Lord of the Desert

“Actually,” Eb said slowly, choosing his words, “Marc said he was calling for you when they took him to the hospital.”

Her heart jumped. That was a first. She couldn’t remember a time in their lives when Cord had needed her. He had wanted her, but only once, and he hadn’t even been sober…

“I phoned Cord as soon as Marc said he’d taken him home. Cord told me he didn’t think you’d want to look after him, but that I could call you if I wanted to,” Eb added dryly. “So I’m calling you.”

“What incredible timing,” Maggie said, her nerves raw. “I’m on my way to a new job and I have a week’s vacation left…” She glanced at Gretchen, who was eavesdropping unashamedly, and grimaced. “I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I’ll fly out this afternoon if I can get a flight to Brussels and then a nonstop flight home.”

“I knew you would,” Eb said gently. “I’ll let Cord know.”

“Thanks, Eb,” she said sincerely.

“My pleasure. Have a safe trip. And Marc said to tell Gretchen to be careful about going anywhere alone while she’s over there.”

“I’ll tell her. Cord…the blindness…is it going to be permanent?” she asked.

“They aren’t sure yet.”

She thanked him and hung up. “Cord’s been hurt,” she said without preamble, “and I have to go home, today. I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch…”

Knowing how Maggie felt about Cord, Gretchen would have allowed herself to be carried off by bandits rather than express any fear at being alone in a foreign country. “Don’t you worry about me. I can take care of myself,” Gretchen said with more confidence than she felt after Maggie explained what was going on. “But what about your job, Maggie?”

Maggie stared at her friend and her mind went into overdrive. A plan was forming…

“You can do it.”

Gretchen gaped at her. “What?”

“You can go to Qawi and take the job. Just listen,” she said when Gretchen started to protest. “It’s exactly what you need. You’ll vegetate in that little law office in Jacobsville. You’ve already given up most of your life to nurse your mother. It’s time you got a look at the real world. It’s the chance of a lifetime!”

“But I’m a paralegal,” Gretchen groaned. “I don’t know how to organize parties and write press releases. And the sheikh is expecting a widow with dark hair…!”

“Tell him you’ve dyed it, and don’t mention that you’re a widow,” Maggie said, dragging out her suitcase and heading for the closet where her clothes were hung. “You can use my ticket and I’ll give you all my spare cash.”

“This is a very bad idea…”

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Maggie countered. “You’ll have the time of your life. You may even find an eligible bachelor.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea,” Gretchen mused whimsically. “I can be wife number four wrapped up from head to toe in somebody’s harem!”

Maggie shot her a dry look. “You’ve got a lot to learn about Muslim women. They live by values we used to, and they have their own power. They have the vote in Qawi and several other countries, and their own independent finances. But there are plenty of Christian women and men in Qawi. Rumor has it that not only are the majority of the people Christian, but that the sheikh himself is one. His parentage is mixed.”

“As I recall, there was a rumor about the sheikh’s perverse sexual appetite,” Gretchen reminded her friend. “You told me yourself.”

“That was cleared up on the INN interview,” her friend said absently. “Senator Holden said that the sheikh himself had started those rumors to get Pierce Hutton’s wife to safety before her stepfather could harm her. They say he never got over Brianne Hutton.” She started pulling clothes off hangers. “Mrs. Hutton isn’t really pretty at all, but she has a beautiful smile and she wears clothes with a real flair. Maybe the sheikh was attracted because she’s so blond.”

“I suppose he’s very dark, isn’t he?” Gretchen asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him, and there aren’t many photos of him floating about. Even at his investiture, he was wearing a ceremonial bisht over his robes, along with a headcloth and an igal, and he managed to keep his face partially hidden from the international press.” Maggie finished packing, her mind still on Cord even as she organized her papers and her purse.

“Maybe he’s got warts,” Gretchen said wickedly.

Maggie wasn’t paying attention. She looked around the room. “If I’ve forgotten anything, send it back to me, will you? Here.” She handed Gretchen a handful of Moroccan paper money and some coins. “I can’t take this out of the country, anyway, and I won’t have time to change it. You spend the next week here and then fly on to Qawi. By the time the sheikh finds out you aren’t me—if he ever does—you’ll be so comfortably situated that he’ll probably keep you on anyway.”

“Optimist.” Gretchen hugged her friend.

Smiling, Maggie picked up the phone and spoke briefly and urgently to the kind man at the desk. “Thanks,” she said after a minute. “I’ll be right down.” She went to get her things together, and spoke to Gretchen over her shoulder. “He’s getting me a ticket. The car will be waiting downstairs. Mustapha’s taking me to the airport. Remember, don’t go out of the hotel grounds alone. Promise me.”

“I promise. Maggie, you be careful, too. I hope Cord’s okay.”

“Without his sight?” Maggie asked sadly. “All I can do is what he’ll let me do, and it won’t be easy. But maybe I can help him adjust. At least he needs me. That’s never really happened before.”

“Miracles happen when you least expect them,” Gretchen said comfortingly.

“I hope so. Cord could use one. Write to me!” she called as she grabbed up her hastily packed bag and went out the door.

“Of course.”

There was such a hollow silence in the room after Maggie’s departure that Gretchen could hardly bear it. There were television programs, but only on a handful of channels, and most of them were in Arabic or French. Only the news channel was in English. The room was a good size, but it was claustrophobic under the circumstances. Gretchen had to stretch her legs. She decided to go and play in the swimming pool. She might as well get a little sun while she could.

The afternoon was lonely, although she met other tourists and began to recognize them on sight. But she sat at a table by herself during the afternoon and evening meals and went up to her room early. She imagined that Maggie would be on her way back to Brussels by now to catch her flight home. She’d be alone, too.

She thought about their missed day trip and thought that perhaps the next morning she could get Mustapha to take her on the tour of the Grotto of Hercules that she and Maggie had planned for today. Then, she could go to the coastal city of Asilah the following day. It would be something to look forward to.

She slept restlessly, but felt oddly refreshed when she awoke the following morning. She put on a sleeveless yellow-and-white patterned long dress with a white knit jacket over it and left her hair long around her shoulders as she went to the concierge to see if he could help her find Mustapha.

In her haste, she ran almost headlong into a very distinguished-looking man in a gray designer silk suit. He caught her shoulders to steady her when she lost her footing and his twinkling black eyes searched her face amusedly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “I mean, excusez-moi, monsieur,” she corrected, because he looked French. Sort of. He was elegant and he might have been handsome, except for the deep scars down one lean, clean-shaven cheek. His straight hair was as black as his eyes, and he had a grace of carriage that was rare in a man so tall. He was darker than most American men, but not radically so, and lighter than some of the Arabs and Berbers she’d seen here. He was very tall. Gretchen only came up to his chin.

“Il n’ya pas de quois, mademoiselle,” he replied suavely, in a deep voice, as soft as velvet. “I am undamaged.”

She grinned at him, liking the way his eyes sparked. “I’ll watch where I’m going next time.”

“You are staying here?” he asked with a polite smile.

She nodded. “For a few days. I’m on my way to a new job in Qawi, but I wanted a vacation first. It’s beautiful here.”

“A new job in Qawi?” he prompted with unusual interest.

“Yes. I’m going to work for the sheikh,” she said confidingly. “Public relations,” she added. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

He was quiet for a space of seconds and his quick, intelligent eyes narrowed. “Do you know this part of the world well?”

“It’s my first time out of the United States, I’m afraid,” she said. She smiled again. “I feel so stupid. Everybody around here speaks at least four languages. I only speak my own and a little Spanish.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Amazing,” he murmured.

“What is?”