She touched her stomach. If she was pregnant, she had her lifetime to figure it out. If she wasn’t, then time might be very, very short.
Which did she want? If she had to choose right now, which would it be?
Murat couldn’t remember the last time he’d been drunk. He usually didn’t allow himself to indulge. As crown prince it was his responsibility to be alert at all times. But tonight he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He’d waited all day for Daphne to return, but she had not. Even as he and his people rode deeper into the desert, he watched the sky for a helicopter that did not come.
He should never have ordered the helicopter. He knew that now. If he’d ignored her outburst, she would still be with him. But her reluctance to accept their marriage as something that could not be changed made him furious. How dare she question his authority? He had honored her by marrying her. It was done, and they needed to simply move forward.
But did Daphne see it that way? Was she logical and grateful? No. She constantly fought him, making life difficult, looking at him with accusations in her eyes.
He reached for the bottle of cognac and poured more into his glass. The smooth liquid burned its way down his throat.
Time, he told himself. He had time. Unless she wasn’t pregnant. Then she would leave as she had before.
Do not think about that, he told himself. She would not leave again. He wouldn’t permit it. Nor would the king.
The sound of muted footsteps forced his gaze from the fire. He watched as several of the tribal elders approached, bowed, then joined him by the fire.
“Will you be attending the camel races tomorrow, Your Highness?” one of the men asked.
Murat shrugged. He had wanted Daphne to see them, but now…“Perhaps. After the morning petitions.”
“The council sessions went well today,” another said. “Your justice, as always, provides a safe haven for your people.”
Murat knew the compliments were just a way to ease into the conversation the old men really wanted to have with him. He thought of how Daphne would listen attentively, all the while secretly urging them to get to the point.
She played the games of his office well. She understood the importance of ritual and tradition, even when she didn’t agree with it. Unlike many women he had met, she would have patience for tribal councils and diplomatic sessions and negotiations.
“You made an interesting choice with Aisha,” the first man said. “To give her to Barak.”
He decided to help them cut to the chase. “The decision was a gift to my bride. It was her request that the young lovers be allowed to start a new life.”
“Ah.” The elders nodded to each other.
“Of course,” one of them said, “a woman sees with her heart. It has always been the way. Their tender emotions make them stewards of our households and our children. But when it comes to matters of importance, they know to defer to the man.”
Not all of them, Murat thought as he took another drink. He wondered what Daphne would make of being called the steward of his household. The title implied employment and a distance between the parties far greater than in a marriage.
One of the elders cleared his throat. “We could not help but notice the princess has left us. We hope she was not taken ill.”
“No. Her health continues to be excellent.”
“Good. That is good.”
Silence descended. Murat stared into the flames and wished the old men would get to the point, then leave him alone.
“She is American.”
“I had noticed that,” Murat said dryly.
“Of course, Your Highness. It is just that American women can be strong-willed and stubborn. They do not always understand the subtleties of our ways.” The man speaking held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Princess Daphne is an angel among women.”
“An angel,” the others echoed.
“Not the word I would have chosen,” Murat muttered. She was more like the devil—always prodding at him. If he wasn’t careful, she would soon be leading him around by the nose.
“Have you tried beating her?” one of the men asked.
Murat straightened and glared. The old man shrank back.
“A thousand pardons, Your Highness.”
Murat rose and pointed into the darkness. “Go,” he commanded. “Go and never darken my path again.”
The man gasped. To be an elder and told to never show his face to the prince was unheard of. The old man stood, trembling, then crept away into the night.
Murat sank down by the fire and looked at each of the six remaining men. “Does anyone else wish to suggest I beat my wife?”
No one spoke.
“I know you are here to offer aid and advice,” he said. “In the absence of the king, you are my surrogate family. But make no mistake—Princess Daphne is my wife. She is the one I have chosen to be the mother of my children. Her blood will join with mine and our heirs will rule Bahania for a thousand more years. Remember that when you speak of her.”
The men nodded.
Murat turned his attention to the fire. As much as Daphne frustrated him, he had never thought to hit her. What would that accomplish? He already knew he was physically stronger. Old fools.
“Do you know why the princess left us?” one of the men asked in a soft, timid voice.
Interesting question. Murat realized he did not know. One minute they had been fighting and the next she was gone.
“She angered me. I spoke in haste,” he admitted.
“You could demand her return,” a man said.
Murat knew that he could. But to what end? To have her staring at him with anger in her eyes? That was not how he wished to spend his days. Yet to spend them without her was equally unpleasant.
“The prince wishes her to return on her own,” another man said.
Murat squinted at him through the flames. He was small and very old. Wizened.
“The elder speaks wisely,” he said. “I wish her to return to me of her own accord.”
The tiny man nodded. “But she will not. Women are like the night jasmine. They offer sweetness in the shadows, when most of the world slumbers. Other flowers give their scent in the day, when all can enjoy them. A very stubborn flower.”
