Claiming His Desert Princess

by Marguerite Kaye

  Juwan would not be drawn further. The conversation left Tahira deeply troubled and deeply embarrassed by her own blind acceptance of the situation. She had always known, but until now she had chosen to ignore, and not to question. But soon, sickeningly soon, she would find herself in the peculiar situation of being responsible for those women, those children, belonging to her husband, yet whose existence she must not acknowledge. It was taken for granted that a man needed many woman, she had never questioned that, but would she feel different when it was her husband?

  Another question it had not occurred to her to ask, largely because she avoided the entire subject of matrimony, but now she forced herself to confront it. The man she would share a divan with, the man who kissed her, touched her, gave her children, would kiss other women, touch other women, give other women children. It was the way of things, it was what she had been raised to, but it felt very wrong.

  The only man she had ever kissed was Christopher. The only man she had ever wished to kiss. And a man she fully intended to kiss again, if she was given the opportunity. She lay back against the orange tree, closing her eyes. She thought about Christopher making love to her. His mouth on hers. His hands on her breasts. His lean, hard body pressed against her...

  ‘Tahira, here you are! Surely you are not asleep again! You have been sleeping half the day away of late. You are not ill, are you?’

  Alimah and Durrah stood over her, looking concerned. Tahira sat up, smiling at her sisters. ‘I was not sleeping, merely musing. Come sit with me. What have you been doing?’

  Alimah rolled her eyes. ‘Avoiding Juwan. She has promised Durrah and I needlework lessons.’

  Tahira repressed a guilty smile. ‘You can’t deny that you would benefit from them. Your needlework is atrocious, Alimah, and your sister’s is not much better, while Juwan’s is exquisite.’

  ‘Yes, but her conversation is not,’ Durrah said, throwing herself on to the cushions beside Tahira, placing her head on her lap. ‘It is all, Ghutrif says, and Ghutrif does, and Ghutrif has decided. Anyone would think she actually likes him.’

  ‘He is her husband,’ Ishraq said primly as she crossed the courtyard to join them. ‘Better to grow a rose in a marriage bed than a bitter lemon.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ Durrah said plaintively, ‘but she expects us to like him too. She is constantly bleating about how dreadful she feels that she has not yet provided him with a son. It is not her fault.’

  ‘Juwan knows that,’ Ishraq said, ‘but she can hardly go around blaming our brother, can she? Imagine his reaction if he found out!’

  A collective shudder ran around the sisters as they did so. ‘All the same,’ Alimah said in a small voice, ‘you’d think she would drop the dutiful wife act when it’s just us in the harem. Ever since she came here, it’s been different.’

  ‘She’s a usurper, an interloper, is what she is,’ Durrah said staunchly, ‘and she knows it.’

  ‘Hush now,’ Tahira intervened guiltily, for she knew full well that Durrah was expressing Tahira’s own views. ‘Juwan is the Crown Princess and as such we must treat her with the respect she is due.’

  ‘You don’t.’ Durrah pouted. ‘She isn’t one of us, why pretend? She doesn’t understand our jokes, she doesn’t read books, she doesn’t even paint or dance, and she loathes Sayeed.’

  Ishraq and Amirah chuckled. ‘Save for Tahira, we all loathe that cat, and Sayeed makes it very obvious the feeling is mutual, so at least we have that much in common.’

  ‘That is true,’ Tahira said, relieved to see Ishraq smiling.

  Though it was short-lived. Her next sister pursed her lips. ‘That cat is growing too vicious to remain here. Look at your hands, Tahira, they are in a disgraceful state.’

  They were, thanks to her work at the mine, and she’d forgotten to tend to them. Guiltily, she tucked them into her sleeves. Not only covered in scratches, but she had two broken nails which it would take a great deal of ingenuity to ascribe to poor Sayeed.

  Fortunately, Ishraq was not particularly interested in Sayeed or Tahira’s hands. ‘Juwan sees our brother through different eyes,’ she said. ‘As his wife, she knows it is her duty to love him.’

  ‘Well, I for one am glad that’s not a duty forced on me,’ Durrah exclaimed in disgust.

