Читать книгу Historical Romance: April Books 1 - 4 - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 16
ОглавлениеReturning the stolen thoroughbreds had proved to be a somewhat hair-raising experience. Who could have predicted that one of the mares in the paddock would begin foaling just as he was making good his escape! Christopher had managed to slip away by the skin of his teeth just as what seemed like half the Bedouin encampment arrived on the scene.
Two days later, he was preparing for an even more risky escapade. Thinking back to the aftermath of their horse ride made his body heat. He hadn’t intended, hadn’t planned, hadn’t expected—how could he have, when he’d never before engaged in such a one-sided experience! Except that the pleasure had not been one-sided. Which made it quite unique. Because Tahira was quite unique.
Christopher paused in the act of adjusting his expensive new black cloak, specially purchased with today in mind. He couldn’t recall ever enjoying a woman’s company so much. When he was with her, the hours flew by. Was it the sense of sand moving too quickly through the hourglass which made their time together so intense? Or was he simply starved of company? Dammit, what the devil was wrong with admitting that he liked her?
‘Naught, if you are careful to make sure you don’t let your feelings run away with you,’ he told himself. ‘Nothing at all wrong with caring for her, provided you don’t care enough to do something bloody foolish.’
Such as spirit her away on a flying carpet? He rolled his eyes at this. About as likely as anything else. ‘In other words, not in the least likely, and you’d better make sure to remember that. You can take her mind off her situation, but you can’t alter it. You might think yourself a man of action, but rescuing a damsel in distress is well outwith the scope of your mission here, so you’re just going to have to put up with feeling helpless.’
Outside, dawn was breaking. Time to turn his mind to the matter in hand. Christopher pulled on the red keffiyeh, adjusting the black igal threaded with gold. Unable to furnish himself with the costume of a wealthy English aristocrat, he’d opted instead for the robes of a wealthy sheikh as the next best form of disguise.
Lord Armstrong had provided him with several sets of papers, giving him the option to switch between several identities. ‘Though only if there is no other option,’ the peer had stressed. ‘Strictly a last resort.’ Would the wily diplomat consider this such a case? The answer, Christopher thought blithely, was an unequivocal no. A life-and-death situation on the other hand—very possibly, if his subterfuge were discovered. How the real Sir Ferdinand St John Bremner would react should he find his name and his estate and his reputation had been sullied—happily, that was Lord Armstrong’s problem. By the time the local agent had informed London of his masquerade, Christopher would be back in Egypt. Hopefully, minus his amulet.
Outside, the morning light was harsh as he saddled his camel and made his way towards the city. He’d have preferred not to have to draw attention to his presence here in Nessarah until he had a sample from the turquoise mine, but he couldn’t sit about twiddling his thumbs until then. The only way to gain entry to the diamond market was through Prince Ghutrif. Fortunately his Highness was avaricious, and the local agent Christopher had deployed, with his hints at further lucrative English business, persuasive. The wealthy Sir Ferdinand St John Bremner’s request to establish whether Nessarah could provide him with a jewel fit for his new wife’s tiara had been granted.
The white walls of Nessarah’s huge bazaar shimmered in the sunlight. This time, Christopher strode confidently through the maze of corridors and stairwells to the closed screen which hid the entrance to the diamond market. He had, most reluctantly, left his trusty scimitar and dagger behind, though the knife strapped to his leg gave him some comfort. He did not believe that Lord Armstrong’s agent would betray him, but experience had taught him to be wary.
And the stakes were very high. So high that he could not risk being caught in possession of his amulet. He did not need it to make the comparison, however. He knew the stones intimately, and would easily recognise their counterparts.
The guard dressed in the royal livery of crimson and white was not the same man as before, but he was of the same gigantic proportions. This time, however, there was no restraining paw forbidding him entry, but a respectful bow upon receipt of Christopher’s written permission bearing the royal seal, before a curtain was pulled back to permit him to gain entrance.
The trade in precious stones was carried out in a large room on the top floor of the bazaar. Light streamed through a huge window in the ceiling, dazzling the eyes at first. There were four booths, each furnished with a low table, a scatter of cushions, and a specialist in the various gems in which they traded. ‘Emerald,’ the assistant who met him at the door informed Christopher, ‘ruby, sapphire and other stones, and over here, diamonds.’
