by The Sheikh
“I gave you my word I would not bother you while you were in your bath.”
Of all the times for him to keep it, this would not have been her first choice.
“You’re the most annoying man,” she told him.
He bent down and swept her into his arms. “Let me annoy you some more,” he said as he carried her to the bed on the other side of the tent.
There were candles hanging everywhere and fresh-cut flowers in vases all over the room. The white linens had been folded back invitingly. Murat knelt on the mattress, then lowered her onto the smooth surface.
She kept her arms around his neck and pulled him close so she could kiss him.
Once again he claimed her with a kiss that marked her as his. She supposed she should protest, or at least not like it so much, but she couldn’t help squirming in delight as he nipped on her lower lip, then drew the sensitive curve into his mouth. He nibbled her jaw and down her throat. Lower and lower until he settled over her tight, aching nipples.
The silk was so thin, he didn’t bother pushing it away. Instead he licked and sucked her through the fabric. She ran her fingers through his hair, to touch him as much as to hold him in place. He moved to her other breast, repeating the glorious touching and teasing, until she felt hot and strung far too tightly.
Wanting poured through her. She couldn’t seem to keep her legs still, and between her thighs a pulsing hunger began.
“Murat,” she breathed as she began to tug at his shirt. “I need you.”
“No more than I need you.” He took the hint and shrugged out of the garment.
She took advantage of his distraction to pull up her nightgown in a shameless invitation. She knew this wasn’t her smartest act of the day, but she couldn’t seem to stem the tide of need rushing through her. She might have had other lovers, but she’d never wanted one the way she wanted Murat. Desperation made her reach for his trousers. He had to be in her. Now!
“Impatient?” he asked with a smile as he shed the rest of his clothing, then slipped between her legs. “Let me take the edge off, my sweet.”
Instead of filling her with his hardness, he bent low and gently parted her swollen flesh with his fingers. Then he pressed his mouth against her hot, damp center.
She had only a second to brace herself before the impact of the pleasure nearly had her screaming down the tent. Vaguely mindful of their neighbors, she held in her cries of delight as he licked all of her before settling on that one single point of pleasure.
He traced quick circles, making her breathe more quickly. Tension made her dig in her heels and grab on to the covers. She tossed her head from side to side as he gently sucked that one perfect spot.
She rocked her hips in time with his movements, moving closer and closer to her ultimate release. Every brush of his tongue, every whisper of breath pushed her onward. When she finally clung to the edge, so ready to surrender all to him, he slipped two fingers inside of her.
The combination was too much. She tried to hold back, to enjoy the moment longer, but it wasn’t possible. Passion claimed her and she called out Murat’s name as she sank into the waves of pleasure.
Fast, at first, then slowing, but not really ever ending. Not even when he raised his head and stared at her with wild, hungry eyes. He continued to move his fingers. Back and forth, back and forth. Mini-waves rippled through her.
Climax after climax. As long as he touched her, she came.
She stared at him, unable to control her body’s response to his touch.
“Murat,” she breathed.
He shifted closer, at last replacing his fingers with his arousal. He thrust into her, filling her until she thought she might shatter.
It was too good. There was too much. She came again and again. Every time he moved into her, she gave herself over to the release. Faster and faster until they were both breathing hard, and then she lost herself again in a violent shuddering that left her both shattered and satisfied down to her bones.
Chapter 12
Daphne awoke the next morning with the sense of being one with the world. She could hear the birds outside and the low voices of people in the encampment. The smell of cooking made her mouth water, and the sounds of laughter made her smile. She had a feeling that when she climbed out of bed, there was a very good chance she would float several inches above the carpeted tent floor.
What a night, she thought as she pushed her hair out of her face and sat up.
Murat was long gone. She vaguely recalled him kissing her before he’d left their bed sometime after dawn.
They’d continued to make love, each time more passionately than the time before until she’d been afraid she would never be able to recover. Her body ached, but in the best way possible. Her skin seemed to be glowing, and she knew she would be hard-pressed not to spend the entire day grinning like a fool.
Everything had been perfect. Except…She pressed her hands to her flat stomach and wondered if they’d made a baby last night. She and Murat had made love several times without any kind of protection. The thought had never crossed her mind. She knew the price of having his child—she would never be able to leave.
Now, in the soft light of the morning in the beautiful tent, she wondered if perhaps she should make her peace with all that had happened. Was his behavior really that horrible? He’d only—
“Earth to Daphne,” she said aloud. “Let’s think about this.”
Rational thought returned, pushing away the lingering effects of the night of pleasure. Of course she couldn’t give in. Even if she wanted to stay married to Murat, she would still need to make him understand that he couldn’t have his way in everything. That for their marriage to be a happy and successful union, they both had to make decisions, and he couldn’t simply bully his way into what he wanted.
