His Queen by Desert Decree

by Lynne Graham

  Her eyes flew even wider and she too sat up, clutching at the sheet. ‘Protection?’ she repeated blankly.

  ‘I forgot,’ he told her truthfully. ‘I’m sorry—’

  ‘It wasn’t safe. A few weeks ago it would’ve been,’ Molly told him worriedly. ‘But I missed some pills after Tahir took me because I didn’t have them with me here. I was planning to start taking them again at the end of the month.’

  ‘You could be pregnant now, aziz,’ Azrael declared quietly. ‘I was out of my mind with excitement. I did not have control and neither did you but if you do conceive—’

  ‘But I don’t want to be pregnant!’ Molly protested, marvelling that within minutes of feeling closer to him than she had ever felt to any living being, she could then be blindsided by the reality that he thought and functioned on an entirely different plane. ‘It’s too soon. I’m not ready for motherhood yet.’

  Azrael was starting to frown as he slid fluidly off the bed. ‘Why the fuss? You’re my wife! What could be more natural than to have my child?’

  Molly looked heavenward. ‘It doesn’t work that way in the West. Having children is something a man and a woman discuss and decide on together.’

  Azrael had tensed, dark eyes flaring with gold lights. ‘If choosing not to have my child is that important to you, you should have considered the risk for yourself. I forgot but so did you.’

  Molly gritted her teeth at a truth she was not in the mood to hear at that moment. Unhappily she wasn’t accustomed to having to consider risks in the pregnancy stakes because he was her first lover. Azrael was affronted, as if even the chance to have his child was a wonderful opportunity that no normal woman would wish to evade. Offence was stamped into the grim lines of his lean dark face and the aggressive angle of his stubbled jawline.

  Azrael was very much taken aback by Molly’s attitude to the risk they had run together. Only as he registered that he had forgotten to use a condom had it occurred to him that he would very much like to have a child with Molly. After all, the only surviving member of his family was his kid brother and his heart warmed at the prospect of having a proper family in the future with children he could call his own.

  Ironically he had imagined how warm and loving Molly would be with a child. His own mother had been too distant and reserved to act like the loving, caring mother he had longed to have as a little boy. His instantaneous, idealistic vision of building a happy family with Molly had shattered beneath a withering rejection, which he saw as unfeeling. After all, if she did conceive would she then reject his child or think less of that child because she had not planned its birth? Or were her reservations more basic? Was it simply his child she did not want?

  ‘In future I will be very careful to utilise protection,’ he declared coolly. ‘I will leave it to you to decide whether we will ever reach this magical day where we will sit down and discuss what comes naturally to half the world!’

  Molly compressed her lips in silence. Djalia was not the most forward-thinking place. Having a wife was clearly fundamentally linked in Azrael’s brain with having a family and he had taken it for granted that she would feel the same way. That she did not immediately wish to embrace motherhood was clearly unwelcome news to him.

  ‘And now I must leave until we meet at the wedding tomorrow,’ Azrael informed her and even his Mr Grumpy expression couldn’t hide his relief at the prospect of escaping her unnatural attitude to conception. ‘Your attendants will be arriving soon to prepare you as a bride.’

  I’m falling in love with him, Molly registered in sudden dismay because she could see right through him just then and she could see that Azrael was both offended and deeply hurt. Her reluctance to conceive was being viewed as a rejection. It bothered her so much to see that in him that she was horribly tempted to put her arms round him to offer comfort. Unfortunately, that would be the wrong thing to do because Azrael had to learn that while it was apparently fine for him to make unilateral decisions for Djalia he could not expect the same freedom and authority within his marriage. I want to keep you. Spontaneous laughter bubbled up in her throat and she had to struggle to hold it back because he would definitely misinterpret that reaction.

  She was tempted to tell him that she was not totally averse to the idea of becoming a mother but that would lead her down conversational roads she was not yet ready to travel with him. If she did choose to have a child, however, she wanted to plan the event, not find herself railroaded into it by an accidental conception. Furthermore, before she could even consider confidently embracing motherhood she needed to know that their marriage had a genuine future.

