Читать книгу Historical Romance: April Books 1 - 4 - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 14
ОглавлениеDressing for a formal dinner hosted by the Crown Princess was a long and laborious ritual which usually required at least two handmaidens to be in attendance, but today, once her selection of clothing had been laid out in order, Tahira dismissed her servants from her dressing closet, preferring to be alone with her thoughts. When her mother ruled the harem, she often used to allow Tahira to perform the handmaiden’s duties. Mama’s closet was always heady with the scent of attar of roses. She would recount the history of each article of formal attire in turn, Tahira recalled. They always paused to take tea when she had finished dressing, before she donned her jewellery. The whole process could take hours.
The gomlek was first. Tahira cast off her bathing robe and pulled the loose chemise with its wide sleeves over her head. Mama had favoured bright colours, red and yellow and blue, but she preferred plain white. In times gone by, the garment was left open to the waist, so Mama had said, but nowadays in the harem, women understood the art of concealment. She had laughed at Tahira’s confusion over that remark, pinching her cheek and telling her that it was one of the many things she would explain when she was older. One of the many things that she never had the chance to explain.
Tahira’s gomlek fastened chastely at the neck. Eyeing herself in the mirror, she could clearly see the outline of her breasts, the darker shadow of her nipples through the sheer fabric seeming to invite a caress. Last night, when Christopher touched her, took her nipple in his mouth, her response had been a revelation. Recalling it now, she felt an echo of that warm, sweet melting feeling deep inside her. And his response too, left her in no doubt that he found the curves she took for granted alluring. She was reputed to be beautiful, but so too was every princess in Arabia. Her sisters said she was beautiful, but her sisters viewed her through the eyes of affection. In any case, beauty, real or attributed, was a mixed blessing, as far as Tahira was concerned. Her body was an asset to be traded, one which would buy her a husband who took pleasure in doing his duty—until he tired of her—but not an asset which would provide her with any sort of pleasure.
But when Christopher looked at her, she did not feel as if she was being sized up like a brood mare. When he said she was beautiful, she believed him. When he said he desired her, he meant her, only her, not her royal title or her pedigree or the jewels and gold of her substantial dowry. Tracing her hands over her curves, she saw herself through Christopher’s eyes, and liked what she saw. Last night had given her a taste of what desire could be. She smiled to herself. Last night had left her in no doubt that Christopher was capable of giving her so much more.
She pulled on her dizlik, the short drawers which tied at the knee. Not always worn, but very necessary when the salvar pantaloons were as sheer as the pair she now donned. Struggling with the richly embroidered belt which held the multiple pleats in place at the waist, Tahira wished momentarily for her maidservant’s practised assistance. The cerulean-blue organza fell in folds to her ankles, where it was gathered in by two smaller and easier-to-fasten ties. The salvar, according to Mama, was in larger harems considered a symbol of status. She had favoured brocade threaded with gold and silver, as Juwan did, but Tahira found such fabrics far too heavy, and was quite content to leave her sister-in-law to reign fashionably supreme.
The next item in the ritual should be the yelek, which was laced tight, pulling the waist in and pushing the breasts high, but Tahira drew the line at this. Besides, her entari gown fitted neatly enough, the indigo-blue brocade fastened at her waist over her chemise with a row of pearl buttons, the sleeves fitting snugly over her undergarment to the elbow, where they opened up, falling almost to her feet, while the side panels of her robe formed a train behind her, forcing her to walk at what Mama used to call a princess pace.
She was already hot, but her toilette was not yet complete. The koosak shawl made of the same gossamer as her pantaloons was draped over her hair and fixed with pearl-headed pins. Her sipsip slippers were also blue, studded with pearls, their pointed toes a further impediment to easy motion. She eschewed the fotaza turban, which Juwan preferred, and instead placed a little takke cap on the back of her head over her shawl. Her Bedouin star carefully concealed, she fastened a pearl necklace in place, added a few thin gold bangles, and she was finally ready.
