Читать книгу Historical Romance: April Books 1 - 4 - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 15

Chapter Six

The Bedouin Sheikh corralled his horses in a fenced compound adjacent to his encampment. With the legendary Sabr long-distance endurance race due to to be held in a few weeks, the place was a hive of activity, but as dusk approached, all was quiet, save for the soft whinnying of the thoroughbreds as they settled in for the night. There was no guard on the gate. The Sheikh was a very powerful man, with a well-deserved reputation for being ruthless with transgressors. If any man should be so foolish as to steal one of his precious, pure-bred Arabians—branded so as to be easily recognisable—he would not be long for this world. That was all the security the Sheikh required.

Though Christopher knew, from his previous two nights reconnoitring the enclosure that he was the only human soul present, he checked meticulously before climbing over the fence at the furthest point from the gate. Now all he had to do was make his selection, and make damned sure that he had them back before dawn.

Smiling softly to himself, he turned his attention to the horseflesh. Not even at the horse fair had he seen such a magnificent collection. Best to avoid those he’d noted were being trained for the Sabr, one of the Sheikh’s grooms would be sure to notice any sluggishness in their performance tomorrow. No point in arousing suspicion, even after the fact. He was keeping a low profile here in Nessarah, but Christopher knew perfectly well that his presence would have been noted. A stranger. A foreigner.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. It was ridiculously risky. Completely unnecessary. He had made no promise to Tahira, who was blissfully ignorant of his plan to ‘appropriate’ a couple of horses. But his blood was fizzing with excitement. And really, was it such a great risk, provided he returned them before anyone noticed they had gone?

The damned amulet, all the dark history it represented, had occupied his mind both day and night, since the moment he’d discovered it. It was such a relief to be able to set that burden aside for a short while. A relief to have something else to think about, to plan, to daringly execute. A whim, yes, but what was wrong with that? He had no need to do this, save to give Tahira pleasure, but that was reason enough. If anyone deserved to be pleased it was Tahira.

Now, where was that fine-looking filly he had spotted a minute ago?

* * *

An hour later, back at the mine, Christopher waited anxiously for Tahira to arrive. He had completed his daily check on progress underground before stealing the horses, risking a visit before dark, as soon as the last miner departed. There was no sign of any turquoise seams as yet, though Prince Ghutrif’s men were making very short work of shoring up the tunnel. Soon, very soon, he would know for certain whether the stones in his amulet were a match. In the meantime, he had unexpectedly uncovered another very interesting piece of evidence some distance from the site of their own excavation which he was looking forward to sharing.

Extinguishing his lantern, he began to make his way back down the outcrop to look out for Tahira. She was late. Perhaps she’d had second thoughts or had been unable to get away. But a cloud of dust in the distance made him raise his spyglass, and Christopher smiled with relief.

Though her keffiyeh covered her face as she neared, he could see her smile reflected in those big almond-shaped eyes. He helped her down, and she pushed her headdress back, and his belly contracted. It felt impossible to release her, so he pulled her close, and then it was impossible not to kiss her. She opened her lips to him with one of those sweet sighs that set his blood roaring. She put her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. He slid his hand to the delightful slope of her bottom, pulling her tighter, and he let his kiss say the words that he would not even allow himself to think, that he was more than glad to see her. She tasted exactly as he remembered, of spices and heat, exotic and sultry, the distilled essence of Tahira.

When their kiss ended they gazed at each other, quite dazed, and then she reached up to push his hair back from his brow, before pressing a final fluttering kiss to his lips and stepping back.

‘Close your eyes and hold out your hand,’ Christopher said.

‘What is it?’ Tahira asked, doing as he bid.

He reached into his pocket and placed his find into her outstretched hand. ‘Take a look.’

‘Oh!’ Her eyes lit up as she gazed at the gold bangle, her fingers tracing the design, which was of a coiled serpent, the scales etched in green enamel. ‘Where did you get this?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Here?’

