‘You drugged me. God be merciful, you drugged me.’ Rousing himself, he caught her wrist and pulled her down to the mattress. Bangles jingled. Flimsy silk rustled. He leaned over her and she flinched. His heart twisted. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
Troubled dark eyes stared back at him. Her bruises had almost faded, and it occurred to him that she was genuinely afraid. The wariness lingered in her expression, and Jasim hated to think he was the cause. Angry though he was, he wouldn’t harm a hair on her head.
‘That is good to hear,’ she murmured.
‘Zorahaida, what have you done?’ Jasim eased back and gestured at the cart and the canvas above them. ‘What’s all this?’
‘We are on our way west.’ Her lips trembled. ‘We are going to your apartment in Mondragón Palace.’
‘But your father—’
Her nostrils flared and she stared past him.
He touched her chin, turning her face until she met his gaze. ‘You drugged me, admit it.’
She nodded. ‘My apologies, Jasim. I could see no other way out.’
He could feel the anger building. They had disagreed and instead of talking it through, she had taken it upon herself to force her will on him. It stung. It more than stung. After the care he had taken to handle her gently, it felt like a slap in the face.
‘Zorahaida, my mind is clouded, but I distinctly remember telling you I wanted to speak to your father. The Sultan is a tyrant, he needs to learn that being a ruler does not mean the world is his plaything. He cannot lash out at everyone who gets in his way. Great responsibility comes with great office. Sultan Tariq needs to learn about justice. He needs to learn that because he can take what he wants, that doesn’t mean he should. The rule of law must be respected, even by him.’ With a sigh, he rubbed his brow. That ghastly dream chose that moment to float back into his mind and he felt a wave of nausea. ‘There is more of your father in you than I believed possible.’
She stiffened. ‘What! Jasim, I—’
‘Hear me out, if you please.’ Conscious that the only thing between them and the world outside was a thin layer of canvas, he lowered his voice. ‘You didn’t want me to seek an audience with your father, so you did all in your power to prevent it. That was wrong. A wife owes her husband some respect. I realise that being a Nasrid princess you are probably used to everyone scrambling to do your will, but if our marriage is to succeed you will have to learn to consult with me.’
She stared. ‘And when we disagree? What if I think you are wrong?’
‘Zorahaida, I have no wish for a compliant wife who defers to me on all things.’ He nudged her shoulder with his nose. ‘That would be boring beyond belief. Nor do I wish to control you. However, I won’t have our marriage become a battleground. Whatever faces us in the future, we must learn to find common ground.’
Jasim studied her expression. Had he gone too far? Apart from Sultan Tariq, not many people would challenge the acts of a Nasrid princess. But the devil take her, she had drugged him. ‘What did you give me?’
Mouth tight, she stared at the canvas beyond his shoulder. ‘Poppy juice.’
‘Poppy juice.’ He sighed. ‘That explains the headache. And the thirst.’
Shifting, she reached for the water flask and handed it to him. ‘This should help. It’s from a spring in the mountains.’
‘You shouldn’t have done it.’
‘Jasim, I didn’t want you killed. Is that so terrible?’
Leaning on his elbow, he took another draught of the water. ‘I am not questioning your motives, Zorahaida. I am asking for a little respect.’
She bit her lip. ‘I am sorry.’ She began toying with one of her bracelets, a heavy gold bangle that on its own would be worth a king’s ransom. ‘Jasim, I don’t wish to anger you, but I don’t think you should expect much of this marriage.’
His hand jerked and water splashed on to his wrist. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I doubt I will make a very good wife. As you know, I never expected to be married. Furthermore—’
Strangely chilled by her words, Jasim put his finger to her mouth. ‘Enough.’ He smiled. ‘What’s done is done, we shall put this behind us. If you swear never to drug me again, you, my love, will be the perfect wife.’
His head was pounding again. Smothering a groan, he lay back against the pillow. ‘How many carts do we take to Mondragón Palace?’
‘Six?’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘So many?’
