Claiming His Desert Princess

by Marguerite Kaye

  Was she being reckless, riding so wildly after all this time? Yes, yes, yes, she was. The ground grew firmer. The grey responded happily to the call for another gallop, and Tahira flew off again, giving herself over to the elements, caring not where they travelled, not wanting it to end, until the horse began to labour.

  She reined in. Christopher pulled up beside her. ‘Another five minutes or so further on, and we will happen upon an oasis,’ he said.

  She didn’t ask him how he knew, though it saddened her that this foreigner should know her own land so much better than she. The oasis was tiny and uninhabited, a small cluster of palm trees, a tiny scrap of lush green screened from the desert on one side by tall thick grasses, bordered on the other by an alluring pool of water, inky-black in the moonlight. Breathless, Tahira dismounted, pulled off her headdress and stooped down to cool her hands in the water, but when she made to drink it, Christopher stopped her. ‘This water is suitable for the horses, but it’s best not to risk drinking it yourself. I filled my flask from my well. Here, have some.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She sipped gratefully.

  ‘You certainly have the Bedouin touch with a horse. I was struggling to keep up with you.’

  Tahira laughed. ‘Now I know that you are flattering me. You could easily have overtaken me at any point.’

  Christopher grinned. ‘I was enjoying the view from behind.’

  Her face flamed but at the same time desire took hold, emboldening her. ‘Now I am enjoying the view,’ Tahira said. She reached up to push the fall of golden hair back from his brow, letting her hand flutter down his cheek, his throat, to rest on his shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, ‘for making another of my wishes come true so perfectly.’ And then she kissed him, a soft, tentative kiss.

  ‘You don’t have to thank me in this way, Tahira. I don’t expect it.’

  ‘I know you don’t, Christopher. It’s one of the reasons why I want to.’

  He pulled her closer, his arm tight around her waist. ‘You have other reasons?’

  ‘One other.’ She kissed him again, this time shaping her mouth to his, running her tongue along his lower lip, relishing his responsive shudder.

  ‘What is it?’ Christopher asked, his fingers tangling in her hair, then stroking down the curve of her spine.

  ‘I just want to,’ she said.

  ‘Serendipity again,’ he said, catching her against him so tightly her feet left the ground. ‘Because I can’t think of anything I want more.’

  One kiss became another, and another, and yet another as they sank on to the grass apron surrounding the oasis pool, kneeling, then lying, still kissing. She slid her hands under his tunic, flattening her palms over his hot skin, up his back, over his shoulders, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath, the way his ribs expanded as he breathed, his breath becoming faster, more shallow.

  He unbuttoned her tunic, revealing her thin chemise. A sharp intake of breath. ‘You are so lovely,’ Christopher said, ‘so very lovely.’

  She believed him. Kisses on her throat. On the mounds of her breasts, the valley between, and his hand, under her chemise, cupping her, his fingers teasing her nipples into tingling peaks that made her moan, that set up other tingles, tension, inside her. And then his mouth covering hers again, and she lost track of what he was doing, surrendering to the sensations he aroused, her skin on fire, pulsing points of sensation sparking all over her body, but when she tried blindly to pull him on top of her, to touch him in return, he shook his head.

  ‘Just you,’ he whispered huskily, nipping at her earlobe. ‘Trust me?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, though she had no notion what he meant. ‘Yes.

  Her kisses became urgent. Her body was embarked upon a journey it was desperate to complete, but Christopher seemed determined to slow her down, his kisses gentling, his touch like the fluttering of a feather on her bare skin, his mouth trailing kisses over her shoulders, her arms, the pulses racing at her wrists, then back up, sliding the narrow straps of her undergarment down, sliding her arms free, rolling the flimsy scrap down, to reveal her breasts. He looked at her for so long, she opened her eyes in trepidation, but his were dark, slumberous, his slow, sensuous smile leaving her in no doubt that he liked what he saw. When the journey resumed, he claimed every inch of her tender flesh with his hands and his lips, working her into a frenzy when finally she felt his mouth on her nipples, making her cry out, arch up, sending the sweet tension inside her up a notch and then another and another.

