Why was the woman being so stubborn? It seriously perplexed him. There was an old saying: patience is beautiful … Right now he was far too frustrated and furious to contemplate the wisdom it was no doubt meant to impart. What would entice her to become his mistress, to realise it would give her far greater access to his body and his time than any plain, unimaginative eighteen-year-old wife, who would rather giggle with her girlfriends and feed her face than learn how to pleasure a man?
When Zahir glanced round to see a palace bodyguard following him on another steed, he let loose an oath. Giving the horse his head, he stirred him into a brisk canter. Then, when they were out in more open country, into a full heart-pounding gallop.
‘Turn around.’ Farida’s look of quiet concentration was endearing as she watched Gina model the black hijab and dress that she’d loaned her, so that she could accompany herself and a male servant to the market.
After that emotional scene with Zahir in his study earlier, the unexpected trip Farida had suggested was the perfect antidote to the melancholic feelings that kept washing over her. It hurt deeply that she was apparently good enough to be Zahir’s mistress but not his wife. Yet, underlying the sensation of despondency, she held on to the fact that he had at least declared he cared for her. Maybe that knowledge would give Gina something to work with? Thinking of the personal search she had started in the library, she yearned to get back there soon.
‘From behind you will look just like any other young woman visiting the marketplace. It is only when people see your fair skin and sapphire-blue eyes they will know you are not a native from Kabuyadir.’
‘I rather like the anonymity these clothes give you,’ Gina remarked thoughtfully, running her hand down over the smooth black silk. ‘Back at home women are bombarded daily by the media with what we should look like, what size we should be and what clothes we should wear—usually revealing ones. It’s a refreshing change not to worry about that for once.’
‘Well, I am glad they make you feel more at ease. We will have a good visit … You will enjoy it and so will I. This will be my first outing for a long time. Now, if there is anything you want at the marketplace—for instance souvenirs or a length of silk or brocade to make a dress—let my servant barter for you. That is how it is done here, and it will ensure you get a good price.’
The marketplace was a sensation overload. Turning her head this way and that, Gina endeavoured to absorb as much of the sights and sounds as possible. When she was back in the UK, doing her weekly shop at the supermarket or visiting some soulless shopping mall for some so-called ‘retail therapy,’ buying clothes she didn’t really want that would disappear amongst similar impulse buys in her wardrobe, she would certainly long for Kabuyadir and all the fascinating goods that made the market so much more exotic and appealing—so much more authentic, somehow.
Staying close by her side, Farida was the best guide she could have had. As well as pointing out various stalls that might be of interest—whether their vendors were selling colourful silks, yarns and brocades, handmade rugs or the beautifully crafted ceramics that so many visitors made a beeline for—she often added humorous little anecdotes that made Gina smile.
After about an hour of negotiating their way through the melee of people, with their colourful clothes and many languages littering the sultry air, Farida thankfully suggested they take a break for some refreshments. Coming upon a group of chairs and tables beneath a tall date palm tree, she despatched her servant Hafiz to the stallholder who was serving drinks and sweetmeats.
‘Is there anything you have seen that you like enough to take home?’ her companion asked as they sat together with their backs to the refreshment stall.
‘I noticed a vendor selling essential oils … I’d definitely be interested in taking some agarwood oil home—the scent is divine. It will always remind me of Kabuyadir.’ And Zahir, she thought with a bittersweet tug.
‘We will visit his stall after our refreshments—but I will only allow you to purchase the oil if I know it is of the highest grade.’
‘Thanks. You’ve been very good to me, Farida … I just want you to know how much I appreciate it.’
‘‘Nonsense! You have been like a breath of fresh air to me, Gina, and I thank you for agreeing to spend time with a dull and sombre woman like me.’
‘You are not dull or sombre … you mustn’t put yourself down like that. I wish I had as good and bright and engaging a friend as you at home. When I eventually return there you’ll always be welcome to visit and stay with me at any time.’
‘That pleases me very much—but do not talk about leaving Kabuyadir yet, I beg you!’
‘I’m not in a hurry to leave at all, as I’m sure you—’ Gina didn’t finish the sentence. An arm that felt like iron had grabbed her round the neck from behind, and the smell of stale masculine sweat enveloped her.
A strangled yelp left her throat as she was dragged violently from her chair, even as Farida screamed for Hafiz. Her hands fastened on the coffee-coloured forearm of the man she now realised with sickening shock was trying to abduct her, and pure adrenaline-fuelled reaction—and not a little indignant fury—made her sink her teeth into the smooth hard flesh and bite him hard. Immediately he let her go, cursing loudly. By then Hafiz was on the scene, along with a crowd of shrieking, excitable onlookers, and the well-built servant and another man grappled the assailant to the ground and held him fast.
‘Gina! Are you all right?’
Farida was as stunned and shaken as she was. Even though her answer was an affirmative nod, Gina sensed the violent aftershocks of her assault roll through her, and she couldn’t stop shaking. It was hard to believe that such an out-of-the-blue frightening occurrence had happened here in broad daylight, in a busy marketplace.
‘I’m okay … I think. But I—I do need to sit down.’
A chair was quickly positioned behind her, and someone pushed through the crowd to put a bottle of water into her hand with the halting instruction. ‘Please do drink.’
Instantly Farida took the bottle, opened it, and sniffed the contents. ‘It’s okay. You can drink it—it will help.’ She returned it to Gina.
With Farida’s encouragement she downed the water in one, and the dryness in her mouth, as well as her shock, eased a little.
Someone had yelled for the security forces, and as if by magic officers peeled out of nowhere into the crowded market, swarming round the man who had dragged Gina from her chair. The assailant was young, but she blanched when she saw the seriously lethal-looking sharp-bladed knife that was retrieved from beneath his long robes.
‘Who is he?’ Her voice was decidedly shaky as she met Farida’s concerned brown eyes. ‘Why would he do this?’
‘I don’t know, my friend. But you can be sure of one thing … my brother will find out who he is and who put him up to this before you can blink an eyelid!’
Hafiz returned. Bowing courteously to both women, he turned his worried gaze specifically on Gina. Clearly frustrated at not being able to converse with her in English, he turned back to Farida, addressing the Sheikh’s sister rapidly and urgently in their own language.
She sighed and said, ‘Hafiz is distraught that he did not protect you better, Gina. I have told him it was not his fault. None of us was remotely aware of any danger as we made our way through the market.’
‘You’re not to blame, Hafiz. There’s no need for an apology, really.’
‘It is I who is to blame,’ Farida insisted. ‘My brother will go crazy when he learns that I took you to the market without taking a bodyguard with us. I can’t have been thinking clearly. In the light of what happened to Zahir I should have realised that it might not be completely safe. But, Gina, you were so brave—biting the attacker like that.