Sheikh's Castaway by Alexandra Sellers Page B

climb very high—the slope was toosteep. When they had got as high as they could, accompanied by the screech of seagulls wheeling and banking around the stony peak, they stopped to get their bearings.
    The island, a small, somewhat squashed oval, was lying roughly northeast-southwest. It was generally flat, except at the southern tip, where it pushed upward into a peak of rugged black rock.
    It was a breathtaking sight. At their backs the peak seemed slightly concave, a petrified wave arcing over them. They stood in the lee, just where the vegetation lost its hold. Below they could see the goat track they had been following trace the curve of the hillside and then lead down to the forested slope below.
    White sand beach curved around more than half of the oval. The southern third, under the peak, was black rock. On the opposite side to the beach where they had landed was a reedy area which Bari said was a mudflat. Within the protection of the rocky peak nestled a green paradise of trees, birds and flowers. The sound of water told them there must be a stream nearby, and down below, a regular break in the rich greenery indicated its path.
    A brightly coloured bird shrieked and flapped up towards the sun before tucking its wings and diving back down in among the trees.
    Bari suddenly pointed to a spot at about their eye level. After a moment she saw it, a large bird, its wings outspread, riding the currents.
    â€œA falcon,” he said in satisfaction.
    â€œWhy is that good?”
    â€œIt means there are small animals.”
    But however they strained, in whatever direction, there was no sign of land.
    After a few minutes they followed the track along thelightly treed slope, with the sound of running water getting closer and closer.
    Suddenly there it was in front of them: a small, delicate waterfall like a bridal veil tumbling down to where it was captured in a sparkling stream a few feet below them in the black rock. From there the water ran in a series of streams and tiny falls down to the forest floor below.
    A small black-and-white goat stood precariously on the rocks, drinking from the water swirling in the bowl-shaped cavity of a rock.
    It had not noticed their approach. Bari and Noor stood watching, silenced by the little animal’s vulnerability. It was so totally trusting, eyes closed, nose deep in the life-giving stream, the perfect embodiment of that state of grace which allows the Arabic language to assign “peace” and “submission” the same word.
    Noor glanced at Bari and exchanged a rueful smile. By wordless agreement, the two humans sank silently to the ground and waited for the goat to finish its drink. The animal’s complete trust was somehow compelling—beautiful and deeply touching.
    â€œHow easy it is to love creatures who trust,” Noor thought, and was a little surprised to find that she had whispered the words.
    Bari’s gaze rested on her thoughtfully, but he did not reply.
    The goat lifted its head and gazed at them for a moment before turning to spring up the few feet to the path. Then, as they watched in silence, it wandered unafraid among the trees and began to forage.
    Noor glanced down at the knife tucked into Bari’s waistband, then up into his face. He laughed as if reading her thoughts.
    â€œI’d have to be a lot hungrier,” he agreed.
    Noor laughed with him, and for a moment it was the way it used to be between them, and she remembered with sharp nostalgia how she had imagined that they were well suited. That their sense of humour matched.
    But all the time they had been laughing at different things. Bari had been laughing at her.
    Her gaze returned to the delicious little waterfall. After a moment’s pause they simultaneously began to strip off and, leaving their clothes, clambered down the rocks to stand under the lacy tumble of water.
    It was cold enough to seem icy on their exercise-heated bodies, and Noor involuntarily gasped