The joining together of their bodies felt so…profound…something so close to the spiritual that it almost defied description.
Afterwards, he felt the wetness of his tears mixed with hers. Only now he was discovering that you could cry for all kinds of reasons, and that these were tears of joy—and there was nothing wrong with that. Not in the sanctuary of the bedchamber, alone with this remarkable woman with whom he could be the man he could never be with anyone else.
He held her very tight and kissed her, and then bent his mouth to her ear. ‘I never want to let you go, Sorrel,’ he said fiercely. ‘My Queen, my wife, my lover.’
And Sorrel kissed the top of his tangled black head and hugged him back just as tightly, her heart burning with love for him.
EPILOGUE
SORREL sat before the mirror, brushing her hair until it hung heavy and free in a shimmering blonde curtain. She yawned. It had been a long evening—but a successful one. An evening to celebrate the opening of the first part of the new road which stretched from the capital all the way round to the western side of the country. One day it would reach as far as the beautiful mountains which divided Kharastan from the neighbouring country of Maraban. It would bring with it life and tourism—and the new jobs which were so needed in Kharastan—though there were those who opposed it.
‘People always oppose progress, Sorrel,’ Malik had commented quietly, when she had relayed to him some of the rumblings of discontent she’d heard—mainly from visiting foreigners who wanted to keep the country to themselves, like a glorious undiscovered treasure.
‘It’s change they don’t like,’ she had replied thoughtfully.
‘Well, that’s always a stumbling block,’ he agreed with a smile.
As a couple they’d had to cope with some big changes themselves—much more than the average newlyweds. The adjustment to married life. The getting used to living together. Sorrel’s being thrown in at the deep end and learning how to be Queen. It was like being on a rollercoaster ride—dizzy and exciting and colourful, though occasionally exhausting.
To escape the exhaustion they had commissioned a leading Kharastani architect to build them a house on the Balsora Sea—a short distance away from where Xavier and Laura had their holiday home, and where Giovanni and Alexa were now looking to buy.
Their new house was full of the most amazing light, and the soothing sound of the nearby waves was better than a trip to any therapist! They were going there tomorrow, for the weekend, and Sorrel couldn’t wait.
‘Ah! You’re still awake!’
Sorrel heard the satisfied voice of her husband, and Malik came to stand behind her, so that she saw his reflection in the mirror—his white robes shimmering—and leaned her head back against him.
‘I always wait up for you,’ she protested, and then murmured her pleasure as he began to massage her shoulders.
‘I know you do, my angel.’ He kissed the top of her head and then frowned. ‘But I thought you looked tired tonight.’
How perceptive he had become, she thought lovingly. Yes, she had been tired, but there was a reason for that. ‘A little.’ She smiled, savouring the anticipation of telling him, and turned round, getting to her feet and putting her arms around his neck, her eyes soft as she looked at his beloved face. ‘Remember you asked me to find your cufflinks? The ones that Giovanni and Alexa bought for your birthday last year?’
He lifted her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘Mmm?’
‘Well, I did. I found them in the back of the drawer in your dressing room.’ She hesitated. ‘And I found something else, too.’
‘Oh?’ He laughed. ‘A secret?’
‘Sort of.’ She reached down to the dressing table and picked up a little box, held it up. It was a cheap little thing—covered in shells, with the word Brighton written on it. The kind of holiday souvenir that thousands of small children bought with their saved-up pocket money.
He looked at it, and then smiled. ‘Ah.’
‘I…bought you this, didn’t I?’ she affirmed tremblingly.
‘Yes, you did, my darling. I think you must have been about ten.’
‘And you kept it—all this time?’
Malik’s eyes softened in a way he would once never have allowed them to—but he had learnt that it was okay to show his feelings to his wife, his beautiful and precious Sorrel.
‘Yes, I kept it. It was the first real present I ever received.’ He took it from her and turned it over thoughtfully in his hands, and then he looked at her. ‘How appropriate that it should have come from you.’
There was a pause, and her heart pounded. ‘I have…I have another present to give you,’ she said softly. ‘Something I think you might like even more.’
Malik’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her blushing cheeks. Already he knew her so well, but every day was like a voyage of amazing discovery—and this soft, almost luminous Sorrel was one he hadn’t seen before. ‘Sorrel?’
Feeling suddenly shy, Sorrel lowered her eyes, and when she lifted them to meet his she felt the glow of pride. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she whispered, meeting his incredulous look with a nod.
‘You’re going to have a baby?’
‘Yes!’ she said, and then started laughing. ‘Yes!’
They had both hoped for a baby, but it had been one of those wishes not really wished aloud—some primitive superstition making them think that would jinx it. Malik had never had a family of his own, and Sorrel’s had been lost overnight, and this meant more to both of them than they would ever dare to admit.
‘When?’
‘I’ve only just found out…it’s early days…but—’
He gave a whoop, and then a kind of proprietorial growl, as he put the box down and gathered her into his arms. ‘You need to rest?’ he demanded.
‘No, darling.’
‘You need to rest,’ he said firmly, and picked her up and carried her to the low divan beside the windows which overlooked the palace gardens.
‘Yes, darling.’ Sorrel smiled, thinking that she would let him have his way and then later she would give him her book on pregnancy to read—giving special attention to the chapter which included notes on ‘How Not to Wrap the Pregnant Woman in Cotton Wool’. But just for now she would allow him to fuss over her. Because she could understand why he needed to.
This baby meant more to them than the continuance of a noble bloodline. In the end they were just the same as any other couple in love—and this baby was an expression of that love.
He sat at her feet and kissed her fingertips, and the sunshine illuminated the gleaming little shell-covered box—the only real present Malik had ever received, until Sorrel had grown up and come back and given him something more precious than the emeralds which were mined on the farthest reaches of his kingdom, or even than tiny shell boxes. The greatest gift of all.
The gift of love.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3078-5
Copyright © 2009 Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
The Sheikh’s English Bride
Copyright © 2007 by Sharon Kendrick
The Sheikh’s Unwilling Wife
Copyright © 2007 by Sharon Kendrick
The Desert King’s Virgin Bride
Copyright © 2007 by Sharon Kendrick
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