The Ice Maiden's Sheikh (12 page)

“O
f course I had no hand in it,” Michael said. “Haven't you noticed that the gossip has never been picked up by the
Herald?
Ellin's livid about it.”

“Ellin is?” Jalia exclaimed. “She's not the one being made to look a fool!”

“And what about me? Not that it's not totally deserved.” Michael tossed down the paper, in which another columnist mauled the tasty story of the Princess's passion. “You're probably going to have to get used to it, Jalia. As I understand it, you should be grateful when what the papers say isn't true. It's when it's true it really bites.”

“I suppose so.”

Michael looked up, his mouth slowly falling open.

“Ah. My God, how thick I've been! Of course. It is true. That's why you're so bothered.”

“No! At least, they're wrong in saying that's why I wanted the engagement. At that time I had no idea how I felt.”

He snapped his fingers. “Latif was there at the airport, wasn't he? I should have seen it then, the way he was… But didn't he say he was your bodyguard?”

“You said it. He only agreed.”

“Christ! You should have told me, Jalia! Why didn't you just tell me to get on my horse and—”

“Because you had Ellin Black right beside you, Michael.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “From this moment I renounce champagne. But we've got to find a way out of this. Shall I talk to him? Would it help?”

Jalia shook her head, perilously near tears. “He knows, he just—doesn't care.”

“You know, Jalia, now that Noor's home safe, does it really matter so much if Ellin prints some story about a forced marriage? It's what I said before, you know—as long as what they're saying is
not
true, you should be grateful.”

“My parents don't deserve the humiliation. Michael. Not while they're still in England, anyway. Imagine what the media attention would be like! I just—I wish there were another way out. For your sake, too.”

“Don't worry about me! You know I'm in discussions with the Sultana about old Hafzuddin's collection. If that comes off I'll consider it a fair trade. Anyway, I quite fancy the role of bruised, used, and castaway lover!” he said.

 

One of her main concerns now, whether Latif liked it or not, was to find some solution for the various problems facing the women of Sey-Shahin Valley. She had discussed their issues with the Sultan and Sultana, but there was only so far she could go without the Shahin's approval.

“Why are you bothering with this?” Latif said, on a day when she had cornered him in his office in the palace and insisted on talking to him about it. “These women aren't your concern.”

“They don't seem to be yours, either, Latif!” she replied smartly. “These women came to me with their—”

“Because they made an assumption that proved wrong,” he pointed out coldly. “My wife will be expected to concern herself with these problems. You are not.”

“I am not going to be a slave to what is
expected!
Now, I have some practical suggestions and solutions to offer. When are you going to visit the valley again?”

He drew himself up with righteous indignation. “Is one of your suggestions that you should accompany me again?”

“Will you shut up and listen a moment?” She was nearly shouting. Oh, the Ice Maiden had lost her grip, for sure. Sometimes Jalia felt as if she'd spent her life half-asleep, dreaming she was a doe munching in a field, and had awakened to discover herself a tigress gnawing some animal's flesh.

“This could be important to a lot of people and you have no business standing in the way because of personal animosity to me!”

His face hardened, his mouth narrowed, and his eyes glinted with an emotion she could only guess at.

“I have no personal animosity, Princess. Fire away,” he said stiffly.

“Thank you. Now, first of all, I've engaged legal advice, both here and in England, to try and sort out that one-sided contract that's tying up the carpet weavers.

“If we're successful, and it's still a big if, the women will need a new agent for their carpets. The Sultana and I have been talking, and we think what's needed—not just in Sey-Shahin, but throughout the country—is a tribal cooperative agent appointed by the palace.

“In other words, one body that will agent for any tribal group that needs representation in markets abroad. I'll be helping Dana set up a team over the next few months. It will take operating expenses only, no commission.”

Latif sat watching her, his face a mask.

“We're tentatively calling it the Tribal Arts Cooperative.”

“I see.”

“With the Sultana publicly involved, it should go over a treat. We think we can produce our own catalogue and organize worldwide distribution. Gazi al Hamzeh will be advising us about publicity on a pro bono basis.”

“Gazi al Hamzeh?” he repeated, frowning.

“Don't you know him? He's Prince Karim's Cup Companion, and the hottest press agent going. Dana says he's an absolute wizard at planting information so it gets reported as news, instead of sending out
press releases, which get ignored. He organized Ash's press campaign before Ghasib fell.”

“I do know him.”

“Dana said you did. We're also thinking about a coffee table book of Marzuqi rugs—we're hoping to get a lot of the world's well-known women who own them to let themselves be photographed with their carpets, and give little interviews.”

“And why are you telling me?” He hadn't budged an inch.

“Also a whole series of little cookbooks. If it goes over well, we'd make a complete set, one for each of the tribes. Not just recipes, but pictures of the women planting and picking and cooking, and the tribal area, and the food. Starting with Sey-Shahin Valley.”

“Why are you telling me, Jalia?” he said again, with a curious intensity.

“Surely you've noticed you're the Shahin, Latif!”

His eyes burned her. “And what are you, Jalia?”

