Stolen nights with the secret princess...

Bound to marry for duty, Princess Tahira finds her only freedom in forbidden escapes to the desert. Then one night she encounters a stranger under the stars—adventurer Christopher Fordyce. He’s wildly attractive and thrillingly dangerous...an illicit fantasy she can’t resist!

Even unaware of Tahira’s royal blood, Christopher knows his shameful past makes any future with her impossible. But in the sultry desert heat, desires are uncovered and secrets unveiled, and soon Christopher will risk everything to claim his desert princess!

Hot Arabian Nights

Be seduced and swept away by these desert princes!

You won’t want to miss this new, thrillingly exotic quartet from Marguerite Kaye!

First, exiled Prince Azhar must decide whether to claim his kingdom and beautiful unconventional widow Julia Trevelyan!

Read

The Widow and the Sheikh

When Sheikh Kadar rescues shipwrecked mail-order bride Constance Montgomery, can a convenient marriage help him maintain peace in his kingdom?

Find out in

Sheikh’s Mail-Order Bride

To secure his kingdom’s safety, Sheikh Rafiq must win Arabia’s most dangerous horse race. His secret weapon is an English horse-whisperer...whom he does not expect to be an irresistibly attractive woman!

Read

The Harlot and the Sheikh

Daredevil Christopher Fordyce has always craved adventure. When his travels lead him to the kingdom of Nessarah he makes his most exciting discovery yet—a desert princess!

Find out in

Claiming His Desert Princess

All available now!

Author Note

First of all thank you to Tahira, whom I met at a Mills & Boon ‘New Voices’ workshop. I thought she had a fabulous name—fit for a desert princess. She very kindly permitted me to use it. I hope she likes her namesake and thinks I’ve done her justice.

More thanks for a name suggestion are due—this time to Mairibeth MacMillan, writer, friend and coffee mate, who named Tahira’s sand cat Sayeed (Hunter). Sayeed owes his slightly vicious predilections to two of my previous pet cats, both of whom were feral by nature, and loved by me and no one else!

My final thanks go to a fictional character, Lord Henry Armstrong—is it permissible to thank your own creation? He made his first appearance in Innocent in the Sheikh’s Harem, as a conniving and ruthless diplomat with a bevy of daughters he was determined to marry off. That book spawned the Armstrong Sisters series, and at the conclusion of the last story, Unwed and Unrepentant, I thought I was done with him and he with me. But, like the proverbial bad penny, he just kept turning up unexpectedly. Thank you, Henry, I’ve loved delving into your secret and dark past in this book, you cad, you!

This book rounds off the Hot Arabian Nights quartet. I hope that it finishes the series on a high, and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Claiming His Desert Princess

Marguerite Kaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARGUERITE KAYE writes hot historical romances from her home in cold and usually rainy Scotland, featuring Regency rakes, Highlanders and sheikhs. She has published almost thirty books and novellas. When she’s not writing she enjoys walking, cycling (but only on the level), gardening (but only what she can eat) and cooking. She also likes to knit and occasionally drink martinis (though not at the same time). Find out more on her website: margueritekaye.com.

Books by Marguerite Kaye

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

and Mills & Boon Historical Undone! ebook

Hot Arabian Nights

The Widow and the SheikhSheikh’s Mail-Order BrideThe Harlot and the SheikhClaiming His Desert Princess

Comrades in Arms

The Soldier’s Dark Secret

The Soldier’s Rebel Lover

The Armstrong Sisters

Innocent in the Sheikh’s Harem

The Governess and the Sheikh

The Sheikh’s Impetuous Love-Slave (Undone!)

The Beauty Within

Rumours that Ruined a Lady

Unwed and Unrepentant

Stand-Alone Novels

Never Forget Me

Strangers at the Altar

Scandal at the Midsummer Ball

‘The Officer’s Temptation’

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Hot Arabian Nights

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Historical Note

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Kingdom of Nessarah, Arabia—July 1815

The moon was little more than a scimitar-shaped crescent in the night sky as Christopher moved stealthily towards the summit of the rocky outcrop which would provide him with the perfect vantage point. The heavens were strewn with hazy stars tonight, a scattering of dusty diamonds rather than the usual pincushion of bright-silver discs. Though he was pretty certain that the site he had come to reconnoitre was deserted, he had taken the precaution of leaving his hobbled camel at the nearest well, located over a mile away. The soft sand had given way to gravelly rubble underfoot. Patches of sparse scrub had forced their way through the hard-packed mud. Dusty and bereft of any greenery, their thick thorns snatched at his cloak as he crept forward, his soft-soled boots making no sound.

The rock formation which was the focus of his interest rose out of the gentle swell of the ground like the battlements of an ancient keep. In this light it looked russet red in colour, the vertical striations glittering. A clearly identifiable track had been hacked through the scrub leading towards a cleft in the rock. Stooping to examine the ground, Christopher could make out the indentations created by heavy cart wheels rumbling across the terrain. He was definitely in the right place.

His heart began to race with anticipation, but he mustn’t get ahead of himself. The whispered conversations he had overheard, the careful questioning of local contacts, his own research, might yet prove unfounded. The familiar tightening in his gut, the flicker of excitement which always accompanied such discoveries, was on this occasion leavened with a healthy dose of desperation. Never in his entire career had so much been riding on a mineral find.

A single black cloud traversed the moon, casting a shadow over the rugged desert landscape laid out before him. For six months he had been scouring southern Arabia in search of the perfect confluence of natural resources without once finding this, the most elusive of them all. He had now exhausted his list of potential locations. Nessarah was pretty much his last throw of the dice.

‘But this time, I know I’m in the right place,’ Christopher muttered resolutely to himself. The answer had to be here. He had grown weary of this self-imposed quest, longing for it to be over. He could not contemplate failure.

‘And so I must succeed.’ His hand felt automatically for the pouch containing the amulet. He did not need to remove it to trace the shape cast from beaten gold, the smooth enamel interior, the setting of each individual precious stone, and the oddly-shaped gap which might hold the key to the origin of the piece. He carried it with him everywhere, a tangible reminder of all he had lost, not least his own identity.

His entire life had been shown to be a sham built on false foundations on that fateful day shortly after the funeral when he had discovered the relic, along with the document which explained its presence. He had barely been able to comprehend the contents at the time. Even now, six long months into his search, nine months after that life-changing meeting which had taken place in London, he felt sick to the pit of his stomach when contemplating the ramifications.

And so he did not allow himself to think of them. His fingers tightened around the amulet, a priceless, ancient artefact, a potent symbol of the lie he had unwittingly been living, the bribe which had been paid to ensure the hateful, sordid truth of his past remained buried. He wished he had never discovered it, but having done so, he could do nothing until he had rid himself of it, returning it to its historical home. Only then could he put an end to this shattering chapter in his life, wipe the slate of his own history clean, make a fresh start and new man of himself.

But he was not there yet. First he had to prove that this new mine could provide him with the vital connection which had so far eluded him. Force of habit made him check that the pouch containing the amulet was securely fastened, that his belt was also securely buckled, that the scimitar and the slim dagger which hung from it could be easily drawn, and that the smaller dagger was still strapped to his leg. A man never knew when drastic action might be required. A final scan of the area with his spyglass assuring him that he was quite alone, Christopher got to his feet and went in search of the mine entrance.

* * *

An hour later, Tahira tethered her camel to a gnarled acacia tree. The moon was faint, hardly ideal for exploring the site, but that did not matter greatly. This was her first visit, a reconnoitre to familiarise herself with the terrain, to have a cursory look for the tell-tale signs of ancient occupation—or the lack of it. She pulled off her headdress and cloak, folding them neatly under the acacia. Her tunic and trousers were tobacco-brown, the same colour as her riding boots, designed to allow her to easily blend into the shadows, though such caution would not be necessary tonight, for the excavations had only just begun, too early as yet to merit the posting of a guard.

She had never before explored the site of a working mine, considering the risk of discovery too great, but she had never before needed to distract herself from such a dire situation at home. Her brother was determined to force her into obeying his will. She could not resist thumbing her nose at him by exploring this, his latest pet project, even though he would never know.

Excitement made her heart flutter. There was nothing quite like it, being out here all alone in the desert. Nothing compared to that tingling sense of anticipation, wondering what hidden treasures she might uncover. She had always possessed a strong, vital sense of connection with the past that she never could explain to her sisters. They simply couldn’t understand the affinity, the way her blood stirred when she held an ancient artefact, or stood on a spot where her antecedents once stood. Not that she would dream of admitting to such first-hand experience. Her sisters would be horrified if they ever found out about her night-time escapades, terrified by the consequences were she to be caught. She would not risk compromising them by sharing such information, preferring to keep her secret firmly to herself, and in doing so, keeping the three people she loved most in the world safe.

The three people in the world who, if her brother had his way, she would soon be forced to abandon. With the pressure on her to comply increasing daily, she was determined to make the most of her fleeting moments of freedom, storing up these precious nights as ballast against the future that others were determined to force upon her. A future she neither wanted nor had any say in. Here, under cover of darkness, released from the gilded cage she inhabited, she could cast off the burden of her birthright, forget the fate she was trying so assiduously to avoid, and inhabit another world, where no one but herself could dictate her actions.

Doing so was not without considerable risk, but as her sense of impending doom increased, so too did her determination to reward herself with these stolen hours. She would not think about the consequences of discovery. She refused to believe she would be caught. Besides, she reasoned, her activities were so improbable, it was highly unlikely that anyone would imagine her capable of them. There were advantages, after all, to being a mere female. Her brother and her father would not believe such defiance possible even if they gave it a second’s thought—which they would not. How satisfying it would be to confound them, to see the incredulity on their faces. Or it would be, if by doing so she would not immediately guarantee at the very least an abrupt cessation of her nocturnal activities.

