Banished to the Harem Read online

  ‘Tonight …’ Rakhal kept his voice even. Aware that Abdul was listening, he could not reassure her. He wished she would turn around, so she could see the plea in his eyes, know he would not hurt her. She might somehow understand that the harshness in his voice did not match his intent. ‘You are to sleep with me tonight.’

  ‘No …’ She shuddered. ‘Rakhal, no.’ Now she did turn around. She pleaded with the man she had just met, the first man she had made love with, who was now forcing her to join him in his bed. ‘No.’

  ‘There can be no discussion.’ He was supremely uncomfortable. Rakhal could hear the plea in her voice, but with Abdul present there was nothing he could do. ‘Go now,’ Rakhal said as the maidens approached. ‘They will have you prepared.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  RAKHAL lay on the bed, waiting for the maidens to bring Natasha to him.

  Music was softly playing and he could hear the sound of water and the maidens’ chatter as they bathed her. She did not return their conversation. He could see the occasional glimpse of her shadow on the white tented ceiling, could see locks of her hair and the curves of her body, and he did his best not to look at the teasing images. For though the room had been prepared, though the music and the scents had been chosen carefully to arouse, he knew he must resist.

  They hadn’t been alone since their time back at the hotel. There had been no chance to explain things. Natasha would never have agreed to come with him, and neither could he have left her in London to deal with her brother alone—especially if there was a chance she was carrying his child.

  He had never thought she would be brought to the desert. It had not entered his head that his father would insist on this night. But at least in his bed, alone, he could finally speak with her, reassure her.

  But Natasha dreaded his bed. She could see his shadow on the ceiling as the maidens bathed her, and though last night had been wonderful she could not stand the thought of sleeping with him now—could not give in without a fight.

  Natasha climbed out of the bath and shivered as the maidens oiled and dressed her in the flimsiest of gowns, and then led her through the tent towards his resting area. She willed fear to subside so that she might think.

  ‘I need my jewels,’ Natasha said, for they had been taken from her. She turned to the maidens. ‘If I am to be presented to him I need to wear my jewels.’

  ‘They are in your chambers,’ Amira, a maiden who spoke a little English, informed her. ‘They are safe there.’

  ‘You don’t understand. They were my mother’s,’ Natasha said. ‘And my grandmother’s. It is tradition that I should be wearing them.’

  Amira gave a nod and led her to her room. Tradition was the one word that seemed to reach her.

  ‘And I need to pray,’ Natasha said, ‘before I put them on.’

  Amira nodded and stepped outside as Natasha got down on her knees. She knew she had but a few minutes, and for the first time she was glad she had been brought to the desert—for here the walls were not made of stone, and she knew that this was her only chance.

  Rakhal waited and he waited, trying to plan what he would say to her, how best he could make her understand. He knew she was out of the bath, had thought she should be with him now, but then this was unusual for him too. So he listened to the soft music, lay back on the bed. It was then that he heard the commotion, watched as a curtain parted.

  But instead of Natasha, a panicked maid called out to him, ‘Your Highness!’ There was fear in her voice and already he was standing, whipping a sash from the bed as the maiden spoke on. ‘She is not here.’

  Rakhal demanded more information.

  ‘She asked to go to her room, to collect her jewels. She insisted that she wear them for you.’

  And Rakhal knew then that she had run, that the jewels had been an excuse, but that she would not have left them behind.

  ‘She said she wanted to pray … I should not have left her alone …’ The maiden sobbed for his forgiveness. ‘I never thought she would run,’ Amira begged, for only a mad person would run into the desert at night. Or a person who did not know how impossible it was to survive.

  For the first time, Rakhal did not wait to be dressed. He pulled on his robe and sandals as the maids summoned help from the guards. When they heard Natasha had gone missing the staff, unused to such strange behaviour, ran for their horses and Jeeps, but Rakhal halted them. Somehow he kept his head, ordered them to collect lanterns and to search on foot. He did not want them racing off into the night; he did not trust that they would brake in time, and nor did he trust the horses not to trample her. That sort of search could only take place at dawn.

  By then it might be too late.

  No one ran into the desert night—especially dressed in a flimsy gown. Did she not understand how cold it was out there? That the winds that brought heat to the sands by day chilled them at night? That the scorpions would be out now, ready to bite at her bare feet? That even if the sand shone white beneath the moonlight and stars she would be lost before she knew it? The seemingly flat sands were dunes that shifted and changed like the ocean. The wind would carry her screams not to him but through the canyons, for the desert was especially cruel to strangers.

  He did not wait for the others to gather; instead Rakhal strode into the night, shouting out her name. But then it dawned on him that Natasha was running from him. That she would rather flee into the harsh, unforgiving desert then spend a night with him. And he ceased shouting, silently asking the skies for a chance to explain, a chance to tell her that he never would have forced her, that that had not been his intent.

