CHAPTER SEVEN
SAFIYAHEMERGEDFROMthe bathroom the next morning wrapped in her favourite robe. It was old, but it had been the last gift her mother had given her. The cotton was thin now, but the colour reminded her of the rare pale blue crocuses that grew in the mountains near where she’d grown up.
She hadn’t worn it for ages because Abbas had expected her to dress in only the best. But he wasn’t here to disapprove now, and in this last week especially Safiyah had found comfort in the memory of her mother.
Life had been turned upside down again and she was reeling from the impact. She hadn’t been prepared for the tumult that was Karim’s effect on her. She didn’t want to trust him, kept remembering how badly he’d hurt her, yet at other times he seemed considerate, even kind. Like last night, when he’d put Tarek’s needs before his own desire. It wasn’t what she’d come to expect from men…from a husband. Karim confused her and made her feel things she didn’t want.
Briskly, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, banishing that little judder of residual awareness. She smiled at her waiting maid, then stopped abruptly.
‘What’s that?’
Her gaze fixed on the clothes spread out on the bed. She’d requested her long dress in shades of ochre and amber. Instead the fabric on the bed was an arresting dark lilac, embroidered with gleaming purple and lilac beads.
‘Isn’t it beautiful? The Sheikh has requested you wear this.’
Safiyah crossed to the bed, leaning down to stroke the fabric. The silk tunic was feather-light, the embroidery exquisite. It would be comfortable as she stood in the open air beside her new husband to receive the greetings of their people. The sunlight would glimmer off the rich decoration with each movement, subtly reinforcing her royal status as consort to the Sheikh.
‘Are those trousers?’
Sure enough there was a pair of lightweight, loose-fitting trousers to wear beneath the long tunic. The style was often worn by women in the rural areas of her country, but Abbas had preferred her to wear dresses.
‘They are, madam, and I’ve checked. They’re exactly your size.’ Her maid slid a sideways glance to her. ‘Someone has been very busy making this for you.’
But why? Safiyah was quite capable of choosing her own clothes for royal events, and Karim didn’t seem the sort to micromanage such details. But then, this second day of the joint coronation and wedding celebrations was an important one, during which they’d meet the people who had flocked to the capital from every province. Perhaps he was concerned about making the right impression. Wearing clothes that were a nod to the rural traditions of his new people wouldn’t hurt.
‘Very well.’ She shrugged out of her robe.
But as the silk garments settled on her, drifting over her skin like a desert zephyr, Safiyah couldn’t help but remember Karim’s caress last night. He’d said things would be good, better than good, when she came to him.
Ifshe came to him.
She hadn’t agreed.
Yet.
Safiyah stepped out of the palace and into the main courtyard, only to hesitate on the threshold. There, instead of a gleaming entourage of black limousines, was a bustle she’d never seen within the royal precinct. The scene was alive with movement, the jingle of metal on metal and the clop of hoofs on cobblestones. The rich tang of horse and leather filled her nostrils and something within her lifted like a bird taking flight.
The place was full of riders. Two standard-bearers carrying the turquoise and white flag of Assara were mounted at the head of the line. Behind them, on snorting sidestepping horses, were elders and clan leaders—a who’s who of Assara, all looking confident and fiercely proud.
Safiyah thought of Karim’s words when he’d learned that Abbas had ditched the equestrian gatherings so loved by his people. It was clever of him to reinstate them, for clearly this was what he’d planned.
‘Safiyah.’
As if conjured by her thoughts, there he was, striding towards her, magnificent in pale trousers, boots and a cloak the colour of the desert sands. He had a horseman’s thighs, flexing powerfully with each step. The fact she’d noticed sent a tremor through her.
Her stomach dived. How was she supposed to resist him when her body betrayed her this way? Her galloping heartbeat told its own story.
‘Karim.’
She saw the gleam of anticipation in his eyes. Clearly he was looking forward to this. Yesterday he’d been solemn and proud, as befitted a newly made monarch. Today his eyes danced.
‘You look magnificent.’
His smile was a slow spread of pleasure across his face that did crazy things to her insides. He took her hand, lifted it and stepped back, as if to get a better view.
For one mad moment she felt that glow of anticipation was for her. Then sense reasserted itself.
Karim had more important things on his mind than the wife he’d married for purely political reasons. Like establishing his mark on the country. Making an impression not only on the great and the good, but on the ordinary people. Which was why he planned to ride out on horseback, as the Sheikhs of Assara had done for centuries.