Wedlocked: Banished Sheikh, Untouched Queen Page 8

  All this he told himself as he pushed open the door, not quite prepared to admit yet that the only person he wanted to see now, the one person he needed to get through this day, was her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE sat in the milky waters, her skin soft, soaking in the oils and fragrances, her black hair piled on her head, gazing out of the opened balcony doors to the dreamy ocean. Her maidens were laying out her dress, everything was in place, and yet she could not relax.

  There had been numerous functions in her life, too many to count or remember, and she knew well the loneliness of sitting at elaborate meals with an aide at her side. Tonight, though, she would be with Xavian, tonight she would have her husband at her side—and yet still she felt lonely

  He made her lonely.

  He had made no attempt to apologise. It was not his place to say sorry, Xavian would no doubt remind her, if she pushed for an apology.

  He had promised to provide—which he did.

  He had promised to give her an heir—which he surely would…perhaps already had.

  Her hand moved to her stomach and she wondered as to the miracle that might already be taking place.

  She should be content, but she wasn’t.

  Layla almost wished that Baja had been right—that their mating had been clinical, just another duty to perform—but it was so much more…and still she wanted more from him. Wanted not just an heir, but their child—wanted a husband not just in name.

  And then he walked in, and her confused, troubled eyes turned to him, and she just lay there in the bath in silence as he dismissed her staff and closed the door.

  Never had he looked more beautiful

  Cleanshaven for the first time since the desert, he was dressed in black robes edged with gold. He looked powerful, commanding, and utterly breathtaking—but she was too proud and too angry to just demur.

  ‘You are not supposed to be here.’

  ‘It’s a stupid rule.’

  ‘For you, perhaps,’ Layla said, ‘but I rather like it. It is nice to have peace—nice to rest and prepare for such an occasion.’

  ‘It is stupid that we slept alone…’

  ‘There will be many nights together soon…’ Layla shrugged, the water rippling around her, and all Xavian wanted to do was climb in and to kiss her sulking mouth.

  ‘You did not miss me last night?’ Xavian said. ‘You did not lie awake thinking of me?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ Layla said. ‘I was so angry I lay awake wishing I could give you a piece of my mind, deliver the perfect retort to your crass words…It was, I will admit, rather frustrating.’

  And even on this day, even as dread clutched his heart, as unknown fears took vivid shape, still she made him smile.

  She was his match.

  His dark eyes roamed her creamy shoulders, and if want could part waters then she would lie bare for his approval. He sat on the edge of the bath without a word, just watching her, and then he held out the gift for his Queen.

  She had her choice of jewels, had worn so many beautiful pieces that jewellery sometimes bored her—but not this. The cascading necklace of emeralds and diamonds made her eyes widen because it was a masterpiece, its jewels fell from each other like an emerald fountain, but it wasn’t sufficient.

  ‘Is this how you apologise?’ He heard the tart edge of resistance in her voice.

  ‘It would seem not.’

  ‘Jewellery will not placate me.’

  ‘I am sorry for the things that I said.’ He had never said those words, and she had never expected to hear them from him. She had been prepared for an explanation, perhaps a hint of reason, but never the words ‘I am sorry’, and they caught her completely off-guard. They confused her too, because he had given her just a little bit more of himself and surely, because this was Xavian, he would take it away again soon. ‘There is much on my mind.’

  ‘Like what?’ she challenged.

  Xavian shook his head.

  ‘You won’t tell me?’

  ‘Have you told me everything, Layla?’ Xavian asked, watching her cheeks pinken. ‘Have you told me all that is on your mind?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  The silence was endless, and it was Xavian who broke it.

  ‘One day we will,’ Xavian said, and her heart soared at the possibility, ‘One day, I hope soon, we will be ready to share—but not on this day. There are things we have to get through, things that need to be done. I ask you to forgive me for yesterday, to accept I have things on my mind and to know I hope for different things for us. You are more than a wife to me, Layla.’