  Unhappily, when she had agreed to stay married to Azrael on the basis that he would cover her grandfather’s bills at the care home, they hadn’t talked about so many things that they should have talked about. Although Molly always liked to know where she stood, she had never had that clarity with Azrael. They hadn’t discussed sex, money, contraception, divorce or indeed any of the many complications waiting, it seemed, to trip them up and set them at odds. And now, evidently such discussions had strayed into such personal private territory that a frank exchange of views was liable to hurt or offend. What had happened to the man who had confided that he felt trapped and resentful once he’d learned that his false announcement that they were married had bound them in marriage by local law?

  I want to keep you. What was she supposed to say to that? What did she want to say to that? Molly thought it was far too soon to be making life-changing decisions and was more distrustful of the growing strength of her attachment to Azrael than ever. He was much more volatile than he seemed behind that cool, controlled façade of his, she acknowledged. Did he have feelings for her? Or did it all come down to amazing sex for him? Was he that basic? Or was she too suspicious and cynical?

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘ZAHRA!’ THE NEXT DAY, as afternoon faded into evening, Molly moved forward with a delighted smile to greet a surprisingly familiar face. The young Djalian woman had been her first pupil at the Djalian Embassy in London. The daughter of a senior diplomat, Zahra had so enjoyed Molly’s lessons that before leaving London again she had recommended that Molly teach English to Tahir.

  ‘Your husband believed that you would find my company useful,’ the slender brunette told her shyly. ‘I can act as an interpreter and also explain the bridal rituals.’

  Molly’s green eyes lit up with interest. ‘I’m getting rituals?’

  ‘The first royal bride to marry the King of Djalia this century? You’re getting the full Djalian bridal treatment!’ Zahra assured her with amusement. ‘We’re going out into the desert for it too. It would be a lot easier to do it all here but tradition means everything to our tribes.’

  ‘You’ll keep me right...thank goodness,’ Molly whispered, hugely grateful for the support because without an interpreter she wouldn’t be able to understand what was happening or why.

  ‘It is a great honour for me and my family that I have been entrusted with such a role. My mother is very pleased and proud,’ the Djalian brunette shared with a rueful laugh. ‘Of course, my parents are probably hoping that you’ll thrust me in the path of some eligible male but I have to tell you now...most of them are far too old for me. Too many of our young men died fighting Hashem and his troops.’

  ‘That’s sad,’ Molly recognised.

  ‘But the most important young man survived. Our King is revered for his bravery and his wisdom.’

  ‘He is pretty special,’ Molly muttered helplessly, reddening at Zahra’s knowing smile as she made that statement.

  ‘Yes. The King is the one person in Djalia who can unite all the different factions. He even keeps Prince Firuz on his side,’ Zahra pointed out with a grimace. ‘He’s an old horror but we don’t want to be at odds with our nearest neighbour and he did keep our current King safe from Hashem while he was still a boy.’

  ‘Yes,’ Molly conceded while thinking that Azrael had also paid a very high price for that prot
ection with the punishments he had endured. A step ahead of her companion, she climbed into one of the air-conditioned rough-terrain vehicles parked in readiness outside the palace while the staff and luggage accompanying her piled into the two cars behind.

  ‘But Prince Firuz won’t even attend your wedding because Christian rites are being included. He is very rigid in his views,’ Zahra admitted and then she winced. ‘I’m being indiscreet. I should not be gossiping. My father would be ashamed of me—’

  ‘Then Azrael would be equally ashamed of me,’ Molly countered wryly. ‘I need to know what’s going on and I don’t want the sanitised version.’

  The vehicle swept them only across the road to a flat plain where a helicopter awaited them. From the air, Molly peered out at the view of the palace from above and noted for the first time that there was a large, busy building site to the rear of it.

