Lady Emily's Exotic Journey (10 page)

“It's odd that the lions look more alive than the people,” she said. “Do you think the artist's sympathies were with the lions?”

Lucien looked up at her and flashed a smile. “It is possible. After all, the artist was no doubt at the king's mercy just as the lions were.”

“Oh! The poor lion!” The exclamation burst out when she spotted a panel in which a lion, pierced with arrows, writhed in agony. “Why do they always have to be so cruel?”

“Do you not think the people would prefer that the king kill the lion instead of having the lion kill them?”

“But why must killing and destruction be what they celebrate? Why not something pleasant?”

He shrugged. “In an age of violence, better to have a strong, powerful king who can protect you either from lions or from armies. If the king is weak, the people will be conquered, and that is far worse for them, I think.”

He stopped to examine a panel showing the king triumphant in his chariot and shook his head. “A strong king, but trapped even so. Look at him. Those embroidered garments, they might as well be chains. The people think the king is all-powerful, but what power does he have, after all? The chains of duty and obligation drag him down. The people think he is free because he rules them, but there is no freedom for him, only the responsibility. He must fulfill his role. He must always go out and kill the lion to protect them, whether he wishes to or not. He is trapped, just as surely as the lowest slave is trapped.”

She shook her head, seeing his point but wanting to object.

“It is always so,” he said. “It is the history of the world. Strong nations always seek to conquer weak nations. If you do not wish to be conquered, you must be strong enough to defend yourself. Or else you must be strong enough to break free. One way or the other, you are caught in the struggle. It is inescapable.”

She seemed to hear an underlying note of bitterness in his voice, and he was not smiling. “Are you speaking of nations or of people?”

His grin returned swiftly, as if to deny that he might have been speaking of anything important, anything personal. “It is true of both, is it not? If one wishes to survive, one must conquer or flee.”

She shook her head again, not wanting to think that way. She would have argued, but he had returned to his study of the carvings.

At the end of the fourth day spent trying to arrange for the shipment of Carnac's discoveries to Europe, Oliphant followed Lord Penworth into the room they had established as an office. The marquess seated himself with a groan and glared at the steaming cup of mint tea that had been set on his desk. “You know, Oliphant,” he said, “much as I recognize the need to accommodate the sensibilities of our hosts and their ban on alcoholic beverages, I'd give a great deal for a whiskey right now.”

Oliphant was inclined to feel the same. Over the weeks of their association, he had developed a liking for the marquess, as well as considerable admiration for his tact and patience. Too many of the so-called diplomats he had dealt with over the years considered it their duty to bully the world into acceptance of British attitudes and beliefs. Not that the same arrogance could not be found in the French, as exemplified by Carnac. Had the Frenchman tried to arrange for the shipment of his artifacts, they would have remained in the ground, covered over with sand, for another millennium.

However, tact and patience exacted a toll, and the negotiations had been both frustrating and exhausting. Refusing the tea Penworth offered, he said, “I am amazed that you have been this successful. What with the Imam convinced that the excavations are desecrating the tombs of the faithful, the Cadi convinced that you and Carnac are conspiring to smuggle out vast quantities of gold, and the boatmen fearing that the tablets contain ancient curses that will bring demons down on them, I did not think you would make any headway at all.”

“Well, now we wait for our letters to reach Namik Pasha in Baghdad, and for his letters to reach the Cadi here. To tell you the truth, I shall be glad for a few days free of obligations. I look forward to seeing something of this city with Lady Penworth and the girls. You are welcome to join us, of course, but need feel no obligation to do so.”

“As a matter of fact…” Oliphant began, then stopped to fiddle nervously with some of the papers on the desk, neatening them into squared-off piles. “As it happens, my grandfather is nearby at the moment.”

“Your grandfather?”

Oliphant held his head up stiffly. “Sheik Rashad. He is the chief of a tribe that spends the spring near here each year. I must visit him, and I wondered if I might invite Lady Emily and Lady Julia to accompany me. M. Chambertin has said that he will also join us. I assure you that the ladies would be perfectly safe.”

“Your grandfather. Yes, of course. I had forgotten.” Lord Penworth rubbed his hand across the back of his neck in a weary gesture. “Certainly you may invite them. They will no doubt be delighted.”

That proved to be true. Lady Emily was all eagerness, so much so that Oliphant suspected she had been bored of late, forced to remain in the house with the other women while he and Lucien were both too busy to act as escort. She would probably have welcomed an invitation to muck out the stables. Now she peppered him with questions until he finally told her to wait and see for herself what it was like.

