He had not expected to be physically interested in the woman he married; it was not necessary to the arrangement, after all. His head was not usually turned by long legs and a short dress. But the moment he’d had her body pressed against his, he had felt his libido emerge from its self-imposed hibernation with a vengeance. He’d been possessed by the mad urge to press his lips to the soft parts of her neck and continue down... It had shocked him, the need.
The wedding would take place in two days. This time he had made sure of it. An iron-clad contract of law bound Princess Cressida to their agreement. If she went back on her promise, his financial investments into Monteverre’s failing economy became null and void. Perhaps it was severe, but he couldn’t take a chance on her backing out of the marriage just like her sister had. Not when the future of two countries lay in the balance. He was not a patient man, quite the opposite. He liked things to be done precisely when he planned. Soon he could get back to more important matters in his own kingdom.
* * *
Cressida tried to stifle a gasp as the helicopter lowered swiftly to the ground, depositing them on a crop of barren flatlands on the very outskirts of the Zayyari desert. Despite her attack of anxiety at the news that she would become Queen so soon, she had surprisingly managed to sleep for almost five hours before waking with a ferocious hunger. The rest of the flight had been spent nibbling on snacks and perusing some of the books she had found on board about her new home, the desert kingdom of Zayyar. It had been a smooth trip from the private airstrip and she had presumed that they would arrive directly at the palace in the centre of Zayyar’s capital city of the same name. Her Internet research had provided her with some basic facts of what to expect from her new home, but nothing could have prepared her for the heat. Her blouse already felt damp on her back as Khal helped her out of the SUV and into the direct glare of the burning hot sun.
She had covered her hair with a pale pink scarf before they exited the jet, provided by one of his many assistants. In general, Zayyar was rather cosmopolitan for the Middle East; they did not enforce modesty among the women of its population. But apparently where they were going for their wedding ceremony was a sacred place. It was all very mysterious.
‘We continue on horseback from here.’ Khal’s voice was gruff and sleep-worn as he gestured to where his guards had already begun to mount impressively large dark steeds. ‘You will ride with me.’
She gulped, taking in the sheer size of the animal before her. She had never been one for horseback riding as a girl. But, before she could object, strong arms gripped her hips tight and she felt herself being swung up onto the saddle as though she weighed nothing at all. The hard warmth of the Sheikh’s chest pressed tight to her back as he settled behind her and she felt her body tense. The effort of keeping her eyes on the horizon was a welcome distraction as they began a swift gallop across the sand. There was no sound around them other than the beating of hooves on the dry desert plain. Gone was the hustle and bustle of city life she had grown used to, the noise she had used to distract her just as much as the books she lived inside. The air she breathed in was warm and fragrant, reaching deep within her and calming her raging heartbeat.
The thought that she had spent the past five years in one city was suddenly ludicrous. There had been a whole world outside her self-imposed cage, waiting to be explored. They crossed the endless expanse of sand for almost an hour; her thighs ached from stopping herself from relaxing back into the warmth of the hard male chest behind her. She still thought of him as the Sheikh, she realised. Surely one should be on first name terms with the man you were about to marry? He shifted his body behind her in the saddle, keeping the horse in pace. She felt gravity press her backwards until every inch of her back was plastered to his hard torso. All at once she felt the heat of him seep into her skin, sending goosebumps down her arms. It took all her strength not to dart away from the sensation, away from the overwhelming urge to sink further into it.
Clearing her throat, she turned her head to dart a quick look up at him. Her throat dried at the vision of his hard jaw in profile as he focused on guiding the powerful stallion up the dunes. Clearly he was not as affected by the ride as she.
All thoughts of him were momentarily curbed as their small party crested the last dune and a vision of beauty spread out in the valley below them. Golden sands gave way to the lush green paradise of a small oasis. Nestled in the middle of trees and ancient stone pillars were colourful Bedouin-style tents and temporary structures.
‘Welcome to the sacred ground of Old Zayyar,’ the Sheikh announced beside her ear. One strong arm snaked around her waist to hold her in place as they began their descent down the steep rocky hillside. They were greeted by a crowd of men and women in traditional robes and clothing, the men in elaborate headdresses and the women adorned in beautiful paints and jewels.
Men banged drums as the Sheikh dismounted and lifted her down to the ground in one powerful movement. She felt entirely out of place in her T-shirt and jeans combo.
‘This is your bridal party,’ the Sheikh said softly in her ear over the sound of the music and babbling. ‘My young cousins speak a little English. You will be taken care of.’