A soft breeze whispered through the scrub, ruffling her tunic, tugging at the scarf which tied her hair back from her face. A gentle reminder that she had work to do. Shouldering the leather bag which contained her notebook and tools, Tahira began to explore the site.

* * *

She had completed a full circuit of the circumference of the rock formation, and had just clambered up to examine the entrance to the mine when the flicker of light from a lantern coming from inside the tunnel made her freeze in horror. There was a guard on duty after all. Heart bumping, mouth dry, Tahira turned away, bracing herself to flee down the steep incline towards her camel. He must have moved with the litheness and lightning speed of a sand cat, for she had taken no more than two steps when one very strong arm encircled her waist, lifting her clean off her feet.

‘How dare you! Release me at once.’

She could not decipher the guard’s response, for it was uttered in a foreign tongue, but he set her down immediately before turning her around to face him. ‘A woman! What in the name of the stars are you doing here?’

He spoke in Arabic now, though his accent was odd. Tahira blinked up at him in astonishment. ‘You are not a guard. What are you doing here, creeping about like a thief in the middle of the night?’

He laughed brazenly, holding the lantern higher. ‘I might reasonably ask you the same question.’

He was tall, dressed in dusty, everyday garb, a drab brown tunic and trousers rather like her own, a cloak that might have been white at some point in the distant past, and brown-leather riding boots, but there was nothing at all everyday about the man himself. In fact, Tahira’s first thought was that here was a man one would never forget meeting. Her second was that he was not only memorable, but at a visceral level extremely attractive. His tousled hair gleamed gold in the lantern light. His skin was deeply tanned, he had a strong nose and a sensual mouth, but it was his eyes which drew her attention, for they were the most extraordinary piercing blue rimmed with grey and, even more than the vicious scimitar which hung from his belt, proclaimed him dangerous.

She shivered as a mixture of fear and excitement coursed through her. ‘You realise that you are trespassing? This mine is the rightful property of King Haydar.’

‘As are all the mines in the kingdom of Nessarah, I believe, but it appears I am not the only trespasser.’ He adjusted the lantern so it illuminated her face. ‘I would hazard a guess that you are not a miner, though if you are, you are the most extraordinarily attractive one I have had the good fortune to meet. And believe me, I have encountered my fair share of miners.’

His supreme self-assurance in the face of what he must realise was a perilous situation was astonishing. And intoxicating. If he showed no fear, why should she? He made no attempt to prevent her leaving. Tahira knew she ought to do just that, but now she was sure she had not been recognised, she didn’t want to leave. She had no reason at all to trust this man, yet her instincts told her he meant her no harm. Besides, she was very curious. And, yes, very attracted too. His smile made her catch her breath. It made her wonder, shockingly, what it would be like to feel his lips on hers—she, who had never in all her twenty-four years been kissed even once.

‘Your deductive powers are to be admired,’ Tahira said, unable to resist returning that smile. ‘You are quite correct, I am not a miner.’

The stranger exhaled sharply. ‘But you are a beauty. What are you doing out here alone in the desert at night?’

‘I am quite accustomed to being alone in the desert at night, and until now, have been adept at protecting my solitude.’

His teeth flashed white as he grinned. ‘Then we are kindred spirits, Madam...?’

She hesitated, but it was highly unlikely he would make anything of her first name. ‘Given the informal nature of our introduction, I think you may call me Tahira.’

His eyebrows quirked. ‘A woman of discretion. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tahira. Permit me to introduce myself in a similarly informal manner. My name is Christopher,’ he said, making a flourishing bow. ‘At your service.’

‘Christopher,’ she repeated slowly. ‘An English name?’ she hazarded, and when he nodded, added, ‘You are very far from home.’

‘I have no home.’ His expression clouded momentarily, but then he shrugged. ‘And you, Tahira, are you far from home?’

Now it was her turn to shrug. ‘Not so very far.’

‘You are mysterious as well as discreet.’

She laughed. ‘Significantly less mysterious than you, a stranger to these lands.’

‘I beg to differ,’ the Englishman said with another of his devastating smiles. ‘Your presence here raises a multitude of questions. What is a beautiful woman dressed in male garb doing examining the workings of a mine, quite alone and in the middle of the night? How did she get here? Where did she come from? Why the disguise? You cannot, surely, expect anyone to be fooled into thinking you a man?’

Though his tone was teasing still, she had the distinct impression that his questions had a point to them. It was natural enough for him to be curious, she supposed, given her unorthodox appearance, but she could not risk him becoming too curious. ‘My clothes are merely practical, like yours,’ Tahira said.

She had underestimated him. ‘Made from considerably more expensive material than mine, and considerably less worn too. Proof, if proof were needed, that you are not a miner,’ he said. ‘And yet you knew of the existence of this mine. It has only just been opened up, excavation is in its infancy. How came you by your information?’

Tahira’s stomach knotted. She shrugged in what she hoped was a careless manner. ‘I could ask you the same question.’

‘You could,’ the Englishman responded, ‘but I asked it of you first.’

There was no change in his tone, which remained pleasant enough, no change either in his expression, yet she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he meant to get an answer. What could he possibly suspect? Instinctively she knew he would see through any lie, but the truth—no, that was impossible. The safest thing would be to leave without comment, but she found she didn’t want to play safe.

‘I have no interest in the mine itself,’ Tahira said, opting for a partial version of the truth. ‘I am interested only in the possibility that the seam may have been excavated in ancient times, and that the miners left evidence of their settlement here.’

She did not expect her answer to have such a startling effect on the Englishman, nor had she truly believed it would distract him from his original question, but it did. His fair brows shot up, all traces of a smile fading. ‘And have you found any such evidence?’ he demanded. ‘Do you have any idea how old such a settlement might be.’

‘This is my first visit to this site, but a number of our—of Nessarah’s reserves of minerals and ores have been mined to some degree since ancient times,’ Tahira replied, struggling to understand the change in him. ‘Goodness, is it possible—are you yourself interested in such sites?’

Her incredulity made him smile again. ‘I am more than interested. In fact, I’m a passionate antiquarian.’

Now it was her turn to stare in astonishment. ‘Are you teasing me?’

‘No, I assure you. For some years now, I have been involved in a number of archaeological digs. Some in Britain, but the majority in Egypt. I have to say, though, that in all my travels I have not encountered a female antiquarian. Are you working alone?’

‘I am not working as such. It is an interest with me, that is all.’

‘An interest you choose to pursue in the hours of darkness?’

That look again, it was silly to imagine he could read her thoughts, but it was how she felt. Tahira crossed her arms, meeting his bright blue eyes square on. ‘As you do?’

‘As you have already deduced, I don’t have permission from the King to be here, any more than you. I wonder, what is it that drew you here, to this particular mine on this particular night?’

She couldn’t understand the edge to his voice. What on earth did he suspect her of? ‘You cannot possibly be imagining that my presence has anything to do with yours?’

She had spoken flippantly, yet she had, astoundingly, hit the mark. ‘It is rather a coincidence, you’ll admit,’ Christopher said.

‘A coincidence and nothing more,’ Tahira countered, quite nonplussed. ‘Who are you, to imagine I would go to such extreme measures to make your acquaintance?’

He had the grace to look sheepish. ‘Forgive me. I am simply suspicious by nature. And also innately curious. If this encounter of ours is mere coincidence, then it is a most delightful one. Do you happen to know what it is they expect to find here?’

He had turned his attentions to extinguishing the lantern, but she was not fooled. ‘Do you?’

She did not expect him to answer, but after a brief hesitation he did. ‘Turquoise.’

‘That is supposed to be a very closely guarded secret.’

Too late, she understood the speculative look, realised that she had walked straight into his trap as his eyes lit up. ‘So it’s true!’

‘Are you a speculator?’

He grasped her arm. ‘Is it true? How do you know for certain? If this is indeed a turquoise mine it would signal the end of a very long journey for me.’

There was a fervent light in his eyes, a rapt expression on his face. Bitterly disappointed, she pulled her arm free. ‘So you are a speculator after all, in search of riches.’

But Christopher shook his head vehemently. ‘If I was, don’t you think I’d be more interested in locating a new diamond or gold mine? Nessarah is well endowed with both, and not all of it has been worked yet, by any manner of means.’

‘How on earth do you know that?’

‘It is of no import. What’s vital is confirming beyond doubt that this is indeed a turquoise mine.’

‘It isn’t any sort of mine as yet,’ Tahira exclaimed, becoming quite frustrated. ‘If you’re truly an antiquarian as you claim, why are you more interested in the mineral being mined than the possibility that it was mined in ancient times?’

‘The truth is that both are crucial to the successful conclusion of my quest.’

‘Quest? You make it sound like some noble undertaking.’

‘There is nothing noble about it, quite the opposite, but it is an undertaking and a solemn one at that.’ The Englishman pursed his lips, frowning deeply. ‘I have no idea who you are, why you’re here alone, or how you have come by your information, but if you possess knowledge of Nessarah’s ancient mining history, you could be a precious find worth a great deal more than diamonds to me.’

Which admission could not but capture her interest, though she tried not to let it show. ‘I would not claim to be an expert, but the study of Nessarah’s history is a passion of mine,’ Tahira said cautiously. ‘I did not lie about my reason for being here.’

‘I promise you, I didn’t lie either. I too came here in search of an ancient settlement, because it would bring me one step closer to solving an ancient mystery.’

‘By the stars, what mystery?’ she asked, abandoning any attempt to disguise her interest.

But Christopher, having come tantalisingly close to confiding in her, now seemed to be having second thoughts. ‘How do I know I can trust you? How do I know that you won’t head back to wherever it is you came from and tell your husband, who will report me to the authorities?’