Lady Julia was more restrained, but she smiled slightly as she looked at him. It was an understanding smile, he thought. She must know the reason for the invitation even without his explaining it. But then, she seemed to understand his every thought, and she must know how much he admired her. No, he did not admire her. He adored her. She filled his thoughts every moment of the day.

But he dared not say anything to her. Not yet. First she had to understand about his family. There was no way he could tell her about them or describe them and their life. She would have to see for herself. He could not possibly say anything to her until she had seen.

Of course, Lady Julia seeing his family for herself would almost certainly mean the end of anything between them. Not that there had actually been anything between them. Anything other than his own dreams, that is. No, it would be the end of any possibility for something between them.

Could he bear that? Would it have been better to just leave everything unknown and unspoken? He could at least have kept his dreams of what might be. Wouldn't that have been enough?

No, that was beyond stupid. He could never make himself believe that was enough. He had to know, one way or the other. If she saw his mother's family, if she met them and turned away in disgust—well, so be it. It would not be the first time that he saw disgust in the faces of those he thought were his friends when they entered an Arab camp.

She had not shied away once from the people they had encountered on their journey thus far. She had never treated them with anything but courtesy and respect. That much was true. But then, they were only curiosities for her, not people with whom she would be asked to ally herself. How would she react when the son of an Arab woman asked for her hand in marriage? Could she bear the thought that her children would carry the blood of uncouth barbarians, desert nomads who still lived in tents?

Was he mad to even think of her? She was so perfect, so untouchable, as if nothing could disturb her. Beautiful, yes, with a pale oval face and lustrous hair in sleek curves of mahogany around her face. Her eyes were the dark eyes of a gazelle, entrancing him. Yet those eyes always bore a hint of sadness. How he longed to banish all trace of sadness from her.

If only she would allow it.

* * *

They set out on horseback early the next morning, riding west. Julia loved the early morning, full of possibilities. Her favorite time of day. Soon they had left the cultivated gardens surrounding the city behind, and the rising sun sent long shadows streaking ahead of them. With the gardens, they had left all color behind as well, it seemed. The short, dusty grass of the plain gave way in the distance to low dun-colored hills. Beyond them, to the northwest, the hills rose into low mountains with higher, snow-topped peaks beyond.

At David's request, Julia and Emily wore their proper English riding habits, brushed clean after their visit to the Nineveh excavations. Not that they would remain clean for long, Julia thought. At least her habit was brown to begin with, though the velvet trim had been a poor choice. They would have been more comfortable wrapped in blue cloaks like the servants, but that would not have marked them clearly as foreigners. It seemed that David wished to emphasize their difference.

In another reminder of the difference between Arab and European customs, David and Lucien rode in front of the two women, not beside them as they had in all their earlier journeys. The only sound to be heard was the rhythmic trot of the horses. There did not appear to be a road, yet Julia did not doubt that David was quite certain of the way. He knew precisely where he was going.

She understood the reason for this visit, the reason for the stiff tension in his bearing. She had walked into countless ballrooms, innumerable drawing rooms with that same stiff posture, a shield against the contempt and disdain of others. Even before she had learned of his Arab mother, she had recognized that protective barrier around him. Had he recognized the same in her? Was that the reason they had been immediately drawn to one another?

More likely, it was the reason they had approached each other so cautiously, even though the attraction between them was unmistakable. She had recognized it at once, novel though it was. It was as if lightning crackled in the atmosphere when he came near her. Whenever he touched her, even just to help her dismount from her horse, she wanted to throw herself into his arms, and she was certain that he felt much the same way. She could see the heat in his eyes. Yet they both held back for, she thought, the same reason. They were both afraid.

It would not change anything if she told David that his Arab blood mattered not at all to her. He would not believe it, not until she had actually met his family and seen them for herself. He was too honest to misrepresent himself, and he apparently believed she was honest enough not to hide her reaction.

Unfortunately, Julia had more to hide than he knew. The time was coming when she would have to be honest herself. She dreaded that moment, yet she found herself also looking forward to it. It would be so liberating to tell the truth about herself. Even if he turned away from her. That would break her heart, but at least she would know that for her, love was an impossible dream. She would stop hoping.

She looked around at the harsh landscape. The pitiless sun glared down on every rock. There was nowhere to hide. There were no secrets here, no polite fictions. This was a place that demanded honesty.

Beside her, Emily let out a small sigh. “What a barren, inhospitable place,” she said. “It intimidates me.”