  ‘New offices and kitchens,’ Zahra informed her, but that was the entirety of their conversation during the flight because it was too noisy to chat.

  They were set down in front of a large encampment of black tents and literally mobbed by a bunch of howling women the instant they appeared. Zahra explained to her that the howling was of a celebratory nature to welcome the bride. Her companion soon proved her worth by banishing the crowd, who wanted to see Molly bathe in the linen-lined copper bath she was confronted with.

  ‘I’ll stay at the entrance to make sure nobody comes in,’ Zahra proffered, politely turning her back as Molly shed her clothing and climbed with great difficulty into the deep bath, which clouded the air with the aroma of scented oils. ‘I have explained that in your culture bathing is always private.’

  ‘I expect there’s not much privacy in these tents between women,’ Molly conceded, determined not to make a fuss about the differences and to fit in to the best of her ability, but very grateful not to be forced to put her naked body on show.

  Having already bathed at the palace and washed her hair, Molly only made superficial use of the ceremonial bath and clambered out into a fleecy towel. Her wedding gown and lingerie awaited her in a connecting tent and she wasted no time in getting dressed, with Zahra well able and willing to hook up the back of her dress.

  ‘It’s a beautiful dress,’ Zahra sighed, admiring the long lace sleeves and the slender silhouette of the elegant design Molly had chosen. ‘Some brides here already wear Western gowns as one of their bridal changes. Photographs of you in this will encourage the fashion.’

  A big silver box arrived to much fanfare.

  ‘The bridegroom’s gift to his bride,’ Zahra explained.

  ‘So, it’s a tradition.’ Less pleased by the awareness that Azrael was only doing what was expected of him rather than what he actually wanted to do, Molly opened the box and gazed down in awe at a fabulous set of emerald jewellery.

  ‘These are royal jewels, passed from mother to son for the next generation. The King’s mother, Princess Nahla, only wore them once when she married Prince Sharif.’ Nimble fingers brushed Molly’s nape as Zahra clasped the stunning necklace and passed her the glistening drop earrings.

  Molly felt as though she were living history when she was escorted into yet another tent where Azrael awaited her, tall and grave in his traditional robes. His beautiful eyes were dark and serious below his lush screening lashes and she suspected that she was still unforgiven for her reaction to the possibility of a pregnancy. It really didn’t matter, she admitted wryly to herself, because with one glimpse at Azrael the dulled ache between her thighs throbbed in wanton recollection, her entire body now shamefully attuned to his in the most mortifying way. The rising colour in her cheeks had nothing to do with the temperature.

  The celebrant was an American minister and the service was short and sweet. Azrael’s cool fingers slid a gold ring onto her wedding finger and, for the first time, Molly truly felt like a married woman.

  In silence, Azrael admired the dress, which faithfully followed Molly’s lush curves but which revealed barely any skin. He concentrated his attention on the rusty little marks scattered below her collar bone, trying to look on them as imperfections while recalling that the same freckles extended the stippling over her full creamy breasts. Unhappily for him he loved her freckles, and the urgent pulse at his groin infuriated him at so formal an occasion and when they had parted on such poor terms. How could he still hunger for a woman who did not want his child, who did not want to create a family with him? Who rejected a future of any kind with him? Who expected him to discuss what it was pointless to discuss? Her callous attitude, after all, had said all he needed to hear.

  Molly had barely spent ten minutes in Azrael’s presence before she was swept off again to be dressed appropriately for the signing of the marriage contract, which was the main event as far as her companions were concerned. Freed from the limitations of her Western wedding gown, Molly followed Zahra’s advice and simply let the attendants dress her up as a traditional Djalian bride. Her hands and feet were ornamented with elaborate swirling henna patterns, her nails painted, her face made up with a much more dramatic application of cosmetics than she would personally have used. Finally, swamped in emerald-green brocade with a richly embroidered, buttoned blue under tunic sewn with pearls, she saw herself in a mirror and she didn’t recognise her reflection because even her hair was hidden below an elaborate headdress. Throughout photos were taken by a female photographer. She wondered if Azrael would prefer her in such garb and whether it would bring a smile to his lean features.