He took her by the shoulders, turning her around to face the mine. ‘You see that fissure between the two main outcrops of rock? It’s been bothering me, I’m not sure why—a hunch, I suppose. It’s too far from where we’ve been excavating to be part of the village.’

‘It’s unlikely that two such highly valuable artefacts could have been accidentally left behind by passing travellers, isn’t it?’ Tahira clasped the serpent bangle to her breast, her eyes closed, her expression rapt. ‘What do you think it signifies?’

‘Something very important,’ Christopher said, finally giving way to his own excitement. ‘Look. The gold is of comparable quality to my amulet, the enamel work similar, and as far as one can be certain about these things, it looks to be about the same era.’

‘Christopher! That is wonderful.’

‘It’s not conclusive...’

‘But it’s a big step forward! Though it’s strange, isn’t it?’ Tahira turned the bangle over in her hands. ‘The eyes of the serpent are missing, but it is obvious they must have been jewels. Why would such a precious object turn up in a miners’ camp?’

‘The most obvious answer is that it was stolen property and nothing to do with the mine. Maybe part of a robber’s buried ill-gotten gains that were never reclaimed.’

‘Then we must turn our attentions to the place where you found this.’

He slid the bangle over her wrist. The gold took on a new warmth. The eyeless serpent seemed almost to come alive. ‘It suits you,’ he said.

Tahira shivered. ‘I like it too well, but I should not wear it if we’re going to dig.’

‘We’re not. Keep it on for now. I have other plans for tonight.’

* * *

The horses were tethered to a stunted tree just out of sight of the camels. One grey filly, one chestnut colt, both with the distinctive profile and high-carried tail of the Arabian thoroughbred. Tahira stopped in her tracks. ‘Where on earth did you lay your hands on such magnificent creatures?’

‘I borrowed them.’

‘Borrowed?’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘From whom? A most generous friend, to lend you two pure-bred Arabians.’

‘Not a friend, exactly. And he’s not actually aware of how generous he’s been.’

There was a teasing light in his eyes, but Tahira began to feel slightly sick. ‘You can’t mean—please tell me you didn’t steal them.’

‘Certainly not,’ Christopher said indignantly. ‘They’ll be returned to their rightful owner before first light.’

‘Whose horses are these?’

‘They are ours to enjoy, for now.’

‘If you took them from a Bedouin—you would be committing a less heinous crime if you stole his wife, you do know that?’

‘I have no need of a wife, Tahira, either my own or any other man’s. Don’t you like these horses?’

‘That is not the point.’

‘Oh, but it is the only point. Come, introduce yourself.’

She could not resist, and as she ran her fingers over the highly-strung horse’s muzzle, Tahira’s fear gave way to awe, and to excitement. ‘I can’t believe you took such a risk for me, it is an outrageous thing to have done. Thank you, though I wish you hadn’t—but, no, that is a lie.’

She ought to demand that he return the horses right now, but the grey was gently nuzzling her fingers, and the deed was done now, and a few more hours surely wouldn’t make any difference. ‘She is beautiful, thank you,’ Tahira said.

Christopher smiled. ‘You certainly have an affinity with horses.’

‘I get it from my mother who, as you know from my necklace, was a Bedouin herself. Mama taught me to ride, but I have not done so for many years.’

‘Why not?’

She hesitated, but recalling the conversation earlier with her sisters, and Alimah’s yearning to learn to ride being thwarted made her speak out. ‘My brother does not appreciate my—what did you call it?—affinity with horses, since he has none himself,’ Tahira said scornfully. ‘Mama was always saying that I had a strong ration of her Bedouin blood, and that he had none. I’m afraid it was one of the things she was rather—she seemed to enjoy pointing it out,’ Tahira said, grimacing. ‘She told him that he would be better sticking to camels.’

‘Let me guess. When she died, he put a stop to your horse riding.’

‘My youngest sister longs to learn to ride, but she has never been permitted to even sit astride a horse. I blame myself. It was not only Mama who boasted of my prowess—when I was younger, I was not above teasing him, and he—my brother has a very, very long memory.’

