Claiming His Desert Princess

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘That is true. Very true.’ Ghutrif pursed his lips, pretending uncertainty, but Tahira could see the gleam of avarice in his eyes, and her heart began to pound in a different beat. ‘You have maps, locations?’

  ‘I have all the information you need to exploit these resources, I assure you.’

  ‘And your personal credentials?’

  Christopher handed over a small bundle of papers. ‘This one verifies my profession as a surveyor. These are references from Egyptian pashas for whom I have carried out similar work.’

  ‘You did not have my permission to survey Nessarah.’

  ‘Let us just say that I acted on my own initiative.’ Christopher executed a small, formal bow. ‘You cannot deny that the results are pleasing, but it is up to you, your Highness. You are wise as well as powerful. The information is yours to do with as you see fit, in return for your sister’s hand.’

  ‘You hope to buy my sister’s hand for the price of some mines which do not yet exist? That is asking for a leap of faith on my part.’

  ‘Firstly the potential rewards far outstrip any risk. Secondly,’ Christopher said tightly, for the first time meeting Tahira’s eyes with a smile meant only for her, ‘your sister’s hand cannot be bought, and must be given freely.’

  Ghutrif laughed. ‘Be careful what you wish for. You may as well know that my sister is something of an oddity. She’s already had one future husband die on her, and been jilted by another. Perhaps Prince Zayn might think he is getting the better bargain in Ishraq after all.’

  Christopher’s fists clenched. Tahira watched in horror as he took a step towards the throne, but before she could cry out, he thought the better of it. ‘I am known as a man who likes to take a risk or two,’ he said evenly. ‘This is a chance I am more than happy to take. So, what do you say, your Highness? Will you take a risk too, on having your name revered by your people as the prince who discovered untold wealth, the prince who secured Nessarah’s legacy?’

  It was a masterstroke. Tahira bit her lip as Ghutrif positively swelled with pride. ‘Very well. We have a deal.’

  ‘There are conditions.’

  ‘Aren’t there always! Go on, name them.’

  ‘Princess Tahira and I will be married immediately. A private, intimate ceremony, in the desert, with her sisters as her attendants.’

  Christopher made no attempt to hide his smile this time. The warmth of it made Tahira glow. Ghutrif, studying the scroll, did not notice and merely waved his hand vaguely. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We will then depart Nessarah for Egypt, where we will make our home. A home in which my wife’s sisters will be welcomed on visits at regular intervals while they remain here in the royal palace. Naturally, once they marry, I will seek the appropriate permission from their husbands.’

  ‘Very well.’ Ghutrif continued to peruse the scroll, lifting his eyes only when the silence continued for some moments. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘So little to you, but it means a great deal to me.’

  ‘I cannot imagine why, but so be it. You foreigners have some strange customs. Our terms are agreed, I will have the papers drawn up,’ Ghutrif said briskly, clearly intent upon concluding matters before Christopher changed his mind. ‘There is however one major hurdle to be overcome.’ He cast a meaningful look at Tahira. ‘Given her history, I would be astonished if my contrary sister chose to marry a foreign stranger whose name she does not even know.’

  Tahira could restrain herself no longer. ‘I have a choice?’

  Her brother drew her a dark look. ‘You have no choice but to marry, but it seems you do have a choice between two suitors.’

  ‘Then it is simple.’ Tahira got to her feet. ‘I choose the man who chose me, rather than the man that you chose for me!’

  Ignoring the astounded gasp from Ghutrif, turning his back to the prince, Christopher untied her veil and pushed back her headdress before clasping both her hands between his. ‘I ask you most humbly to be my wife, my one and only love, for now and for always.’

  She hadn’t thought she could love him any more, but she could. He had not only secured her freedom, but he had secured access to her beloved sisters too. ‘I want nothing more,’ Tahira said, quite forgetting that they were not alone, ‘than to have you as my husband, my one and only love, for now and for always.’

  Christopher drew her to him. He kissed her hand, not her lips, but she saw the promise in his eyes. For now and for always. And soon.

