Master of the Desert(27)

'You would allow me to choose that path?'

'Why are you so certain I want to crush you?'

'I don't know, Ra'id. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you led me to understand our child would live with you?'

'I would never agree to a child of mine living apart from me.'

'So you would never agree to live apart from your child, but I must?' Her voice shook as he touched on her Achilles heel.

'You will have full access, naturally.'

'And for that I must be grateful?'

'For that you must obey.'

So there it was, Antonia thought, turning pale. After all the niceties  and tactics were out of the way. Ra'id was a desert king, a warrior; a  man she was only coming to know. 'This is your country where I must live  by your rules and forget that I was ever free?' When he didn't answer,  she added passionately, 'I'm not my mother, Ra'id. I'm not Helena. I'm  not looking to escape, or excuse, and I'm certainly not looking for a  man to keep me. I'm going to stay here and work to make the best use I  can of my inheritance.'

'But that's what I want too. I have a hunting lodge in mind where you can stay until the work here is completed.'                       
       
           



       

'A hunting lodge, hidden away? Is that so different?' She gestured  around and then let her arms drop to her side. She wanted to stay and  work as a team, as they had on the island, not because she wanted to  profit from it in any way but because she loved him and wanted to be  with him.

'I'll leave you to think about it.'

She might have matured and learned from her mother's mistakes, but Ra'id  would never change, Antonia realised as he ducked his head to leave the  pavilion. This was the man she had fallen in love with: a king; an  autocratic ruler; a man who was master of all he surveyed.

But not her master, Antonia determined when Ra'id had been gone for some  time and she'd had time to cool down. Mounting up, she pointed her  kindly gelding in the direction of the fort. She would plough her own  furrow, however long that took.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ANTONIA had looked stricken when he had left her in the pavilion, while  he felt not a moment's guilt. He had tried the softly-softly approach,  and much as he had expected it had got him nowhere. It was time to  return to his default setting of intractable command. What he had  planned for Antonia's future was not only for the best for all of them,  it was the only way they could move forward. She could take it or fight  back, but conflict between them would only mean an unnecessary delay in  her settling-in process.

She had accused him of being incapable of feeling, and maybe once he  would have agreed with her. But his life had changed on the day a young  virago had accosted him with a knife. Since then he felt everything  acutely. Taking care of Antonia was his primary concern, but the luxury  of showing his feelings was the one privilege he did not enjoy.

So maybe he had to lighten up? Allow Antonia to take more risks?

The one thing he was determined on was that Antonia would never take  another risk and would not be put in danger. She might be a formidable  force in the making, but if she was going to fulfil her potential she  had to stay on track-and that was a track only Antonia could find. She  thought he meant to keep her captive, when he knew that only the hand of  life could contain her. Staying in Sinnebar or going back to Rome was  Antonia's choice, though he dearly wanted her to stay. But a royal  child? On that there could be no compromise. His child would be brought  up by him, under his roof and under his protection.

He was leaning against the trunk of a palm-tree, staring out at the  desert, when he saw her mounting up. He couldn't say it surprised him.  Nothing about Antonia surprised him. For the sake of the horse he was  glad she was lightweight. The gelding was moving well at the moment, but  he had bathed its foreleg earlier, having noticed the first signs of  trouble. He doubted she would get far, but he'd ride Tonnerre bareback  and keep an eye on her.

So much for her brave adventure. Her horse went lame and she ended up  leading it back to the pavilion. She could see Ra'id's stallion tethered  nearby, but not Ra'id himself. Maybe he had summoned some super-silent  high-tech helicopter to whisk him back to the capital. So much for his  protective instincts; she'd be better off alone.

She trudged back to the pavilion, having fed and watered her horse,  knowing her options were shrinking. What kind of future awaited her if  she didn't sort this out? Would she be a prisoner like her mother? It  had already begun-the waiting. Ra'id had said he'd be nearby, but he  hadn't even tried to stop her leaving, and now he'd gone.

