THE WARLORD'S DAUGHTER
CHAPTER 5
Melisande lay in bed, covered only with a pale rose-colored silk sheet, morning sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains. Pillows propped her up. She listened for any sound beyond her closed bedroom door that might herald the appearance of her mother in her inner sanctum but detected nothing except the songs of birds perched on her veranda. Though she held a hardcover novel by Danielle Steel, it was not the text on its pages that she read but instead the note concealed among those pages—Henri's response to her message last night. Her finger drifted along the words, his words, as she read.
Your concerns are unnecessary. I understand the issue completely.
That was all. Just two sentences, written in an ambiguous way in case the note were read by anyone besides Melisande. But to her, those sentences carried the importance of the world, to hear directly from him that he knew her loyalty to him, that she was not intimidated by her father's plans. She prayed that she would see him today once the Husseins left after breakfast.
She folded the letter and tucked it back between the pages of the book, then resumed reading. Another few minutes, then she would get up for a shower. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she figured breakfast in the dining room would end soon. Would her father seek her out to berate her for not attending? Did he believe that she was truly feeling unwell, as Lakshmi had reported to her parents first thing that morning?
Just before Melisande got out of bed, she heard a distant knock at the door to her suite. Quickly she set her book aside and pulled the sheet up to her chin.
Lakshmi's voice drifted to her as she answered the door, but she was too distant for Melisande to make out her words or those of the person who had knocked. Not a deep voice, so it was not her father. Hopefully only her mother. She waited. Then came a light knock on her bedroom door.
"You have a visitor, sahiba," came Lakshmi's voice.
Melisande swallowed with dread. "Who is it?"
"Mrs. Hussein."
Melisande stared at the door, surprised and alarmed. "Tell her I'm sorry but I'm not feeling well enough to receive visitors."
A pause as Lakshmi relayed the message. Melisande held her breath, tried to hear the exchange. A moment later, Farah Hussein's voice sounded clearly from inside the suite.
"Tell her I will keep my visit short, but I must speak with her before I leave."
"But, sahiba," Lakshmi said, "she is still in bed. Perhaps if you came back—"
"No, there is no time for that. Please tell her I will wait for her to get dressed, but that is all the time I can spare."
"But—"
"Tell her!" came the sharp command.
A soft knock, then Lakshmi's voice. "Mrs. Hussein insists she must see you, sahiba. May I come in to help you dress?"
Melisande hesitated. She could almost feel Farah's presence just beyond the door, looming over top of the anxious servant. What did the woman want? How rude of her to come here and make demands. Melisande wanted nothing more than for her to go away, but she had a feeling Farah would just force her way past Lakshmi, so finally she called the servant in.
As soon as the girl entered, she closed the door but not before Melisande caught a glimpse of Farah craning her neck to try to see her. Melisande was glad she had remained in bed. Now Farah could not discount her claim of being bedridden. Farah's face showed more than suspicion; it appeared pinched with anger. Anger merely from being delayed in her hurry or from something else?
Melisande drew Lakshmi close as she got out of bed, whispering, "Did she say why she's here?"
"No, sahiba."
Frowning, Melisande told Lakshmi what to fetch from her closet, then took her time in the bathroom, washing her face. Let the shrew wait.
A couple of minutes later, Farah's irritated demand reached through the door. "I don't have much time. May I come in now?"
"Just a moment longer, sahiba," Lakshmi called as she hastily brushed Melisande's hair at the bedroom vanity mirror.
Melisande waved away Lakshmi's finishing touches, not wanting to appear completely together for one claiming to be unwell. She was glad she had not applied any makeup yet today or showered.
Quietly the servant asked, "Should I fetch some tea for your guest?"
"No. She won't be here long. She said so herself."
"Shall I bring her in now?"
Melisande nodded, then moved to sit on the edge of her bed. Lakshmi had smoothed the blanket, but Melisande had told her to stop short of remaking it. She wanted to maintain the look of wanting to go back to sleep.
Lakshmi opened the door, and Farah swept in. She wore a sleek, high-necked midnight blue dress with gold and white designs throughout. What appeared to be tiny diamonds here and there within the designs caught the room's dim light. A sheer, gold-colored wrap—purely decorative—draped from one shoulder. Her heavily embroidered shoes matched the wrap in color. She raised a dismissing eyebrow at Lakshmi, who bowed and left the room. Then she turned to Melisande, her dark eyes betraying a coldness that could almost be felt, though she conjured a deferential smile.
"Forgive me for intruding," she began, though her tone lacked sincerity. "We missed you at breakfast."
Melisande held her gaze without blinking, bowing her head in shallow acknowledgement.
