Master of the Desert

by Susan Stephens

  ‘I don’t know, Ra’id. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you led me to understand our child would live with you?’

  ‘I would never agree to a child of mine living apart from me.’

  ‘So you would never agree to live apart from your child, but I must?’ Her voice shook as he touched on her Achilles heel.

  ‘You will have full access, naturally.’

  ‘And for that I must be grateful?’

  ‘For that you must obey.’

  So there it was, Antonia thought, turning pale. After all the niceties and tactics were out of the way. Ra’id was a desert king, a warrior; a man she was only coming to know. ‘This is your country where I must live by your rules and forget that I was ever free?’ When he didn’t answer, she added passionately, ‘I’m not my mother, Ra’id. I’m not Helena. I’m not looking to escape, or excuse, and I’m certainly not looking for a man to keep me. I’m going to stay here and work to make the best use I can of my inheritance.’

  ‘But that’s what I want too. I have a hunting lodge in mind where you can stay until the work here is completed.’

  ‘A hunting lodge, hidden away? Is that so different?’ She gestured around and then let her arms drop to her side. She wanted to stay and work as a team, as they had on the island, not because she wanted to profit from it in any way but because she loved him and wanted to be with him.

  ‘I’ll leave you to think about it.’

  She might have matured and learned from her mother’s mistakes, but Ra’id would never change, Antonia realised as he ducked his head to leave the pavilion. This was the man she had fallen in love with: a king; an autocratic ruler; a man who was master of all he surveyed.

  But not her master, Antonia determined when Ra’id had been gone for some time and she’d had time to cool down. Mounting up, she pointed her kindly gelding in the direction of the fort. She would plough her own furrow, however long that took.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ANTONIA had looked stricken when he had left her in the pavilion, while he felt not a moment’s guilt. He had tried the softly-softly approach, and much as he had expected it had got him nowhere. It was time to return to his default setting of intractable command. What he had planned for Antonia’s future was not only for the best for all of them, it was the only way they could move forward. She could take it or fight back, but conflict between them would only mean an unnecessary delay in her settling-in process.

  She had accused him of being incapable of feeling, and maybe once he would have agreed with her. But his life had changed on the day a young virago had accosted him with a knife. Since then he felt everything acutely. Taking care of Antonia was his primary concern, but the luxury of showing his feelings was the one privilege he did not enjoy.

  So maybe he had to lighten up? Allow Antonia to take more risks?

  The one thing he was determined on was that Antonia would never take another risk and would not be put in danger. She might be a formidable force in the making, but if she was going to fulfil her potential she had to stay on track—and that was a track only Antonia could find. She thought he meant to keep her captive, when he knew that only the hand of life could contain her. Staying in Sinnebar or going back to Rome was Antonia’s choice, though he dearly wanted her to stay. But a royal child? On that there could be no compromise. His child would be brought up by him, under his roof and under his protection.

  He was leaning against the trunk of a palm-tree, staring out at the desert, when he saw her mounting up. He couldn’t say it surprised him. Nothing about Antonia surprised him. For the sake of the horse he was glad she was lightweight. The gelding was moving well at the moment, but he had bathed its foreleg earlier, having noticed the first signs of trouble. He doubted she would get far, but he’d ride Tonnerre bareback and keep an eye on her.

  So much for her brave adventure. Her horse went lame and she ended up leading it back to the pavilion. She could see Ra’id’s stallion tethered nearby, but not Ra’id himself. Maybe he had summoned some super-silent high-tech helicopter to whisk him back to the capital. So much for his protective instincts; she’d be better off alone.

  She trudged back to the pavilion, having fed and watered her horse, knowing her options were shrinking. What kind of future awaited her if she didn’t sort this out? Would she be a prisoner like her mother? It had already begun—the waiting. Ra’id had said he’d be nearby, but he hadn’t even tried to stop her leaving, and now he’d gone.

  Entering the silent pavilion, she tugged off her boots. Exhausted by everything that had happened that day, she just about managed to strip off her clothes before tumbling into a disillusioned ball on top of the silken cushions, where she quickly fell asleep.