  ‘You are more than a husband to me,’ Layla admitted. ‘And I accept both your apology and your gift.’

  ‘The apology is from me,’ Xavian said. ‘The gift is from the rich land. This necklace was worn by my mother and my grandmother, and many before them—for generations the King’s bride has worn this…’ His voice was as mesmerising as the jewels that he took from the box. ‘The finest stones mined from the heart of Qusay have been cut and fashioned. This necklace reminds our people of our riches…of the land that keeps us well nourished with its rare gifts.’

  He leant forward and draped the necklace across her chest. She could feel the cool weight of the stones on her skin and then he moved behind her, connecting the clasp and letting the necklace drop.

  ‘Tonight you wear the Qusay necklace; tonight our people will see the beauty of this union…’

  He was proud of her, he was telling her that, and it was the closest she had come to his love.

  ‘We will work out a way…’ From behind he kissed her bare shoulder slowly, deeply. She felt the weight of his mouth and then the bliss of his words. ‘When this day is over we will move forward—we will work out a way that we can be together properly…’ His warm hands were soaping her breasts. She wanted to lean back into him, to drag him in to join her, and the knowledge that she couldn’t teased her senses. He was dressed in his finery, and she squirmed naked beneath him as his mouth worked her shoulders, as his hands worked her tender breasts. She was dizzy with lust, breathless at the thought of their new future. On and on he kissed her, and with just his mouth on her neck, his words in her ears and his hands on her breasts she was in a frenzy. She could feel the tiny beats of her pulse beneath the water that pleaded for him to join her, that left her aroused and yearning for more, and then wickedly he stood and smiled down at her.

  ‘You can’t leave me like this…’

  ‘I am saving you for later—it will be our reward when this night is over.’

  He stared down at her beauty—at the hair that would be in his fingers tonight, at the jewels around her throat, at her ripe breasts—and knew she was his and all was right. He stared out to the ocean, feeling so strong now from just seeing her that he could surely hold it back if he chose to.

  ‘What do you do to me, Layla?’

  She did not know, but he did it to her too. He made her bold and alive and wanton, and she reached out and felt him, hard beneath her fingers, and she loved the game, loved the chase, loved the want in him too.

  ‘You will find out later.’

  Her body thrummed with the promise of later even after he was gone. Baja was talking as she dressed her in a long ivory gown, and the maidens were putting the final touches to her hair—snaky ringlets piled on her head. And despite the beautician’s attempts, no make-up could douse the pink flush in her cheeks! Her kohl-rimmed violet eyes glittered at the prospect of tonight, of tomorrow, of a real life with Xavian.

  Slipping on high, beaded shoes, she was ready at last, and it was exciting to see her reflection, to anticipate the appreciation in Xavian’s eyes. The necklace really was stunning, and teardrop emerald earrings were the final touch. It was time for them to be presented to the world as a couple. She felt as if her heart would explode in joy—because never had she dreamed of this.

  Akmal announced her King’s arrival, and Baja and the handmaidens faded
into the distance as he stepped into the chamber.

  She saw him swallow, and then a slow, rare smile lightened his chiselled features.

  ‘You look wonderful.’

  ‘So do you!’ Layla said. ‘And I have a gift for you.’ She handed him a ring. ‘It is a rare sapphire from Haydar…’

  ‘It matches your eyes…’ Xavian said as he looked at the deep violet-blue stone.

  ‘I notice you do not wear jewellery.’ Layla swallowed. As King he would have plenty to choose from, yet Xavian wore none. ‘If you prefer not to wear it you can keep it upon your person…’

  ‘I will wear it with pride.’ He admired the stone. ‘Was this worn by your father?’

  ‘Our traditions are different, Xavian. The gift you gave is from your land, your country, whereas this gift is from me. You are right—it was chosen as it matches your bride’s eyes, but, no, it shall not be passed down…’ He stared at the ring that he held near his finger. ‘You take this to your grave.’

  So many times his dressers had given him trinkets, pieces that carried the royal crest, yet none had ever felt right. This ring did.

