by Emma Wildes
Remembering wide blue eyes and the soft, shaken sounds of the English girl's musical voice when urged to participate in the marriage ceremony, Fahir shook his head. “Though she is an infidel and I do not approve of this marriage,” he said slowly, “she has enough to adjust to already."
* * * *
Looking comfortingly English in her practical gown and sturdy shoes, plain but familiar against the incongruous background of tiled opulence and splashing fountain, Aunt Gillian said, “Well, I must declare you promised me adventure and excitement on our travels and you have delivered nicely, my dear. Tell me, where is the prince this morning?"
Amazed that her aunt so cavalierly accepted her frantically arranged marriage and their earlier peril, Sarah answered truthfully, “I have no idea. When I woke, he was gone. And I must say, in the light of day, yesterday seems more fantastical than ever."
"I was convinced Prince Ahmed would help us, though I never guessed such drastic measures would be taken.” Plump, matronly, and serene, Gillian looked unfazed by being thrown into prison and nearly beheaded. “At least he does not choose to live at the royal palace but has this house instead, which is lovely and perhaps not quite so ... intimidating. It is hard to believe you are suddenly a princess, my dear."
"I find it hard to believe I'm married myself.” Recalling the passionate interlude of the evening before, Sarah felt her face heat. She could only hope she pleased her new husband, because there hadn't been a doubt he had satisfied her. She had been rather vocal in those moments of acute blissful release. It was a little embarrassing to remember her open enjoyment.
Her aunt sipped strong coffee from the delicate tiny cup in her hand, giving her a shrewd look. She murmured, “From the way you are blushing, I would say that though your hasty union was unexpected, your royal husband is not displeasing to you."
They sat in the courtyard, shaded by towering palms, and there was no sound except the low drone of a bee worrying at one of the pots of blooming flowers. Slowly, Sarah admitted, “I certainly never expected my life to take such a turn. Ahmed is very...” searching for a word to describe her handsome, intriguing husband, she lamely came up with, “kind."
"Kind?” Gillian chuckled. “My dear girl, he is a royal prince from a race so old they put our country to shame. From my brief acquaintance with him a few years ago, he also seems to be intelligent, worldly, sophisticated ... and let's face it, Sarah, he is a good-looking man. I imagine him to also be a hot-blooded lover, especially since he has wanted you for so long. I sensed his keen interest in you on his visit to England, but you were, after all, only seventeen and not someone his family would deem acceptable."
To the daughter of an earl, that concept was startling. “He was interested in me then?” she asked in a small voice.
"He watched you constantly. Both William and I noticed it. But then again, I don't blame him, my dear, for you are very lovely. Your brother has had many offers for your hand, as you well know."
A small bird flew past, settling in one of the lovely little trees, which in the daylight, looked like they bore tiny oranges, their blossoms filling the air with heavy scent. Sarah set her cup on the small table in front of the divan and said, “I liked him, too, during the time he spent with us, though I am not sure I ever quite thought I would end up his wife. Still, one thing is wonderful about him, he doesn't seem to view women as lesser creatures, for I could not live with someone like that."
"He's intelligent and intelligent men realize that it is far easier to live in harmony with their wives if they treat them with courtesy and respect. My own Reginald was such a dear and indulged me shamelessly, and in turn, I gave him everything he wanted; children, an orderly home, and ... of course, no doubt what you gave the prince last eve."
It was rather hard to imagine her elderly aunt in the throes of passion, but Sarah saw the gleam of amusement in her eyes and knew she was being teased. “You forgot a few minor details when describing the process,” she murmured in tart response, though her face flamed in embarrassment, her cheeks scorching.
"Tell me, dear Sarah, now that you are a woman in every sense of the word, do you think there are terms to exactly describe the act of love to someone who hasn't experienced it?"
