were vibrant colors from clothing, scarves, and blankets, not to mention the produce, while the smell of spices filled the air.
The walkway was narrow and crowded, with booths on either side to tempt their wares. Somewhere down the street music was being played, and she just barely bit back the temptation to start moving her hips to the enthralling eastern notes. It reminded her of the belly dancing classes she’d taken for fitness a few years back. The eastern culture had always intrigued her.
She’d left the palace in a foul mood, but somehow Holly couldn’t help but become caught up in the excitement and bustle of the market.
While passing another stand, a woman with a small child beside her called out to her in Arabic, holding up a bright red scarf.
Holly shook her head, wishing she could communicate better.
“You are English?” the seller called out.
“American.”
The woman beamed. “Welcome to Raljahar. My name is Faiza. I have a scarf that would look lovely with your coloring, ma’am.”
Smiling faintly, Holly moved to take the scarf from the woman. “I’m Holly. And you speak English perfectly.”
“Thank you. My father is English, and so I am bi-lingual. My daughter also speaks.”
Holly kneeled down by the girl and smiled. “Is it true? Can you speak English?”
The girl, probably around four or five, clung to her mother’s leg and stared shyly at Holly. “Yes,” she finally whispered.
Holly’s smile widened. “What is your name?”
“Inas.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Inas. You speak English just as well as your mommy.” Holly straightened and gave a rueful smile. “I wish I spoke your native language, but I only know a few words.”
The woman gave her a considering look. “Will you be in Raljahar long?”
Too long. Far too long.
“A few months.” She slid a glance over the colorful clothing in the woman’s stand and sighed. Since she would be here a while, perhaps she should try to blend in more?
There were skirts and long-sleeved blouses of various colors and fabrics. Beautifully woven, some with beads or designed with gorgeous patterns.
“You like the purple skirt, ma’am?”
“I like several of them. And please, call me Holly.” She bit her lip and then nodded. “I think I’d like to buy a few things, actually, including the scarf.”
Before too long, Holly had searched through the array of clothing and filled a large bag with purchases.
Fiaza handed her the bags and smiled warmly. “Thank you, Holly. You will look beautiful in them. And if you truly want to learn to speak our language, I teach daily classes at my home to tourists or non-Arab-speaking westerners. I gave you my card, which has my contact information and the hours.”
From behind her, Holly heard the bodyguard give a small grunt of disapproval.
Fiaza’s gaze widened, as if she’d just realized the man who wore the palace’s uniform was escorting Holly. “But of course, that may not be appropriate,” she said on a rush. “It was presumptuous of me—”
“Not at all. I will definitely keep your warm offer in mind. Thank you, Fiaza.”
The bodyguard finally cleared his throat and gave her a reproachful look. “Miss Winchester, we should leave. It is approaching supper time.”
Biting back a sigh, Holly nodded. For a couple of hours she’d let herself enjoy a bit of freedom, speak with the people of Raljahar and explore a popular marketplace. The city fascinated her, almost more this time than it had last time.
As much as she loathed Rafiq, she couldn’t seem to hate his country. The people were so warm and friendly, all full of stories and eager to help her explore.
Holly allowed herself to be escorted out of the marketplace and into the sleek black car that whisked her back toward the palace. Her forced home for the next few months. Oh my God, if she really thought about it she got nauseous. It was far too overwhelming.
As they approached the palace, her
The walkway was narrow and crowded, with booths on either side to tempt their wares. Somewhere down the street music was being played, and she just barely bit back the temptation to start moving her hips to the enthralling eastern notes. It reminded her of the belly dancing classes she’d taken for fitness a few years back. The eastern culture had always intrigued her.
She’d left the palace in a foul mood, but somehow Holly couldn’t help but become caught up in the excitement and bustle of the market.
While passing another stand, a woman with a small child beside her called out to her in Arabic, holding up a bright red scarf.
Holly shook her head, wishing she could communicate better.
“You are English?” the seller called out.
“American.”
The woman beamed. “Welcome to Raljahar. My name is Faiza. I have a scarf that would look lovely with your coloring, ma’am.”
Smiling faintly, Holly moved to take the scarf from the woman. “I’m Holly. And you speak English perfectly.”
“Thank you. My father is English, and so I am bi-lingual. My daughter also speaks.”
Holly kneeled down by the girl and smiled. “Is it true? Can you speak English?”
The girl, probably around four or five, clung to her mother’s leg and stared shyly at Holly. “Yes,” she finally whispered.
Holly’s smile widened. “What is your name?”
“Inas.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Inas. You speak English just as well as your mommy.” Holly straightened and gave a rueful smile. “I wish I spoke your native language, but I only know a few words.”
The woman gave her a considering look. “Will you be in Raljahar long?”
Too long. Far too long.
“A few months.” She slid a glance over the colorful clothing in the woman’s stand and sighed. Since she would be here a while, perhaps she should try to blend in more?
There were skirts and long-sleeved blouses of various colors and fabrics. Beautifully woven, some with beads or designed with gorgeous patterns.
“You like the purple skirt, ma’am?”
“I like several of them. And please, call me Holly.” She bit her lip and then nodded. “I think I’d like to buy a few things, actually, including the scarf.”
Before too long, Holly had searched through the array of clothing and filled a large bag with purchases.
Fiaza handed her the bags and smiled warmly. “Thank you, Holly. You will look beautiful in them. And if you truly want to learn to speak our language, I teach daily classes at my home to tourists or non-Arab-speaking westerners. I gave you my card, which has my contact information and the hours.”
From behind her, Holly heard the bodyguard give a small grunt of disapproval.
Fiaza’s gaze widened, as if she’d just realized the man who wore the palace’s uniform was escorting Holly. “But of course, that may not be appropriate,” she said on a rush. “It was presumptuous of me—”
“Not at all. I will definitely keep your warm offer in mind. Thank you, Fiaza.”
The bodyguard finally cleared his throat and gave her a reproachful look. “Miss Winchester, we should leave. It is approaching supper time.”
Biting back a sigh, Holly nodded. For a couple of hours she’d let herself enjoy a bit of freedom, speak with the people of Raljahar and explore a popular marketplace. The city fascinated her, almost more this time than it had last time.
As much as she loathed Rafiq, she couldn’t seem to hate his country. The people were so warm and friendly, all full of stories and eager to help her explore.
Holly allowed herself to be escorted out of the marketplace and into the sleek black car that whisked her back toward the palace. Her forced home for the next few months. Oh my God, if she really thought about it she got nauseous. It was far too overwhelming.
As they approached the palace, her
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