Which meant getting pregnant was a really dumb idea. She was going to have to avoid his bed.
She stood and faced the rumpled sheets. It was a very nice bed and the man who slept in it was nothing short of magical when it came to making love. Still, she had to be strong. At least until she knew if she were pregnant.
She washed using the basin of water on the dresser, then pulled on the garments that had been left out for her. Murat had mentioned something about a tribal council today. He would assemble the leaders from the various tribes and then hear judgments and petitions from the people. She’d agreed to attend.
Intricate embroidery covered her robes. In place of a headdress, a small diamond-and-gold crown sat on a pillow.
Daphne stared at it. While she knew that Murat was the crown prince and that he would one day be king, she never really thought about it all that seriously. But now, staring at the crown, she felt the weight of a thousand years of history pressing on her.
She carefully brushed her long, blond hair until it gleamed, then she set the crown on her head and secured it with two pins. She checked that it was straight, all the while trying not to notice she actually had it on her head, then left for the main part of the tent.
One of Murat’s security agents sat waiting for her. When she approached, he stood and bowed.
“Good morning, Princess Daphne,” he said. “The judgments are about to begin. If you will follow me.”
He led her outside into a beautiful, clear morning. The camp was nearly deserted, but up ahead she saw a huge covering that would easily hold a thousand people. They walked toward it, avoiding the main entrance and instead circling around to the back.
She ducked under a low hanging and found herself behind a dais that held several ornate chairs. Murat approached and took her hand in his.
“We are about to begin,” he said with a smile.
He spoke easily, but his eyes sent her another message. One that reminded her of their night together and all that had happened between them.
She wanted to tell him they couldn’t do that again. Not until things were straightened out between them, but this was not the time or place.
He read from the ancient document in a language she didn’t recognize. She remembered enough from her previous time in Bahania to know he called all those seeking justice to this place and time. That the prince’s word would be final.
Judgments against those charged with crimes were covered in the morning, while petitions came in the afternoon.
Several criminals were brought forward. Two charges were dismissed as being brought about by a desire for revenge rather than an actual crime. One man accused of stealing goats was sentenced to six months in a prison and a branding.
Daphne winced at the latter and Murat caught the movement.
“It is an old way,” he said, turning toward her. “A man is given three chances.
The brand allows the council to know how many times he has been before them.”
“But branding?”
“He stole,” Murat said. “These are desert people. They exist hundreds and thousands of miles from the world as you know it. If you steal a man’s car in the city, he can walk or take a bus. You steal a man’s goats or camels in the desert and you sentence him and his family to possible death. They may starve before they can walk out of the desert or to another encampment. They would not be able to carry all their possessions themselves, so they would be discarded.
The youngest children might die on the long walk to safety. Stealing is not something we take lightly.”
His words made sense. Daphne understood that where life was harsh, punishment must be equally so, but the whole concept made her uncomfortable.
Several more minor cases were brought forward. Then a man in his late twenties was walked in front of the dais.
The guards took his left arm and held it out for all to see. Three brands scarred his skin. Daphne sucked in a breath.
“He is charged with stealing camels,” a member of the council told Murat.
“Witnesses?”
Five people stepped behind the men. Two were his accomplices, while the other three—a father and two sons—had owned the camels. The father spoke about the night his camels were taken. He had a herd of twenty, and this man and his friends took all of them. He and his sons went after the thieves only to find that one of the camels had gone lame and the thieves had slit its throat.
The crowd gasped. Daphne knew that to kill such a useful creature because it had gone lame was considered an abomination.
The cohorts spoke of the crime. They had already been charged and had confessed.
Each had a fresh brand—their only brand. But the leader had three.
Murat listened to all the evidence, then turned to the council.
“Death,” each of them said.
When it was his turn to speak, he said, “You decided not to end your thieving yourself. We will do it for you.”
The criminal dropped his head to his chest. “I have two children and no wife.”
Murat nodded for the children to be brought out.
A boy of maybe fourteen stepped forward, holding on to the hand of a much younger girl. The boy fought tears, but the little girl seemed more confused, as if she didn’t understand what was happening.
“What of this?” Murat asked the boy. “Do you have a brand on your arm?”
The teenager squared his shoulders. “I do not steal, Prince Murat. I protect my sister and honor the memory of my mother.”
“Very well.” Murat turned his attention to the crowd. “Two children of the thief.”
There was a moment of silence, then a tall man in his early forties stepped toward the dais.
“I will take them,” he said.
Murat was silent.
The man nodded. “I give my word that they will be treated well and raised as my own. The boy will be given the opportunity to attend college if he likes.”
Daphne glared at the man and raised her eyebrows.
He caught her gaze and took a step back. “Ah, the girl, too.”
“Better,” she murmured.