  After fifteen minutes of running—to where she did not know—the adrenaline left Natasha, and she fell exhausted onto the cold sand. She knew that she had been crazy to run, but it had proved equally impossible to stay, simply to submit. She could hear shouts far in the distance and realised the pack was heading in a different direction, that she still had a chance to escape. Natasha looked out, to the vast space that would surely claim her, then looked back to the tent. But already it had disappeared from her vision and the voices were fading into the distance. It was either call out now and summon help, only to be returned to him, or take her chance with the night …

  She chose hope.

  Rakhal watched from a distance. He saw her turn, resisted the urge to call out to her, and watched as she made up her mind, as she turned from the voices that would bring her to him and faced the dark instead. It was then that he called out, his voice making her still for a second and then propelling her into a run.

  ‘You would rather step into the night than be returned to me?’

  ‘Yes!’ Still she tried to run, but he soon caught up. He grabbed at her wrist and his grip was too strong. He spun her round.

  ‘Even when I tell you I would never hurt you? That I will take care of you?’

  ‘I don’t need to be taken care of!’ Natasha screamed, kicking and hitting and trying to bite—because, yes, she would rather take her chances alone in the desert than be taken care of in that way.

  ‘But you do!’ Still he gripped her wrist. He knew the hissing and sparks would fade like a firecracker and he did not argue further, just held on to her as she spun in anger, as she cursed and shouted. Finally it faded, and he let her go when spent; she sank to the sand and sat hugging her knees, and then she looked up at him and with all she had left in her she spat.

  She missed.

  Even defeated, Rakhal noted, she did not cry, and there was a twist in his chest, a rare need to reach out and touch. But as he tried he saw her head pull away, and then angry eyes flashed towards him.

  ‘Do it, then!’ She went to pull off her gown. ‘I won’t give you the satisfaction of my fighting.’

  He was appalled at her thoughts, that she believed he would treat her as such. He sank to the ground and pulled at the gown, the flimsy material tearing as he fought to keep it on. ‘Stop this!’

  ‘Why? We both know what’s going to
happen. Just take me here and I can vomit in the sand rather than in your bed.’

  ‘I am not going to sleep with you.’ Still she fought. ‘I would never force you …’

  ‘Oh, please,’ Natasha hurled. ‘I was being prepared for you.’

  ‘Because the maidens cannot know that we do not sleep together, that I have no intention …’ She paused for just a moment, ceased fighting just long enough for him to go on. ‘Abdul cannot know that I have only the best intentions,’ he explained, ‘which is why I could not speak properly with you on the plane. You were in danger back in London. I had no choice but to bring you here.’

  ‘Danger!’ She shot out a mirthless laugh. ‘You think that was danger?’

  ‘Your brother came back in the night,’ Rakhal said. ‘He broke windows. He was raging … Do you think I would leave you to deal with that?’

  ‘I’d have dealt with it!’

  ‘How?’

  She didn’t know—she actually didn’t know. Her heart seemed to squeeze tight with fear, for had she not met Rakhal, had she not been with him that night, she would have been dealing with her brother’s rages. Her hand went to her mother’s necklace. She knew her brother would have ripped it from her throat, and even if she was angry with him, she was scared for him too.

  ‘Was he arrested?’

  ‘No.’ He was sitting with her now. Her gown was torn and her breast was exposed, but he pulled up the fabric and held it as he spoke. ‘He ran off, but he came back in the morning, remorseful. By then we were already on the plane. I had left instructions. My people have dealt with him.’ She started to panic again, to grapple to escape him, but he held her still, kept her covered, and realised just how little she trusted him, how little she knew of their ways. ‘Your family is my concern too!’ Rakhal shouted above her rage. ‘Your brother is on his way here.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘He was made an offer,’ Rakhal explained. ‘His debts paid, including yours, in return for six months labour in the mines of Alzirz.’

  ‘The mines!’ What was this place? What were they doing to Mark? But she did not know him.

  ‘He will leave here a wealthy man. He will work hard for six months and build muscle instead of debt. He will eat food from my land and be nourished. He is not here as a slave—he is here to rebuild his life. You can speak with him soon. And—’ Rakhal revealed his deeper motivation ‘—if you are not pregnant, when you return to London you will have six months to sort out your life …’

  His voice trailed off and Natasha sat silent, trying to take in all he had told her. And despite her fears, despite her confusion, there was a bud of calm inside her; the fear that had fluttered for months, maybe longer, was quietly stilled. Finally her brother had a chance.

  ‘I would never hurt you. All this I was going to tell you when you were brought to me tonight.’

  For the first time since the plane she could properly look at him. For the first time since then he was the man she had met—except she understood a little more of his power now, and could see, too, the foolishness of her ways. For, yes, she had been a virgin, but she shared the responsibility and so too the consequences.

  ‘Rakhal, I accept my part in our night together.’ She swallowed. ‘I accept that if I am pregnant then there will be a lot of decisions that need to be made. But I simply can’t try to get pregnant.’ Her voice was urgent. ‘Which is what tonight would have been about—’

  ‘I understand that,’ Rakhal interrupted. He believed in tradition, and he believed in the desert, but he was modern in other things, and in this he would defy his father, in this he would turn his back on the desert rules. ‘We would not have….’ Now it was he who hesitated. ‘We would not have made love. I too am prepared to accept the fate we made that night.’

