by Jane Toombs
What had his grandmother been referring to when she said Linnea reminded her of his mother? When he was very young, because she wasn’t real to him, he’d endowed his mother with such virtues as loyalty and sacrifice. As he grew older, though, his buried resentment—why had she taken Zeid instead of him?—made him feel betrayed.
He still hadn’t completely overcome his sense of her betrayal. As he saw it, betrayal was a woman’s flaw. Any Kholi male who committed that crime had lost his Bedouin roots, had lost his true identity, was no longer a man.
Grandmother Noorah, whom he loved with all his heart, had also betrayed him by keeping her secret, by shutting him off from his twin for so many years.
His wife had betrayed him.
Talal blinked, suddenly realizing that, after tomorrow, he’d have to think of her as his first wife. He wouldn’t have to wait for betrayal by his new bride-to-be, she’d already damned herself.
Chapter Twelve
The sun was up when Linnea woke dazed and groggy from an almost sleepless night. Sahar stood beside her bed.
“The servant brought your tray some time ago,” Sahar said. “You must rise and break your fast because there’s much to be done and little time for you to get ready.”
Sahar left her, and Linnea, though she had no appetite at all, nibbled on the grapes and poured a cup of Kholi coffee, wondering if ever again she’d taste good old American decaf. As she sipped the strong brew, to keep her mind from what was yet to come, she took a deliberate inventory of the bedroom suite. Lavish and lush were the words that occurred to her. The polished furniture was beautiful, but there were too many pieces crowded in for her taste.
She preferred Grandmother Noorah’s spare style. Reminded she was sharing this suite with her, she wondered where the older woman was. Finishing the coffee, she set her cup down, contemplated pouring another and shook her head. Her stomach felt unsettled enough.
Someone tapped on the door, and a moment later it eased open and Sahar peeped in. “Time for the bath,” she said, beckoning to Linnea.
Confused—the suite had a fully equipped bathroom—Linnea rose. Sahar took her by the hand and led her down a hall into a large tiled room where she saw what she at first took to be a small swimming pool. As Sahar coaxed her closer, she saw that it was the largest bath she’d ever seen. The scented water steamed, bringing her the fragrance of roses.
Sahar motioned and three young servant girls appeared. “They’ll bathe you,” she told Linnea. “It’s our custom, a purification of the bride.”
Linnea eyed the three girls uneasily, aware she couldn’t refuse what was custom even though she’d much rather bathe herself. One of the girls slipped the nightgown off over Linnea’s head, another urged her into the bath. To her surprise, Sahar lingered, watching as she descended the several steps into the bath. Was this also custom?
As if reading her mind, Sahar said, “A female relative of the groom must see the ritual is carried out properly.” Her gaze assessed Linnea. “I was told you bore a child to your first husband,” she said. “It’s remarkable how you’ve kept your figure. One would never know.”
Unused to such frankness from a stranger, Linnea found herself blushing, which amused the servant girls, who giggled.
At first she submitted resignedly to the soaping and rinsing, but, as the rose-scented water frothed around her, their gentle ministrations began to relax her, even making her drowsy. The girl washing her hair massaged her scalp with such skill she sighed with pleasure, closing her eyes. She was almost sorry when Sahar clapped her hands, indicating custom had been satisfied.
As Linnea emerged from the bath, one girl wrapped a soft towel around her while another began to pat her dry and the third rubbed her hair with a smaller towel. By now she was almost accustomed to their attentions. When they were satisfied she was sufficiently dry, the towels were whipped away, leaving her naked.
Sahar stepped forward, a small open jar in her hand. She reached into the jar and, with delicate fingers, dabbed a creamy pomade onto Linnea’s temples, behind her ears, to her wrists, under her arms and lastly to her ankles. The smell, strong at first, gradually faded to a faint, pleasantly spicy odor.
“A Zohir family secret recipe,” Sahar said, smiling. “You are now irresistible to men.”