“She-wolf,” Murat whispered back. But he sounded pleased.
Still Murat did not speak to the man making the offer. At last the man sighed.
He called out to the crowd. Several people turned to watch as a young girl of eleven or so stepped out and walked to the man.
“My youngest,” he said heavily. “The daughter of my heart. I give her into your keeping, to ensure the safety of those I take in.”
The girl stared up at him. “Papa?”
He patted her head. “All will be well, child.”
Murat rose. “I agree,” he said. “The children of the thief will enter a new family. Their pasts will be washed clean and they will not carry their father’s burden.”
He walked to Daphne and held out his hand. She stood and took it, then followed him off the dais, toward the rear of the tent.
“What was all that?” she asked. “Why did that man bring out his daughter?”
“Because she is insurance. We will check on the condition of the two children he is taking in, but here, desert traditions run deep. Should he not treat them well, they will be removed from his care, along with his daughter. She gives him incentive to keep his word.”
She’d never heard of such a thing. “An interesting form of foster care.”
“It is more than that. He will take those children into his home and treat them as his own. I meant what I said—they will not bear the stigma of their father’s crimes.” He urged her toward their tent. “It is often this way with the children of criminals. They are taken in and given a good home. I have never heard of one of them being ill treated. I know the man who claimed them. He will be good to them.”
She ducked into the tent and found lunch waiting for them. “I guess it really does take a village.”
“For us it does.”
He held out her chair, then took the seat across from hers. A young woman carried a tray of food toward them.
“What happens this afternoon?” Daphne asked as she served herself some salad.
“More criminals?”
“No. The petitions. Anyone may approach me directly and ask me to settle a dispute.”
“That must keep you busy.”
He smiled. “Not as busy as you would think. My word is law, and I have a reputation of being stern and difficult. Only the truly brave seek my form of justice.”
“Are you fair?” she asked.
He shrugged. “The fate of my people rests in my hands. I do not take that responsibility lightly. I do my best to see both sides of the situation and find the best solution for all concerned.”
He wasn’t what she thought. At first she’d described Murat as being just like her family—friendly and supportive as long as he got his way. But now she questioned that. He wanted to be a good leader. A good man.
How did she reconcile that with what he’d done to her? What was the solution to her dilemma? How did she show him that they had to be honest with each other before they had any hope of a relationship together?
After lunch Murat met with his tribal council, and Daphne went for a walk. She strolled by the makeshift stables and stopped to watch several children play soccer. A young woman approached and bowed.
“Greetings, Princess,” she said. “I am Aisha. It is a great honor to meet you.”
“The honor is mine,” Daphne said with a smile.
The girl was maybe sixteen or seventeen and incredibly beautiful. In the safety of the camp, she left her head uncovered. Her large brown eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as if she found life amusing. Her full mouth curved up at the corners. Jewelry glinted from her ears and caught the sunlight.
“I must confess I sought you out on purpose,” Aisha said. “I have a petition for the prin
ce, but I dare not deliver it myself.”
“Why?”
The girl ducked her head. “My father has forbidden me.”
Daphne didn’t like the sound of that. “He forbids you to seek justice?”
She shrugged. “He has offered me in marriage to a man in our tribe. The man is very honorable and wealthy. Instead of my father having to provide me with a dowry, the man will pay him the price of five camels.”
This would be the part of the old-fashioned desert world Daphne didn’t like so much. “Is your potential fiancé much older?”
Aisha nodded. “He is nearly fifty and has many children older than me. He swears he loves me and I am to be his last wife, but…”
“You don’t love him.”
“I…” The girl swallowed. “I have given my heart to another,” she said in a whisper. “I know it’s wrong,” she added in a rush. “I have defied my father and dishonored my family. I know I should be punished. But marriage to someone so old seems harsh. Please, Princess Daphne, as the wife of the crown prince you are entitled to plead on my behalf. The prince will listen to you.”
Daphne thought about her own recent marriage and the circumstances involved.
“I’m not the right person to take this to the prince. You have to believe me.”
“You are my only hope.” Tears filled Aisha’s eyes. “I beg you.”
The girl reached for the gold bangles on her wrists. “Take my jewelry. Take everything I have.”
“No.” Daphne shook her head. “You don’t need to pay for my support. I…”
Now what? She felt bad for the girl, but would Murat give his new wife a fair hearing in these circumstances? He had said he took his responsibility very seriously. She would have to trust that…and him.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Tell me what you want from the prince.”
Murat listened as the woman explained why she was entitled to have her dowry returned to her. Her case was strong and in the end, he agreed. The husband, who had only married her for her dowry, sputtered and complained, but Murat stared him down and he retreated. Murat spoke with the leaders of the woman’s tribe to make sure there would be no retribution and gave her permission to contact his office directly if his wishes weren’t followed out.
