AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh!” She looked for her tunic and then rememb
ered he had torn it. The memory ran a shiver over her followed by a blush.
“Here.” He produced what seemed a silk robe. “I’ve brought you this.”
She took the ultra-fine piece of clothing and dressed it. He was trying to make amends, she reckoned. Warm pleasantness coursed through her. She’d go to the market with him and make the most of this day.
Hours later, they stood in the middle of an utterly crowded and noisy market-place. She dressed a purple tunic set and veil. Canvas canopied stalls selling every possible thing followed a mysterious pattern on the streets. Vendors shouted their prices and goods to whomever might get an interest. Not much different from a market in Syracuse. Tariq bought her hair-pins and copper jewellery. They ate food which the vendors cooked on the spot.
They made a full round on it. At a certain point, Lucinda saw a street that took to the shore. Down there it seemed a port. There were ships, boats, men carrying wooden boxes. Lucinda averted her attentive gaze quickly.
The market itself did not lie far from the villa, a mere ten-minute’s walk eastwards. Convenient for him, a merchant, with deals with the vendors. Lucinda kept her attention on the stalls as Tariq talked to one of the vendors nearby.
“It must be boring to come here when you’re not working.” She commented, as they walked side by side. Men and women didn’t touch each other in public, so she could not hold his arm, as she’d do in England. Well, they’d done a lot of touching recently. She had nothing to complain about, a faint smile on her veiled face. Good he didn’t detect it.
“Not really.” He answered her comment. “I have a lot of friends here.”
“I can imagine it. You’re in contact with them on a daily basis.”
“This and the fact that I know many of them since I was a toddler.” He smiled at the memory.
“How cosy!” She tried to visualise him as an active boy, a shock of dark hair over his fascinating eyes. And failed. The man at her side took every space in her head.
They browsed for a little longer and walked to the villa. The sky in deep blue, a pleasant breeze from the sea and the palm trees swinging at it accompanied them. A beautiful day, she concluded. In many ways.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She’d made a decision. And she devised a plan.
She’d have to act early in the morning, soon after Tariq went about his business, because he wouldn’t be back until evening and she’d have a long head start.
Imperative that she go, she’d concluded. She must leave, the realisation turning her heart into a pulp of pain. Their situation too complicated and she stood a lot to lose. Others depended on her choices as well.
A peep through the latticed window signalled Tariq on his way out through the yard gate, his men working on carts. Rushing to a chest, she took a canvas sac she’d prepared the previous evening. From another chest, she grabbed one of Tariq’s kaftans and sirwaal, the pantaloons, putting them on in quick moves. The cut of the clothing being one-size-fits-all, she had no problem, as the soft cloth fell on her tightly wrapped breasts. The ghoutra on her head, held by the igaal circle, covered her long hair in a low bun, while she enfolded her face in it. Dressed as a man, she held more chances.
Her heart pounded in her chest, while she descended the stairs as silent as possible, not to draw the servants’ attention. For sure Tariq instructed them to watch her. Nobody detected her when she stepped in the yard. She’d mingle with the helpers up to the market and make her way to the port from there. How she’d look for and board a ship to Sicily, she didn’t know yet, but she’d find a manner.
Unnoticed, she joined the men by the carts and started loading it, as they did. Fortunately neither Aziz, nor Mustafa were there, or she might have problems. Nobody seemed to acknowledge that there was one ‘man’ too many in the group. Carts loaded, they left the yard. Each pace farther the villa gave her a sense of victory, mixed with a sharp sense of loss, coming she didn’t know from where.
Not long before they reached the market. She tested the efficacy of her disguise then. No one looked curiously at her and she merged in the crowd, distancing herself from Tariq’s helpers, hoping he was nowhere around the place. She took the direction of the docks. As she got to the street that led to it, a man shouted in the middle of it. The little Arabic she’d learned aided her understand they were looking for seamen for a ship departing with the evening’s tide. As far as she apprehended, the route touched Sicily, Greece and the Middle East.
An insane idea to work as a seaman to cross the Mediterranean, but it appeared worth a try. She stopped and asked for information. The man looked at her up and down as if uncovering her, and she froze. He said something about her being healthy enough and gave her instructions to reach the vessel.
By midday, she found herself on deck, carrying Goliath-sized boxes with herculean effort and pulling sail ropes. She hoped she survived the crossing. The trip from Syracuse to Gabes, took more than a night. Now, they were nearer as Tunis lay farther north. She calculated a night or so. She worked counting the minutes. If Tariq came home and found her missing, he’d waste no time to go chasing after her. She had loads of work to do and she busied herself with it. Night tide came at last and they set sail. During all the crossing, she took extreme care not to give a single sign she was not a man. If discovered, she’d be in utter danger.
A breath of relief escaped her when the ship started moving. She was going home. Home? She remembered the talk she and Tariq had the first time she tried to steal a camel and go back to Gabes. He’d asked where home was. She didn’t have the answer then. Even less now after everything. But she was excited with her present adventure. She’d surely make it, she predicted optimistic.
Tariq stormed in his home in a rush. He wanted her, needed her. He climbed the steps to the upper floor two by two, purposefully. Impatience and urgency tearing at him. “Lucinda.” He called. The bedroom, nothing. ”Lucinda.” The library, empty. He strode to the bath. Nobody. “Lucinda!” He shouted with a bad premonition.
He flew to the servants quarters, downstairs, at the back, to ask them. No one had seen her; they believed she had been reading in the library all day as she usually did. He ran up again, to the bedroom, checked her things. Gone. How? Nobody saw her! He opened his chest; one of his kaftans missing. Damn. Damn. Damn! He raked his long-fingered hand in his obsidian hair. She’d left. Where? When? He paced the room impatiently, thinking. Fear for her safety, laced with rage for her escape and admiration for her determination, overtook him.
As far as he was concerned, she might be anywhere. The market closed hours ago. The city, deserted and in the dark. Only brothels would be open at this hour. Little he to do now. He’d have to wait till morning and put one of his men on her track. He hoped, wherever she went, she’d be safe. The idea of losing her forever was…unbearable. Dressed as a man she was less in danger, he tried to soothe himself.
He looked at his bed. Sleep would be impossible. He wanted her in it, in his arms, safe, warm. Receptive. Always. It was as though someone had torn his guts away. Inside, he became hollow and lost. No food or drink would go down his tightened throat. The lonely cold bed didn’t appeal either. He had to find her, whatever it took. Soon!
Abduction, for pity’s sake! That’s what she had taken form him. Did he really expect someone in her predicament not to seek freedom? He himself would have. Long ago, by the way! And she had so much to lose, he understood it. Why the blast did he not do something about this situation?
He wished he’d been less commanding and talked to her about what she wanted, after they’d arrived in Tunis. Perhaps they would have found a compromise together. He would have taken her to England to see her family and maybe, she’d accept to come back with him. For the first time in his life, he put himself in a woman’s shoes and understood her dilemmas, her needs. Blast him for his pig-headed notions, he regretted.