  The sash of her trousers was undone. He spoke her name again, another question implied, and her answer was more of a plea than a response. It should have been shocking, embarrassing, what he was doing, whatever he was doing, but she was oblivious to everything now save his touch, the mounting tension like a dragging, drugging ascent, the slick slide of his fingers making her moan, writhe, gasp, plead. And then his mouth was on hers again, his tongue stroking and sliding into her mouth, his fingers stroking and sliding in that most intimate place, slowly, too slowly, faster, then just when she thought she could stand it no more, she fell, shattered, exploded, into a thousand glittering pieces, and it was like flying across the desert on horseback, or careering down the sand dune, though nothing like either really, soaring, exhilarating, wave after wave, leaving her mindless and breathless and feeling utterly, completely alive.

  When she finally opened her eyes Christopher was smiling at her, his brows questioning. ‘I had no idea,’ Tahira said, dazed, ‘no idea at all. It is like nothing I have ever—Christopher, I want you to feel—will you tell me what to do, to...?’

  He pushed her tangle of hair back from her face and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘There is no need. Tonight was just for you, and it was more than enough for me. I promise.’

  * * *

  They were dressed again, seated side by side, watching the moon’s shadow on the water when Christopher took her hand between his. ‘‘Have you considered the possibility that you may be happier married, away from your brother and his wife, in your own home? In truth, I don’t like to think of you with any other man, but hate to see you so unhappy.’

  A lump rose in Tahira’s throat. She had been at such pains to hide her misery, yet it did hurt her that none, not even Durrah, her staunchest ally, realised how the situation tore at her loyalties. ‘It is my sisters’ happiness which I’m more concerned about. We have always been united in all matters, but of late the harmony in the ha—in our home has turned to almost constant discord, and it is all my fault.’

  His grip on her fingers tightened. ‘You must not blame yourself. It is your brother who is at the root of it.’

  ‘No Christopher, the fault is mine. I have been hiding behind my promise to Mama,’ Tahira said. ‘She would never have expected me to use it as an excuse to avoid marriage. Like everyone else, she would tell me it was my duty. My sister-in-law says I am unnatural. Perhaps I am. Marriage is the most natural—and I’m struggling to understand why I’m so much against it, now that it is so imminent. Am I being stubborn? Contrary? I don’t know. I’ve tried, I am trying, to accept—to look forward—but it’s the lack of any say in my choice of husband,’ she said wretchedly. ‘My sister-in-law assures me that love will blossom, but I fear only resentment can flourish in such a marriage. Am I so awful to think so?’

  ‘No,’ Christopher said, looking decidedly grim, ‘I can perfectly understand that sentiment. To be forced to do another’s bidding, and one who has a history of displaying malice towards you too—it is outrageous.’

  ‘Yet it is hardly uncommon, Marriages are arranged in this way across Arabia—no doubt across the world, even in England?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Christopher said stiffly, ‘for those with property, title, lands, it is the custom to make such alliances, to sacrifice daughters to the betterment of a family.’

  ‘Is that really so w
rong?’

  ‘Are you asking me to help you to come to terms with this appalling situation, or asking for my true opinion?’

  ‘Is your true opinion based on experience?’

  He made to speak, then stopped himself. Plucking a long strand of wiry grass, he began to twist it into a complicated knot, clearly torn. When he looked up, his expression was bleak. ‘What would happen to you if you refused to accede to your brother wishes?’

  ‘I would be utterly disgraced.’

  ‘Yes, but what does that mean?’

  ‘I... I don’t know,’ Tahira said, for she had not actually contemplated the reality. ‘I would be ostracised, I suppose, shunned by all. Not even my sisters would be permitted to speak to me. My home would become my prison.’

  ‘You have no means of your own? There is no alternative to living in your father’s house?’