Caution prevailed. He opted first for emeralds, drinking the obligatory glass of mint tea before inspecting the trays of stones which were so reverently placed in front of him. The emeralds were of excellent quality, very large, and of no interest to him whatsoever. He turned them over, held them up to the light, and discussed their various qualities at length, mustering his growing impatience. Finally, with what he hoped was the correct blend of condescension and regret, he informed the emerald vendor that his future wife had blue eyes and fair hair, colouring which would by no means complement these marvellous stones. Thinking that actually, diamonds were more perfectly suited to a woman with night-black hair, olive skin and big brown eyes, Christopher got to his feet and moved on.
Sitting down, he accepted another glass of mint tea. As the merchant pulled out the first velvet-lined tray from the locked cabinet, Christopher’s heart began to beat wildly, his stomach muscles clenched tight. There were just three stones on the tray, but they were sufficient for him to know, even without closer examination, deep down in his gut, that they were a perfect match.
* * *
‘You did what?’ The blood drained from Tahira’s face. She stared at Christopher in horror. ‘It’s not possible. To get into the diamond market one requires permission from Prince Ghutrif himself.’
‘Which he very generously granted me. Or at least, granted my alter ego.’
She swayed, clutching his sleeve. ‘If it is discovered that you impersonated this English man, Prince Ghutrif would...’
‘Prince Ghutrif is only interested in the prospect of more wealthy Englishmen buying Nessarah diamonds.’
‘You promised him that?’ Tahira’s voice was almost a wail. ‘You must leave Nessarah at once.’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’ Christopher gave her a little shake. ‘I haven’t met Prince Ghutrif, he has no idea what I look like, where I am camped, and what’s more he doesn’t care.’
‘But then how did you...?’
‘I have a local man, a contact, who acted as my intermediary. I passed myself off as a wealthy English aristocrat. Rather successfully, I might add.’
Tahira’s alarmed expression turned to one of puzzlement. ‘A contact? You have used that word before. What kind of contact?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Christopher said impatiently, ‘what matters is...’
‘That you have put not only yourself but this contact in mortal danger by dint of your deception.’
‘Tahira, I don’t know why you’re getting so...’
‘Angry? Frightened? No, actually I’m terrified. No matter how important this amulet to you is, it cannot be more important than your life.’
‘You’re quite wrong. Until I am rid of it, I have no life worth living.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘You can’t mean that.’
He could. He did. But he was not inclined to explain himself. ‘You’re missing the point,’ Christopher said. ‘I succeeded in gaining entry to the diamond market. I managed to compare...’
‘Are you a spy?’
‘What?’
‘Are you here on English government business?’
‘No.’ But the denial was unconvincing, even to himself. He didn’t want to lie to her. ‘There is a man in the English government who has supplied me with papers and contacts.’
‘By the stars, you are a spy. Do you—what are you—have you been spying on me?’ She was quite pale, her eyes huge.
‘Why on earth would I do that?’
She licked her lips, but did not speak.
‘I’ve thought of it,’ Christopher admitted. ‘I’ve thought of following you home. It would be simple enough, to find out who you are, who your family are. It is not lack of curiosity which has prevented me from doing so but respect for you. You have chosen to keep your identity a secret. So be it. I promise you, Tahira, spying is not my business, surveying is. The truth is, I needed the papers to facilitate my quest, to help me move around freely, gain entry to places such as the diamond market, and even to get me out of hot water if necessary, so I persuaded a man at the Foreign Office to procure them for me.’
‘Persuaded.’ Tahira’s colour had returned. ‘What did he want in return? Because such men always have a price. We have a saying. “You shake my olive tree and I will shake yours.”’
He couldn’t help but laugh, though he also couldn’t help but wonder how she came by her knowledge. What men did she know? He’d assumed her family were at least moderately wealthy, but clearly they also had some influence. More questions he couldn’t ask. ‘You’re quite right. He wanted information. Nothing sinister, I assure you. Trade opportunities, which kingdoms would be open to it, what they would trade in, that kind of thing. Information that would be of mutual benefit to Britain and whichever Arabian kingdom engaged with them.’
‘And beneficial to the man at your Foreign Office who facilitated bringing the two parties together.’
‘Indeed. You are most astute.’
Tahira shrugged. ‘I know of such men. Who is he, this man at the Foreign Office, how do you come to know him?’
‘Let us say that our meeting was an accident, and leave it at that. My report will give him what he wants, what we agreed, but it will fall a long way sort of all the information I have garnered,’ Christopher said. ‘Arabia is an untapped treasure trove of minerals and ores. That most valuable information I’ll be keeping to myself.’