  ‘Oh, when you marry you will find it easy to love,’ Ishraq said assuredly. ‘What could be more natural, for you will not only have a husband but a harem of your own, maidservants to command, and when you give your husband a son then you may ask for anything.’

  ‘Really?’ Alimah, the youngest of the sisters, stared at Ishraq wide-eyed. ‘Anything at all?’

  ‘Jewels. Silks.’

  ‘A horse?’

  Ishraq laughed. ‘Even a horse.’

  ‘Then I hope that Ghutrif finds me a husband soon, for I would love to have a horse,’ Alimah said. ‘You would love a horse too, Tahira, I have often heard you say so. Why don’t you get married so you can have anything your heart desires?’

  ‘Yes, I would like to know the answer to that question too.’ Ishraq’s big brown eyes were challenging. ‘Do you realise that until you do, the rest of us are forced to bide our time here, doing Juwan’s bidding when we could have our own harems...’

  ‘But we’d not have each other,’ Durrah exclaimed. ‘Ishraq, you can’t want Tahira to leave.’

  ‘I want her to get married, so that I can get married,’ Ishraq said. ‘I’m tired of waiting for her to make up her mind. I want to be queen of my own harem, like Juwan.’ She turned to Tahira, her gaze challenging. ‘They have three candidates lined up, were you aware of that? Ghutrif’s Head of Council is holding preliminary discussions. Juwan wishes the matter decided before she has her son. It is to be hoped, for all our sakes, that this time you manage to hold on to the man in question.’

  Though she sensed Juwan’s hand behind her sister’s words, Tahira knew it would be unfair to blame her wholly. Ishraq was twenty years old, and only demanding what she had been raised to expect. She did not mean to be so hurtful, she was simply—rightly—frustrated. Tahira must not think that Ishraq loved her less because of it. ‘That is really what you want, to be married and rule your own harem?’

  The response made her heart sink. ‘It is all I have ever wanted.’

  Chapter Six

  The Bedouin Sheikh corralled his horses in a fenced compound adjacent to his encampment. With the legendary Sabr long-distance endurance race due to to be held in a few weeks, the place was a hive of activity, but as dusk approached, all was quiet, save for the soft whinnying of the thoroughbreds as they settled in for the night. There was no guard on the gate. The Sheikh was a very powerful man, with a well-deserved reputation for being ruthless with transgressors. If any man should be so foolish as to steal one of his precious, pure-bred Arabians—branded so as to be easily recognisable—he would not be long for this world. That was all the security the Sheikh required.

  Though Christopher knew, from his previous two nights reconnoitring the enclosure that he was the only human soul present, he checked meticulously before climbing over the fence at the furthest point from the gate. Now all he had to do was make his selection, and make damned sure that he had them back before dawn.

  Smiling softly to himself, he turned his attention to the horseflesh. Not even at the horse fair had he seen such a magnificent collection. Best to avoid those he’d noted were being trained for the Sabr, one of the Sheikh’s grooms would be sure to notice any sluggishness in their performance tomorrow. No point in arousing suspicion, even after the fact. He was keeping a low profile here in Nessarah, but Christopher knew perfectly well that his presence would have been noted. A stranger. A foreigner.

  He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. It was ridiculously risky. Completely unnecessary. He had made no promise to Tahira, who was bliss
fully ignorant of his plan to ‘appropriate’ a couple of horses. But his blood was fizzing with excitement. And really, was it such a great risk, provided he returned them before anyone noticed they had gone?

  The damned amulet, all the dark history it represented, had occupied his mind both day and night, since the moment he’d discovered it. It was such a relief to be able to set that burden aside for a short while. A relief to have something else to think about, to plan, to daringly execute. A whim, yes, but what was wrong with that? He had no need to do this, save to give Tahira pleasure, but that was reason enough. If anyone deserved to be pleased it was Tahira.

  Now, where was that fine-looking filly he had spotted a minute ago?

