Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem

by Marguerite Kaye

  Celia spoke softly to the turbaned guards, gesturing to her father. Reluctantly, they sheathed their scimitars. ‘I’ve told them to leave the doors open and promised we will remain in full view in the courtyard,’ she said, gesturing her father in. Peregrine, who looked as if he would prefer to stay on the other side of the door, entered with some reluctance.

  Lord Henry looked about with interest. ‘Well, so this is the harem. Where are all the other women?’

  ‘There aren’t any. Prince Ramiz is not married. What has happened, Papa? You look upset.’

  ‘Well, and so I bloody well should be,’ Lord Henry said, casting a contemptuous look at Peregrine. ‘Come here, Celia, let me look at you.’

  Lord Henry inspected his daughter, who was dressed in a green caftan of lawn cotton, with her copper tresses flowing down her back, in some state of disorder from sleep. Perfectly well aware that the trauma of the scene with Ramiz and her consequent disturbed night showed in the dark shadows under her eyes, Celia put her arms round her father’s neck, avoiding his scrutiny. ‘It is lovely to see you, Papa. I’m sorry you’ve had to come all this way.’

  ‘Aye, well, providential as it turns out. Or at least,’ he said, glowering once more in Peregrine’s direction, ‘I thought it was until this damned fool told me what he and that idiot Wincester had cooked up.’

  ‘Lord Armstrong, I assure you I was just the messenger,’ said Peregrine. ‘Wouldn’t dream of— Would never—’ He broke off to look beseechingly at Celia. ‘I beg of you, Lady Celia, to inform your father of what passed between us.’

  ‘Let us sit down,’ Celia said wearily, clapping her hands to summon Adila and Fatima, and asking them to arrange divans in the courtyard for her guests, much to Peregrine, Lady Sophia and Lord Henry’s relief. Celia and Cassie, who was dressed in one of Celia’s outfits, though she retained her corsets, sat on cushions, leaning against the fountain.

  Once coffee was served, and the maidservants had retired, Celia took a deep breath and recounted her original interview with Peregrine. ‘I assure you, Papa, he was most circumspect in his request, and most painfully embarrassed by it too. I admit, I did consider the possibility of disclosing any information which I obtained here—not by subterfuge but simply because I was here—but after Peregrine left I decided I could not. Lord Wincester may consider my first loyalty is to my country, but while I am a guest of Sheikh al-Muhana, my country is A’Qadiz, and I would not insult him by betraying him. If I did, would I not be betraying my country rather than serving it?’

  ‘Quite right, quite right,’ Lord Henry said. ‘Well said, daughter—exactly as I would have told old Wincester myself, if I had been consulted. Call me old-fashioned but diplomacy is an honourable vocation. I’ll have no truck with stooping to nefarious methods. Britain can fight her corner without resorting to that.’

  ‘Yes, Papa. I only wish I had said as much to Mr Finchley-Burke at the time,’ Celia admitted, shame-faced.

  ‘And why did you not, may I ask?’

  She coloured, but met her father’s gaze. ‘I wanted to stay here. I was glad of the excuse not to leave. I didn’t say as much to Mr Finchley-Burke, but I think he guessed.’ She turned to Peregrine. ‘Did you not?’

  He shrugged in agreement.

  ‘But why?’ Lord Henry looked at his daughter afresh, seeming to notice for the first time her loose hair and traditional dress. His eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ He cast a worried glance at his sister. ‘Sophia?’

  Lady Sophia, looking unusually disconcerted, in turn cast a warning glance at Peregrine. ‘Perhaps if you are finished with Mr Finchley-Burke, Henry…?’

  Immensely relieved, Peregrine rose from his seat, but Lord Henry detained him. ‘He made this mess—damned fool confessed all to that Akil chap last night—so he can stay where he is until we’ve agreed how to patch things up. Which I won’t be able to do until I know all the facts.’ Lord Henry got to his feet, dipping his hand into the fountain as if to test the temperature, and sat back down again. ‘Out with it,’ he said, looking at Sophia. ‘What is going on?’

  ‘Papa, there is nothing going on,’ Celia said hurriedly. ‘Only that I—that Ramiz and I—that Sheikh al-Muhana and I…’

  ‘Celia thinks herself in love with the man,’ Sophia said testily. ‘That is why she stayed.’