‘You know you could make your fortune by selling it?’
‘And you know I won’t. You still haven’t asked me the outcome of my act of derring-do.’
He was relieved to see her smile again, her suspicions and fears giving way to excitement. ‘Well?’
‘The diamonds are an exact match!’
‘Oh, Christopher!’ Tahira threw her arms around his neck, her expression, in the light of the nascent moon, finally every bit as elated as he felt. ‘That is wonderful news. Though I still can’t believe you took such a risk—but you came to no harm. Tell me you will not do anything so foolhardy again.’
He refrained from making a promise he was more than likely to break, if the situation required it, putting his arms around her waist. Immediately his body stirred to life, remembering all too well the shape of her curves, the taste of her kisses. ‘We must not get too far ahead of ourselves. The turquoise is still key, the final piece of the puzzle.’
‘Soon, though. In a matter of days, they will have mined the first samples.’ Tahira must have sensed his sudden stillness. ‘Or so I have heard,’ she said, looking away, over his shoulder. ‘There is much talk of it in Nessarah. The miners are being paid extra to make haste.’
He had heard such rumours, though he had not heard anything about samples. Was her brother involved in the mine in some capacity? That would certainly explain how she came to be here that first night. He hesitated, torn between curiosity and a reluctance to set her on edge again with questions, and she forestalled him with a change of subject.
‘I too have news, though mine is dismal. My brother has found a candidate for my hand. If the negotiations go well, my betrothal could be announced within seven or ten days.’
His heart sank. ‘So soon?’
There were tears misting her eyes, but she was biting her lip, determined not to let them fall. ‘I want—I so very much want to know—to be with you, when you successfully complete your quest, but there is a chance that might not be possible.’
Every instinct urged him to pull her close, to hold her tight, to tell her that he would find a way to prevent that happening, but that would be pointless and meaningless. And wrong. Instead, he kissed her forehead, forced himself to let her go. ‘We might be closer to a resolution than you think. Last night I worked on after you left, and I made a potentially exciting discovery. Come and see what I’ve found.’
* * *
Tahira did not need Christopher’s assistance to ascend to the gap between the main outcrops of rock, but she liked the feel of her fingers twined with his, the way their legs brushed through their clothing, the way he looked down every few moments, as if he was afraid she had disappeared.
Juwan had made her announcement this afternoon, seeking out the sisters in the Courtyard of the Healers. ‘Negotiations are at an advanced stage,’ her sister-in-law had declared with a triumphant little smile. ‘My husband is very pleased with progress. A man of substance, family and influence. You are most fortunate, Tahira.’
Tahira could not bring herself to speak. It was Ishraq who asked the questions, Tahira shutting her ears to the answers, as if ignorance would make a mere mirage of her suitor. But later, as Ishraq enviously recited his many reputed virtues, it was impossible not to hear. A paragon, an Adonis, worshipped by his people, a man any woman would be immensely proud to call husband, Ishraq had said. The irrefutable facts relating to the stranger who would own her were lodged in Tahira’s mind, ready to surface as soon as she returned to the palace and lay alone in her bed, but for now, she refused to grant them entry. Not while she had so little precious time left here with Christopher.
She held tightly on to his hand as they passed the sites of their previous excavations, up to the gap between the two outcrops, where he picked up a lantern and lit it, holding it high. ‘What have you found?’ Tahira asked, frowning when they came to a halt. ‘It is far too small to be any sort of dwelling.’
‘Come further in and see,’ he replied, leading the way, lowering the lamp in order to guide her steps.
‘What is it? I can tell from your voice that it is—Christopher, don’t keep me in suspense, it’s cruel.’
He laughed. ‘Only a moment longer.’ He came to a halt at his small excavation and handed her the lantern. ‘Go on, take a closer look and tell me what you think.’
She stooped down to examine the ground he had so painstakingly cleared. ‘This is where you found the gold bangle, isn’t it?’ She took her time, her fingers tracing delicately over the area he had exposed, before she stood up, stepped back, paced around, frowning. ‘There is nothing. No evidence of foundations, and I presume you haven’t found any other artefacts?’
‘As a matter of fact I have, but I’d rather wait to show you it. Look more closely.’
‘What for? Is it another entrance to the mine?’ Tahira peered down at the dirt and rocks, shaking her head. ‘What am I missing?’