"You look like you are feeling better." A statement that conveyed her disbelief that Melisande ever felt anything but well.
Feeling her rancor rise, Melisande cautioned herself to maintain control. No matter what came out of this conversation, she needed to remain calm and collected, for Henri's sake, if not her own.
"Yes," she replied, "I am feeling a bit better."
Farah gestured to the chair at Melisande's vanity. "May I sit?"
"Of course."
"I must be direct and brief, I'm afraid. My family will be waiting for me downstairs shortly."
"Do they know you've come to see me?" Melisande's tone hinted at her anger, no matter how she tried to mask it.
"That is not important," Farah said with veiled hostility. Perhaps she did not anticipate Melisande being anything but compliant in the presence of an older woman. "What's important is what I have to say."
"By all means, speak freely."
For a brief moment, the two stared a challenge at each other, then Farah continued. "Of course, after dinner last night, I spoke to my son about you, about his opinion of you and your…liberal ideas for your future."
"Liberal?" Melisande smiled indulgently. "Don't you mean modern?"
"Modern to a young person like you, with a head full of dreams, dreams that have no place in our world—yours and mine—but not so modern to those who know better."
"You have no dreams, Mrs. Hussein?" Melisande nearly smirked.
"My dreams are not for myself but for my son, something you will better understand once you have children of your own. And that dream is for him to be married and start a family. Then, in time, he will take over his father's business."
"Your son is a fine young man."
Farah raised a curious eyebrow. "Indeed, he is. Any young woman should be honored to accept his hand in marriage."
"I'm sure she will."
Farah's eyes narrowed. "My husband warned me that you might be against this union. I believe you owe us an explanation as to why."
Her bluntness made Melisande wonder if Jamal had told his mother everything from their conversation after supper last night. And if he had, was it his choice or had it been wrung from him by his parents?
"How can you say I'm against something when it hasn't been offered to me?"
"Don't play the fool; you know what this is all about. Your father, if not your mother, will have made it quite clear to you what he expects of you. And if you refuse to do your duty to your family, the consequences could be dire."
Rankled by the overt threat, Melisande said, "Have you asked your son what he wants? From speaking to him just once, I get the impression his heart lies elsewhere. He isn't interested in me."
"My son will do what's required of him, what his parents ask of him."
"Ask or demand?"
Farah's back straightened, her mouth tightening. "You are an insolent thing, aren't you? Our son honors his parents with obedience. Do you plan to shame your parents with disobedience?"
"I resent that you think you have any say in what happens between myself and my parents."
"Oh, but my husband and your father have everything to say about it. You should stop deluding yourself that you can actually refuse what they are offering you." She paused. "You say my son is a fine young man. Is that a lie? If not, then why won't you marry him?"
"I don't know him."
"Perhaps once you know him better, you will change your mind."
Melisande looked past Farah to the vanity mirror, in which she could see both of them, giving her the unique view of also seeing Farah from both sides at once—her back in the mirror and her front facing her.
"Perhaps," Farah continued, "the reason you are rejecting my son is because you already have a lover."
Every muscle in Melisande's body tensed, but she managed to stare only at herself in the mirror and not back at Farah's face. She hesitated, gathering her thoughts.
"Do you?" Farah pressed, looking somehow smugger.
"Of course not," Melisande said, almost snapping at her. "How dare you insinuate such a thing."
"It was no insinuation, merely the question of a concerned mother. Of course it would do you no good to lie anyway, because a doctor will most certainly examine you prior to any union with my son."
Melisande's cheeks heated with anger and indignation, her hands balling into fists. "I'm going to ask you to leave now. I'm sure your family is eager to depart, and, as I told you, I am not feeling well; I would like to get more rest. I'm sure you understand." Her stare blazed at Farah, jaw tight no matter how hard she tried to hide her rage.
Farah studied her a moment longer, then, with a sniff, she got to her feet. "Very well. But remember this, whatever your motivations should you reject my son, my husband and your father will get what they want in the end. If they don't, it will not be my family that pays the price but yours. Do you really want that on your pretty little head?"
Melisande's chest expanded as she drew in a restraining breath. "Goodbye, Mrs. Hussein."
Farah's smile was small and victorious. "Goodbye, daughter."
Farah's visit left Melisande unsettled, and after changing into more comfortable clothes, she fled to her veranda for some air. From there, she watched the Husseins' car leave the palace, her parents standing just outside the palace doors. Her father spoke briefly to her mother before returning indoors. Maysam lingered for a contemplative moment, then her eyes lifted to Melisande's veranda, as if knowing she would find her there; too far away for Melisande to read her mother's gaze with any accuracy. But once her mother retreated, only a few minutes passed before Lakshmi was opening the veranda door for her.