  ‘In love! With a sheikh! Are you out of your mind, Celia?’ Lord Henry leapt to his feet once more, looming over his eldest daughter. ‘I hope—I do most sincerely hope—that you have not lost all sense of propriety as to have been spending time alone with this man.’ He eyed his daughter’s guilty countenance with astonishment.

  ‘I am afraid, Henry, that after the scene Cassandra and I witnessed last night there can be no doubt at all that she has,’ Lady Sophia said grimly.

  ‘Eh? What scene?’ Lord Henry demanded, now looking thoroughly bewildered.

  ‘Sheikh al-Muhana came here last night, presumably as soon as he had discovered the Consul General’s little subterfuge,’ Lady Sophia explained, with one of her gimlet stares which made poor Peregrine quake. ‘While Celia chose to keep the detail of what passed between them private, it was obvious from the—the manner in which they spoke that Prince Ramiz and your daughter are no strangers to one another’s company.’

  ‘Dear heavens.’ Lord Henry staggered back into his chair. ‘What on earth are we to do? The treaty,’ he said, staring at Celia in horror. ‘That treaty—you have no idea how important it is. A long-term commitment like the one we’re aiming for is crucial. Fun-da-mental,’ he said, banging his fist on his knee, ‘is that we trust one another. Now I find that the Prince thinks my daughter has been spying at our government’s instigation, and not only that she has been behaving like some sort of—of…’

  ‘Papa!’

  ‘Father!’

  ‘Henry!’

  ‘I say, sir…’

  Lord Henry glared at the four shocked faces surrounding him. ‘Well, how the hell do you think it looks?’ he demanded furiously. ‘Must I spell it out for you?’

  ‘No, Henry,’ Lady Sophia said hastily. ‘I don’t think that is necessary.’

  Lord Henry mopped his brow with a large kerchief and sighed heavily. His Lordship was not a man prone to fits of ill temper. Indeed, his success as a diplomat was in large part due to his ability to remain level-headed in the most trying of circumstances, but an arduous trip by sea and sand, the incompetence displayed by everyone involved in this sorry matter, and now the scandalous and highly uncharacteristic behaviour of his eldest daughter had sent him over the edge. ‘What were you thinking, Celia?’ he said, his voice heavy with disappointment.

  Celia, who by now was feeling about one inch tall, bit her lip. ‘I wasn’t thinking, Papa, that is the problem,’ she said stiffly. She got to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster, shaking out her caftan and pushing her hair back from her face. ‘Ramiz is an honourable man, and one who values the welfare of A’Qadiz over everything else. I am sure, with a few concessions on your part to compensate him for the misunderstanding, he will still be prepared to come to an agreement over the use of the Red Sea port. It will do your cause no harm to inform him that the matter has been a cause of estrangement between you and I, for upon that subject I think you will find you and he are in complete accord.’

  ‘On the contrary, Lady Celia, I would be most upset to discover that I was the cause of your estrangement from your family. I know how much they mean to you.’

  All eyes turned to where Ramiz stood, framed by the doorway. A night alone under the stars in the desert had done much to cool his temper, and with an element of calm had also come rationality. It was true Celia had never made any attempt to extract information of any sort from him, but more fundamentally he felt in his bones that she would not lie to him.

  In his determination to be rid of her, Akil had exaggerated. With the discovery of his love still young, and Celia’s feelings for him as yet undeclared, the situation had
punctured Ramiz in his most vulnerable spot, but with the dawn had come renewed certainty. He loved her. He was sure of it, though he had never loved before—and never would again. He loved her. She was his other half, and as his other half could no more do anything untrue than he could.

  Ramiz had returned to the palace filled with hope. Making immediately for the harem, he had come upon the open door, through which he had witnessed most of the courtyard scene. He had not stopped to wash or change. His cloak and headdress were dusty, his face showed a blue-black stubble, and there were shadows under his eyes. Ignoring all but Celia, he now strode into the room.

  ‘I must speak with you,’ he said urgently, taking her by the arm.

  ‘You will unhand my niece at once, sir,’ Lady Sophia said brusquely. ‘You have done quite enough damage already.’

