Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride

by Marguerite Kaye

‘No, you don’t.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come and sit by me.’

  She did as he bid her, though she did not touch his hand, and she made a point of seating herself on a large cushion opposite him. As usual, she had kicked off her slippers, but she took care to tuck her bare feet under her tunic. ‘I’ve been working on my star maps,’ she said, indicating her work which was set out on the large desk.

  ‘And I have been working on my revised plans. I would appreciate your views on them at some point. But that’s not what I came to talk to you about.’

  Kadar steepled his hands and treated her to his Sphynx look. She had almost forgotten how very off-putting it was. The silence stretched, begging to be filled. ‘I’m glad there was no boat,’ Constance said, ‘because I’ve decided I’m not going to India to marry Mr Edgbaston.’

  He looked as confounded as she by this statement, for though she had been thinking it, she had not meant to blurt it out. ‘What made you change your mind?’

  ‘I think I knew from the moment I set sail from Plymouth that it would be a mistake.’

  ‘It might have been better if you had decided that before you set sail,’ Kadar replied tersely.

  ‘I thought you would be pleased,’ Constance said, confused by his tone.

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  She flinched, reminded of that first night in the Royal Saloon, when she had felt as if she were being interrogated in a courtroom witness box. ‘I was under the impression that you did not approve of my betrothal.’

  ‘I have no right to approve or disapprove.’

  His manner was beginning to irk her. ‘You are entitled to an opinion, Kadar.’

  ‘But I have been at pains to keep that opinion to myself. It is not for me to influence you.’

  ‘But you do have an opinion,’ Constance persisted.

  Kadar folded his arms. ‘It is quite irrelevant.’

  ‘Right,’ Constance said, folding her arms too and adding a glower for good measure. ‘I see.’

  This time the silence lasted so long that she had to curl and uncurl her toes to prevent herself from speaking, but she was finally rewarded. Kadar sighed. ‘What is it you think you see?’

  She knew he did not approve of her betrothal, but he was determined not to tell her so. Constance let out a little mewl of frustration. ‘I think you think that I have changed my mind because of what happened on the beach, and therefore feel responsible. I also think you are worried that I now have—I don’t know—expectations or something.’ She threw another glower of formidable proportions at him, but Kadar was as stony-faced as the Sphynx again.

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ Constance said, ‘so you don’t have to worry on that score. I have absolutely no expectations, and even if I did—which I don’t—I would never, for a moment, allow them to come to fruition, because firstly, Kadar, for the avoidance of doubt, what I value more than anything is my independence, and secondly, Your Highness, not only am I perfectly aware that you are already betrothed to another woman, but I am also perfectly aware that even if you were not, or even if Murimon allowed you to have two wives, then I am undoubtedly the least suitable female you could possibly choose. So there you have it,’ she concluded with a shuddering breath and a decidedly shaky tone, which she tried to counter by throwing her hair back and glowering once more, ‘I trust I have reassured you?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Two words, spoken with genuine remorse, and the last two words she had expected. Constance blinked and scrubbed her eyes. ‘Why?’

  A ghost of a smile and a shake of the head. ‘You are right. I was egotistical enough to imagine that your decision was influenced by what happened between us on the beach.’

  ‘“Something which meant nothing”, you said. I did not need to be warned off, Kadar.’

  He cursed under his breath—or at least she assumed that was what the vicious-sounding words were. ‘It did mean something—to me, at least. That is why I have avoided you. What I meant was it must mean nothing because it simply cannot mean anything.’

  ‘But I already know that.’

  Another faint smile. ‘Clearly,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. It has been a very long week, my coronation is only two days away, and I have been working long hours trying to— But that is no excuse for being so out of temper.’

  ‘Actually, I think you have every excuse.’

  This time she was rewarded with a much warmer smile. ‘I have been debating with myself on whether it is best to leave matters between us as they are or whether to try to—to recover the situation,’ Kadar said, in his more usual, considered manner. ‘If you would rather I leave, then please say so.’