  He looked at her and slowly she nodded, starting to believe that the man she had met was still there inside him.

  ‘When I brought you here it was my intention that you stay at the palace. Only when I arrived my father instructed that we go to the desert, that all the rituals must take place. Here it is unthinkable that you would not want to be carrying the heir to the throne. The people could never understand that we are both hoping you’re not pregnant. We need to let them think that we are trying to ensure that you are.’

  ‘So we are just to share a bed?’ Natasha verified. ‘Nothing else will happen?’

  ‘It is not as simple as that. They need to think …’

  He was embarrassed, Natasha realised.

  ‘They need to hear,’ he explained. ‘The maidens will wait outside the sleeping area.’

  ‘We’re to make noises?’ She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘You are going to pretend to be making love to me?’

  He nodded.

  ‘But the shadows….’ She thought of his shadow, taunting her on the tent ceiling as she bathed. ‘They’d see them.’

  ‘They will see our shadows and we will look as if we are. But I give you my word, Natasha, it will be for appearances only.’

  She believed him.

  She looked into eyes that were the same colour as the sky above and knew he was giving her his word.

  ‘Some people condemn our ways. That is from ignorance. If you are carrying my child, you are the most precious person in this land.’

  There were shouts in the distance. Natasha could see lights in the shadows and people nearing, and no more did she want to run and take her chances with the night.

  ‘When this is over, if you are not carrying my child, still I will look after you. You will have a stamp in your passport that will speak volumes—a stamp that only I as Crown Prince can give. I will make sure your brother gets on well, and you will be able to visit him freely. I know I have done little to earn it, but I am asking for your trust.’

  He could not have all of it, but finally there was hope for her brother when before there had been none. And she accepted, too, even if she could not fully understand, how impossible it would have been for him to leave her in London if she was carrying his child.

  ‘I’m angry,’ she warned him. For even if she trusted him a little there was a deep fury still there. ‘I’m so angry.’

  ‘I know that,’ Rakhal said. ‘But for tonight can you find a way to put that on hold? If we can placate the people—if we can appear to go along with things—then more and more we will be left alone.’

  Tears glistened in her eyes as she nodded her head. Rakhal called to his people that he had found her and picked her up and carried her to his tent. The tears that threatened were not born of fear, but of the knowledge that the strong arms holding her, his need to protect her, the care he was taking, had nothing to do with her. He cared only so long as there might be a child.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE maidens gave her a drink and some fruit and then bathed her again, paying careful attention to the scratches on her legs and gently chiding her in their own language. They dabbed at her wounds before dressing her in a fresh gown and then she was led through the tent. There was music playing and the lighting was low. She could see the shadow of Rakhal through the tent wall and swore if she ever was his wife that this would be the first thing to change.

  The maidens left her at the threshold of his sleeping quarters and then took their places on the floor. She was relieved rather than scared to see him this time—relieved to leave the maidens and their strange rituals behind.

  Or she was relieved until she saw the man that awaited her, for he seemed even more beautiful than the last time. It was as if her brain were incapable of recording such exquisiteness in detail. He was lying on a vast bed, or rather a raised area that was draped in furs and silks. The space was all male—from the dark colour scheme to the woody fragrance that burnt. It was clearly not an area for sharing; clearly this was his domain. Rakhal was on his side, naked except for a sliver of silk covering his groin. His chest and his limbs had been oiled too, and his skin gleamed in the candlelight. And now Natasha was more nervous than
the virgin she had been when first she had shared his bed.

  Then his promise had been to please her.

  Now it was not to.

  He took her hand and guided her onto the bed, moving his head in close to hers and murmuring into her ear. ‘It will be okay.’

  ‘I know.’

  She could smell the pomade in his hair, as she had during their first kiss, but things were so very different this time.

  ‘We should kiss,’ Rakhal said, and he captured her face in his hands and brought her close.

  But their mouths did not move, just their heads, and she trusted him a little more still. Then his hands went down her arms, and now their lips did meet—but it was just lips, and they did not press. He moved his head to her ear and she felt his breath. They stayed for a moment, his hands running along her arms, caressing her, then moving to her back as if pulling her in, and then to her front, where they rested still between them. She trusted him a little more.

  ‘I should take off your gown now.’

  She nodded her consent, lifted her arms, and he slid it over her head. They knelt facing each other. As she shook her hair she caught sight of her own shadow, could see her hard nipples, his fingers appearing to trace them—yet they did not touch her. Even when he lowered his head and seemingly kissed her breast his mouth stayed closed, and his tongue did not cool the heat. She ached for it to do so and performed for the shadows—or was it for herself?

  Her neck arched back and the music quickened—their shadows, Natasha realised, were for the musician, for the tempo changed as she and Rakhal moved. The strings of the quanoon seemed to pluck deep inside her as his chin grazed her breast and his kiss on her skin remained elusive. Her hands moved to his head—to steady herself, she told him.

  And he steadied her too—one hand around her waist and the curve of her bottom—and the music hastened and she rested a head on his shoulder. She could feel her breasts flatten on his chest and tried to slow down her breathing.