Pushing stiffly to her feet, Salma turned to smile up at her. Holding out her hand, she spoke in Arabic, the language of her youth. "Ah, yes, now it is good. Come, my treasured child, let me help you undress."

Mindlessly, Leila obeyed the familiar voice, lifting her hair to allow access to the fastenings of her gown. She stood, docile and numb, while well-remembered hands gently removed her clothing and twisted her hair into a pile atop her head, securing it there with jeweled clips and combs. Naked, she allowed herself to be taken by the hand and led to the edge of the bath.

"There, my sweet…gently…gently," Salma crooned. "The water will sooth you…take away the pain."

Leila gave her former nanny a puzzled look. Pain? What pain? Was Salma getting old? Losing her mind? The pain she felt was all inside, deep in her heart, and it would take much more than a hot bubble bath to make it go away.

"Thank you," she murmured as she lowered herself into the fragrant suds, for she had been taught never to take loyal servants for granted. "This does feel good." Closing her eyes, she lay back with a sigh and stretched herself languidly, like a sleepy cat. How good it felt to relax, after such a tumultuous day. How good it would be if she could simply go to sleep right here, and not have to think…

"Princess? Are you-"

There was concern, and something else-embarrassment, perhaps?-in Salma's voice. Leila opened her eyes. "Yes, Salma, what is it?"

The servant's round face was flushed, and her eyes glistened with kindness. "Princess, I have some oil-it is very soothing. When you have finished-"

"Oil?" Leila frowned. "What kind of oil? What for?"

Salma touched Leila's cheek with gentle fingers. "My little one…it is normal for a woman to have pain, the first time she…is with a man. But after a hot bath…the soothing oil…it goes away quickly-" She stopped, for Leila was shaking her head wildly. She continued in distress, "Princess, it is all right-" But Leila went on shaking her head, and brushing aside Salma's anxious fingers, covered her face with her hands.

Her face, her whole body burned with shame; even the bathwater felt cool on her fevered skin. Oh, how she wished she could just…sink to the bottom of the tub and disappear forever.

"Princess-what is it?" Salma's voice had risen with alarm. Lifting her hands heavenward, she uttered a rapid, wailing prayer, which she almost immediately interrupted to ask in a despairing whisper, "Oh, tell me -did he harm you? Are you injured, truly? Tell me-what has he-"

"No, no!" Leila cried, "you don't understand. He did nothing. Nothing."

"Nothing?' Salma rocked backward, hushed and wondering. "You mean, you are not-he did not-"

"No," Leila moaned, putting her hands over her eyes once more, "he would not. Oh, Salma, it was awful. Just awful…" And all at once she felt herself gathered into loving arms, soapsuds and all, and she was sobbing like a little child on her nanny's shoulder. "Salma," she gulped,

"I have been a fool…"

"Yes, my treasure," Salma crooned, rocking her. "Yes…"


* * *

Alima Kamal was worried about her husband. She had never before seen him so angry-his color was quite alarming. Hadn't the doctors warned him about his blood pressure, insisted he must lose some weight? And after such a weekend, so much excitement, too much rich food-and perhaps more of the mild Tamari wine than he was accustomed to-now this. What had Leila been thinking of, to do such a thing?

Ah-Leila. That was another worry entirely. She was in Salma's capable hands-that problem could wait until tomorrow.

At the moment Ahmed was in the bathroom, Alima having persuaded him that a warm bath might help him to relax-with the help of a little subtle bribery, naturally, in the form of the promise of a nice massage afterward. She had in mind an old family recipe of Salma's-passed on to her by her maternal grandmother- a mix of fragrant oils and certain herbs that were designed to soothe the mind as well as the body. She had used it on her husband before, with most satisfactory and highly enjoyable results, for her as well. Although, under the circumstances she didn't hold out hope for such a conclusion to this evening's activities. Ah, well… Alima sighed.

A discreet tapping at the royal bedchamber's heavy wooden door almost went unnoticed, so engrossed was she in her preparations. When it continued, now a little louder, she glanced at the antique French clock on the mantelpiece. Who would dare disturb the sheik in his chambers at this hour? With a mildly vexed sigh, Alima went to answer it.

"Salma!" Her heart gave a leap of alarm when she saw her oldest and most trusted attendant standing there, almost bouncing on her tiptoes with ill-concealed emotion. "What's wrong? Is Leila all right? Is something-"

"Oh, no, Sitt," Salma interrupted breathlessly, "Princess Leila is fine. That is why-Oh, Sitt, please forgive me for disturbing you, but I must speak with you."