For a moment her throat caught with hope, but his jaw was clenched and angry.

“At the moment, the Sultana's representative,” she said.

“Isn't it brilliant?” Noor said excitedly. “Bari
said
Gazi was the man to sort it out. Talk about saving the brand from the burning!”

It was the best news Jalia had had since the rescue.

“Is it true that Bari won't inherit if he marries you, or is that—?”

“Not a penny! As if we care!” Noor laughed, and Jalia smiled. The changes to Noor went very deep. “I
still get the ring, though,” Noor said, flashing the brilliant diamond, “because that he inherited from his father. Not that I care, but it is gorgeous, isn't it? It'll be a constant reminder to me of what's not important in life.”

“It is gorgeous,” Jalia agreed.

“Oh, and did I mention that we love each other after all?”

“Only a few dozen times. Was this story Gazi al Hamzeh's idea? He seems to be an all-around genius.”

“I think he and Bari cooked it up between them,” Noor said jealously. “And you're saved, too, I hope you notice! Anything anyone now says about forced marriages is going to look pretty limp, with Bari actually being disinherited—and me so obviously thrilled, of course. Gazi says it's the first time he's ever sorted out two clients' problems with one story.”

“What?”

Noor bit her lip, grinning. “It was him all along. Apparently, he's been on your case for ages!”

Jalia stared. “On my case?”

“Don't you get it? Gazi's the one who's been leaking all those stories about you having the hots for Latif!”

T
he sun was going from the garden, its deep golden light brushing the leaves, glinting from the long rows of arched glass.

It lingered on Latif Abd al Razzaq's black hair, brushing it with glowing fingers as he bent over his desk, working. Jalia thought foolishly,
Even the sun can't bear to leave him.

She stepped through the open doorway from the courtyard, her bare feet silent on the tiles, and crossed to his desk. His fountain pen scratched across the document as she watched. Then her shadow fell within his line of vision, and he looked up.

They looked at each other for a long still moment; then, as if there had been no pause, Latif carefully lifted his hand and capped the pen. Each movement was precise, as if it were necessary to maintain complete control over every tiniest muscle.

“Was it you?” she asked softly.

With the flick of an eye he dismissed the assistant who entered just then from the corridor. The man moved a fist to his breast, bowed and silently disappeared again.

“Was it?”

“You will have to explain what you mean,” Latif said, and Jalia dropped the paper with the latest gossip item about them in front of him. He picked it up and gazed at it.

“Did you enlist Gazi al Hamzeh's media manipulation machine to leak all those stories about me?”

Latif abruptly pushed back his chair and stood, and in spite of herself Jalia stepped back a pace.

“Of course I did.” As if he had suddenly tired of the game, he tossed the paper down on his desk and moved to stand in the open doorway.

Outside, beyond the green branches of the trees, a breeze was playing with the fountain. The courtyard was beguiling at this hour, shaded and sweet with the perfume of flowers that did not dare to open in the harsh glare of noon.

It was a moment before the sense of his words sank in, so convinced had she been that he would deny all knowledge.

“You did?”

“The campaign has achieved its goal, hasn't it?”

“What was the goal, apart from humiliating me?”

He glanced at her, then out at the garden again. “Gazi was of the opinion that we had to make a preemptive strike. The story about a forced marriage had to be discredited before it ran. Gazi knows his business.”

“And how has it achieved that goal?” she asked.

“Don't you know? Your fiancé and his tame reporter were overheard having a loud argument in the Sultan's Return Hotel this afternoon. She accused him of deliberately misleading her. She has booked a seat to London on the midnight flight.”

“It's the first I've heard,” she said.

Silence fell. He watched the shadows in the garden, his jaw tight.

At last he turned to face her.

“What do you want out of life, Jalia?”

She blinked and caught her lip between her teeth. A last stray beam of sunshine darted over the roof to catch a spray of water from the fountain and turn it into liquid fire.

Like the beam of hope that suddenly pierced her heart.

“You know what I want. You don't—”

“Tell me again.”

“I want the life you offered me before. I want to make my home here, where my people are, where my heart is.” She had to press her lips together to stop them trembling. She swallowed.

“I haven't told anyone yet, Latif, but…the Sultana has asked me—she's offered me a position as her Cup Companion. I've thought it over hard, and I'm going to accept it. I think it offers me the best opportunity to make the contribution I want to make.

“So I'll be moving to Bagestan, whether you love me or not. And I guess if you really don't, it'll have to be enough, knowing I'm doing what I can for the people and the country.”

She looked up, but still he was silent, watching her with his green falcon's eyes.

“But I want more than that, Latif. I love you. I want you to love me, the way you once did. I want to marry you, and have your children, and give them Bagestan as their home.”

A sob caught in her throat. “But you don't want that anymore.”

He moved towards her and put his arms around her, and she felt the masculine heat of his hands against her back. Their warmth moved into her blood, her heart, her head, and she lifted her face to smile up at him.

“My Beloved,” said Latif, “who has told you such a terrible lie?”

And then she was home, against his heart.