‘Firstly, because I have no husband. Secondly, and more importantly, the very last thing I would do is inform anyone of our encounter. As you must already have surmised, I’m not supposed to be here. And if it were discovered that I was, and not where I should be—’ Tahira broke off, suppressing a shudder. ‘Be assured, I would not be so foolish as to betray you, when to do so would be to betray myself.’

‘Do you mean that you have run away?’

‘Escaped, in a manner of speaking, but only temporarily.’

‘Escaped from what?’

‘My life. My home,’ she amended, not wishing to sound over-dramatic, even if it was the truth.

Christopher’s brows rose. ‘So you’re supposed to be tucked up in bed safe and sound, but you’ve escaped into the night in order to pursue your interest in Nessarah’s ancient heritage?’

‘Is that so hard to believe?’

‘Tahira.’ Christopher touched her arm lightly. ‘I’m not mocking you. I’m simply—I’m impressed. To take such a risk shows a true love of the past which certainly equals if not exceeds mine.’

‘Oh.’ She was absurdly pleased by the compliment. ‘I am only—it is something I do only for myself. No one else—well, they can’t know. Do you understand now why I would not betray you?’

‘You assume that I am not going to betray you either.’

She had done exactly that. Was she being utterly naïve? ‘Why would you, when you have just described me, in rather melodramatic terms, as a precious find? Unless of course that was a crude attempt at flattery. More tellingly, your presence here in the dead of night proves that, for whatever reason, you have no more desire to be discovered than I.’

‘You are, of course, quite correct,’ Christopher said, visibly relaxing. ‘But I was not flattering you. Your knowledge of Nessarah’s history could well prove to be of great assistance to me. If you are not in a hurry to melt back into the night, perhaps I can explain why I am here?’

This man was a foreigner as well as a complete stranger. She really ought to get on her camel and head home. But she knew she would regret it. An ancient mystery. A quest which was solemn but not noble. She had to know more. Besides, she had never before felt so drawn to a man. Hardly surprising, since her circumstances meant she met very few, but this man was different. He shared her fascination for the past. And, yes, he was handsome too, but it was his eyes which set him apart. And that smile, which seemed to connect directly with her insides, making her certain, despite her utter lack of experience, that the attraction was mutual.

‘I am in no great rush,’ Tahira said. ‘I do not promise that I can help you, but I would very much like to hear more.’

* * *

The masculine clothes this exotic female wore made Christopher acutely aware of the very feminine and extremely voluptuous body beneath. Following Tahira down the steep slope of the rock formation to where he could now see she had left her camel, he couldn’t drag his eyes away from the sensuous sway of her hips, the long, glossy sheath of hair that rippled down her back, the scarf which tied it fluttering like a pennant, urging him to follow. She moved with the careless grace of a dancer. That first glimpse of her perfect countenance had been like a punch in the stomach. No, he amended wryly, it was not his stomach which had reacted to those big almond-shaped eyes and that cherry-red mouth, and that heart-shaped face, and the sweet curves of the body beneath. He had never in his life met a woman so lovely and so innocently alluring. Who the devil was she? His curiosity was aroused, but what mattered even more was whether or not she could help him.

As they reached the softer sand, Tahira sat down gracefully and Christopher joined her, sitting cross-legged. ‘So tell me,’ he said, ‘do you think this is likely to prove an ancient site?’

She raised a delicately arched brow. ‘Is this a test of my expertise, before you confide in me?’ When he did not deny it, she gave a charming little shrug. ‘Understandable enough. I told you that I am by no means an expert. I am fortunate enough to have access to some manuscripts, histories, maps of Nessarah. Over the years, I have made a study of my kingdom’s ancient history and traced a number of the older mines—the diamonds and gold which we are famous for, but also some emerald, silver, of course, and semi-precious stones. My practical experience, however, is severely limited.’

‘Due to the fact that you have to confine any excavation to the hours of darkness, I presume?’

‘Yes. I know it sounds unlikely...’

‘Tahira, it’s so unlikely that I believe you. You would not make up such a preposterous lie.’

‘That is very true. In fact, it’s so preposterous that it is one of the reasons I think it unlikely my occasional absences will be discovered. Though of late...’ She sighed, averting her gaze momentarily, before giving herself a little shake. ‘There is no real method to my work. My process is not scientific, my notes and drawings rudimentary, as would be obvious to an experienced archaeologist like you.’

So he was not to ask what had been happening ‘of late’. Christopher accepted this grudgingly. Fascinating as she was, at this point in time, her knowledge mattered a great deal more to him than her circumstances. ‘I am actually a surveyor to trade, but my heart belongs to the ancient world.’

Which remark earned him a delightful smile. ‘It is so wonderful,’ Tahira said, ‘to meet someone who understands the thrill of standing in the remains of dwellings built thousands of years ago, of holding pots used for cooking, plates that food was eaten from, cups that wine was drunk from—it is the most thrilling—there is nothing quite like it, is there?’

Her eyes sparkled. Her lips were curved into a soft smile that made his groin tighten. ‘No,’ Christopher said, ‘there really is nothing like it.’

‘My sisters tease me when I say that I sense a—a connection of some sort with our ancestors. When I stand amid the ruins of an ancient mining village here in Arabia, one that existed deep in the mists of time, I feel the ghosts, the spirits of the people who lived there.’

‘How many sisters do you have?’

‘Three, all younger than I, and their only interest in ancient mines is the jewellery made from the precious stones unearthed there. Ish—my next sister says that our ancestors are unlikely to have been miners and she is probably right, but—oh, I don’t know. I like to think that there is something, some inherited fragment of memory, which connects me to the few settlements I have uncovered, the artefacts I have found there.’ Tahira looked away, embarrassed. ‘You probably think that’s fanciful.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ Christopher confessed, ‘I understand perfectly. I too, occasionally, feel a similar connection. A memory—though it can’t possibly be a memory. Or a ghost—though I’m not sure I believe in those either. But I do know what you mean.’

‘Really? I don’t know anyone else who thinks as I do.’

Her shy smile was dazzling. Dear heavens, but she had no business to be looking at him like that. Christopher tore his gaze away, focusing on the rocky outcrop over her shoulder. ‘I take it your sisters aid and abet you in your nocturnal excursions?’

‘Oh, goodness, no. They would be horrified if they ever found out, and frightened for me too. The stories I tell them—they think my only sources are books. I dare not show them any of my finds. Not that they would be interested, since none of them are valuable.’

‘So you keep all your work hidden away?’

‘It is not so very difficult, since my work is not so very extensive. One day perhaps hundreds of years from now, someone might find my little collection of papers and artefacts, and wonder how it came to exist. I would like to think of it as my own contribution to Nessarah’s history, but I doubt very much it’s of any real worth save to me.’ Tahira gave a bitter little laugh. ‘My life’s work. There is not much to show for it.’

‘As yet, perhaps. You are very young, you have many years of exploration ahead of you.’

She had a habit of turning her head to one side, of lowering her lids to mask her eyes and her emotions. ‘I’m twenty-four. My father and brother think that I am already past my prime. If they have their way, which they will imminently, I have very little time left in which to indulge my passion.’

‘What do you mean?’

But Tahira shook her head, forcing a smile. ‘I intend to make the most of what little time and freedom I have, that is all. Tell me, what is it that you survey?’

It was an obvious change of subject, but he followed her lead, for she was clearly upset and just as evidently determined not to be. ‘I specialise in the discovery of minerals and ores,’ Christopher said, ‘and by doing so, I fund my archaeological research.’

‘Including your trip to Arabia?’

‘It is not business that brings me to Arabia.’

‘No, indeed, you are here on a quest to solve an ancient mystery which I may be able to help you with.’

‘Precisely. I propose, if you are amenable, that we work together, pool our resources. Time is of the essence here. It’s likely that the evidence we’re looking for will be destroyed once mining gets underway.’

‘That is very true and also rather flattering,’ Tahira said, giving him a straight look, ‘but you still haven’t told me why you wish to explore the site in the first place?’

A simple question, and one he must answer if he was to enlist this fascinating woman’s help. Yet Christopher hesitated. Could he trust her? Clearly she had not been sent to spy on him, as he had somewhat ridiculously assumed. In the course of the last six months here in Arabia, the agents he had been so reluctantly given access to had been a diverse and frequently dubious group, but none had been a woman. Might she be a speculator? Equally ridiculous, surely. No, he was pretty certain that her claim to be an antiquarian was true. Whatever else she was...

Was not relevant, he decided. ‘It is the turquoise which matters,’ Christopher said. ‘I need to prove that it was mined here about fifteen hundred years ago, and I need somehow to obtain a sample of the mineral.’ Feeling slightly sick, he reached for the leather pouch, took out the amulet and handed it to Tahira. ‘In order to match it with this.’

Chapter Two

Tahira gazed at the artefact in astonishment, turning it over and over in her hands. The gold links of the chain were the intensely deep-yellow colour which indicated purity. The amulet itself was round, the rim studded with alternating diamonds and turquoise. An intricate design composed of narrow bands of vivid blue enamel on gold had been overlaid on to the main pendant, forming petal-like segments, into which were set much larger diamonds surrounded by more turquoise. But the centre of the amulet was empty.

‘There is something missing here,’ she said, tracing the oddly-shaped inset with her finger. ‘Another stone?’

‘Possibly. That is something I’d very much like to find out, though I doubt I ever will,’ Christopher replied. ‘What do you make of it?’

‘I think it is the most beautiful piece of jewellery I have ever seen.’ Tahira scrutinised the amulet more closely. ‘The design is very distinctive, and typical of this region. I have seen pictures of similar examples in ancient manuscripts. It almost certainly originates from southern Arabia and is clearly very old and very valuable. The light is too poor for me to make a proper examination, but the clarity of these diamonds looks to be peerless. And the turquoise—again, I cannot be certain, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen stones of this particular hue.’