Entering the silent pavilion, she tugged off her boots. Exhausted by  everything that had happened that day, she just about managed to strip  off her clothes before tumbling into a disillusioned ball on top of the  silken cushions, where she quickly fell asleep.

She was dreaming of riding in front of a mysterious, dark stranger on a  wild, black stallion across mile upon mile of desert when the sound of  rustling skirts shocked her awake. Blinking against the light, she sat  up, and it took her a moment to realise three women were bowing to her.  'Please,' she begged them groggily as she hastily dragged a sheet over  her naked body. She whisked her hand around to mime that no one had to  bow to her.

As the kohl-lined eyes smiled back at her, Antonia recognised the three  Bedouin women she'd met a couple of days before. 'I know you!' she said,  putting two and two together and realising that Ra'id must have left  her to ask them to come and keep her company. 'My riding clothes.' She  pointed to them, and the women nodded with enthusiasm, their ice-blue  robes with the intricate silver crossstitch decoration twinkling in the  strengthening light as Antonia thanked them for lending her such  sensible clothes.                       
       
           



       

Now she was a little embarrassed, and had to carefully manoeuvre herself  off the bed. Wrapping the cover tightly around her, she did her best to  make them welcome. 'Would you like a drink?' she offered, lifting the  jug of juice that had miraculously appeared on a nearby piercedbrass  table.

The women must have brought it while she was asleep, Antonia realised,  along with the dishes of sweetmeats and fruit. 'You're very generous,'  she said, bowing to them as best she could in her sheet ensemble.

The women giggled, as if she was the funniest thing they had ever seen  and, shaking their heads, indicated that first she must follow them.

The bathing pool had been warmed by the fast-strength-ening sun, and  Antonia exclaimed with surprise and pleasure to see the women had  scattered rose petals on the surface of the water. This was real luxury,  she thought, quite excited at having her hair washed and then her scalp  massaged with the most sweet-smelling products. The world should know  about these, Antonia decided when the women explained to her with mimed  actions that they had picked and prepared the herbs and flowers for the  lotions themselves. Maybe that was something else she could do when she  wasn't busy with the baby, the restoration work and the charity.

When they had patted her dry with soft towels, warm hands massaged her  with more fragrant unguents. This should be part of her daily  routine-not that she'd have time, Antonia thought with a rueful smile.  And what was coming next? she wondered when the women slipped a plain,  loose robe over her head.

Taking her by the hands, they ushered her excitedly into the pavilion,  where they sat her down and dried and polished her hair before plaiting  it loosely and decorating it with exotic flowers. More scent was  applied, until Antonia decided she smelled like a garden, and then they  put make-up on her and painted intricate designs on her hands and feet  with henna.

This really was special attention, she thought, starting to wonder about  it-but then they produced another robe for her approval, and she  gasped. The women were pleased to see her delight at this first sight of  a masterpiece of design in sky-blue silk chiffon. The delicate fabric  floated as they showed it to her, and was decorated with tiny seedpearls  and sparkling silver coins that would jingle as she moved. Before she  put it on, the women fastened anklets of jewelled bells above her feet,  and more around her wrists, and then they slipped the whisper of highly  decorated silk-chiffon over her head. She was just revelling in those  silken folds when, with some ceremony, they prepared to veil her.

She felt a real frisson of excitement now, realising this must be the  culmination of the ceremony. They had even brought a full-length mirror  into the pavilion, and placed it in front of her so she could see the  finished effect.

She looked amazing-amazingly different, Antonia realised, seeing sultry  eyes she hardly recognised flashing back at her. But the question  uppermost in her mind was why? Why now? Why were the women doing this  for her? What was this all about? And how could she ask her newfound  friends what was going on, when no one spoke the same language? She  couldn't be so rude as to stop the women when they were having such fun  attending to her-and, truthfully, so was she-but she couldn't deny a  nagging sense of doubt that suggested she was being prepared to take on  the role of His Imperial Majesty's concubine.