The Governess and the Sheikh (13 page)

 

Cassie was awoken by Linah, who was already dressed, proudly sporting her new riding habit, which Cassie had made with her own clever needle. Her governess having overslept, the little girl was anxious lest they miss their riding lessons. ‘Hurry, or
Baba
will think we are not coming,' she said, tugging the sheet back.

‘I think it best if you go yourself today, Linah. I will ask one of the maidservants to take you to your father.'

‘What is wrong? Are you ill?' The child looked at her anxiously. ‘Are you missing your sisters, is that it? Do you need a hug?'

‘I'm not sad,' Cassie said, smiling as the little girl put her arms around her neck of her own accord, ‘but I am a little out of sorts. I don't think I can face riding today.'

A few weeks ago, the words would have sparked a tantrum. Indeed, for a few moments Linah's lip
trembled and her eyes widened, but then she straightened her shoulders and gave a little nod, a gesture that was so wholly her father's that Cassie almost laughed. ‘I will stay with you, if you are ill. I will bring you sorbet and tea and I will ask cook to make your favourite pastilla, and—'

‘Stop, stop. I'm getting up. Such devotion deserves a reward, Linah.'

‘So you'll come riding with
Baba
and me after all?' The child clapped her hands in delight.

‘Yes.' She must face Jamil some time; it might as well be now. ‘Go and wait for me outside, I won't be long.'

 

But when they arrived at the stables, it was to be informed that Jamil would not be joining them today, and the groom was to accompany them instead. ‘Did he say why?' Cassie asked, but the man only shook his head and said that the prince was otherwise engaged.

Cassie was immensely relieved to have been granted such an unexpected reprieve, but Linah was hugely disappointed and became increasingly distracted and fractious during the lesson. They were practising jumping small fences, and Linah twice lost her temper when her pony refused, the second time raising her whip angrily.

‘Don't take your own incompetence out on the horse,' Cassie said sternly, staying Linah's hand before the whip made contact. ‘It is spiteful to do so and a sure sign of poor horsemanship.'

‘Let me go,' Linah shouted, trying to shake herself free.

‘When you calm down I will do so, not before.'

‘Let me go. How dare you lay a hand on me, I am a princess of the royal blood. No one may touch me. Let me go.
Now!
'

‘Linah!'

‘I hate you. I hate you. Go away. Go back to England, I don't want you here any more.'

‘Linah, you don't mean that. Calm down, and we will…'

But it was too late. Linah kicked her heels into her pony's flank and spurred the beast forwards at a gallop. She crossed the paddock and sailed in a perfect jump over the fence before Cassie could remount. By the time Cassie arrived back at the stables, Linah had already stormed off in the direction of the schoolroom.

Satisfied that the girl was safe within the palace, Cassie decided it would be better to give her time to cool down. Though she knew Linah did not mean her hurtful words, still she was stung by them. Her spirits sank into her riding boots. Now Jamil would have no reason at all to give her another chance, for why keep a wanton, wilful governess whose only charge hated her?

Thinking only of the enticing prospect of a temporary release from her cares, not for a moment considering how her actions would be interpreted by a small, contrite, eight-year-old girl, never mind her autocratic prince of a father, Cassie wheeled her grey mare round and headed out of the city gates at a gallop, without so much as a backward glance.

J
amil had risen when dawn broke, to be met with a crisis of state that threw his plans into disarray, obliging him to attend emergency Council meetings for many long, tedious hours until the sun was already high in the sky. Knowing that Linah was accustomed to take a nap after the noon meal, he made his way to the school room, expecting to find Cassie in her usual position in the shade of the lemon tree by the sun fountain, quietly engrossed in one of her many books of poetry. Instead he entered the courtyard to be met by a scene of chaos and Linah, surrounded by her bevy of maidservants, sobbing as if her heart would break. The porcelain shards of a shattered jug were scattered across the mosaic of Scheherazade, the mango sorbet it had held spreading out in a sticky pool over the fairytale princess's hair. The real-life princess who ran, shrieking
Baba
, pushing aside the maidservant who would have restrained her, was in an equally
dishevelled state, her hair damp and tangled, her cheeks streaked with tears.

‘
Baba
,
Baba
, you must get her back,' Linah said, throwing herself at her father, hot little hands clutching insistently at his tunic.

‘What in the name of the gods is going on?' Jamil demanded, taking Linah's hand, but addressing the gaggle of servants, who immediately threw themselves on to their knees, faces hidden, gazing at the tiled floor.

‘It is Cassie,' Linah said, tugging at his belt in order to get his attention.

‘What about her?'

‘She has gone,
Baba
.'

Jamil had never felt fear, but now he felt something very like it clutch its icy fingers around his heart. ‘Gone where?'

‘It is my fault,
Baba
. I ordered her to go.'

Jamil picked up his clearly distraught daughter and carried her to a low stool in the shade of the terrace where she sat on his knee, racked by incoherent sobs. Eventually, after promising several times that her confession would not result in any punishment, Jamil extracted the story of the morning's dramatic events from Linah.

