Читать книгу The Reluctant Princess - Kholo Matsha - Страница 5

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Lesedi bit her lower lip, feeling trapped – the darkness surrounding the car did nothing to improve her mood. She knew that she couldn’t live with Mogale, in the same house, let alone be his wife. Yet, even now, though he ignored her, she was aware of every move he made – especially his strong hands splayed across the steering wheel, seeming to caress it gently as he guided the car to its destination, his home in Pretoria. Despite his big frame Lesedi had learnt that Mogale could be gentle and silent, as he had been for almost the whole of the four weeks of the traditional wedding. Everyone from both clans had embraced the celebrations with gusto, everyone except the bride and groom, and deep down Lesedi knew that she couldn’t have made it through without him. He had even been supportive when her father had introduced a clause in the marriage agreement allowing that if either one of them couldn’t continue with the union it would be rendered null and void. Lesedi knew her father was doing it for her, and that Mogale didn’t have to agree to the clause, that it might be seen as an act of bad faith to engineer a way out of the marriage before it had even begun, but Mogale held firm. He had resolved to marry her out of loyalty to his clan and father. And though this meant there was no love between them, only duty, Lesedi understood. What they’d felt for each other six years ago had been replaced by what they had to do. Her father had said much the same thing: “Through duty comes peace, prosperity and wellbeing for the people.”

As these thoughts passed through her mind, Lesedi felt sad that her life had come to this. She wanted love. She had always dreamed that one day a man would come and sweep her off her feet. He’d be handsome and strong, and he’d take her breath away. And at that moment she’d always known that she’d be so much in love that she wouldn’t be able to deny him anything. Although she knew these dreams were naïve, she couldn’t help but cling to them. And six years ago she’d almost had her dream come true with Mogale – a real prince, in love with her, wanting to marry her. But it had all turned out to be a horrible joke. Lesedi despaired.

They passed the third tollgate on the N1 from Limpopo to Gauteng, but Lesedi didn’t even notice, she was aching for the love that she knew she’d never have with Mogale.

But they did have something. Her eyes shifted to his face, and even though she couldn’t see him properly in the dark her mouth still dried from desire. Her mind was full of fantasies. She yearned for him. But why? She didn’t want to feel like this about Mogale, not when she knew that there was no love between them, and yet her senses were spinning out of control. She’d never experienced this before – the sexual pull was almost too much for her to bear. It was utterly uncalled for, she scolded herself. Sex would only complicate things.

Lesedi tore her eyes from Mogale and squeezed them closed, trying to block out the fate she saw as her future. She had given up her job, her life, for duty.

* * *

The car rolled on and on in the darkness, getting closer to its destination. Mogale kept his body rigid, resisting the urge to reach over to Lesedi. She seemed so lost and disorientated that it tore at him. He had to do everything in his power to quell his natural male response to the female beside him – to pull the car over, take Lesedi in his arms and kiss away her grief. Because she wasn’t just any female; she was his wife. No matter the circumstances that had brought them together after six years of longing for her, she was now his wife. Mogale’s gaze drifted back to Lesedi. She had fallen asleep. She looked so vulnerable, he thought as he began to puzzle once again over their situation. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep his hands off her. A weakness he didn’t take kindly to. Even now she stirred him in her sleep. Mogale huffed out a frustrated breath, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. How he could want a woman who didn’t want him was beyond him. His heart contracted at the thought, the pain that came with it taking him by surprise. He should stop being sentimental, he berated himself. He’d keep his distance from her, and with time they would see that it wouldn’t have worked anyway. And with that Mogale turned his eyes back to the road.

Three hours later they arrived at Mogale’s property. High up above the arched gates was a board proclaiming boldly Batloung Estate. Driving in, they passed pine trees that lined the long driveway on both sides. At the end of it they came to a massive house, which, despite its size, had a homely feel. Low welcoming lights illuminated its high-rising walls. Greenery dotted open spaces.

Mogale stopped at the front steps, admiring the comfortable simplicity of the house. He wondered what Lesedi would think of it. Suddenly it occurred to him that all the years he had struggled to improve himself and worked hard to earn a place in society, not just because he was a prince by birth, he’d wanted to be worthy in Lesedi’s eyes, and that one day she’d . . . She’d what?

A bitter taste filled his mouth. Well, he knew the answer to that now.

