Page 99 of Silver Angel

“Your life is…tolerable, then?”

“More than tolerable, Mother.” He smiled at her. “It suits me admirably.”

Her throat constricted; she did not know whether to believe him or not. “I—I’m so sorry, Kasim,” she whispered brokenly. “I regretted sending you away almost as soon as you were gone. I prayed and prayed that you knew it—somehow sensed it. I never thought I would see you again to tell you.”

“I did know it, always,” he assured her. “And I understood once I met your father. I came to love him as much as you did. Of course, he’s grown rather dictatorial in his old age.”

She smiled at the humor in her son’s eyes. “Has he?”

“I’m to get married or else, don’t you know. He’s even sent a ship here to fetch me home. Didn’t trust me to find my own way.” She laughed as he had intended; then he said tenderly, “I have no regrets, Mother, so you mustn’t either.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Jamil never—”

Derek cut in curtly. “Jamil is a pigheaded fool.”

“No, you mustn’t say that—”

Jamil interrupted this time. “He’s right, Mother.” Rahine’s chest swelled with pain as he suddenly buried his head in her lap and she heard his anguished plea: “Can you forgive me?”

“Please—Jamil—please don’t.” She was unable to stop the tears spilling down her cheeks again. She lifted his head to her breast. “I understood your hurt and anger. You two were as one, and yet I severed the cord. I had no right, and I certainly never blamed you for hating me.”

“But I did not—I could not. And when I finally understood that, I resented you for the barrier between us that I had created. I was wrong—”

“But it’s all right now, Jamil, truly.”

Derek broke in at this point, saying crossly, “I suppose this means you won’t be returning home with me.”

Rahine had to laugh at his tone. “Come now, Kasim, you didn’t really think I would. I don’t exist there, any more than you do here. Surely I am assumed dead after all these years.”

“There was mention of it to account for your long absence,” he was forced to admit.

“There, you see. We have both made different lives for ourselves that are all we want now.”

“You could make a new life, assume a new identity—see your father again.”

“That’s unfair,” she scolded gently. “He has you now. He doesn’t need me. But Jamil does.”

“Stop arguing with her, Kasim,” Jamil snapped irritably. “She’s staying.”

Derek gave in gracefully, knowing when he was outnumbered. “Just see that she knows she’s appreciated from now on, brother, or I’ll take a leaf from the Marquis’s book and send a ship back here for her.”

Jamil snorted in response, but later was to assure Derek that Rahine would never want for anything again, emotionally or otherwise.

Chapter Forty-seven

Chantelle lasted several weeks before the boredom got to her. She had thought this voyage would be different from her sea journey into captivity, but it wasn’t, not by much. She was still locked in her cabin, denied the sights and sounds of shipboard activity that could have made the slow passage of time more bearable. The little man who brought her meals was English, probably a slave, and disgustingly cheerful about it. The only other person she saw was Jamil, and it was getting more and more difficult for her to put him off when she was starved for company.

At least on her first voyage she had had Hakeem drilling her with information nearly every waking hour. That and her anxiety for the future hadn’t allowed her time to be bored. Now she would even welcome Jamila’s company. But they had been parted as soon as they had reached the ship, given separate cabins no doubt so Jamil wouldn’t disturb one by visiting the other. And she wasn’t about to ask him if she could visit Jamila when she was still barely speaking to him.

Buthewas undoubtedly visiting Jamila. Oh, he came by to see Chantelle each evening, but that was no more than courtesy now, for he had stopped trying to talk her out of her pique. What he did after the visit, she had no way of knowing.

He had changed since they’d set sail. Not only his appearance but his very temperament seemed different. Gone were the robes and tunics she had become used to, even the Turkish pants. He wore lawn shirts an Englishman would envy, and tight buff pants with knee-high boots. All that was missing was a cutaway jacket, but the warm weather could account for its absence.

She couldn’t imagine why he was dressing as a European now, and was too stubborn to ask. His mood change was even more curious, but that, too, she didn’t comment on. There were no bursts of anger or frustration over her continued rebuffs. It was as if he were walking on eggshells around her, glad that she had so little to say to him.

Her dinner arrived right on time as usual, and the little sailor who answered to the name of Peaches was all smiles this evening. “We make port tomorrow for fresh provisions, miss. No sea biscuits and Gundy’s ‘put anything into it’ stew tomorrow night.”

He said this as he set her tray down. Chantelle came forward to note there was a bottle of wine tonight to make the bland fare more palatable. Gundy had stopped providing any variety in the meals a week ago.