Читать книгу The Reluctant Princess - Kholo Matsha - Страница 4

1

If she could get through this blazing heat then she could get through anything, Lesedi thought as she plodded down the dusty main road of Ga-Tloung, the February sun yawning down, sending its hot rays without mercy. She juggled the load of paperwork in her arms and tried to maintain a professional appearance. As the only social worker the village had, she simply had to be seen to be diligent and dedicated, oppressive heat or no. Many people relied on her, and Lesedi took her job seriously.

Today’s case – the family she had just visited – was something else, though. Lesedi couldn’t distance herself enough to think of them as just her job, to leave her heart out of it. She tried hard to dispel the impoverished home and half-starved children from her mind, but even as she did so she felt her eyes fill up with tears.

Her heart lurched as the words of her father, the only parent she’d ever known, came rushing back to her: “Stop taking everything to heart – it won’t help you, carrying everyone’s problems on your shoulders.”

Lesedi groaned, knowing very well that this was exactly what she was doing. But she couldn’t help it – things were so slow with the government, and the people needed help. Now her tears were replaced by anger and determination, the princess within her surging to life. Lesedi was a princess of the Tshukudu clan. Or rather, she used to be. For over three decades, the Tshukudu clan had no longer existed. The very land Lesedi walked on belonged to her people, and the people were here, living as best they could, but in their shame – shame which had affected her father very deeply – they merely survived, neither claiming nor begging anything from their conquerors, the Batloung. Even the tale of their conquest was whispered behind closed doors for fear of displeasing the Batloung, but despite this the Tshukudu clan held on to their pride, especially Lesedi, which was why she was walking in this heat. She had refused to beg Fina, the matron, for the car provided for the clinic’s employees. It was her turn to use it, but Fina had wanted her to grovel at her feet like a slave, as though to remind Lesedi of her conquered status.

Lesedi looked down the dusty road, squinting against the glare, and released a frustrated groan as she caught sight of a black car approaching at top speed, kicking up dust as it came. This was terrible, she thought. She still had a good deal of walking to do – the clinic was situated at the entrance of the village – and now she was going to look as if someone had unmercifully tackled her to the dusty ground and rubbed her into it. She should have swallowed her pride and begged Fina for the car. It would be a miracle if her sensible white shirt and below-the-knee flower-print skirt survived this.

Lesedi watched the car as it came closer, its cape of dust billowing behind it. “My hair!” she exclaimed. It would take days to remove the dust she saw flying about from her Afro. Lesedi quickly unfurled a handkerchief and with one motion tied it around her head, managing to cover most of her hair.

The car came nearer; she could hear the purr of its engine and see its licence plates. It was a BMW, and it was from Gauteng. The car and its lone occupant – Lesedi glimpsed the driver through the tinted window – were probably destined for the royal homestead, right at the foot of the mountain. Not that it was any business of hers, Lesedi thought as she stepped to the very edge of the road to let the BMW pass. She had no interest in anything outside the village. Everything that she needed was right here in Ga-Tloung . . . except for one thing.

Lesedi felt her stomach flip over at the thought of him. She’d spent a year working on an outreach programme, compiling answers to the problems faced by the youth in her village, but for now it seemed the only person who could further her work was Mogale Tloung, heir to the Batloung throne. Mogale was a prominent businessman who supported a lot of charities and Lesedi felt that he should support one in his own village. She’d also spent a large part of the previous year Googling him, and his estate in Wapadrand, fifteen kilometres from Pretoria, was just perfect for what she had in mind as the next step in her programme.

But to contact him, and ask him, would take courage and a rehashing of the past. And the latter was something Lesedi would rather avoid – there was so much hurt there. A shiver ran through her as she remembered how he had turned on her the last time she had seen him. It had taken her a long time to forget Mogale, to stop her heart from contracting with pain whenever she thought of him. Anyway, she consoled herself, maybe she would find someone else willing to support a simple programme that wished to instil hope in the impoverished rural youth, and then she wouldn’t need to deal with him.

Lesedi took a deep breath as she emerged from the cloud of dust thrown up by the car. She was surprised to hear the deep purring of an engine nearby – she had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t seen that the BMW had stopped, and was now reversing to bring the driver face to face with her. Lesedi watched as the tinted window, on the passenger side, slid down. Her heart almost stopped when the occupant came into view. Mogale! His name exploded into her mind, causing her to freeze on the side of the road, heart thudding and stomach churning. It was as though she had been waiting for him to make her senses truly come alive. Oh, she’d seen recent pictures of him on the web when she’d conducted her research, but it had felt nothing like this. Six years of not seeing him had done nothing for her, for her heart. She still wanted him. He was more handsome and masculine than ever; he had grown. He was a man now, Lesedi thought as the woman in her appreciated what she saw.

