The Sheik Retold(56)

Three weeks had slipped away since my mad flight that had ended in tragedy—weeks mixed with poignant suffering. My joy in his recovery was marred by the passionate longing for the love he denied. He had slept in the outer room since his illness. It was torture to be alone in the same bed we had shared, to stretch out my hand to emptiness.

I drew a long, sobbing breath. "Ahmed, mon bel Arabe." I now longed desperately for what I once despised and pined for the man I once loathed—the one who no longer even seemed to want me. I lay awake, listening wearily to the tiny chimes of the little clock with a bitter sense of irony crushing me.

Hours later I could still hear their two voices continuously rising and falling. Both were deep and musical, but Raoul's was quicker and more emphatic. Suddenly, I knew it was me they discussed. I could not help myself. I rose to peer through the curtain.

"Eh, bien! Raoul, just say it," Ahmed demanded.

"You might have spared her," Raoul cried.

"Spared her what?"

"What? Good God, man! Me!" Raoul took a hasty turn up and down the tent and then stopped in front of Ahmed with his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched up about his ears. "This entire situation—it is abominable," he burst out. "You have gone too far, Ahmed."

"What do you expect of a savage?" Ahmed laughed. "When an Arab sees a woman that he wants, he takes her. I only follow the customs of my people."

Raoul clicked his tongue impatiently. "Your people—which people?"

Ahmed sprang to his feet and dropped a hand on Saint Hubert's shoulder. "Stop, Raoul! Not even from you—" He then broke off abruptly and sat down again with a laugh. "Why this sudden access of morality, mon ami? You know me and the life I lead. You have seen women in my camp before."

"There is no comparison." Raoul dismissed the remark with a contemptuous wave. "You know it as well as I." He moved over to the camp table, where his toilet things had been laid out, and began removing his cufflinks. "Where did you first see her?"

"In Paris some time ago and then again in the streets of Biskra two months ago."

The vicomte spun to him. "You love her?"

Ahmed exhaled a long, thin cloud of blue smoke and watched it eddying toward the top of the tent. My pulse roared in my ears as I strained to hear his answer.

"Have I ever loved a woman? And this one is English." His voice was hard as steel. "By Allah! You know her cursed race sticks in my throat. But for that…" He shrugged.

"Then let her go," Raoul said. "I can take her back to Biskra, or Oran, or even back to Paris."

Ahmed turned to him with a piercing look. "But you are bound for Morocco, are you not? Do you think to take her with you, Raoul? Do you want her for yourself?" His voice was as low as ever, but there was a dangerous ring in it.

"Ahmed! Are you mad? Bon Dieu! What do you take me for?" Raoul flung his hands out in a gesture of despair. "It is for quite a different reason that I ask you, that I beg you to let this girl go."

"Forgive me, Raoul. You know my devilish temper," muttered the sheik.

"You have not answered me, Ahmed. Will you let her go?"

"She is content here."

"She has courage," the vicomte amended.

"As you say, she has courage," he agreed without a particle of expression.

"Bon sang—" quoted Saint Hubert softly.

"How do you know she has good blood?"

The vicomte shrugged. "I have eyes, Ahmed. It is very evident."

"That is not what you mean. What do you know of her?"

Raoul went to his suitcase and removed a newspaper that he handed to the sheik. Ahmed moved closer to the hanging lamp so that the light fell directly on the paper. I could not see it, but I was certain it must be the same one I had seen before. For a long time the sheik studied it in silence. "Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"Shipboard, actually. The report of her disappearance is everywhere, even in Paris. While I admire your good taste, I marvel at your recklessness. You did not think this would go unnoticed, did you? There will be hell to pay when you are found out!"

"Bah! The French authorities have too many affairs on hand and too high an appreciation of Ahmed Ben Hassan's horses to put forth any inquiries in my direction."

"How long do you intend to keep her?"

"For as long as it pleases me." With slow deliberation, Ahmed tore the page out of the paper and rolled it up. "With your permission," he said coolly and held it over the flame of the little lamp. He held it until the burning paper charred to nothing in his hand and then flicked the ashes from his long fingers. "Henri has seen this?"

"Henri reads all my papers," replied Saint Hubert with a touch of impatience.

"Then Henri can hold his tongue," said the sheik. He searched in the folds of his waistcloth for his case and carelessly lit another cigarette.

"Will nothing change your mind?"

"I am not given to changing my mind. You know that. And, besides, why should I? Mademoiselle Mayo was warned of the risks before she left Biskra. She took her chances, et voila! Besides, I just told you she is content."

"Content?" Raoul retorted angrily. "Cowed is the better word, Ahmed."