Linnea slipped on a white silk robe held by one of the girls, who gestured toward a dressing table with hinged mirrors. She walked over and seated herself on the padded stool and a servant she hadn’t seen before appeared and began to dry her hair. Afterward she brushed and arranged Linnea’s curls into an upsweep. Sahar handed the woman a glittering golden chain which she proceeded to thread into the upsweep. Belatedly Linnea realized the glitter came from diamonds set into the gold. Another servant came in with a tray of cosmetics, which she skillfully applied to Linnea’s face.
Before she could leave the room, Sahar covered Linnea’s head and face with a gossamer white veil. “To conceal the beauty of the bride,” she murmured.
Bemused by the exotic pampering, Linnea returned to her room to find Grandmother Noorah waiting with a servant and one of the dressmakers in attendance. Off came the robe, on with new, lace-trimmed wisps of silk lingerie, everything white, including a garter belt and hose. Last of all the gown, now a perfect fit, the luster of the pearls glowing softly against the creamy white satin.
Grandmother Noorah herself placed the diamond-and-emerald necklace around Linnea’s throat and inserted the matching earrings into her lobes. Linnea had feared the necklace would diminish the effect of the pearls; instead it enhanced them.
She’d deliberately looked at the gown, the necklace, at those helping her, anywhere but at her image in the cheval mirror. But, finally, she was made to face herself as Grandmother Noorah affixed to her head the gold tiara that held up the bridal veil.
Almost fearfully Linnea stared at her image and sighed in relief. The stunning woman staring back at her bore little relationship to Linnea’s own view of herself. It would be all right—the woman in the mirror was to be Talal’s bride, this woman could and would get through the ceremony unfazed.
Down came the veil, giving her the temporary anonymity of a bride. She was as shrouded in white as any Kholi woman in the ritual black gown and veil.
At the door, Sahar handed her a bouquet of white rosebuds and Linnea clutched the bridal bouquet with her white-gloved hands like a protective talisman, telling herself what was happening was not real. The other woman, the one who’d been bathed and scented and gowned and jeweled, would deal with it; she wouldn’t have to.
With Grandmother Noorah on one side and Sahar on the other, she glided down the hall in a trance. Before they reached what she called the assembly hall, she was startled into awareness by a wild shrieking, accompanied by the rat-a-tat of drums. From one side of a connecting hall crossing just ahead, three lavishly costumed women beating handheld drums danced into sight; from the other side, three women in flowing draperies that left their abdomens bare wriggled into place next to the drummers.
Belly dancers, Linnea realized in amazement.
The assembly room doors were thrown open, and with another series of wild shrieks, the drummers and dancers preceded the bridal party into the room. By the time Linnea entered, numerous guests lined up on both sides of the hall were making strange clicking noises with their tongues.
“Bedouin wedding ritual,” Sahar whispered.
Allowing the woman in the mirror to take charge, Linnea followed the chanting drummers and the belly dancers the length of the hall and then halfway back to a dais set several feet above the floor. Sahar escorted her to one of the two elaborately decorated chairs on the dais, leaving her sitting alone there while the drummers and dancers marched and wriggled back to the entrance and exited.
Once they’d disappeared, three white-clad men entered the hall in their robes and headdresses. Talal, in the middle, stood half a head taller than either of the others. She watched as he and his escorts made the same promena
de down the hall and back to the dais. One of the men escorted him to the chair next to her and left them.
A man emerged from the line of guests, climbed onto the dais and began speaking in Arabic. Talal repeated some words after him. Looking at Linnea he murmured more Arabic. Realizing she’d be expected to echo his words, she listened carefully and did the best she could. After many invocations to Allah, the man stepped down from the dais.
Immediately the guests approached, filing one by one past the dais, all speaking to the bride and groom in Arabic. Linnea, still wearing the veil, murmured “Shukran” until her lips felt numb. No one seemed startled so she assumed it was correct to thank them.