“Lesedi? I wasn’t sure it was you.”

Lesedi’s hand automatically went to her face. She knew she must look a sight, with her hair carelessly covered with a handkerchief and her sweat-soaked and dust-sprinkled clothes.

Mogale stared at her for a moment. “It was nice to see you again,” he said, his face showing no emotion.

Lesedi watched him drive off, the shock of seeing him again reverberating within her, her heart rocketing against her ribcage. He hadn’t even waited for her reply, but the fact that he had been rude was almost lost on her – Lesedi was thinking about how he’d made her feel. What she’d felt for him when she was nineteen didn’t come close to what he made her feel now. Lesedi couldn’t catch her breath. Her whole body had become aware of Mogale in a way she’d never experienced before, and she shamefully remembered how in that intense moment she’d been drawn to his big, long-fingered hands splayed on the steering wheel.

Lesedi closed her eyes to calm her overactive heart and the overwhelming surge of feelings. Then she gave his car one last look before making her way down the road, clutching her pile of papers.

Twenty minutes later Lesedi reached the clinic. From the gate she could see the long line of people waiting to take advantage of the doctor’s weekly visit. Her heart went out to them – most had walked long distances to be there. But Lesedi didn’t go to them – she was still shell-shocked from seeing Mogale again so unexpectedly. Instead, she avoided using the front door and made her way around to the side of the clinic building. She was hot and thirsty and her body didn’t feel like her own, so the cool breeze coming from the clinic’s kitchen was a welcome balm.

“You look a sight. Did someone tackle you to the ground?”

Lesedi turned to find Phetana at the sink, a smile on her face.

“No. Though it would have been better, because then I could say that the other person looks worse,” Lesedi laughed, slumping into the nearest chair and dumping her paperwork on the floor. “Now I’ve learned the hard way that pride never helped anyone. I should have begged for the car.”

“Funnily enough, I cannot picture you doing that.” Phetana chuckled. “Don’t forget, I know you. You’re only saying that because you feel like a thoroughly braaied piece of meat.”

They did indeed know each other. They’d been friends for as long as Lesedi could remember. After matric Phetana had gone away to study for her nursing diploma and Lesedi had gone to university for her social work degree, but they had both come back to GaTloung to work in their own community. They truly were a pair.

Phetana laughed again. “Even though you are a beautiful woman, I don’t think you should get any darker than you already are.”

Lesedi blanched, her hands going to her face. A distressed sound escaped her lips – she hadn’t thought it was that bad.

Phetana stopped laughing. “Hey, don’t stress. It’s nothing a few applications of lotion can’t fix.”

“Guess who saw me looking like this,” Lesedi said, shutting her eyes in horror.

Lesedi knew that with the history they shared she should actually not care if Mogale found her attractive or not, but she still didn’t want him to see her in such a state.

Phetana was looking at Lesedi thoughtfully, trying to figure out who could have caused the horror on her face, but at that moment the back door was filled by a tall, wide frame. She looked away quickly, wishing she was invisible.

“Lesedi, our father needs you,” Lesedi’s brother Tsietsi said simply, glaring at Phetana. He had a way of commanding attention.

“I still have some things to do,” Lesedi replied. “I can’t just leave.”

“This is far more important,” Tsietsi continued, picking up Lesedi’s bag and turning towards the door. “Come with me.” If he saw anything wrong with her appearance, he didn’t say so.

“Tsietsi, what’s this about?” Lesedi got to her feet.

Her brother turned impatiently, looking pained. “The high and mighty prince of Batloung has returned.” He spat the words out as though they left a bad taste in his mouth.

Lesedi felt her heart give a painful lurch in her chest, a sense of foreboding wrapping itself around her. “What has that got to do with me?” Her voice sounded strange, even to her own ears, and Lesedi feared that she had revealed her true feelings where Mogale was concerned.

Tsietsi eyed Phetana, who had suddenly gone still, her hands frozen in the sink. This was not going according to plan, he thought – not that he had believed that it would, considering the circumstances. He could not believe that his father had caved in when the chief’s people had come and asked for his daughter’s hand. They had come bearing gifts, true, but his and Lesedi’s family was not some charity case. Tsietsi swallowed his anger, knowing it to be futile, wrapped his fingers around Lesedi’s arm and gently guided her out of the door.