  She was dreaming of riding in front of a mysterious, dark stranger on a wild, black stallion across mile upon mile of desert when the sound of rustling skirts shocked her awake. Blinking against the light, she sat up, and it took her a moment to realise three women were bowing to her. ‘Please,’ she begged them groggily as she hastily dragged a sheet over her naked body. She whisked her hand around to mime that no one had to bow to her.

  As the kohl-lined eyes smiled back at her, Antonia recognised the three Bedouin women she’d met a couple of days before. ‘I know you!’ she said, putting two and two together and realising that Ra’id must have left her to ask them to come and keep her company. ‘My riding clothes.’ She pointed to them, and the women nodded with enthusiasm, their ice-blue robes with the intricate silver cross-stitch decoration twinkling in the strengthening light as Antonia thanked them for lending her such sensible clothes.

  Now she was a little embarrassed, and had to carefully manoeuvre herself off the bed. Wrapping the cover tightly around her, she did her best to make them welcome. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she offered, lifting the jug of juice that had miraculously appeared on a nearby pierced-brass table.

  The women must have brought it while she was asleep, Antonia realised, along with the dishes of sweetmeats and fruit. ‘You’re very generous,’ she said, bowing to them as best she could in her sheet ensemble.

  The women giggled, as if she was the funniest thing they had ever seen and, shaking their heads, indicated that first she must follow them.

  The bathing pool had been warmed by the fast-strengthening sun, and Antonia exclaimed with surprise and pleasure to see the women had scattered rose petals on the surface of the water. This was real luxury, she thought, quite excited at having her hair washed and then her scalp massaged with the most sweet-smelling products. The world should know about these, Antonia decided when the women explained to her with mimed actions that they had picked and prepared the herbs and flowers for the lotions themselves. Maybe that was something else she could do when she wasn’t busy with the baby, the restoration work and the charity.

  When they had patted her dry with soft towels, warm hands massaged her with more fragrant unguents. This should be part of her daily routine—not that she’d have time, Antonia thought with a rueful smile. And what was coming next? she wondered when the women slipped a plain, loose robe over her head.

  Taking her by the hands, they ushered her excitedly into the pavilion, where they sat her down and dried and polished her hair before plaiting it loosely and decorating it with exotic flowers. More scent was applied, until Antonia decided she smelled like a garden, and then they put make-up on her and painted intricate designs on her hands and feet with henna.

  This really was special attention, she thought, starting to wonder about it—but then they produced another robe for her approval, and she gasped. The women were pleased to see her delight at this first sight of a masterpiece of design in sky-blue silk chiffon. The delicate fabric floated as they showed it to her, and was decorated with tiny seed-pearls and sparkling silver coins that would jingle as she moved. Before she put it on, the women fastened anklets of jewelled bells above her feet, and more around her wrists, and then they slipped the whisper of highly decorated silk-c
hiffon over her head. She was just revelling in those silken folds when, with some ceremony, they prepared to veil her.

  She felt a real frisson of excitement now, realising this must be the culmination of the ceremony. They had even brought a full-length mirror into the pavilion, and placed it in front of her so she could see the finished effect.

  She looked amazing—amazingly different, Antonia realised, seeing sultry eyes she hardly recognised flashing back at her. But the question uppermost in her mind was why? Why now? Why were the women doing this for her? What was this all about? And how could she ask her newfound friends what was going on, when no one spoke the same language? She couldn’t be so rude as to stop the women when they were having such fun attending to her—and, truthfully, so was she—but she couldn’t deny a nagging sense of doubt that suggested she was being prepared to take on the role of His Imperial Majesty’s concubine.

  She would bring everything to a halt if that were the case, Antonia determined, but for now… The women carried a twinkling veil reverently over outstretched arms. To try it on, just once, was irresistible. The veil sparkled bewitchingly, exceeding any fantasy image she could ever have come up with—and were those tiny jewels sewn onto the floating panels? Blue-white diamonds? The veil was clearly precious and significant to the women, judging by the way they handled it.