‘We have a carriage each, six carts, a troop of armed knights, and a wagon for a retinue of servants, most of whom will return to the Alhambra. Oh, and Maura and Farid and your horses, of course.’
‘Quite the cavalcade then?’
‘Aye.’
‘What about your sister’s monkey and the songbirds?’
‘They are here too; I wouldn’t dream of leaving them behind.’ She searched his face, voice husky. ‘Jasim, I thought it best we made something of a show. When the Sultan realises his subjects assume he has given us his blessing, he will be less inclined to interfere.’
Jasim was silent whilst he thought it through. ‘I’ll say this for you, Zorahaida, you are certainly a headstrong woman. And you understand your father.’
She pushed to her feet. ‘I shall leave you to recover for an hour or so. When you are up to it, it would be helpful if you could show your face. Do you think you could ride?’
‘I’m a knight, Zorahaida,’ he said, drily. ‘I can ride in my sleep so, yes, despite your giving me that filthy potion, I think I could manage it.’
Zorahaida lowered her gaze, gave a curt nod and slipped through the canvas. The carriage tilted as she left it, an order was shouted, and the rocking began again.
Jasim gripped the water flask and closed his eyes. Already he was regretting that parting remark. She had drugged him with the best of intentions. He didn’t like it, not least because it put distance between them and ever since their marriage, he’d been telling himself that their physical intimacy and the joy it had given them meant she was learning to trust him. Though he hadn’t understood until now, her trust meant more to him than their physical joining.
Clearly, he’d been mistaken. She didn’t trust him. What had she said?
I don’t think you should expect much from this marriage.
She’d not expected to marry. She was telling him that she regretted it. Well, disappointing though that was, he couldn’t afford to dwell on it. Not when he’d come to Granada in the hope of renewing the ancient trade arrangements. Those agreements were vital. In a sense, the impulse that had led him to ask for the hand of the mysterious princess he’d seen visiting the hospital was irrelevant. He’d not come to Granada for her, he’d come to amend relations between Madinat Runda and Granada. His wife’s wilfulness might have put all that at risk.
Jasim stared blankly at the canvas above him. It was all very well Zorahaida making a great parade of their departure, but the way she’d arranged it was unpalatable. Drugging him in order to leave without the Sultan’s blessing was utterly outrageous. Women weren’t usually so self-willed.
Those covert visits to the city infirmary should have warned him that his bride was unusually strong-minded. Until today he’d had no idea that she was also extraordinarily stubborn.
Which was a shame, because if she had alienated Sultan Tariq, Jasim’s hopes for renewed trade agreements would lie in tatters. Any chance of proving himself worthy of more than a back seat in the government of Madinat Runda would be gone.
Thanks to Jasim’s beautiful, infuriating wife, his future was once again uncertain.
He shook his head as a pang went through him. Women were a mystery he longed to understand. Jasim’s mother had died when he’d been born, so he’d never had a chance to know her. The woman he knew best was his cousin, Fatima. Fatima was warm-hearted and caring, Jasim held
her in great respect.
After marrying Zorahaida and discovering that they were so well matched in bed, Jasim had found himself hoping they’d be compatible in other ways. He’d wondered if one day his wife would come to mean as much to him as his cousin. He would have liked that.
Thanks to his clouded past, Jasim had been in the habit of keeping lovers at arm’s length and until Zorahaida had entered his life it had never occurred to him that he would want it any other way. Zorahaida. His fingers tightened on the water flask. Had she alienated the Sultan for all time? Would the wretched rift between east and west never be healed? After this, Jasim had no idea. He did know that there was a strong possibility that his marriage to Zorahaida would cause yet more trouble. His uncle, peacemaker that he was, would be less than thrilled.
Regret pierced him. Despite his misgivings, Jasim wanted to keep her. She was his wife. And for all that she was likely to be troublesome, she was a delight in the bedchamber. He wasn’t ready to leave that behind him. Not yet. Not ever.
He rammed the cork back in the flask and glared at the opening in the canvas.
