Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (19 page)

‘And all of your sisters have that while you don't.' Iain touched her shoulder briefly. ‘Yet you have succeeded on your own terms, Cordelia. Or don't you actually believe what you preach?'

‘I don't preach. Merely, I have to speak louder to be heard above the—do I preach?'

‘Not half as much as I rant on about steam engines.'

‘I suppose that what it comes down to is that I am on tenterhooks all the time, waiting to defend myself,' Cordelia said sadly. ‘That is what is so difficult to bear. Being reunited with Cressie and Caro was one of the happiest days of my life. A huge consolation and an enormous disappointment, for I cannot ever make myself be wholly open with them.'

‘You know best of course, but do you think you were ever really that close, Cordelia?'

‘Yes, we were! Well, we were younger then and there was not— Oh, I don't know. Do you mean that I expect too much of this reunion?'

‘I think you're expecting Celia to plug a big hole that she can't possibly fill. I think maybe you've always been much more alone than you realise. I'm thinking—' Iain broke off. ‘You know what? Maybe it's best that I stop telling you what I think. I'm just a shipbuilder, not a philosopher. Why don't we just wait and see what happens tomorrow?'

‘Tomorrow. I can't quite believe it.' Cordelia felt quite ill at the thought. ‘Iain, will you— Can I ask that you refrain from telling Prince Ramiz the truth about us until I have spoken to Celia? If you can do so without compromising your business deal, that is?'

There was a pause before he answered. ‘That's an awful lot to ask, Cordelia.'

Her heart sank. ‘You're right. I should not have—'

‘The thing is,' he interrupted her, ‘I'm anxious to make the most of all these concubines I'm sure the prince will have waiting for me, and I don't want you to feel your nose is out of joint.'

‘Iain! You are outrageous.' Cordelia chuckled. ‘I cannot imagine my sister tolerating even one concubine, never mind a harem full.'

Iain sighed theatrically. ‘In that case, I'll just have to make do with you.'

‘I am terribly sorry, I know a plain Englishwoman cannot compare with an Arabian houri straight out of the pages of
One Thousand and One Nights.'

‘I very much doubt any woman could compare to you,' Iain said.

The laughter had gone from his voice. Cordelia caught her breath, quite taken aback by this admission. Iain too seemed startled. She sat frozen to the spot, her heart pounding, knowing that she should make some light riposte, unable to think of a single word. When he pulled her into his arms, she told herself that she would resist, but could not.

His kiss was soft, almost tender. He held her face between his hands as if afraid she might break, and tasted her as if she might dissolve. He kissed her slowly, carefully, keeping enough distance between their bodies so that they touched but did not press.

Water lapped at the dhow. A camel bleated. Somewhere on the sea side of the boat, there was a splash. The kiss went on and on and on. And then it stopped, long before it was enough, long after it was too much.

When Iain helped her to her feet, the boat was quiet, the crew sleeping, save for the night watchman, who looked at them impassively as they descended to their bedchambers. The small porthole was already open, covered with netting to keep out the mosquitos. Cordelia undressed and lay naked between the cool sheets, touching her lips, closing her eyes and weeping, a silent steady flow of tears she could not explain that left her emptier than she had ever felt before.

Chapter Ten

T
hey arrived at the port of A'Qadiz in the late morning. The harbour was crowded with people, camels, mules and cargo of every kind. Bales of cloth, terracotta urns, crates, boxes, sacks and parcels were stacked in precarious heaps on the quayside. Chickens cheeped, dogs yapped, donkeys brayed, and above it all the musical ululating of the Arabic language could be heard.

Cordelia watched it all, her eyes wide, so entranced that she completely forgot to take any notes. She must have seen this before, when she had visited Celia just after she was married, but she could not recall. ‘It's absolutely fascinating,' she said to Iain, who was as usual standing by her side. ‘Entrancing. No wonder Celia fell in love here.'

‘Has the romance of the desert caught you in its grasp then?'

‘We are not even in the desert.' Her fingers went automatically to her lips. There was something different about Iain today, though perhaps it was something different about herself. She didn't know what to make of last night, and would much rather not make anything of it at all because no matter how hard she tried, she could not persuade herself it was nothing, which meant it was something, and it felt like an important something, and she already had too many important somethings to think about.

‘I'll see Celia soon,' she said. ‘I confess, the nearer I am to her, the more nervous I am.'

‘You've no need to be.'

‘Iain, did you ever want something so much you thought it was the only thing worth having, and then when it was quite within your grasp, you were afraid it might not be what you wanted after all, and so you thought maybe it would be for the best if you forgot all about it?'

Iain looked at her most strangely. ‘Are we still talking about Celia?'

‘Who else?' she replied, puzzled.

‘Who else, indeed.'

He sounded hurt. No, that wasn't right. Resigned? But that couldn't be right either. Maybe he simply thought she was talking nonsense. ‘You think I'm being silly?' she said.

Iain shook his head. ‘Sometimes all you are, Cordelia, is human. You're making too much of this. Your expectations are set so high you're bound to be disappointed. You know that, for why else would you be scared?'