‘So he’s vindictive as well as petty and insecure.’ Christopher said something vicious under his breath. ‘A pathetic excuse for a man. If I could but get my hands on him...’

‘No! Please, don’t misunderstand me, I would very much like to see him forced to grovel, whether you chose to use those fists you have clenched or that fearsome scimitar, but—’ Tahira broke off, exclaiming impatiently. ‘You have gone to an immense amount of trouble to arrange this treat and exposed yourself to danger in the process. Let us not pollute the night with my brother’s presence.’

Christopher uncurled his fists slowly. He gave himself a little shake, stretched out his fingers, as if to reassure himself that they had not re-formed into fists, then forced a smile. ‘Right, now as you can see, even my ingenuity has failed to provide us with saddles, though I’ve fashioned makeshift reins from some rope.’

‘Oh, that is absolutely fine. I can ride bareback,’ Tahira said. ‘Will you help me up—having boasted about my horsemanship, I’m not going to disgrace myself with a very rusty scrabbling mount.’

But she was pleased—and relieved—to discover that all she needed was his cupped hand to land gracefully on to the horse, even more pleased to discover that it all came back to her, as if it had been a few minutes instead of many years since she’d had the pleasure. The grey filly was frisky but responsive, allowing her an excellent view of Christopher’s easy, lithe vault on to the back of the chestnut colt, and instant mastery of his steed.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Wherever you wish. The night is yours.’

As she fastened her headdress over her face, Tahira’s eyes met his, and the low flame of desire stirred in her belly. A breeze ruffled the soft cotton of her cloak. Above them, the light haze of cloud cleared leaving a carpet of stars, and crescent of white-gold moon. She adjusted the rope halter, turned the mare towards the flat expanse of desert to the east and, urging her horse into a gallop, prepared to claim the night.

The gentle breeze became a roar in her ears. Her headdress and cloak flew out behind her. She could hear the steady drumbeat of the horses’ hooves on the sand, see the puffs of the sand flying up as they raced, the blur of acacia trees, the startled eyes of some desert creature. And on she rode, skirting between two huge dunes, the sand becoming softer, forcing them to slow, allowing her to turn her head to the side, finding Christopher there, just as she had known he would be, keeping up effortlessly but holding back too, content to let her lead.

Was she being reckless, riding so wildly after all this time? Yes, yes, yes, she was. The ground grew firmer. The grey responded happily to the call for another gallop, and Tahira flew off again, giving herself over to the elements, caring not where they travelled, not wanting it to end, until the horse began to labour.

She reined in. Christopher pulled up beside her. ‘Another five minutes or so further on, and we will happen upon an oasis,’ he said.

She didn’t ask him how he knew, though it saddened her that this foreigner should know her own land so much better than she. The oasis was tiny and uninhabited, a small cluster of palm trees, a tiny scrap of lush green screened from the desert on one side by tall thick grasses, bordered on the other by an alluring pool of water, inky-black in the moonlight. Breathless, Tahira dismounted, pulled off her headdress and stooped down to cool her hands in the water, but when she made to drink it, Christopher stopped her. ‘This water is suitable for the horses, but it’s best not to risk drinking it yourself. I filled my flask from my well. Here, have some.’

‘Thank you.’ She sipped gratefully.

‘You certainly have the Bedouin touch with a horse. I was struggling to keep up with you.’

Tahira laughed. ‘Now I know that you are flattering me. You could easily have overtaken me at any point.’

Christopher grinned. ‘I was enjoying the view from behind.’

Her face flamed but at the same time desire took hold, emboldening her. ‘Now I am enjoying the view,’ Tahira said. She reached up to push the fall of golden hair back from his brow, letting her hand flutter down his cheek, his throat, to rest on his shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, ‘for making another of my wishes come true so perfectly.’ And then she kissed him, a soft, tentative kiss.

‘You don’t have to thank me in this way, Tahira. I don’t expect it.’

‘I know you don’t, Christopher. It’s one of the reasons why I want to.’