Her eyes were lined with kohl, her lashes darkened. Her lips were painted vermilion. What would Christopher think of her now? Tahira turned away from the mirror. She did not want reality ever to collide with her fantasy world which last night had been perfect in every way. Careering down the sand dune, her body pressed back against his, it had felt like flying. And afterwards, those kisses. A different kind of flying. Only when she returned to the palace did she plummet back down to earth.
The distant sound of a bell summoning her to dinner made her heart sink. She was worried about her sisters. Ishraq in particular was behaving oddly of late, spending much more time than usual with Juwan. She was horribly aware of the sand slipping through the glass in the inevitable count down to her leaving them. There was nothing she could do to stop her brother arranging another betrothal, but though she told herself she was inured to the event, inside she was screaming denial.
So she wouldn’t dwell on it. Instead she would think about the silver pot she and Christopher had found at the mine. What else would they find there? And much, much more importantly, would it connect them with Christopher’s amulet? She rather desperately hoped so. It meant so much to him to resolve the mystery, and if the resolution in some way established a connection between them, through her ancestors...
‘Now that,’ Tahira said to Sayeed, who was finally stirring on his velvet cushion from a long day’s rest, ‘would be wonderful.’
The sand cat yawned. Tahira tickled him under the chin. ‘No adventures in the desert for us tonight, I’m afraid.’
The dinner bell rang again. Tahira adjusted the draping of her shawl, and with a sigh, left the room in preparation for a long and tedious repast.
* * *
One night later, Tahira was crouched down on the sand taking a closer look at Christopher’s sketches of the site around the mine, made in the full light of day. He had lit a lantern, the moon being on the wane, and the night hazy. ‘You are sure that you were not spotted?’
‘I chose my time carefully. Mid-afternoon, when the sun is at its hottest, there was no one about.’
‘What about the guards? They would not have dared take shelter from the sun,’ Tahira said, knowing her brother’s reputation for what he called maintaining discipline.
Christopher shrugged. ‘There are only two on duty at present, and both were happy to be distracted.’
‘How...?’
‘Suffice for you to know that they were suitably diverted long enough for me to carry out the inspections I needed.’
He was smiling at her, but there was something in his eyes that warned her not to press him. A dangerous man, who positively thrived on courting danger, she thought, and not for the first time. It was a large part of his allure. He drew her to him in the way that a beautiful, highly polished, lethal blade tempted you to run your finger along its edge, to see for yourself whether it really was as sharp as it looked, unable to resist doing so, despite the fact that your head told you that no proof was needed. Irresistible. Not that she had any inclination to resist.
‘So, you have an accomplice,’ Tahira said. ‘Another person who knows your secret?’
‘I have contacts, that is all.’
‘Contacts?’
Christopher did not pretend that he hadn’t heard her question. He simply gave her a bland smile and turned the subject. ‘As you can see, our best chance of finding evidence of settlement is here,’ he said, pointing to one of the sketches. ‘There are indications of the usual miners’ shelters, a few shards of pottery, though we’ll need to do some more work to see how old they are. But it’s odd.’
‘Because our silver vessel is of higher quality than anything which is likely to be found in a miners’ village,’ Tahira agreed, nodding. ‘When I’ve found the sites of ancient villages, there have been remnants of pottery, beads, some pewter, but nothing like our pot.’
‘Precisely. Of course it could have been accidentally left behind by a traveller, or become detached from the luggage of a rich caravan, but...’ Christopher tapped his finger on the drawing. ‘I don’t know, call it gut instinct, but I can’t help feeling there’s something important we’re missing.’
She hoped he was right, but Tahira feared that he might simply be desperate. It cannot prove futile, he’d said to her when she suggested he might never find a home for his amulet. He would not accept defeat, but what would he do if the ore from this mine didn’t match? He was so determined not to contemplate failure, she couldn’t imagine how he would deal with it, if the worst came to the worst.
