His Queen by Desert Decree(44)

‘New offices and kitchens,’ Zahra informed her, but that was the entirety of their conversation during the flight because it was too noisy to chat.

They were set down in front of a large encampment of black tents and literally mobbed by a bunch of howling women the instant they appeared. Zahra explained to her that the howling was of a celebratory nature to welcome the bride. Her companion soon proved her worth by banishing the crowd, who wanted to see Molly bathe in the linen-lined copper bath she was confronted with.

‘I’ll stay at the entrance to make sure nobody comes in,’ Zahra proffered, politely turning her back as Molly shed her clothing and climbed with great difficulty into the deep bath, which clouded the air with the aroma of scented oils. ‘I have explained that in your culture bathing is always private.’

‘I expect there’s not much privacy in these tents between women,’ Molly conceded, determined not to make a fuss about the differences and to fit in to the best of her ability, but very grateful not to be forced to put her naked body on show.

Having already bathed at the palace and washed her hair, Molly only made superficial use of the ceremonial bath and clambered out into a fleecy towel. Her wedding gown and lingerie awaited her in a connecting tent and she wasted no time in getting dressed, with Zahra well able and willing to hook up the back of her dress.

‘It’s a beautiful dress,’ Zahra sighed, admiring the long lace sleeves and the slender silhouette of the elegant design Molly had chosen. ‘Some brides here already wear Western gowns as one of their bridal changes. Photographs of you in this will encourage the fashion.’

A big silver box arrived to much fanfare.

‘The bridegroom’s gift to his bride,’ Zahra explained.

‘So, it’s a tradition.’ Less pleased by the awareness that Azrael was only doing what was expected of him rather than what he actually wanted to do, Molly opened the box and gazed down in awe at a fabulous set of emerald jewellery.

‘These are royal jewels, passed from mother to son for the next generation. The King’s mother, Princess Nahla, only wore them once when she married Prince Sharif.’ Nimble fingers brushed Molly’s nape as Zahra clasped the stunning necklace and passed her the glistening drop earrings.

Molly felt as though she were living history when she was escorted into yet another tent where Azrael awaited her, tall and grave in his traditional robes. His beautiful eyes were dark and serious below his lush screening lashes and she suspected that she was still unforgiven for her reaction to the possibility of a pregnancy. It really didn’t matter, she admitted wryly to herself, because with one glimpse at Azrael the dulled ache between her thighs throbbed in wanton recollection, her entire body now shamefully attuned to his in the most mortifying way. The rising colour in her cheeks had nothing to do with the temperature.

The celebrant was an American minister and the service was short and sweet. Azrael’s cool fingers slid a gold ring onto her wedding finger and, for the first time, Molly truly felt like a married woman.

In silence, Azrael admired the dress, which faithfully followed Molly’s lush curves but which revealed barely any skin. He concentrated his attention on the rusty little marks scattered below her collar bone, trying to look on them as imperfections while recalling that the same freckles extended the stippling over her full creamy breasts. Unhappily for him he loved her freckles, and the urgent pulse at his groin infuriated him at so formal an occasion and when they had parted on such poor terms. How could he still hunger for a woman who did not want his child, who did not want to create a family with him? Who rejected a future of any kind with him? Who expected him to discuss what it was pointless to discuss? Her callous attitude, after all, had said all he needed to hear.

Molly had barely spent ten minutes in Azrael’s presence before she was swept off again to be dressed appropriately for the signing of the marriage contract, which was the main event as far as her companions were concerned. Freed from the limitations of her Western wedding gown, Molly followed Zahra’s advice and simply let the attendants dress her up as a traditional Djalian bride. Her hands and feet were ornamented with elaborate swirling henna patterns, her nails painted, her face made up with a much more dramatic application of cosmetics than she would personally have used. Finally, swamped in emerald-green brocade with a richly embroidered, buttoned blue under tunic sewn with pearls, she saw herself in a mirror and she didn’t recognise her reflection because even her hair was hidden below an elaborate headdress. Throughout photos were taken by a female photographer. She wondered if Azrael would prefer her in such garb and whether it would bring a smile to his lean features.