Her Desert Dream

‘Kal,’ she began uncertainly, hating to be the bearer of such bad news. Then, as she hesitated, above the buffeting of the wind she heard another sound. The pounding of hooves. She swung round and saw him riding towards her astride a huge black horse, robes flying behind him, hand outstretched. Before she could think, move, there was a jolt as he swooped low, caught her round the waist, lifted her to his saddle.

It was the dream, she thought crazily as she clung to him, her face pressed against his pounding heart.

She’d reached out to him as she’d watched him from above, wanting to be lifted to the stars.

There were no stars and she knew that at any moment he would slow down, berate her for taking unnecessary risks.

But he didn’t stop, didn’t slow down until Bab el Sama was far below them, the horse rearing as he brought it to a halt, turned, slid to the ground with her.

‘Did your English heart beat to be swept onto my horse, ya habibati? ’ He smiled as he curved his hand around her face. ‘Did you feel mine, beloved?’ He took her hand and placed it against his chest. ‘Feel it now. It beats for you, Lydia Young.’

Beloved…

He had called her his beloved and as his lips came down on hers she was lost.

‘This is kidnapping,’ she said when he carried her to a waiting four-by-four. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘You will see,’ he said as he fastened the seat belt and climbed in beside her. ‘Then I will ask you if you wish me to take you back.’

‘But what about…?’

He silenced her protest with a kiss.

‘The groom will take him back,’ he said and she realised that this had not been a spur of the moment escapade but was a carefully arranged assault on her defences by a man who when he offered a treat refused to take no for an answer. No doubt there would be a picnic waiting for her at the side of the river, or some archaeological treasure.

But when he stopped there was nothing but a distant view.

‘There,’ he said. ‘Do you see it?’

She could see something shimmering through the dust haze like a mirage. A tower, a shimmer of green above high walls, and she knew without doubt that she was looking at Umm al Sama.

‘I see it,’ she said. Then, turning to him, ‘I see you, Kalil bin Zaki.’

‘Will you go there with me?’

He had brought her to the place where his grandfather had been born. The place he called home. Not home as in the place where he lived, like the apartments in Rumaillah, London, New York, but the home of his heart. The place that an exile, generations on, still carried deep in the memory, in his soul.

That he would keep for a woman who meant more than a brief affair. This was the home he had been preparing not just for the return of his grandfather, but for the bride he would one day bring here and, even though he knew who she was, Lydia Young, he was offering it to her.

Words for a moment failed her, then a phrase came into her head, something from long ago Sunday School…

‘Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge…’

Kal knew this was a perfect moment. He had offered the woman he loved all that he was and she had replied with words that touched his soul and as he reached for her, embraced her, sealed their future with a kiss, he knew he owned the world.

Kal led her through Umm al Sama by the hand, through gardens that had run wild, but were being tamed. Beside pools that had been cleaned and reflected the blue of a sky that had magically cleared above them. Through arched colonnades decorated with cool blue and green tiles.

Showed her a wind tower that funnelled the air down to a deep cooling pool below ground. Buildings that had been beautiful once and would be beautiful again when he had finished restoring them.

One building, smaller than the rest, was finished. Kal watched her from the doorway as she walked around an exquisite sitting room touching fine tables, running a finger over the smooth curves of fine porcelain.

‘This is so beautiful, Kal. So special.’ She looked at him. ‘What was this?’

Kal had not touched Lydia since they’d arrived at Umm al Sama. Outside, in the garden, where they might be seen, he’d kept a discreet distance between them. Showing her respect. He had not brought her here to make love to her, but to give her his heart. To give her this.

‘My great-grandfather’s wife lived here before they moved to the new palace at Rumaillah.’

‘Leaving it to the heir apparent?’

‘No one has lived here since my grandfather was banished. If you go upstairs, there should be something to eat on the balcony.’

‘All this and food too?’

‘I invited you on a picnic,’ he reminded her, leading the way to a wide covered balcony with carved shade screens that ran the length of the building.

She stared for a moment at the distant view of the mountains, then pushed open a door to reveal the private apartment of a princess.

The polished floor was covered with rare carpets, the walls hung with vivid gauzy silk, as was the great bed at its heart.

Lydia looked back at him. ‘Are you expecting Scheherazade?’

‘Only you. Come, ya habibati,’ he said, extending his hand to her. ‘You must be hungry.’

‘I’m starving, Kal.’ As she raised her hand to meet his, she came into his arms, lifted her lips to his. ‘Feed me.’

As she breathed the words into his mouth he shattered. The man who had been Kalil al-Zaki no longer existed. As he shed his clothes, fed Lydia Young, the wife of his heart, with his touch, his mouth, his body, she rebuilt him with her surprise, her delight, tiny cries of pleasure at each new intimacy and finally with her tears as they learned from each other and finally became one.

‘I have to go back to Bab el Sama, Kal,’ she protested the following morning as she lay in bed while he fed her pomegranate seeds and dates for breakfast. ‘I have no clothes here.’

He kissed her shoulder. ‘Why do you need clothes?’

‘Because otherwise I can’t leave this room.’

He nudged the edge of the sheet, taking the kiss lower. ‘I repeat, why do you need clothes, ya rohi, ya hahati?’

He’d showered her with words she did not understand as he’d made love to her, but she refused to be distracted.

‘Dena will be concerned.’

‘Dena knows that you are with your bodyguard. Am I not guarding your body?’ And his smile, his touch, made everything else go away.

Thoroughly and completely distracted, it was gone noon when she stirred again. She was alone in the great bed they’d shared and, wrapping the sheet around her, she went to the balcony, expecting to find him there waiting for her to wake.

The balcony was deserted but her clothes, freshly laundered, were waiting for her on a dresser with a note from Kal.

Ask for whatever you want. Umm al Sama is yours. I will back soon.

She held it to her breast, smiling. Obviously he’d gone to fetch her clothes, explain their absence, and she bathed, washed her hair, dressed. The note from the princess’s secretary, forgotten in the wild excitement of her abduction, of Umm al Sama, of Kal, was at the bottom of the pile. That had been ironed, too.

She should have told him about that. As she put on Rose’s watch she wondered what time he’d left. How long it would be before he returned.

Maybe he’d rung. She checked her messages but there was nothing. Tried his number but it went straight to voicemail but this wasn’t news she could dump on him that way. And leaving a When will you be back? message seemed so needy…

A servant brought her food. She picked at it. Took a walk in the garden.