But that was a very long way away yet. ‘I have some more positive news,’ Tahira said. ‘I’ve had time to look back over my own research from the last few years, and I can confirm that both diamonds and gold were being mined here in Nessarah when your amulet was made. I know that’s the easiest part of the mystery to resolve, neither are exactly rare here in the south of Arabia, but...’
‘It’s a big step in the right direction,’ Christopher said. ‘Thank you.’
His eyes met hers as he kissed her hand, and it was as if her brain was somehow switched off, and her body took over. And then he let her hand go, and she looked away, and she could think again.
‘I’m afraid I didn’t find any evidence of another turquoise mine though,’ Tahira said, fumbling to regain her train of thought. ‘Turquoise is not nearly so intrinsically valuable as gold or diamonds, but it is becoming more highly prized for jewellery and decorative purposes nowadays, due to its unique hue, so demand for it is increasing.’
‘Hence King Haydar’s decision to re-open this mine and corner the market. The man has a penchant for business.’
‘It is rather that his son has a penchant for greed,’ Tahira snapped, without thinking.
Christopher’s eyebrows shot up. ‘So it is true, your Prince Ghutrif is the real power behind the throne?’
‘He is not my prince.’ She could have kicked herself, not only for the unwise words but the scornful tone. ‘That is to say, he cares little for his subjects.’
She dared not meet Christopher’s gaze. What she needed to do was to change the conversation. ‘I know you plan to match a sample of the ore from this mine with your amulet, but what about the diamonds? How do you plan to match those?’
If she did not meet his gaze she would make him more suspicious, so she forced herself to do so, and willed herself not to blush. The startling blue of his eyes was dulled by the night, the odd grey halo of the iris seeming more prominent.
‘You speak of Prince Ghutrif with something approaching contempt. An unusual attitude in a region where rulers are loyally revered by their people. Has your family perhaps suffered at his hands in some way?’
Oh, Christopher, if only you knew, she wanted to scream but instead, bit her tongue and said nothing.
He mistook her silence for wariness. ‘You can trust me, you know that?’
And she wanted to. A terrible urge to confess, to lay bare the worries about her sisters and her future which had kept her awake long into the night after Juwan’s dinner, almost overcame her resistance. She so wanted someone to understand how torn she was. But why should he? She caught herself, aghast. ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Tahira said. And nothing to be done either, she reminded herself, save to comply.
Christopher’s expression hardened just a tiny bit. She had the impression of him retreating, not physically so much as mentally. Then he shrugged, reaching into his tunic for the leather pouch containing the amulet. ‘Do you know much about diamonds? The stones in this have a very particular clarity.’
She should be relieved that he had chosen not to pursue her slip, and she should be under no illusions. He had noticed. Tahira stared obediently down at the artefact.
‘Most diamonds,’ Christopher continued, ‘have impurities which gives them a yellowish tinge. Some very rare diamonds have impurities which make them seem blue or red, but these, as you can see, are almost completely clear.’
‘And so capable of being definitively matched?’
‘I hope so, if I can find a big enough sample—smaller stones, such as can more readily be obtained, are useless.’
And larger ones, such as the crown jewels Juwan kept locked away, quite unattainable, even to Tahira. ‘What will you do then?’ she asked.
Christopher grinned. ‘Gain access to the diamond traders in the bazaar. I tried the other day, but a very large man with a very large scimitar barred the entrance.’
‘Not surprising, given the value of the goods contained there.’
‘A royal guard, it was.’
‘Yes.’ He had not dropped the subject after all. ‘It is common knowledge that the diamond market is controlled by Prince Ghutrif,’ Tahira said warily. ‘No one can so much as look at a diamond without his permission.’
‘Then I will have to find a way to obtain his permission.’
Alarm bells started to clamour in her head. ‘How would you set about doing that?’
‘I might pass myself off as a wealthy merchant in order to gain access to the diamond traders. It’s a ruse I have used before.’
‘But that would require you to show your hand—or at least, your amulet, wouldn’t it, in order to compare it with those on sale?’
