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As she clambered into her comfortable bed at the end of that busy day, her mind was spinning with a myriad of colourful impressions. But all she could actually think about was Shahir, and the reality that there were still hours and hours to be got through before she could see him again. She wondered anxiously if he was still furious with her.
The next day began for her at what felt like the crack of dawn. A delicious breakfast was brought to her in bed, but she had not even finished eating before Jahan came to collect her and escort her to another, older part of the palace.
‘The bride receives every possible beauty procedure,’ Jahan explained earnestly. ‘We want you to relax and enjoy the preparations. It should be a lot of fun.’
The Ahmet Palace was an ancient building like a huge labyrinth. From the outside it resembled a desert fortress, but within the high stone walls it was a complex composed of airy pavilions and tranquil courtyards punctuated with delicate minarets and beautiful gardens. Buildings were linked by stone staircases and roofed walkways.
A little nervous of what might be part and parcel of the bridal preparations, Kirsten watched Tazeem being taken off to the nursery. Maids came to help her undress, and she was so shy at removing her clothes in front of them that they giggled and put up a screen to preserve her modesty. Wrapped in a capacious towel and accompanied by Jahan, she emerged from behind its cover. They entered a great domed and tiled steam room.
‘My word…’ she sighed, examining her surroundings with wide eyes full of curiosity. ‘How old is this place?’
‘It was once part of the old harem,’ Jahan informed her.
‘It’s like something out of a film,’ Kirsten carolled. ‘Jahan…if I wanted to speak to Shahir how would I go about it?’
‘You could speak to him on the phone.’
Kirsten nodded at that obvious answer, and wished she had come up with the idea for herself the night before. Working out what she would say, however, was a bigger challenge. How could she ever thank Shahir sufficiently for going to so much trouble to reunite her with her brother? She had not asked him to do that. It had not even crossed her mind that it might be within his power to do that. Yet, without any prompting from her, Shahir had recognised how much it would mean to her to have her brother back in her life.
She sat in the hot, steamy atmosphere mulling over his perception and generosity until a film of perspiration shone on her skin. Two sturdy middle-aged women appeared, divested her of her towel and with great seriousness proceeded to cover her from neck to toe in a substance that resembled green mud.
‘It is marvellous for the skin,’ Jahan assured her.
Imagining what Shahir would think if he saw her looking like a swamp monster, Kirsten finally started to relax and giggle. When the mud was scrubbed off, she felt as if her whole body was tingling with cleanliness. In yet another room her hair was anointed with a herbal preparation, and the palace beautician arrived with her assistant to administer a facial, shape her eyebrows and carry out a remarkable number of other procedures—all of which were new to Kirsten’s experience.
A buffet lunch was served in a big reception room furnished with plenty of opulent sofas, and one by one the other women she had met the evening before began to filter in. Someone put on some music and the gathering began to turn into a light-hearted party.
‘You must lie down and have a nap now. The bride has a very long day to get through.’ Jahan showed her into a bedroom overlooking a quiet courtyard.
Kirsten was glad of the privacy, for she had finally decided what she should say to Shahir. She used the mobile phone he had given her to send him a text that was just one word long.
Sorry.
The phone was brought to Shahir while he
was having a massage. He read the text and his charismatic smile put to flight his usual gravity. He didn’t text. He might know how to read them, but he didn’t do texts. He dismissed the masseur and rang his wife.
‘Kirsten…?’
‘I was upset, but I shouldn’t have shouted.’
‘Your anger had conviction. I will do as you ask. I will have discreet enquiries made concerning the allegations that were made against you.’ Voicing the decision which he had reached in the early hours of the morning, Shahir stretched his long, powerful limbs and shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch. ‘If I have misjudged you, you are entitled to feel angry. As my wife, it is your right to expect my support.’
Overjoyed that he was finally willing to consider that she might have been framed for the theft at Strathcraig, Kirsten felt a great weight slide off her shoulders. Even so, she could not help saying, ‘But I want you to believe in me, Shahir…not just make enquiries because it’s your duty to do that like you do everything else.’
Shahir suppressed a groan, for he did not know how to tell her that his whole life was governed by duty—first to the crown of Dhemen and secondly to his family. ‘This is our wedding day,’ he reminded her. ‘I am not thinking of my duty at this moment.’
Kirsten closed her eyes and listened dreamily to the rich dark timbre of his voice. ‘What are you thinking of?’
‘Lying with you tonight,’ he admitted with husky intimacy.
Disconcerted though she was by that candid response, she felt a twist of heat curl low in her pelvis. ‘I’m surprised,’ she could not resist admitting. ‘After all, you’re the man who hasn’t even kissed me since before Tazeem was born.’
Shahir was startled by that complaint. ‘I was showing you respect!’
‘Do you still feel that guilty about what we did that day at the castle?’ Kirsten whispered ruefully, marvelling at how much easier it was to say things on the phone that she would not have dared to say to him face to face.
‘No…I think about what we shared far too often,’ Shahir confided thickly. ‘I remember every second of our passion…’