He pulled her closer, his arm tight around her waist. ‘You have other reasons?’

‘One other.’ She kissed him again, this time shaping her mouth to his, running her tongue along his lower lip, relishing his responsive shudder.

‘What is it?’ Christopher asked, his fingers tangling in her hair, then stroking down the curve of her spine.

‘I just want to,’ she said.

‘Serendipity again,’ he said, catching her against him so tightly her feet left the ground. ‘Because I can’t think of anything I want more.’

One kiss became another, and another, and yet another as they sank on to the grass apron surrounding the oasis pool, kneeling, then lying, still kissing. She slid her hands under his tunic, flattening her palms over his hot skin, up his back, over his shoulders, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath, the way his ribs expanded as he breathed, his breath becoming faster, more shallow.

He unbuttoned her tunic, revealing her thin chemise. A sharp intake of breath. ‘You are so lovely,’ Christopher said, ‘so very lovely.’

She believed him. Kisses on her throat. On the mounds of her breasts, the valley between, and his hand, under her chemise, cupping her, his fingers teasing her nipples into tingling peaks that made her moan, that set up other tingles, tension, inside her. And then his mouth covering hers again, and she lost track of what he was doing, surrendering to the sensations he aroused, her skin on fire, pulsing points of sensation sparking all over her body, but when she tried blindly to pull him on top of her, to touch him in return, he shook his head.

‘Just you,’ he whispered huskily, nipping at her earlobe. ‘Trust me?’

‘Yes,’ she said, though she had no notion what he meant. ‘Yes.

Her kisses became urgent. Her body was embarked upon a journey it was desperate to complete, but Christopher seemed determined to slow her down, his kisses gentling, his touch like the fluttering of a feather on her bare skin, his mouth trailing kisses over her shoulders, her arms, the pulses racing at her wrists, then back up, sliding the narrow straps of her undergarment down, sliding her arms free, rolling the flimsy scrap down, to reveal her breasts. He looked at her for so long, she opened her eyes in trepidation, but his were dark, slumberous, his slow, sensuous smile leaving her in no doubt that he liked what he saw. When the journey resumed, he claimed every inch of her tender flesh with his hands and his lips, working her into a frenzy when finally she felt his mouth on her nipples, making her cry out, arch up, sending the sweet tension inside her up a notch and then another and another.

The sash of her trousers was undone. He spoke her name again, another question implied, and her answer was more of a plea than a response. It should have been shocking, embarrassing, what he was doing, whatever he was doing, but she was oblivious to everything now save his touch, the mounting tension like a dragging, drugging ascent, the slick slide of his fingers making her moan, writhe, gasp, plead. And then his mouth was on hers again, his tongue stroking and sliding into her mouth, his fingers stroking and sliding in that most intimate place, slowly, too slowly, faster, then just when she thought she could stand it no more, she fell, shattered, exploded, into a thousand glittering pieces, and it was like flying across the desert on horseback, or careering down the sand dune, though nothing like either really, soaring, exhilarating, wave after wave, leaving her mindless and breathless and feeling utterly, completely alive.

When she finally opened her eyes Christopher was smiling at her, his brows questioning. ‘I had no idea,’ Tahira said, dazed, ‘no idea at all. It is like nothing I have ever—Christopher, I want you to feel—will you tell me what to do, to...?’

He pushed her tangle of hair back from her face and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘There is no need. Tonight was just for you, and it was more than enough for me. I promise.’

* * *

They were dressed again, seated side by side, watching the moon’s shadow on the water when Christopher took her hand between his. ‘‘Have you considered the possibility that you may be happier married, away from your brother and his wife, in your own home? In truth, I don’t like to think of you with any other man, but hate to see you so unhappy.’

A lump rose in Tahira’s throat. She had been at such pains to hide her misery, yet it did hurt her that none, not even Durrah, her staunchest ally, realised how the situation tore at her loyalties. ‘It is my sisters’ happiness which I’m more concerned about. We have always been united in all matters, but of late the harmony in the ha—in our home has turned to almost constant discord, and it is all my fault.’

