Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) (8 page)

"We are strangers, and you mustn't say this to me, Mr. Shemsa."

He seemed not to hear her. "I have never seen a woman with hair like fire. To be near you would be like living with sunshine."

She now realized Lord Michael had been correct with his warning. "Please excuse me."

He bravely clasped her hand. "Don't go."

"The lady has asked to leave, Khaldun. Release her hand."

Mallory turned to an angry Lord Michael. "I was only ... he didn't—"

Michael reached for her hand and turned her toward her cabin. "Leave now, Lady Mallory. And I hope you have learned a lesson tonight."

She scurried down the companionway, her heart beating in her throat. She was so ashamed, and so sorry for her actions. Poor Mr. Shemsa was not to blame—the fault lay with her. He must have thought she had been encouraging his attentions. Oh, how would she ever face either man again?

Michael stood beside Khaldun, sensing his confusion. "Lady Mallory is an innocent, Khaldun. She's young, she doesn't understand your customs."

The Egyptian shook his head regretfully. "I realize that now. But she is so beautiful, and she was so sad. Is it wrong for one human being to reach out to another?"

Michael realized that Khaldun was as innocent in his way as Lady Mallory was in hers. "Have you a woman waiting for your return?"

"Yes, but she is not of my choosing. I have never met her. She was destined for me from the time she was born. It is the way of my people."

"My country was once the same as yours. Now marriages of convenience are rare, although they still occur occasionally."

"I have heard that my intended bride is fair to look upon, but this is always said by parents, to keep the bridegroom from objecting if she is ugly. I feel horror thinking about her. She is of the Sawarka tribe, and their women often tattoo their faces. Can you imagine living with a woman who disfigures her face?"

Michael was glad to move the conversation away from Lady Mallory, but he felt a little horrified himself. "No, I can't imagine that. I've thought little about marriage. I suppose someday I'll have to take a wife."

"You will choose your own wife." Khaldun's shoulders slumped. "For a brief moment I envisioned myself with Lady Mallory as my second wife. Yasmin will, of course, have to be my number-one wife."

"An Englishwoman would hardly agree to such an arrangement. You have lived in London where a man can have only one wife."

"I know that I made a mistake with Lady Mallory. Would you be so kind as to convey my apologies to her?"

"I'm sure there will be no need of that."

"But I ask it of you all the same. I want her to know I meant to honor her and not to be disrespectful."

"I'll tell her."

"Do you not think she's a beauty?" Khaldun said regretfully.

"I hardly noticed. She is too young for me. Another thing I have never admired is red hair."

Khaldun smiled at his friend. "She is a rare and delicate flower. But she is so much more than she seems. Inside she has the burnings of a woman, but she does not yet know it."

"Are any of us all we seem?" Michael commented with a searching glance.

"We all have our secrets, Lord Michael. But should you have trouble when you reach Cairo, I shall know it at once and come to your aid."

Michael stared out at the darkness, unable to see the sea or the sky. He thought it highly unlikely this Egyptian could help him in what he must do.

Chapter 9

Mallory received a letter from Lord Michael, which she tore into tiny pieces. Was there no end to that man's arrogance? How dare he take it upon himself to apologize for Mr. Shemsa. He never missed a chance to goad her—this was only his way of pointing out that he'd been right and she'd been wrong.

"Insufferable," she said, slamming the lid on her trunk. Well, at least they would be leaving the ship today.

Later, Mallory stood on deck beside Mrs. Wickett as they both watched the Iberia cut her engines and rely on her sails to take her into the deep waters of Aboukir Bay.

"A colorless country," Mrs. Wickett remarked, waving her hand toward the small fishing village that existed in the shadows of the city of Alexandria.

"Everything is brown, brown, brown. There is no color, no personality."

Mallory didn't agree. She stared in wonder at the tall mosques and domed buildings. She was only sorry there would not be time to explore the ancient capital of Egypt before boarding the boat that would take her down the Nile to Cairo.

"You have to admit the Mediterranean is very blue," she said breathlessly. "It makes one long for a swim."

Mrs. Wickett looked at her as if she'd lost her faculties. "Certainly not! It would be unthinkable for a properly brought up English girl even to contemplate such an action. Swim in the Mediterranean, indeed not."

Mallory was saved from answering when two crew members began tying off the sails and Captain Barim brought the Iberia into port. The sound made by the lowering of the anchor was a welcome one to Mallory. She would be glad to place her feet on solid ground.

Mallory felt a burst of excitement that was tempered with fear of the unknown when the gangplank was lowered into place and the crew bustled about performing last-minute duties. Cargo was brought up from the hold and wheeled toward waiting wagons that would take them to their final destination.

"There—there's my husband," Mrs. Wickett beamed. "Lud, he's grown a beard." She waved frantically. "He looks distinguished, does he not?"

