THE WARLORD'S DAUGHTER
CHAPTER 8
Melisande could barely touch her evening meal when she returned to the palace from talking to Diya. Though she tried to be attentive to her parents' conversation lest her intuitive mother pick up on her distraction, it was a chore to do so. All she could think of was Diya Panjabi having Henri's baby.
"Have you begun to plan for the wedding?"
Her father's question was directed at Maysam, but it startled Melisande and brought her head up from her plate of food. The word wedding still made no sense to her when all she could think of was Henri. Hearing it now chilled her blood even more than Diya's revelation and heightened her anxiety.
"Just a couple of preliminary things," Maysam replied with no enthusiasm and a glance at Melisande. "I'm hoping our daughter will manage to spare some time tomorrow so we can discuss things in more detail."
Siddig raised a rebuking eyebrow at Melisande. "She spends far too much time with her nose in books. Always wandering off to the guesthouse to avoid paying attention to her young cousins." He paused from cutting his steak to point his fork at his daughter. "Family is more important than romance novels, daughter."
"They aren't romance novels," Melisande protested. "Well, most of them aren't. But how can you blame me? Everyone needs an escape from life; even you, Baba."
"The only way to deal with life is to live it," he said. "Now that you are to be married, I expect you to behave in a more mature manner."
"Reading isn't frivolous. I learn so much from it."
"None of which will make you a good wife," he grumbled. "Western books filling your head with Western nonsense." When Melisande started to say more, he ordered, "Do not argue with me on this, daughter." His tone left no room for debate.
Melisande scowled and picked at the food on her plate.
"Aren't you feeling well?" Maysam asked her. "Chef made your favorite dish."
"To celebrate your engagement," Siddig added. "The least you can do is show your appreciation by eating it instead of pushing it around on your plate like a toy."
"I'm fine, mother. It's just been a long day. I'm tired."
Maysam frowned sympathetically.
"I think I'll go to bed early tonight," Melisande added, hoping this would discourage her mother from seeking her out later. How many more lies would she be required to tell, she wondered, thinking of Diya and her plans for the village girl, plans she had not completely formulated. Had she been impetuous in telling Diya to expect a car to take her to her aunt tomorrow?
Lying in her bed that night, she tossed and turned, questioning her recent decisions. Why had she not just let Henri arrange an abortion? She still could, but that would mean going back on her promise to Diya. She never should have gone to see the woman. Her father often told her that she was too curious for her own good, that it would get her into trouble one day. She hated to admit how right he frequently was on that point.
She had arranged the car for tomorrow, hoping her parents would not hear of it. Instead of having Faran, their chauffeur, drive Diya, Melisande employed Dawoud to do it, since he was already aware of her connection with the villager, and he was off from any palace duties for the next two days.
"Excuse me, Miss," Dawoud had asked, clearing his throat. "But does your father know about this, about the car, I mean?"
"If he asks, I will tell him," she lied. "But until he asks, there is nothing to be said, is there, Mr. Dawoud?" Melisande had added a sweet smile to beguile him, and of course it had worked, though he still looked uneasy. "I know it is a long drive, but you will come directly back after dropping off Miss Panjabi." She could not risk the car being gone longer.
"As you wish."
What would Henri do when he returned and discovered Diya missing? Would he try to find her, or would he simply wait for her return, which would come sooner rather than later if Diya's aunt refused to let her stay for more than a couple of days? Should she admit to Henri what she had devised? She could tell him that she had done so because he had been away from the palace, unreachable for such a decision to be discussed and shared, for they never talked about anything personal while on the phone. Too risky. But Diya would return after her doctor's appointment. Henri would see her again, would try to send her to whoever he found to perform the abortion.
Melisande bit her lip in thought. To buy time, Diya could tell him that she had already gotten the abortion; that was why she had been away. But then what? The pregnancy could not be hidden indefinitely, especially from her uncle. Perhaps there was somewhere Diya could go to have the child, someone for whom she could work as a domestic. Somewhere far away where Melisande would never have to look upon her husband's child. But who and where?