“So now what?” Murat asked.
“Ignore her,” one man said. “Give her time to get lonely. She will be so grateful to see you when you do return that she will bend to your will.”
An interesting possibility, Murat thought. Although Daphne wasn’t the bending type.
“You could take a mistress,” another suggested. “One of the young beauties who travel with us. A man does not miss the main course when there are many sweets at the table.”
He shook his head. Not only was he not interested in any other woman, he had given his word. He would honor his vows until his death.
“A flower needs tending,” the little old man said. “Left alone it grows wild, or withers and dies.”
The other elders stared at him. “You wish Prince Murat to go to her? To go after a woman?”
Murat was equally surprised by the advice. “I am Crown Prince Murat of Bahania.”
The old man smiled in the darkness. “I do not believe her ignorance about your title and position are at the heart of the problem.”
Daphne had said much the same thing.
“The gardener yields to the flower,” he continued. “He kneels on the ground and plunges his hands deep in the soil. His reward is a beauty and strength that lasts through the harshest of storms.”
The cognac had muddled Murat’s brain to the point that the flower analogy wasn’t making any sense. “You want me to what?”
“Go to her,” the old man said. “Provide her with fertile soil and she will bloom for you.”
If Daphne grew anything it would be thorns, and she would use them to stab him.
Go to her? Give in?
Never. He was a prince. A sheik. She was a me
re woman.
He reached for the bottle, then stood abruptly and stalked into his tent without saying a word. When he reached the bedroom, he stood in the silence and inhaled the scent of Daphne’s perfume.
How he ached for her.
“Go to her,” the old man had said.
And then what?
Daphne stood her ground with the servants and basically bullied them into helping her set up her art table and supplies in the garden of the harem.
“But the crown prince said you were not to return here,” one of the men said, practically wringing his hands.
“I’m not moving in,” she said, trying to be as patient as possible. “I just want to work here. It’s quiet, and the light is perfect.”
With a combination of prodding, carrying most of the stuff herself and threatening to call the king, she got her supplies in place and finally went to work.
The clay felt good against her bare hands. She had a vision for what she wanted the piece to be, but wasn’t sure if her talent could keep pace with her imagination. Sleeplessness made her a little clumsy—she’d spent the past three nights tossing and turning—but she reworked what she had to and kept moving forward with the piece.
The sun had nearly set when she realized she’d had nothing to eat or drink all day. Dizziness made her sink onto the bench in the garden. But the swimming head and gnawing stomach were more than worth it, she thought as she stared at the work she’d accomplished so far. She could—
“I forbade you to come to this place.”
The unexpected voice made her jump. She stood and turned, only to see Murat stalking toward her.
“I left specific instructions,” he said. “Who allowed you to return to the harem?”
He wore a long cloak over his riding clothes. The fabric billowed out behind him, making him seem even taller and more powerful than she remembered.
She’d missed him. The past seventy-two hours had passed so slowly. Only getting back to her art had kept her sane. She longed to hear him, see him, touch him, but now as he stalked toward her, she wanted to ball up the unused part of her clay and throw it at him.
“I’m not giving you any names,” she told him. “And for your information, I’m simply using the garden as my art studio. I can’t get the right light in our suite, and the main gardens are too busy. All those people distract me. The harem isn’t used, so I’m not in anyone’s way.”
He glared at her. “You are still living upstairs with me?”
“I was, but I have to tell you, I’m seriously rethinking that decision.”
She wiped her hands on a towel and walked away.
Murat watched her go. On the helicopter flight back to the palace, he had thought about all the things he would say to Daphne when he saw her. They had been soft, conciliatory words designed to make her melt into his arms. When she wasn’t in their suite, he had gone looking for her, only to be told she was in the harem.
He had thought that meant she had moved back, but he had been wrong. Now what?
He walked out of the garden only to find his father entering the harem. King Hassan shook his head.
“I just passed your wife. She seemed to be very annoyed about something.”
“I am aware of that.”
His father sighed. “Murat, you are my firstborn. I could not wish for a better heir. You have been born to power and you will lead our people with strength and greatness. But when it comes to Daphne, you seem to stumble at every turn. You must do better. I worked too hard to get her back here and into your life to have you destroy things now.”
Chapter Fourteen
Daphne reached the suite she shared with Murat in record time, but once there she didn’t know what to do with herself. She wanted to burn off some of the excess energy flowing through her. She wanted to throw something, but everything breakable was far too valuable and beautiful.
After pacing the length of the living room twice, she stopped by the sofa where one of the king’s cats slept. Petting a cat or dog was supposed to be calming, she reminded herself. She stroked the animal and scratched under its chin, but still her blood bubbled within her.
“Of all the arrogant, terrible, hard-hearted men on the planet. To think I missed him.” Talk about stupid.
