Afterwards, he watched her look around her, as if she was reacquainting herself with the vastness and beauty of the desert. He saw the admiration in her eyes as she gazed up at the mighty herd of camels standing at the edge of the airstrip, where the land was always waiting to encroach. And wasn’t she only reflecting his own feelings about this particular form of transport?
A camel caravan could consist of a hundred and fifty animals, but since this endeavour was mainly ceremonial there were no more than eighteen beasts. Some were topped with lavishly fringed tents while others carried necessary provisions for the journey. Men on horseback moved up and down the line, riding some of the finest Akhal-Teke horses in the world, their distinctive coats gleaming metallic in the bright sun.
‘It’s pretty spectacular, isn’t it?’ he observed.
‘It’s more than that. I think it’s one of the most beautiful sights in the world,’ she said softly.
He turned to her and suddenly he didn’t care if he was breaking protocol in the eyes of the onlookers. Wasn’t this his opportunity to make amends for having let his lust override his duty to the Sultan, on the night of her brother’s coronation? Couldn’t he say the right thing to her now? The thing she needed to hear, rather than the impure thoughts which were still making him hard whenever he was near her.
‘That is genuine passion I hear in your voice, Sara,’ he said. ‘Can’t you piece together the many things you love about the desert? Then you could flick through them as you would a precious photo album—and be grateful for the many beauties of the life which will be yours when you marry.’
‘But they won’t be mine, will they?’ she demanded. ‘Everything will belong to my husband—including me! Because we both know that, by law, women in Qurhah are not allowed ownership of anything. I’ll just be there, some bored figurehead, sitting robed and trapped. Free only to communicate with my husband and my female servants—apart from at official functions, and even then the guests to whom I will be introduced will be highly vetted. I don’t know how the Sultan’s sister stands it.’
‘The Princess Leila is deeply contented in her royal role,’ said Suleiman.
Sara closed her lips together. That wasn’t what she’d heard. Apparently, at the famous Qurhah Gold Cup races, Leila had been seen looking glum—but it was hardly her place to drop the princess in it.
‘I’ll probably have to fight to be able to ride a horse,’ she continued. ‘And only when any stray man has been cleared away from the scene in case he dares look at me. And I’ll probably be forced to ride side-saddle.’
‘You do not have to be bored,’ he argued. ‘Boredom is simply a question of attitude. You could use your good fortune and good health to make Qurhah a better place. You could do important work for charity.’
‘That goes without saying,’ she said. ‘I’m more than happy to do that. But am I to be consigned to a loveless marriage, simply because my country got itself into debt?’
Suleiman felt a terrible conflict raging within him. The conflict of believing what was right and knowing what was wrong. The conflict of duty versus desire. He wanted nothing more than to rescue her from her fate. To tell her that she need not marry a man she did not love. And then to drag her off to some dark corner and slide those silken robes from her lush young body. He wanted to rub the nub of his thumb between her legs, to feel the moist flowering of her sex as her body prepared itself for his entry. He wanted to bite at her breasts. To leave the dark indentation of his teeth behind. His mark. So that no other man would be able to touch her...
With an effort he closed his mind to the torture of his erotic thoughts—for that way lay madness. He could do nothing other than what he had promised to do. He would deliver Sara to the Sultan and he would forget her, just as he had forgotten every woman he had ever lain with.
‘This is your destiny,’ he breathed. ‘And you cannot escape it.’
‘No?’
He watched, fascinated and appalled as the rosy tip of her tongue emerged from her lips and began to trace a featherlight path around their cupid’s bow. And suddenly all he could think about was the exquisite gleam of those lips.
‘You can’t think of any alternative solution to my dilemma?’ she questioned softly.
For a moment he thought of entering eagerly into the madness which was nudging at the edges of his mind. Of telling her that the two of them would fly away and he would spend the rest of his life protecting her and making love to her. That they would create a future together with children of their own. And they would build the kind of home that neither of them had ever known.
He shook his head, as if emerging from an unexpected dream.
‘The solution to your dilemma,’ he said coldly, ‘is to shake off your feelings of self-pity—and start counting your blessings instead. Be grateful that you will soon be the wife of His Imperial Majesty. And now, let us join the caravan and begin our journey—for the Sultan grows impatient. You will take the second camel in the train.’
‘I will not,’ she said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard—and glaring at me like that won’t make any difference, Suleiman,’ she said. ‘I want to ride one of those beautiful horses.’
‘You will not be riding anywhere.’
‘Oh, but I will,’ she argued stubbornly. ‘Because either you let me have my own mount, or I’ll refuse to get on one of the camels—and I’d like to see any of you trying to get a woman on top of a camel if she doesn’t want to go. Apart from the glaring problem of propriety—I have a very healthy pair of lungs and I doubt whether screaming is considered appropriate behaviour for a princess. You know how much the servants gossip.’