With a frustrated sigh, she stared up at the dark ceiling. Perhaps Diya should have the abortion. It would save her from being turned out on the streets by her family once her pregnancy was known. Yet Melisande had seen something in Diya's eyes that told her she was afraid of ending the child's life. Or did she want it because it was Henri's, and she was in love with him? No, Melisande believed Diya's true motivation was an inherent kindness. The villager could not imagine killing a child any more than Melisande could, especially if it were her own. A part of Melisande admired Diya for her conviction. Would she be as brave in a similar situation?
Unable to answer her own question, Melisande forced her eyes shut and prayed for sleep.
Maysam turned another page in the bridal book and pointed to a stunning white dress with gold embellishments.
"This one is beautiful, don't you think?"
Melisande glanced absently at the gorgeous dress with its sheer sleeves and intricate embroidery on the bodice and along the hem of the dress, which widened as it descended, making the model's small waist appear even smaller. A heavily bejeweled choker encircled the model's slim, swan-like neck, complimenting a sparkling headdress that connected to a veil spilling down her back to the floor. All Melisande could think of was wearing that dress for Henri, if only she had had the opportunity.
Melisande's lips twisted wryly. "Don't you think white is a poor choice, Mother?"
"On the contrary, I think it's the necessary color."
"A part of the lie, you mean?"
Maysam studied her. "I know this is difficult, but wouldn't you rather have a say in the wedding plans?"
"It doesn't matter to me. Perhaps Baba should choose my dress…and everything else since this is his fault."
"Habibati, please. Let's not make this more difficult than it has to be. I can only say I'm sorry so many times."
Melisande reluctantly softened her expression and sighed. "I'm sorry, Mother. I'm not blaming you; I'm blaming Baba." She turned the book back a page and pointed to a ruby-colored dress with a pink and red tulle hijab. "This would be better," she said with more defiance than enthusiasm.
"Hmm. Perhaps a bit too bold. Maybe we can find something in between?" Maysam continued to turn pages.
Melisande's attention drifted away as she wondered how far away Diya was by now. And when would Henri return? She still had not decided whether to talk to him about Diya's pregnancy. At least she had gotten through to the physician in Jaipur and managed to secure an appointment for Diya for the day after tomorrow.
"Habibati? Are you listening to me?"
Maysam's voice finally penetrated Melisande's fog. "Y-yes, Mother." She forced a smile.
Her mother sighed, closed the bridal book, and set it on the coffee table in front of them where they sat close on Melisande's sofa. With a frown, she faced Melisande and took her hands into hers.
"When Mr. Ducard returns," Maysam began slowly, "the three of us will go to Jodhpur. I have secured the services of a lawyer—"
Melisande gave an involuntary gasp, her back straightening, her insides going cold. Somehow she had forgotten about the impending divorce decree amidst the turmoil of Diya's situation. Perhaps a part of her had even refused to believe that her mother would go through with it.
Maysam pressed on. "Your father will be leaving for about a week on Thursday. We'll go then."
Melisande pulled her hands away and stood, agitated. "I don't want to talk about it."
"We don't have to. I just need you to be ready to travel that day."
Maysam studied her, wondered again why Melisande was not putting up more of a fight about the divorce. Though she claimed she and Ducard were resigned to it, Maysam knew the rebellious side of her daughter too well to completely believe Melisande. Yet the couple had not run away either. Was that Ducard's doing? After all, he had gotten Melisande to have sex with him. Perhaps for him the conquest was over, and he did not care if they remained married or not. The thought angered Maysam, though she cautioned herself not to jump to conclusions.
But there was something off with the situation, something in her daughter's compliance and vague answers to questions lately that made Maysam uneasy. She had the distinct feeling that Melisande was lying to her about more than one thing, but confronting her about it now would only mean a fight. Maysam hated arguing with her daughter as much as she hated dealing with the divorce and the impending marriage to Jamal. So much pain for her only child, a pain she was powerless to ease, that helplessness causing her own agony.
"We will get through this," Maysam gently said. "Please, habibati. Sit back down."
It took Melisande a moment longer to slow her pacing, but eventually she obeyed, her arms crossed in front of her. Maysam put an arm around her, pressed her close, and kissed her cheek.
"If I marry Jamal," Melisande said, "I will have to leave you and live with him and his family. What if we never see each other again?"
"I won't let that happen. We will visit each other…often."
"What if the Husseins don't allow it? I don't trust them."