‘I could be afraid that you were right, when you said Celia could not possibly be all that I want her to be.'

‘I said she couldn't possibly be all you want her to be
to you.
'

‘Yes, you did, and that's what I'm afraid of. So you were right, as you always are. You must be pleased. You will be sorry when you no longer have me to make you feel so superior.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘When our betrothal is over.'

‘Cordelia, I...'

‘What? You wish it was over sooner rather than later?'

Iain shook his head. She was struck once more by how sad he seemed, but when she looked at him again, she thought she must have been mistaken.

‘I wish you didn't think I liked to prove you wrong,' he said. ‘Let's not talk about when our betrothal is over. It's not over yet.'

He put his arm around her and pulled her close, and she allowed herself to lean against him because it was a harmless thing, and it didn't mean she felt protected or needed protection. There would come a time, maybe in as little as a few weeks, when Iain would not be by her side. A time when her life would go on, and his life would go on, but they would take quite separate paths. A time she didn't want to think about right now.

* * *

They were met on the quay by a tall, elegant figure whose white silk robes proclaimed his higher status. He introduced himself in softly accented English as Akil, Sheikh al-Muhanna's trusted man of business. ‘The prince very much regrets that he has been detained,' Akil explained, ‘and begs that you will make use of his hospitality at the Second Palace until he arrives.'

‘What about my sister?' Cordelia asked.

‘The Lady Celia is well, be assured, and she sends you her warmest greetings. It has been arranged that I will escort you to her myself, Lady Cor—Cordelia.' Akil struggled with the name, and made an apologetic little bow. ‘It is three days across the desert to the First Palace in the city of Balyrma. We will travel like the wind as soon as Prince Ramiz arrives in the morning.'

‘But—but what about Iain—Mr Hunter—is he not to come to Balyrma too?'

‘Prince Ramiz is to honour Mr Hunter with his time and most wise counsel here by the sea, where the ships are to be built. After that...'

Akil spread his hands in a gesture Cordelia remembered from her first visit to Arabia. Who knows, the gesture implied, we are in God's hands, or the hands of fate. What it meant was that she had very little time left with Iain. That Iain wouldn't be with her when she met Celia and Cassie. That Iain might even sail back to England without her. Or on to India. He seemed very interested in India. She would be interested in India herself if it were not for Celia.

‘Are the arrangements not to my lady's satisfaction?'

Akil was looking worried. Iain was looking—distant. Cordelia shook her head and smiled brightly. ‘No. They are fine.'

‘Then if you would be so good as to follow me.'

Out of the docks, where Akil's presence made the crowds part, they followed him to a narrow street lined with warehouses emanating the same potent mixture of smells she remembered from the Isle of Dogs.

‘It seems all docks are the same in some ways,' Iain said, tucking her hand into his arm.

Cordelia had on a wide hat. The few women she had seen were veiled, though some only lightly, with the thinnest of gauze, while others were swathed from head to foot in black with slits only for their eyes. She was glad that her gown covered both her arms and her neck. It was not merely Akil's presence, she noticed, which made the people stop and stare, and though a few children came close enough to touch her skirts and to smile, wide-eyed, up at her, it was Iain, in his plain buff clothes, who drew most of the attention. And it was Iain who, with his usual casual authority, was now conversing with Akil, making the man smile and gesture, eyeing him, when Iain's attention was elsewhere, with dawning respect.

She began to feel alone. As if she were fading, already disappearing from Iain's sphere. He had said nothing when it became obvious they were to be separated. Most likely he didn't care. No, that was wrong, for it was to assume that he cared more about her than the business he had paid such a high price to come here to execute. It wasn't that he didn't care, it was that he had more important things on his mind.

They walked, Akil explaining that his prince and Lady Celia preferred to do so themselves whenever possible, for it kept them as one with their people. All around them were signs of growth, from the civic buildings and port authorities to the newly cobbled streets, where cooling fountains doubling as water pumps stood on every corner. The Second Palace was not as grand as the one Cordelia remembered in Balyrma, but it was just as beautiful, the flowing lines of the walls embellished with turrets and minarets, the high arch over the entrance decorated with a falcon and a new moon made of tiny mosaic tiles.

‘Your sister really does live like a princess,' Iain said, looking around at the tiled courtyard they entered, with its central fountain and vista through a columned gallery of at least three other such courtyards.

‘Lady Celia is much respected and admired here,' Akil said. ‘There have been many changes since our prince took her as his only wife.'

‘Only?'

‘The tradition of taking more than one woman is dying out, though some of our Bedouin tribes still practise it. I myself am a man of the nineteenth century, and like our prince have only one woman to warm my bed.' Akil permitted himself a small smile. ‘Like our prince, I too am most happy with my choice. The blessing of a true companion in life is indeed one of the greatest. Without my Yasmina, I would be a lesser man. You see how I am not ashamed to say so? That is one of the teachings which the Lady Celia has given. I must congratulate you, Mr Hunter, on your choice of wife. A sister of Lady Celia can be nothing other than a great asset to a man.'