Eons passed before the last guest had his or her say. Linnea started to breathe a sigh of relief, cut short when Talal leaned close and whispered, “Now the wedding feast.”
By the time they reached the food table, laden with every possible delicacy, she’d gone beyond rational thought. Turning to Talal, at her elbow, she whispered, “Please can’t we leave?”
“They don’t expect us to stay,” he murmured as, arm about her waist, he escorted her through the crowd toward the door. She didn’t have a clue where he was taking her, but she soon realized it wasn’t going to be to her room. After being led by him through a maze of corridors, she found herself in a large, overly decorated room with a vast round bed draped in white velvet in dead center. Another, smaller room led off it.
“The bridal suite, for lack of a better name,” Talal told her with a crooked smile. He took hold of the edges of her veil and slowly lifted it from her face, then removed the tiara and veil altogether.
Gazing into his smoldering eyes, her numbness vanished like ice in the heat of the sun.
“You’re very beautiful,” he said, “but I hardly recognize you.”
“That’s because I’m the woman in the mirror,” she told him.
“She’s not the woman I want.” The huskiness in his voice thrilled through her. “But I’ll find the other, she’s here somewhere.” Talal’s fingers pulled out the pins holding her upsweep in place, the diamond-studded chain slithering to the floor. He ran his fingers through her hair so that her curls fell into their customary place.
“You smell good,” he murmured.
His touch made her feel as if she couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs to keep breathing, but she forced a light tone. “That’s because I’m wearing a secret, irresistible scent.”
“I have my own secret,” he whispered against her lips. “You’d be equally irresistible without it.”
She opened her lips to his, tasting him, familiar yet strange and exciting. His arms went around her, holding her close, and she melted against him.
“The gown,” she managed to gasp after a long moment. “It was your mother’s.”
He let her go, turned her around and began to undo the buttons that held the gown together, his lips touching the exposed flesh of her upper back as he continued unbuttoning until the gown fell into a heap around her feet. He drew the long satin slip over her head and off, tossing it aside, then turning her to face him, held her away and stared at her with such evident desire that her insides turned molten.
Reaching behind her, he unhooked her bra, cast it aside and cupped his hands over her breasts, whispering to her in Arabic. “English doesn’t have the words I need for your beauty,” he said as he bent to taste each breast.
He lifted her, tipped her backward onto the bed and removed her shoes, then unhooked the garters on the belt, sliding her stockings down her legs. Off came the belt, then he knelt and ran his tongue over her inner thighs, sliding his fingers inside the wisp of a pair of panties she wore, finding her warmth and caressing her until she moaned in agonized pleasure.
Hooking his fingers in the elastic rim of the panties, he pulled them off, eased her legs apart and teased her almost beyond bearing with his mouth. She was gasping for breath by the time he stood, tore off his shoes and socks and flung his robe aside. She caught a glimpse of the white shorts he wore underneath and then they, too, were gone. Quivering with need, through half-closed eyes she stared at his revealed maleness.
He dropped onto the bed and pulled her around so she lay on her back next to him. “My princess,” he murmured, before rising over her.
Opening to him, she cried his name as he plunged into her, waves of fulfillment already beginning to dance through her. His deep thrusts took her higher and higher as she moved with him in perfect harmony.
Afterward, as she nestled drowsily against him, she remembered what he’d called her. Princess. Good heavens, she actually was one now that she’d married a prince of the royal family. A memory from the Nevada night they’d shared slid into place. “When we saw that shooting star,” she said, “you warned me to be careful what I wished for.”
“So I did.” He nuzzled her ear. “And you’ve been properly punished, Princess Linnea.”
“Have I?” she inquired archly, sliding her leg over his, reveling in the delicious sensation of skin against skin. She touched her tongue to his chest, finding he tasted faintly of salt and musk. He slid his hand over her hip, tracing its curve, making her discard every thought except one—Talal lying next to her. His nearness, his scent, his taste, his touch filled her senses, shutting away all else.