It was true, there really was no way to actually explain the heights of pleasure she had gained in her new husband's arms. “No,” she admitted, and then she swallowed and looked away. “That aspect of this ... situation is pleasing, but the rest of it dismays me. There is no question of it, my future is now going to be completely different than I imagined and though I have longed to see this part of the world with its romantic mosques, ancient Roman ruins, and Byzantine towers ... I can't quite imagine living here forever. I can't even ask the servants where Ahmed has gone, nor when he will be back, for my accent is so clumsy that the words I do know are apparently unintelligible."
Gillian obviously understood, because there was sympathy in her voice when she said quietly, “It will be an adjustment, there's no doubt. I wondered how long it would take you to fully realize that England, at least as you have known it, is no longer your native country. For in truth, you are now more than part of the royal family, but a piece of the history of this very different place. However, I have never known you—the young woman who wanted to travel to exotic places and see other cultures before accepting an offer of marriage—to back away from a challenge. And perhaps, if your new husband is sufficiently taken with you, he will indulge you and bring you back to Berkshire often."
It was something to hope for, and Sarah summoned a brave smile. “In the meanwhile, I suppose we can explore the city as we wished, with a reliable guard this time."
"That,” Aunt Gillian said stoutly, her eyes alight with enthusiasm, “sounds marvelous."
* * * *
Ahmed crossed the outer chamber and stepped into the huge magnificent main hall, Hamet next to him as he walked past impassive guards who bowed respectfully at their passage. At his elbow, his cousin said in amusement, “You seem anxious to get back. Can I venture a guess as to the reason for your impatience?"
"The meetings this morning did not give me a chance to even talk to my new wife,” Ahmed said with open irritation. “I swear Omar changed the time to an earlier hour just to annoy me. This is her first day in our home, and I was forced to leave her with servants, with whom she cannot even converse."
Hamet lifted his dark brows. “You wish to talk to her? That is not what women are for, my friend."
Knowing that Hamet was merely a product of class and gender, and his closed-minded attitude was not a reflection of his considerable intelligence, Ahmed merely gave him a sardonic sidelong glance. “I understand full well what women are for, cousin. Believe me, it is fresh in my mind. But if one wants to have idyllic pleasure in the bedchamber, one must also have accord in other aspects of marriage. You would do well to learn that now, before you take a wife."
"Ah ... so idyllic well describes the seductive charms of my new golden-haired cousin? I can believe it, having seen her."
They reached the doors used only by the royal family, stepping into a courtyard where their horses were held at ready by stable boys who had been warned of the prince's desire for a rapid departure. Taking the reins of his mount, a compact, hard-muscled bay he'd bought from desert Bedouins, Ahmed swung onto his back. Noting the teasing grin on his cousin's face, he said, “I am not unwilling to seek compromise with my bride on the differences in our cultures and sexes if I can have her soft and warm in my arms. And yes, idyllic is fairly accurate. I'd like it to stay that way."
Hamet mounted in a graceful swift movement, and they clattered out of the courtyard, having to slow to a walk once on the teeming streets. His cousin said amid the din of street hawkers and pedestrians, “Opinion is divided, I assume you realize that. Some understand that her alluring beauty is incomparable and you desire her. They also realize the incident was simply the result of her ignorance, and having such a beautiful woman—one who h
as longed to come and see our city—put to death would be a travesty. Others are not so generous."
"Let me guess, Omar?” Ahmed guided his horse around an urchin with a basket balanced on his head.
"He has nothing but contempt for anyone weaker, especially women. Neither does he like your progressive ideas when it comes to dealing with other countries. You heard him today, arguing against the trade agreements you negotiated when they are clearly in our best interests."
He'd heard most certainly. It was trying always to introduce anything remotely new to his father's cabinet, most of which was made up of old men used to a great deal of power and set in their ways. However, Omar seemed determined to thwart any attempt to bring their nation out of the old ways of warfare and substitute diplomacy, and tried to make things worse at every opportunity. Ahmed muttered, “He grows to be a thorn in my side."
Hamet nodded sagely. “He dislikes your popularity, both with the people, and your father. He will make much of your decision to take an English wife."