  Epilogue

  Three days later, Tahira sat alone contemplating her imminent sunset wedding ceremony. The fates, she thought, had conspired to grant her everything she could wish for on this most auspicious of days. Yesterday, Juwan had given birth to a fine, healthy boy, Ghutrif’s much-desired son and heir, whose emergence into the world had been announced to widespread jubilation. The informal celebrations were likely to continue for at least a week, the formal festivities which would follow presaging the wedding of Ishraq and Prince Zayn, granting Tahira and Christopher the privacy for their own nuptials which they so fervently desired. Ghutrif had been easily persuaded to postpone the announcement of Tahira’s marriage until after they had departed Nessarah.

  Ishraq, to Tahira’s profound relief, had been beside herself with delight when informed that she had inherited both her sister’s bridegroom and her lavish wedding. When the couple were formally introduced, it seemed, according to Juwan who officiated, that the delight was mutual. Though neither Tahira’s sister-in-law nor her eldest sister could understand her preference for the foreigner without kingdom or wealth to bestow on his bride, at the brief betrothal ceremony held yesterday, her younger sisters had been fascinated by Christopher.

  ‘Those eyes,’ Alimah said afterwards, making a show of fanning her face with her hand, ‘and that smile he has, only for you, Tahira. I do believe his claim to have fallen in love at first sight is true.’

  ‘He sees you as we do,’ Durrah had said. ‘He knows you as we do, and you know him. I see it in the way you look at him. For you too, it is love, I think, though I am not so sure about the first sight bit.’

  A speculative look had accompanied this remark. ‘What do you mean by that?’ Tahira had whispered, checking that Alimah’s attention was focused on sorting through the swathes of silk from which they were to pick their wedding outfits.

  Durrah had shaken her head, smiling enigmatically. ‘I see your hands have healed from the scratches Sayeed has been regularly inflicting on you. No more broken nails either.’

  ‘Durrah, what are you implying?’

  ‘Tahira.’ Her sister had wrapped her arms around her, hugging her tightly. ‘You need have no fear, no one else suspects,’ she had whispered, ‘but you have not fooled me. You have been so very changed, and so very tired too, in the mornings. I don’t know how you did it, but please, before you leave, won’t you share your secret with me? How do you manage to escape the confines of the harem?’

  Horrified, Tahira had steadfastly refused to tell her, extracting a very reluctant promise that Durrah would not pursue the matter. And that, she acknowledged now with a sigh, must be the end of her worrying about it. In a few short hours she would be married and gone from the harem, and in not so many days, so too would Ishraq. With Juwan’s son taking up all her attention, Alimah and Durrah would be left a great deal on their own. It was time for her sisters to grow into adulthood without her. Though, thanks to Christopher, her darling Christopher, their parting would not be final.

  The distant tinkling of a bell made her check her watch, and the hour shown on her little jewelled timepiece sent Tahira’s heart racing. Her sisters and her maidservants would be here in just fifteen minutes to complete her preparations. She must hurry to complete her last, sad undertaking.

  ‘It is time,’ she said with a heavy heart, gently waking Sayeed, who had been sleeping soundl
y on her lap.

  The sand cat yawned, digging his vicious claws into the cushion which Tahira had had the sense to place beneath him in order to protect her finery. She tickled his favourite spot on his forehead, wanting to hear his growling purr one last time, but he was in no mood for caresses. Rested from a long day’s sleep, Sayeed was ready to hunt. He jumped down from her lap and padded to the window, his ringed tail held high. ‘You are eager to claim your freedom, I see,’ she said, blinking back the tears. ‘That shall be my wedding gift to you. You are a wild creature at heart. It was wrong of me to try to tame you.’

  An impatient mewl greeted this remark. Tahira opened the window and followed him out into the courtyard. For the first time ever, she opened the entrance to the tunnel in daylight. ‘Goodbye, Sayeed. Enjoy your freedom.’ Her voice was clogged with tears, but her sand cat scampered quickly through the tunnel and out towards the desert without a backward glance. Tahira closed the entrance over for the final time, rearranging the thick trailing plants which covered it. Would Sayeed return and meowl to be re-admitted? Perhaps he would, but not for long. Soon the desert would become his home, as befitted him.