  He offered her his arm and she took it.

  As they walked through the long corridors of the palace, past portraits and ancient Bedouin hangings, through rooms full of history as they began to make their own, she was suddenly nervous.

  It was a significant moment in time: Qusay and Haydar would by united; two rulers would merge.

  She heard the chatter behind the ballroom door hush as the royal couple’s arrival was announced and she caught Xavian’s eye.

  ‘Nervous?’

  ‘Of course not…’ Layla lied—because that was her number one rule: never let anyone fully in, never let anyone know the weight of her burden, the strain. And yet, soon…soon she would share with Xavian, during the glorious month that lay ahead. She glimpsed their sharing, glimpsed a future not just with a husband, but with a partner, and a slow warmth flooded her. It wrapped around her like a safety blanket and comforted her as the heavy doors opened and a long line of people stood in resplendent, regal glory. Every eye turned to them, and saw for the first time the Queen who had been hidden behind a veil,

  ‘Your Royal Highnesses, dignitaries, distinguished guests…Please welcome the bride and groom—King Xavian of Qusay and Queen Layla of Haydar. I present to you the King and Queen of Qusay and Haydar.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  THERE was an unnerving amount of royals and dignitaries to meet, but by other royal standards it was small.

  First the immediate successors to Xavian, until Layla produced an heir, were introduced.

  ‘Sheikh Prince Kareef of Qais,’ Akmal announced, and Kareef bowed and then spoke with Xavian before smiling to Layla. ‘It is an honour to be here.’

  Layla smiled and returned the greeting, but she was mesmerised by his eyes—they were the same blue as in the portraits that lined the walls of the palace, and he was dressed in the same black and gold as Xavian. It dawned on her then that she was meeting her new family, and Xavian must have understood that too, because he broke with tradition and added just a little more information than Akmal’s formalities allowed. ‘My cousins,’ he said. ‘I have told Layla many tales…’

  And that alone made her heart soar, because Xavian was telling his family, letting them know before her very eyes, that this was more than a marriage of duty.

  ‘Sheikh Rafiq of Qusay…’ Akmal moved them on and she was greeted by a very different cousin—his eyes were blue, like his brother’s, but—as Xavian had explained when first they had become close—in slight rebellion Rafiq was dressed in Western clothes. He was immaculate, arrogant, confident, yet somehow, from his smile, she knew he was really rather nice. Xavian’s family were certainly interesting…

  ‘Is Tahir here?’ Xavian asked.

  There was a slight pause, before Kareef smoothly answered. ‘He was unable to get away. He sends his apologies and of course offers you both his best wishes for your future happiness…’

  Xavian knew it had been improper to ask, that Tahir’s absence should not have been commented on, but he was genuinely curious. Xavian’s youngest cousin was his favourite, but he had left Qusay years ago and never returned. Xavian still missed him, wondered about him, even worried for him a little. There was no time to dwell, however. The row was long and all Xavian wanted was it to be over—not that anyone could tell, for he spoke easily with the guests, met Layla’s many sisters and their husbands. But occasionally, despite willing himself not to, he let his eyes drift beyond, to a couple whose eyes were fixed on him. And how he wanted to turn, to walk out, to ignore—but, as always, duty, protocol, dictated otherwise.

  Layla was floating on a cloud, simply glowing, but as the family introductions were over she felt a shift in Xavian, a tension building as they walked down the line, and she did not understand it even when she faced it.

  ‘Sheikh King Zakari and Sheikha Queen Stefania from the Kingdom of Adamas.’

  ‘Your Highness…’ Layla’s smile wavered as she greeted Sheikha Queen Stefania, for the Queen of Aristo was not looking at her. Instead her eyes were on Xavian as he greeted her husband, and then Stefania seemed to remember her place.

  ‘Queen Layla…’ She curtsied deeply. ‘We are honoured to be here.’

  And then Layla met King Zakari. Offered her hand and stared into eyes that, though his mouth smiled, were filled with deep concern.

