months ago, and now she's living in New York.'
'New York!' Abby was bemused. Then, remembering what else Nona had said, she caught the old lady's hand in hers. 'About—about the baby; what did you mean about Raid's wanting a girl? Is that true? Did he really not want a boy?'
