Hot Arabian Nights

The two most pressing matters which did occupy his thoughts were for the moment in abeyance, awaiting the response of the two men concerned. He was a man of action, he’d told Julia once. Certainly, in the three days that had passed since he saw her he had made countless decisions, but he had also spent an inordinate amount of time trying not to act, not to do the one thing he wanted above all, which was to go to Julia and lose himself in her arms.

He missed her. It would be easier when she was no longer resident in the palace, easier still when she had crossed Qaryma’s border en route to England, but for now, knowing that there were only a few walls separating them was making it ridiculously difficult to resist temptation.

He missed the sound of her laughter, and the tone of her voice. He missed the almost guilty expression she wore when she was about to tell him something she thought he didn’t want to hear. He missed the frown of concentration that wrinkled her brow when she sketched and the way she pressed her lips together when she painted—to prevent herself nibbling on the end of her paintbrush, she had once confessed to him. He missed the silkiness of her hair strewn across his chest after lovemaking, and the way her mouth curved then too, into an unashamedly satisfied smile that made him unaccountably proud to have been the cause of it.

This morning she would most likely be in the Fourth Court painting what she called the secret garden, since he had sent word that he would not be there. He would like to see how her work was progressing. Would she give him one of the paintings if he asked? He’d like to have something tangible to remember her by.

The Council had moved on to the menus for the various feasts, which they were debating with some gusto. The coronation was to take place in three days’ time, almost four weeks exactly since he and Julia had made their agreement. The desire to see her was painful. He had known from the moment that he had decided to stay, how vital it was that Julia left, how deeply improper it would be for him to consort with her after his coronation.

But would it really be such a sin for him to see her again before he was crowned? He had not informed her of the arrangements he was making on her behalf for her journey, and he ought to. In fact, his time would be far better spent doing that, than worrying about what people would eat on the day he handed his life over to his kingdom.

He was not fooling himself. Azhar sighed in irritation. He did not need an excuse to spend time with Julia. He had not handed his life over just yet. He had the right to claim one more day of freedom, and to spend it with the woman who was about to leave him for ever, to claim freedom for herself!

Azhar jumped to his feet, startling his Council into silence. ‘I have decided to entrust the final details of the ceremony to you,’ he said ‘In three days’ time I will dedicate my life to Qaryma. I require some time to prepare myself for this solemn undertaking, time to close the door on my old life, to ensure that when I begin this new life as your King, I come to you unburdened.’

This last remark drew some murmurs of approval and knowing looks that reminded Azhar of Kadar’s warning. No one would dare question Julia’s presence here, but everyone would be speculating. Until he was formally crowned, Julia’s position in Azhar’s life was none of their business but after—surveying his Council, he could see the relief in some of the older faces.

They wanted their King unburdened of the Englishwoman. Despite the fact that it merely confirmed what he already knew, it sickened him to be faced with this evidence of the silent pressure, the unspoken rules and traditions he would be forced to conform to in the future. It also fixed his resolve and decided him to grasp not one but every day he had left. ‘Until the eve of the coronation, my time will be exclusively my own. Any decisions to be made on anything other than the ceremony must be deferred.’

He waited, but not a single man seemed inclined to suggest the most logical alternative, which was to hand matters over to Kamal. None had questioned his brother’s sudden absence from council meetings either, nor that of the Chief Overseer, though they must know that Kamal was under informal house arrest, that the Chief Overseer was confined to the Cage. They would no doubt speculate as to the reasons for this.

He sighed. For the time being it would have to remain just that, idle speculation, until he was in a position to implement his planned solution. But that, and everything else, would have to wait. In three days’ time he would be King of Qaryma. Until then he would be simply Azhar.

* * *

It was dusk by the time they reached the oasis. ‘It is known as Little Zazim, not because it is close to the Zazim Oasis, but because it is...’

‘Almost a perfect replica, in miniature,’ Julia exclaimed, surveying the spot from her vantage point on the seat of her camel.