  * * *

  An hour later, back at the mine, Christopher waited anxiously for Tahira to arrive. He had completed his daily check on progress underground before stealing the horses, risking a visit before dark, as soon as the last miner departed. There was no sign of any turquoise seams as yet, though Prince Ghutrif’s men were making very short work of shoring up the tunnel. Soon, very soon, he would know for certain whether the stones in his amulet were a match. In the meantime, he had unexpectedly uncovered another very interesting piece of evidence some distance from the site of their own excavation which he was looking forward to sharing.

  Extinguishing his lantern, he began to make his way back down the outcrop to look out for Tahira. She was late. Perhaps she’d had second thoughts or had been unable to get away. But a cloud of dust in the distance made him raise his spyglass, and Christopher smiled with relief.

  Though her keffiyeh covered her face as she neared, he could see her smile reflected in those big almond-shaped eyes. He helped her down, and she pushed her headdress back, and his belly contracted. It felt impossible to release her, so he pulled her close, and then it was impossible not to kiss her. She opened her lips to him with one of those sweet sighs that set his blood roaring. She put her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. He slid his hand to the delightful slope of her bottom, pulling her tighter, and he let his kiss say the words that he would not even allow himself to think, that he was more than glad to see her. She tasted exactly as he remembered, of spices and heat, exotic and sultry, the distilled essence of Tahira.

  When their kiss ended they gazed at each other, quite dazed, and then she reached up to push his hair back from his brow, before pressing a final fluttering kiss to his lips and stepping back.

  ‘Close your eyes and hold out your hand,’ Christopher said.

  ‘What is it?’ Tahira asked, doing as he bid.

  He reached into his pocket and placed his find into her outstretched hand. ‘Take a look.’

  ‘Oh!’ Her eyes lit up as she gazed at the gold bangle, her fingers tracing the design, which was of a coiled serpent, the scales etched in green enamel. ‘Where did you get this?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Here?’

  He took her by the shoulders, turning her around to face the mine. ‘You see that fissure between the two main outcrops of rock? It’s been bothering me, I’m not sure why—a hunch, I suppose. It’s too far from where we’ve been excavating to be part of the village.’

  ‘It’s unlikely that two such highly valuable artefacts could have been accidentally left behind by passing travellers, isn’t it?’ Tahira clasped the serpent bangle to her breast, her eyes closed, her expression rapt. ‘What do you think it signifies?’

  ‘Something very important,’ Christopher said, finally giving way to his own excitement. ‘Look. The gold is of comparable quality to my amulet, the enamel work similar, and as far as one can be certain about these things, it looks to be about the same era.’

  ‘Christopher! That is wonderful.’

  ‘It’s not conclusive...’

  ‘But it’s a big step forward! Though it’s strange, isn’t it?’ Tahira turned the bangle over in her hands. ‘The eyes of the serpent are missing, but it is obvious they must have been jewels. Why would such a precious object turn up in a miners’ camp?’

  ‘The most obvious answer is that it was stolen property and nothing to do with the mine. Maybe part of a robber’s buried ill-gotten gains that were never reclaimed.’

  ‘Then we must turn our attentions to the place where you found this.’

  He slid the bangle over her wrist. The gold took on a new warmth. The eyeless serpent seemed almost to come alive. ‘It suits you,’ he said.

  Tahira shivered. ‘I like it too well, but I should not wear it if we’re going to dig.’

  ‘We’re not. Keep it on for now. I have other plans for tonight.’

  * * *

  The horses were tethered to a stunted tree just out of sight of the camels. One grey filly, one chestnut colt, both with the distinctive profile and high-carried tail of the Arabian thoroughbred. Tahira stopped in her tracks. ‘Where on earth did you lay your hands on such magnificent creatures?’

  ‘I borrowed them.’

  ‘Borrowed?’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘From whom? A most generous friend, to lend you two pure-bred Arabians.’

  ‘Not a friend, exactly. And he’s not actually aware of how generous he’s been.’

  There was a teasing light in his eyes, but Tahira began to feel slightly sick. ‘You can’t mean—please tell me you didn’t steal them.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Christopher said indignantly. ‘They’ll be returned to their rightful owner before first light.’

  ‘Whose horses are these?’

  ‘They are ours to enjoy, for now.’

