Page 18 of Rekindled (The MacTavish Heirs #5)

In which there is a magical night in the garden thanks to a most hospitable host.

Lucas…

“Salam alaykum, peace be upon you.”

The man greeting us at the door of his enormous home is short and slim, but I’d never underestimate him. There’s a compact energy to him that feels like it could uncoil and explode at any moment. Now, though, his dark eyes twinkle as he offers his right hand to me.

“Wa alaykum as-salam, and peace be upon you too,” I return, shaking his hand.

As Marabout Badis turns to Cat, his interest is clear. He greets her with a nod and his hand over his heart, and she softly repeats the greeting back.

“Kif I’familia, and how is your family?”

“Bikhir, shukran, well, thank ye,” she answers. “My father wished to convey his gratitude to ye for your kindness and hospitality.”

Marabout Badis switches from Arabic to flawless English with a faint English accent. “I had met you and your twin Michael when you were quite young.” He’s watching her thoughtfully. “Even as a very young child, you were rather fearless.”

“Headstrong is the word my father would use,” she laughs, “though I appreciate your interpretation more.”

“I am pleased to have the two of you here, in my home. Your father gave me a bit of information about how you came to be in the Atlas Mountains.” His dark eyes change from warm to bitter cold in an instant, and I suspect this is the expression his enemies see.

“I know of this man, we will not speak his name. He’s enslaved entire villages; controls hundreds of peoples’ lives without remorse or shame.

” He smiles with a malevolent kind of satisfaction.

“I will be most pleased to assist your family.”

I’m beginning to like our host.

“Please, my sister Imane has put out a magnificent buffet,” he gestures toward the garden. “Eat. Rest.”

“That would be nice, thank ye, Si Badis.”

“How do ye know Arabic?” Cat whispers as we walk toward the food. “I’ll just add this to your list of hidden talents. ”

“When I was in the service, I was sent to this region for twelve months,” I murmur, “fluency in the language was critical.”

She gives me a speculative glance. “I’ll be needing to hear more about this later, thank ye very much.”

Even though we’d just had dinner, Cat and I tear into the food with barely restrained savagery. There’s bastilla, a savory pie filled with chicken with a flaky crust, three kinds of tagine stews, and kefta meatballs.

“Ooo, get another briouat or three for me, please,” she whispers, looking yearningly at the little triangular pastries. A servant eagerly pours us mint tea and urges us to take more food. I barely get Cat seated before she tucks in.

“I feel like I’m gobbling this down like a farm animal,” she whispers, “but it all tastes amazing.”

“Try the maakouda.” I close my eyes, savoring the potato beignet, crisp on the outside, perfectly soft on the inside.

We eat in blissful silence until one of the servants notices our plates are nearly empty, scampering over with a platter held high.

“la mazida, nashkuruka, no more, we thank you,” I smile at her clear disappointment.

“This is like going to dinner at my friend Lucia’s place when her mother visits.” Cat hums blissfully. “Mama Amato was never happy until she’d fed us to the point of unconsciousness.”

“I remember.” Chuckling, I recall the pile of Tupperware that Cat would bring home with us, insisting I take it so I dinnae need to cook for the next three days.

As is custom, I’m pulled into conversation with the men after the meal and Cat is immediately drawn to the bairns racing around the garden.

She laughs as she creates a flower crown for one little girl, then five more descend upon her, demanding hair ornaments of their own and a turn sitting in her lap.

Then, one of the mothers brings over her henna kit, offering to create a design for Cat. She must speak at least a bit of English, because they chat and laugh as the woman spirals beautiful designs of flowers and vines on her arms.

“zawjatuk tuhibu al'atfali. la buda 'ana ladayk atfalan . Your wife, she loves the children. You must have some of your own.” Aksil, the man who brought us from the hotel, nudges me. “The child trying to climb onto her lap is my daughter. They are all entranced by her.”

“Aye.” I watch her hold up her arms, looking at the henna in delight. “I’m entranced by her, too.”

Catriona …

The sunsets in Morocco are like no other.

I know it’s the same sun, the same planet Earth.