‘They are indeed very rare. I have not found a single match anywhere. Yet.’

‘Oh!’ Realisation finally dawned on her. ‘Do you think that this mine...?’

‘I very much hope so.’

‘Mined on this very spot, fifteen hundred years ago,’ Tahira said dreamily, running her fingers over the turquoise. The amulet was warm in her hand. Her fingers traced the design compulsively. ‘How absolutely wonderful if you could prove that to be the case. I have never felt so drawn to anything as this. How on earth did you come by it?’

Christopher’s smile became rigid. ‘It came to me through my mother. Though not directly. I never knew her. She died giving birth to me.’

‘Oh, Christopher.’ Tears sprang to Tahira’s eyes. Even now, after all this time, her own loss could catch her unawares. ‘My mother too died in childbirth, but at least I had ten precious years with her. I am so very sorry.’

‘One cannot miss what one never knew, nor mourn what one never had.’

He spoke curtly, as if he would not have cared to know the woman who gave birth to him, but that could not be. He was a man, that was all, and as such did not care to show his pain. ‘Then this amulet must mean a great deal to you,’ Tahira said. ‘A very precious connection to your past.’ She reached inside the neckline of her tunic, pulling free her gold chain. ‘My mother gave me this. It is a Bedouin star. The traveller’s star. I wear it always. My most precious connection to my past. I would never wish to be parted from it.’

‘Be that as it may, I am determined to sever mine.’

Tahira’s jaw dropped. ‘Sever?’ she repeated, thinking she had misheard him, or that he had translated the word wrongly.

‘Sever,’ Christopher repeated. ‘By returning this object to its true owner.’

‘But surely you are its true owner?’ she said, utterly bewildered and a little intimidated by the turn in his mood.

Sensing her confusion, Christopher made an obvious effort to lighten his tone. ‘I’m sorry, I should not have spoken so vehemently. I have been six months in Arabia, attempting to match the stones set in the amulet, and am grown weary of the task.’

‘But why attempt such a task in the first place? I don’t understand, do you believe the amulet to be stolen?’

He laughed shortly. ‘Almost certainly, by tomb-robbers, centuries ago. But as to its recent provenance...’ His lip curled. ‘I have it on unimpeachable authority that I am the legal owner.’

‘Yet you wish to give it away? It must be very valuable. Why not sell it, if it pains you to own it?’

He shuddered. ‘To profit from such a thing—no, unthinkable. I could not square that with my conscience.’

Tahira furrowed her brow. ‘Because it is a sacred object? I can understand that, but why then don’t you put it on display in a museum?’

Another curled lip was his reply to what Tahira thought a perfectly reasonable suggestion. ‘A solution suggested to me by another. You cannot understand, though he most certainly should have, why that too is impossible. The amulet belongs here in Arabia, and nowhere else.’

‘Your sentiments do you great credit,’ Tahira said, which was true, though her instincts told her those sentiments were very far from the whole truth. ‘But to come all the way to Arabia on a—a quest, as you call it, which you may not be able to complete seems—honestly, quite an extraordinary thing to do. What if your quest proves futile?’

‘It cannot prove futile. Until I rid myself of this thing, I can’t—’ Christopher broke off, screwing his eyes tight shut, clearly struggling for control. ‘I must return it,’ he said with a finality that made it clear that the subject was closed, ‘there is nothing else to be done.’

Why? she longed to ask. Why do you gaze at this beautiful object as if you loathe it? Why must you rid yourself of an heirloom, a bequest from the mother you never knew? Why is it so important to you that you have spent six months of your life on a near impossible task? But he would answer none of those questions, that much was very clear. ‘How will you confirm the origin of the piece?’ Tahira queried instead. ‘And to whom will you return it?’

‘The stones hold the key,’ Christopher replied, his deep frown lightening at the change of subject. ‘The combination of this particular shade of turquoise and the clarity of these diamonds, along with the purity of gold, is unique. If I can locate the sources, link them closely geographically, prove that all were being mined at about the time this amulet was made, then I will know I am in the right place.’

‘How many wrong places have you visited?’

He shrugged, but she was pleased to see the faintest trace of a smile. ‘I have confined my wanderings to the southern region, concentrating on the kingdoms where I already knew diamonds and gold had been mined.’

‘How did you come by such information?’

‘Well, you said yourself that the amulet is distinctly southern Arabian in style, and I’m a surveyor to trade, as I told you. Ores and minerals are my business, and I have a—a talent for it. It was fairly straightforward once I’d narrowed down the general location.’

Proof—not that she needed it—of just how much this quest of his meant to Christopher. ‘You must have traversed any number of kingdoms,’ Tahira said, awed. ‘To travel so widely, you must have gone to a great deal of trouble. Papers, permissions...’

‘Oh, I can produce papers if I’m required to,’ he replied, waving his hand dismissively, ‘but I prefer to avoid getting entangled in red tape. Officials trying to be helpful can sometimes be—well, over-inquisitive. And over-suspicious at times too—let’s face it, you were suspicious of me yourself.’

Was he teasing her? No, that light in his eyes, it was more of a challenge. He could play by the rules, but he preferred not to. She didn’t know whether to be impressed or appalled. ‘But—but now I understand why you are here, and I am not an official, Christopher. If you were caught snooping about at this mine, you would be in serious trouble.’

‘Hence my decision to come here in the middle of the night. I have no time to jump through official hoops, Tahira. I must find a way to lay my hands on a piece of ore from this mine as soon as possible. While the turquoise on the amulet is the least valuable component, its rarity is the key to its provenance. And so, like you, I’ve no intentions either of curtailing my activities or of being caught in the act. We’ll make a good team, don’t you think?’

She thought she must be a little mad to be agreeing to this. She thought his recklessness must have infected her. There was no getting away from the fact that the more often she escaped, the more chance there was of her being discovered, but time was no more on her side than on Christopher’s. This man, this stranger who attracted and intimidated her by turn, wanted her help with his most improbable, most intriguing quest. She would never get such an opportunity again. There was no possibility of her refusing.

‘I think we will make an excellent team.’ Smiling, Tahira turned her attention back to the amulet, examining the stones in question more closely. ‘The turquoise is undoubtedly very distinctive, but it’s likely to be a few weeks before any samples are unearthed.’

‘How do you know that?’

She could have kicked herself. ‘An educated guess, nothing more,’ she said lightly.

Christopher looked sceptical, but he chose not to press her. ‘Then I have a few weeks’ grace in which to match the gold and diamonds.’

‘Ah, now I finally understand how I can be of assistance. And I’m pleased to say that I think I can, if what you want is confirmation that diamonds and gold were mined in Nessarah fifteen hundred years ago.’

‘That’s exactly what I need,’ he responded warmly. ‘It would save me a great deal of time and legwork. In return I can help you to explore this site, and by doing so, I very much hope, obtain the final proof I need. A mutually beneficial arrangement, I think you’ll agree?’

She would agree to almost anything when he looked at her like that, his smile teasing and wicked and reckless. ‘I do,’ Tahira said, handing him the amulet back and trying to prevent her own smile from betraying her pleasure. ‘That would be wonderful. Even more so if I can help you prove that this came originally from Nessarah. Though if you do mean to restore it to its owner, and if it is indeed fifteen hundred years old, then presumably you hope to track down a descendant?’

‘You’ve said yourself that it’s extremely valuable, which means it was almost certainly created for a member of the ruling family. In Nessarah’s case, that would be King Haydar.’

‘By the stars!’

‘It seems the obvious conclusion to reach,’ Christopher said. ‘I don’t know why you’re so surprised.’

‘I suppose so,’ Tahira said, trying desperately to contain her astonishment. ‘I am simply—it is all so strange, isn’t it? I came here tonight hoping to find a few shards of pottery or a crude flint. Instead I found you, a man who shares my passion for the past, seeking to resolve the provenance of a beautiful artefact which may have been fashioned right here, in the kingdom I call home. To think that I may even be able to play a part in proving this, that is the stuff of my dreams, Christopher. This encounter—surely it has been arranged by the fates?’

‘I would not go so far as to call it destiny, but I would agree it is serendipitous.’

His smile made her lose her train of thought. Her breathing quickened. He leaned towards her, and as if they were connected by some invisible force, she leaned towards him. He pushed a tendril of her hair back from her forehead, his fingers trailing down her cheek. ‘You smell delightful. What scent is it?’

Her heart was pounding. ‘Jasmine.’ Her voice had faded to a whisper.

‘I have the absurd conviction that your kisses would taste of peaches.’ His mouth hovered mere inches from hers. ‘It is absurd, isn’t it?’

Her mouth went dry. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never been kissed.’

Christopher groaned. ‘The ultimate temptation and the ultimate deterrent. Do you have any idea how utterly delectable you are?’ He shook his head, sitting back. ‘No, of course you don’t, and I should not have said so.’

‘Because you don’t mean it?’

He laughed. ‘I never pay empty compliments. Utterly delectable does not do you justice. I have never met a woman like you.’

‘Now that is a compliment I can very easily return, for I have never met a man like you—though no doubt you will have deduced I have met very few men, and may think it’s not that high a compliment. But I have a feeling it would make no difference if I had.’

‘Tahira, you should not say such things, and you ought not to look at a man with those big eyes when you do, and smile that way, and—you can have no idea of the effect you have when you smile at me like that.’

She felt as if her veins were full of sherbet. She was sparkling, alight. And she felt quite wicked. ‘When I first saw you tonight, I thought to myself, there is a man one would never forget. A dangerous man. With a very dangerous smile.’