The lagoon was small, elliptical in shape, the water had the same silver-green sheen she remembered from the oasis where they had first met. A belt of lush vegetation encircled the waters almost entirely, leaving only one end of the lagoon exposed where the soft desert sands met the waters in what looked like a small crescent-shaped bay. Julia stared around her in wonder. ‘There is no one else here. Did you...?’

‘I wanted to ensure our privacy. There are some advantages to being a member of the royal family,’ Azhar said drily.

‘But people will know that you are here with me. They will be talking, Azhar, and—and they will be wishing me gone. I had no idea until Aisha said...’

‘I wish that Aisha had kept her mouth closed.’ Azhar leaned across to press her hand. ‘We discussed this before we left. I do not deny that your remaining here in Qaryma after the coronation would be unacceptable to my people, Julia, but I am not theirs to command just yet. I am sacrificing everything in three days’ time, I will not sacrifice this final opportunity to spend time with you, unless you have changed your mind. Do I ask too much of you? Would it have been easier for you if I had done as I said I would, and left you alone?’

‘No.’ She clutched his hand tightly. ‘If you can brazen out the scandal of my presence, then I can bear the shame of being the subject of palace gossip.’

‘I will not have you bear any shame,’ Azhar said fiercely.

Julia laughed. ‘You are not my King, Azhar. My feelings are my own to command.’

He smiled, twining his fingers in hers. ‘Your feelings and your life will be yours to command entirely very soon. You should be proud of yourself, Julia. I am proud of you.’

‘Thank you.’ The words were bittersweet, reminding her of all that she would be leaving behind, reminding her of all that Azhar would be giving up. She had wrestled with her conscience when he had come to her rooms this afternoon, having escaped his Council meeting, but her conscience had been no match for her heart. He did not love her, he would soon enough be duty-bound to love another woman, but for these next few precious days he would be hers alone.

Carefully holding on to the pommel, Julia leaned closer to Azhar and kissed him fully on the mouth. ‘There,’ she teased, ‘that is to prove that you were wrong when you said it was not possible to make love on a camel.’

‘I will accept that it is possible to begin to make love on a camel,’ Azhar replied, ‘but as to whether or not we can continue...’ He moved so swiftly that he left her breathless, commanding both beasts to their knees before sweeping Julia from the saddle, holding her high against his chest. ‘I prefer not to have to worry about controlling a camel, when I have sufficient to worry about, in controlling my appetite for you, Julia.’

She laced her arms around his neck. ‘Are you hungry, Azhar?’

His smile made her blood fizz. ‘Ravenous, Julia.’

‘Then please, abandon any attempt at controlling your appetite for me,’ she whispered into his ear, ‘because I too am starving.’

Her words made his eyes darken. Grabbing a blanket, leaving the mules and camels which formed their little caravan still tethered together in the care of his Saluki hound and his hawk, Azhar carried her swiftly across the sand, to the point where the trees and shrubs screened them from the rippling sands of the desert. Lying down on the blanket beside her, he kissed her softly, but Julia desired kisses as fierce and as wild as her love. She rolled on top of him, trapping his body underneath hers, and claimed his mouth, kissing him urgently, until his mouth and his hands became urgent too, pulling her tightly against the pulsing length of his erection.

Julia moaned. She wriggled, struggling to free herself of her pantaloons and relishing the way the movement made Azhar shudder, made her shiver. She kicked herself free of the garment as Azhar tore himself free of his trousers. She was struggling to pull her tunic over her head when he pulled her back on top of him, fastening his mouth around one of her nipples, and she could feel her climax building, already peaking.

‘Wait,’ Azhar said, trying to claim her mouth again, but Julia couldn’t wait. One more swift kiss, and then she slid him inside her, not slowly as she had done before, but urgently, drawing him in swiftly and deeply, making them both gasp with delight. The rhythm she set was fast, but he matched her, arching underneath her, pulling her tight against him with each thrust, with each thrust pushing hard, high, so that the illusion of control she harboured was quite lost as her climax ripped through her, and it was only his own last vestige of control that allowed him to lift her clear as he came too, crying out her name into the desert sky.