  ‘Adamas offers its prayers and best wishes…’ His voice was gruff, and she could sense nervousness, but Xavian had moved swiftly on, making quick work of the line. Finally it was over, finally they were being led to their seats, with the room standing until the King and Queen were duly seated.

  He was rigid beside her and made no attempt at small talk, just nodded when Akmal came over once and spoke in his ear. Only when the first speeches had been given and the first course of the sumptuous banquet was served did Layla get a chance to speak with Xavian. She wanted to know what was going on—she could feel Zakari watching them.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Of course…’ Xavian took a long drink of iced water.

  ‘There is something going on.’

  ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

  ‘King Zakari…’

  ‘Layla…’ His voice was brittle, interrupting her question, and she blinked at its harshness. Even Xavian seemed to regret his tone and he took another drink of water before continuing. ‘I did not want to trouble you with this, but as you insist on knowing…Just as we entered, Sheikh Rafiq received word that there has been an explosion at a warehouse in New Zealand—some of his workers have been injured.’ The horror was evident in her face, but she quickly recovered so as not to upset their guests. ‘You will understand that he needed to leave swiftly…’

  Her eyes shot to the empty seat beside Kareef…

  ‘So he has gone?’

  ‘Of course. He has to look after his staff…We are honoured that he stayed so long.’

  Which should have explained everything, of course.

  She glanced over to the table and again caught Queen Stefania’s worried glance. This time Layla gave a thin smile back—a smile of acknowledgement, a small, brief nod—letting her know that she knew what the problem was, that Xavian had explained, that she understood…

  So why didn’t Stefania smile back?

  And why did Layla still feel as if she knew nothing?

  CHAPTER TEN

  THERE were fine gowns and jewels on display, a feast to be consumed, traditional music to dance to…And yet, despite all the promise of earlier that evening, the night Layla had had such high hopes for seemed to have ended at their entrance. It was business, that was all, another formal function and one not made particularly easy by Xavian, who was wooden and formal by her side.

  It was how she had imagined her future to be, just not how she had so recently dreamed it.

  Still, it was almost over—protocol dic
tated that the newlyweds leave first, and Akmal had advised them that it was time. Thankfully there were no long rounds of goodbyes. The room rose as they made their exit, and Layla finally breathed out. So too did Xavian—at last he seemed to relax, now that it was over.

  ‘Come…’ Xavian said. ‘Let us go to bed…’ How sweet those words sounded, such a wonderful reward for good behaviour, and she let him take her by the hand and lead her to the staircase. The music was still playing but the party was winding down. For this couple hopefully it had just begun.

  ‘Your Highness…King Xavian…’ She felt Xavian tense, and realised he was ignoring Akmal as he climbed the stairs. ‘Your Highness…’ Akmal scurried to the bottom of the stairs. ‘I apologise for disturbing you, but King Zakari and Queen Stefania have requested to speak with you.’

  ‘I am going to bed.’ Xavian didn’t even turn round.

  ‘Your Highness…’

  ‘Did you not hear what I said?’ Xavian snapped. ‘I have retired for the night.’

  He did not want this conversation.

  All night he had avoided it.

  Avoided them.

  He had felt King Zakari’s eyes on him, always trying to meet his, and always he had sensed Queen Stefania watching him.

  ‘They have made a formal request.’

  Akmal’s words should have halted him, but they did not.

  Xavian had greeted them without looking at them, had welcomed them, accepted their official congratulations without meeting their eyes, and now, just when he had thought he had dealt with it, just when he’d thought it was over, that they would be returning to Calista, that he could finally breathe, Akmal had approached with the request he had been secretly dreading.

  ‘Your Highness.’ Akmal was at his most annoying, most insistent. ‘They are neighbouring rulers; it is unthinkable that I tell them you have declined this request.’

  ‘My wife is exhausted…’

  ‘I am fine,’ Layla clipped, refusing to allow Xavian to speak for her, or use her as an excuse—especially when none was needed. ‘Of course we shall meet with them.’