Getting out of the car, Mogale went to unlock the door and quickly disarmed the alarm. Then he went to her side and opened the door. He scooped her sleeping form up into his arms. Her body was soft and womanly and a sweet natural scent drifted into his nostrils, tempting him to bury his nose in the space where her shoulder met her neck. Resisting the urge, he directed his steps towards the house. She was just the right size for this; her body fitted snugly into his arms as though she could stay there forever.

In the guest bedroom Mogale was about to gently put Lesedi down on the bed when she stirred and woke up with a start. His arms involuntarily tightened around her and for a second she sighed as though accepting his touch. That pulled at him. Mogale leaned in close to her; their eyes locked, they recognised the desire reflected there. Their breath mingled. He breathed in her scent.

Lesedi experienced a moment of panic as she lost control of her body. “I think I can manage from here,” she said, standing up quickly, her voice small and groggy.

“Yes, of course.” The sarcasm in Mogale’s voice was barely concealed – all that was left was for him to call her “your highness”.

Mogale left her standing in the middle of the room. Lesedi wrapped her arms around her waist as though to preserve herself from the irresistible attraction that blazed into life whenever he was close. She didn’t even look at the room, afraid to discover it to be the master bedroom – she didn’t think she was ready for that, ready for him.

At that moment Mogale came in with her luggage. Lesedi looked at him and wondered what he was thinking, but to her disappointment he placed her luggage next to the bed and said good night.

Lesedi watched his retreating back, unsure if she was sad or relieved. Then, picking up her handbag from the floor, she searched for her cellphone and made a quick call to Phetana. She felt like talking.

“Hello?” Phetana sounded half-asleep.

Lesedi checked her wristwatch – it was past midnight. “Sorry, I’ve woken you.” Lesedi sat down on the bed.

“Oh, I was expecting your call. So how is the prince treating you? Wow, I still can’t believe you’re married to Mogale. All those years you waited for him were not in vain. You finally have him, girl!” Phetana gave a gleeful yelp.

“I never waited for him.”

“Of course you did, even if you never said a word about him. Lesedi, you waited for him and you know it. Six years and there was never a guy you were interested in – if that’s not waiting, I don’t know what is. You must have been dreaming that he’d come charging back into your life to marry you.” Phetana whooped again.

“But he didn’t do that now, did he?” Lesedi flopped backwards onto the bed. Not that she would ever admit it to Phetana, but stupid as she was, she had dreamt of that very thing. In her dreams his handsome face had radiated love, his lips had spread wide in a smile, he had spoken honey-coated words that had taken her breath away. “If it wasn’t for his father wanting to reconcile our people, he wouldn’t have come for me no matter how much I might have wanted him to,” she said, suddenly feeling tired.

“Lesedi, just show him you love him. You do love him, don’t you?”

“I never stopped.”

“So?”

“I can’t do that. I don’t think I can handle my love being thrown back in my face again. Once was enough.”

“Oh, Lesedi . . .”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I just need to find something to do, that’s all.”

“Haven’t you forgotten something?” The excitement was back in Phetana’s voice.

“What?” Lesedi asked, not really caring.

“The outreach programme! Now that you’re married to him you can easily ask . . .”

Lesedi suddenly sat upright. Her life had been so stormy for the past four weeks that she had forgotten all about the outreach programme. Had she packed her paperwork? She would have to check. Would he agree? She mulled the idea over in her mind. She’d never thought to ask anything from him, and now that she had to, she didn’t know how to broach the subject.

“Now that I think of it, Lesedi,” Phetana continued, “you two would have found each other anyway. You were going to call him.”

“I wouldn’t have called him. I was thinking of finding other sponsors,” Lesedi said stubbornly. “And even if I had called him, it doesn’t mean he would have accepted my proposal.”

“Regardless. You know, love doesn’t happen when you deny it even though you want it to happen,” Phetana chided her gently. “To love, one has to find courage.”

“Whoever said that forgot to say that love hurts, especially when you discover that what you took for courage was foolishness,” Lesedi said.

“Don’t they say that only fools fall in love?”

“Then I think I’ll be a clever fool,” Lesedi added stubbornly.

“I already miss you, girlfriend.” Phetana cracked another laugh, and Lesedi joined in. “And please call your brother. He’s worried about you.”

“How do you . . . ? Never mind, I’ll call him tomorrow. Good night.”

“Night.”

Lesedi ended the call, kicked off her shoes and stretched out to her full length on the bed. Her mind wandered to where Mogale might be, what he might be doing. His face lingered in her mind, his eyes filled with a desire she feared she would all too easily succumb to, as sleep overtook her.