Akil beamed, entirely unaware that this surprising speech had had quite the opposite of its intended effect on Lady Celia's sister. Cordelia smiled back woodenly, feeling like a complete fraud and a complete failure.

‘If you will excuse me, I will investigate the arrangements which have been made for you.'

‘What's wrong?' Iain asked, as they stood alone in the courtyard.

What's right?
Cordelia would have liked to reply, but it was a little dramatic. ‘Celia is revered here. You heard Akil. Not only does she have the heart of one of the most powerful men in Arabia, she seems to have his people eating out of her hand. While I have been priding myself on my stupid guidebooks, she has been changing lives.'

‘With the help of one of the most powerful men in Arabia.'

‘Who no doubt worships the ground she walks on and would travel to the ends of the earth just to procure her a—a thistle, if she wanted it.'

Iain laughed. ‘I could have brought one with me. We have them in abundance in Scotland.'

‘I know.' Cordelia managed a weak smile.

‘If Celia is anything like you, then one of the things she'll have wanted more than anything is to see her sister. Prince Ramiz has not arranged that for her.'

‘No, you have, and I am being an ungrateful wretch.'

‘You're nervous, and you're tired, and you're being irrational, but you've no cause to say you're ungrateful, for your being here has as much to do with you as me. We did this together, Cordelia.'

She nodded.

‘And you're not a wretch. You're my ain wee darling.'

‘Not for much longer. I am to go to Balyrma alone.'

‘Aye.' Iain stretched his hand out, spreading his fingers under the cooling water which rushed from the horn of the marble unicorn which cavorted in the middle of the fountain. ‘It's probably for the best.'

Because she had served her purpose. Because he found her too distracting. Because Celia was not his problem but hers. Because she was not really, and never had been, his
ain wee darling.
She would never be anyone's ain wee darling. She didn't want to be anyone's ain wee darling!

Iain turned back towards her. ‘Because the sooner you deal with it the better,' he said. ‘Don't get me wrong, I would dearly like to be with you, but I know you don't need my support, and I don't want to compromise things.'

‘Compromise?'

‘Cordelia, you need to be honest with her. You need to try very hard to be your own true self. If I come with you, with things as they are between us at the moment, it wouldn't be right.'

‘You mean I'd have to lie about us?'

‘I'm tired of lying, aren't you?'

He was looking at her so strangely again, and she couldn't understand it. As if he was trying to tell her something without saying it. Something important. But she couldn't read his mind the way he could hers.

The return of Akil accompanied by a small, round beaming man whose bright-red tunic stretched tight over his belly, saved her from having to answer. ‘Mr Hunter, if it pleases you, I have some preliminary business to discuss,' Akil said, stepping aside.

Iain made a noise that might have been irritation, quickly disguised. He cast a frustrated look at Cordelia then turned to Akil. ‘I am all yours,' he said.

As she followed the berrylike man alone to the first of the inner courtyards, Cordelia wondered, sickeningly, if this was the last she would see of Iain.

* * *

Akil had left him alone at the proposed site for the new dockyards. Despite the fact that building a yard from scratch was one of his life's ambitions, Iain was finding it difficult to concentrate. Work had always been a panacea for him before. Work had seen him through Jeannie's death, and that of the man he called father. Work was what defined him. He had worked his way up from apprentice to shipwright to shipowner to dockyard owner. If things went well for him here in Arabia, he would be the joint proprietor of the first dockyard to build steamships on the Red Sea. The markets it would open were beyond his wildest dreams. He was rich and would be much richer. He owed nothing to anybody and wanted for nothing either. So why wasn't he happy?

He hadn't slept last night, but he had grown accustomed to insomnia on this long and protracted journey. He was used to being kept awake by his body's aching for Cordelia. He was accustomed to doing just as he'd told her he did to counteract it, mentally stripping back engines, counting rivets. Last night had been different. Today was—worse.

He gazed unseeing at the few tentative plans he had drawn in his notebook, then slumped down on an upturned terracotta urn, and resorted to gazing blankly out at the Red Sea. Something that might be a frog was croaking, a mournful sound like a door creaking open, and shut, open and shut. Last night he'd wanted to go on kissing Cordelia forever. He'd wanted to fold her up inside him and keep her safe. He'd wanted to make her his. Only his. Always his.

The frog stopped croaking at about the same time Iain thought his heart had stopped beating. He'd seen what love did to his father. The man he called father. The man who had been married to his mother, poor sod. There had been times, when Iain was wee, before Jeannie arrived, when they'd been happy, his mother and her man. He knew they'd been happy, because his mother smiled a lot, and his father—that man—whoever the hell he was or was not—would smile too, a big, beaming, proud smile. In those times, Iain was like an outcast in his own home, for they wanted only their own company. It never lasted long. His mother had no patience for love of any kind. His father—what the hell, he might as well call him father, for that was the role the man had taken on, even if he was not his flesh and blood—his father had too much patience.