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Her heartbeat accelerated and she blushed. ‘That’s good.’
‘No, it’s frustrating. But tonight is my reward for almost a year of cold showers. My reward and your pleasure.’
Her green eyes opened wide. ‘Almost a year?’ she parroted in astonishment. ‘Are you saying—I mean…well, that there hasn’t been anyone else?’
‘Only you since we first met.’
She squeezed the mobile phone so hard she was vaguely surprised it didn’t smash into smithereens. ‘I like that. Oh, my goodness—I haven’t even thanked you for finding Daniel yet! That was the most wonderful present ever.’
‘It was nothing. I have to go,’ he told her apologetically. ‘My father is waiting.’
Kirsten set aside the phone and stared dizzily into space. Shahir had not made love with anyone since he had swept her off to bed at the castle. Her eyes shone. That thought made her feel very special. Had he desisted from sex out of guilt? She thought about that and decided that in some circumstances guilt was good—especially the kind of guilt that kept Shahir from straying into the beds of other women. For the first time he felt like hers, because he had not touched another woman since first meeting her on the hill above the glen.
When she wakened from her nap she felt as she were in a dream as all the activity of which she was the centre began again, with renewed enthusiasm. Her hair was washed and rinsed until the water ran clear. She bathed in a scented bath and lay down to have perfumed oils rubbed into her skin. While her hair was styled, her nails were manicured, and swirling designs in henna that symbolised good luck and health were skilfully painted on her hands and feet. A make-up artist attended to her face, while her companions chattered and enthused and commented at embarrassing length about how handsome, how virile, how everything Shahir was.
When it was time for her to dress, another screen was erected for her with much laughter. She rolled on sheer hold-up stockings edged with lace and donned a long fine silk chemise that felt sensuously soft against her skin. No other lingerie was offered to her. Amazing shoes ornamented with glittering stones were brought for her inspection and slipped on to her feet. Finally she was helped into a fabulously ornate embroidered and beaded robe in royal blue.
‘You look amazing.’ Jahan drew her out from behind the screen so that all the women could see her, and there was a spontaneous burst of appreciative comment and hand clapping.
Kirsten was transfixed by her unfamiliar reflection in a mirror nearby. She looked incredibly exotic.
She was encouraged to walk round an incense burner three times for good luck.
‘The bridal gifts.’ Jahan presented her with several boxes. ‘We are all eager to see what Shahir has given you.’
‘I didn’t know there were to be gifts. I didn’t give your brother anything,’ Kirsten lamented.
‘You gave Prince Shahir a son,’ an older woman piped up in astonishment. ‘A son in the first year of marriage. He has been blessed enough.’
Kirsten gazed in shock at the delicately worked gold crown that emerged from the first box. It was light, and not over-large, but it was definitely a crown and not a tiara. Jahan lifted it with reverence and placed it on Kirsten’s head. ‘This has not been used since Shahir’s mother, Bisma, died. You are honoured, for only our father, the King, could have offered it to you.’
There was an emerald necklace that flashed green fire, and it had been matched to drop earrings and a bracelet of fantastic design. Kirsten had never seen such fabulous jewellery, or dreamt that she might own it.
‘The emerald set was made especially for you. The goldsmith and the designer worked day and night to finish them in time,’ Jahan confided. ‘You must be so happy that you have my brother’s love.’
Kirsten veiled her gaze. ‘Yes…’
‘My mother was a second wife and less fortunate.’ The other woman sighed. ‘Shahir’s mother was the King’s first wife. She died of a seizure when Shahir was born and my father almost went mad with grief. He was urged by the people to marry again and have more sons. I was born, then my sister, and then Raza. My father could not love my mother as he felt she deserved and she was unhappy. In the end they divorced.’
‘That’s very sad,’ Kirsten remarked, with a hollow feeling of threat in her tummy. She was trying not to wonder if some day Shahir would also decide that he was making her unhappy.
Jahan turned aside to speak to someone, and then turned back to Kirsten. ‘Faria says it is time for us to go to the audience hall.’
Faria says. That was all Kirsten heard. Her green eyes lodged on the piquant face of the young woman. She was gorgeous, if a little sullen in expression. She had eyes that were the alluring shape of almonds, honey skin and a wealth of tumbling black curls. Kirsten felt huge and clumsy next to her, for the other woman was much smaller and yet surprisingly curvaceous in shape.
‘You’ve gone white…don’t be nervous,’ Jahan whispered gently.
For goodness’ sake, how common was that name? Faria? What reason did she have to believe that the Faria whom Shahir loved belonged to the privileged circle of those invited to attend the royal wedding? Faria might well live in another country, thousands and thousands of miles away, Kirsten told herself in urgent consolation.
The crown, she discovered, was heavier than it had initially seemed. She had to keep her back straight as an arrow and hold her head high to prevent it from slipping.
The audience hall was thronged with people. She exchanged a warm smile with her brother. Only when the crowds parted did she see Shahir. His brilliant dark eyes were sombre, his lean, bronzed features stunningly handsome below the crown he wore as if to the manner born. In his scarlet and black military uniform, with a sword hanging by his side, he was magnificent. As she drew level he reached for her hand, and the words of the marriage service were spoken in Arabic and then in English.
Shahir slid a gold ring that bore a crest on to the forefinger of her right hand. ‘Now it is time for you to meet my father.’
King Hafiz received them in the privacy of an anteroom. He was a tall, sparely built bearded man, with astute dark eyes and a rather gloomy aspect. He did not speak English and Shahir acted as an interpreter. He bestowed his blessing on his son and daughter-in-law as both father and ruler. He raised Kirsten up from her deep curtsey and kissed her solemnly on either cheek, and told her through Shahir that she was so beautiful his son would only have had to look at her once to love her and see her smile to know that she had a true heart. He also came very near to smiling when he forecast that Tazeem would be the joy of his old age.
The festivities moved to a chamber where twin thrones on a raised dais awaited the bride and groom. Jasmine blossoms were scattered round her feet and Kirsten was given a drink composed of honey and rose water. Traditional folk dances were performed. Poems were read. A lute player sang plaintive songs.