His grip on her fingers tightened. ‘You must not blame yourself. It is your brother who is at the root of it.’

‘No Christopher, the fault is mine. I have been hiding behind my promise to Mama,’ Tahira said. ‘She would never have expected me to use it as an excuse to avoid marriage. Like everyone else, she would tell me it was my duty. My sister-in-law says I am unnatural. Perhaps I am. Marriage is the most natural—and I’m struggling to understand why I’m so much against it, now that it is so imminent. Am I being stubborn? Contrary? I don’t know. I’ve tried, I am trying, to accept—to look forward—but it’s the lack of any say in my choice of husband,’ she said wretchedly. ‘My sister-in-law assures me that love will blossom, but I fear only resentment can flourish in such a marriage. Am I so awful to think so?’

‘No,’ Christopher said, looking decidedly grim, ‘I can perfectly understand that sentiment. To be forced to do another’s bidding, and one who has a history of displaying malice towards you too—it is outrageous.’

‘Yet it is hardly uncommon, Marriages are arranged in this way across Arabia—no doubt across the world, even in England?’

‘Indeed,’ Christopher said stiffly, ‘for those with property, title, lands, it is the custom to make such alliances, to sacrifice daughters to the betterment of a family.’

‘Is that really so wrong?’

‘Are you asking me to help you to come to terms with this appalling situation, or asking for my true opinion?’

‘Is your true opinion based on experience?’

He made to speak, then stopped himself. Plucking a long strand of wiry grass, he began to twist it into a complicated knot, clearly torn. When he looked up, his expression was bleak. ‘What would happen to you if you refused to accede to your brother wishes?’

‘I would be utterly disgraced.’

‘Yes, but what does that mean?’

‘I... I don’t know,’ Tahira said, for she had not actually contemplated the reality. ‘I would be ostracised, I suppose, shunned by all. Not even my sisters would be permitted to speak to me. My home would become my prison.’

‘You have no means of your own? There is no alternative to living in your father’s house?’

She laughed bitterly. If he only knew what an absurd question that was. ‘The very clothes I am wearing are my father’s property. Only Sayeed is mine—and no one can own a wild animal. You see now, why I must do as I am bid? There really is no alternative.’

Christopher muttered something under his breath. ‘Powerless,’ he repeated, when she looked at him enquiringly. ‘You have no choice. No will of your own. You are quite powerless.’

‘No one owns my thoughts.’

‘But as a woman your actions are dictated for you.’

She swallowed. ‘That is a very cynical way of seeing things.’

‘It is. As I mentioned before, it was recently pointed out to me that I am fortunate to be a man,’ Christopher said, his lip curling.

‘Who said that?’

‘My father.’ His eyes blazed with something beyond fury which made Tahira’s blood run cold. And then it was over. His fists unfurled. He gave himself a shake. ‘He told me the story of a young woman, much younger than you, a mere girl, destined by her family to make an advantageous marriage. Her circumstances changed, but still, they were determined upon the course they had planned for her, whether she wished to follow it or not. Like you, she was quite powerless. We’ll never know how it might have turned out.’

‘What happened?’

His throat worked. ‘She died.’

‘I’m so sorry, Christopher.’ Tahira touched his hand. ‘Who was she?’

From dark, his expression turned carefully blank. ‘I never met her,’ he said, disengaging himself, getting to his feet. ‘But the comparison with you—I cannot help making it, though the circumstances, the stakes are so very different. Being no thoroughbred myself, at least I have been spared such machinations.’

Utterly confused, and now a little intimidated, Tahira knew he had not meant to hurt her with this last remark, knew he could have no idea that in her own way she was a thoroughbred, was being carefully mated, but she was bruised all the same. ‘Fortunate indeed,’ she said acerbically, ‘for if you ever do marry, it will be because you want to, and not because it is your duty.’