Rest was impossible. Besides, he was more than a little curious to see their little entourage.
* * *
The entire cavalcade halted in a small town whilst Jasim called for Blade. His horse at least was glad to see him, whinnying softly as Farid led him up to the waggon.
Jasim was conscious of townsfolk standing by the roadside, staring, just as Zorahaida had hoped. Some nudged each other in the ribs; others broke into delighted smiles. Jasim overheard several comments.
‘It’s our Princess!’
‘That must be her husband.’
‘Husband? I didn’t know the Princess had married.’
‘My thanks, Farid,’ Jasim murmured, taking charge of Blade.
His cares seemed smaller after he’d climbed into the saddle. Riding had that effect on him. Relaxing, he leaned forward to pat Blade’s glossy black neck and review the cavalcade.
His eyes widened. Though Zorahaida had warned him, it was larger than he had imagined. His carriage had his coat of arms painted on the canvas. Several baggage carts also displayed his coat of arms. He had no idea what the carts contained, he hadn’t brought much with him, they might be empty for all he knew. A couple of other carts were emblazoned with Nasrid red and gold, they must contain his wife’s belongings. Perhaps they all did.
Jasim ran his gaze up and down the line. Zorahaida had accomplished much in a short space of time. There were uniformed knights with fluttering pennons. Squires, servants...
A memory stirred. In Jasim’s youth, trading caravans had been common in Madinat Runda. When he was a boy and on better terms with his older brother, Usayd, Usayd had taken Jasim to watch the arrival of the caravan of a wealthy merchant in the marketplace. Jasim had enjoyed that day, and although he and his brother no longer saw eye to eye, Jasim was determined that merchants’ caravans would become commonplace again.
Puzzled, Jasim looked down the column. Where was Zorahaida? His gaze ran past the red and gold carts; past the knights with their glittering helmets; past donkeys laden with covered baskets. It was certainly impressive.
‘Farid, where’s my wife?’
‘The Princess is in the Nasrid carriage, with Maura,’ Farid said, pointing. ‘You won’t be able to see her from this standpoint. She has the canvas thrown back so all may see her.’
‘She brought no horse with her?’
Farid shook his head. ‘I am not sure your wife rides, Master. She certainly brought no horse.’ He grinned. ‘Everything else, but no horse.’
How odd, Jasim had been certain sure the Princess would ride. He’d heard tales of her riding out with her sisters on matching white ponies. Tales. They could well be wrong. Perhaps she couldn’t ride, perhaps she was afraid of horses, many women were. It might explain why she had stayed behind when her more audacious sisters had left the palace.
He frowned. No, he was doing her a disservice. Zorahaida was extraordinarily wilful, and she was nothing if not audacious. This extravagant progress through her father’s lands proved that. It was worthy of the Queen of Sheba.
Aware that the captain at the head of the outriders was looking to him for the signal to continue, Jasim waved his hand. ‘Proceed, if you please.’
As the wedding procession of the Sultan’s daughter and Jasim ibn Ismail of Madinat Runda rumbled ponderously into motion, a ragged cheer went up. The townsfolk waved and a young girl threw a spray of myrtle into their path. Others were swift to follow her example, showering the dusty road with fresh foliage and flowers.
Jasim found himself smiling. Zorahaida certainly knew how to cause a stir. He set his heels to Blade’s sides and headed for the Nasrid carriage.
* * *
Maura was sharing Zorahaida’s cushioned seat at the front of the carriage. Naturally, both women were veiled, and Maura was holding a sunshade to keep the worst of the heat at bay. A fringe of coloured beads at the edge of the parasol swayed and flickered in the sunlight, like fireflies.
Zorahaida stared blindly at the village they were passing through. She kept nodding and waving, she wanted the villagers to understand that she appreciated the tributes and cheers directed her way. It was hard though.
Inside, she was shaking, and she had no idea why. She’d known all along her marriage to Jasim had been one of convenience and she’d gone into it with her eyes wide open. She’d known there would be disagreements. What she hadn’t anticipated was how much they would upset her.