  And they weren’t finished with her yet, Antonia realised when they had draped it over her head and shoulders. Now they were going to secure it with the most fabulous rope of turquoise-and-coral beads. The turquoise toned beautifully with the robe, while the coral could have been chosen to point up the warm-blush tint in her cheeks.

  What on earth had she done to deserve this?

  That was her first thought, and it was swiftly followed by who is this? as an older woman entered the tent.

  The older woman shocked Antonia into silence by explaining that Signorina Antonia Ruggerio had been adopted as a daughter of her tribe. ‘And my name is Mariam,’ she said. ‘I will be your advocate, should you require me in the discussions to come.’

  What discussions? Antonia wondered. And she could speak for herself, though she nodded and smiled politely. It must be something to do with the charity, she reasoned. This was a culture she knew little about, and if she wanted to forge ahead with her work it would be wise to have an interpreter—at least until she was fluent in the language herself. But a daughter of the tribe? That was a good thing, wasn’t it?

  Mariam pretty much confirmed these thoughts, explaining that once the most powerful tribe in Sinnebar had accepted Antonia as a daughter she would have no trouble persuading the rest of the country to support her.

  Well, anything that would help to spread the reach of the charity was a good thing, Antonia supposed. Learning that Ra’id was the head of this most powerful tribe came as no surprise—but if he was also the head of the ruling council, who was going to refuse him? ‘How does that work?’ Antonia murmured, thinking out loud.

  With a faint smile and a low bow, the woman called Mariam walked gracefully out of the pavilion.

  Ruling council, my foot! Antonia thought, starting to pace. Once again, everything had been decided by Ra’id. She could see the point of the fabulous costume now. This wasn’t a treat, it was a set-up, a shrewd move by Ra’id to involve her in some ceremony far away from the prying eyes of the world in an exotic setting he believed would seduce her. The ceremony probably wasn’t even legal. She would be no more secure than her mother—no more visible, certainly. So much for her fantasy of the silken veil! She would be a prisoner in a silken veil, Ra’id’s love-slave, until he tired of her.

  She whirled around when he strode into the tent. ‘Ra’id!’ Mariam had entered behind him, and she was followed by the girls who had helped to prepare Antonia for their sheikh.

  Ra’id stood in the centre of the pavilion, an ominous force dressed all in black, still with the howlis wrapped round his face. ‘From now on,’ he informed her, ‘this is how it will be. These women will wait on you and I will not see you alone again until we are married.’

  ‘Married?’ The word choked off any air supply she might have had in her lungs.

  ‘That is what you wanted, isn’t it?’ And before she could protest—Yes! No! Not like this!—he went on, ‘Now you are an accepted daughter of the tribe, I must observe the formalities laid down.’

  ‘Centuries ago?’ Antonia challenged him, almost beside herself with shock.

  ‘Oh no,’ Ra’id replied evenly. ‘Somewhat longer than that, I should think.’

  ‘You are joking?’ Then, realising the women standing behind Ra’id were still waiting for her instruction, Antonia remembered her manners and invited them to sit down.

  Once everyone was seated, she went up to Ra’id; staring into his eyes, which was all she could see of his fierce face behind the headdress, she hissed, ‘Did you think to ask me first? Did I miss something before you disappeared yesterday?’

  The expression in Ra’id’s eyes remained as shrewd and as dangerous as ever. ‘I thought you liked surprises,’ he said mildly.

  ‘Some surprises,’ Antonia agreed. But surprises came in many forms. The chance to dress up in pretty clothes was nice, but when it came to matters of the heart—things that really mattered—like a marriage between two people…

  She’d done with surprises, Antonia realised. It would be helpful if an alarm rang on the day you grew up, she reflected—helpful to everyone, especially Ra’id. She could no longer be seduced by a visit behind the silken veil, or by fabulous jewels and clothes that looked as if they had been sequestered from the set of a Hollywood movie. Or by some hasty marriage ceremony that probably had no legal standing outside this tent. Before she’d come to Sinnebar? Yes; she had been impressionable then, before she had met and fallen in love with a man called Saif. But now there was just one man and one woman, or there should have been. And you could forget the trimmings; she didn’t need them. She would never settle for anything less than a real marriage based on love. She certainly didn’t intend to be bulldozed into the most important decision of her life just because this was expedient for Ra’id.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded as she started tugging off the rope of jewels holding her veil in place.

