‘Just like a queen!’ Cameron added, with a gap-toothed grin.
‘That’s because your mother is a queen now,’ said Kadir softly. ‘And you, my son, are a prince of the desert.’
‘Am I?’
‘You most certainly are. And when Mama and I have returned from our honeymoon in the desert, you and I are going riding together as all princes should.’
‘On my new horse?’
Kadir smiled. ‘On your new horse, yes. So you must think about what you’d like to call him and be very good for Morag while we’re away. Will you promise me you’ll do that?’
‘Oh, yes, Papa. I will.’
On cue, Morag stepped forward to take Cameron’s hand and as Caitlin watched him trotting away happily at his nanny’s side, she felt a weird twist of emotion—realising that this was the first time she’d ever spent a night apart from her little boy. Knowing that this was the first of many partings as the years took him towards adulthood. As he disappeared from view, she looked up to find Kadir’s black eyes studying her.
‘You’ll miss him?’ he questioned.
His perception startled her. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re a good mother, Caitlin,’ he said suddenly.
And that felt like the greatest compliment he could ever pay her. Better than telling her that her lips were soft or her hair like fire. Full of unexpressed emotion, she nodded. ‘Thank you.’
She was glad the day was almost over. There had been so many things to organise in this new country which was now her home. Fittings for her elaborate gown and rubber-stamping the carefully worded statements which had been sent out by Kadir’s office to the world’s press. She’d been asked to approve menus and decide on flowers. And then had come the long ceremony involving much feasting and intricate musical performances, before the culmination of the event when they had recited solemn vows in Xulhabian, which had required a lot of heavy-duty prepping on her part. Now her hennaed finger sported a heavy wedding band of glittering emeralds and sapphires—the colours of the Xulhabian flag.
She’d even been having lessons in camel-riding—their intended mode of transport for the honeymoon. And then last night, when her nerves had been at their most frayed and she had longed for Kadir’s embrace, tradition had reigned supreme and they had spent the night in separate beds, leaving her feeling slightly divorced from reality.
Divorce.
That was a word she probably shouldn’t be using—not in any sense. Because she had been made to understand that any formal dissolution of the marriage would be highly undesirable. Kadir had said as much soon after she had accepted his proposal.
‘I cannot fail this time, Caitlin.’ His words had been heavy. ‘And I cannot be seen to fail. The future of my country depends on stability and continuity.’
‘Neither of us will fail at this.’ Her own response had been fervent. She had meant every word. ‘This is too important. For both of us. And for our son.’
The train of camels which was taking them to their desert destination was a throwback to earlier times, when such a mode of transport had been the only one available. She and Kadir each had a camel—hers was called Lutfi—with two bodyguards riding in front and behind. Servants had already been dispatched to the oasis where a camp had been set up and, just as the sun was sinking, they rode into the clearing, where a huge Bedouin tent awaited them. Outside, glowing lamps were already lit and, in the distance, someone was playing a musical instrument she didn’t recognise, which sounded magical and enchanting.
In the distance, lush palm trees fringed a space of water and Caitlin sucked in a disbelieving breath as Kadir helped her down from her camel, as she witnessed the most stunning sunset she had ever seen. Celestial fire and flame were turning the sand blood-red and she could see touches of indigo and saffron bruising the edges of the sky.
‘Oh, but it’s beautiful,’ she exclai
med.
And so was she, thought Kadir, as he watched her delicate features light up. He felt almost...elated—something rare enough to be remarkable. He had been taken aback by the fleeting sense of joy which had clutched at his heart during the ceremony—a strange reaction for someone who had vowed never to marry again. But he had put his reaction down to Cameron’s presence by his mother’s side and the pleasing fact that his country’s succession was now assured. He’d convinced himself that his continuing contentment was due to nothing more complicated than paternal satisfaction and a sense of having got his own way—as well as anticipation about the wedding night ahead.
He glanced across at his bride.
Freed of her wedding attire, her fiery hair accentuated by the setting sun and her tunic billowing in the faint desert breeze, she looked almost at one with the land. Wild and carefree, her appearance touched something unknown and deep at the very core of him, which made his blood begin to pulse with honeyed sweetness. Breaking into a stream of rapid Xulhabian, he spoke to all the attendant staff—bodyguards included—who quickly began moving away from the proximity of the Bedouin tent.
‘What did you say to them?’ Caitlin asked, once they had all disappeared.
He lifted her up into his arms then, her hair flame-bright against the pale silk which covered his chest. ‘I told them I wished to be alone with my new bride and they should not come near us again until I summon them,’ he growled. ‘Later, I will show you the stars in the heavens, which will be brighter than any stars you have ever seen. But in the meantime, I believe it is another of your British traditions to be carried over the threshold.’
‘I believe it is,’ she said, a smile curving her lips as he pushed back the canvas flap and dipped his head to carry her inside.
But to his pleasure—and his relief, for he was unbearably turned on—Caitlin didn’t make any predictable comments about how deceptively large the tent was, nor did she coo or swoon over the luxurious brocades and silks which were scattered over the divans. She didn’t even notice the large, beribboned box which sat on a small table beside the widest divan. Instead she was eagerly lifting her head for his kiss, her hands clutching at his shoulders as if she were feeling his body for the first time. And suddenly his hands were moving over her with equal impatience, as if it were an eternity since he had been intimate with her, rather than a single night. Their robes pooled to the ground and at last they were naked, their bodies illuminated by the fretwork flicker of the intricate lights which dangled from the ceiling.
Kadir gave a soft groan as he cupped the swell of her breast, revelling in the dark contrast of his fingers against her fair skin. ‘I want you, my Queen,’ he said, unsteadily. ‘I wonder if you have any idea just how much?’