Her father the Sultan often angered her. In truth, the random and unjust punishments he had imposed on her and her sisters had taught her the meaning of rage. Like the time he had locked the three of them up in the tower and had sold their ponies. She’d been blind with rage then, they all had.
Today, however, Zorahaida felt more upset than enraged. She frowned, not at all sure what she was feeling. Whatever it was, she didn’t much like it.
‘It is absurd,’ she muttered.
‘Absurd?’ Maura asked. ‘What is absurd?’
‘I disappointed my husband,’ she said. ‘And I am surprised how much it distresses me.’
‘You are falling under his spell.’
‘His spell? What are you talking about? I married Jasim to prevent bloodshed. Maura, you of all people, know how it was. He asked for my hand on impulse, backed Father into a corner and once Father had agreed, Jasim couldn’t admit he’d made a mistake.’
‘Jasim ibn Ismail is blessed with strength and a handsome face. Underneath his ambition, I believe he is more considerate than most men,’ Maura said, carefully. ‘He might have asked for your hand on impulse, but you married him because you liked him. You want him to like you back and at the moment that is in question.’
‘Is it?’ Behind her veil, Zorahaida narrowed her eyes. ‘You think I have alienated him for ever?’
‘I hope not. Princess, giving your husband that sleeping draught got him safely out of the palace, as you desired. But you went against his wishes. It wasn’t wise.’
‘He wasn’t half as angry as I expected. He didn’t beat me, although he did say I must learn to consult with him.’
Maura made a choking sound. It was so quickly suppressed, Zorahaida knew she was laughing.
‘You find me amusing?’
‘Of course not.’ The parasol shifted, and the beaded fringe tinkled as it swung to and fro. ‘Princess, Jasim ibn Ismail is an honourable man. He is a knight; he is cultured and reasonable.’
‘Are you saying he is perfect?’
‘Princess, no man is perfect. But he is not a bully. You are used to dealing with a bully. I believe your husband will respond well if you change tactics.’
‘And how do I do that?’
‘Open your thoughts to him. Talk to him. If handled correctly, I believe your husband will b
e eager to please you. It’s obvious he wants your union to be a true meeting of hearts and minds.’
A true meeting of hearts and minds? Zorahaida wasn’t so sure. He’d said he wanted respect.
Hopelessly confused, she frowned at the roadside. A small boy was throwing flowers towards her carriage and without thinking, she inclined her head and waved at him. A cloud of thistledown drifted in the dusty air. She could hear the screech of a hawk and the bleat of a goat.
‘I wish I had your confidence, Maura.’
‘Be patient, Princess, you need to adjust. Both of you.’
Zorahaida opened her mouth to say more when the motion of the carriage changed, they were slowing down. Hearing hoofbeats behind them, she suppressed a sigh and turned. ‘What now?’
Jasim rode up alongside, and her breath stopped. He was dressed in his princely finery. His posture was confident, his hold on the reins easy and competent. He was impossibly handsome. No one would imagine that not long since he’d been poisoned and drugged.
His smile was cautious, and it struck Zorahaida that Maura might be right. He wanted their marriage to be a success. Her heart lifted.
‘Greetings, my husband,’ she said softly. ‘Is all well with you?’
‘Very well, but I lack one thing.’
‘Oh?’
‘Your company.’ He held out his hand. ‘Princess Zorahaida, will you ride with me?’
Her jaw slackened. ‘You want me to climb on to your horse?’ Her heartbeat quickened. ‘I can’t do that!’
‘You fear horses?’
‘I adore horses.’
Jasim held up his hand and the cavalcade shuddered to a halt. His mouth went up at the corner.
‘I heard your sisters rode with their husbands when they left the palace. I thought, since you have brought half the palace with you, your horse would also be here.’
Her head lowered. ‘I no longer have a horse.’
Even to her own ears, her voice was tinged with regret. Jasim must have heard it, for he leaned towards her, frowning. ‘What happened?’
The Warrior's Princess Prize Page 13