“Truly?” Julia was startled, and not only because Emily was hard to intimidate. “I like it. It may be harsh, but it makes no pretense of being otherwise. It does not wear a mask. After living my life in English society, I find the honesty admirable.”

Emily looked around, frowning. “Honest it may be, but it is also lifeless. We have not seen a living soul, not even an animal, since we left the town.” Raising her voice, she called out to Lucien and David, “Do any creatures live here, or do only stones inhabit this place?”

David turned with a short laugh. “Oh, there are people. They just do not care to be seen yet.”

Emily opened her mouth to express some doubt about that when one of the hills erupted in a crowd of horsemen, who came racing toward them, waving spears and emitting a loud unearthly cry. David lifted a hand to signal that they should stop, so they waited, grouped together, while the horsemen rode about them in circles.

Since David was sitting calmly on his horse, watching the riders with a small smile, Julia assumed there was no danger and relaxed herself. The riders were impressive horsemen, moving as if one with their horses, white robes flying about them. The steeds were impressive as well. They were not large—mostly mares, she thought—but nimble and graceful, wheeling about easily in a tightening circle. At length one of the riders flung his spear into the ground just in front of David and pulled his horse up to a rearing halt. David sat on his own horse, both of them perfectly calm.

The newcomer followed his spear with a spate of Arabic. It was all too rapid for Julia to be able to understand any of it, but she followed David's example and sat imperturbably on her own mare. The only movement she had made since they halted was to pat the horse soothingly.

David replied to the Arab with an equally rapid spate of words, then turned to them with a smile. “May I present my cousin, Abdul? Please excuse his dramatics, but he fancies himself a horseman.”

Abdul flashed a brilliant smile at them, greeted them with a florid flourish of his arm and spoke in heavily accented English. “Da'ud, you have brought the fairest of flowers to grace our humble tents. Our grandfather has sent me to offer them greetings and beseech them to take refreshment with us.” With his hand over his heart he bowed his head, but any hint of humility implied by his words was vanquished by the laughter dancing in his eyes.

His resemblance to David was amazing, though the deviltry was his own.

“Da'ud?” she murmured to David.

“The Arab version of David,” he murmured in reply. He fell back to ride beside Julia while his cousin and Lucien flanked Emily up ahead. It struck Julia as odd that now David wanted them to ride in a more European arrangement. Or perhaps it was not odd at all.

They traveled north and followed a path that wound between the hills, rising gradually. Riding beside David revived something of the easy friendship of their trek over the mountains. Julia relaxed into the familiar comfort of his presence beside her.

Abdul was concentrating all his efforts on Emily, and florid bits of flattery floated back to Julia and David as they rode along. Julia could not repress a choked laugh when she heard, “Your beauty is as spring rain to the parched desert of my heart.”

David looked worried. “Lady Emily will not be offended, will she?”

“Heavens, no. She must be thoroughly enjoying it. M. Chambertin does not seem so amused, however.” In fact, Lucien had lost his easy smile and was scowling at Abdul, who looked highly amused.

A sardonic smile twitched briefly at the corner of David's lips, and he muttered something that sounded like, “Serves him right.”

Julia did not have time to examine that notion because their party had just come around a curve in the path. She could not restrain a gasp and pulled her horse to a halt so she could drink in the scene. Spread out before them was a valley, with brilliant wildflowers turning the grass into a glorious carpet and a stream running through it. Horses grazed on one hillside, sheep and goats on the others. When David had spoken of a camp, she had thought of perhaps half a dozen small tents. This was not a camp. This was a city, a movable city. Along the stream were rows of long black tents—dozens and dozens of them. People moved casually among the tents, and the breeze carried snatches of cheerful conversation.

David, who had seemed comfortable riding beside her only minutes before, had stiffened again. She doubted that he would believe her if she told him there was no need to worry. She didn't believe it herself. He thought his family was on trial here. She knew that she was the one being examined.

They arrived at the largest of the tents, and when they had dismounted, the entrance was drawn apart to allow an older man—the sheik, presumably—to make his appearance. He was an impressive figure, even taller than David, with an enormous black beard barely flecked with gray. He wore a richly embroidered red coat over the long white shirt that all the men wore and the striped kerchief on his head was held in place by multicolored tasseled cords.

Whether he was welcoming or not, she could not tell. He remained impassive while David greeted him and they exchanged formal greetings. Although she could not understand what was said, it was clear that David was introducing them—Lucien before the women, she was amused to note. However, she and Emily curtsied politely and received a penetrating stare followed by a brief nod and a glance at Abdul.