Ruling Sheikh, Unruly Mistress

Slipping off her sandals, Lucy padded wide-eyed into the bridal tent, her own private sanctuary of luxury and warmth. Light streamed from a thousand tiny brass lanterns, and there was incense burning. Soft carpets tickled her feet and plump cushions in shades of soft pink and burnished gold were arranged all around the perimeter of the uniquely feminine pavilion. There was fruit and jugs of juice, and honeyed pastries piled in tempting mountains on low pierced brass tables, but Lucy had only one thought in her mind, and that was Razi. Only he could satisfy the hunger she felt now.

They bathed her in warm, scented water, before drying her on the softest of towels. Every hair on her body, other than her waist-length, honey-coloured tresses, her eyebrows and eyelashes, was then painstakingly removed—with the emphasis on pain, Lucy registered, biting down hard on her bottom lip as she told herself it would all be worth it if she could just keep in mind the rewards that would definitely follow.

After this they brushed her body until it tingled, before massaging her with fragrant oils that added to her sensitivity. Then she stood with all the confidence in her naked body Razi had given her and raised her hands as they slipped a cobweb-fine shift over her head. Next they seated her on cushions where she had her hands and feet decorated with intricate swirls and dots of henna, and when that was done her clean, scented hair was first polished with silk and then braided loosely.

Only then did they bring out the wedding robe she had chosen. In the palest shade of pink silk chiffon, it twinkled with diamonds and platinum hand-embroidery. There were jewelled slippers for her feet, and she would carry in her hands the good wishes of her people represented by semi-precious stones and gold coins painstakingly threaded onto a great ribbon of glittering light that would dazzle as she walked. This traditional royal Sinnebalese wedding scarf would be wound around her hands and Razi’s during the ceremony that followed, binding them together for all eternity.

‘There’s just one more thing,’ one of the women told her as they arranged Lucy’s veil. ‘A gift from the Sheikh,’ she said, laying the golden casket at Lucy’s feet.

‘We need what’s inside to secure your veil,’ the same woman confided as Lucy trailed her fingertips across the intricately worked golden box. Trust Razi to put a packet of kirby grips in a gold box the size of this one, she was thinking before she opened the lid.

She gasped in shock. It appeared Razi’s economies had bypassed his wedding gift to her. Nestled snugly on a night blue velvet ground, a fabulous chain of pink and white diamonds flamed and glittered with all the colours of the rainbow. She touched them reverently and then pulled her hand away. ‘I can’t—I mean, I don’t—’

‘Don’t worry, Sheikha,’ one of the hand-maidens told her. ‘We’ll arrange them for you…’

‘I’m going to wear them?’ She sat stock-still as they draped her in diamonds that felt surprisingly cool and soothing against her brow. The large central diadem, which was the size of the pigeon’s egg, counterbalanced the weight of the rest so it held her veil in place. Diamonds were far more effective than kirby grips, Lucy conceded dryly as one of the women held up a mirror so she could see her reflection.

‘Now do you see why I love you?’

At the sound of Razi’s voice, all the women got up in a rustle of skirts, bowing low to their Sheikh as they backed their way out of the bridal pavilion.

‘Should you be here?’ Lucy demanded, slanting kohlenhanced eyes to drink him in.

‘I do as I please.’ He said this with all the old humour. ‘And I’m pleased to see you have taken to your new role as if to the manner born.’

‘Like you?’ Lucy suggested wryly. They shared a look that said neither of them had been born to this, but they were both ready to devote themselves to the country and to their family, and to each other.

‘The old days are over,’ Razi said, bringing Lucy to her feet in front of him. ‘We will walk to our wedding as equals.’

‘Some of the old ways are worth preserving…’

‘Do I take it that means you enjoyed your preparations?’

‘Being prepared for the Sheikh?’ She shrugged ruefully.

‘Yes, I liked most of it—though some of it was painful.’

‘They hurt you?’

‘I shall expect a suitable reward.’

‘Then I must ensure that you get it.’

She exclaimed with delight as Razi teased her with his lips and with his teeth and with his tongue. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

‘Just hold me,’ he said, inhaling deeply as he dropped kisses on her neck. ‘Amber, jasmine and lemon grass.’

‘The scent you designed for me.’

‘And which will be all you wear tonight, and for every night from now on.’

She shivered with delicious anticipation as Razi took her hand in his.

She barely noticed anything for the next hour, other than the man at her side in his warrior robes of unrelieved black. Razi was a magnificent sight. Beyond the heavy gold agal holding his headdress in place and the fearsome Khanjar at his waist, he needed no decoration, and when he placed the diamond band onto her wedding finger and pledged his love, she knew that sometimes fairy tales did come true. He was her warrior king, her dark prince of the desert, and she loved him more than life itself.

What would her rowdy brothers make of little Lucy now? she wondered as the marriage ceremony ended in fierce shouts of joy from the throats of thousands of tribesmen seated on horseback. Her whole family had fallen silent for the first time that she could remember at the news that she was expecting twins, and then the noisiest discussion she could remember had broken out on the subject of whether some men had unusual advantages in the fertility stakes—one discussion she really hadn’t wanted to get into.

As soon as the marriage ceremony on the beach beneath the flower-strewn canopy was over Razi’s first duty was to lead her towards the Phoenix throne and present her to his brother, Ra’id, who had been seated in Razi’s place for this one day to show him honour. Lucy shivered, remembering Ra’id was known as The Sword of Vengeance. Her first sight of him had left a fearsome impression of a dark force of nature lit by molten rays of sunlight shimmering around the golden throne that seemed to frame him in a ring of fire. She tensed as Ra’id stood and his shadow fell across her. He was a stern, darkly handsome man, who, having dipped his head to acknowledge her, embraced his brother warmly.