Remembering his brother's scathing remarks as he'd entered the room that morning, he knew that to be true. Ahmed had ignored him, which had always worked in the past, for if he confronted Omar head on, it inevitably led to an ugly fight. As boys, they had brawled constantly, being only a year apart in age. As men, they were both able to keep their tempers under a tighter rein, however, it seemed to him that his brother was getting worse, more militant and aggressive and whatever personal differences lay between them were exacerbated by this growing hate. “Fahir is concerned, and he is rarely wrong. I want my brother nowhere near Sarah,” he said abruptly, feeling a twinge of unease. “He dislikes me, this I know, but I am not an easy target. She is vulnerable just by virtue of being female."
"She is vulnerable just for being your wife,” Hamet said plainly, “and makes you vulnerable in turn. Before to strike at you, he would need to risk an open confrontation. Now you have a weakness ... that is if it would pain you if something happened to her."
Thinking of the past two years and his inability to put the lovely Englishwoman who haunted his dreams out of his mind, not mention the glorious passion of the night before, Ahmed admitted, “I have a weakness."
His cousin smiled, looking at him curiously as they rode along a winding street. “I thought as much ... I am surprised, if I may say so, that if you felt so strongly for her two years ago back in England, you did not simply bring her back with you."
"She was barely seventeen years and had not fully finished her education."
"Since when is seventeen too young, and why in the name of Allah would she need an education? You should have offered a generous settlement and—"
"It isn't that simple there.” Ahmed laughed, interrupting, trying to picture arranging with William in terms of money or political favors for his sister. Not to mention her outraged response to such a bargain without being consulted. “It is true, the English do portion off their daughters, but ... their methods are less straightforward than ours. Not to mention that my wife's older brother would never marry her off against her will. They are very fond of each other."
"He would ask her opinion?” Hamet looked perturbed, his brow furrowing. “But you are of the house of Aziz. That would be insulting to you if she refused."
"It is her person being auctioned away,” Ahmed commented. “Besides, I, for one, have never wanted a reluctant wife. When I take her to my bed, I want her willing and eager for my touch."
"That is what concubines are for, Your Highness.” A chuckle.
"Perhaps ... but wouldn't it be simpler to instead find a mate that pleases you in all ways and spend your life in pleasant accord?"
Hamet laughed then, a rolling sound that echoed into the late afternoon heat. “It seems to me that your pretty bride has already been trouble and pleasant accord may be what you seek, but I am not at all sure you are going to find it. Passion, perhaps, which I envy you, but I have a feeling your life grew tremendously complicated yesterday, my friend."
Unfortunately, even though he did not regret for one moment his decision to marry Sarah Stewart and save her life, Ahmed had the very same premonition.
Chapter 4
Why she was more nervous this evening than she had been the last was a mystery, but Sarah felt her hands tremble slightly as she tied the silken cord of her robe. The room she had chosen for her own was spacious and calm; the only bright splash of color was the thick rug, the jewellike colors warm on the tiled floor. The bed sat on a small dais, the blankets softly piled in shades of beige and cream, and two long windows opened to yet another courtyard, this one with a small pool where large goldfish swam in lazy, graceful circles. Darkness had fallen, and in the low, soft glow of the lamps, she paced restlessly to retrieve her hairbrush from a small ornate table inlaid beautifully with ivory and mother of pearl and ran it through her loose hair.
Though Ahmed had joined her and Aunt Gillian for dinner, he had excused himself after receiving a message, apologizing with his usual unfailing polite courtesy. Not certain if she should simply retire or continue to wait, the role of bride still unknown and daunting, Sarah felt both apprehension and anticipation, not quite sure which she would prefer. Standing by the windows, she inhaled the unfamiliar perfume of the gardens and tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.