  Confronted with a sharp-eyed woman bearing a remarkable resemblance to a camel dressed in grey silk, sweeping down upon him like a galleon in full sail, Ramiz stood his ground and kept his hold on Celia. ‘Lady Sophia, I presume?’ he said haughtily.

  ‘And you, I take it, are Sheikh al-Muhana. I do not offer my hand, sir, nor do I make my bow, for you do not merit such courtesy. Unhand my niece, sir. She has suffered quite enough of your attentions.’

  Ramiz’s eyes narrowed. He took a step towards Lady Sophia, who flinched but did not give ground, then halted abruptly, snapping out a command in his own language. The two eunuchs came immediately into the courtyard, their swords drawn. Before they could protest, everyone except Ramiz and Celia had been ushered with varying degrees of force from the room. The harem door banged shut.

  ‘Ramiz, what…?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ve never heard you say that before,’ Celia said, with a fragile half-smile.

  Ramiz took her hand between his, holding it in a warm clasp. His face was stripped of its mask, leaving him exposed, raw, and there was something more there—something she recognised but had never dreamed to see, had never even allowed herself to hope for. It looked like love.

  Celia caught her breath. ‘Ramiz?’

  ‘Celia, listen to me. I heard what you said to your father just now, but you have to believe I came here to ask you to forgive me for doubting you before I heard the words. What I heard just confirmed what I knew. What I should have realised last night—’ He broke off and ran his hand through his hair, pushing his headdress to the floor. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. I’d only just realized—only just begun to wonder if it was possible—then when Akil told me—I simply lost control. But there’s one thing I’m sure of—will always be sure of. I love you. Without you my life would be a wilderness. I love you so much, Celia, say you love me and I will be the happiest man on earth. If you will just—’

  ‘Ramiz, I love you. I love you. I love you.’ Celia threw herself into his arms.

  ‘Celia, say it again!’

  ‘I love you, Ramiz.’ She beamed at him. ‘I love you.’

  Finally he kissed her, his mouth devouring hers, the day’s growth of stubble on his chin rasping against her tender skin, his hands pressing her so close she could scarcely breathe. She kissed him back with equal fervour, whispering his name over and over in between kisses, relishing the feel of him hard against her, the familiar scent of him, the wildly exhilarating excitement of him, and underpinning it all the simple rightness of it.

  They kissed and murmured love, and kissed and repeated each other’s name in wonder, and kissed again until, breathless and transformed, they sat together entwined in one another’s arms on the floor of the courtyard, becoming dimly aware of an altercation on the other side of the door which seemed to have been going on for some time.

  ‘My father,’ Celia said. ‘He probably thinks you’re ravishing me.’

  ‘If he would go away and leave us alone I would,’ Ramiz replied with a grin. ‘I did not like the way he spoke to you, or of me,’ he said, his tone becoming serious. ‘And your aunt too. They do not relish your choice of husband.’

  ‘Husband?’

  Ramiz laughed, a loud, deep and very masculine laugh of sheer joy. ‘My love, light of my eyes, you cannot be imagining I mean anything else. You are the wings of my heart. I must tether you to me somehow.’

  ‘But, Ramiz, what about tradition? I’m not a princess, and in the eyes of your people I’m not pure. Yasmina said…’

  ‘Celia, what I know and what I think is all that matters. You are a princess—you are my princess. I will be a far better ruler with you by my side than alone. It is you who has taught me that, you who has made me realise that in order to be the man I ought to be I must have you with me.’ Ramiz took her hand and bent down on his knee before her. ‘Marry me, my lovely Celia, marry me. Because I love you, and because you love me, bestow upon me the honour of calling yourself my wife, and I will do you the honour of being your husband for ever, for even death will not part us. Marry me, and make me the happiest man on this earth and beyond.’

  ‘Ramiz, that is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.’

  ‘Yes, darling Celia, but it was a question.’

  ‘Yes.’ Celia smiled and laughed and cried all at once. ‘Yes.’ She threw herself into his arms, toppling them both back onto the cushions. ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she said, punctuating each affirmative with a kiss.

  A loud thump outside the door startled them both. ‘I think we’d better face your father before my guards are forced to use their scimitars on him,’ Ramiz said.