A young woman stepped forward as if on cue, bowing low. Cressida shook her head and raised her hand, preparing to tell the woman not to make such a fuss.
‘You are to be my Queen, Cressida.’ He spoke once more. ‘Be prepared to be treated as such.’
She nodded, straightening her shoulders as the rest of the women in the crowd bowed low in the same fashion. Her chest tightened with anxiety, feeling so many eyes on her, but she forced herself to take a step forward and then another, following the young woman into a large tent and leaving the rest of the crowd, and the Sheikh, behind.
* * *
Evidently it was customary for her to meet and join hands with every single woman in the tribe, each one offering what she hoped were kind words in their native t
ongue as they inked delicate patterns of henna on her skin. The women seemed warm and welcoming, despite the language barrier between them. She was acutely aware of her own plain Western clothing amongst their colourful draped fabrics. She caught more than one woman staring or whispering behind her hand when they thought she was not looking.
Her self-appointed assistant, Aisha, was a young woman of around twenty who had begun studying English only the year before. In between the courses of their evening meal, Aisha told her how she had sourced books and studied alone for a time before applying for a scholarship to university.
‘The Sheikh’s first wife was a great patron of female education. I thank her in my prayers each morning and night,’ Aisha gushed before biting her lip suddenly. ‘Oh, how thoughtless of me to mention such a delicate matter on the eve of your wedding!’
Far from being offended, Cressida’s curiosity was piqued. She had already seen from her online research that the Sheikh had been married once before. That his wife had died in a tragic car accident four years previously. He had not mentioned her in any of their conversations so far and she did not see the point in bringing up what was likely to still be a delicate subject. ‘I confess that I don’t know very much about the late Sheikha. I have read that she was much beloved?’
‘Sheikha Priya.’ The young girl nodded, a wistful smile crossing her lips. ‘She was...truly beautiful. She helped many people...’ Tears filled the young woman’s eyes and she wiped them away, apologising profusely.
‘Please, don’t apologise. Her death must have come as quite a shock to everyone.’ Cressida felt her chest tighten as she offered a napkin to the young woman.
‘It was a terrible time for Zayyar. Her Highness was so young. And of course His Highness was the victim of such scrutiny afterwards...because of the rumours.’
Cressida nodded, not wanting to admit that she had no idea what these rumours entailed. She felt the urge to press further, to find out exactly how many secrets lay buried under the facade of her simple marriage of convenience. She allowed the temptation to pass, exhaling as the conversation flowed amongst the women around her and the meal was served.
After dinner she was inundated with gifts of vibrant fruit baskets, decorated sweet cakes and fragrant teas, flowers and little bottles of oil as traditional music floated on the air. Aisha dutifully explained the symbolism behind each of the gifts, how they strengthened the couple’s love for one another or brought fertility to the marriage. Cressida tried her best to ignore her discomfort at the thought of accepting such beautiful gifts, as neither love nor fertility would play a part in her marriage. She wished she could just tell them all not to make such a fuss, that she was not a real bride. That this was not the romantic fairy tale elopement that it seemed. She had always hated being in the spotlight and it seemed impossible to avoid as the women argued over her hairstyle and made final adjustments to her wedding clothes.
As night fell across the encampment, Cressida was finally left alone in her bridal tent. She could feel the strain in her cheeks from the polite smile that she had kept plastered on her face all afternoon. Her reflection in a nearby mirror showed dark shadows under her eyes, making her already pale skin seem even more translucent. She exhaled slowly, removing the pink scarf that covered her hair and combing it out with her fingers while ignoring the rising anxiety within her.
She had not been aware of any scandal in Zayyar’s past when she’d committed to the marriage, but it made sense if that was the reason why Sheikh Khalil would go so far for a bride with Western ties. She had known from the bare facts available on the Internet that he was a widower, but, apart from a few vague news articles, that seemed as far as the information went. There was no further mention of the Sheikh’s activities in the years since then. But she had noticed the way his staff hurried around him on the plane...as though he was a man to be feared.
So why did she not feel that same fear when she looked at him? She thought of the shivers that had run down her spine as he’d held her close on the horse ride across the desert, mere hours before. She had felt the opposite of fear; she had never been more excited in her life. She closed her eyes, placing one hand on her chest to feel the steady beat of her heart. No, she most definitely was not afraid to marry the Sheikh. She was more afraid of the intense attraction she felt every time he came close. Five years was a long time to spend trying to maintain her distance. He would find it easy, no doubt.