Yes, he’d just rudely commanded her not to marry her fiancé of six months. Except that she didn’t intend to marry him any more. Perhaps Osman only her best interests at heart because he’s seen nothing but the worst of Allan, who’d been surly and selfish for two solid days.
A couple whirled past them, holding a red and yellow banner high, big grins on their faces, then another, twirling through the crowd.
“This dance signifies how they’ll travel through life together.” Osman’s palm was burning a brand somewhere between her hips.
“I should find Allan and make sure he has everything he needs for filming.”
Osman’s lips pursed slightly. “I’m sure he’ll find you if he needs to. I suggest you experience the dance, so you can bring that knowledge to your art.” She could swear his fingertips pressed a little more into her flesh.
“My art? I’m the producer. I’m all about making sure the camera has batteries and the director has coffee in him.”
“Nonsense. Your vision is bringing the project to life. Anyone can see that.”
She blinked. It was true. This had all been her idea and neither of them would be here without her tireless efforts to get this documentary off the ground. She’d be the one hassling the editor and pursing distribution to make sure it eventually made it to the television screen—and the festival circuit—where its ideal viewers could find it.
“Come, Samantha. You shall dance under a banner.” He seized her hand and tugged her insistently but gently—if that was possible—through the crowd toward the small platform, where a knot of girls aged about seven handed out banners to the excited couples. Osman took one with a bow and a smile.
A glance around revealed that she and Osman were a good few years older than all the other dancers. People seemed to marry in their late teens here. Still, this was a chance on a lifetime to participate in an ancient ritual, even if she was only acting a part.
Osman took her right hand and wrapped it around the carved wooden stick that held the whipping colored silk, then wrapped his own large, warm hand over it. Her body responded with a shimmer of arousal. She wondered if Osman had this effect on all women or if she was uniquely susceptible.
They moved through the crowd carrying their banner, and a smile plastered itself on her face. People stared at them as they twirled with the other dancers.
“If you’re not careful, people will think you’re choosing me as your bride,” she whispered in his ear.
“Yes.” He smiled mysteriously.
“It’s lucky they didn’t see you throw the garland over my head. Aren’t you afraid of shocking people?”
“Not in the least.” He slid his free arm around her waist and pulled her close as the pace of the music quickened. A quick glance confirmed that the other couples were dancing closer now, too. They whipped around in circles, banners high above their heads and bodies pressed together.
Excitement crackled in the air as the group’s exhilaration built to a fever pitch. She was lucky to experience this moment. It gave her new insight into the importance of ritual ceremonies where a group of people came together to share an experience.
Even though she wasn’t really experiencing this like them, because they were choosing the mate they intended to spend the rest of their life with and she was just trying the adventure on like a shoe she’d never actually buy because the heel was way too high or the color too flashy.
The crowd around them started clapping in time to the music, increasing the energy in the atmosphere. Osman’s powerful arm held her close. Her nipples grazed his chest with every movement of their feet, and grew so sensitive that their clothes felt nonexistent. His hand had strayed below her waist and from time to time his fingers grazed the top of her buttocks. She hadn’t thought that was an erogenous zone before, but it behaved like one now.
“How long does this go on for?” The real question was how much she could stand without exploding into flames. Last night’s kiss kept flashing across her mind, and his mouth—so close to hers—taunted her to kiss it again.
“Until dusk.” He leaned in until his lips almost brushed hers.
She jerked back, trying to preserve the last shreds of her sanity. Surely he didn’t intend to kiss her in front of all these people? It would be a mockery of the sacred ritual for him to simply toy with a foreigner he had no intention of marrying.
“These people have a lot more stamina than me because I need a rest.” Her body called for something a lot more invigorating than rest, but anything that would peel it away from Osman’s taut physique would be a lifesaver right now.
“That can be arranged.” He danced them over toward the arch she now recognized as leading up to the balcony. When they reached the stairs, he lowered their banner and led her by the hand.
“That was wonderful to experience.” She glanced around. Where had his brothers disappeared to? She’d forgotten all about them in the excitement of the dance. “I can see why you brought me a local outfit to wear.”
“You can’t dance through the crowds in khakis and a polo shirt.”
“Is that why you removed them? To make sure I couldn’t?” It irked her that he’d left her no choice.
“They will be cleaned and restored to you.” His calm and satisfied demeanor was getting on her nerves.
“What if I hadn’t wanted to dress like this?”
“I knew you’d enjoy immersing yourself in our culture.” His smile was infectious.
“How did you know that?” She tried to look serious.
“Instinct.” They stood at the balcony, looking down at the crowd they’d just left. Osman laid their banner to rest against the wall.
“Doesn’t it bother you that everyone was staring at us?” People were looking at them right now, up here on the balcony.
“No.” His enigmatic smile shone. “I don’t mind being the center of attention.”
“I suppose that’s lucky when you’re going to be a king.”
“Indeed.”
“So when will you choose your bride? It sounds like a fairly urgent matter.”
“I’ve already chosen her.”