  It was not to be expected that either Celia’s parent or her aunt would accept her marriage without protest. Ramiz listened with remarkable patience while first Lord Henry and then Lady Sophia asserted that such an alliance would end in disaster, would make Celia miserable, and would be the downfall of her sisters, who would be quite lost without her.

  Celia countered by pointing out that her marriage to the ruler of a kingdom rich in natural resources with a port of immense strategic importance could hardly be deemed a misalliance. ‘In fact,’ she asserted, ‘you should be honoured to have Prince Ramiz as a son-in-law, Papa, for association with him can only enhance your own career prospects—provided you can persuade him to forgive your rudeness.’

  Lord Henry was much struck by his daughter’s good sense. From that moment forward his affability towards Ramiz was marked. Indeed, in a lesser man such extreme cordiality might well have been branded obsequiousness.

  Lady Sophia, whose objections were, to be fair, based upon her real affection for her niece, took rather more persuading. At Celia’s behest Ramiz left the matter most reluctantly in her hands, concentrating his own efforts on discussions with Lord Henry on settlements, dowries and the all-important treaty.

  ‘You talk as if I will be living here in isolation from the world,’ Celia said to Lady Sophia as they walked in the palace gardens later that momentous day, ‘but I hope you don’t mean to deprive me of the company of either yourself or my sisters. I will be expecting all of you to stay here with us for extended visits—starting with Cassie, if she wishes,’ she said, smiling at her sister. ‘Though she may not wish to postpone her Season.’

  Cassie clapped her hands together in excitement. ‘What is a Season compared to this? Say I may stay, Aunt. I can come out next year, and anyway,’ she said mischievously, knowing perfectly well what her aunt thought of Lord Henry’s intended, ‘I don’t want to steal Bella Frobisher’s thunder by having my come-out ball in the same season as her wedding.’

  As the day progressed, and Lady Sophia graciously permitted Ramiz to take her on a tour of the royal palace and its famed stables, her stance visibly mellowed. The following morning, a visit to Yasmina cemented the seal of approval. Yasmina’s mother was visiting—a formidable woman of Lady Sophia’s stamp. The two ladies spent a most amenable few hours together, with Yasmina translating, at the end of which Lady Sophia was able to declare herself happy with her niece’s proposed marriage, and even pr
epared to remain in A’Qadiz in order to attend the nuptials.

  ‘Ramiz came to call this morning,’ Yasmina said to Celia over a glass of tea. ‘Such an honour—our neighbours will be talking about it for ever.’

  ‘He and Akil are reconciled, then?’

  Yasmina nodded happily. ‘He knows Akil only acted for the best. He loves Ramiz like a brother.’ She pressed Celia’s hand. ‘I have never seen Ramiz so happy. You will forgive me if I spoke out of turn when we first met?’

  ‘Yasmina, I trust you will always say what you think. Your friendship means a lot to me, I would hate it if you started treating me differently when I am Ramiz’s wife.’

  ‘Not just a wife, you will be a princess.’

  ‘I will still be Celia, and it is as Celia that I ask you to be frank with me, Yasmina. What will the people really think about our marriage? Ramiz says that what makes him happy will make his people happy, but I know it’s not that simple.’

  Yasmina took a sip of tea. ‘I will not lie to you. There will be some who will find it difficult to accept simply because it is a break with tradition. But Ramiz has come to symbolise change for A’Qadiz, and a Western bride will not be such a huge surprise as it would have been two years ago when Asad ruled.’

  ‘You said that because I was married before—’

  ‘“A prince’s seed must be the only seed planted in your garden,”’ Yasmina quoted. ‘I remember. But it has been, hasn’t it? The man you were married to was a husband in name only. You need not be embarrassed. I told you, I have the gift.’

  Celia shook her head, blushing. ‘No. Ramiz was the first—has been the only…’

  ‘Then, with your permission, that is what I will say. People will listen to me as Akil’s only wife,’ Yasmina said proudly, ‘and it is natural to talk of such things. You need not worry. I will drop the word in a few ears, and you will see. Now, we must go and talk to your aunt and my mother, and Akil’s mother too. We have a wedding to plan.’