And then she saw it, the tiny gap at the base of the rock which his digging had exposed. Dropping to her knees, she examined it more closely, running her hands over the rock’s striations, then standing up, running her hands up further. ‘I thought it was a fissure, but it’s not, is it?’
Christopher shook his head.
‘It has been very cleverly done,’ Tahira said, her face almost pressed up against the rock. ‘An opening has been blocked up with stone and adobe to blend in with the natural rock. Time has done its work most effectively to cover it up, but I am sure of it. This has been sealed very carefully indeed. Someone has been most determined that whatever is behind here should not be discovered. Could it be our thief’s treasure trove?’
He waited, clearly enjoying watching her thought process reflected in her face. ‘But, no,’ she said now, shaking her head, ‘that would not make sense. If our thief did exist, he would have wished to recover his loot at some point. This would take a great deal of effort to break through. That, and the effort put into concealing its existence means that it was never intended to be opened up.’
‘Exactly,’ Christopher said, primly.
She burst out laughing. ‘It is not fair, you have the advantage of me. What have you found?’ She set the lantern down, gave his arm a shake. ‘Please, I am desperate to know.’
He handed her something, wrapped in a piece of cotton. ‘This was buried at the concealed entrance.’
Tahira dropped to the ground to open it, crossing her legs and setting the bundle between them. Slowly, she unwound the protective wrapping—one of Christopher’s cloaks had been sacrificed. The effigy was carved from stone, and almost perfectly preserved. She held it reverently as she traced the cat’s feet, tail, ears. The paint was flaking in places, but the rings on the tail and legs clear enough. ‘It’s a sand cat,’ she said, smiling, flattening her hand over the head of the statuette, running it down the back as if she were stroking the real animal. ‘A perfectly beautiful sand cat. And very, very old.’
Christopher nodded. ‘What do you think is its purpose?’
‘Purpose?’ But almost before the word was out, she understood. ‘It’s a guardian, isn’t it? This pose, sitting sentinel, I have seen drawings of such things. They usually guard—by the stars! A tomb?’
‘Of a wealthy and important person too I reckon. Though I fear it has been raided, for that is the only explanation of our finds.’
‘But the entrance has been concealed so perfectly.’
‘It was most likely raided not long after the burial, before the tomb was properly sealed. A common occurrence in Egypt, I’m afraid.’
‘Who could be buried here?’ Tahira wrapped the sentinel sand cat back up carefully, and got to her feet. ‘I’ve never come across anything like this in Nessarah. It begs the question, why? Do you think it’s possible for us to take down these stones?’
Christopher grinned. ‘Do you think it’s possible for us to resist? Though it’s very well done, I don’t think it would be too difficult, and fortunately, we’re quite some distance from the mine, it’s highly unlikely anyone will notice.’
‘My heart is racing. I can’t believe it. Could we start tonight?’
‘Do you really have so little time left before you are—is your betrothal so imminent?’
In the light of the lantern, she was reminded of their first meeting at the entrance to the mine. His hair had shimmered like gold. His eyes were such a striking blue. A dangerous man, she’d decided and she’d been right, but during the long nights working together, she had come to see that there was so much more to him than that. An honourable man. A troubled man. A man with demons. A thoughtful man. A man who would take ridiculous risks, go to any amount of trouble, to make a wish come perfectly true. A man she had come to care for far too much, despite the fact that he was also a man about whom she knew far too little. A man who, in a very short period of time, she would never see again.
‘Tahira?’ Christopher gently wiped the tear which tracked down her cheek with his thumb.
She caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. ‘My sister says I am very fortunate. He is not old or cruel, the man my brother has found for me. My sister says she would gladly marry him herself. He is a widower, with a small child. A boy. I would not even be expected to provide an heir. He even lives—he lives within travelling distance. I could not have asked for a more suitable and amenable match, Christopher, but still I cannot—I simply cannot bring myself to embrace it.’
He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. She burrowed her face into his chest, breathing deep of the scent of lemon soap and whatever it was that was particularly Christopher.
She had heard Ghutrif boasting about the mine to Juwan yesterday, promising her a turquoise necklace made of the first ore, when their son was born. If she could find a way to steal a sample for Christopher, it would save him from taking yet another unnecessary risk by stealing a sample himself.
