Hot Arabian Nights. Marguerite Kaye
a fallen angel on the tiles beside the pool, her feet in the water, her hair streaming out behind her.
His heart in his mouth, Azhar dashed out into the storm, calling her name. So convinced was he that she had been hit by the lightning, when she sat up Azhar thought he was hallucinating.
‘Julia?’
She smiled at him dreamily. ‘Isn’t it fantastic?’
‘It’s dangerous to be out here in a storm. Come in.’
Her clothes clung to her body. Her hair hung in long ropes down her back. Her feet were bare. ‘I love it,’ she said, making no move.
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. The rain stopped with a suddenness that made the silence seem to ring. Above them, the clouds began to part, and the sun shone weakly through. Julia stared up at the sky looking acutely disappointed. ‘It’s finished.’
‘When I saw you lying there on the ground, for a horrible moment I thought you were dead, struck by lightning.’
‘I was imagining being on the beach at Marazion Bay.’
‘Then you must have a very vivid imagination, because you look as if you have been swimming in the sea there. This bay, it is in Cornwall?’
‘Marazion Bay. Near my father’s home. I learned to swim in the surf there, and to sail.’ Julia’s eyes lit up. ‘It is almost a perfect crescent of sand, set into the cliffs. The path down is almost as steep as a staircase. In the winter, the sea is treacherous, the waves can be thirty feet high. The noise they make as they crash on to the sand is like a lion’s roar, and even when you’re sitting high above the tide line, the spray can drench you.’
‘You are drenched now. Come inside,’ Azhar said, leading her back into the sitting room and closing the latch on the window.
* * *
‘Aisha told me you had a visit from an old friend today,’ Julia said a few moments later, having changed her tunic for a flowing robe of soft lemon muslin sprigged with pale blue flowers.
‘Kadar. Prince Kadar of Murimon, as he is now. The kingdom of Murimon is on the coast, some distance from here.’
‘Was he here on official state business? You must have been delighted to see him after all this time.’
‘Kadar was merely passing through. Yes, it was good to see him. You also have good reason to be glad he came to Qaryma.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘He brought you a present.’ Azhar handed her a small package.
‘A present? But I’ve never even met him.’
‘Open it.’
Julia did as he bid her, staring incredulously at the timepiece. ‘It is Daniel’s watch. How on earth did your friend come by it?’
‘It was recovered from rogue traders at the port in Murimon. He asked me to pass on his apologies, and his regrets that urgent business prevented him from making your acquaintance.’
‘But how did he know it was mine, or that I was here?’
‘When we first arrived at Qaryma I sent out word of the crime which had been committed against you. I know the markets, I know the places where such thieves operate, but I confess, I held out little hope of recovering any of your possessions. It is not your trunk containing your precious notebooks and sketches unfortunately, but I remember you said this watch held great sentimental value for you.’
‘It does.’ Julia pressed it open and read the inscription. ‘It is so—symbolic of Daniel,’ she said softly. ‘Practical and reliable.’ She blinked, for she was close to tears. ‘I’m sorry, it is not like me to be at a loss for words. I hadn’t realised how much I’ve missed it. Thank you, Azhar. What a considerate gesture.’
‘It was nothing.’
‘No,’ she said fiercely, ‘it is not nothing. It matters a great deal to me that you thought of this, of me, when you had so much else to deal with—I am—I don’t know what to say.’
Azhar kissed her forehead. ‘You have said enough. My reward is seeing your delight at being reunited with it.’
Julia sank on to the divan, flicking open the case once more and studying the fascia. The mechanism vibrated slightly in her hand. ‘Daniel is buried in the family plot beside his father, but his mother is still alive. I wonder if I should return this to her when I am back in Cornwall.’ She gazed, mesmerised by the second hand as it relentlessly counted down the time she had left here in Qaryma, second by inexorable second. She wished it would go slower. Absurd thought. Snapping the case shut, she set it down on the table beside her painting materials. ‘Only one more week after the end of this one, and I shall be setting out on that journey,’ she said.
She had meant it as a warning to herself. Her voice wobbled. Azhar flinched. ‘Your task will definitely be completed by then?’ he asked.
How she longed to lie. ‘Yes,’ Julia said. ‘I will even have time to do some paintings of the secret garden in the Fourth Court.’
‘I wish...’ Azhar picked up Daniel’s watch and opened it, staring at the second hand mesmerised, just as she had done. Setting it down, he cleared his throat. ‘If you had time to spare, I would very much like a painting of your bay in Cornwall. It would be good to imagine you there. Looking at it would make you seem not so far away, somehow. Does that make sense?’
‘Perfect sense, I shall make time,’ Julia whispered. Azhar took her hands between his, rested his forehead against hers. A tear escaped from her eye, trickling down her cheek, and was swiftly followed by another, which splashed on to his hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Don’t be. Don’t cry, Julia. Please don’t cry.’
‘I am not crying,’ she said, but another tear fell, and then another. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Julia.’ He caught her in his arms, pressing her tight against his chest, stroking her hair. ‘Julia, don’t be sad.’
She hugged him tightly, breathing in the warm male scent of him, relishing the familiar hard strength of him. ‘I’m going to miss you so much, Azhar.’
He did not reply, but her yearning was reflected in his eyes as he picked her up and carried her into her bedchamber. Their kisses was all-consuming, urgent, kisses fuelled by hunger, a primal craving to amass as many kisses as they could before the time arrived when there could be no more. They made love with the same passionate abandonment, pressing themselves together, clinging together, skin on skin, as if trying to meld themselves together, become one entity, crying out together, then lying together, sated, slick with sweat, their hearts hammering, mindless at last.
* * *
Azhar sat on the throne in the Audience Chamber of the Royal Kiosk awaiting the arrival of the Chief Overseer of the diamond mines. He had made the decision to summon the man last night, after leaving Julia’s chamber. The watch—that fateful watch—ticking away the hours and minutes relentlessly, had compelled him to take the action which he had known in his heart for some days was inevitable.
This summons would, he knew, set in motion an inexorable chain of events which would bind him to Qaryma for ever. He could not bear to think about it. If he thought about it he would hesitate, and he had hesitated too long already. Honour forced his hand. He would pay a heavy personal price for his sense of honour.
A sharp rap on the door of the kiosk heralded the beginnings of proceedings. It did not take long. In the face of the compelling evidence which Azhar cited, the Chief Overseer prostrated himself at his Prince’s feet, sobbing and begging incoherently for mercy.
Azhar ordered the guard to take him to the Cage, noting with satisfaction the surprise on the guard’s face and the horror on his prisoner’s. The name, he well knew, conjured up dark dungeons, perhaps even a torture chamber. In fact,