  ‘If you took them from a Bedouin—you would be committing a less heinous crime if you stole his wife, you do know that?’

  ‘I have no need of a wife, Tahira, either my own or any other man’s. Don’t you like these horses?’

  ‘That is not the point.’

  ‘Oh, but it is the only point. Come, introduce yourself.’

  She could not resist, and as she ran her fingers over the highly-strung horse’s muzzle, Tahira’s fear gave way to awe, and to excitement. ‘I can’t believe you took such a risk for me, it is an outrageous thing to have done. Thank you, though I wish you hadn’t—but, no, that is a lie.’

  She ought to demand that he return the horses right now, but the grey was gently nuzzling her fingers, and the deed was done now, and a few more hours surely wouldn’t make any difference. ‘She is beautiful, thank you,’ Tahira said.

  Christopher smiled. ‘You certainly have an affinity with horses.’

  ‘I get it from my mother who, as you know from my necklace, was a Bedouin herself. Mama taught me to ride, but I have not done so for many years.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She hesitated, but recalling the conversation earlier with her sisters, and Alimah’s yearning to learn to ride being thwarted made her speak out. ‘My brother does not appreciate my—what did you call it?—affinity with horses, since he has none himself,’ Tahira said scornfully. ‘Mama was always saying that I had a strong ration of her Bedouin blood, and that he had none. I’m afraid it was one of the things she was rather—she seemed to enjoy pointing it out,’ Tahira said, grimacing. ‘She told him that he would be better sticking to camels.’

  ‘Let me guess. When she died, he put a stop to your horse riding.’

  ‘My youngest sister longs to learn to ride, but she has never been permitted to even sit astride a horse. I blame myself. It was not only Mama who boasted of my prowess—when I was younger, I was not above teasing him, and he—my brother has a very, very long memory.’

  ‘So he’s vindictive as well as petty and insecure.’ Christopher said something vicious under his breath. ‘A pathetic excuse for a man. If I could but get my hands on him...’

  ‘No! Please, don’t misunderstand me, I would very much like to see him forced to grovel, whether you chose to use those fists you have clenched or th
at fearsome scimitar, but—’ Tahira broke off, exclaiming impatiently. ‘You have gone to an immense amount of trouble to arrange this treat and exposed yourself to danger in the process. Let us not pollute the night with my brother’s presence.’

  Christopher uncurled his fists slowly. He gave himself a little shake, stretched out his fingers, as if to reassure himself that they had not re-formed into fists, then forced a smile. ‘Right, now as you can see, even my ingenuity has failed to provide us with saddles, though I’ve fashioned makeshift reins from some rope.’

  ‘Oh, that is absolutely fine. I can ride bareback,’ Tahira said. ‘Will you help me up—having boasted about my horsemanship, I’m not going to disgrace myself with a very rusty scrabbling mount.’

  But she was pleased—and relieved—to discover that all she needed was his cupped hand to land gracefully on to the horse, even more pleased to discover that it all came back to her, as if it had been a few minutes instead of many years since she’d had the pleasure. The grey filly was frisky but responsive, allowing her an excellent view of Christopher’s easy, lithe vault on to the back of the chestnut colt, and instant mastery of his steed.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Wherever you wish. The night is yours.’

  As she fastened her headdress over her face, Tahira’s eyes met his, and the low flame of desire stirred in her belly. A breeze ruffled the soft cotton of her cloak. Above them, the light haze of cloud cleared leaving a carpet of stars, and crescent of white-gold moon. She adjusted the rope halter, turned the mare towards the flat expanse of desert to the east and, urging her horse into a gallop, prepared to claim the night.

  The gentle breeze became a roar in her ears. Her headdress and cloak flew out behind her. She could hear the steady drumbeat of the horses’ hooves on the sand, see the puffs of the sand flying up as they raced, the blur of acacia trees, the startled eyes of some desert creature. And on she rode, skirting between two huge dunes, the sand becoming softer, forcing them to slow, allowing her to turn her head to the side, finding Christopher there, just as she had known he would be, keeping up effortlessly but holding back too, content to let her lead.