* * *

Their simple camp had none of the glamour of their previous trip to the desert, for they carried everything with them on the pack mules, but Julia knew that it would be this night she would remember most fondly. The Bedouin tent was Azhar’s own, a simple wooden frame covered with animal skins. As he set it up, Julia laid the fire. Dinner consisted of hare and vegetable stew, the meat more succulent than that first one they had shared, and Julia had to admit, far tastier, thanks to the palace cook who had prepared it for them. Afterwards, they sat together by the dying embers of the fire, looking up at the stars, watching the moon’s ghostly reflection dance on the gently rippling waters of the lagoon.

Julia was reluctant to disturb the perfect peace, but at the same time, she wanted to make the most of the opportunity to discover as much as possible about Azhar’s future. She would never know it, but she would like to try to imagine it. ‘Have you decided what to do with your brother?’

‘I think I have come up with a fitting solution,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘that is if I can persuade my friend Kadar to co-operate.’

‘The Prince who brought Daniel’s watch? What has he to do with it? Are you going to send Kamal into exile in his kingdom—what was it called?’

‘Murimon. No, I am not sending my brother into exile there, though he will certainly be spending some time in that kingdom—that is, as I said, if Kadar is agreeable.’

Julia must have looked as confused as she felt, for Azhar laughed. ‘Border controls,’ he said. ‘You know from personal experience that the black-market trade unfortunately flourishes. It is a much bigger problem for Kadar, whose kingdom has a very large coastline. As a trader myself, I thought that I had a good understanding of the shadier side of the business, but when I questioned Kamal as to how he had disposed of the diamonds he stole, I was quite taken aback at the extent of his knowledge. It made me realise how vulnerable we are, and how much work has to be done to put an end to it.’ Azhar grinned. ‘It also made me realise that I had the ideal man for the job.’

Julia burst into astonished laughter. ‘You plan to make your brother responsible for stamping out illegal trade?’

‘Unfortunately, no one knows better where to root out that illegal trade than Kamal.’

‘He surely won’t agree?’

Azhar’s expression hardened. ‘Offered the choice of that position or permanent house arrest, he had little option.’

‘You are right, it is a peculiarly apt solution, and one that avoids shaming your family name, as exile would. In England, we would say you had forced the poacher to become the gamekeeper. I think you have been very clever.’

‘Thank you. I wish my little brother was more grateful, but I fear I have earned his eternal enmity.’

‘Oh, I think you simply have to accept that you will endure Kamal’s enmity no matter what you do. Even if you had abdicated in his favour, he would have found a way to blame you for the chaos his rule would most certainly have brought to Qaryma,’ Julia said.

Azhar put his arm around her, pulling her head on to his shoulder. ‘I wish I could disagree with you.’

‘And what of his partner-in-crime, the Chief Overseer?’

‘Once I had settled on Kamal’s fate, I applied the same principle to his accomplice,’ Azhar said. ‘What you call poacher cum gamekeeper again. He has been stripped of his position on the Council, obviously, and has returned to the diamond mine in the rather less exalted position of guard, searching the miners at the end of every shift for any purloined gems.’

‘You do not fear that he will reveal your brother’s role in the crime?’

‘I made it crystal clear that I would have no compunction in exiling him if I heard so much as a rumour to that effect. I think his silence is ensured.’ Azhar sighed. ‘I thought long and hard about whether I was treating Kamal more leniently because he was my brother, but I honestly believe that he will suffer far more from the loss of prestige and the loss of his luxurious lifestyle than the Chief Overseer.’

‘I think you have been more than fair,’ Julia said. ‘I think you have been creatively just.’

She felt the rumble of his laughter against his cheek. ‘Have I told you that you have a unique perspective on life?’

She sat up, pulling his face towards her. ‘I like this perspective very much.’

Azhar ran his thumb along her lower lip. ‘Truly,’ he said, ‘it is a view I don’t think I could ever tire of either,’ he said, and kissed her.

Chapter Eleven

‘But this is the rare moss Johara told me about,’ Julia exclaimed animatedly, ‘I am sure of it, the one which she says has special healing qualities. How on earth did you know about it, far less where to find it?’