He said something vicious in his own language under his breath. ‘Forgive me, I have allowed my demons to blind me. Nine months ago, I would not have considered myself fortunate, but you put me to shame. I do have choices, while you—it goes against every grain of feeling with me that you should be bartered and sold for the sake of—what, a few camels, a small patch of land? No, don’t answer that.’ Christopher forced a smile. ‘I am a man of action, it frustrates me beyond words that I cannot help you. You deserve so much better, Tahira, and perhaps you will get what you deserve, against the odds. Any man who can call you his wife will be very lucky indeed. I trust that the man your brother finds for you appreciates you for what you are.’

With a sinking feeling, Tahira thought back to the conversation she had had with Juwan a few days ago. Perhaps it would not be so bad. Or perhaps it would be better if she accepted that it would be even worse, and adjust her expectations accordingly. But for tonight, she’d had enough of it. ‘I am not yet betrothed,’ she said. ‘Here in the desert night, my actions are dictated by no one and nothing more than my inclinations, and right at this moment, what I want is to gallop back on these beautiful horses you have risked so much to acquire.’

* * *

The next day was bathing day in the harem. The door to the Corridor of the Bath used by the men of the palace was locked and guarded, the door to the harem opened, and the hamam suite was given over to the female occupants. Emerging from the small outer anteroom where her clothing was exchanged for the single fringed linen sheet tied around the waist and the carved wooden pattens studded with pearls which kept her feet dry, Tahira paused as she always did, to drink in the atmosphere.

The main chamber of the hamam was circular, with no windows but with light flooding in through the high central dome which was supported by five pillars. The room was clad entirely in marble of different shades and striations, from pure glittering white to gold and dark brown, forming beautiful geometric patterns on the walls, on the massage tables and resting sofas, and on the central dais where the main fountain burbled. Around the walls were other fountains, graduating from ice cold to piping hot which filled the marble basins, each dedicated to a different intimate function. Doors set around the circular walls led off to other, much hotter chambers, a steam room, hot baths and icy cold plunge pools.

Though Juwan was not present today, for she found the baths too hot in her advanced state of pregnancy, her retinue maidservants were in attendance, along with many other women and girls, from the kitchen and chamber maids, laundry maids, to the herbalists, seamstresses and the personal maids of the four princesses. Women of all shapes and sizes languished on the marble divans resting after a massage or having their hair braided and oiled. Others gossiped in clusters while their nails were shaped, their feet decorated with henna. In the other rooms, ritual cleansing was undertaken, where the body was first soaked in oils, then given a vigorous rubbing with a cloth to stimulate the skin. Next came the soaping, the rinsing, the soaking in one of the hot baths, the plunge into a cold bath which made the skin tingle all over and finally the liberal sprinkling of the body and hair with attar of rose.

The chamber was abuzz with a myriad of conspiratorial conversations. Here in the baths, all women were equal, the strict laws of precedence abandoned, the hamam handmaidens serving each woman in turn regardless of rank or status. Tahira looked forward to hamam day, listening to the lively gossip, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and the spirit of equality that allowed her to forget that she was a princess and to feel, for a few hours, that she was simply another woman, like all of those around her, albeit one, unlike some here, who was not permitted to mingle with the world outside these walls.

Today, however, she was restless, unsettled by last night and struggling to understand why, after a dream come true, and the delightfully, blissfully satisfying experience which had followed, she had woken this morning in such a strange, dissatisfied mood.

Forgoing her usual glass of tea and ration of gossip, she lay down on her tummy on the central dais, where it was the custom for women to be left with their own thoughts and to await a masseuse. Part of the problem was that last night had been so perfect. She had learned to suppress her childhood memories of horse riding so as not to endure the pain of missing it. Allowing the hubbub of the hamam to fade into the background, Tahira opened her mind now to those memories and discovered that they were no longer painful but soothing. Mama’s face was hard to recall, but she could remember her laughter, the way she threw her head back and gazed up at the sky when she rode, trusting to her horse to guide her, as if she was imagining herself flying, just as Tahira did. Had Mama felt suffocated by the harem? It hadn’t occurred to her until now. Mama had always seemed so very content with her lot, but then Tahira had been so young, and she doubted Mama would have confided in her, even had there been anything to confide. Only at the end, when she knew she was dying, had she been forced to speak frankly, and even then...