  Ra’id had underestimated her for the last time, Antonia determined. ‘If you don’t know…’ she said, and then, conscious that they weren’t alone, she added more discreetly, ‘Do you mind if we walk outside? Only I’m feeling a little faint in here.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Ra’id was immediately concerned about her.

  About her pregnancy, and the welfare of his child, Antonia amended as the ruler of Sinnebar escorted her out of the tent.

  He was at her side in a moment. Pregnancy must have weakened her, he realized. There was some shade inside the pavilion, but no air-conditioning, plus he and the other women were used to the heat.

  Having removed her veil and carefully placed the rope of precious jewels on top of it, she took a moment to reassure the women and thank them by miming with expressive hands. They looked at him for reassurance too, and with a brief dip of his chin as he strode past them he confirmed Antonia’s wishes. This was not the child-woman he had first encountered on his yacht, but a woman of purpose who made her own decisions.

  She made for a group of palm trees where he had sheltered the previous evening and there she stopped. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said, joining her in the shade.

  ‘This—all this,’ she said with a sweep of her hands over the jewelled gown. ‘More toys for me to play with, Ra’id? I grew up with this—I thought you knew that. I have fourteen wardrobes crammed full of clothes back in Rome. My brother gives me everything that money can buy; at one time I thought that beautiful clothes and wonderful jewellery, eating at the best places in Rome, was all it took to make me happy. I took it for granted, because that was my life. But it’s not enough, Ra’id. I’ve seen more now, and I want more.’

  �
�More?’ He hated the disillusionment spilling from Antonia’s lips, though he wondered if he had ever seen her looking lovelier than she did now with the morning breeze tossing her hair about and a vision of the future in her eyes.

  ‘I don’t mean more stuff,’ she said, perhaps sounding younger than she had intended. ‘I mean more time to be us—to be real—to do real things.’

  ‘If you mean time to work for the good of the charity?’ he said.

  ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed. ‘If you’ll let me work for Sinnebar, I’ll put my whole heart into it. I don’t need this pomp and ceremony, Ra’id. And, as for becoming a daughter of the tribe, it’s very kind of you—but it’s too late for me to become anyone’s daughter. I’m not a child any longer, Ra’id. Can’t you see that?’

  His proposal for the tribe to adopt her had been his way of smoothing Antonia’s path so that they could be married. He had come to this conclusion without consulting her, he realised now. He hadn’t even told her how empty his life would be without her. In fact, life without Antonia was unthinkable. But had he told her that? Slowly unwinding his howlis, he stood staring out at the desert over which he ruled. He had made much of that desert into a garden for his people to enjoy and to nurture and harvest crops on. Was there as much hope for him?

  Then she placed her hand on his arm and stared up at him, pleading. ‘Don’t drive me away.’

  ‘That’s the very last thing I’m trying to do.’

  ‘Then you must know I would never settle for anything less than a marriage based on love?’

  Ra’id held her gaze. He looked more magnificent than she had ever seen him. There wasn’t a single item of his clothing, or even his expression, his hair or his eyes, that wasn’t unrelieved black, but she loved him without fear or favour. What did his outer coating matter? When she had seen him in regal robes of royal blue trimmed with golden thread and yellow sapphire, had she loved him more? Saif, in his worn, frayed shorts and faded top was the man she had fallen in love with, and they were one and the same. Except, Ra’id al Maktabi was a man turned hard by duty. But Ra’id’s fearful title didn’t frighten her. She wouldn’t allow anything to stand in the way of the people they could be. ‘You were wrong about me liking surprises,’ she told him softly. Still with her hand resting on Ra’id’s arm, she explained, ‘There are some surprises I do not like at all.’