‘When I first saw you tonight, and you smiled at me...’ Shaking his head, Christopher looked up at the stars and frowned. ‘Speaking of danger, delightful as your company is, I don’t want you to risk returning in the daylight to wherever it is you’ve sprung from.’

Reluctantly, Tahira too looked up at the sky, and gave a startled exclamation. ‘I had no idea it was so late—or rather, early. I will do everything in my power to help you, but I must go now. Will we meet again here, tomorrow night?’

Christopher jumped up, helping her to her feet. ‘Is it safe for you to do so?’

She rarely risked two night-time excursions in a row, but time was of the essence in so many ways. ‘I’ll be here,’ Tahira said emphatically.

‘Then so too will I.’ He watched her as she pulled on her cloak and headdress, securing her leather satchel to the camel’s saddle. A click of the tongue, and the beast was on its knees waiting for her to mount. Christopher took her hand, pressing it lightly before she clambered into the saddle. ‘Until tomorrow.’

A quick wave, and she headed off, urging the languid beast into a trot. She didn’t look back, but she sensed him watching her fading into the desert landscape.

* * *

Later, as she lay exhausted on her divan, she wondered if he had been a mirage, a figment of her imagination conjured up by the desert sands, a beguiling vision who would melt away in the harsh light of day, never to return. Burying her head under the pillow to block out the light filtering through the high oriel window, Tahira smiled to herself. She would have her answer soon enough.

* * *

The next evening, Christopher closed his notebook, placing it first in a waxed cover before concealing it behind a loose stone in the wall of the abandoned house which had been his temporary home for the last few weeks. It was highly unlikely that anyone would happen across it and if they did, impossible to imagine that they could break his ingenious code, but its very existence, the fact that his work was encoded, would give rise to suspicion, even without the incriminating sketches and maps.

The contents of his notebook went well beyond the remit of the dossier he had offered to compile for Lord Henry Armstrong, payment for the official strings the diplomat had pulled to expedite Christopher’s journey, and the local contacts he had provided. Thankfully, their bargain could be concluded without another face-to-face meeting. Christopher was determined never to set eyes on that loathsome countenance again. When he was done here, the shameful personal tie which neither of them welcomed, the existence of which Christopher had been oblivious almost his whole life, would be severed for ever. That dark past would be obliterated, the slate wiped clean. He would be master of his own destiny, free to embrace the future on his own terms.

A very lucrative future it could be too, if he chose to remain here in Arabia. Ironically, during the last six months, while seeking the owner of the amulet and collating the contents of Lord Armstrong’s dossier, Christopher had also discovered a plethora of hitherto untapped natural resources. The so-called Midas Touch which made him highly sought after as a surveyor was proving every bit as effective here in the Arabian landscape as it had proved in Britain and in Egypt. There was a wealth of ores and minerals just waiting to be exploited. He could easily make his fortune, or facilitate the making of others’ fortunes, if he were so inclined.

He was most emphatically not so inclined, though his meticulous habits dictated that he record every potential location, regardless. In the wrong hands, his very comprehensive findings could prove to be politically explosive.

Reminded of the hands his dossier was due to be delivered into—white, long-fingered, aristocratic, atavistic hands that he never wished to lay eyes on again—he shuddered with revulsion. He would make damned sure he provided only what he had agreed and no more. Bad enough that his lordship would benefit even to the degree Christopher had promised. It would be some consolation to deprive that peer of untold and as yet undiscovered riches. He could think of no man less deserving than that particular man, who had stolen his family, laid waste to his history. A man who placed his ruthless ambition before all else, who cared naught when others bore the consequences of his vile actions, and who bought silence with blood money. Recalling their one and only meeting, Christopher’s hand curled into a tight, painful fist, his mouth set into a vicious snarl. The day he rid himself of the connection could not come a moment too soon.

And it would come. For the first time since he set out on this long journey, he believed the end might be in sight. Unfurling his fist, firmly confining Lord Armstrong to the dark recesses of his mind, Christopher rolled his shoulders, stiff from hours hunched over his makeshift desk. Heading for the outbuilding containing the well, he hauled up a fresh supply of water, stripped himself of his dusty tunic, and made his toilette. The underground spring which fed the well was deep, the water icy as he doused himself with it, stinging his freshly shaved chin. His spare tunic was almost as threadbare as the one he had taken off, but at least it was clean.

Pulling his boots back on, he sat down at the entrance of his temporary dwelling, staring up at the sky as it segued from pale blue to indigo. It was going to be a clear night. A propitious beginning to their exploration of the mine’s environs? Finally, after all this time, he must surely be on the right track. Closing his eyes, he could almost see his future, wavering like a mirage on the edge of his mind, so tantalisingly close.

Perhaps even closer than he imagined, with Tahira’s assistance. Christopher smiled slowly to himself. He was looking forward to seeing her again. Draping his cloak around him, and fastening the igal which held his headdress in place, he closed the door of his makeshift abode and went out to saddle his camel. Who would have thought that a chance meeting would bring about this collision of two people from such impossibly different worlds? He could not have dreamt of encountering a more beautiful, intriguing, exotic companion. That she not only shared his love of the past, but would, with luck, help him close the door on his own shameful history—fate, she had called it, and he had disagreed. But perhaps he had been wrong to do so. It might be that, every now and then, the stars did indeed align.

* * *

The third and innermost courtyard of the Royal Palace of Nessarah was a vast enclosed space, surrounded on all sides by a colonnade of twenty-two marble columns, the walls of which were set with huge mirrors interspersed with elaborate plasterwork covered in gold leaf, the pattern repeated on the ceiling. Divans covered in crimson velvet, tasselled with gold, lined the colonnade at regular intervals, the overall impression being one of lush, shaded opulence. In contrast, the central square of the courtyard was flooded with light.

The high domed ceiling was painted in ultramarine and studded with gold stars. The lower walls were covered in blue and white tiles, the higher ones painted a soft dove-grey, and the arched windows, deliberately set far too high for anyone to peer either in or out, allowed light to dapple the rich silk carpets and terracotta floor tiles. The inner courtyard was, like every other room in the harem complex, beautiful, luxurious, and utterly closed off to the outside world. Or so King Haydar and his only son, Prince Ghutrif, believed. Tahira, the eldest of the royal princesses, knew better.

The crystal chandelier which hung from the central point of the dome held exactly one-hundred-and-twenty-two candles. Tahira knew this for certain, for she had counted them numerous times in an attempt to pass the hours until darkness fell, forcing herself to lie still on the divan, refusing to consult her little jewelled timepiece yet again. She could feel it ticking now where it nestled, concealed beneath her clothing, marking out the hours, minutes, seconds, until she was once more free.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother’s wife, Juwan, enter the courtyard from the door which led to the Crown Princess’s official quarters. Heavy with her second child, which she determinedly proclaimed to all would this time prove to be a prized son, Juwan scanned the room, a frown drawing her finely arched brows together, which cleared as her gaze alighted on her prey.

Quickly closing her eyes, Tahira feigned sleep, but as Juwan sank on to the divan beside her with small sigh, she accepted the inevitable and sat up.

‘Juwan, you look fatigued, don’t you think you should rest, given your condition? It would be better if I left you in peace to do so.’ She stood, arranging a number of silk and velvet cushions invitingly, but although her sister-in-law lowered herself slowly down, rubbing the small of her back, she shook her head when Tahira made to leave.

‘No, stay with me a while. I wish to have a little talk with you.’

Tahira’s heart sank, for since the official visit from Murimon’s Chief Adviser two weeks ago which put an abrupt end to her betrothal, she had endured several such little talks or, more accurately, lectures. Juwan had made it clear—as if Tahira could possibly be in any doubt—that she was very deeply in disgrace. Resigning herself to the inevitable, from force of habit keeping her expression carefully neutral, Tahira pulled a large cushion to face the divan and sank down on to it, crossing her legs.

‘Only a few more weeks now, until your baby arrives. You must grow weary of waiting,’ she said brightly, in an attempt to divert her sister-in-law on to her favourite subject.

Juwan folded her hands over her mountainous stomach. ‘When the time is right, my fine son will grace us with his presence. It is his father who is impatient. Your brother is naturally anxious,’ she added hastily, lest her words be construed as any form or criticism, ‘to finally welcome his long-awaited heir. A man needs a son. I pray I do not let my husband down again.’

Ghutrif had demonstrated little interest in his daughter. Little wonder that Juwan refused to countenance the possibility of a second female child. Though every fibre of her being rebelled, Tahira could not dispute the facts. Here in the royal palace, patriarchal rule had always been both culturally entrenched and rigorously enforced, regardless of the slowly changing outside world. Here in the Nessarah harem, the female of the species was defined by her ability to produce more males to continue the line, or alternatively to enrich the kingdom by means of advantageous marriage contracts.

‘As you know,’ Juwan said, returning to the subject of her visit, ‘this most unfortunate second broken betrothal of yours has upset your brother and father a great deal.’

‘My first betrothed died unexpectedly. That was far more unfortunate for him than me, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Indeed it was. And only a matter of weeks before the marriage, in a most tragic and untimely accident.’

Tahira bit her tongue. Of course she would never have wished Prince Butrus dead, but she could not lie to herself. The tragic news had also come as a huge relief.

‘Clearly no blame can be laid at your door for that first instance,’ Juwan reluctantly conceded, ‘but now it has happened again, and involving the very same royal family. It does not reflect well on you.’

‘I was not the one who tore up the marriage contract,’ Tahira retorted indignantly. ‘And Prince Kadar, I understand, compensated our family far more generously than is customary in such circumstances.’

Juwan pursed her lips. ‘You see, this is another example of the many character traits which cause my husband great concern. Dowries, compensation, these are not matters we women should be discussing. No matter how much recompense your family may have received, the stain of shame clings to you, yet your behaviour in no way reflects this.’