They had ridden out early from their encampment at the Little Zazim to this place which even Azhar had had some difficultly in locating. He smiled as Julia gazed at the thick reddish-brown slime which grew on the stones in the shallow pool with the delight that other women would reserve for jewellery. ‘You seemed excited about it after your last conversation with Johara, so I dispatched someone to find out more from her.’

‘I did not expect—you should not have gone to such trouble on my behalf, especially when you have so many more weighty matters to deal with.’

‘Julia, everyone else causes me nothing but trouble, you are the one person in my life who gives me nothing but pleasure,’ Azhar replied. ‘When you said this rather revolting slime was unique, I knew that it must be very special, and I wanted you to be able to include it in your book.’

‘Daniel’s book.’

He considered this for a moment. There had been a time, not so very long ago, when he had resented Daniel Trevelyan’s ghostly presence, when he could not have cared less about the content of the man’s botanical treatise. Not now. ‘For me, it will always be your book,’ Azhar said, ‘and as such, I want you to make it the best you can possibly make it.’

‘I couldn’t have finished it at all if I had not met you,’ Julia said.

‘Nonsense, you are the most determined woman I have ever met. You would have found a way. If I had not stumbled upon you that day, someone else would have come to your aid. The Zazim is a busy oasis.’

‘I am very, very glad that it was you who stumbled upon me, Azhar. More glad than you will ever know.’

There was a catch in her voice. There was something in her eyes that squeezed his heart. He knew she cared. He did not want to know how much. ‘Will you be comfortable here on your own for today?’ he asked.

He saw her expression reflect the slight brusqueness in his voice. He could see her pondering whether to accept the deliberate change of subject, or whether to pursue her train of thought. When she decided the former, he felt guilt as well as relief. ‘Of course I will,’ she said. ‘You know that I can easily lose myself in my sketching, and drawing this moss will tax my ability to its limits. Have you business elsewhere?’

The notion had come to him in the night. He wasn’t at all certain if it was a good idea, and until he knew that, he wasn’t prepared to share it, not even with Julia. ‘I will return in good time for us to ride back to Al-Qaryma before nightfall,’ Azhar said briskly.

Julia didn’t look intimidated, she looked hurt, but once again, unusually, she bit her tongue. He almost wished she would not. ‘That gives me plenty of time to get to work,’ she said brightly.

‘Julia.’

‘Yes?’

He paused. ‘Let me get your drawing materials from the saddlebags.’

* * *

She was settled with her sketchbook and pencil by the side of the small pool when Azhar left, though he was fairly sure she was not as engrossed as she contrived to look, and even more certain he could feel her gaze burning into his back as he headed into the desert. He knew she had come to care for him, and not only as a lover. Her anguish at his plight was obvious, far beyond that of a mere friend. She meant it when she said she wanted to spare him pain. She meant it when she had said, before they set out yesterday, that she would rather sacrifice their last few days together if doing so was best for him and his blasted kingdom. Julia cared. He knew that, of course he knew that, but knowing was one thing, hearing how much she cared—was it cowardly of him to have cut her short?

What was he afraid of? The answer was obvious, but it was not fear which kept him silent, even to himself, on the subject of his own feelings. Duty again, cursed duty. He had no right to feelings. When he married, as he must, he would have to be able to try to love his chosen wife with a clean conscience. He could not care for Julia. He would not allow himself to care for Julia. And so he must not allow Julia to care for him.

So deep in his musings had Azhar been that he had not noticed how far he had travelled. No one knew when the first King had been buried in the Royal City of the Dead, for the epitaphs on the earliest tombs had been worn away by the desert winds. Unlike the mighty pyramids and the vast underground tombs filled with necessities for the afterlife now being excavated in Egypt, Qaryma’s royal dead were buried in simple sarcophagi hewn from the indigenous red rock, one large monument at the centre for the King, his family ranged around him, their final resting places meriting only small markers.