And yet, the more she helped him, the sooner his quest would be over and he would leave for ever. Another thought struck her forcibly. The more she helped him the more likely it was that he would turn up at the palace to hand back the amulet. Reducing the risk to him made the risk of his discovering her true identity terrifyingly likely, and if he then let slip their acquaintance...
Acquaintance! A word that fell a long way short of whatever it was that they had between them. She shuddered. It simply didn’t bear thinking about. If the worst came to the worst—or the best came to the best—or the worst came to the best, or whatever combination—she would think of something to prevent him storming the palace. She would have to.
‘Tahira?’
She forced herself to look up. Christopher pushed her hair back from her cheek, his expression set. ‘There is no chance that this betrothal will come to nothing, like the others?’
At least he had not guessed her true thoughts. Tahira smiled wanly. ‘Lightning will not be permitted to strike again. The last time, I was not—I made my indifference clear, and so too did my betrothed.’ She hesitated. Christopher was frowning, that frown he wore when he was trying to bite his tongue. ‘That previous match was arranged by his family,’ she elaborated, which was the truth, though not specific enough to betray her identity. ‘In the end, he chose to ignore their wishes.’
The one thing she could not do. The words hung between them, but they’d already said more than enough on the subject. ‘Should we make a start?’ Tahira asked, far more brightly than she felt.
* * *
The hours passed too quickly. After they had stopped excavating, they sat, as had become their habit, chatting and drinking water from Christopher’s goatskin flask. Tahira looked up at the sky and sighed. ‘I must leave a little sooner tonight. My friend is worried. Farah,’ she added. ‘My friend’s name is Farah.’
The first name she had spoken save her own and Sayeed’s. Christopher acknowledged this rare confidence with a quirk of his brow. ‘Would Farah happen to have access to a camel?’
‘You guessed!’
‘I reckoned you would not dare risk taking one from the family stables.’ He angled himself towards her. ‘So Farah knows that you escape at night? She must be a very good friend if you trust her with such a big secret.’
‘None better. Farah was once my maidservant, but she is so near in age to me that she has always been more of a friend. When Mama died, we became closer. Too close,’ she said, her smile fading. ‘My brother was jealous.’
‘It seems all roads in your life story lead to your brother,’ Christopher said, grimly. ‘What happened?’
‘It would have been better if we had kept our distance in front of him, but we were children, and my brother—oh, we thought him just a spiteful little boy. We never considered that there would be consequences to our excluding him from our games. But as the years passed and we became closer, and Farah—I fear that she took her lead from me and was too bold in her dislike of him, and I was naïve enough to show how much I cared for her. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when he contrived to have my father unfairly dismiss her, causing her character to be unjustly blackened.’ Tahira clenched her fists. ‘But it was.’
‘And so your friend takes pleasure in thwarting your brother by assisting you?’
‘She has always been happy to do so, but tonight—you see, until lately my absences have been well spaced. It is only recently that I’ve risked escaping so often. Farah is afraid that I will be caught. Which made me worry about what would happen to her if I was. It has been selfish of me not to think that by implicating her I was putting her at risk too.’
‘Does she know that you are to be married?’
‘She does now. She is pleased for me,’ Tahira said, with a bittersweet smile, for Farah had actually been delighted that she would escape from Ghutrif, even though it would mean they would never see each other again.
‘So you haven’t shared your own feelings on the subject with her, even though you trust her implicitly?’
‘No. Nor—Christopher, you must not worry that Farah knows about you.’
‘I hadn’t even considered it.’
‘No one knows of you, or our meetings. You are my secret, and mine alone.’ Flushing, startled by the tone of her voice, which gave her words far more meaning than she had intended, Tahira hurriedly pulled her headdress over her face. ‘I must go. I don’t want to upset Farah any further.’
Urging her sluggish camel into a trot, she wondered with a sinking feeling how many more times she would make this journey. If Farah had her way, it would be none. It would be the same number if common sense prevailed, but Tahira had never felt less sensible. She had never had so much to lose. She couldn’t stop now, not with the tomb to be opened, the turquoise to be matched, Christopher’s quest to be completed.
The dangers made her head spin, but the rewards made her heart soar. With Christopher she was alive. Why shouldn’t she admit that she cared for him, longed to be with him, relished every moment they were together? Their time was so precious, it intensified every feeling, but their time was finite, and so too, she was sure she would discover, were her feelings. It was as if she had leapt from the highest mountain. It was impossible to stop herself, impossible to climb back, so she could enjoy every moment of the wild careening down before coming back down to earth. She would find a way to beat the odds. She would find a way to land safely. But in the meantime, she had no intentions of shortening the fall.