  She laughed bitterly. If he only knew what an absurd question that was. ‘The very clothes I am wearing are my father’s property. Only Sayeed is mine—and no one can own a wild animal. You see now, why I must do as I am bid? There really is no alternative.’

  Christopher muttered something under his breath. ‘Powerless,’ he repeated, when she looked at him enquiringly. ‘You have no choice. No will of your own. You are quite powerless.’

  ‘No one owns my thoughts.’

  ‘But as a woman your actions are dictated for you.’

  She swallowed. ‘That is a very cynical way of seeing things.’

  ‘It is. As I mentioned before, it was recently pointed out to me that I am fortunate to be a man,’ Christopher said, his lip curling.

  ‘Who said that?’

  ‘My father.’ His eyes blazed with something beyond fury which made Tahira’s blood run cold. And then it was over. His fists unfurled. He gave himself a shake. ‘He told me the story of a young woman, much younger than you, a mere girl, destined by her family to make an advantageous marriage. Her circumstances changed, but still, they were determined upon the course they had planned for her, whether she wished to follow it or not. Like you, she was quite powerless. We’ll never know how it might have turned out.’

  ‘What happened?’

  His throat worked. ‘She died.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Christopher.’ Tahira touched his hand. ‘Who was she?’

  From dark, his expression turned carefully blank. ‘I never met her,’ he said, disengaging himself, getting to his feet. ‘But the comparison with you—I cannot help making it, though the circumstances, the stakes are so very different. Being no thoroughbred myself, at least I have been spared such machinations.’

  Utterly confused, and now a little intimidated, Tahira knew he had not meant to hurt her with this last remark, knew he could have no idea that in her own way she was a thoroughbred, was being carefully mated, but she was bruised all the same. ‘Fortunate indeed,’ she said acerbically, ‘for if you ever do marry, it will be because you want to, and not because it is your duty.’

  He said something vicious in his own language under his breath. ‘Forgive me, I have allowed my demons to blind me. Nine months ago, I would not have considered myself fortunate, but you put me to shame. I do have choices, while you—it goes against every grain of feeling with me that you should be bartered and sold for the sake of—what, a few camels, a small patch of land? No, don’t answer that.’ Christopher forced a smile. ‘I am a man of action, it frustrates me beyond words that I cannot help you. You deserve so much better, Tahira, and perhaps you will get what you deserve, against the odds. Any man who can call you his wife will be very lucky indeed. I trust that the man your brother finds for you appreciates you for what you are.’

  With a sinking feeling, Tahira thought back to the conversation she had had with Juwan a few days ago. Perhaps it would not be so bad. Or perhaps it would be better if she accepted that it would be even worse, and adjust her expectations accordingly. But for tonight, she’d had enough of it. ‘I am not yet betrothed,’ she said. ‘Here in the desert night, my actions are dictated by no one and nothing more than my inclinations, and right at this moment, what I want is to gallop back on these beautiful horses you have risked so much to acquire.’

  * * *

  The next day was bathing day in the harem. The door to the Corridor of the Bath used by the men of the palace was locked and guarded, the door to the harem opened, and the hamam suite was given over to the female occupants. Emerging from the small outer anteroom where her clothing was exchanged for the single fringed linen sheet tied around the waist and the carved wooden pattens studded with pearls which kept her feet dry, Tahira paused as she always did, to drink in the atmosphere.

  The main chamber of the hamam was circular, with no windows but with light flooding in through the high central dome which was supported by five pillars. The room was clad entirely in marble of different shades and striations, from pure glittering white to gold and dark brown, forming beautiful geometric patterns on the walls, on the massage tables and resting sofas, and on the central dais where the main fountain burbled. Around the walls were other fountains, graduating from ice cold to piping hot which filled the marble basins, each dedicated to a different intimate function. Doors set around the circular walls led off to other, much hotter chambers, a steam room, hot baths and icy cold plunge pools.

