Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride

by Marguerite Kaye

  The Chief Celebrant was preparing the special oil for the final part of the ceremony, mixing the secret ingredients into the frankincense of which even Abdul-Majid was ignorant. Any other man than Kadar would be lost in all the magnificent robes which he wore, his presence subsumed by the shimmer of gold and glitter of precious stones, by the fire that seemed to burn inside that huge diamond on his belt. But despite all his princely trappings, it was Kadar’s own presence which shone through. There was authority in his stance and in his expression. In those fiercely intelligent eyes, there was strength, power, that certain something which singled out the true, natural-born ruler from mere mortals.

  ‘By anointing thy heart,’ the Chief Celebrant chanted, ‘we give to thee, our Prince, the enduring and unquestioning love of our people, and in the name of those people, we do declare you Prince Kadar of Murimon.’

  The audience fell in unison to their knees in obeisance, Constance following suit. She felt very strange, sneaking a look up at Kadar as the final words of the ceremony were spoken and repeated by all present, filled first and foremost with pride to be present on such a momentous occasion, privileged to be part of this ceremony, and almost overawed by Kadar’s regal bearing.

  But there was more to it than that. Behind that princely façade, there was a man whom Constance thought so much more admirable, for he was flesh and blood, a man who knew he could never be infallible, yet strived to come as close as he could to that state. A man of honour and integrity. A man of passion. Of all of this she was aware, and some of it only she, of all here present, knew.

  Tears filled her eyes as the emotion of the occasion took hold of her. This ceremony tied Kadar to Murimon for ever. It heralded a new beginning for his kingdom, but it also marked the official end of his old life. His role from now on was Prince of Murimon. His future here, creating the kingdom he wanted for his people. A new dawn. Yet for her, it was the beginning of the end. It was an illusion, this being part of something, her role here as court astronomer. Soon, she would have to set sail into her future, to decide for herself what form it would take, what role she would carve for herself.

  Her tears could no longer be held back. Here, in the Royal Saloon, at the end of this most moving and life-changing of rites, she could admit to herself that she cared for the man who was now Prince, cared for him rather too much. Never before had she felt this way about any man, because previously, she had equated such feelings with marriage, and therefore entrapment. There was no question of marriage here, and even if there were—no, she had not changed her mind on that. But it had not occurred to Constance until now that it was possible to feel two quite contrary things at the same time: a profound and deep-rooted affection for a man—no, she would not dare go so far as to call it anything more; and a fierce determination never to be any man’s property.

  Shaken, she rose to her feet with everyone else at Kadar’s command. Confused, she listened as he spoke, noting how mesmerised his audience was by his words, noting that she was very far from being the only one with tears on her cheeks, noting the assurance with which the new prince spoke, knowing that his people hung on his every word, though she had no idea what those words meant.

  Kadar concluded his coronation speech and, as the first cheers broke out, he made his way out of the Royal Saloon and Constance took up her position at the rear, behind the two lines of council members who would bear their prince’s train. Her thoughts turned, as they had over and over again in the preceding nights, to two other women. The princess whom Kadar was to marry. And the woman who had broken his heart.

  * * *

  It was very late, or rather very early, when Kadar finally changed out of his coronation robes. He ought to be exhausted, for the day of his coronation had been an exceedingly long one, but instead he felt light-headed, wide awake, slightly detached from reality as he had all day, as if he had been watching himself from afar. It had all gone like clockwork, thanks to the ever-efficient Abdul-Majid, but from that satisfaction too he felt quite detached. He was officially Prince of Murimon, the foremost personage in his kingdom. He shook his head at the incongruity of it. As second son, he had never dreamt this day would come. Now he had everything which Butrus had ever wanted, and he was going to turn it into something which his brother could never have dreamt of. He had revealed only the outline of his plans to the council, and had repeated the exercise for the benefit of the people crowded into the piazza following his coronation. It was impossible to tell whether the apparent enthusiasm with which his words were greeted was merely a product of this most momentous of days. When the formal public exhibition of his plans was unveiled in the special room in the palace which was currently being prepared for just that purpose, then he would know more.

  Would Butrus really be so appalled? Baffled, more like. Butrus would fritter away the huge Nessarah dowry on extravagant toys like the three-masted schooner he had ordered, on horses he could not hope to master, and on goodness knew what other luxuries. It was a large sum of money. It would take dedication and many years to spend it in such a fashion, but it probably wouldn’t occur to Butrus that it might be spent in any other way. What was the point of changing traditions and customs and a way of life which had served for centuries? he would probably ask. ‘Progress, Brother,’ Kadar whispered softly.

  Clad now only in a cotton tunic, he stared out at his kingdom from his rooftop terrace, breathing in the soft night air, listening to the waves gently breaking on to the shore in the distance. They were as different as night and day, he and his brother, but there were certain occasions, like now, when he missed Butrus. He didn’t regret the years of his self-imposed exile, for he could not have stayed to witness—no, that would have been painful beyond endurance. But he wished Butrus could have come and visited him. Perhaps then, faced with a fast-changing Europe his brother would have opened his eyes to the need for change closer to home. ‘Or perhaps not,’ Kadar said wryly to himself. All Butrus had wanted was here. A kingdom to rule, a people to revere him, a dynasty to succeed him.

