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So did I, for that matter. But I suddenly didn’t care anymore. A strange, almost drunken feeling had gripped me in its hold, and from one moment to the next I didn’t care about a lot of things that had seemed important a moment ago. In contrast, I suddenly cared about other things quite a lot more.
‘Miss Linton? Close your mouth and come here. Now.’
What was I doing? Why was I acting so bizarrely? Had the harpies put a gallon full of brandy in my broth?
‘Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!’
She crossed the last little bit of distance between us. A moment later, the springs of the mattress creaked as she sank down on it. Suddenly she was there, right
in front of me, her warm, chocolate-brown eyes lit by an inner light, her impudent little nose seeming to defy me just by existing. So why the hell couldn’t I stop looking at her?
‘When I stepped on land, I thought I was safe from drowning,’ she whispered. ‘But when I look into your eyes, I’m not sure anymore.’
How do you think I feel when I look into yours? Drowning is one thing - burning quite another.
I tried to shake off the thought that seemed to have invaded my mind without asking my permission. Narrowing my eyes infinitesimally, I stared up at her. ‘Is that supposed to make sense?’
‘Not really. It’s supposed to make you feel something.’
‘Ah.’ That tug in my chest again. Damnation! How did she do that? ‘You will be pleased to hear, then, that the method seems to be effective.’
There was silence again. We looked at each other, I at her as if she were the key to the vaults of the Bank of England, and she at me as if… as if…
Well, I wasn’t really sure what she wanted most in life. But she looked as if it might be lying in this bed.
It can’t be… No! It can’t possibly be me, can it?
‘You’re supposed to say something, too, you know,’ she pointed out, the corners of that devious little mouth of hers twitching.
I almost frowned, before I remembered it was an unnecessary waste of energy on facial muscles. ‘Something like what?’
‘Maybe something about what you feel.’
Feel? Since when were my feelings of any significance? More to the point, since when was I supposed to have any?
I opened my mouth to give a cutting reply, but apparently my mouth had other ideas.
‘I would have thought that required no words. Is it not obvious?’
Did that hoarse voice really belong to me?
Still, there was that devious little smile on her face. No matter how much I tried, I could not wrest my eyes away from her face. ‘Maybe. But I would like you to tell me anyway.’
‘A waste of breath and time!’ I snapped.
‘Yes. But a wonderful one. Please?’ Cocking her head, she raised my hand to her lips once more. Again, I felt that flutter of butterflies’ wings on me. It sent a torrent of sensation up along my arm, unlike anything I had felt before. ‘Please, Sir?’
My breath caught.
‘What if I don’t have the words?’ My voice sounded distant in my own ears. ‘There are no words for how I feel right now. None that I know.’
She closed her eyes, and I felt her hand tighten around mine almost painfully. But somehow, I didn’t mind. ‘Those,’ she told me in a whisper, ‘were exactly the right ones.’
They Still Are!
The first inkling I got that something was wrong, came when Youssef started shouting orders in Arabic.
‘Get off your camels, now! Put up the tents! Rags in front of your faces, all of you. And hurry! We’re camping here!’