‘What do you expect me to do, hide in a corner crying, or simply keep my head permanently bowed and my mouth permanently closed?’

‘That would certainly be a good start,’ Juwan replied tartly. ‘You set a very poor example to your sisters, continuing as if nothing has happened.’

‘Because as far as I’m concerned nothing did happen!’ Tahira exclaimed, her temper rising. ‘The one and only time I met Prince Kadar of Murimon, we were heavily chaperoned, and all communication was carried out on my behalf by my brother. I did nothing and I said nothing. The outcome is not my fault.’

‘You forget,’ Juwan said, ‘that I was one of the chaperons present to protect your honour. Though your father and my husband may have been oblivious, you overlook the fact that I too have been raised in the confines of the harem, and I too understand the unspoken language, the nuances of the body women such as we have learned to perfect. You made your indifference to the prince very clear without recourse to words.’

There was no point in denying the truth of this. Tahira had from the first fought both betrothals as furiously as was possible against the implacable wall of her brother’s determination to marry her off, to absolutely no effect. The fates had twice intervened in her favour, but she doubted they would do so again.

It was time to deploy a risky strategy. ‘If there is such a very large stain of shame attached to me, perhaps we should accept that I am simply not marriageable,’ Tahira said. ‘Very soon now, you will have your hands full taking care of your new son as well as your daughter. You will not wish to be distracted by having to look after the welfare of my younger sisters too. Let me be their official chaperon. Let me take the burden of that responsibility from you. I would be content with that role and would carry it out dutifully.’

‘So now, finally, you allow your true colours to show,’ Juwan said disdainfully. ‘Ghutrif and I are of one mind, Tahira. Your one and only duty, the purpose for which you have been bred, is to enhance the power and wealth of Nessarah through marriage. As the wife of the Crown Prince, it is my duty to ensure that your sisters are taken care of and married appropriately when the time comes, not yours.’

‘Juwan, I promised my mother...’

‘Tahira, that is another lesson which you have signally failed to learn. Your allegiance is not to a woman fourteen years dead, but to your brother, and to myself as his consort. Our wish is to have you married as soon as possible, sparing us all the pain of your most childish behaviour in defying us. Ghutrif will have his way. The easiest thing for yourself and the sisters you claim to love is to accept the inevitable with good grace.’

‘I do not claim to love my sisters. I love them with all my heart. Ever since our mama died...’

‘Spare me.’ Juwan made no attempt to hide her animosity. ‘You think yourself a surrogate mother to those three, but you are serving them very ill. It is not only my husband who believes you are an unhealthy influence. I see it for myself, the effect you have on them—but Tahira says, but Tahira doesn’t think—so many times every single day I hear those words. I am the wife of the Crown Prince, this is my harem, those girls have a duty to obey me without question.’

‘I don’t teach them disobedience, but I will not deny that I do encourage them to question what does not seem right or fair. My mother raised me to—’

‘Your mother is long dead,’ Juwan spat. ‘Your mother, who put her daughters before her only son, who failed to give Ghutrif his rightful place as the King in waiting. Your mother is no shining example to follow.’

Tahira struggled, but no amount of deep breaths and clenched fists could hold back the tears which gathered on her lashes. It was far too late now for her to rein her emotions in. ‘Ghutrif was always jealous, especially of me. You must not believe the stories he tells, for you must know how he slants things, colours things...’

‘How dare you criticise my husband!’ Juwan heaved herself to her feet. ‘Ghutrif is right. The sooner you are gone from here, the better. We cannot risk those other three following your bad example. It is time they learned that it is in everyone’s interests, not least their own, to let you go. Time they learned how selfish they have been. Alimah and Durrah in particular are forever begging me to ask my husband not to make another match for you.’

‘They are young. Do not judge them too harshly. Ishraq is more reconciled to her fate.’

‘Perhaps, but where you lead they will all follow eventually, even Ishraq. Do you really want them to reject the excellent marriages your brother will make for them? Do you wish to deprive them of the joy of children of their own?’

‘No, of course I do not! Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m offering to give up any prospect of marriage in order to better prepare them for theirs.’

‘Have you asked them if that’s what they want, for their dearest sister to sacrifice so much for them?’

‘It’s no great sacrifice from my perspective.’

Juwan shook her head, smiling in that condescending way that made Tahira wish to knock her turban off. ‘You have been a mother to those three for many years, but they no longer require a mother. Ishraq is almost twenty years old, more than ready for marriage. You are spoiling her chances and, fiercely loyal as she is, you may believe me when I tell you that she is becoming frustrated with your intransigence. She wants to establish her own harem, to raise her own family. As for Alimah and Durrah, they may be young yet, but in three or four years’ time they too will wish to fly this nest. It is the natural order of things. Only you are behaving unnaturally. Fortunately, though you may not believe it, my husband and I know what is best for you. The Murimon alliance would have been an excellent one, but that ship has sailed,’ Juwan said brusquely. ‘What matters now is to find you a replacement husband as a matter of urgency. You are twenty-four years old, a full three years older than I, but not yet past marrying age. The match being arranged for you will not be so prestigious, but you had better make sure you accept it with alacrity.’

Panic made Tahira forget herself. She clutched at Juwan’s sleeve. ‘Has my brother—or goodness, don’t tell me that my father...?’

Juwan carefully removed her fingers. ‘As you know perfectly well, our beloved King Haydar is far too frail to take an active role in any matters of state, and entrusts my dear husband to act on his behalf. Ghutrif is expending a great deal of energy in order to secure a suitable husband for you and is making excellent progress. I hope you will be suitably grateful. This harem has become a place of turmoil when it should be an oasis of calm while I await the birth of my son. If you cannot act out of a sense of duty towards me or my husband, demonstrate your avowed love for your sisters by embracing the next offer made for your hand.’ Juwan glanced up at the row of high arched windows. ‘It grows dark, long past time for me to retire. I bid you goodnight.’

* * *

Tahira watched her sister-in-law sway across the courtyard like a dhow in full sail before making swiftly for her own quarters, her thoughts already turning to the night ahead. She would have to be extremely careful. The merest hint of her sense of excited anticipation might arouse suspicion. Her sister-in-law saw a great deal more than she let on. They all did, here in the stifling atmosphere of the official harem, and no doubt it was the same over the wall, in the unofficial harem inhabited by her brother’s concubines. There was little else to do save to observe and to gossip, for those who had not the key to freedom.

But Tahira did. Her heart jumped. Butterflies fluttered in her tummy. Juwan’s little talk had left her feeling both furious and defiant. She did not want to accept the stark truth which had been laid out before her. She did not want to think of the fate which imminently awaited her, or the pain of separation it implied. She did not want to admit that there was any truth in anything Juwan said. All she wanted was to escape. The sensible thing would be to keep her head down, play the supplicant, act the penitent. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, Christopher was awaiting her.

Christopher. The perfect antidote to her unpalatable reality. A man with no surname and precious little background. A man of mystery with a mystery of his own to resolve. He had most certainly not told her the full story behind that priceless amulet, a fifteen-hundred-year-old relic that might even prove to be part of her very own heritage. How she had managed to contain her astonishment when she realised it might actually have been passed down through the generations of her own family was anyone’s guess. One of her own ancestors might actually have worn it. When she touched it, she had sensed the connection, she was certain of it. Just thinking about it gave her goose bumps. It was not just serendipity. The fates had placed her there at the mine last night, they meant her to help Christopher solve the mystery of the amulet. She, who knew better than anyone in the whole of Nessarah the history of the kingdom’s mines. She, who might even be a direct descendant of the person for whom the amulet was fashioned. No wonder it seemed to speak to her heart. She laughed at herself for being so fanciful, but she believed it to be true all the same.

Christopher, however, felt no such attachment to the amulet. Her smile faded as she recalled his expression when he looked at it. Not a precious link to a distant past, but an unwelcome link to his own history that he wanted to sever. How quickly his mood had swung last night. He had looked at the beautiful piece of jewellery with such loathing. That devil-may-care façade she found so attractive hid a much darker, more tortured soul. Christopher was not a man she would care to cross.

But he was definitely a man she wanted to know better. Tahira wrapped her arms around herself. A man who saw her, a woman without a royal title or impeccable blue-blooded lineage, but like him, without a name and with precious little background. Christopher had made it very clear he liked what he saw. That a man so vital, so wildly attractive could be attracted to her—she couldn’t quite believe it. Last night, she had rather desperately wanted him to kiss her. The ultimate temptation and the ultimate deterrent, he had called her innocence. Was it wrong of her to wish that innocence away?

Yes, Tahira acknowledged with a wicked smile, very wrong but very appealing. Not that she would ever dare surrender what amounted to her most marketable asset, but there was no harm in travelling a very little way down the sinful path, when no one would ever know, was there? If one thing had become clear from her discussion with Juwan, it was that the days of her current life were severely numbered.

Talking of time! Tahira checked her watch, and gave a gasp of surprise. It was later than she realised. More than time for her to assume the garb of her alter ego and escape from the harem under cover of darkness, to keep her assignation with the mysterious and brooding foreigner. After all, it would be foolish not to take maximum advantage of what little time, and personal freedom, she had left.

Chapter Three

‘Do you think the early indications are encouraging?’

Christopher dropped down on to the sand beside Tahira. They were sitting at the base of the rocky outcrop, on the opposite side from the mine entrance. ‘It is too soon to make any judgement as yet, we have only examined a small section of the site so far.’

‘I understand that. It is only that I so desperately want this to be the turquoise mine you have been searching for.’

