Read Online Defiant in the Desert by Sharon Kendrick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sharon Kendrick
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the servants ate their own rations out of sight.
It was a long time since she had enjoyed a meal in the desert and, inevitably, the experience had a story-book feel to it. The giant bulk of the camels was silhouetted against the darkening sky, where the first stars were beginning to glimmer. The crackling flames glowed golden and the smell of the traditional Qurhah stew was rich with the scent of oranges and cinnamon.
Sara sank down onto a pile of brocade cushions while Suleiman adopted a position on the opposite side of the low table, on which thick, creamy candles burned. It was as if an outdoor dining room had been erected in the middle of the sands and it looked spectacular. She’d forgotten how much could be loaded onto the backs of the camels and how it was a Qurhah custom to make every desert trip feel like a home-from-home.
She accepted a beaker of pomegranate juice and smiled her thanks at the servant who ladled out a portion of the stew onto each of the silver platters, before leaving the two of them alone.
The food was delicious and Sara ate several mouthfuls but her hunger soon began to ebb away. It was too distracting to think about eating when Suleiman was sitting opposite her, his face growing shadowed in the dying light. She noticed he was watching her closely—his intelligent eyes narrowed and gleaming—and she knew that she must approach this very carefully. He could not be played with and toyed with. If she went about her proposed seduction in a crass and obvious manner, then mightn’t he see through it?
So try to get underneath his skin—without him realising what you’re doing.
‘You do realise that I’ve known you for years and yet you’re still something of a mystery to me,’ she said conversationally.
‘Good. That’s the way I like it.’
‘I mean, I know practically nothing about your past,’ she continued, as if he hadn’t made that terse interruption.
‘How many times have I told you, Sara? My past is irrelevant.’
‘I don’t agree. Surely our past is what defines us. It makes us what we are today. And you’ve never told me how you first got to know the Sultan—or to be regarded so highly by him. When I was a child you said I wouldn’t understand—and when I became an adult, well...’ She shrugged, not wanting to spell it out. Not needing to say that once sexual attraction had reared its powerful head, any kind of intimacy had seemed too dangerous. She put her fork down and looked at him.
‘It isn’t relevant,’ he said.
‘Well, what else are we going to talk about? And if I am to be the Sultan’s wife...’ She hesitated as she noticed him flinch. ‘Then surely it must be relevant. Am I to know nothing about the background of the man who was my future husband’s aide for so long? You must admit that it is highly unusual for such a powerful man as the Sultan to entrust so much to someone who has no aristocratic blood of their own.’
‘I had no idea that you were such a snob, Sara,’ he mocked.
‘I’m not a snob,’ she corrected. ‘Just someone seeking the facts. That’s one of the side effects of having had a western education. I was taught to question things, rather than just to accept what I was told or be fobbed off with some bland reply designed to put me in my place.’
‘Then maybe your western education has not served you well,’ he said, before suddenly stilling. He shook his head. ‘What am I saying?’ he said, almost to himself. ‘How unforgivable of me to try to damn your education and in so doing—to damn knowledge itself. Forget that I ever said that.’
‘Does that mean you’ll answer my question?’
‘That is not what I meant at all.’
‘Please, Suleiman.’
He gave an exasperated sigh as he looked at her. But she thought she saw affection in his eyes too as he lowered his voice and began to speak in English, even though Sara was certain that none of the servants or bodyguards were within earshot.
‘You know that I
It was a long time since she had enjoyed a meal in the desert and, inevitably, the experience had a story-book feel to it. The giant bulk of the camels was silhouetted against the darkening sky, where the first stars were beginning to glimmer. The crackling flames glowed golden and the smell of the traditional Qurhah stew was rich with the scent of oranges and cinnamon.
Sara sank down onto a pile of brocade cushions while Suleiman adopted a position on the opposite side of the low table, on which thick, creamy candles burned. It was as if an outdoor dining room had been erected in the middle of the sands and it looked spectacular. She’d forgotten how much could be loaded onto the backs of the camels and how it was a Qurhah custom to make every desert trip feel like a home-from-home.
She accepted a beaker of pomegranate juice and smiled her thanks at the servant who ladled out a portion of the stew onto each of the silver platters, before leaving the two of them alone.
The food was delicious and Sara ate several mouthfuls but her hunger soon began to ebb away. It was too distracting to think about eating when Suleiman was sitting opposite her, his face growing shadowed in the dying light. She noticed he was watching her closely—his intelligent eyes narrowed and gleaming—and she knew that she must approach this very carefully. He could not be played with and toyed with. If she went about her proposed seduction in a crass and obvious manner, then mightn’t he see through it?
So try to get underneath his skin—without him realising what you’re doing.
‘You do realise that I’ve known you for years and yet you’re still something of a mystery to me,’ she said conversationally.
‘Good. That’s the way I like it.’
‘I mean, I know practically nothing about your past,’ she continued, as if he hadn’t made that terse interruption.
‘How many times have I told you, Sara? My past is irrelevant.’
‘I don’t agree. Surely our past is what defines us. It makes us what we are today. And you’ve never told me how you first got to know the Sultan—or to be regarded so highly by him. When I was a child you said I wouldn’t understand—and when I became an adult, well...’ She shrugged, not wanting to spell it out. Not needing to say that once sexual attraction had reared its powerful head, any kind of intimacy had seemed too dangerous. She put her fork down and looked at him.
‘It isn’t relevant,’ he said.
‘Well, what else are we going to talk about? And if I am to be the Sultan’s wife...’ She hesitated as she noticed him flinch. ‘Then surely it must be relevant. Am I to know nothing about the background of the man who was my future husband’s aide for so long? You must admit that it is highly unusual for such a powerful man as the Sultan to entrust so much to someone who has no aristocratic blood of their own.’
‘I had no idea that you were such a snob, Sara,’ he mocked.
‘I’m not a snob,’ she corrected. ‘Just someone seeking the facts. That’s one of the side effects of having had a western education. I was taught to question things, rather than just to accept what I was told or be fobbed off with some bland reply designed to put me in my place.’
‘Then maybe your western education has not served you well,’ he said, before suddenly stilling. He shook his head. ‘What am I saying?’ he said, almost to himself. ‘How unforgivable of me to try to damn your education and in so doing—to damn knowledge itself. Forget that I ever said that.’
‘Does that mean you’ll answer my question?’
‘That is not what I meant at all.’
‘Please, Suleiman.’
He gave an exasperated sigh as he looked at her. But she thought she saw affection in his eyes too as he lowered his voice and began to speak in English, even though Sara was certain that none of the servants or bodyguards were within earshot.
‘You know that I
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