Lucy Gordon - The Sheikh’s Reward

‘Don’t call me that,’ she cried, her eyes stinging with tears. She turned away so that he shouldn’t see.

‘It is how I shall always think of you, what I shall always call you in my heart. My Scheherazade, who set all my power at nothing, and outwitted me in the end. You have defeated me. Go in peace. Remember me kindly if you can. Forget me if you will. You, I shall never forget.’

She drew a deep shuddering breath at a strange note she heard in his voice, something that had never been there before. She forced herself to turn and face him.

But there was nobody there, only the curtains waving gently in the breeze.

On the flight home to Kamar, the prince sat in heavy silence, and nobody dared to approach him. When they landed he got into the back of the car without speaking, and was conveyed quickly to the palace.

‘You did right, my son,’ Elise said when she heard the whole story. ‘Doubtless this is the best thing for her.’

‘Will she be happy, Mother?’

‘How can I tell? Was she happy with you?’

‘I thought so-sometimes. But I was deluding myself. I saw what I wanted to see. I thought because I wanted her she must want me. I am wiser now.’

He spoke with a calm simplicity that might have fooled a casual onlooker. But Elise was not fooled. She saw the wretchedness in his eyes, heard the despair in his voice, and knew that this was a man whose life had ended.

‘I am feeling a little tired,’ she said with a sigh.

Instantly he was beside her. ‘Have you seen the doctor?’

‘Goodness, no. I’m not ill, merely tired.’

‘You must take care of yourself, Mother.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘You are all I have now.’

‘And it’s time that was changed. You have gone too long without an heir, and we should be thinking of your marriage.’

He started back. ‘How can you-when you know-?’

‘I spoke of marriage, not of love. Your heart concerns only yourself. Your marriage concerns your country.’

‘You are right. Select a bride for me, and present her to me on our wedding day. Since I can’t marry the one my heart chooses, what does it matter who it is?’

He dropped on one knee beside her chair. ‘Pity the woman who marries me, Mother. She will get a wretched bargain-a hollow man with no heart to give.’

‘Time may change your feelings,’ she said, stroking his face.

But Ali shook his head. ‘Time will not change me. But I shall try to do my duty.’

‘Well, do another duty for your mother. Take me to Wadi Sita. It’s a while since I was there, and I should like to remember the old days, when you were a little boy, and we went there with your father.’

‘I remember those days too. They were very happy. Life was simpler then. When do you wish to go?’

‘Tomorrow, I think.’

Next day they boarded the helicopter and set out for Wadi Sita, landing in the darkness of early evening. Elise went to her tent and Ali joined her for supper an hour later. She had personally overseen the arrangements, and everything was laid out to please him. All his favourite foods were offered, and he smiled and thanked her. Yet the servants who moved silently in and out noticed that His Highness was abstracted, and ate without knowing.

A young man appeared, bearing a lyre. He bowed low, sat cross-legged on the carpet and began to sing.

‘My heart rides with the wild wind…’

Ali tensed as he heard the bittersweet notes of the song that he’d once listened to with his beloved. But then he realised that Elise could not have known that, and it would be an insult to her to silence the singer. He sat with his head bent, trying not to hear the words that brought back so many tormenting memories.

‘My steed is fast,

My love rides by my side.’

She had ridden by his side in reality, as she still rode through his dreams, her hair tossed by the breeze, her eyes alight with something he had once dreamed was love.

But then she had ridden away from him, into the arms of a dullard. She had failed in courage at the last, but for that Ali blamed himself. It was he, with his selfishness, who had frightened her away. Everything might have been different, if only he had been different. That was the greatest pain of all.

The singer had reached the climax of the song. He had a powerful yet poignant voice, and he made it full of emotion.

‘The wind is eternal,

The sand is eternal.

Our love is eternal.

She is gone from me,

But in my heart,

We shall ride

In the moonlight,

For ever .’

Ali bent his head so that nobody might see his suffering. He had forced himself to make the sacrifice, but he had not yet taught himself to endure the thought of life without the one woman who gave life meaning.

As the song ended he muttered, ‘Forgive me,’ to his mother, and strode out of the tent as if pursued by furies.

His feet seemed to find their own way to the place where they had stood together beneath the palm tress, looking out over the desert. As ill luck would have it there was a full moon tonight, as brilliant and beautiful as before. But now she was gone, and he saw only the moon’s coldness.

After a moment Elise came to stand beside him.

‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ he said. ‘It was a mistake for me to come here, where she was.’

‘Perhaps you were wrong to give her up so easily,’ Elise suggested. ‘You could still return to England, overwhelm her.’

He shook his head. ‘No, that isn’t the way.’

‘Do you doubt your ability to make her say yes?’

‘I doubt my will to do so. I could never again want to make her do anything. She must come to me willingly, or not at all. And now that can never be.’

He didn’t see his mother’s smile of satisfaction. She said, ‘Then what will you do now?’

‘Live as befits the man who loves her, and who has learned from her. It will not have been in vain. She taught me things that will always be part of me, and others will benefit.’

‘Good, my son. That is how it should be. Let us now retire to bed. In your tent you will find a gift from me.’

‘A gift?’ He smiled. ‘Your gifts were always the best. You thought of things that nobody else would think of. What is it?’

‘Go and see. But remember, it is a very special gift.’

Frowning and puzzled, Ali turned and strode off to his tent. He went straight in, too preoccupied to notice that two white doves had come to rest immediately over the entrance.

The light was dim, only one small lamp burned, and at first he was unsure where to look. But then he discerned the tall, elegant figure of a woman, and his heart sank. How could his mother have done this? Did she think him so fickle that he could forget the love of his life in the arms of a stranger?

The young woman turned at his entrance and inclined her head gracefully towards him. She was heavily veiled. Ali stopped a few feet away from her.

‘My lord,’ she murmured.

He was too troubled in his mind to wonder that she spoke in English, but he automatically replied in the same language.

‘Did my mother send you here?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ the figure murmured.

‘That was kind of her,’ he said with difficulty, ‘but she did not understand. It is not my wish-’ He stopped. ‘That is-’ He pulled himself together. ‘You are kind and gracious, and I am sure you are very beautiful. Some man will be fortunate, but it cannot be me.’

The figure bent her head and raised her hands to cover her face.

‘I beg you not to distress yourself,’ Ali said gently. ‘I must refuse this, because it would be a betrayal of the woman I love. That is something I can never do. Even on my wedding day, I shall not betray her in my heart. She’ll never know that, nor will she care. But it will remain true, all my life.’