Azhar was familiar with the site, for he had visited his mother’s grave every year. The marker had sat in isolation on the outer edges of the sprawling city of tombs. Now, it was in the shadow of the newest, largest sarcophagus. In death as in life, he thought wryly. Faced with this incontrovertible evidence of his father’s death, sorrow took a wrenching hold of him, squeezing the breath from him. Dropping to his knees and bowing his head, Azhar tried to fight the tears. Kings did not cry.

He read the simple inscription. Kings did not cry, but he was not yet a king. Leaning his head against the warm red rock of his father’s tomb, Azhar wept.

His tears did not persist for long but they cleansed him, and they brought his father closer to him here, in the City of the Dead, than he had ever been in life. ‘I wish that we could have made our peace while you still breathed, but I hope you are listening now,’ Azhar said in a low voice, still husky from emotion, his head bowed as he stood by the tomb. ‘I am sorry for the long silence that existed between us, but it would be to fly in the face of nature to expect anything else from either of us. You called my bluff. I called yours. In that way I am made in your image, Father, but in so many others, I have made myself. I will not be the man you were. I will be a better king. I will try to be a loving husband and father. I will grant my son the freedom you did not grant me. I will allow my son the true freedom to choose.’

The words were a vow. His own solemn oath, to which he would be true even before the oaths he would take at his coronation. Azhar touched the sarcophagus in farewell. He knelt before his mother’s marker and promised once more to make a better husband than his father had. And then he turned away, out of the Royal City of the Dead, to ride his camel back to Julia, knowing now that he would tell her where he had been and why, knowing now that it had been absolutely the right thing to do.

* * *

They returned to the palace in the late afternoon, to be met in the First Court by the Head of the Royal Guards.

‘I am informed that an Englishman crossed the border without official papers,’ Azhar told Julia. ‘The border guards intercepted him and brought him here. I can only assume that the British Consul in Damascus has become concerned by your lengthy absence and has despatched an official to search for you. Does the name Christopher Fordyce mean anything to you?’

‘I’ve never heard of him,’ Julia replied.

‘He is currently being detained in the Second Court, in the waiting room of the Divan, will you accompany me while I interview him?’

‘Of course. I cannot imagine that he can have any connection with me,’ Julia said, following him through the gate to the Second Court. ‘Though I admit it does seem an odd coincidence that Qaryma should have two English visitors in such a short space of time.’

‘We do not have that honour,’ Azhar said with a smile. ‘One of you is Cornish, remember.’

However, Christopher Fordyce appeared more Arabian than English or even Cornish. He looked to be in his late twenties, and was dressed for the desert in a simple cotton tunic and trousers which were either very dirty or had been dyed the colour of sand. Slung around his hips was a plain brown belt holding a sheathed scimitar and a long, thin dagger, also sheathed. His headdress was also pale cotton of some indeterminate colour tied with a plain brown scarf. Beneath it, his skin was tanned almost mahogany, his fair brows bleached by the sun.

The first impression Julia had of Christopher Fordyce however, was by no means either brown or nondescript. Like Azhar, this tall, lithe figure had a presence, an indefinable air of command. Like Azhar, his features were almost perfect, and like Azhar he had a patrician air about him. Even more like Azhar, it was his eyes which drew her attention, though the Englishman’s were a deep and brilliant blue, almost exactly the colour of cornflowers. She would never have forgotten this man if she had met him before. Whatever his business here in Qaryma, it was nothing to do with her. He looked nothing like any servant of the British crown she had ever encountered on her travels.

‘Mr Fordyce,’ Azhar said, holding out his hand in the English manner. ‘How do you do. Allow me to present Madam Julia Trevelyan, an eminent English botanist, who has been studying our native flora.’

‘How do you do, madam?’ Christopher Fordyce made his bow to her curtsy. ‘How very extraordinary, to meet an Englishwoman so far east in the desert.’

The emotion he expressed was not reflected in either his expression or his tone. Mr Fordyce wasn’t in the least bit surprised nor very interested to find one of his countrywomen here, dressed as he was, in native clothing. Which made Julia extremely curious indeed.

Turning towards Azhar, she saw her feelings reflected in his eyes, if not his face. ‘I am told you have been trespassing on my lands,’ he said.

‘Yes.’