Melisande had sat in a white wicker chair, wearing a gauzy cover-up over her pale blue lounge pants and camisole.
"You should be dressed when you're out here for the world to see," Maysam gently scolded.
"Let the world look. I'm tired of playing the caged bird."
Maysam frowned and sat in a matching chair next to hers, separated only by a tea table. "I sent Lakshmi to fetch some tea. How are you feeling?"
Melisande only glanced at her before returning her attention to the distant brown hills of the Thar Desert. "You know I'm fine. I just couldn't bear sharing another meal with them."
"Melisande." Maysam waited until she finally met her gaze. "You know I've done all I can to convince your father not to allow anyone to marry you that you don't choose. But this…I can't stop this now. At breakfast, your father pledged your hand to Hussein's son."
Melisande gasped. "No!"
Maysam's voice grew softer as she reached for her daughter's hand. "We must get your marriage to Mr. Ducard dissolved."
"Never!"
Maysam studied her, obviously pained. "You are playing with his life and yours."
"I love Henri. How can you ask me—?"
Her fingers tightened upon Melisande's hand when she tried to withdraw it. "I'm asking because I don't want to see Mr. Ducard dead, and you…"
"What?" she growled. "You think Baba would kill both of us? He may not love me, but I'm too valuable for him to kill me."
"Don't talk nonsense. Of course he loves you; he would never hurt you. But your lover…yes. I shudder to think what he might do to Mr. Ducard. You should feel the same way."
"Then there's only one thing to do, and I've been saying it all along—Henri and I must run away. I never should have listened to you and him and stayed. Now he has to agree. He will see it now."
"That is not the answer, habibati, and you know it. The only answer is to divorce."
"I won't."
"Then I will speak to Mr. Ducard myself and demand it. He wanted me to have time to change your father's mind. Well, it's plain now that no one can do that. You must marry Jamal."
Melisande ripped her hand away and stood. "Henri won't let that happen. He won't divorce me." But even as she said this, she feared now that he might, in order to protect her, if not himself. She needed to convince him that her father would not hunt them down, but how could she?
Maysam also stood and moved next to Melisande. She put a light hand on her daughter's shoulder.
"Marrying Jamal won't work anyway, Mother. Mrs. Hussein will have me examined like a prized goat to make sure my virtue is intact. And then what? So you see, there really is only one solution—leaving."
"If that happens, if the Husseins demand such a thing, I will argue against it; I will tell them it is an insult to our family's honor."
"And what about after the marriage, when Jamal wants his way with me?"
"It can be explained away."
"I don't want to explain anything, not to him or anyone else. I won't be his wife."
A desperate edge came to Maysam's voice. "You must. How will you live with yourself if your father kills Mr. Ducard? And he would do it in front of you, I have no doubt; in a most unpleasant way."
Melisande faltered, swallowed hard, tears springing to her eyes. She fought against them, but a choked sob finally escaped her, and she turned away from her mother.
"I'm sorry, habibati," her mother said. "Truly I am. You know I am. But there is no other way."
With her knees threatening to give way, an idea came to Melisande before she could collapse into a wet ball of grief. She clutched the railing for support, gathered herself, swallowed the tears. Slowly she said, "At least let me be the one to tell Henri."
Her mother hesitated.
Melisande turned back to her, knowing her wet eyes would work at her mother's sympathy. "He could accompany me into the village this morning while I go to the bazaar. If Baba asks, we can tell him I'm feeling better."
Her mother frowned, moved closer to touch her, her hands gently rubbing Melisande's arms. "I should go with you."
"No, I think it would be best if it's just the two of us. We can speak more freely if you aren't there."
Maysam's frown deepened, her own eyes moist from seeing Melisande's tears. "Very well. I'll send Lakshmi to tell him to meet you in the courtyard in an hour. You must eat something first; you will need strength."
"I will." She scowled. "But I don't want to see Baba right now. If I do, I might say something we will both regret."
"Your father is leaving this morning. He will be gone for a couple of days. I'll have the kitchen send something up. You can eat out here if you'd like."
Melisande smiled wanly and wiped at her tears. "Thank you, Mother."
Maysam kissed her forehead. "Take a shower and get dressed first. You will feel better." She paused, studied Melisande, offered a small, sustaining smile, murmured, "It will be all right. Try not to worry too much. I will do my best to put the wedding off as long as possible. In the meantime, I'll find a way to have your marriage dissolved quietly."
A lump of uneasiness settled in Melisande's stomach, but she managed to nod.