  ‘No, don’t go. I’ve missed your company dreadfully,’ Constance answered, without any consideration at all. ‘I don’t want to lose something precious over some stupid—this obsessive passion that binds us.’

  ‘Some would say the only way to satisfy an itch is to scratch it, just once,’ Kadar said with a wry smile.

  ‘I confess I have considered suggesting that.’

  He laughed. ‘I confess, so too have I, but I doubt once would be enough.’

  Exactly the conclusion Constance had reached. Realizing they were straying into very dangerous territory, she did not say as much, however. ‘And it would also be very wrong,’ she said instead.

  His expression became immediately serious. ‘Very.’

  This silence was uncomfortable, but Constance could think of no way of filling it. She shifted on her cushion, adjusted her tunic over her bare feet, and tried very hard not to feel as if a door had slammed in her face. If there had been a clock on the terrace, its ticking would have been unbearable.

  ‘So tell me,’ Kadar said, for once the first to speak, ‘why have you decided you will not marry your East India merchant?’

  Constance spread her hands. ‘Many reasons, but the main one is that I simply don’t want to marry anyone.’

  ‘Because marriage is a prison.’

  ‘Did I say that? Yes, it is—for a woman. I’ve always known it, I’ve never wanted it, but I have never—not until I was cast upon the shores of Murimon—I have never seriously considered that I had any alternative, save to remain beholden to my father. Being here, experiencing this taste of true freedom—it has changed me.’

  ‘When I first met you I had the oddest notion of wanting to set you free,’ Kadar said pensively. ‘I knew almost nothing about you, but I had a—a vision of you, a wild creature fettered by duty, and I wanted to sever the ropes which tethered you, I wanted—’ He broke off, flushing. ‘I am not usually so fanciful.’

  ‘Well you have, in a way,’ Constance said, snatching the hand back which was halfway to reaching out to touch him. ‘Unfettered me, I mean. Not by kissing me, but by making me see that I am capable of standing on my own two feet. You made me realise that I am stronger than I thought I was, and you made me see that I am tired—I am very tired—of being used. Not only by Papa but in a way by Mama too.’

  ‘Constance...’

  ‘No, I’m not upset.’ She sniffed. ‘Only a little. I thought—I persuaded myself that she loved me. I’m sure she does, in her own way, but it’s not enough, Kadar.’ She pushed back her hair, meeting his gaze. ‘I would never, ever force—blackmail—persuade— I would never make someone I loved do something I knew went against their deepest feelings, and that is what she did to me.’

  She sniffed again, and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. ‘That is what I finally realised this last week, while I have been alone up here gazing at the stars. I don’t owe my parents anything, I have done my duty by them for twenty-five years. I owe it to myself to make the next twenty-five or ten or fifty or whatever I am granted, mean something to me. Don’t ask me what that will be for I haven’t a clue, save that it doesn’t involve either marriage or going to I
ndia, and it does not involve my relying on you to help me out either—well, except that I will need your assistance to get me back to England.’

  Constance drew a breath, scrubbed at her eyes, and managed a watery smile. ‘I’m not going to be grounded by my own fears ever again, but I am done throwing the unedited contents of my mind at you for now. It’s your turn to speak.’

  ‘Are you certain you wish to return to England?’ It was not the question uppermost in his mind, but Kadar needed time to try to order his thoughts.

  ‘Where else would I go?’ she asked simply.

  There was no obvious answer to this. Kadar shook his head. ‘You have taken me quite by surprise.’

  ‘And myself. I didn’t plan to say any of this. Well, obviously I couldn’t have planned to, since I didn’t know I was going to see you, but even if I had—I mean I’m aware how preoccupied you must be with the coronation.’

  ‘So you were going to share this change of heart with me afterwards?’

  ‘Yes. No. I suppose so,’ Constance said. ‘I don’t know. I assume it will be easier to transport me to England than to India, since I can sail relatively easily from here to Cairo?’