"Indeed he does," Mallory agreed, looking at Sergeant Wickett as he must seem to his wife, and not as the heavy set man he looked in his red uniform.

"Come, m'lady, he'll be impatient to be on his way. We must not dally."

As Mallory stepped forward, she came in contact with a lean, hard body, and Lord Michael steadied her.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Mallory."

She looked into those cool eyes and knew his mind was not really on her, but on whatever it was that had brought him to Egypt. There was something mysterious about this man, something that thrilled and intrigued her. As she stepped away from him, she realized she would never know what mystery he hid behind those expressive eyes. Even though he predicted they would probably meet in Cairo, she doubted she would ever see him again. But it would be a long time before she would forget him.

"I hope your stay in Egypt is all you hope it to be, m'lord," Mrs. Wickett said, as she took Mallory's arm and steered her down the gangplank. To Mallory, she whispered, "If you weren't so young, my dear, he would be such a match for you." She babbled on good-naturedly, for there was no harm in the little lady. "You are very presentable, and I daresay that, had the two of you met in London, you would have had a better chance to become acquainted."

Mallory's first footstep onto land was jarring. After being on shipboard so long, her legs didn't seem to want to obey her. Mrs. Wickett, seeing her dilemma, smiled understandingly. "The feeling will soon pass when you get your land legs. It's always a shock when experiencing it for the first time."

When they reached Sergeant Wickett, husband and wife hugged perfunctorily, and Mallory would have thought them indifferent to one another if it weren't for the softness in their eyes when they embraced.

Afterward, Mallory was presented to Sergeant Wickett, and she found him as amiable as his wife. Deciding to give the two of them a moment alone, Mallory walked a few steps away and stared at the flurry taking place on the waterfront.

Her eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight reflecting off the blue Mediterranean. In the distance, she could hear the sound of the Moslems being called to morning prayer. Suddenly, she caught movement to her left, and turned to see Khaldun Shemsa dart behind a cart. His actions were mysterious, almost covert. When she moved toward the cart, he had disappeared. Was everyone in Egypt so perplex?

Mallory forgot about the Arab's strange behavior and stared at the sights around her. She could see a busy thoroughfare in the distance, filled with throngs of people. There were camels, sheep, and two-wheeled carts that were pulled by donkeys. This was a world like nothing she could have imagined. She watched women, shapeless in their black garments, their faces covered but for their eyes. What kind of people were these who hid their faces and lived their lives in secret except when they were in their own homes? It would be interesting to learn more about them.

Mallory was soon seated in a cart beside Mrs. Wickett, while Sergeant Wickett instructed the porters to place their trunks in the back. At last they were on their way down the clay-packed streets, the driver of the carriage weaving in and out of the heavy traffic.

Mallory's first view of the Nile River came unexpectedly. The carriage turned a corner, and there the muddy, winding river was spread out before them, shimmering in the sun.

She was helped from the carriage by Sergeant Wickett, and they were soon aboard the small barge that would transport them to Cairo. The barge was crowded with a press of humanity, and there were even goats and sheep in a cor-doned-off area. The smell was offensive, and she turned her face into the wind—she would not get sick—she would not.

As they got under way, Mallory could feel the heat like a heavy hand pressing in on her, which, combined with the unpleasant smell of the animals, made her stomach heave. With a trembling hand, she untied the ribbon of her bonnet and leaned her head over the side of the boat.

"This is the most difficult part," Sergeant Wickett assured her, detecting her condition. "Alas, I fear you will find this leg of the journey most uncomfortable. We will be forced to sleep on deck. But I will try and make you as comfortable as possible. I have brought supplies and bedrolls."

She smiled at him. "I feel better now. It's just the heat."

"Egypt hasn't a fit climate for a gentle-bred Englishwoman." Mrs. Wickett snorted. "Didn't I tell you so, m'lady?"

By midafternoon they had left the coastal fishing village behind and started the journey that would snake its way through a fertile farmland and into the very interior of Egypt. The meeting with her parents lay ahead, and Mallory could only guess at her reception.

She imagined her mother counting the hours until she arrived. She had half hoped that her parents would greet her when she stepped off the Iberia. Of course, they would be too busy to come all the way to Aboukir. But that didn't mean they wouldn't be glad to see her.

Michael glanced across the deck of the barge and nodded at Mrs. Wickett. He watched a gust of wind rip the straw bonnet from Lady Mallory's head and miraculously drop it at his feet. He retrieved the bonnet and walked toward her, extending it to her on his fingers.

"You had better tie the ribbon beneath your chin, or next time, it may be blown overboard."

"Thank you," she said, feeling embarrassed for fear he would think she had deliberately lost her bonnet to gain his notice. "I'll tie it now, and it won't happen again."

For the moment, he was fascinated by the sun reflecting on her dark auburn hair that had come tumbling down her back almost to her waist. Why had he not noticed before how lovely she was? The small sprinkle of freckles across her nose somehow bespoke a spirited young girl with little care for her outward appearance. How different she was from Lady Samantha, who was always so meticulously groomed.

