‘But if you are not ready...’ Amy bit her tongue, knew that to discuss would be pointless.
‘Ready?’ He frowned, for who was she to question him? But then he remembered she came from a land that relied on the fickle formula of attraction. The glimmer of his idea glowed brighter still. The answer to his dilemma sat beside him now, and her voice, Emir noticed, was just a little breathy when she spoke to him.
‘Perhaps a year is too soon to expect...’ She licked dry lips, wished she could suddenly be busy with the twins, for this conversation was far too intimate, but the girls were sitting playing with each other. ‘Marriage is a huge step.’
‘And a step I must take seriously. Though...’ He must not rush her, Emir was aware of that. ‘I am not thinking of marriage today.’
‘Oh...’
Sometimes he made her dizzy. Sometimes when he looked at her with those black eyes it was all she could do to return his gaze. Sometimes she was terrified he would see the lust that burnt inside her.
Not all the time.
But at times.
And this was one of them.
Sometimes, and this was also one of them, she held the impossible thought that he might kiss her—that the noble head might lower a fraction to hers. The sun must be making her crazy because she could almost taste his mouth... The conversation was too intimate.
His next words made her burn.
‘You are worried about tonight?’ Emir said. ‘About what might happen?’ He saw the dart of her eyes, saw her top teeth move to her lower lip. He could kiss her mouth now, could feel her want, was almost certain of it. He would confirm it now. ‘They will be fine.’
‘They?’
Her eyes narrowed as his words confused her and he knew then that in her mind she had been alone in the tent with him. Emir suppressed a triumphant smile.
‘They will be looked after,’ he assured her. And so too, Emir decided, would she.
Embarrassed, she turned away, looked to the oasis, to the clear cool water. She wished she could jump in, for her cheeks were on fire now and she was honest enough with herself to know why. Perhaps it was she who was not ready for the presence of a new sheikha queen?
How foolish had she been to think he might have been about to kiss her? That Emir might even see her in that way?
‘I have thought about what you said—about the girls needing someone...’ He should be patient and yet he could not. ‘You love my daughters.’
He said it as a fact.
It was a fact.
She stared deeper into the water, wondered if she was crazy with the thoughts she was entertaining—that Emir might be considering her as his lover, a mistress, a proxy mother for his girls. Then she felt his hand on her cheek and she could not breathe. She felt his finger trace down to her throat and caress the piece of flesh she truly loathed.
‘What is this from?’ His strong fingers were surprisingly gentle, his skin cool against her warm throat, and his questions, his touch, were both gentle and probing.
‘Please, Emir...’
The Bedouin caravan was travelling towards them, the moment they were both dreading nearing. A kiss would have to wait. He stood and watched them approach—a line of camels and their riders. He listened to his daughters laughing, knowing in a short while there would be the sound of tears, and he wanted to bury his head in Amy’s hair. He wanted the escape of her mouth. And yet now there was duty.
He stood and picked up both daughters, looked into their eyes so dark and trusting. He could not stand to hand them over, for he remembered being ripped from his own parents’ arms, his own screams and pleas, and then the campfire and the strange faces and he remembered his own fear. Right now he hated the land that he ruled—hated the ways of old and the laws that could not be changed without both Kings’ agreement.
He had survived it, Emir told himself as the wizened old man approached. The twins shrieked in terror as he held out his arms to them.
Emir walked over and spoke with the man, though Amy could not understand what was said.
‘They are upset—you need to be kind with them,’ Emir explained.
‘It is your fear that scares them.’ The black eyes were young in his wizened old face. ‘You do not wish to come and speak with me?’
‘I have decisions I must make alone.’
‘Then make them!’ the old man said.
‘They are difficult ones.’
‘Difficult if made from the palace, perhaps,’ the old man said. ‘But here the only king is the desert—it always brings solutions if you ask for them.’
Emir walked back to Amy, who should be standing in silence as the old man prepared the sand. But of course she was not.
‘Who is he?’ Amy asked.
‘He’s an elder of the Bedouins,’ Emir explained. ‘He is supposed to be more than one hundred and twenty years old.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘Not out here,’ Emir said, without looking over. ‘He gives wisdom to those who choose to ask for it.’
‘Do you?’ Amy asked, and then stammered an apology, for it was not her place to ask such things.
But Emir deigned a response. ‘I have consulted him a few times,’ he admitted, ‘but not lately.’ He gave a shrug. ‘His answers are never straightforward...’
The old man filled two small vials with the sand he had blessed and Emir knew what was to come.
Amy felt her heart squeezing as he took the sobbing babies, and her pain turned to horror as he walked with them towards the water.
‘What’s happening?’
‘They are to be immersed in the water and then they will be taken to the camp.’
‘Emir—no!’
‘You have rituals for your babies, do you not?’ Emir snapped. ‘Do babies in England not cry?’
