His Defiant Desert Queen(43)
The history fascinated Jemma. But it wasn’t just history. They were facts. And the facts gave her pause.
If a Saidia man couldn’t please his wife, he had to let her go.
Did that mean Mikael would let her go if he couldn’t please her?
Out of the bath, the maid set to work rubbing exotic fragrant oils into Jemma’s skin, and Jemma provided no resistance, lost in thought.
She’d been brought here as Mikael’s first wife. But perhaps now she could force him to free her following their honeymoon. If she wasn’t happy after eight days, she’d refuse him the next eight and demand to be allowed to return to her tribe.
While the oil dried, Jemma walked around the courtyard in her cotton kimono, letting the sun’s warmth help her skin absorb the oil.
She knelt by the pool in the courtyard, and gazed down into the clear blue water, the bottom of the pool covered in cobalt blue tiles. Her face reflected back at her, her dark hair pulled back from her face, her expression appeared surprisingly serene in the water. Her calmness belied her resolve.
She would leave here.
She would not be charmed.
She would not fall in love.
She would not give him children.
What she’d give him were eight days and nights, and during those days and nights he’d have access to her body. But he’d never have her heart.
The maid fetched Jemma from the courtyard to do her hair.
Jemma’s stomach churned as she sat at the silver dressing table, while the maid combed and twisted her hair into place, roping in strands of pearls and clusters of diamonds until Jemma’s long dark hair was a glittering, jeweled work of art.
Was Mikael aware that he’d given her a way out? Did he know that she understood her freedom could be won?
But first she’d have to surrender to Mikael for eight days, and eight nights.
Could she do it?
Could she give herself to him totally? Handing over her body, her will, her need for control?
“Shall I help you with your dress now?” the maid asked, Jemma’s hairstyle complete.
“No,” Jemma said suddenly. She couldn’t finish dressing, couldn’t slip into the white satin gown, not until she’d seen Mikael. She needed to speak to him. She needed his promise that he’d honor Saidia tradition. “I need to go see His Highness, now. Will you please take me to him?”
The maid opened her mouth as if to protest and then nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. Please, follow me.”
* * *
The maid knew the palace corridors and they walked swiftly from her wing to his.
The maid knocked on the outer door of Mikael’s suite and then stepped back, discretely disappearing into the shadows.
Jemma drew a deep breath as she waited for the outer door to open. It did, and Mikael’s valet gestured for Jemma to enter the king’s suite.
Jemma glanced up into Mikael’s central hall with the soaring ceiling topped by a skylight. She remembered the skylight and the second floor lined with balconies, reminding her of the New Orleans French Quarter.