  She was quite correct, Kadar realised with some dismay. If he handed the task to Abdul-Majid, Constance would be spirited away from Murimon before the coronation had even taken place. He should not be feeling dismay at the prospect, should he? Constance was a temporary encumbrance, nothing more. He should be relieved, rather than dismayed. ‘You say you have no notion of what you will do, once back in England?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Then you would probably benefit from some contemplation time.’ Kadar nodded, giving Constance no time to reply. ‘You are not expected in England. In fact, the addendum I sent to the Consul General stated that they should expect you in India some time in August.’

  ‘So in fact I still have a month or so to consider in which form I shall rise from the dead,’ Constance said.

  ‘If you wish to take advantage of it?’

  ‘I would not wish to inconvenience you.’

  Kadar smiled. ‘I believe we have had this discussion before. It would inconvenience me greatly to lose my court astronomer before she had completed her work.’ Yes, that was it. Nothing to do with his wishing her to stay on any sort of personal basis, because they had quite firmly established that there could be nothing personal between them. ‘So that is settled then?’ Kadar said briskly.

  Constance, however, frowned. ‘Are we then to continue to avoid each other’s company, or—or— I’m sorry, I’m still not sure what you think, Kadar.’

  ‘I think that if a fire is not fuelled, it will quickly burn itself out.’

  Constance considered this then heaved a sigh. ‘Then we have no option but to do as you say, and refuse to feed the fire. I am sure that knowing we are doing the right thing will make it easier to endure.’

  ‘It is also my hope.’

  She laughed. ‘Then I would like to enjoy what remaining time I have with you. We cannot have an affaire—goodness, how decadent that sounds! But we cannot have one, and even if we did, it would come to an end with my departure anyway. Worse, it might have come to an end before then, and think how uncomfortable that would be.’

  ‘You make an excellent case for abstinence.’

  ‘One you can endorse?’

  ‘Yes. We are agreed, then.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Constance said, and he told himself he was imagining the hollow ring to her voice. ‘Then I have a favour to ask of you. I would like to learn something of your language while I am here. I was wondering if there was anyone who could teach me.’

  Himself, was the obvious answer, but he baulked at the idea of spending what little time he had with Constance engaged in such a dry activity as language lessons. ‘The only other person I know with any sort of fluency in English is Abdul-Majid.’

  She shuddered theatrically. ‘Your chief adviser loathes me, and I’m pretty sure he would consider the role of teacher quite beneath him.’

  ‘Abdul-Majid considers any role save chief adviser quite beneath him,’ Kadar retorted. ‘In fact I’m certain he considers himself superior to me.’

  ‘You don’t like him, do you?’

  He took some time before he answered, and when he did, his words were deliberately ambiguous. ‘His views are very traditional.’

  ‘As are the views of many people in your kingdom, many of the people you talked to at the oasis last week, but you were not so—so...’ Constance faltered. ‘It is none of my business.’

  ‘No, it is not.’

  She bit her lip, studying him through narrowed eyes, that way of hers that made him uncomfortable. ‘I call that expression Number One,’ she said mysteriously. ‘The Haughty Prince. You do it when you want to keep your thoughts to yourself, or when you don’t want a subject to be pursued, which amounts to the same thing, more or less.’

  Kadar was both impressed and irritated. ‘I have nothing to hide.’

  He should have known better than to try to call Constance’s bluff in this way. ‘Then tell me why you don’t like him,’ she said. ‘He is a very influential man, he would be an excellent ally to have, yet you seem to make little effort to cultivate him.’

  ‘Abdul-Majid,’ Kadar said grimly ‘is a man who cares only for privilege and position. He is a man who would sacrifice even his nearest and dearest in his pursuit of power. That is the source of my antipathy.’

  ‘Would sacrifice, or did sacrifice?’

  ‘Did sacrifice. His daughter, if you must have it.’ He could not recall her face. He could not recall the colour of her eyes. He closed his own, trying desperately to conjure an image, but it was hazy. He felt himself a traitor. ‘The subject is now closed,’ Kadar said, making blindly for the terrace steps and the sanctuary of his library.