Tahira blinked away a tear. Promise me that you will take care of your sisters, because I fear your brother will not. Aged ten, she had taken her vow so very seriously, a sacred promise. Over the years, she had read so much into these few words. Too much? Was she choosing to interpret her promise selfishly now, twisting her vow into something that Mama had never intended in order to support her deep-seated reluctance to marry? For it was deep-seated, much more than she had realised until last night.

A soft whisper, a gentle hand on her shoulder told her that the masseuse had arrived. Warm oil trickled between her shoulder blades, and the woman started to gently knead Tahira’s muscles, which were stiff from the horse ride.

The woman’s touch was deft, impersonal, yet she could not relax. Why was she finding it so very difficult to do her duty? She had always, ever since she could remember, instinctively resisted doing Ghutrif’s bidding, but she wasn’t a child now. She was a grown woman, and she knew her own mind, yet no one save Christopher accepted that she had any right to an opinion, and that was the crux of the matter. As the masseuse began to work on the knots on her spine, Tahira could feel herself becoming ever more tense. She wasn’t a thoroughbred horse, to be bought for breeding in exchange for—what was it Christopher had said? A few camels, a small patch of land! It made no difference that it was more likely to be an vast herd of camels, and an entire kingdom. She was a person, not a—an object!

Tahira sat up abruptly, grabbing her linen towel. ‘‘Thank you, but I am not—excuse me, I think I will repair to the steam room.’

But seated on a marble bench, her skin damp, the only sound the hiss of the steam rising from the floor, the steady drip of condensation running down the walls, her ire rose even higher than the temperature in the room. Christopher was right, she did deserve better. She deserved to have a say in her destiny. She deserved a husband who valued her as a woman, not a—a dynastic brood mare. She deserved a husband who desired her, and only her. Who cared for her. A man she could honour and value in return.

Tahira rarely cursed, but she did now, under her breath. What was the point harbouring such impossible thoughts. All she was doing was upsetting herself—and frightening herself too, for the strength of her antipathy was growing with every passing day. She had to find a way to reconcile herself to her fate, or she would be utterly miserable.

Leaning back against the relative cool of the marble-clad wall, she closed her eyes, taking slow deep breaths in an effort to rid herself of her agitation, but to no avail. If only Christopher had disagreed with her. But Christopher—recalling his bleak expression, despite the heat she shivered.

I never met her. He’d used similar words before. I never knew her. She died giving birth to me. Could his mother be the powerless young girl who was to be forced into an arranged marriage? It would explain why he hated his father, wouldn’t it? And the demons he’d mentioned last night.

The amulet! If such a very valuable piece of jewellery was a gift from his father to his mother, and he hated his father, then she could understand why he was so determined to rid himself of it. But what on earth could his father have done to earn such enmity? Was Christopher’s quest some sort of mission of revenge then? Such a very valuable piece of jewellery! She had not the impression that his family were wealthy. Quite the opposite. Could the amulet be the proceeds of a crime?

Her head was spinning with questions and fuzzy with the heat, but at least her anger had dissipated, now she had something far more intriguing to ponder than her own unsolvable problems. If only she could resolve the mystery of Christopher’s quest, but that would require her to have the courage to ask her questions, and the tenacity to keep asking them until he answered, which was unlikely! And in the meantime...

A vision of last night floated into her head. Herself lying abandoned to passion, Christopher leaning over her. The solid weight of his body. The tantalising promise of his arousal. The thrill of her own, rising and rising and then exploding. His kisses. The way his eyes blazed fiercely when he looked at her, his own passion writ so clearly on his face. Finally, Tahira began to relax, her shoulders drooping, her limbs becoming heavy. She slid down on to the marble bench, letting the steam envelop her, and the sweet, delightful memory of Christopher’s touch wash over her.