  Her own future glowed bright, tantalisingly close. Like Sayeed, she would not look back. Like Sayeed, she couldn’t wait to claim it.

  * * *

  The tent had been pitched exactly as Christopher specified at the oasis where he and Tahira had swum, the front open wide to face the waters and the cascade, though far enough back to allow space for their small coterie of wedding guests. No ordinary tent, this one was constructed of silk and brocade, gold-tasselled, the supported poles gilded. Inside, huge garlands of paper flowers were strung out across the roof and down the sides, golden yellow and deep crimson, scented with attar of roses.

  The rear of the tent was screened by gauzy layers of chiffon in the same colours. A quick check reassured him that here too, things were exactly as he had requested. Astounding what could be achieved in such a short time by royal command, though perhaps not so astounding, when the royal personage in question had the twin incentives of a new-born heir to welcome into the world, and a sister who had been a persistent thorn in his side to see off. Prince Ghutrif, having assimilated the full magnitude of the dowry which Christopher was furnishing him with, was clearly terrified that his sister’s foreign suitor might change his mind. If Christopher had requested a tent spun from gold he reckoned Prince Ghutrif would have found a way to provide it. And if Christopher could have found a way to exclude Tahira’s brother from their wedding he would have, but with her father too ill to leave his chamber, they needed the avaricious autocrat to officiate, and to grant their union legitimacy. For Tahira’s sake, and for the sake of their children, if they were fortunate enough to have any, the legal status of this marriage must be unimpeachable. Though he had come to terms with his own tainted blood, he would not wish any child of his to struggle as he had done.

  A child! Christopher let the drapes flutter back into place, turning his back on the seductive appeal of the bedchamber at the back of the tent. These last few days had been so hectic, he’d had very little time to think of this, his wedding night. Tonight, he and Tahira would make love, and if a child was the outcome—by the stars, if he’d had any idea that this would be the outcome of his odyssey to Arabia—was he ready for this?

  Stepping outside, he inhaled the cooling evening air, but though his jangling nerves calmed, they did not wholly subside. His life was about to change for ever. He was about to become a husband, and his wife was a princess of the royal blood. How would she cope with the hardships of life as an antiquarian? Ought he to abandon his future plans? He could, as Tahira had pointed out, make a fortune from surveying. He could keep her in silks, waited on hand and foot by servants. She would never have to get her hands dirty.

  I doubt the woman exists, who would tolerate my investing every penny I earn in excavating holes in the ground. Nor would any, I am certain, endure the travails of traipsing around Egypt, living in caves and tents while I spend most of my waking hours digging up bones.

  His own words, he remembered, from the first or second night of their meeting.

  I would consider that paradise.

  Tahira’s words. And she’d meant them. She was right too, it would be paradise, with her at his side. Not a princess, but his Tahira, who was marrying him despite the prospect of a life spent far from the lap of luxury. He should remember that. His Tahira, his own perfect love, who would be truly his, as he would be truly hers, in a few short hours.

  Christopher made his way to the entrance of the oasis to watch the approaching caravan of camels. White thoroughbreds, he could hear the bells from their reins tinkling faintly. A guard at the front, others flanking the sides. The first camel, with its huge canopied saddle, bore Prince Ghutrif, splendidly decked out in robes of gold and silver. For perhaps the last time, Christopher forced himself to kneel in homage to the man who was about to bestow the greatest gift of all upon him. Two other men behind him in state robes would be the witnesses. Next came the three sisters, in gold and emerald. And finally, in the same gold and crimson which matched his own robes, his bride.

  His nerves fled as his eyes met hers. He was meant to be with this woman. She completed him. Her brother took his place on the make-shift throne in the tent. Her sisters, silks fluttering, sank on to the bank of cushions, the two officials standing behind them. Christopher took his bride’s hand in his. Her skin was cool, her fingers slightly trembling, but he detected in her eyes the same certainty, the same profound love. Prince Ghutrif cleared his throat, impatient to begin. For once, Christopher’s feelings chimed with the man who was to be his brother-in-law. The sun was sinking. He led Tahira to the low stools in front of the throne, and they sat down together. He couldn’t wait to be married.