‘I told Cassie I hated her, and I said I wanted her to go back to England, and she looked so sad,
Baba
, and I—I was pleased she looked sad because I knew that she would go back to England soon anyway and I didn't want her to leave me—and now she's left anyway.'

‘When did she leave? How?'

‘According to the groom, she rode off on her horse, master,' one of the women said, ‘into the desert.'

Jamil got to his feet, but Linah clung to him pathetically. ‘Please don't be angry, I didn't mean it. I promise I'll be good,
Baba
, if only you will bring her back.'

‘Listen to me, Linah,' he said gently. ‘Soon I will be taking a new wife. You will have a new mother, maybe brothers and sisters in time. Then you will not need Cassie. She must leave eventually.'

Linah's tear-stained face brightened. ‘You could marry Cassie instead. That would solve everything.'

Jamil smiled wryly. ‘Life is not so simple, child. My new wife—your new mother—has already been chosen.' Jamil turned to leave but before he did so, he stooped to give Linah a brief hug. ‘Don't worry. I'll find Cassie. No harm will come to her, I promise.'

 

He found her horse first, less than ten miles out into the desert. She had been heading due east and he picked up the trail fairly easily, the distinctive marks of the horse's shoes being quite different from those of camels or mules. She'd taken the route to the Maldissi Oasis, and it was here he found the grey mare cropping in an unconcerned manner at the shrub by the edge of the main pool, but there was no sign of Cassie. The horse had not been tethered. Its sleek coat was warm, but not overheated—it had obviously been at the oasis for a while. It had been at least five hours since Cassie had left the palace and, according to his head groom, she had no water or any other form of supplies.

Securing the mare under the shade of a palm tree and quickly removing the tack, Jamil tried to ignore the knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. He needed to think rationally. Cassie was an excellent horsewoman;
if she had suffered a fall, it must have been serious for her to have let go of the reins. The alternative, that she had wandered off without first tying up the mare, was unthinkable. Leading his own stallion, Jamil traced his way slowly around the perimeter of the oasis, searching the sand for hoof marks, but Cassie's mount had wandered around aimlessly, circling from one pool to another and back again, and the sand on the outer reaches was soft and churned up. The air was still, too still. Shading his eyes with his hand, Jamil squinted up at the sky, all his senses on alert. There was a sandstorm coming, not a shadow of a doubt, he could smell it.

With a new sense of urgency, he resumed his scanning of the terrain underfoot, finally tracing the path of the mare's incoming hoof prints. His own horse was frisky now, sensing, as he did, the imminent change in the weather. Keeping an iron grip on the reins, Jamil followed the tracks for two slow miles. He was heading towards the ochre plateau, which was the first of the flat-topped mountains known to his people as the Seats of the Gods. A mile further on, the clouds began to gather, still high in the sky, roiling an angry shade of red with the glow of the sun behind them. Another half-mile and the trail stopped dead.

Dismounting from his stallion, Jamil pushed his dusty head dress back from his face and, scanning his surroundings anxiously, called Cassie's name. His voice echoed round the rocky foothills, but there was no reply. He called again. No answer.

Screwing his eyes up in the fierce glare of the sun, Jamil spotted something that might be footprints veering off to his left. They were faint and intermittent,
due to the wind, which had picked up and was causing the sand to ripple one way then the next, like waves breaking on the shore. His heart pounding, his desert-tuned senses horribly aware that the storm was only minutes away, Jamil followed the faint track. His cloak flapped in the breeze. He pushed the
igal
that held his head dress more firmly into place and called out again.

The stallion heard her first, his sensitive ears pricking back. Then Jamil heard her, too, her voice faint but distinctive, and he sprinted towards the sound, relief at having found her tempered by fear. He knew only too well how harsh the desert environment could be. He prayed she was unharmed.

She lay huddled in a fissure between two rocks, which offered her some meagre protection from the elements. Her face was tear-streaked, her eyes dark with fright, though she made a feeble effort to smile. It was this, such a vulnerable, wobbly little smile, which made his heart contract, made his voice harsh as he called her name, pulling her ruthlessly from her pitiful hiding place and hugging her tightly to his chest. ‘Cassie, by all the gods in the heavens! Cassie, do you have any idea of the worry you have caused, running off like that? You could have perished out here.'

She trembled, clutching feebly at his arms, allowing herself to acknowledge the truth only now that he was here. She could so easily have died if he had not found her. She could have died without ever seeing him again. ‘I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' Her words were a whisper. Shaking, she clutched at him, feverishly running her hands over his arms, his back, pressing her face into his chest, drinking in the warm, musky, male scent of
him, breathing it in as if it was her life's breath, terrified that if she let him go he would prove to be a mirage. ‘I'm sorry,' she muttered again. ‘I've been so foolish. I didn't think. I just…' Her voice became jagged as tears of remorse and relief began to flow. She trembled violently, stumbling a little, and gave a yelp of pain. She would have fallen if he had not caught her to him.

‘Are you hurt?'

She bit her lip, stoically ignoring the searing pain. ‘It's nothing. My ankle, I've twisted it. Such a stupid thing to happen, a snake spooked the mare and she reared. I let go of the reins and she threw me and then bolted. It's nothing,' she said again, trying bravely to test putting her weight on her ankle, but the pain was excruciating. Her face turned ashen.