  A dynasty to succeed him.

  As soon as the celebrations were ended, the pressure for Kadar to marry would intensify. He had used his upcoming coronation as a shield, very effectively as it turned out. Now disarmed, he was forced to confront this next rite of passage square on. He was marrying for money and an heir. Yes, the money would benefit his people, and if that alone was the reason, perhaps he would not feel so squeamish. But dynastic purposes? The notion filled him with repugnance. Children were human beings, not heirs in waiting. They should be brought into this world for one reason only—that they would be loved—and as the product of one thing only—and that was love.

  Oh, love, sweet perfect love. The province of youth, of innocence, granted but once in a lifetime. He had sipped from that cup, had been permitted a glimpse of paradise. Should he have fought harder, pleaded his case more strongly, simply taken matters into his own hands, overcome all her scruples and forced the issue by taking decisive action? But he had not, and it was seven years too late for regrets. He would have been happy, theirs would have been a perfect union, but it was not to be, and now would never be. As to this loveless union which his people wished him to undertake, which his brother had been about to embrace...

  A noise on the steps made him turn. Constance, wrapped in a white robe, her hair floating like a cloud behind her, appeared on the terrace and stopped dead at the sight of him. Kadar held out his hand. ‘You’re not disturbing me.’

  She joined him in the ghostly predawn light. Her feet were bare, as usual. ‘Are you surveying your domain now it is officially yours?’

  Her very presence had a calming effect on him. ‘Yes, I find I’ve suddenly developed despotic tendencies.’ He was rewarded with one of Constance’s captivating smiles. ‘What brings you up here?’ he asked. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

  ‘Couldn’t you?’

  He laughed s
oftly. ‘Perhaps I am sleeping. Today has felt like one long dream.’

  ‘You were magnificent, Kadar. It was a most moving ceremony. I have no doubt that you will provide your people with the prince they deserve and, judging from the reaction to the speech you made in the piazza, I think they agree with me.’

  He was absurdly pleased, though he merely shrugged. ‘You looked quite magnificent yourself today. Every inch the court astronomer. In fact the most impressive I have ever seen.’

  ‘And how many other court astronomers have you met?’

  He grinned. ‘None! But I have to say, your ceremonial robes looked spectacular. The design using the map of the night sky was an inspired idea.’

  ‘Yasamin’s grandfather must take the credit for that. He made a wonderful job of bringing my suggestions to life.’

  ‘When I said you looked magnificent I was referring to the person wearing the robes, not the robes themselves.’ He turned to face her, pushing her hair back from her face, twining a long silky curl around his fingers. Looking down at her—big eyes wide open, fierce brows, soft mouth, that combination of strength and vulnerability which he had detected in her from the start—made something twist in his gut. Wanting, yearning, something stronger and more powerful than mere desire, overwhelmed him. He slid his hand further into her curls, letting their silky softness caress his forearm. It felt like an age before his lips touched hers, both of them watching, waiting on the other to withdraw, drawing nearer and nearer, until their mouths met, and even then, pausing. Then she emitted a soft sigh and melted into his arms.

  * * *

  When Kadar’s lips met hers it felt so right that it left no room to conclude it might be wrong. This was a kiss that had been waiting patiently, suspended in the stars above them since that last kiss here on this terrace. Their mouths clung, their lips lingered, not tasting but drinking, savouring, a slow blurring of two people into one. Constance’s eyes drifted closed. She could taste starlight in their kiss, something ethereal, brightly shining, yet it was a light which would slip through her fingers if she tried to catch it. A kiss which could not be earthbound, yet a kiss which felt so real.

  She sighed as Kadar pulled her closer, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist. Her body nestled against his, her curves fitting into his hollows, her hands smoothing over the ripples of his muscles, relishing the tension in him belied by those pliant kisses, like wine now, heady, sweet, achingly sweet, bringing her body to life, making her melt against him, making her feel as if she could fly with him to the stars, where their kisses came from.

  Deeper kisses, drugging kisses. His tongue sweeping over her bottom lip, hers licking into the corners of his mouth, and then tongues touching, that touch like a secret connection, making all the pulse points of her body into one shimmering constellation, her mouth, her breasts, her fingertips, her belly, her toes, and the beating pulse of that constellation throbbing inside her.

  She could feel his arousal hard against her, but still their kisses were yearning kisses, kisses that longed only for more kisses and more kisses, kisses whose point was only kissing, and kissing, and kissing. Until desire rushed through her like a riptide, the fierceness of it startling her. And Kadar felt it too. So their kisses slowed, because they could not continue. And stopped, because they had to. And they stared at each other, dazed and dazzled. And then they let each other go.

  ‘Thank you,’ Kadar said softly.