But the rays shoot from the setting sun in violent oranges and reds, fading to searing yellow and finally, improbable clouds of pink and purple.

The colors light the enormous gardens and the terrace into something otherworldly.

Glancing over at Lucas, I watch him laugh at something Marabout Badis says, his face lit golden and so masculine.

My gaze travels down to his hands. I’ve always had a bit of a kink for men’s hands and his are huge, with long, competent fingers and those thick forearms…

He’s wearing a loose white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and it is Arm Porn.

During our one night together, I traced all the veins roping up those arms with my tongue and then on his substantial co-

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

I jolt back a step and manage to spill my mint tea down my dress. “Ach, I’m a clumsy one.” I smile apologetically at an amused Imane, Marabout Badis’s sister and our hostess.

“Goodness, I am the one to apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She hands me a napkin and takes my tea cup. “I fear this dress is going to be uncomfortable, allow me to lend you something to wear. ”

I’m dabbing at the stain spilling down the front of my dress and making the light fabric almost transparent. “Aye, please. This is not a good look.” I settle the napkin over my chest like the world’s most awkward bib and follow her inside.

Imane’s suite of rooms are bright and colorful, scarves draped everywhere, with overstuffed couches and lots of pillows.

There’s a sweet scent of incense that is soothing.

“If you’d like to rinse that tea off of you in the bathroom, I’ll find you something to wear.

” She smiles sympathetically at my somewhat bedraggled state.

“I’m happy my henna survived.” I hold out my arms, admiring the elaborate flowers and vines decorating my hands and winding up my arms. “It’s beautiful, aye?”

“Fatima is a favorite here, she creates such lovely work. I’m pleased to see that you appreciate her designs.” She smiles at me gently and guides me into the bathroom.

I groan, looking at myself in the mirror. Playing with the bairns has turned me into a mess, there’s grass and a flower or two stuck in my hair.

Imane knocks on the door. “Catriona, I’m opening the door enough to give you a dress, all right?” The way she says my name is so pretty, with a little trill on the end.

I might make everybody back home start pronouncing it that way.

“Thank ye so much. I appreciate the rescue dress.” When I see the gauzy masterpiece, I gasp. It’s made of layers of violet and green fabric with embroidery on the bodice, and when I slip it on, I feel like a goddess, mysterious and exotic.

When I come out of the bathroom, Imane beams her approval. “I knew it would go well with your lovely eyes. Would you like me to add just a touch of kohl? It would look perfect with the dress style.”

I’m not one for letting people muck about with my face, I dinnae like getting facials or my brows plucked. But the image of the other women, fluttering like butterflies in the garden with their beautifully made-up faces, makes me weaken.

“That would be very kind of you.” I shrug awkwardly. “I haven’t learned any new makeup tricks in a while.”

Yeah, that would require getting out of the lab every now and then. Sensible Catriona reminds me.

She claps her hands, delighted, as if I’m the one doing her the favor, rather than the other way around. I’m seated in a chair in front of the mirror and she’s ready with a kohl brush in her hand.

“Your companion, Mr. Stewart…” Her touch is light and deft, “He seems like a fine person. You ar e fond of him?”

“Lucas is a good man, honorable, courageous.” I smile, trying to hold still for her.

“Have you known each other very long?”

“Aye, he was my bodyguard, but… Well, at any rate, he left. My father called him back to help find me.” Her brush tickles lightly along the corner of my lash line, and I pretend that’s the thing making my eyes a little watery.

“Mmm…” It’s quiet, and we can hear everyone laughing outside, the music starting up again. “I ‘ve long thought that we find our way back to the one meant for us at the right time, rather than the time we expect.”

I glance up at her sharply, but her face is serene and innocent as she finishes up. “We should hurry, the dancing is about to begin. What do you think?”

This elegant creature in the mirror looks nothing like me.

The kohl makes my eyes bigger, more luminous, and the dark lines create a glow on my pasty white skin.

Even my dark hair looks lush and wild. She’s mysterious and beautiful, this creature, and I wonder if I can somehow lure Imane into coming home with me to keep this look up.

“This is so braw, true braw.” She looks politely confused.