* * *
Even by the opulent standards of the royal palace of Nessarah, the library was an imposing room, and one which was very different in style from the rest of the palace. The ceiling was not decorated with traditional tiles but was elaborately moulded, painted in a soft palate of gold and celestial blues, the central fresco depicting a summer sky with light fluffy clouds of the sort never seen over the Nessarah desert. In contrast, the vast floor space was laid with simple polished flagstones, and just as sparsely furnished. Four long, highly polished reading tables doubled as cabinets for storing papers, but there was not a single other item of furniture or any form of seating. A harem sentry guarded the other side of the door through which Tahira entered for her pre-sanctioned private visit. On the opposite wall, light streamed in from a vast arched window.
Every other inch of available wall space was taken up by books and scrolls. Thousands of them, in shelves which climbed to the ceiling. A narrow gallery ran at half-height, reached by a single narrow, spiral staircase which required the intrepid reader to walk around the full length of the library to reach the books on the furthest side. A single freestanding ladder on wheels provided access for the reader to the lower shelves. The library, created and largely populated by Tahira’s great-great grandfather, was not a place often visited by her more recent forebears. No catalogue of any sort existed, and she had never been able to divine any system for the placement of tomes on the shelves. In this sense, every visit to the room was a voyage of discovery, but it could also be highly frustrating. As a result she had started her own system. In effect, creating her own library within the library, relocating, book by book, scroll by scroll, the volumes in which she was interested.
Today however, she was not consulting any of those previously read works on Nessarah’s history. The book which lay open on the reading table was bound in red leather tooled with gold, and intriguingly entitled The Art of Love. It was not the first book she had perused today, but the illustrations in The Garden of Delights had appalled her. Such contortions appeared more likely to induce pain rather than delight, and the book, while it contained a great many words in praise of the male member, contained no relevant information on how to minister to it. The Art of Love, which she had discovered between a guide to the art of an Italian painter, and a notebook containing household remedies, was a very different matter. There were no illustrations and no poems eulogising male prowess. Instead, the book was a practical guide to giving and receiving pleasure, narrated alternately by a man and a woman.
She had not progressed beyond the early chapters, for the descriptions brought to mind her own experiences. Christopher’s kisses. The way her nipple had tightened when he took it into his mouth, the way she had arched under him in response. The tension. And the heat. Which Christopher, according to the book, had been experiencing too. Eyes closed, seated cross-legged on the floor, she tried to imagine what he would feel like. Silk and iron, the book said, but such a combination was too strange. His chest was hard, solid muscle, expanding and contracting as he breathed. He was clean shaven, though his cheek was rough compared to hers. Would his chest be smooth, or would there be a smattering of dark-gold hair? And his nipples? A flush stole over her cheeks, embarrassment mingled with excitement. Her own nipples peaked against the silk of her camisole, proving that the little book was right. Arousal did not require physical contact. But she did touch herself, imagining her hands were Christopher’s, imagining his skin against hers, his rough palms on the soft skin of her breasts.
Only when she slid on to the floor, her breathing ragged, did she remember where she was. Thankfully no one would disturb her with the sentry outside. All the same. Tahira closed the book and got to her feet, placing it carefully on her own shelves before wandering over to the window. Though it looked out only to a rather boring courtyard with a rather plain fountain, at least from here she could see the sky. Cloudless again. It would be another clear night for their work at the tomb. It would take them several nights, Christopher had estimated, before they would be ready to break through to whatever was on the inside. He was working longer hours than she. She had asked him to promise not to work when the miners were there, not in daylight, but he had avoided answering her. though he had promised he would not enter the tomb unless she was present.
Ishraq had informed her today that Ghutrif was planning to make the betrothal announcement at an upcoming camel race, organised specially for the occasion, which all of the princesses would be permitted to attend. A camel race was a rare, exciting treat, but Tahira heard this with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. There would be a huge crowd. Ghutrif was making certain, with such a very public pronouncement, that this time the marriage would definitely go ahead.