He turned his attention to the distant horizon, and his mind raced ahead to his meeting with the British consul in Cairo. Perhaps they'd had word of his father by now, perhaps they had even located him.

"Lord Michael, I'd be pleased to present my husband, Sergeant Wickett," Mrs. Wickett said, glad for a chance to show her husband the illustrious nobleman she had become acquainted with.

The two men exchanged greetings. "Sergeant, perhaps you can explain some things to me about this country. I'd be very interested in your views."

"You must join us for lunch, and the two of you can talk," Mrs. Wickett offered, unwilling to be left out of any conversation involving Lord Michael. "My husband brought a basket of food, and there's plenty here for all of us."

Michael smiled at the woman who reminded him in some way of his own Aunt Mary. "I'd be delighted to join you, Mrs. Wickett."

The resourceful little woman found a secluded area among grain barrels and wooden crates. With Mallory's help, she turned a crate into a table. Mrs. Wickett spread out her provisions, which consisted of cheese, bread, oranges, and dates.

The two men were deep in conversation, so Mallory was able to observe Lord Michael without him being aware of her interest. Because of the heat, he'd asked permission to remove his coat, and it was thrown carelessly across a barrel. She could see that the white shirt fit snugly across his wide shoulders. His gray trousers molded to the length of his long, muscled legs. Dark hair curled at the nape of his collar and fell carelessly across his forehead. His brows were dark and winged above long lashes. His skin was browned from the sun, enhancing the brilliant green of his eyes.

Mallory quickly lowered her head when Lord Michael glanced at her. She could feel the fever of a blush spread over her face at being caught watching him.

"And you, Lady Mallory," he inquired, "is Egypt everything you'd hoped?"

She lifted her head to meet the mockery in his eyes. "I will reserve my judgment until we reach Cairo."

"I feel sure your parents eagerly await your arrival," Sergeant Wickett assured her. "I. have been to Lord Tyler's residence on several occasions. You'll be quite comfortable there. It's easy to find since it's right across the street from El-Azhar University. It has high walls that surround a magnificent garden filled with citrus trees and date palms."

"Have my mother or father spoken to you about my arrival?"

He smiled apologetically. "You'll have to understand that I don't see them socially. My visits to their residence are of an official capacity."

Mallory fell silent, and Sergeant Wickett turned his attention back to Lord Michael. She was suddenly struck by a feeling of homesickness and longed for the cool climate of England.

The English passengers paid no heed to the three men swathed in black robes. Dark, hostile eyes watched Michael's every move. They observed his interest in the woman with the red hair and decided among themselves that when they reached Cairo, they would also have the woman watched. They knew it would not be wise to approach their quarry with the Inglizi sergeant on board. The time would come when they would find him alone— then they would strike.

The sun had long since disappeared beyond the muddy banks of the Nile before Michael took leave of Sergeant Wickett. Mrs. Wickett had skillfully curtained off a section of the deck so she and Mallory could have privacy while they slept.

It was cooler now, and Mallory was exhausted. As soon as she lay upon her bedroll, she fell fast asleep.

Her sleep was disturbing because she dreamed of haunting green eyes that probed to the very depths of her soul. It didn't matter that there could never be anything between Lord Michael and her, her dreams were her own and no one would ever have to know that her heart beat faster every time she thought about him.

Before dawn, Mallory was awakened by Mrs. Wickett. "Dear, I thought you might like to freshen your appearance. We are just coming into Cairo."

As she washed from a jug of water, Mallory felt the boat bump against the pier. Hurriedly, she brushed her hair and secured it to the back of her head. Her clothes were hopelessly creased since she'd been forced to sleep in them, but there was no place to change into a fresh gown.

As she emerged from the curtained-off area, she secretly hoped to see Lord Michael once more, but he was not among the waiting passengers, so he must have already departed. She would always remember their encounters, even their disagreements, with fondness.

As the donkey cart rambled over the uneven streets, Sergeant Wickett informed Mallory about the points of interest. "Look, just there," he said, glad to display his knowledge of the city, "see the tall, Byzantine-style mosque that sits atop the great citadel? The one that towers above the rest?"

Mallory glanced at the silver domes that gleamed in the noonday sun. "Yes, I see it."

"That's the Citadel of Cairo. It was planned by the great Saladin, himself." Wickett smiled. "You have no doubt, Lady Mallory, heard of the great Saladin, who defeated our Richard the Lion-heart in the Crusades?"

Mallory nodded eagerly, engrossed in his story. "Yes, of course."

"Saladin took many Crusaders as his prisoners and forced them into labor to make Cairo an impregnable city. That is, in a way justice, is it not?"

Mrs. Wickett was not so magnanimous. "Had our solders captured that man, I'm certain he would have been sent to the Tower and lost his head."