  Constance couldn’t help smiling. ‘No, thank you.’

  He shook his head, kissing her brow, smiling back—a soft smile she had not seen before. ‘Not for the kisses, that pleasure was mutual, I hope.’

  ‘Very,’ she said, unable to resist pushing his hair back from his brow, allowing her fingers to trail down his cheek, from smooth skin to rough stubble.

  He took her hand, pressing another kiss on her palm. ‘I want to thank you, Constance, for reminding me that I am not only a prince, but a man.’

  ‘Kadar, when I look at you I always see the man first, the prince second.’

  He laughed at that, keeping her hand in his, pulling her over to the mound of cushions which she kept by the telescope. ‘I want to talk to you about something.’

  ‘That sounds serious,’ she said, seating herself with her back to the wooden frame.

  He sat beside her, cross-legged. She had tried, but she had never quite been able to mimic that misleadingly relaxed-looking pose. His feet were bare. High arches, just like hers. She had noticed them before. Here? No, on the beach, the first day they rode out together.

  ‘I’ve decided I’m not going to get married,’ Kadar said, startling her from her reverie.

  ‘What?’ Constance stared at him in astonishment, thinking she must surely have misheard him.

  ‘I can’t do it. No, it’s not that. I won’t do it.’

  Her jaw dropped. ‘But why not? What made you reconsider—Kadar, have you thought of the consequences? The dowry—you said you needed it to implement your plans.’

  ‘I do,’ he said wearily, ‘but I won’t marry for money, and that is what it amounted to.’

  ‘But what will you do?’

  ‘I have no idea. The ramifications are too great for me to even contemplate right now. I intend to honour the pledges I made today. I owe it to my people to implement my plans, but not at the cost of betraying my conscience, which I would do if I married merely to obtain the funds to underpin my grand design. I must find another way. I will find another way—somehow. I don’t know, Constance.’ He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘I have only just reached that conclusion, and have not thought any of it through. Today has been life-defining, but not in the way that I imagined. I’m sorry, it is none of your business, but I thought...’

  ‘That I would understand,’ she said, taking his hand between hers.

  ‘Yes.’ His fingers gripped hers. ‘The situations are not the same, but there are... Not similarities but parallels.’

  She smiled to herself. Even under extreme duress Kadar was so careful with his words. But his grip reminded her that he was under extreme duress. ‘Tell me,’ she said gently. ‘Perhaps it will help to talk it through. Then you will know how to act.’

  ‘I don’t know where to begin.’

  ‘Well, as with all good stories, one begins at the beginning.’

  There it was again, that odd flicker, almost a blink, of his right eye. If she was not watching him so closely, if it had been night and not almost dawn, she would have missed it. It was followed by a long silence, while Kadar retreated behind his inscrutable look before finally spoke. ‘Then I will begin with my trip to Nessarah,’ he said. ‘I journeyed there after I took my oath to this kingdom, after I had buried my brother. I went with every intention of breaking off the betrothal to the Princess Tahira. Assuming responsibility for my brother’s kingdom was a huge shock for me as you know. I had no desire to assume responsibility for his intended wife in addition.’

  ‘Even though you knew that there was a large dowry at stake?’

  ‘Yes. At the time I thought only of myself, of my own feelings, which were— I was not yet thinking as a prince, Constance, but as a man. One who knew he would never marry. Taking a bride for the sake of her dowry, for the sake of my newly inherited kingdom certainly did not sit well with me. But I had not then considered the situation from my people’s perspective, thought about what that money might mean for them, provide for them.’

  ‘Is that what forced your change of heart?’

  He hesitated. ‘I will be honest with you. I think if I had not interrupted my journey to Nessarah, I would have acted with my instincts and broken the contract, but en route I paid a visit to an old friend in a neighbouring kingdom. Azhar had, by a strange twist of fate, also recently been crowned—in Qaryma they use the title “King.” He too had spent his most recent years abroad making a
different life for himself, though sadly our paths never crossed. He asked me what I intended to do now that I was Prince of Murimon, and I told him, somewhat flippantly, “Try to make a better prince than my illustrious and much-loved elder brother.” Though I had no idea what that meant, it made me question whether my first act, of cancelling an alliance which Butrus had made, and which was very popular with his people, was the wisest of decisions.’

  ‘But you told me you wanted to be different from Butrus.’

  Kadar nodded. ‘I do now, but then...’

  ‘You had just lost your brother, you had gained a kingdom you never thought would be yours and you were contemplating the loss of all you had achieved for yourself since you left here,’ Constance said, pressing his hand. ‘You were shipwrecked, just like me.’

  ‘Yes, I think I was. I was also— Azhar made me realise I was also being arrogant. It was he who reminded me that I had a kingdom to rule, and that nothing—not even what he called my precious books—must take precedence over that. His words made me see that I was being self-indulgent, putting my needs first. By the time I reached Nessarah, I had resolved not to break the betrothal, but to postpone the marriage. With hindsight I see that I was buying myself some time in order to reconcile myself to the situation.’