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It grew rather raucous for a group who forbade themselves so much as a drop of alcohol, and Ellie eventually discerned that one young woman with kohl-lined eyes and a softly rounded face had been picked out as the focus of much of the attention.

“There will be a wedding in two days,” Zeinab informed her, finally dropping down onto a pillow by Ellie’s side after talking with Nur Hanim all evening. “For one of the sheikh’s grand-nieces, Fatimah. She is to be married to Nur Hanim’s sister’s grandson, as was arranged.”

“Arranged?” Ellie echoed pointedly.

Zeinab flashed her a dry look. “You don’t approve?”

“Of a woman being bartered for like property?”

Ellie felt a little bad once the words had left her mouth. After all, she knew that the arrangement of marriages was considered a perfectly reasonable way to go about things in many parts of the world—including this one.

Zeinab didn’t respond right away. Instead, her gaze lingered on the figure of the soon-to-be bride. “The engagement was set for the length of a year. If the bride decided at the end of that time that she still did not want the match, the families would have found a way to call it off gracefully.”

“And is that always the case?” Ellie demanded. “That the girl is free to decide?”

“Not always.” Zeinab flashed Ellie a pointed look before returning her attention to the bride.

The girl was a little on the shorter side and adorably plump. She giggled as she danced, shooing at a few of her teasing cousins.

“Nur Hanim said Fatimah was opposed at the start,” Zeinab continued, her eyes still on the young woman and her friends. “But after a little while, she found the prospect of a kind and reliable cousin more charming than perhaps she had thought.”

She picked up her cup of mint tea and took a slow sip.

“Marriage is complicated,” she added quietly. “Choosing a partner who sets your blood on fire does not make it less so.”

“I suppose that must be true,” Ellie allowed, thinking of a laughing man covered in dogs, the fierce spark of passion she felt every time she was near him, and the host of unsettled questions that entailed. “Was your match to Sayyid arranged?”

Zeinab snorted. “Not until after we had already set our minds on it.”

Ellie fought the urge to pry further. She was aided in that effort by the sudden arrival of a hefty burst of guilt.

“I’m sorry I dragged you and Sayyid into this,” she spilled out.

Zeinab stiffened, fixing her with a glare. “You did not drag me into anything. I am here for Egypt, not for you.”

Her words were harsh, but Ellie didn’t find herself offended by them. After all, what did Zeinab owe her? Certainly not the dangerous rescue that she had executed that afternoon, however much Ellie had reason to be grateful for it.

“But I would not have known about the threat at all, had you not brought it to my attention,” Zeinab allowed. “And so I thank you for that.”

“You still might have preferred your husband had stayed out of it instead of being used for shooting practice,” Ellie noted a little ruefully. “If I hadn’t asked Sayyid to come, you might not be having such trouble in your marriage now.”

Zeinab sighed, setting down her cup. “My husband was made to pour over books and dig things from the sand. He is not a revolutionary. I kept my activities secret from him because I knew he would worry over it like an old woman—but it would never have been up for negotiation,” she added fiercely. “I will not betray what I know to be right—not even for someone that I love.”

Ellie’s thoughts turned to her own situation. Adam had made it clear he didn’t want her to change her mind about marriage—but where did that leave them when any alternative ran straight up against his complicated sense of honor?

“But how do you manage it all, then?” she pushed back a little helplessly.

“We will sort it out,” Zeinab asserted. “We have been through hard times before.”

“Howhard?”

Ellie’s question carried a note of desperation. Zeinab flashed her a thoughtful look.

“I am barren,” Zeinab replied.

Surprise quieted Ellie’s voice. “I… I’m sorry.”

“A barren midwife,” Zeinab elaborated with a dark twist of her lip—and then slumped a bit, exhaustion showing in the lines at the corners of her eyes. “I believe it may stem from a fever I had as a girl. But who knows? There is no power but Allah. I did not learn it until after we had been wed. I offered Sayyid a divorce.”