He was right, but in that moment Amy felt as if she were bleeding, hearing their shrieks and not having the chance to kiss them goodbye. Listening to them sob as they were taken, she was not just upset; she was furious too—with herself for the part she was playing in this and with Emir.
‘Ummi!’ both twins screamed in the distance, and worse than her fear of his anger was resisting her urge to run to them. ‘Ummi!’
She heard the fading cry and then she heard her own ones—stood there and sobbed. She didn’t care if he was angry about what they called her. Right now she just ached for the babies.
And as he stood watching her weep for his children, as he heard them cry out for her, Emir knew his decision was the right one.
‘They will be okay,’ he tried to comfort her. ‘These are the rules.’
‘I thought kings made the rules,’ she retorted angrily.
‘This is the way of our land.’ He should be angry, should reprimand her, silence her, but instead he sought to comfort her. ‘They will be taken care of. They will be sung to and taught their history.’ His hand was on her cheek. ‘And each year that passes they will understand more...’
‘I can’t do this again.’ So upset was Amy she did not focus on his touch, just on the thought of next year and the next, of watching the babies she loved lost to strange laws. ‘I can’t do this, Emir,’ she was frantic. ‘I have to leave.’
‘No,’ Emir said, for he could not lose her now. ‘You can be here for them—comfort them and explain to them.’
She could. He knew that. The answer to his prayers was here and he bent his mouth and tasted her, tasted the salty tears on her cheeks, and then his lips moved to her mouth and her fear for the girls was replaced, but only with terror.
She was kissing a king. And she was kissing him. Her mouth was seeking an escape from her agony and for a moment she found it. She let her mind hush to the skill of his lips and his arms wrapped around her, drew her closer to him. His
tongue did not prise open her lips because they opened readily, and she knew where this was leading—knew the plans he had in mind.
He wanted her to be here for his daughters—wanted to ensure she would stay. She pulled back, as her head told her to, because for Amy this was a dangerous game. With this kiss came her heart.
‘No.’ She wanted to get away, wanted this moment never to have happened. She could not be his lover—especially when soon he would take a bride. ‘We can’t...’
‘We can.’ He was insistent. His lips found hers again and her second taste was her downfall, for it made her suddenly weak.
His hands were on her hips and he pulled her firmly in, his mouth making clear his intent, and she had never felt more wanted, more feminine. His passion was her pleasure, his desire was what she had been missing, but she could not be his plaything, could not confuse things further.
‘Emir, no.’
‘Yes.’ He could see it so clearly now—wondered why it had taken so long. ‘We go now to the tent and make love.’
Again he kissed her. His mind had been busy seeking a solution, but it stilled when he tasted her lips. The pleasure he had forgone was now remembered, except with a different slant—for he tasted not any woman, but Amy. And she was more than simply pleasing. He liked the stilling of her breath as his mouth shocked her, liked the fight for control beneath his hands. Her mouth was still but her body was succumbing; he felt her momentary pause and then her mouth gave in to him, and for Emir there was something unexpected—an emotion he had never tasted in a woman. All the anger she had held in check was delivered in her response. It was a savage kiss that met him now, a different kiss, and he was hard in response. The gentle lovemaking he had intended, the tender seduction he had pictured, changed as she kissed him back.
He was surprised by the intensity of her passion, by the bundle of emotion in his arms, for though she fought him still her mouth was kissing him.
It was Emir who withdrew. He looked down at her flushed, angry face.
‘Why the temper, Amy?’
‘Because I didn’t want you to know!’
‘Know?’ And he looked down and saw the lust she had kept hidden, felt the burn of her arousal beneath him. It consumed him, endeared her to him, told him his decision was the right one. ‘Why would you not want me to know?’
‘Because...’ His mouth was at her ear, his breath making her shiver. She turned her face away at the admission, but it did not stop his pursuit, more stealthy now, and more delicious. ‘It can come to nothing.’
‘It can...’ Emir said. She loathed her own weakness, but now she had tasted him she wanted him so.
‘Please...’ The word spilled from her lips; it sounded as if she was begging. ‘Take me back to the tent.’
Except he wanted her now. His hands were at the buttons of her robe, pulling it down over her shoulders. Their kisses were frantic, their want building. She grappled with his robe, felt the leather that held his sword and the power of the man who was about to make love to her. She was kissing a king and it terrified her, but still it was delicious, still it inflamed her as his words attempted to soothe her.
‘The people will come to accept it...’
He was kissing her neck now, moving down to her exposed breast. She ached for his mouth there, ached to give in to his mastery, but her mind struggled to understand his words. ‘The people...?’
‘When I take you as my bride.’
‘Bride!’ He might as well have pushed her into the water. She felt the plunge into confusion and struggled to come up for air, felt the horror as history repeated itself. It was happening again.
‘Emir—no!’
‘Yes.’ He thought she was overwhelmed by his offer—did not recognise she was dying in his arms, as his mouth moved back to take her again, to calm her. But when she spoke he froze.