  * * *

  There were no farewells after the ceremony. Tahira and her sisters had made their adieus in private before leaving the harem, sadness tinged with excitement for each of them, for it was not an end but a beginning. As she watched the royal caravan of camels fade into the distance, Christopher put his arm around Tahira.

  ‘You will miss them profoundly,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, but not as much as I missed you, when you left.’ She placed her hand over her heart. ‘As if you had taken part of me with you. Now I am complete. What have I said?’

  Christopher took her hand, placing it over his own heart. ‘Almost exactly what I was thinking, while I was waiting for you to arrive. I have never felt so certain about anything in my life, as I did when we made our promises. I love you so much.’

  She reached up to push his hair back from his brow. ‘I love you too, so much, Christopher. You know that, don’t you?’

  He smiled, the smile that made her insides melt. ‘I do,’ he said, his smile turning wicked, ‘but just to be absolutely sure, why don’t you show me?’

  He swept her up in his arms. Laughing, she put her arm around his neck. Above them, the night sky was indigo blue, awash with stars, the moon bright, casting shadows over the reflective waters of the oasis. The tent had been closed over, but lamps had been lit inside. Christopher pushed back the gauzy drapes at the rear and set her on her feet. There was a divan, covered in cushions and silks, scattered with rose petals. Rich rugs underfoot. Her heart was jumping, her pulses racing.

  Tahira cast off her headdress, the gold coins which had held it in place tinkling as it fell to the floor. He kissed her then, tenderly at first, his mouth gentle on hers, but Tahira did not want gentleness and when she deepened the kiss, it seemed neither did Christopher. Their tongues touched. He moaned softly, and their kisses heated. Her cloak fell to the floor, pooling at her feet. Then his. His hands cupped her breasts, stroking her nipples, and the sweet, persistent thrum started low in her belly. She tugged at the buttons of his tunic, tearing her mouth from his only to allow him to pull it over his head, moaning, pa
nting as she pressed her lips to his chest to taste him, her hands roaming over his buttocks, the rippling muscles of his back, saying his name over and over, thinking only hazily, my husband, my husband, my husband.

  More kisses. He laid her down on the divan. The layers of her wedding clothes were cast aside as he kissed every newly revealed piece of her skin, muttering her name, muttering his love, his hands, his lips feverish. Another low growl as he removed the last layer of silk and she sprawled before him, naked. One look at his face, the slashes of colour on his cheeks and his eyes, focused entirely on her, and she could not doubt how much he wanted her. Desire, potent desire, made her reach for him, undo the sash of his trousers. He was fully aroused. Gloriously aroused. Fascinated, she trailed her fingers over the length of him. Iron and silk, the book had said. It was mistaken. Just Christopher, hard and sleek and powerful.

  ‘I want you so much,’ she said.

  ‘Tahira.’ He kissed her, laying down beside her. ‘Tahira, my lovely Tahira, I want you.’

  More kisses. His mouth on hers, then on her breasts, her nipples, her belly, and then between her legs. She cried out as he licked into her, fistfuls of the silk sheets between her fingers in an effort to delay, to wait, but she couldn’t stop it. He licked, stroked, over, around, inside, and her climax ripped through her, unstoppable, pulsing, throbbing, wave after wave, making her cry out, arch up, reach for him, urgent for the completion which she had been denied for so long.

  ‘Now,’ she said, as he lay over her, snatching more kisses, greedy kisses, demanding kisses, ‘now.’

  ‘I will be—I will try to be careful, I...’

  ‘Now, Christopher.’

  Another kiss, the deepest of kisses, and he was inside her, and she could not have imagined—it felt so very, very right. Only then did she realise he was holding himself tightly under control, the strain on his face, waiting. She smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said, kissing him again. ‘Yes, please.’