Her panic was clear enough to her own ears, so Tahira was mightily relieved when Christopher laughed. ‘Very true. Perhaps a more direct approach is required. I’ve had occasion to engineer an audience with the highest possible authority—in Nessarah’s case, that would be Prince Ghutrif—when I’ve found some connections to my amulet’s history, though not enough to be conclusive. I’ve taken the risk, just to be sure I’ve not missed something vital, to confirm, as far as possible, that I’m in the wrong place.’
‘How on earth do you engineer an audience with a prince?’ Things could get very complicated for her if Christopher turned up at the palace, and potentially very dangerous for him.
‘Drastic measures,’ he replied, with one of his devil-may-care smiles. ‘Getting myself arrested is one method, or working my way up the chain of command by refusing to divulge my purpose, it usually works a treat. I had a stroke of good fortune in Murimon, when the chief official there assumed I’d something to do with the Court Astronomer, who happened to be an English woman.’
Murimon! The kingdom which could so nearly have been her home. A coincidence which served to stretch her nerves to breaking point. Should she warn him? Was it wrong of her to keep her identity a secret? But if she told him, what good would it do? ‘You are not—Christopher, you’re not actually contemplating such extreme action here in Nessarah, are you?’
‘Not yet. I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve to get into that diamond market without having to force my presence on his Royal Highness.’
Which was only a very little bit reassuring, but did at least mean she did not have to reveal her identity just yet. ‘I am astonished that you are not languishing in a dungeon somewhere,’ Tahira said, torn between awe and horror. ‘I knew that it meant a great deal to you to resolve the mystery of your amulet, but I had not quite appreciated you would risk your life to do so.’
‘You exaggerate.’
She bit her lip. For six months he had travelled southern Arabia, searching in vain. Six months, alone in foreign lands. There was a reason his scimitar looked well used. Why would a man risk life and limb to give away a priceless treasure? No, rid himself, those were his words. What would be so terrible about being forced to keep the amulet? He would not answer, save with a darkling look, and so she asked another question, almost as frightening. ‘If you do discover that your amulet belongs here in Nessarah, how do you plan to give it back? You can’t just stroll into the royal palace and give it to the King without some explanation and if you do, you’ll surely risk being accused of—of—you won’t do that, will you Christopher?’
‘You know, I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but you’re right, I need a plan. But that’s enough about me and my business tonight, you seem particularly on edge.’ He got to his feet, pulling her with him. ‘Has something happened? You mustn’t worry about our work here you know, we’re excavating too far from the mine entrance for anyone to notice.’
‘I know. I’m not really worried. Well, only a little bit, that in your haste to finish your quest, you will take unnecessary risks.’
‘I would never do anything to jeopardise the outcome.’
‘No, I should have realised that.’
‘Tahira, what is it? Won’t you tell me what’s on your mind?’
His voice had gentled. She found herself suddenly close to tears. He smoothed back her hair, letting his hand rest on her shoulder. It felt unbearably comforting. She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing.’
The wobble in her voice betrayed her. He raised his eyebrow and waited.
‘Nothing I care to talk about at any rate,’ she whispered, firmly stamping on the urge to tell him everything. ‘Things at home are—they are difficult, for the reasons I’ve already explained. I have known you less than a week, but already I find myself looking forward—you are my one escape from reality, Christopher. I don’t want to be reminded of it while I am here with you.’
‘Then I will do my best to refrain from questioning you further.’
She took his hand between hers. ‘Whatever will be, will be. Let us not waste any more time discussing it, and instead get on with something more productive. Isn’t it time we started digging?’
* * *
When Tahira left for home, Christopher decided not to return to his camp just yet. There were still a couple of hours left before dawn and the return of the miners, and though the waning moon was providing very little light, it would be worse tomorrow, and almost non-existent the day after that. Best to do something constructive with his time, he told himself, pulling out his sketches of the mine and its surroundings. But he was on edge. Twice, he lost track of his pacing out, and on the third count, realised he was measuring a part of the site which he had already surveyed. Irked, he resorted to simply walking around the perimeter of the outcrop in the hope that something unusual would catch his eye.