Aching need beginning inside her once more, she ran a hand along his lower abdomen, down and down until she felt his nest of hair, then the hard evidence of his desire.
Talal groaned when her hand closed around him. “My little falcon,” he said huskily. “Still wild as the wind. I will tame you yet.”
His need for her was as powerful as if they hadn’t made love for a millennium. He pulled her to him, kissing her with unsated passion that filled him with fire. Her heated response pushed him past reason, past anything but his driving urgency to be sheathed within her pulsating warmth.
He took her with no preliminaries and found, to his delight, that she needed none. Wrapping her legs around him, she matched his eagerness, climbing to the peak along with him, her cries mingling with his groan of release.
This time he sank into total oblivion afterward.
In the morning they bathed together, making slow, sweet love in and out of the tub, feasted on dates and apricots and drank the Kholi coffee he loved. The day was theirs as his great-uncle had promised and they didn’t leave the suite or dress. Servants knocked at discreet intervals to bring more food and collect the residue of previous meals.
Surely, after this passion-filled interlude, his obsession with Linnea would lessen and gradually vanish, allowing him to view her objectively. But, for now, he was completely immersed in her, wanting her within arm’s reach so he could touch her and caress her between the highs of lovemaking.
Linnea refused to think beyond the moment, each one filled with a new delight of discovery. Her world, for now, consisted of Talal—no one, nothing else was necessary. He inspired heights of passion she’d never believed herself capable of. He was the most sexy, most desirable male in existence and the only one she’d ever want.
Whether this exquisite delirium would last or not, she didn’t care. This day was a gift shared by the two of them, a day she’d remember until she died. He was her prince in more ways than one.
They made love, slept, woke, ate, made love again, bathed, napped entwined, their only speech words of endearment, in Arabic and English, as he translated his murmured phrases for her. When night cloaked the world, she fell asleep knowing she’d lived the happiest day of her life, a day to cherish forever.
When Linnea woke in the morning, sunlight crept into the room around the blinds, reaching its rays toward the vast round bed where she lay alone. She tried not to feel deserted. Talal had told her he’d resume his hunt for Malik’s cousin Basheem at daylight. Though she realized the sooner the man was found, the sooner she’d be reunited with her daughter, she missed Talal’s presence.
A tray of fruit and coffee sat on the table near the bed. Sighing, sh
e rose to break her fast and begin the second day of being a princess. She grimaced at her mirror image.
“Where’s the golden hair and blue eyes that were supposed to go with the deal?” she muttered. “For that matter, where’s the prince who left you without so much as a note?”
The knock on the door ended her solitude. A servant girl entered, saying her name was Lawand. She opened an ornate wardrobe filled with clothes, none of which Linnea recognized as hers. Some were the altered designer clothes that had been Talal’s mother’s, but others were new, ones she’d never seen before. The girl extracted a gold sleeveless dress and held it up for Linnea’s approval.
Though the dress was more elaborate than Linnea would have preferred, she agreed to the choice rather than interrogate the girl about where her own clothes might be. She’d tackle Grandmother Noorah about them later. She didn’t allow the girl to help her bathe or dress, though. That had been a one-time affair as far as she was concerned.
The lack of sleeves and the shortness of the skirt convinced Linnea she’d be restricted to the women’s quarters once she left this room. Was the honeymoon suite in no-man’s or no-woman’s land? she wondered.
When she was dressed, the girl opened a door Linnea hadn’t yet used and she saw her guess had been more or less accurate, because the door, which the girl carefully locked behind them, handing Linnea the key, led the way into the women’s quarters.
Linnea pushed away her sensation of entering a cage, telling herself she was overreacting, and in any case, she wouldn’t be here forever. But the feeling muted the glow left over from her day with Talal. By the time she reached the suite where Grandmother Noorah was staying, sober reality had taken hold. There was more to her relationship with Talal than lovemaking. They were married. And he was Kholi.