  She saw Azrael again in the presence of the solemn imam with the marriage contract laid out on a table and with Zahra and Butrus acting as witnesses. Coached by Zahra, she knew to allow the imam to ask her three times before she accepted and signed her name. She was settled down then into an elaborate wooden chair and then, to her dismay, hoisted high by a bunch of men and borne off into a big tent where a crowd awaited them. A drum was beating out a tattoo and women were wailing in apparent happiness. Molly pinned a fixed smile to her tense face as she was seated on a stage and watched Azrael brought in with loud drumming and even more pomp and ceremony. Kneeling at her feet, Zahra explained every stage, pointing out the tray of seven spices and the seven foods for purity arranged on a low table. She was brought a rose water and pomegranate cordial to drink and she was abstracted, marvelling at how stunning Azrael looked in his rich golden attire.

  ‘I first saw his picture at the embassy in London,’ she shared reflectively with Zahra. ‘I didn’t know who he was back then but I noticed him.’

  ‘Women do tend to notice His Majesty.’ Zahra smiled. ‘Butrus mentioned that the first time the King saw you it was obvious that he was noticing you as well.’

  Molly wondered if that was true, if it was possible that the same awareness that had initially electrified her had also affected Azrael. While musicians took their seats, dancers trooped in and tossed sweets to the guests. Azrael took a seat on the stage beside her as a table was arranged in front of them and Zahra excused herself.

  ‘Zahra’s been a wonderful help,’ Molly confided. ‘Explaining everything, translating for me. I didn’t make any mistakes.’

  ‘Everything at an occasion like this is new to you. Don’t worry about making mistakes,’ Azrael responded quietly.

  A veritable feast of food was brought to them and Molly ate sparingly, too conscious of being the centre of attention to relax, but as the evening wore on and she watched Azrael take part in an astonishingly acrobatic traditional dance with actual swords her tension gradually ebbed because all around her people were happy and obviously having a good time. Every so often Zahra would approach her and bring people for her to meet, and the emeralds that still glowed round her neck were complimented many times and clearly a highly recognisable symbol of Djalian royalty that the guests liked to see on display.

  They left the continuing festivities in the helicopter. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked Azrael.

  ‘You’ll see,’ he parried. ‘I hope I ha
ve made the right choice. Butrus thought I was crazy. The normal option would have been to remain in the encampment for the night.’

  But Molly was grateful for any choice that took them away from the noisy partying and the almost suffocating attention of so many people. Privacy, she appreciated, was a gift Azrael rarely enjoyed and it would be the same for her because the local media would publish their wedding photos. At the same time, now that the cameras and the audience were gone, how would they be together and how would Azrael behave?

  Azrael lifted her out of the helicopter because she was struggling in her capacious layers of brocade and silk and very much looking forward to changing into something more comfortable and shedding the heavy jewellery. In the darkness she couldn’t see where they were. All she could see was an actual burning torch flaring against a wall.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked because she could still see no artificial light and it was very quiet. As she drew closer to the torch she saw that the wall was a rock rather than an artificial creation and her brow furrowed in confusion.

  ‘It is a surprise. The helicopter will pick us up again in the morning.’ Azrael hesitated. ‘I brought you back to the cave for the night...’

  A cave? The cave? Molly hinged her dropped jaw shut again, grateful for the darkness. ‘Wow,’ she said chirpily as if it were the best news she had ever heard, because she was not stupid, after all.

  If Azrael was taking her back to the cave for their wedding night it was because he believed that was romantic and, since he was far too practical to be what she would have deemed a natural romantic, it signified a feat of imagination and effort on his part that she had to admire...even if she hated it.

  ‘The stars are beautiful and the moon is full,’ Azrael pointed out with pronounced determination as they trudged across the sand by the light of his cell phone.