‘No one could wish that more than I.’ They had not uncovered a shred of evidence of mining activity in ancient times in the course of the night. Could his instincts be wrong? Christopher wondered. No, he would not contemplate that possibility. Instead, he contemplated the woman seated opposite him. While they worked together, her knowledge and enthusiasm had made it easy to become absorbed in seeking evidence of the past, but now, seated within inches of her graceful, sensuous body, her glossy fall of hair, he was once again acutely aware of her allure.

‘It is a beautiful night,’ Tahira said, looking wistfully up at the sky. ‘How I would love to sleep under the stars. To wake in the cool, fresh dawn, to see the desert come alive at the beginning of a new day, to have nothing around me save the sky and the sand.’

‘What’s stopping you?’ he asked, distracted by the image of her newly woken, rumpled from sleep.

‘I cannot risk returning in daylight,’ she answered, and he castigated himself for his thoughtless question, when he saw her sad little smile. ‘Though to be honest,’ she added, ‘if I were caught, I can’t see how the punishment could be any worse than the fate they have already planned for me.’

‘Fate? What fate? What do you mean, punishment? Tahira, do they suspect—?’

‘Nothing,’ she interrupted hastily. ‘I only meant...’ She looked away, shielding her eyes with her lids, and gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘My brother’s wife had one of her little talks with me earlier. They have become a tediously regular thing, and she put me quite out of temper for her words were obviously his, but he does not deign to speak to me himself. I have always known that my freedom would come to an end eventually, now I know it will be sooner, rather than later. This could well be my last opportunity to explore our ancient heritage. I hope for my sake as well as yours that it proves fruitful.’

Her smile was forced, her voice forlorn. Christopher covered her hand with both of his. ‘Why so? If no one knows that you escape...’

‘I cannot escape marriage, and that is my fate. One I have been raised to, after all, and so one I should be able to accept with good grace.’

He should not have been surprised. What was more surprising was that such a beautiful woman was not already married. Christopher dropped her hand. ‘You are betrothed?’

Tahira shook her head. ‘I was. Have been. Twice. And both times, it has come to nothing.’ Another sigh, and a little shrug. ‘What I deem to be two fortunate escapes, my sister-in-law tells me have placed a shameful stain upon my character. A stain so obvious that I am surprised you have not commented on it.’

‘Good Lord,’ Christopher exclaimed, resorting to English. His travels had taught him to be wary of criticising the customs of the many kingdoms he had traversed, but his own recently discovered history meant this was one thing guaranteed to make him reach instinctively for his scimitar. He did so now. ‘Are they forcing you to marry against your will?’

‘No!’ She covered the hand resting on his sword hilt with her own. ‘No, it is not like that.’

‘You do not have to do as they bid you, Tahira.’

She sighed, shaking her head. ‘If I do not do as they wish, it is not only I who would suffer the consequences, but my sisters. The reason my sister-in-law’s little chat has put me so out of sorts is that I can’t dispute the facts, much as I’d like to. It is my duty to marry, my brother’s duty to provide me with a suitable husband.’

‘Your brother! I thought you said your father was still alive.’

‘He is, but he is very frail. It is my brother who reigns, in all but name.’

‘Holds the reins, you mean?’

‘Oh! Yes, that’s what I meant, of course.’

The situation could not but revolt him, could not but remind him of another young woman destined to play the dynastic pawn, powerless to resist the will of her family, no matter what her own wishes might have been. Had she lived, would she have braced herself, as Tahira was doing, to bend her will to theirs? Or would she have resisted, and by doing so reshaped both their lives?

He would never know, and it was pointless speculating, Christopher told himself sternly. Thirty years ago, it was ancient history now. He should be wary of making comparisons, wary of allowing his judgement to be clouded by doing so. ‘Your brother,’ he said gruffly, ‘he will surely take your wishes into account? If you did not like the man...’

‘My brother would probably mark that a point in his favour,’ Tahira interjected bitterly.

‘You can’t mean that!’

‘Do you have any brothers, Christopher?’

I have five daughters, sir. That hated voice. ‘No,’ he said, ‘no brothers.’

‘You are fortunate. My brother is two years younger than me, but he has always demanded deference from everyone, and when he does not receive it, he is adept at finding ways to punish any miscreants. When I was little, it took the form of childish vindictiveness. Spoiling my games with my sisters, breaking our playthings, pinching, kicking, biting. It is no wonder that my sisters and I despise him. But now that he is in charge of our household, he can happily play the despot, pay us back for all those years when we would not love him, or pay homage to him.’

‘You exaggerate, surely? A grown man would not act so pettily.’

‘My brother’s actions are—they cannot be questioned,’ Tahira said, her lip curling. ‘Now he has decided that I am a bad influence on my sisters, he is determined to separate us.’ She blinked furiously. ‘That is why I find it so hard to reconcile myself to doing my duty. I have another duty, to the dead. I promised Mama, you see, that I would look after my sisters.’

‘You clearly love them very much.’

‘Yes.’ She clasped her arms tightly around herself. ‘More than anything. When Mama died, I was ten years old, four years older than my next sister. I have kept my promise to look after them all these years. The youngest two don’t know another mother.’ She bit her lip, clearly making a huge effort not to cry. ‘When my brother finds a husband for me I will be forced to break my promise and leave them. My sister-in-law said only tonight that I am making everyone unhappy, that I am being selfish, spoiling my next sister’s chances. She says that they no longer need me. I know she wants nothing more than to have me gone, but I can’t help wondering if some of what she says might be true.’

A single tear ran down her cheek. She brushed it hastily away, and his hand too, when he reached instinctively to comfort her. ‘No, don’t say you feel sorry for me. In my heart I have always known this day would come, but I simply hoped—however, I can no longer hope. You see now why it means so much to me, to explore this site, to help you with your quest?’

What could he say? Certainly not what was on his mind, which was to suggest that she told her brother to go and drown himself in an oasis. So he clutched weakly at a straw. ‘Your brother has not yet found another suitable candidate for your hand?’

‘Not yet, but he is actively seeking one.’ Tahira had control of herself now. She unfolded her arms, pushing her long plait of hair back over her shoulder. ‘My sister-in-law was right about one thing. I have been making everyone’s lives miserable, myself included, but most especially my sisters. I had not quite appreciated—but now I do. I must resign myself to my fate and try to reconcile them to my leaving.’

Christopher clutched at another straw. ‘It won’t be for ever,’ he said. ‘I’m presuming your husband will be a local Nessarah man. You will be allowed to visit your sisters regularly, I’m sure.’

She flinched, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Gazing down at her hands once more, her brows drew together in a frown. What was she thinking? The frown cleared. When she looked up, her smile was forced. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to share it with him. ‘There,’ Tahira said, ‘now you know my all-too-common fate, let us talk no more of it. You are fortunate, being free to go wherever you choose, whenever you choose. Unlike me, you are in charge of your own destiny.’

‘Not yet, but I will be.’ It was no good, he couldn’t let it go, no matter how much she wanted him to. ‘Your situation, however, is intolerable.’

‘No. In many ways I am very fortunate. There are many women who would give a great deal to be in my shoes. I should remember that.’

‘But...’

‘I must accept the inevitable because there is nothing I can do to change it. I am trying very hard to do so, Christopher, please don’t make it even harder for me.’

He swore under his breath. ‘I’m sorry. We are from very different worlds, but it seems there are some things—I was informed recently that I was fortunate to be born a man. Though it goes against the grain with me to accept any words spoken by that particular man, it seems he was in this instance right. Is there truly nothing you can do?’

‘Only what I have already decided, which is to make the most of my time, helping you here. Unless you can spirit me away on a flying carpet, of course.’

This time, he accepted her change of subject. Further discussion was futile. ‘I’ll check if there is a magic carpet stall at the bazaar,’ Christopher replied. ‘Where would you like to fly to if there is?’

* * *

Relieved, Tahira smiled. ‘Somewhere far away from here. Somewhere which doesn’t exist, or a place that is hidden by the mists of time, visible only to me. A ruined city, or even better, my own little oasis, a place where I can pitch a tent and keep goats and grow fruit.’

Christopher laughed. ‘You wish for the life of a peasant. Why not wish for a sumptuous palace, a posse of servants to gratify your every whim?’

‘The very last thing I’d want,’ Tahira replied with an inward shudder. He did not understand. How could he, when he had no idea of her true station? Was it wrong of her to keep him in the dark? But if she told him, it would change everything. She would no longer be simply herself. He would look at her and see all the trappings she left behind at the palace—if he looked at her at all, for wasn’t it more likely that he would put an immediate end to their time together? And rightly so, for if they were discovered together, everyone would assume the worst, and even though his nationality might earn him some protection, at the very least he would be thrown into prison.

It was wrong of her. While Christopher could admire the courage of an ordinary female for escaping her home, pursuing her dreams, rebelling against the fate her family planned for her, he would be shocked that a princess of royal blood could behave so indecorously. Her breeding, her position, would form an impenetrable wall between them.

Yet the chances of them being caught together were so very slim. And even if they were discovered, she had never been seen in public without her cloak and veil. No one would recognise her. No, it was too unlikely to worry about. If she were to be caught at all, it would be entering or leaving the palace, and since that had not happened yet, despite a few close shaves—she was worrying over nothing.

Besides, she desperately wanted to help Christopher to solve the mystery of the amulet. She wanted time to prove that the ancients had mined turquoise here. The conclusion of his quest would bring their time together to a natural end soon enough. Surely it wasn’t too much to expect, to make the most of however many days or weeks it turned out to be? Too much to expect, yes, but surely not too much to ask. She needed to store up memories to sustain her for the rest of her life.

A quirked eyebrow told Tahira that she’d been silent for too long. ‘I was dreaming of my life as a goatherd.’

‘You don’t mean it, do you? That’s what you’d have, if you could have any wish?’

‘No, I am not so silly as to think I could really survive in such a way.’