‘I can’t have children.’
She watched the words paralyse him, saw his pupils constrict, and then watched him make an attempt to right his features. To his credit he did not drop her, but his arms stilled at her sides and then his forehead rested on hers as the enormity of her words set in.
‘I had a riding accident and it left me unable to have children.’ Somehow she managed to speak; somehow, before she broke down, she managed to find her voice.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘My fiancé was too.’
With a sob she turned from him, pulled her robe over her naked breasts and did up the buttons as she ran to where the horses were tethered. She didn’t possess any fear as she untied her mare and mounted it, because fear was nothing compared to grief. She kicked her into a canter and when that did not help she galloped. She could hear the sound of Emir’s beast rapidly gaining on her, could hear his shouts for her to halt, and finally she did, turning her pained eyes to him.
‘I lay for five days on a machine that made me breathe and I heard my fiancé speaking with his mother. That was how I found out I couldn’t have children. That was how I heard him say there really was no point marrying me...’ She was breathless from riding, from anger, yet still she shouted. ‘Of course that’s not what he told me when I came round—he said the accident had made him realise that, though he cared, he didn’t love me, that life was too short and he wasn’t ready for commitment.’ Emir said nothing. ‘But I knew the reason he really left.’
‘He’s a fool, then.’
‘So what does that make you?’
‘I am King,’ Emir answered, and it was the only answer he could give.
As soon as the tent was in sight, it was Emir who kicked his horse on, Emir who raced through the desert, and she was grateful to be left alone, to gallop, to sob, to think...
To remember.
The black hole of the accident was filling painfully—each stride from Layyinah was taking her back there again. She was a troubled bride-to-be, a young woman wondering if she wasn’t making the most appalling mistake. The sand and the dunes changed to countryside; she could hear hooves pounding mud and feel the cool of spring as she came to an appalling conclusion.
She had to call the wedding off.
CHAPTER SIX
‘I HAVE run you a bath.’
Emir looked up as Amy walked into the tent. He had told Raul to watch her from a distance and, after showering, had run the first bath of his life.
And it was for another.
As he had done so his gut had churned with loathing towards her fiancé—loathing that was immediately reflected in a mirror that shone back to him, for wasn’t he now doing the same?
Yet he was a king.
Again that thought brought no solace.
‘Thank you.’
Her pale smile as she walked into the tent confused him. He had expected anger, bitterness to enter the tent with her, but if anything she seemed calm.
Amy was calm.
Calmer than she had been since the accident.
She unzipped her robe and looked around the bathing area. It was lit by candles in hurricane jars—not, she realised, a romantic gesture from Emir, it was how the whole tent was lit. Yet she was touched all the same.
Amy slid into the fragrant water and closed her eyes, trying and failing not to think of the twins and how they would be coping. Doing her best not to think of Emir and what he had proposed.
Instead she looked at her past—at a time she could now clearly remember. It felt good to have it back.
She washed her hair and climbed out of the water, drying herself with the towel and then wrapping it around her. Aware she was dressed rather inappropriately, she hoped Emir would be in his sleeping area, but he was sitting on cushions as she walked quietly past him, heading to her sleeping area to put on something rather more suitable, before she faced a conversation with him.
He looke
d up. ‘Better?’
‘Much.’ Amy nodded.
‘You should eat.’
She stared at the food spread before him and shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she lied.
‘You do not decline when a king invites you to dine at his table.’
‘Oh, but you do when that king has just declined you,’ Amy responded. ‘My rule.’ And the strangest thing was she even managed a small smile as she said it—another smile that caught Emir by surprise.
‘I thought you would be...’ He did not really know. Emir had expected more hurt, but instead there was an air of peace around her that he had never noticed before.
‘I really am fine,’ Amy said. She was aware there was a new fracture he had delivered to her heart, but it was too painful for examination just yet, so instead she explored past hurts. ‘In fact I remembered something when I was riding,’ Amy explained. ‘Something I’d forgotten. I’ve been struggling with my memory—I couldn’t remember the weeks before the accident.’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
She went again to head to her room, but again he called her back. ‘You need to eat.’ He held up a plate of lokum and Amy frowned at the pastry, at the selection of food in front of him.
‘I thought it was just fruit that we could eat?’
‘It is the twins who can eat only fruit and drink only water. I thought it better for them if we all did it.’
She saw the tension in his jaw as he spoke of the twins. Sometimes he sounded like a father—sometimes this dark, brooding King was the man she had once known.
‘They will be okay.’ He said it as if he was trying to convince himself.
‘I’m sure they’ll be fine,’ Amy said. Tonight he was worried about his children. Tonight neither of them really wanted to be alone. ‘I’ll get changed and then I’ll have something to eat.’
Was there relief in his eyes when he nodded?
There was not much to choose from—it was either her nightdress and dressing gown or yet another pale blue robe. Amy settled for the latter, brushed her damp hair and tied it back, and then headed out to him.
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