‘You are lucky to have escaped so lightly,' Jamil said curtly, scooping her up into his arms. Now that he had found her relatively unscathed, the full horror of what might have been was making him feel sick.

‘Jamil, I'm so sorry to have put you to such trouble. If I had only thought…'

His arms tightened around her. ‘But you never do, do you?' he said with a ghost of a smile. ‘Stop struggling.'

‘I'm—'

‘Save your apologies. You are safe, that is all that matters.' He looked up at the lowering sky, frowning. ‘Later, there will be time enough later for apologies and recriminations; for the moment, we have to find somewhere sheltered to sit out the storm.' Scanning the surrounding rocky outcrops, he saw a darker, deeper fissure that he fervently hoped might be a cave. Holding
Cassie securely in his arms, with his horse following obediently, Jamil made his way quickly towards safety.

His instincts proved to be correct. A narrow passageway, just large enough for the horse to pass through, opened out into a deep cave. It was dark and cool inside, the direction of the entranceway fortunately at the correct angle against the prevailing wind to keep them safe from the worst of the sand, which was already beginning to blow around. ‘Stay there while I see to the horse,' he commanded, lowering Cassie to the ground. She sank onto the sandy earth, easing out her cramped muscles, trying to assemble her thoughts into some explanation for her actions that sounded reasonable. Actions, she was beginning to realise, that were not only foolish, but could have been potentially fatal.

Jamil stripped his horse of its tack and retrieved from the saddle the two goatskin water flasks he always carried with him, along with a blanket. The cave was almost dark now, the sun's light having been almost obliterated by the dark storm clouds. There was an air of stretched-taut tension, which always preceded a sandstorm, but it seemed to him there was another layer to it today. What had she been thinking of to behave so irresponsibly? His temper quivered on the edge of fury, like a bow strung tight for battle, his relief at finding her safe giving way to anger at the danger in which she had placed herself.

He made his way carefully across to where she sat, exactly as he had left her. Draping the blanket around her, he felt her shoulders shaking. ‘You are trembling.'

Cassie nodded. ‘It's the shock, I think. My own fault,' she whispered, teeth chattering. ‘Sorry.'

‘Here, drink this.'

He took the lid off his goatskin flask and held it to her mouth. Her skin was dry, dusty, heated. ‘Slowly, slowly.'

She sipped, spluttered, sipped, then coughed. ‘I lost my hat and veil in the fall. I must look a fright,' she said with a vain attempt at humour.

In the dim interior of the cave her face was a ghostly shadow, her hair a contrasting golden halo. The rest of her, in her dark habit and tan gloves, now cloaked in the blanket, blended into the background, accentuating the fragile beauty of her face. He held the flask to her lips again and she sipped slowly, though he was close enough to sense the effort it took for her not to grab the flask and gulp greedily.

‘Thank you,' she said, her voice croaky.

‘I'm going to examine your ankle now. It will mean taking off your boot, and it's unlikely you'll be able to put it back on again.'

‘Can't it wait until we get back?'

Jamil shook his head. ‘I need to make sure it's not broken.' Before she could object further, he picked up her foot and began, with great delicacy, to unlace her riding boot.

She bore his examination bravely, biting her lip as he manipulated her foot first one way and then the other, distracted by the heat of his hands as he moved them gently over the arch of her foot, her swollen ankle, her calf. His touch was expert and business-like, but she could not help remembering last night, his hands roaming over her in quite a different way, and in remember
ing she could feel her body flush with embarrassment and something else.

‘Nothing broken, but it will have to be bound.'

‘I'll do that. I can use my stocking.'

But he was already untying her garters, a breathtakingly intimate gesture in any other circumstances, first one, then the other, using both stockings to form a tight bandage, before fastening them with the pin from his cloak.

‘Thank you,' Cassie said shakily. She rubbed her eyes and face in a futile attempt to wipe some of the sand away. It was stuck fast, as if baked on.

Jamil shook off his head dress and poured a little of the precious water on to a corner of the silk. ‘Here, let me.' He tilted her face towards him and gently stroked away the worst of the dirt. Then he let her drink a little more. ‘Better?'

Cassie nodded. She was still shaking, but not so violently. ‘Yes, though I don't deserve to be. I'm so sorry. I know I've been stupid.'

‘Extremely.'

His voice was uncompromising, though his touch had been tender. She couldn't see his expression, could make out only the white shape of his robes. Was he angry? Probably. She deserved that. Whatever happened now, the inevitable result must be her return to England in disgrace. She had, by her own foolish actions, proved to be a most unreliable governess. ‘I'm sorry,' she said again. ‘The last thing I intended was to put you in harm's way.'

Jamil's teeth showed white. ‘You did not. I know this desert like my own body. But you—you could easily
have died had I not found you. What on earth possessed you? Was it Linah? She told me what she had said to you.'

‘It wasn't really Linah's fault,' she said in a very small voice. ‘That was just the final straw. Last night—I should not have allowed you to—encouraged you to—I should not have. I'm so ashamed. I'm sorry.'