An odd feeling skittered through her when he rested his gaze on her face. She felt like he was talking about her. Which was ridiculous. “Won’t she be angry when she hears you’ve been dancing with me?”
“Not in the least.” He picked up her hand, turned it over gently and kissed it. Heat flashed through her at the touch of his lips to her palm.
“Why?” She tried to transform her sudden desire into indignation. “Do royal brides expect to be cheated on before they’re even married?”
He laughed. “Any royal bride should be treated like a goddess. That’s my opinion.”
“Then where is she? Surely she’s wondering why she isn’t sharing the ceremony with you today.”
“I doubt that very much, since she doesn’t seem to realize she’s my intended bride yet.”
Was he talking about her? Sam let the idea drift through her mind. Impossible. There was no way a royal heir would choose her as his future bride on a single day’s acquaintance. Which meant that he was standing here flirting with her while talking about some other woman he intended to marry. Heck, it hurt her! That kiss last night had been the final deathblow to her relationship with Allan, but it clearly meant nothing to Osman. He thought little of using her has a plaything before tossing her aside for a more serious relationship.
She steadied herself with a deep breath. “I think you should go propose to her. If you wait too long she might marry someone else.”
He nodded. “True. But there’s a right time for everything, and if I tell her too soon she might laugh at me.”
“You can’t handle being laughed at?”
“Not where such a serious matter is concerned.” His eyes glittered. She tugged her gaze away. It was cruel of him to taunt her like this. No longer breathless from dancing, she was restless to move again.
“I think I should g
o find Allan and see if he needs anything. Don’t forget that I’m here on business.”
The shadow of a frown crossed his brow. “Since I want nothing more to make sure your business is a pleasure, I’ll accompany you.”
She wanted to tell him she’d prefer to go alone but couldn’t think of a way to say it without being rude. “Any idea where he might be at this time of the day?”
“Most likely he’s filming the couples taking refreshments together before the singing starts. In fact, perhaps we should do the same.” He glanced at something over her shoulder, and she looked around to see his two men, accompanied by his brothers Amahd and Zadir, arriving with large woven hampers.
Sam surreptitiously rubbed her perspiring hands on her green-gold silk ensemble and reflected that once again she did not appear to be in command of her own movements.
The men spread out a patterned rug, then covered it with steaming dishes and plates. They poured glasses of pale-pink liquid and sliced lemons and honeydew melons and placed dishes of them on the rug.
Sam’s stomach growled, and she cursed it for betraying her like the rest of her body.
“Help yourself.” Osman gestured for her to sit, then sat cross-legged right next to her. His brothers sat on opposite corners of the rug and made themselves heaping plates of savory rice and barbequed meat. Unable to resist the delicious-looking feast, Sam piled some on her own plate, while Osman beamed with satisfaction.
“Did you enjoy the dance?” asked Amahd. He had kind eyes, now she was able to look closely.
“It was…Invigorating.” She bit into a tasty barbequed rib. “I’m impressed that everyone can keep it up for so long. I guess they’re a lot younger than me.”
“Youth gives strength, but not stamina or wisdom. I suspect you could outlast all of them if the need arose.” Osman’s eyes flashed as he sipped from his glass.
“Hopefully I won’t be tested on that. I’m used to lurking in the shadows making phone calls, not twirling around in the center of the action.”
“Then I’m glad I pulled you out of the shadows today.”
“You look radiant in our traditional attire.” Zadir looked on approvingly. “The local beauties might be seething with envy at seeing you dance with their king.”
“I do hope not. I’m sure they can figure out that I’m just a guest here.” She looked at the brothers. “If you both need to marry as well, how come you don’t have partners with you?”
“Unfortunately in our country it’s traditional for siblings to marry in order of birth,” explained Amahd. “It can be exasperating when the oldest is so slow to choose his mate.”
“So even if you met the woman of your dreams, you can’t marry her?”
“Not until Osman ties the knot.” Zadir tilted his head and regarded her with dark eyes that must have broken many hearts. “Since we aim to implement some important social changes, we hope to soothe the traditionalists by sticking with more harmless customs like this.”
“I’m surprised your parents aren’t involved in choosing your spouse in such a traditional culture.” Sam sipped the pale-pink drink, which turned out to be water flavored with rose and lime.
“No doubt they would be if they could.” Osman tore a piece of steaming flatbread. “But all are dead now. Our father is survived only by his last wife, Aliyah, who is considerably younger than us and thus not exactly the voice of experience.”
Sam blinked. “I’m sorry to hear your mother died. Was it a long time ago?”
“Our mothers,” said Zadir softly. “We were all born of different mothers.”
Sam frowned. Osman has assured her that men in this country only married once, so how was this possible? It seemed too rude and probing to ask. “Aren’t you all close in age?”
“We’re a few years apart,” said Amahd enigmatically. Then he started talking softly to Zadir about something involving a horse. It was an obvious attempt to change the subject. Which Osman had done before when his mother was mentioned. Was there some dark secret here?