 

Later, they walked in the garden, where the night flowers tempted the moonlight with their heady perfume. His arm was around her, her head against his shoulder.

“I thought that you did not know your own heart, that you loved me and did not know it. I thought I could teach you the truth of your feelings for me.”

She said, “You were right, but it was a long time before I could admit it to myself. Was that why you tricked me into going into the mountains with you? It was a trick, wasn't it? All that talk about Mansour's young son. I finally saw it.”

Latif laughed. “There was no hope of teaching you anything if I could not be with you, and you had been very adept at avoiding me before the wedding.”

“And my mother knew!” Jalia exclaimed. “She must have been in on it, or she wouldn't—”

“Your parents understood my feelings. When you left the country so suddenly after the Coronation I couldn't hide my reaction from them. They knew what I intended, and what you meant to me.”

Jalia shook her head. “That thought only occurred to me way too late. I should have guessed why my mother was so cool about my travelling around with you. ‘Tell them he's your husband!'” She mimicked her mother's advice. “I seem to have walked into every trap you set for me.”

“Why not?” he said, kissing her softly. “I had already walked into yours.”

“And then, just when you thought you had me where you wanted me…”

“Just as I had begun to hope I had succeeded in showing you your heart, Michael was there, claiming you.”

The fountain splashed in the darkness and she put out her arm to catch the soft cool drops of water on her skin. Sensation shivered to her scalp, as if at the touch of his fingers.

“When Michael turned up, did you think I'd lied on our…that night when I told you the engagement was invented?”

“On our wedding night,” he amended firmly, and wrapped his arm more securely around her. “At first, perhaps. I was so maddened with jealousy I did not know what I believed. But that you had put yourself beyond my reach, stealing from me the chance to show you how strong our love could be, was certain.
And I had to accept that that might be exactly what you intended.”

“But I was appalled when Michael turned up! Didn't you see that?”

“That might have been only your distress at the presence of the journalists. Otherwise, I could see no reason for you not to repudiate the engagement instantly.”

A heavy blossom drooped from a branch overhead, offering them its musky perfume as they passed. Its scent mirrored the sweetness she felt in her heart. Jalia smiled and sighed.

“So I decided to play the Western game after all,” he continued. “To pretend that I no longer wanted you, in the hopes that it would make you see what you wanted, in order to show you your choices, and make you fear the truth that doors may close when we do not go through them at the right time.”

“And all the time you had Gazi on the case.”

“I could see no easy way out of that engagement once it was made public,” Latif said. “The story of a forced marriage might have dogged us for a very long time, and I thought it would make you and your parents unhappy. Do you blame me for taking steps to protect our future together even when it seemed we might not have one?”

“N-o-o-o. Poor Michael, though. And I look—”

“Michael will be made happy by the Sultan's silver plates. And when we find the Sey-Shahin treasures, I am sure he will be delighted if we ask him to examine them.”

She laughed aloud. “Oh, that'll sort Michael out,
all right. And what about me…was it necessary to make me look such a mad fool?”

He turned to face her. “Who is not mad, who loves?” he demanded roughly. “I am insane for you, Jalia. From the moment I first saw you I have been wandering in the desert like Majnun dreaming of his Layla.”

“But you stopped loving me,” Jalia murmured. “When I told you I loved you, you weren't even interested. I was too late. I'd left it too late. All of a sudden, you didn't care anymore.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shadowed with the memory of that dark moment.

“You had learned that you loved me. But you hadn't yet learned that you loved this country. How I wanted to take what you offered, what I had prayed for! But I knew it was a dangerous temptation. What would I do with a wife half-won, only grudgingly mine?” He spoke as if he were understanding it clearly only as he spoke.

“I saw that if out of love for me you gave in grudgingly to the necessity to live here, we would never be truly happy.

“Life will not always be easy for us, Jalia. There is work ahead. I saw that if you did not come to me from a complete conviction that your home was here in Bagestan, there would be too much room for regret. You had to find your love for the country, too.”

She heaved a deep sigh for the old life—her friends, her students, the university. But she had no doubts anymore. Her life was here, her heart was here, her fate was to be beside Latif all her days.

“So I offered you scope to learn about your heart, and your blood, and your generosity.”

“What do you mean?”

“Was it not partly your concern for the women of Sey-Shahin Valley that taught you that your heart was here in Bagestan?”

“Maybe,” Jalia began indignantly, “but you can hardly take the credit for that! Offered me scope? If you suggested that I'm marrying you because otherwise the women of your valley won't get a look-in, you'd be closer…” Jalia's voice faded off as the last piece fell into place.

“Oh no! Oh, what an idiot I've been!”

He was laughing and shaking his head. “Did you really imagine, my Beloved, that I could care so little about something so important affecting my people's well-being, simply because it concerned women?”

“You set me up!” she accused. “Right from the start! Right from that day in Sey-Shahin!”

“I only feigned a little indifference in the hopes of engaging your interest on my people's behalf. I hoped that even if you did not love me, Jalia, your love of my people would teach you to love their Shahin.”

“Or vice versa,” said the Princess, and nestled against his heart.