Maysam almost said, "Neither do I," but instead offered, "They would have no reason not to allow us to visit." She also would keep silent her other concerns about the Husseins to spare her daughter added anxiety.
"I think we should tell Baba about my marriage to Henri. That's the only way to stop all this."
"It is too late for that; the contract has been made with the Husseins. Besides, your father would be furious. You and I have already discussed this. The safest option is Jamal." She reached for the bridal book. "Now, come. Let us find something we like."
It was not unusual for Siddig to stay up late. He often was in his office, on the phone for long periods of time, handling business. That was where Maysam found him after she had readied herself for bed. Coming down the hallway from their bedroom, she heard him talking in an irritated, clipped voice. She paused in the doorway to his office to determine if he was almost finished, lifting an inquiring eyebrow when he glanced her.
She considered his handsome face against the background of the office's drawn blinds as he finished up the call. When agitated like now, his dark eyes deepened to near black and glinted with the threat of violence. Not violence toward her, but toward whomever was vexing him. She never showed her fear when he appeared this way. He had often said one of the things he valued in her was her calmness and her ability to transfer some of that serenity to him when his blood was up, allowing him clarity of mind in his decision-making.
"Get here first thing tomorrow," Siddig coldly ordered into the phone. "I want you here before they arrive. No, I told you—I have no idea what this is about; he wouldn't tell me. But judging from his tone, it's not good news."
He ended the call abruptly, stared for a moment at the phone as if he had forgotten his wife's presence.
An instinctive worry stirred in Maysam, but she spoke without revealing that emotion. "Something wrong, my love?"
Siddig pushed his leather chair back from the expansive mahogany desk, ran one hand across his receding hairline. "It seems as if there is always something wrong lately," he grumbled as he came toward her.
Maysam took his hands in hers and smiled up at him. "It's late. You will feel better after a shower and a good night's rest."
He forced a distracted smile and kissed her cheek. "Let's hope so." Then, as he followed her down the hallway, he said, "Our daughter is up to no good again."
Maysam was glad her back was to him so he could not see her concerned reaction. "What do you mean?"
"Did you know she had Dawoud run an errand for her today, all the way to Jaipur and back?"
"She didn't mention anything to me." Maysam kept her tone light. "Perhaps he was picking up some shopping for her."
"Nothing is worth such a distance. And the fact that she failed to mention the errand to at least you makes me suspicious."
"Perhaps it's a surprise. Your birthday is in two weeks."
He grunted unenthusiastically. "So it is."
"Let me ask her about it tomorrow. If it is a surprise for you, you would ruin it for her by forcing her to tell you."
Siddig's hand on her arm turned her when they reached the bedroom. The amusement in his eyes provided her with some relief. "You are always covering for that girl, habibati."
"I am not covering for her," Maysam mildly protested. "I just want to give her the chance to explain…to me. The fact that she didn't tell even me makes me believe it could be a surprise for at least one of us." To distract, she kissed him and sensually unbuttoned his shirt. "Now, take your shower and forget about work and our daughter for tonight."
He grinned at her as her fingers worked, his hands caressing her shoulders through the silk of her nightgown. "Perhaps you can help me forget."
"I have no doubt." Her smile turned sultry. She nodded toward the adjoining master bath. "Go. I will be waiting."
When Siddig returned to the bedroom a short while later, he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of thin, black cotton drawstring pants. He rubbed his short, dark hair with a monogrammed white towel, then ran it once over his close-cropped beard before tossing it onto a chair on his way to the large, four-poster bed.
Maysam glanced up from her magazine. "In the morning, I'm going to the village bazaar. Is there anything you need?"
"I'm afraid you will have to postpone your shopping."
She set the magazine on a bedside table. "Why?"
"We will be having unexpected guests before lunch."
"Oh?"
"Hussein and his wife are coming to see us. He said it's an urgent matter."
Uneasiness stirred in her. "He wasn't specific?"
"He was not. The fact that his wife is accompanying him makes me think it has something to do with the marriage contract."
"But if it were that, surely he would have said as much over the phone. Why the secrecy?"
"Who knows?" He shrugged as he got into bed. "Perhaps he had not been alone when he called and he didn't want someone else hearing the details of his conversation." He shed his pants. "Hopefully they have not changed their minds about our daughter."
Maysam said a silent, fervent prayer that they had.