“Sorry a bit of Scottish slang. I mean, lovely. Thank ye so much! ”

When we stroll out onto the terrace, Lucas is waiting for me. “I was about to start a search for ye, Cat-” His eyes widened gratifyingly and I preen just a bit.

“Dinnae Imane do a bang-up job?”

He nods to her politely before his gaze returns to me. “Ye are beautiful, fancy or plain. But this…”

“Let’s dance!” I haul him along, holding his hand. The flare in his eyes is setting me off too, and we canna do anything here at the Marabout’s home.

More people have joined the party, and we’re quickly lost together in a swirling circle of dancers. Feet stomping, arms raised, singing, and laughing. The stone pavers underneath our feet are shaking and flower petals are flying through the air from a dozen blooming trees.

My foot slips a little on the turn in the dance, and I stagger against Lucas. Maybe that scotch hit harder than I thought. He laughs as he slips his hands around my waist, spinning me, his gray eyes so warm as he looks down at me. Maybe Lucas has had a little bit too much scotch, too.

We could have danced for an hour, or all night, I dinnae know, but eventually Marabout Badis stands, clapping his hands and we all turn to him.

“ahlaan bikum 'ayuha alduyuf al'aeizaa'a!

nahn huna allaylat linahtafil bialhubi walliqa'i. linukrim baedana albaed wanaltazim bialeuhud alati natabadalha.” Lucas whispers the translation for me, “Welcome, dear guests! We are here tonight to celebrate love, and reunion. To honor each other and the vows we speak.”

Couples are beginning to line up in front of him and several of the women pull on our hands, coaxing us to join in.

As each couple stands in front of Marabout Badis, he loosely binds their wrists with a bit of colorful silk cord, gives them a blessing and they step off the platform to the cheers of the party guests.

“I dinnae think we should be doing this,” I whisper to Lucas. “What is he saying?”

He frowns slightly, “As near as I can ken, it’s a blessing for happiness. It’s nothing we would disrespect by participating.”

“Oh, grand, then.” To be honest, I’m in no hurry to step aside. My hand is in Lucas’s warm one, the torches cast a golden glow over the party and that scotch we drank earlier is buzzing through my veins.

When it’s our turn to step in front of Marabout Badis, he gives us a huge smile.

“'asdiqayiy aljudda. 'atamanaa 'an turafiqakum alsaeadat fi rihlatikum. Allah i3tik ma tmniti.” Lucas’s lips touch my ear as he whispers, “My new friends, may happiness follow you on your journey. May God give you peace. ”

There’s a huge, silly grin on my face as Marabout Badis binds our wrists together with a ceremonial cord like the other guests and sends us on our way to another man, who is holding a huge, leather-bound book. He hands us a pen and points to a place on the page to sign.

“Oh, this must be like a guest book?” I look up at Lucas, who shrugs and smiles. We sign and step off the terrace, looking out onto the garden, lit by dozens of torches.

“Come, sweet Cat. Let’s dance a wee bit more, aye?” He frowns, studying me. “Or is your back twinging up?”

“Not at all. When did ye become such a social thing?” I laugh as he pulls me back into the circle of dancers.

“Since ye first took my hand tonight.” He gives me a quick kiss on my temple and we swirl and bow and stomp our feet, laughing giddily.

It’s late into the night and the celebration is winding down when Imane finds us again. “You must be tired. My brother wanted me to show you to your room so you can rest.”

“shkran lak, Thank ye.” Lucas nods respectfully and we follow her back into the house.

“Do ye think we should ask for separate rooms?” I whisper, “Marabout Badis knows we’re not really married. I dinnae want to insult him. ”

Lucas shrugs, “He gave us a single room, so it’s his decision.”

The room is dominated by an enormous bed, the carved wooden headboard more like art than furniture. Two hanging amber pendants on either side give off a gentle glow and the bed is piled with silks and pillows in purple and blue.

This room screams seductive, and suddenly, I dinnae know where to look, so aware of the man next to me.

***

Ken - Scottish slang for understanding something.

Bairns - Scottish slang for children.

Si - A term of respect for an important person.