“Never again,” she vowed. “Never ever again will I think one pleasant or kind thought about—”
The door to the suite opened and Murat walked in. She stood and glared at him. “Don’t even try to talk to me. I’m furious.”
Murat closed the door and walked toward her. “I just spoke with my father.”
“Unless you’re going to tell me he’s agreed to us getting a divorce, I’m not interested.”
He unfastened his cloak and draped it across a chair. “He took me to task for annoying you.”
“Really? Well, he’s a very smart man.”
Murat ignored her comment. “He was most disappointed we were not getting along better, especially in light of all his effort to bring us back together.”
“I…” She blinked. “What?”
He motioned to the sofa. She sank down next to the cat she’d been petting and waited while Murat sat across from her.
“He told me that he has been waiting a long time for me to pick a bride. When I seemed reluctant, despite the various women in my life, he decided there must be some reason from my past. He made a study of my previous relationships and kept coming back to you and our broken engagement.”
“That’s right,” she said. “Broken and not fixed.”
“When he discovered you were unmarried, as well, he decided to bring us back together to see what happened.”
“That’s not possible.” She refused to believe it. “I wasn’t brought here for you. I came because of Brittany…”
She felt her mouth drop open and quickly pressed her lips together. Sensible Brittany who, out of the blue, suddenly decided to marry a man she’d never met and move half a world away.
“She was in on it,” she breathed.
“Apparently. No one else in your family knew. My father found out that the two of you were close and contacted her. Together they hatched this plan.”
“No.” Daphne shook her head. “She would never do that to me. She’s not that good a liar.”
“Apparently she is.” He motioned to the phone. “Feel free to check with her.”
“I will.” She picked up the receiver and punched in the number for her sister’s house. When the maid answered, Daphne asked for Brittany.
“Hey, Aunt Daphne, how’s it going? College starts in ten days and I’m so excited. Mom’s still annoyed with you, but she’s getting over it. She thinks I should start dating the governor’s son. He’s okay, I guess, but not really my type. What’s up with you?”
Despite Murat’s revelation and the possibility that Brittany had been a part of some plan, Daphne couldn’t help smiling as she listened to her niece’s monologue.
“I’m good,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Think I could come over there for winter break? We could go shopping and ride a camel. It would be fun. Plus I’d love to finally meet Murat.”
“I’ll bet you would. Sure. You can come here. But first I need to ask you something. Did the King of Bahania get in touch with you a couple of months ago?”
Brittany sucked in a breath. “What?”
“Did he want you to pretend to be willing to marry Murat to lure me back to Bahania? Brittany, I want the truth. This is very important.”
The teenager sighed. “Maybe. Okay, sort of. Yes. He called and we talked. He was really nice. Not at all like I imagined a king would be. He said that the reason you hadn’t fallen in love with any other guy was that you still loved Murat but you wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Not even to yourself. At first I told him he was crazy, but then I thought about it for a while and I decided he might be right.”
“Oh, God.”
“So I said I would marry Murat so tha
t you’d get all worried and stuff. Which you did. I felt bad on the plane. I was acting so shallow, but it was important. And then you went to see Murat and I came home.”
“Did anyone else know?”
“Are you kidding? Mom would never have agreed. I sort of felt bad about how excited she got over me marrying a prince and all. But, sheesh, how could she take it seriously? He’s so old.”
“Practically in his dotage.”
“But it worked out great. Right?” Brittany sounded slightly unsure of herself. “I mean you married him and everything. You’re happy, Aunt Daphne, aren’t you? I’d never hurt you for anything. You know that, right?”
“Of course I know that. I love you, Brittany. You’ll always be my favorite niece.”
Brittany laughed. “I’m still your only niece, but I know what you mean. How did you find out?”
“The king told Murat.”
“Was he furious?”
“He was unamused.”
“But you’re okay.”
Daphne thought about the young woman she’d loved for eighteen years. Whatever Brittany had done, she’d acted out of love and concern.
“I’m completely fine. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Let’s talk soon.”
“Absolutely. Bye.”
Daphne hung up the phone and looked at her husband. “It’s true. Brittany was a part of it from the beginning. She pretended to be interested in marrying you to get me on the plane.”
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “And I played right into my father’s hands by losing my temper and locking you in the harem.”
Not to mention marrying her against her will, but she didn’t say that.
“I’m pretty mad,” Daphne admitted. “But I also feel kind of stupid. I can’t believe those two were able to trick us like that.”
Murat looked sheepish. “It does not say much about our powers of reasoning. I kept telling my father I was not interested in a teenage bride, but he insisted she be brought over for my inspection.”
“I got all maternal and demanding,” she said. “I was terrified Brittany was throwing away her life.” She glanced at him. “Not that life as your wife is so terrible, but it wasn’t right for her.”
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