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Amusement gleamed in his stunning eyes. ‘As you will learn, my father is a great pessimist. He thought that even after I married it might take years for me to father a child. He even considered the idea that I or my bride might prove incapable of that feat. It is safe to say that he looked at every negative possibility to such an extent that you and Tazeem together make a really winning package.’
She stretched her lips into a forced smile and hid the fact that once again she felt hurt and mortified. Naturally the need and ability to provide a royal son and heir was hugely important in a feudal kingdom with a hereditary line of rulership. Shahir was only being honest about the fact that as far as his father was concerned her greatest gift was her proven aptitude in the fertility stakes. Certainly it was true that she had fallen pregnant easily.
My goodness—had he told his father just how easily? Inwardly she absolutely cringed.
‘How much did you tell your father about how we met and…er…stuff?’
‘I told him the truth.’
Kirsten tensed in consternation. ‘So you told him…What did you tell him?’
His imperious black brows pleated as though he considered that a strange question. ‘That I had seduced a virgin…what else?’
‘But that information wasn’t for sharing!’ Kirsten launched at him aghast, her face hot as fire. ‘That was between us, and private.’
‘Not in this case.’ His lean strong face betrayed not a trace of regret. ‘For your sake I needed to be sure that my father put any blame he wished to bestow on my shoulders, where it belonged. And he did.’
Kirsten breathed in deep and tried to master her embarrassment.
The motorcade was already moving swiftly along the highway that led out of the city. Ahead lay the Ahmet Palace, the private home of the Dhemeni royal family since the seventh century. High fortress walls studded with towers surrounded the vast complex which was spread across a hill. That much alone the books had told her, but no further details had been given. On either side of the road stretched a rolling landscape of sand dunes that disappeared into the distance—terracotta in colour on the shaded side, glistening gold in the harsh sunlight of late afternoon.
They passed through a vast medieval gateway, but even as her curious eyes were widening to absorb the great domed entrance of the nearest building, and the red carpet awaiting their arrival, another daunting thought was occurring to her.
‘You didn’t tell your father about the theft thing, did you?’
Beneath her scrutiny, Shahir froze to carved ice. ‘I presume you are joking? My father believes you to be a woman of irreproachable good character and virtue.’
Anger and pain coalesced inside Kirsten and flared up in a spirited venting of all her pent-up emotions. Green eyes bright as the heart of a fire, she rounded on him. ‘Shahir, I’ve kept quiet about this for far too long, and I think I’ve been really stupid. I thought that as you got to know me you might start doubting my guilt without me having to plead my own case. For goodness’ sake, don’t you know anything about me yet? I did not steal that pendant—nor did I put greedy hands on that woman’s stupid brooch! Isn’t it about time that you accepted that I’m telling you the truth?’
‘Please don’t shout at me!’ Shahir grated.
‘Maybe I’m shouting because you’re as stubborn as a rock and you just make up your mind about things and won’t listen to any other version!’ she condemned heatedly. ‘But this is my reputation we’re talking about, and I’ve never stolen anything in my life.’
‘This is not the time for this, and I do not respond to the aggressive approach.’
‘Well, I’m not being humble about it!’ Kirsten informed him in a fiery interruption. ‘The rumour at Strathcraig is that Lady Pamela set me up because she saw that you were attracted to me. Unfortunately I don’t have the slightest idea why the witness lied and said she saw me put the pendant in my locker. But the point is you’re my husband. Instead of hammering on about how honourable you are, and how you would protect me with your life, you should get out there and prove that I can depend on you—clear my name!’
Shahir was livid with a dark fury as volatile as volcanic lava. How dared she question his honour? How dared she scorn his protection? And as for the theft—how could she possibly believe that he wanted to accept that she was a thief? But the case against her was watertight and left no room for doubt. Had it been otherwise he would have moved heaven and earth to clear her name.
Yet for the first time he was being presented with the possibility that there might have been a deliberate conspiracy aimed at discrediting Kirsten. That risk had not occurred to him. How likely was it, though? He had suspected that Pamela Anstruther had noticed that he had a degree of interest in Kirsten. Could the other woman have come to view Kirsten as a rival and set out to plot her downfall?
Even furious as he was, Shahir knew he would have to check out that angle. But surely it was a fanciful idea?
The passenger door beside him sprang open. He stepped out of the limo. The Court Chamberlain bowed low. Tazeem was borne out of the limousine behind with reverent hands and extended to his father with great care. Recognising the solemnity of the occasion, Shahir accepted his infant son and waited for Kirsten to emerge.
Kirsten was trembling. Words had exploded from her like uncontrolled missiles and she was in shock in the aftermath of that complete loss of temper. She had suppressed her feelings about the theft for too long because she had been afraid to reopen the subject with Shahir. Unfortunately all that hurt and resentment had broken through at a moment when her nerves were already on edge.
A slim brunette in her late twenties, with gentle dark eyes and creamy skin, moved forward. A long line of servants were bowing their heads at their approach.
Shahir murmured, ‘My sister, Jahan…’
Jahan greeted her with a warm smile. ‘You are very welcome to your new home. We are all very excited to be celebrating a wedding in the family again.’
A cluster of people eager to see Tazeem now surrounded Shahir.
‘My brother will take your son to meet His Majesty the King. You will meet our father at the wedding,’ Jahan imparted. ‘Will you come this way now?’
Still shaken up after the blistering verbal attack she had launched on Shahir, Kirsten glanced anxiously in her royal husband’s direction. For a split second he met her gaze in a head-on collision as physically disturbing as a crash. Her heartbeat jumped and her tummy muscles clenched tight with nerves. His lean, darkly handsome features were as impassive as ever, but she knew as surely as if he had spoken that cold anger still divided him from her with the efficacy of a solid sheet of ice.