* * *

In the morning Lesedi woke to a cool breeze caressing her face. She experienced a moment of disorientation before she remembered where she was. As soon as she did, Mogale immediately came to mind, but she opted to ignore him and the feelings that charged her body. Whimsically, her eyes drifted around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. The walls of the room were painted a cream colour that created an airy feel, prompting the occupant to relax. The furniture echoed the décor – everything looked expensive, but also comfortable and inviting. Beautiful, Lesedi thought, just like the man who owned it.

Did he own her too? the thought popped into her mind, pricking her sense of independence. For a black man marriage meant ownership; the mere fact that he’d paid lobola meant that he had bought her. So did he own her? She didn’t want to know the answer. Duty bound her to him.

Lesedi continued with her perusal of her surroundings, opting to occupy her mind with things other than Mogale. She turned to the window. The morning sun drifted through the curtains, and as though beckoned by something, Lesedi got up from the bed and walked to the glass doors. Opening them, she stepped out onto a wide balcony, drinking in the breathtaking view. Vast forested gardens stretched all around the house, and beyond these started fields of maize plants set in neat rows that stretched as far as the eye could see. This was perfect for her programme, she thought, catching sight of the outbuildings that lay to the left of the gardens. For a while she pictured what it would be like if Mogale agreed to her plan. It would be rewarding seeing children who’d never been anywhere but their village experience a new way of life: being mentored, learning the art of farming on a professional level, seeing opportunities their rural communities couldn’t foster or maintain, simply dreaming and striving to better themselves because they could finally see what was possible. Mogale was a good role model. He had made himself into something. And she was married to him. Lesedi felt suffused with pride, but she squashed it before images of a perfect life with Mogale turned into a yearning that she knew would never be fulfilled.

Turning her mind to other things, Lesedi thought of how she could approach Mogale. Easter holidays were due to begin soon and she could bring three or four of the impoverished kids to the estate then. Or maybe that was too soon? Maybe the June school holidays were better. After all, it might take her a while to convince Mogale. She wouldn’t give up, though; she would pester him until he agreed.

But she didn’t stick to her resolve for very long. It was easy to picture herself fighting with Mogale and winning when he wasn’t there, but when he was around, it was a different matter entirely.

From somewhere Lesedi heard the sound of a door whooshing open. It didn’t take her long to figure out who it was. He occupied her mind, even when he wasn’t wanted. Plus, her body informed her. It was as if he was a musician and she the instrument. It started with her skin breaking into anticipatory goose flesh. Her heart followed, accelerating its rhythm, and then the rest of her readied itself – it yearned to be close to him, press itself to the length of him, feel the heady sensations that only his nearness could provide. In response her arms tightened around herself, shielding her from succumbing to the strange need he evoked in her.

“Morning. I didn’t think you were awake yet,” he said in a friendly tone. He took in her body language – it was as though she resented his presence, and that brought forth a feeling he couldn’t understand within him.

“Morning.” She gave him a smile and strove to relax. This was her opportunity – he seemed to be in an open mood.

“I have a favour to ask . . .” she began.

“No,” he said, without looking at her.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“There is nothing I own that I wouldn’t give to you, Lesedi, but the question is, what would you give me in return?” He turned then and stared at her.

Lesedi felt transfixed by his gaze. She’d never considered that he might want something from her and his words shocked her. But what could she possibly give him?

Mogale turned away from her as though he’d come to a conclusion. “Since you can’t give me anything, the answer is no,” he said, striding from the balcony. “Lusanda must have breakfast ready by now. I’ll see you downstairs.”

Lesedi felt herself regain control of her body, but even as she did so she became aware of another feeling, something else that had been born between herself and Mogale, and resolving it was somehow bound up with the success of her programme. She’d known him almost all her life – they’d grown up in the same village, after all – but now he was a different man altogether. What could she give him? Images of Mogale and she intertwined in each other’s arms ran rampant in her mind and her breath hitched in her throat. Striving to think of something else, she focused on her situation: she had been forced into this marriage because of duty to her people. She was the key to stabilising the uneasy peace between the Batloung and the Tshukudu. No matter her feelings or weaknesses where Mogale Tloung was concerned, this was business for the people involved, and it should be business for her too. No feelings, no attachments, just business all the way. Could she do that? Lesedi asked herself, her spine straightening in determination.

Yes, she could.

Turning back into her room, Lesedi selected the most colourful and flattering dress she could find, then she went to the bathroom to take a quick shower and make herself ready for her first breakfast with Mogale. She would give him exactly what he wanted, she decided. She just had to find out what it was.