Why wouldn’t Tahira confide in him? He had no right to demand she did, but there was no reason for her not to, was there? A break in the striations of the rock gave him pause, but on investigation it proved only to be a very shallow cave, which had probably provided shelter in the heat of the day to allow the miners to eat and drink above ground. He sighed. He couldn’t prevent her brother from marrying her off, and curling his fists and cursing wasn’t exactly constructive. He couldn’t do anything, except to help her enjoy the little freedom she had, and tonight he’d messed that up. Had he even thanked her properly for her research into Nessarah’s mining history? If so, it hadn’t been effusive enough.
‘Dammit!’ He had come full circle, and he couldn’t recall very much of what he’d seen. He should get back to his camp, and if he couldn’t sleep—which he was sure he wouldn’t—then he would devise a strategy to gain access to the diamond market. He blew out the lantern and left it to cool before putting it in the saddle bag. He pulled on his cloak and tied his headdress over his face. He wondered if Tahira had reached home yet. He wondered if Sayeed, her sand cat, met her in the doorway, or at the window or however it was she regained entrance to her abode. He wondered if she too was regretting their discord. She had had to work hard to hold back her tears tonight.
He wanted to put a smile back on her face. Mentally reviewing her wishes as he mounted his camel, Christopher’s mood began to lift. By the time he arrived back at his bolthole, and after carrying out his routine checks for signs of unwanted visitors, he had hatched an outrageous plan. It was risky. If he was caught...
He paused in the act of hauling up fresh water for his camel. It was a completely unnecessary risk to take, all just to please a woman he’d known less than a week, and wasn’t likely to know much longer.
Completely unnecessary, yes, but now he’d thought of it, completely impossible not to execute. Imagining Tahira’s delight, he made up his mind. If all he could do to alleviate her unhappiness was make some of her wishes come true, then she deserved that he did his utmost to do so.
* * *
The Courtyard of the Healers was once, long ago, part of the harem infirmary. Tahira sat in the shade of an orange tree trying to read, but for once the book did not hold her attention. She had been at the mine on three of the last five nights, working steadily at Christopher’s side as they exposed what was undoubtedly an ancient miners’ settlement. The work was thrilling. She was learning so much from him too, it was a terrible pity she would never be able to put it into practice on her own. But she had resolved not to allow such thoughts into her head. It was the safest way. Christopher had kept his word and refrained from questioning her, but she knew he studied her when he thought her attention elsewhere.
She frowned, rearranging the cushions, placing a marker in her book. Juwan had warned her this morning to ‘expect a joyous announcement regarding her marriage’ from Ghutrif, before the birth of his son. In days gone by, Juwan’s lying-in would have been the responsibility of the Head Nurse, one of the most powerful positions in the harem, when the kings and princes of Nessarah had taken many wives as well as concubines. No royal male had taken more than one wife for over a century now. The birth of Juwan’s child would be overseen by Nessarah’s most senior accoucheuse, but the woman was no longer part of the harem.
The royal males of Nessarah still considered several concubines to be indispensable to their well-being. In the unofficial harem, the concubines could call on their own, less senior midwife, Juwan had informed her stiffly this morning, when Tahira had enquired.
‘A perfectly adequate woman. As mistress of the entire harem, I am responsible for their welfare,’ Juwan had unexpectedly volunteered. ‘I tell you, for you will be mistress of your own harem very shortly, and should understand the customs and practices.’
‘I am expected to be responsible for my husband’s concubines?’
Tahira had been unable to keep the shock from her voice. Juwan, always happy to demonstrate her superior understanding, had smiled smugly. ‘Naturally you do not acknowledge them, but you should be aware that their well-being reflects on you.’
‘And their children, who will be half-blood sisters or brothers to my own? Am I permitted to acknowledge them?’