She ate her rice and watched the three brothers: all handsome with bold features and tall, broad physiques, but now that she looked more closely they did look different. “So you have more siblings?”
“Yes, they’re much younger, though. Our father’s fourth wife was unable to bear children, so there was a long gap between us and the youngest.”
“What happened to her?” She couldn’t help asking.
“She died.” Osman shot her a look that dared her to ask for more information.
She took the hint and silently ate a slice of melon. If divorce was forbidden in Ubar, what did a wealthy and powerful man do with his wife once he grew bored with her?
A cold, nasty feeling gripped her gut. Had these men’s mothers all been killed while they were still young? Had they watched their father take successively younger wives to replace the mothers they loved?
No wonder they all moved away. “Were you close with your father?”
The brothers glanced at each other. “Not in recent years,” said Osman. “But we must be grateful to him for bringing us together again after many years apart.”
“In our country, the eldest inherits everything.” Zadir put down his glass. “It’s been that way for many centuries. But when he died our father split his kingdom in three and divided it equally among us.”
She glanced at Osman. How did he feel about being deprived of his traditional birthright? “Were you surprised?”
“Absolutely.” Osman looked at his brothers. “I dreaded my father’s death for decades, but now I find he’s created a warm and welcoming environment for me to return to by bringing my brothers home, too.”
Sam’s heart swelled. Osman really did seem happy that his brothers gained a share of the kingdom that was supposed to be his. “And how did you two feel about it?”
Amahd shrugged. “Surprised.”
“Confused,” admitted Zadir with a slight grin. “But we’re always up for a challenge.”
“We have a lot of work to do here in Ubar, but together we can accomplish anything.” Osman rose and crossed the room to look out over the balcony. “Let’s go down among the crowds. The singing is about to start.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sam was determined to find Allan, even if she had to slip away from Osman unobserved. For all she knew he’d hitched a ride and was on his way to the airport. She didn’t think so, though. Allan was trustworthy.
She bit her lip when she realized that she’d had lunch, but he probably hadn’t. Still, he had local currency on him so he could buy something from a vendor. Men and women wandered through the crowds offering sweet and savory delicacies that people ate from hand-folded paper cones.
“Samantha, come to the center with me.” Osman held out his hand. She looked at it for a second, then took it, because it would have created more drama if she hadn’t. “Listen to the music. Many say it’s the heart of our culture.”
“I really do need to find Allan. If he’s not in the center filming, I’ll have to go looking for him.”
“Of course.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. Though there was nothing reassuring the way her body temperature jumped and her nipples pressed against her ceremonial dress. He probably knew the effect he had on her and enjoyed it.
Strange music rose from the center of the crowd. The sound was between a woodwind and a string instrument, a melodious humming and strumming. The dancers stopped twirling around and now stood facing a carved wooden gazebo-like structure that hadn’t been there before. Inside it stood three beautiful women wearing dresses similar to hers, one in blue, the others in shades of lilac.
The one in blue sang first, a mournful sound in a minor key, then the other two sang a haunting harmony. The music seemed to travel right through bone and tissue and grab her fast somewhere deep inside. Her breathing quickened and her chest filled as she tried to control the emotion the unfamiliar music created in her.
A glance at Osman showed h
im standing tall and proud, chin lifted. He was a head taller than most people here, every inch a king—with her hand in his.
This whole experience was so unlike what she’d expected that it was hard to focus on her reason for being here. Her goal was to create a fine documentary that would serve as a record of an ancient ritual that—like everything else—would likely soon go the way of the dodo bird. It was something she’d done before, in Zanzibar and the highlands of China. But never before had circumstances conspired to draw her into the event as a participant.
Not that she was really a participant, since she was hardly going to marry Osman in the ritual tomorrow.
She snuck another glance at him, and this time he looked back, pleasure and approval in his eyes. He could tell that the singing moved her, and no doubt he liked her being drawn into an appreciation of his culture. But why was he wasting time with her when it was imperative for him to find a bride and marry?
If he were some random camel-herding dude collecting women for his harem, she’d certainly be nervous by now that he intended to enroll her. But Osman was urbane, educated and traveled, wealthy and successful. He could have his pick of any woman in the world. He’d hardly choose her out of all the gorgeous girls here today. Especially when she would certainly say no even if he did propose.
If I tell her too soon she might laugh at me.
Osman’s words snuck into her mind. She would laugh if he proposed. It would seem ludicrous, impossible, like a joke at her expense.
Was he warming her up slowly with a view of seducing her into the role? He was certainly doing a great job keeping her away from Allan. She scanned the crowd and didn’t see him, but she was loath to break the spell of the singing by tugging her hand from Osman’s.
Why would Osman want to marry her?
The women abruptly stopped singing and Sam joined in the clapping, glad of the chance to get her hand back. She spotted Allan crouched low near a stall selling cones of roasted nuts, and she hurried over. He was filming an elderly couple watching the proceeds with rapt expressions that suggested they were reliving their own courtship.
Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 14