  * * *

  Alone in his chamber, Kadar stared down at the papers strewn over his desk representing Murimon’s future, his utopian vision for his kingdom, and forced himself to think about the man who epitomised Murimon’s past. In his previous life he had met many traditionalists such as Abdul-Majid, men who would do almost anything to stop progress, men who revered customs and traditions not for their value but for their simple existence, but he had always prided himself on his own sense of justice and fairness, and had never failed to give them a hearing.

  Was his chief adviser so different? Yes, he and Abdul-Majid shared a tragic history, but that did not mean the man had nothing of any merit to say. He had years, decades, more experience of Murimon’s ways than Kadar had. Constance was, sickeningly, correct, when she said it would be easier if the chief adviser was on his side. And yet, as he contemplated the time he would have to spend to persuade the man to support him, every instinct rebelled. He did not want the support of a man who had bartered power and influence for his daughter’s happiness. He would not permit the man who had destroyed his youthful dreams to sabotage the new dreams set out on the desk before him.

  No, he could not forgive him, but he could try to forget, close the door on the memories and the animosity between them, rid himself of the long shadow of the past. Butrus was dead. Zeinab was dead. Abdul-Majid was an old man. After the coronation, Kadar could find a way to retire him with honour. And in the meantime, he thought with a grim little smile, he would task his chief adviser with giving Constance language lessons.

  His black mood began to lift. His plans lay before him, nearly completed. He had come to an arrangement with Constance which would permit him to enjoy a few more weeks in her company. What’s more Constance had decided to free herself of the shackles of that cursed marriage—there, he could admit that was how he thought of it now. She would be free. Penniless and without family, but free. He could help her. He had contacts. He was certain he could help her. If she would let him.


  His mood darkened again. In two days he would be crowned Prince of Murimon. In a matter of weeks, Constance’s fate would be in her hands alone. She would be sailing for England and freedom, while he...

  Kadar groaned. His coronation intended to mark the beginning of a golden age for Murimon, but it was also the countdown to the end of his own freedom and his impending marriage. And every day that it grew closer, his resistance to it grew stronger.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘By anointing thy hands with this sacred oil, we give to thee, our king, the strength and the power to rule your kingdom and to defend our people from the unjust.’

  The words spoken by the Chief Celebrant were almost exactly the same words which had been spoken at every Murimon coronation for centuries, and similar to the words spoken at the coronation of princes and kings of several other Arabian kingdoms too, so Abdul-Majid had informed Constance when he had provided her with a translation yesterday. She watched from her allotted position to one side of the Royal Saloon as Kadar’s hands were anointed with frankincense. He was every inch the Prince today, dressed in a tunic and headdress of the finest silk, woven with gold. The long cloak fixed in place with an ornate golden clasp was also of gold, embroidered all over with an intricate and extremely elaborate geometrical pattern in jewel colours. It must be very heavy, for it trailed some twenty feet along the floor. At the centre of the clasp was a small red diamond, the companion of the huge Red Diamond of Murimon at the centre of his belt. Diamonds also glittered in his headband, on his boots and in the scabbard of the ceremonial scimitar tucked into Kadar’s belt.

  ‘By anointing thy head,’ the Chief Celebrant was now intoning, ‘we give to thee, our king, the wisdom to govern wisely and to rule justly.’

  Constance was not the only woman present, which she knew was a clear break with tradition, and done at Kadar’s insistence. The wives of all members of the Council, including Yasamin, stood with their husbands, and the huge retinue of palace servants, men and women, also stood together in one of the antechambers. But she was the only woman holding official office. Constance allowed herself a brief moment to admire the robes which Yasamin’s grandfather had fashioned perfectly to her design. The tunic and pantaloons she wore were of celestial-blue silk the colour of the morning sky, beautifully made, but simple enough not to detract from the stunning beauty of her cloak. Midnight blue, the colour of the Arabian night sky, it had a high, stiff collar and very long pointed sleeves, the shape copied from a favourite picture Constance had once seen of the Arthurian wizard, Merlin. All of the main constellations were embroidered into the cloak which, if spread out, would depict as accurate a representation of the Arabian summer night sky as Constance had been able to draw. She was literally enveloped in the stars. She pulled the soft folds of the garment around her. Never, never would she forget this day.