‘They share no royal blood,’ Juwan replied, outraged. ‘How can you ask such a thing, Tahira! You are twenty-four years old, you cannot have lived your life behind these precious walls without understanding such a basic fact. Offspring of men’s lusts, that is what they are, and as such, they are fortunate to be adequately provided for, once they have been weaned. Did your mother not explain how such matters were dealt with?’
Tahira, feeling quite overwhelmed, shook her head dumbly. ‘I knew there were other women, but I did not think—do you think my father—that I have brothers, sisters in Nessarah...?’
‘Never say that,’ Juwan hissed, giving her a shake. ‘I cannot believe your mother left you so unprepared. I cannot believe that I am having to explain to you—but there it is, it seems I must. These are not children of royal blood, Tahira. They are not related to you. The concubines exist to sate a man’s lust, for it is greater than that of a woman, and must have an outlet, especially while she engages in the honourable duty of bearing his child, as I am doing. But when these woman bear fruit, it is tainted and must be sent away, you understand? The male children in particular, though they are not of royal blood, there can be no risk taken, lest they get ideas above their station.’
‘What do you mean, sent away?’
Juwan laughed shortly. ‘Not what you are imagining, though in the past—but we live in modern times. They are given another name, another family. They know no other life. That is why they are taken young, it is much kinder.’
‘Kinder? To be taken from their mother...’
‘When they are weaned. It is kinder for the woman too, for she may quickly return to her duties.’
‘And if she does not wish to?’
‘Then she is given a pension, but she cannot keep the fruit she bears, Tahira, under any circumstances. You understand this, I hope, for it is something you may have to enforce.’
‘I can’t imagine—it seems very cruel. When I lost my mother...’
‘A very different matter. You were already ten years old. A baby cannot miss what it has never known,’ Juwan said firmly. ‘I trust matters are now clear to you. I have no wish to discuss them again.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
Juwan had smiled then. ‘I do believe that you will make a very good wife. You are naïve, there is much your mother left undone. But soon, sooner than you may hope, Prince Ghutrif will provide a husband for you.’
Juwan would not be drawn further. The conversation left Tahira deeply troubled and deeply embarrassed by her own blind acceptance of the situation. She had always known, but until now she had chosen to ignore, and not to question. But soon, sickeningly soon, she would find herself in the peculiar situation of being responsible for those women, those children, belonging to her husband, yet whose existence she must not acknowledge. It was taken for granted that a man needed many woman, she had never questioned that, but would she feel different when it was her husband?
Another question it had not occurred to her to ask, largely because she avoided the entire subject of matrimony, but now she forced herself to confront it. The man she would share a divan with, the man who kissed her, touched her, gave her children, would kiss other women, touch other women, give other women children. It was the way of things, it was what she had been raised to, but it felt very wrong.
The only man she had ever kissed was Christopher. The only man she had ever wished to kiss. And a man she fully intended to kiss again, if she was given the opportunity. She lay back against the orange tree, closing her eyes. She thought about Christopher making love to her. His mouth on hers. His hands on her breasts. His lean, hard body pressed against her...
‘Tahira, here you are! Surely you are not asleep again! You have been sleeping half the day away of late. You are not ill, are you?’
Alimah and Durrah stood over her, looking concerned. Tahira sat up, smiling at her sisters. ‘I was not sleeping, merely musing. Come sit with me. What have you been doing?’
Alimah rolled her eyes. ‘Avoiding Juwan. She has promised Durrah and I needlework lessons.’
Tahira repressed a guilty smile. ‘You can’t deny that you would benefit from them. Your needlework is atrocious, Alimah, and your sister’s is not much better, while Juwan’s is exquisite.’
‘Yes, but her conversation is not,’ Durrah said, throwing herself on to the cushions beside Tahira, placing her head on her lap. ‘It is all, Ghutrif says, and Ghutrif does, and Ghutrif has decided. Anyone would think she actually likes him.’