Fortunately, Ishraq was beside herself with excitement, more than compensating for her elder sister’s distinct lack of enthusiasm. It was the one good thing to come of it, for now that she knew Tahira was soon to be wed, Ishraq was her former sunny, loving self. As for Durrah and Alimah—yes, they were upset, but they too were excited by the prospect of attending a camel race and very shortly after, the wedding celebrations. They were thrilled that Tahira was to marry such an eligible man, and were already talking of bridal visits while Tahira—just thinking of anything bridal made her nauseous. She didn’t want to marry this man. She didn’t want to think about it, so instead she would think about Christopher. Again. Her escape from reality, because reality was simply too unbearable to contemplate. Was that wrong? She didn’t care. Tonight, she would once again inhabit her dream world, with her dream man. Tahira closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her waist and transported herself there.
* * *
The large rock formation where they brought their camels to a halt two nights later was not unlike the turquoise mine, the craggy rocks the same russet red colour, the soft sand tinged with the same hue. ‘What is this place?’ Tahira asked.
Christopher shook his head, dismounting before helping her from the saddle. ‘A place where wishes come true, I hope.’
Just like the turquoise mine, there was a fissure between the rocks, though this was much wider, forming a passageway open to the night sky. Tahira followed in Christopher’s wake, leading her camel a few short steps before stopping with a gasp of amazement. The low rock cliffs encircled the space to form a natural arena carpeted with soft sand, which shelved down towards a large pool bordered with juniper trees, their foliage lush. On the far side, a narrow cascade of water fell with a mesmeric murmur into the pool like a shimmering sheet of white silk. Through another gap in the rocks, the desert landscape was framed like a painting, a ribbon of similar rock formations growing ever higher into a mountain range until it looked to Tahira that they formed a staircase to the galaxy of silver stars pinned above.
‘How on earth did you find this place?’ she said, turning to Christopher.
‘I have the Midas touch, remember?’
He had hobbled the camels, discarded his headdress and cloak. His hair had grown longer, thick ripples of gold fell over his brow, giving him a distinctly raffish look. The deep tan of his face made his eyes seem as blue as the oasis pool. This man, this fascinating, fiercely attractive, fearless and driven man, had gone to all this trouble for her. A lump rose in her throat. She felt as if her heart were being squeezed, making her breathless, unable to speak her gratitude, so instead she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, pressing her cheek against the hard wall of his chest, the unique scent of him mingling with the verdant green of the oasis, the salty, heady taste of the desert night.
‘Tahira?’ Christopher flattened his hand over her hair, running it down her long plait to rest on the slope of her bottom. It was becoming a familiar caress, and it had a familiar effect, both reassuring and arousing at the same time. ‘Are you disappointed?’
She lifted her head, smiling up at him, for once caring not that he would see the sparkle of tears on her lashes. ‘I am overwhelmed. It is magical. If you’d asked me to describe my perfect oasis it would be just like this.’
‘Excellent, then we may now make your dream come true. Shall we?’ he said, gesturing towards the pool.
She hesitated, realising somewhat foolishly that he had taken her quite literally at her word. ‘When I said I wanted to swim in an oasis I meant—I can’t actually swim.’
‘It’s not too deep. You can walk over to the waterfall, the water won’t go above your waist. Or you can float. I can hold you. You’ll be perfectly safe.’
Tahira looked at the tempting waters of the oasis. She imagined the cool caress on her skin while Christopher held her. She thought of the delights she had read of in The Art of Love. ‘I don’t want to feel safe,’ she said, twining her arms around his neck. ‘I want to feel.’ She kissed him, licking into the corner of his mouth, running her tongue along his sensual bottom lip. ‘And I want you to feel too,’ she said.
‘Oh, but I do.’
She kissed him again. ‘Yes, but tonight, I want you to feel more.’
He stilled. ‘Tahira, we cannot... I cannot.’
‘There are many ways of making love,’ she said, ‘and many ways to reach the summit of pleasure together, a merging of passions but not of bodies.’
‘What on earth do you know of such things?’
She laughed, enjoying confounding him, excited by the spark her words had kindled in his eyes. ‘I’ve been doing some research. A bit of digging of my own, you might say. From a book.’
‘What book?’
‘The Art of Love. A most—a most educational tome.’
Christopher’s smile was sinful. ‘Theory has its place but I’m a great believer in the merit of practical experience.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Tahira said, ‘but first—don’t you think we should experience this beautiful desert pool?’
‘Oh, I think we can do better than that,’ he replied, unbuckling his belt and discarding his scimitar and dagger. ‘I think we should combine the two.’