Five minutes later Tsietsi had Lesedi settled in his bakkie and they were on their way up a sloping gravel road. Lesedi was stunned. She couldn’t move a muscle. Thoughts and questions warred with each other in her mind. And the most prevalent question was: What could Mogale possibly want from her? Apart from their brief encounter that morning, she hadn’t seen him in over six years. He hadn’t tried to contact her. For all she knew he hated her. What could he possibly want?

“He’s come to marry you,” her brother blurted out as though answering her silent question.

Lesedi felt a blend of fear and ecstasy spiralling through her. Marrying Mogale had been her dream ever since she had known what it felt like to be in his arms. Even though at the time her reactions to him had been childish and clumsy – and he had been reserved and protective, so much so that he hadn’t taken their secret relationship any further than a few chaste kisses and warm hugs – she had known. And then he had turned on her.

Head bowed, Lesedi worried the folds of her skirt, the sense of foreboding she had felt growing stronger. Their past was complicated; they had been young, their new-found love explosive and undeniable, but they had kept it secret, mindful of the situation they found themselves in. Of course, someone had eventually found out about them – his cousins and brother – but they had just laughed at her . . . Had they known she was there, overhearing? She’d heard them say that Mogale was playing her, and she didn’t even know it. He had proposed to her with a ring fashioned from sweet wrappers, and like the fallen princess that she was, she wore it as if it were pure gold. At that moment her eyes had gone to the ring on her finger. Its blend of colours had impressed her and she couldn’t believe the time he had taken to make it. Despite their laughter, she’d still reasoned that Mogale wouldn’t do such a thing, he loved her. But then one of them had said something so personal – something she had trusted only Mogale with – that her heart had burst open in her chest, hurt and rage mingling, causing her to see only red. And from that moment there had been no turning back.

Later, when she’d had time to compose herself, she had sought Mogale out, and when she’d found him she hadn’t spared him. She’d taken off the ring, and with all the dignity she could muster, shoved it at him, laughing all the while, saying, right in front of his father and other high-ranking members of the royal family, “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have a prince chase after me, and give me cheap little trinkets.” She had laughed harder. “Now I know. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man alive, Mogale Tloung.”

He’d said nothing, his face hard. Finally he’d taken the ring from her and pocketed it, and then he’d turned away from her, dismissing her as though she was one of no importance to him. That had hurt her even more. And with her heart breaking, she had blindly made her way home.

And now he was back and wanted to marry her.

Tsietsi sent her a sideways look. “Lesedi, you know you don’t have to do this.” Her brother’s face softened. “Talk to Father and tell him how you feel. You don’t have to marry a man you don’t love just because it makes some kind of political sense.”

Lesedi blinked – she had been so wrapped up in her own hurt that she hadn’t realised the significance of all of this. In marrying Mogale she would be resurrecting her clan. Her connection to him would restore her people, and they could once again walk the dusty roads of Ga-Tloung with pride. The prospect was tempting, but Mogale’s betrayal, though long ago, was still raw. How could she marry a man who had abused her trust, played with her emotions? Could she do this for her clan? Lesedi didn’t know.

But then, would marrying Mogale truly be such a sacrifice on her part? She could hardly say that she’d been able to forget him. Over the past six years she’d thought about him almost every day, wondering why she should be destined to continue to love a man who had treated her so cruelly. And yet, wasn’t she just learning not to make everyone else’s burden her own?

Facing forward, she watched the gates to her home appearing ahead, knowing that a decision would soon be made.

* * *

Mogale Tloung growled as he paced the length of the simply furnished sitting room where he waited for Lesedi. The rage he felt inside marred his handsome face, but there was nothing he could do – it bubbled up inside him like lava in a volcano about to erupt. He released a heated breath to cool himself, glad that he was alone. Lesedi! Just the mere thought of her sent him into another dimension, a dimension where he lost control. Just like now.

Seeing her earlier had almost undone him. His first instinct when he’d seen her had been to abandon his car right there, in the middle of the road, and crush her to him. Why he should still feel this way about her he didn’t know. He was twenty-nine, but his feelings for her hadn’t aged a day.

In his youth – though she was still very young, not even grown enough to be called a woman – she had brought him to his knees in a way that made him swear that he would never look her way again. Six years ago he had left his home to get as far away from her as he possibly could, and in the process he had improved himself, making his way in the world of business. Now he owned vast lands that he used for farming maize – which was processed into maize meal that he then exported to neighbouring countries and traded domestically – and biodiesel. The latter was his passion, and researching it had taken him to lands far from South Africa, far enough away that he should have forgotten Lesedi. But he hadn’t forgotten her – no one seemed to come close to her.