‘He is her husband,’ Ishraq said primly as she crossed the courtyard to join them. ‘Better to grow a rose in a marriage bed than a bitter lemon.’
‘That’s all very well,’ Durrah said plaintively, ‘but she expects us to like him too. She is constantly bleating about how dreadful she feels that she has not yet provided him with a son. It is not her fault.’
‘Juwan knows that,’ Ishraq said, ‘but she can hardly go around blaming our brother, can she? Imagine his reaction if he found out!’
A collective shudder ran around the sisters as they did so. ‘All the same,’ Alimah said in a small voice, ‘you’d think she would drop the dutiful wife act when it’s just us in the harem. Ever since she came here, it’s been different.’
‘She’s a usurper, an interloper, is what she is,’ Durrah said staunchly, ‘and she knows it.’
‘Hush now,’ Tahira intervened guiltily, for she knew full well that Durrah was expressing Tahira’s own views. ‘Juwan is the Crown Princess and as such we must treat her with the respect she is due.’
‘You don’t.’ Durrah pouted. ‘She isn’t one of us, why pretend? She doesn’t understand our jokes, she doesn’t read books, she doesn’t even paint or dance, and she loathes Sayeed.’
Ishraq and Amirah chuckled. ‘Save for Tahira, we all loathe that cat, and Sayeed makes it very obvious the feeling is mutual, so at least we have that much in common.’
‘That is true,’ Tahira said, relieved to see Ishraq smiling.
Though it was short-lived. Her next sister pursed her lips. ‘That cat is growing too vicious to remain here. Look at your hands, Tahira, they are in a disgraceful state.’
They were, thanks to her work at the mine, and she’d forgotten to tend to them. Guiltily, she tucked them into her sleeves. Not only covered in scratches, but she had two broken nails which it would take a great deal of ingenuity to ascribe to poor Sayeed.
Fortunately, Ishraq was not particularly interested in Sayeed or Tahira’s hands. ‘Juwan sees our brother through different eyes,’ she said. ‘As his wife, she knows it is her duty to love him.’
‘Well, I for one am glad that’s not a duty forced on me,’ Durrah exclaimed in disgust.
‘Oh, when you marry you will find it easy to love,’ Ishraq said assuredly. ‘What could be more natural, for you will not only have a husband but a harem of your own, maidservants to command, and when you give your husband a son then you may ask for anything.’
‘Really?’ Alimah, the youngest of the sisters, stared at Ishraq wide-eyed. ‘Anything at all?’
‘Jewels. Silks.’
‘A horse?’
Ishraq laughed. ‘Even a horse.’
‘Then I hope that Ghutrif finds me a husband soon, for I would love to have a horse,’ Alimah said. ‘You would love a horse too, Tahira, I have often heard you say so. Why don’t you get married so you can have anything your heart desires?’
‘Yes, I would like to know the answer to that question too.’ Ishraq’s big brown eyes were challenging. ‘Do you realise that until you do, the rest of us are forced to bide our time here, doing Juwan’s bidding when we could have our own harems...’
‘But we’d not have each other,’ Durrah exclaimed. ‘Ishraq, you can’t want Tahira to leave.’
‘I want her to get married, so that I can get married,’ Ishraq said. ‘I’m tired of waiting for her to make up her mind. I want to be queen of my own harem, like Juwan.’ She turned to Tahira, her gaze challenging. ‘They have three candidates lined up, were you aware of that? Ghutrif’s Head of Council is holding preliminary discussions. Juwan wishes the matter decided before she has her son. It is to be hoped, for all our sakes, that this time you manage to hold on to the man in question.’
Though she sensed Juwan’s hand behind her sister’s words, Tahira knew it would be unfair to blame her wholly. Ishraq was twenty years old, and only demanding what she had been raised to expect. She did not mean to be so hurtful, she was simply—rightly—frustrated. Tahira must not think that Ishraq loved her less because of it. ‘That is really what you want, to be married and rule your own harem?’
The response made her heart sink. ‘It is all I have ever wanted.’