The soft knock on her door broke her reverie and she started, turning to see that the old woman introduced as Halide had opened the door, bowing with her usual deference, her plump figure swathed by layers of cloth. The woman knew a few words of English and Sarah was no better in the native language to her new country, so the two of them had communicated so far mostly by pointing, nodding, and tentative smiles. However, it wasn't hard to decipher Halide's beckoning gesture.
Ahmed had sent for her, Sarah gathered, apparently a royal summons to his bedroom.
Lowering her lashes demurely, her pulse beating rapidly in her throat, she moved slowly forward, obediently following down the shrouded corridor, the scent of sandalwood drifting in the air. Barefoot, the tiles were cool under her feet, her body slightly flushed as Halide opened the door to the prince's bedroom and guided her inside with her hand at the small of her back. Then the door clicked shut behind her.
Like herself, Ahmed wore a long robe, his of crimson satin embroidered with the royal crest and a rearing stallion in gold thread that glittered in the lamplight. His dark hair was damp as if he'd bathed recently, and he smiled at her from across the room suddenly, an almost boyish grin. “Forgive me, my Lady, for sending for you in such a ... barbaric manner. I'm a little tired and preoccupied, and it didn't occur to me how you might feel until I'd already sent Halide off to get you, and running after her seemed beneath my supposed dignity. Besides which, I have been gone all day and have no idea which room you have chosen."
It was a charming apology and very disarming, and Sarah found herself smiling back, relaxing slightly. “I did, Your Highness, have a slight sense of the ridiculous ... like a slave girl being summoned to pleasure her master."
"Now that,” Ahmed murmured in a surprisingly teasing tone, his intense gaze traveling over her body, “is an interesting fantasy, but rest assured, you are not a slave, but just the opposite, and you honor me when you come to my bed."
He could not have chosen better words to make that treacherous spike of excitement shoot through her. Taking a deep breath, Sarah said breathlessly, “It is an honor to be here, though for whatever reason, I am very nervous this evening, my Lord. More so than last night."
Walking toward her slowly, Ahmed lifted his brows, his dark eyes glimmering. “Last night, Halide put some potion in your wine to relax you and quiet your virginal fears. I was a little uncertain about it, but truthfully, it worked well, and you did not seem afraid, which enhanced the experience for us both. However, you are now no longer a girl, but a passionate woman, and I have no doubt you will respond to me tonight without the benefit of anything but my touch."
The idea of being dru
gged was unsettling, but Sarah was suddenly aware he was right. She could feel her breasts tightening just watching him come toward her with that slightly predatory look on his handsome face, her sensitive nipples thrusting against the silk of her light robe. “Ahmed,” she said huskily, almost as if testing his given name out loud, “will it feel the same? Last night was wonderful."
He reached her, his hands going to her waist, tugging free the silken cord and opening her robe. “Better,” he replied, the tips of his fingers grazing her bared skin, his hot-blooded gaze examining her nude body through the parted cloth. “This time there will be no pain, and you will be fully aware of every caress, every kiss, every nuance of our sexual union."
It couldn't be better, Sarah thought hazily as he slid her robe off her shoulders. The evening before had been wonderfully sublime, a revelation in physical joy. And when he took her in his arms and kissed her with that same spine-tingling expertise, seducing her mouth with open desire, she parted her lips immediately for the foray of his tongue and pressed against him.
His hands slid down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, cupping her naked buttocks and pulling her closer so she could feel his blatant erection against her stomach through his robe. As he plundered her mouth, she kissed him back with shy brushes of her tongue, making his hands tighten with potent urgency.
Were all men so easily aroused to such a hard, huge state? she wondered, not surprised when he immediately carried her to the bed and shed his robe with haste, following her down as he laid her on the soft sheets. “Beautiful Sarah,” her husband murmured in her ear, his long-fingered hand drifting in a graceful arc down her cheek, tracing her collarbone and the upper curve of her breast, “you inflame me. Like an English garden, you are pure beauty yet complex at the same time, effortlessly lovely and elementally belonging to the earth despite your very cultivated past. Tell me right now, do you feel like a refined lady, or a woman?"