Mogale sighed. He was still raw when it came to Lesedi, and now his father was making him revisit those feelings. He didn’t seem to care how he, Mogale, felt. To him and his advisors their marriage was simply one of convenience – a well-thought-out plan to bring together two clans that were forced to cohabit. More like bringing the Tshukudu people to heel, that’s how Mogale saw it. But his father refused to hear his arguments – after all, hadn’t Mogale planned to marry Lesedi six years earlier? But he didn’t want to marry her now, Mogale shouted in his mind, though he could tell his heart wasn’t convinced. And that’s where the source of his anger lay. Despite it all, he still wanted her, and he felt like a fool because he couldn’t help himself.

Lesedi lingered outside the door to the sitting room in which she knew Mogale was waiting for her. She had showered quickly and changed into a loose-fitting grey dress that showed little of her body. By avoiding wearing anything suggestive, she was trying to send him a signal – that she couldn’t marry him, no matter how much good it would do her people. This time she wasn’t going to carry anyone else’s burden on her shoulders.

Drawing a breath, Lesedi opened the door – and stopped dead in her tracks. There he stood in the middle of the room in a simple T-shirt and jeans, his hands balled up into fists at his sides. Though his face was averted from her, Mogale’s rage was obvious. A deluge of feelings surged within her and the reasons why she couldn’t marry him fled from her mind. It took all her self-control not to rush to him and beg him to hold her. She was gripped by an innate yearning to feel the taut muscles in his arms bind her to him and his balled-up hands spread out across her back to shackle her even closer to his chest. She felt weak, excited and fearful – fearful that he would easily see through her and know just how much power he had over her.

Mogale turned around, his eyes colliding with Lesedi’s. His breath caught in his throat as he drank her in. She was still as beautiful as he remembered. Her full lips, now parted, were inviting and it took everything in him not to close the distance between them.

Lesedi gasped loudly, her fingers tightening on the door handle as Mogale’s gaze burned across her body. She couldn’t remember him ever looking at her like this before, as though he could see every inch of her through her clothes. In that moment he was male and primitive; his masculine strength evident, his anger mixed with his need for her. Her breasts felt heavy and sensitive and all Lesedi could think of was him doing things to her that she’d never thought of any man doing.

Mogale took in her grey dress. Though ugly, it did not conceal anything; her luscious body was still there beneath it. His gaze travelled to her face. He felt his mouth dry. There in her eyes a need, a desire for him smouldered. A gut-wrenching feeling hit his loins. If he’d thought that she had brought him to his knees in his youth, he knew now that she was capable of making him grovel at her feet. At that thought he scowled.

“Hello, Lesedi, it’s nice to see you’re still well.”

Lesedi swallowed, not missing the edge to his voice. “I can’t marry you, Mogale,” she blurted out, still holding on to the door handle as though preparing to make her escape at any second.

Urged by something he didn’t understand, Mogale moved towards her. “Why? Am I still not good enough for you?” he asked.

Was that contempt in his voice?

“I . . . I never said that,” she stammered.

Then, before Lesedi knew what was happening, Mogale was centimetres from her, his dark eyes bearing a light that frightened and excited her at the same time. He pushed her against the nearest wall; she could feel the manly power within him, but his touch was remarkably gentle.

“If I remember correctly, you said you wouldn’t marry me even if I were the last man alive,” he said. And then his mouth was on hers, hard and demanding. His anger-laced desire lashed at her, drugging her senses, the fear she’d felt before dissipating as she instinctively pressed her tingling body to the hard wall of his chest.

Lesedi felt as if she was coming alive, that her body was being freed from the cocoon it had been trapped in. Guided by something intrinsic and uninhibited, she melted in Mogale’s arms, desire warming her, making her pliant to his touch. She kissed him back, sliding her full lips on his, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and biting into it gently.

Mogale deepened the kiss, passing his tongue into her mouth to trace the contours that beckoned there. She tasted sweet, spicy. This was his kind of woman, Mogale thought. She was his woman. He’d known that six years ago, and he knew it now. A desire so strong coursed through his veins that he groaned into her mouth. And in response a yearning sound escaped Lesedi’s lips. He could feel her clinging to him, her whole body surrendering to whatever he wanted to do.

“I guess we are all in agreement then . . .”

Mogale turned towards the booming voice, which came from the open doorway. His father was standing there with Lesedi’s father, her brother and the other people who had been part of the lobola negotiations. Instinctively Mogale shielded Lesedi from their curious eyes, even as he took in the looks on their faces that told him that their wish had come true. He felt Lesedi cringe beside him at the prospect of what all of this meant. She truly didn’t want to marry him, he realised. And though he didn’t want to acknowledge it, it hurt.