Casting a hurried glance toward the bathroom where, judging from the sounds coming from within, her husband-perhaps in anticipation of what was to come after?-seemed to be enjoying his bath more than he'd expected, Alima stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind her.


* * *

Flat on his belly with his eyes closed, Sheik Ahmed drifted on waves of pleasure. Ah yes… there… Alima's strong fingers never failed to find the spot that needed them most.

She wanted something from him, of course. She only resorted to the oils and herbs when she was hoping to cajole him into giving her her way. He knew this, but it did nothing to lessen his pleasure. He trusted his wife implicitly. He knew she would never use the considerable influence she had on him lightly. If she was attempting to manipulate him now, it would only be for something she considered to be of utmost importance. Ah well…she would get to it in her own good time. And meanwhile, as far as Sheik Ahmed was concerned, getting there was the most enjoyable part.

"Ahmed, my beloved…"

"Yes, jewel of my heart? Speak to me."

They had been speaking Arabic, as they often did on intimate occasions, but Alima switched now to English. "Ahmed, Salma was here, while you were in the bath. She brought news of Leila-"

"Leila!" A snort lifted his head and shoulders from the pillows.

Gently but firmly, Alima pushed them down again. "Hush, my husband-please, hear me." After a pause, which she decided to take for acquiescence, she continued in a musing tone, "What she had to say was interesting. I think you will want to hear it."

Ahmed gave a resigned grunt. "Very well…if you must."

Bracing herself for the expected upheaval, Alima bore down with all her strength on one of her husband's most troublesome spots, took a deep breath, and said lightly, "It is possible we have misjudged Elena's friend from Texas." A growl resonated beneath her fingers. She hurried on. "It seems this American may not be entirely without honor, after all. I say this-" she spoke calmly, but her fingers were kneading her husband's tensed muscles as hard and fast as they possibly could "-because of what your daughter has confessed to Salma. In tears." There was that growl again. "Yes, tears," she said firmly. "But not because this man had dishonored her. Quite the opposite. Your daughter was in tears because he had sent her away."

Like a small mountain shifted by an earthquake, Sheik Ahmed rolled himself onto his back. Raising himself up on his elbows, glowering fiercely, he bellowed, "Away? What do you mean, he sent her away? Explain yourself!"

Alima sat with her legs tucked under her, head high and eyes downcast. Her heart was beating rapidly and her hands, clasped tightly together in her lap, were cold. She was desperately afraid, though not of her husband-she could never be afraid of Ahmed! This was another kind of fear entirely-the fear of a mother for her beloved child. Her youngest daughter's future happiness was at stake.

"Yes," she said on a soft exhalation, "I fear it was not the American who behaved badly this evening, but our daughter. And I-" Her voice broke-she had not planned it. "I must say that I am not surprised. I have been afraid something like this might happen. Oh, Ahmed-" She rose and turned quickly from him to hide the tears that had sprung unexpectedly to her eyes. "Leila is so impatient and impulsive-she has always been so."

"Yes." Ahmed actually chuckled.

Whirling back to him, Alima was just in time to see him rearrange his face in its customary glower. "Ahmed, she is a woman. She has the feelings, the needs, the impulses of a woman. Every day I have watched her grow more impatient, waiting her turn, waiting for her sisters to choose husbands…"

Yes, and impatient for other things, for other reasons, too, about which Alima knew she could never tell her husband. Ahmed was a good man and a progressive leader in many ways, but he would never understand how bright, intelligent women like his daughters might feel frustrated at being patronized, overlooked, discounted and ignored. Particularly Leila, whom everyone considered silly and shallow, and whom possibly only her mother knew was anything but.

And there was another thing Leila's mother knew. She had noticed the way her youngest child looked at the tall oilman from Texas. Tonight she had seen the soft shine in her eyes, the pink flush in her cheeks…

"Humph," said Ahmed. "I have been more than patient with Nadia, it is true…" He scratched his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Butrus wishes to marry her, and she seems willing enough." He shrugged and gave a regal wave of his hand. "Pah-I see no real value in this tradition of marrying off daughters in order of their birth. So-if you are certain that Leila is eager to marry, and impetuous enough to do something foolish, then the answer is simple enough. I must find her a suitable husband. And now, my beloved, if that is all that is troubling you-" He smiled, and his eyes gleamed wickedly.