  Though Juwan was not present today, for she found the baths too hot in her advanced state of pregnancy, her retinue maidservants were in attendance, along with many other women and girls, from the kitchen and chamber maids, laundry maids, to the herbalists, seamstresses and the personal maids of the four princesses. Women of all shapes and sizes languished on the marble divans resting after a massage or having their hair braided and oiled. Others gossiped in clusters while their nails were shaped, their feet decorated with henna. In the other rooms, ritual cleansing was undertaken, where the body was first soaked in oils, then given a vigorous rubbing with a cloth to stimulate the skin. Next came the soaping, the rinsing, the soaking in one of the hot baths, the plunge into a cold bath which made the skin tingle all over and finally the liberal sprinkling of the body and hair with attar of rose.

  The chamber was abuzz with a myriad of conspiratorial conversations. Here in the baths, all women were equal, the strict laws of precedence abandoned, the hamam handmaidens serving each woman in turn regardless of rank or status. Tahira looked forward to hamam day, listening to the lively gossip, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and the spirit of equality that allowed her to forget that she was a princess and to feel, for a few hours, that she was simply another woman, like all of those around her, albeit one, unlike some here, who was not permitted to mingle with the world outside these walls.

  Today, however, she was restless, unsettled by last night and struggling to understand why, after a dream come true, and the delightfully, blissfully satisfying experience which had followed, she had woken this morning in such a strange, dissatisfied mood.

  Forgoing her usual glass of tea and ration of gossip, she lay down on her tummy on the central dais, where it was the custom for women to be left with their own thoughts and to await a masseuse. Part of the problem was that last night had been so perfect. She had learned to suppress her childhood memories of horse riding so as not to endure the pain of missing it. Allowing the hubbub of the hamam to fade into the background, Tahira opened her mind now to those memories and discovered that they were no longer painful but soothing. Mama’s face was hard to recall, but she could remember her laughter, the way she threw her head back and gazed up at the sky when she rode, trusting to her horse to guide her, as if she was imagining herself flying, just as Tahira did. Had Mama felt suffocated by the harem? It hadn’t occurred to her until now. Mama had always seemed so very content with her lot, but then Tahira had been so young, and she doubted Mama would have confided in her, even had there been anything to confide. Only at the end, when she knew she was
dying, had she been forced to speak frankly, and even then...

  Tahira blinked away a tear. Promise me that you will take care of your sisters, because I fear your brother will not. Aged ten, she had taken her vow so very seriously, a sacred promise. Over the years, she had read so much into these few words. Too much? Was she choosing to interpret her promise selfishly now, twisting her vow into something that Mama had never intended in order to support her deep-seated reluctance to marry? For it was deep-seated, much more than she had realised until last night.

  A soft whisper, a gentle hand on her shoulder told her that the masseuse had arrived. Warm oil trickled between her shoulder blades, and the woman started to gently knead Tahira’s muscles, which were stiff from the horse ride.

  The woman’s touch was deft, impersonal, yet she could not relax. Why was she finding it so very difficult to do her duty? She had always, ever since she could remember, instinctively resisted doing Ghutrif’s bidding, but she wasn’t a child now. She was a grown woman, and she knew her own mind, yet no one save Christopher accepted that she had any right to an opinion, and that was the crux of the matter. As the masseuse began to work on the knots on her spine, Tahira could feel herself becoming ever more tense. She wasn’t a thoroughbred horse, to be bought for breeding in exchange for—what was it Christopher had said? A few camels, a small patch of land! It made no difference that it was more likely to be an vast herd of camels, and an entire kingdom. She was a person, not a—an object!

  Tahira sat up abruptly, grabbing her linen towel. ‘‘Thank you, but I am not—excuse me, I think I will repair to the steam room.’

  But seated on a marble bench, her skin damp, the only sound the hiss of the steam rising from the floor, the steady drip of condensation running down the walls, her ire rose even higher than the temperature in the room. Christopher was right, she did deserve better. She deserved to have a say in her destiny. She deserved a husband who valued her as a woman, not a—a dynastic brood mare. She deserved a husband who desired her, and only her. Who cared for her. A man she could honour and value in return.