‘What would you wish for then?’

‘Right now? Oh, silly things. I’d like to take a swim in an oasis. Race a horse across the desert. Climb to the top of a huge sand dune and slide down it. Awake in the desert dawn. But I’ve already mentioned that one.’

‘But these are things anyone could do.’

‘I can’t,’ Tahira said simply. ‘I am not free to spend the night in the desert. Even if I could find an oasis big enough to swim in, I would not dare do so for fear of drowning alone. I have no horse, and as for the dune—I can imagine the feeling, but the practicalities elude me—how does one slide down sand? You see, they are modest dreams, but no more achievable for me than flying on a magic carpet.’

‘And that is it, the sum total of your desires?’

She recalled her earlier thoughts. Dare she? He was so close, she could feel the heat from his body. He smelled of warm skin, lemon soap, something else distinctively masculine. Her heart was pounding. What if he refused? But if she did not ask...

‘I wish that you would kiss me, Christopher.’

He inhaled sharply. ‘Tahira...’

‘That was unfair of me. Ignore me.’

‘Tahira, you are impossible to ignore.’ He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. ‘Your wish is my command.’

* * *

He kissed her. He could not resist kissing her. She did not taste of ripe peaches. She tasted of spices and of heat, exotic and sultry, exactly as she looked, and she set him on fire. Christopher struggled to keep the kiss gentle, struggled not to crush her delectable body to him. He flattened his palm over the sweep of her spine, the swathe of her hair silky against his calloused skin.

She sighed, the sweetest sound, and nestled closer to him. She was all sensuous curves, scented with jasmine. He licked his way along her bottom lip, then kissed her again as her mouth opened in response. Her fingers curled into his hair. Her breasts brushed against his chest. She angled her mouth, and she kissed him back, and he felt his groin tighten, felt the blood rush, and Tahira let out that soft sigh again, an invitation to pleasure he could not refuse. He kissed her again, his mouth shaping hers, but only for moments before she responded and he pulled her tight against him into a kiss he could easily have drowned in.

Which realisation made him tear himself away. She stared at him wide-eyed, lips parted in an innocently seductive smile that made him want to pull her back into his arms again for more. ‘Tahira...’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘I beg you do not apologise. I wanted you to do that.’

‘The desire,’ Christopher replied with a short laugh, ‘was entirely mutual.’

‘Really? Though that was my first kiss, I could tell it was not yours.’

Her words were an apt reminder—not that he needed one. ‘Which is precisely why I should not have kissed you.’ He could do nothing about his tainted heritage, but he had no intentions of allowing history to repeat itself. He was no seducer, nor ever would be! ‘Your innocence is entirely safe with me, I promise you. To take such a liberty, I of all people—’ He broke off, shaking his head to dispel the memory her words had unwittingly stirred.

‘But you did not. My instincts told me last night that you are an honourable man.’

‘It is not simply a matter of honour, Tahira.’

‘It was just a kiss,’ she said, clearly perplexed by his vehemence. ‘I don’t understand why—oh!’ She covered her mouth, looking horrified. ‘Do you mean that you have taken such a liberty in the past?’

‘No! Absolutely not. I do not refer to myself.’

‘Then who...?’

‘It doesn’t matter. You are right. It was just a kiss.’

Just a kiss. He took her hand. Her fingers were long and slim, her nails patterned with henna. His bloodline did not define him. He was nothing like that man, nor ever would be. ‘Just a kiss,’ he repeated, ‘but a very delightful one.’

She was blushing charmingly. ‘Do you mean that? You forget, I have no experience and am therefore in no position to judge.’

‘I don’t forget, Tahira.’ He cupped her chin in the palm of his hand. ‘Your innocence is something I would never forget, never take advantage of, I swear.’

‘If I was betrothed, you would not have kissed me, would you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘So I may assume you are also free?’

‘I am neither betrothed nor indeed married, if that is what you are asking. In fact, I doubt the woman exists, who would tolerate my investing every penny I earn in excavating holes in the ground. Nor would any, I am certain, endure the travails of traipsing around Egypt, living in caves and tents while I spend most of my waking hours digging up bones.’

‘It sounds to me like paradise,’ Tahira said whimsically. ‘I wish I could live such a life.’

‘Be careful what you wish for. The reality is hot, exhausting, uncomfortable, often tedious, extremely hard work for little reward.’

‘What you mean is that I’m completely unfit for such a life.’ Her smile wobbled. ‘I do understand the difference between dreams and reality, Christopher. And my reality—at least I can be reasonably sure that I’m fit for purpose as a wife. It’s what I was raised to be, after all.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to patronise you.’ Or hurt her, which he clearly had.

But Tahira shrugged. ‘You spoke the truth. We are, as you have pointed out, from very different worlds.’

‘Yet here we are, together.’

She smiled at that. ‘A hiatus from reality.’

‘Sadly,’ Christopher said, looking up at the sky, ‘one which must draw to a close for tonight. Isn’t it high time you left, if you are to be back before dawn?’

‘Yes.’

Turning away, Tahira stumbled. As he caught her, peering down at the sand to see what had tripped her up, Christopher saw not a rock, not the gnarled root of a shrub, but something gleaming dully. Pulling it free from the sand and dried mud which encased it, he stared at the object in astonishment. ‘It’s a pot.’

His heart began to pound as he rubbed the surface clean. ‘A silver vessel,’ he said, turning it over in his hands to examine the patina and shape. ‘Very old.’

He could see his excitement reflected in her face. ‘I’ve never seen anything—never found anything—Christopher, what do you think it means?’

He shook his head, though he couldn’t suppress his own smile. ‘This is not the kind of item a lowly miner would own.’ His laughter echoed into the desert night. ‘It means we most definitely have more work to do here.’

* * *

Christopher had visited many souks and market places throughout Arabia, but the bazaar in the centre of Nessarah’s main city, which he decided to visit the next morning, not to buy a flying carpet but for a far more serious purpose, took his breath away. The building itself was unremarkable, white painted with narrow slits for windows which were cut seemingly at random into the fortress-like walls. The geometric octagonal shape of the structure was the only clue that what was contained behind the massive wooden doors which stood open wide to the early morning sunshine was the antithesis of plain.

The entrance led through a narrow passage to a huge central atrium which soared the full height of the building. Light poured down from the apex of the vaulted ceiling, a dome which had been sliced open to the sky. The dome itself was moulded in an elaborate pattern to give the impression of overlapping tiles in gold and turquoise, while the supporting pillars and columns were also brightly patterned in vivid colours of emerald, mustard yellow, cobalt and white. Terracotta tiles paved the ground, a fountain populated by a shoal of tiny fish stood under the open dome, and low divans were scattered invitingly for weary shoppers to rest their feet and pass the time of day.

The bazaar was bustling with women gossiping, men haggling, children playing. Inured to the curiosity his shock of blonde hair and distinctive blue eyes aroused, Christopher made no attempt to disguise his foreignness and instead adopted the air of bland indifference which, while it did nothing to suppress the stares and whispered asides, at least discouraged the curious from approaching him directly.

The arcade of shops ran around the outer walls on two levels, the arched entranceways to each decorated in highly individual styles, the startling variety of goods on sale evidence of Nessarah’s wealth. This kingdom was reputedly the richest in the whole of southern Arabia. It appeared that claim might be justified. Wandering past a spice-seller, Christopher was struck as he always was, not just by the heady aroma, but by the myriad colours, the care the owner had taken with the displays of produce, stringing up dried chillies like jewellery, moulding powdered spices into pyramid shapes ranged in an order that segued from the warm gold of turmeric to the deep, dark red of paprika and the burnt ochre of sumac. The confectionery stall next door housed sweetmeats stacked into complex towers, and next door again, nuts, pulses and grains were laid out in boxes and sacks with a pleasing symmetry. Beaten copper in every form was the province of the next shop in the arcade. Polished platters in every size, precarious stacks of cooking pots, ewers and bowls, trays and moulds, plain and decorated, the choice was infinite. Next door, a glittering display of decorative silver dishes, pierced and chased, urns and vases, mirrors, jewellery boxes and bonbon dishes.

He wandered on, intent on finding the section of the market which had brought him here, yet careful to let none see that he had a purpose other than aimless browsing. Silver gave way to gold. Decorative items gave way to jewellery. Finally, he found it, tucked away, behind a closed screen, the entrance to the area of the bazaar given over to the trade in precious stones. But what to do? A huge mountain of a man dressed in the royal livery of crimson and white stood guard. A massive paw placed on his chest forbade Christopher from proceeding any further. ‘By invitation of Prince Ghutrif only.’

Christopher bowed and backed away, his suspicions confirmed. The diamond trade in Nessarah was indeed tightly controlled by the royal family. It was frustrating, but after all, no less than he had expected. He would simply have to formulate a strategy, for he must match the stones of his amulet against those being mined here. He smiled to himself. As a last resort, he would find a way to confront the man who controlled the trade, Prince Ghutrif himself, though he wasn’t absolutely sure that a previously successful tactic of deliberately getting himself arrested was such a good idea. It had worked well enough in Qaryma, but Prince Azhar was a well-travelled man of the world. The little he had heard of Prince Ghutrif led him to think that that he was unlikely to be received with civility, let alone hospitality.

He would think of something. There was certainly no need to show his hand just yet. With a polite nod of farewell to the watchful guard, Christopher retreated. The tinkling of a fountain drew him to a small courtyard, where mint tea was being served. A pleasant place to gather his thoughts, and to listen to the gossip. One never knew what nugget of valuable information one might overhear, but he had taken only one sip from his glass, when a squad of guardsmen entered. They wore the royal colours. He braced himself for arrest. Despite his low profile, his presence in Nessarah had clearly been detected, and was being investigated. After visiting so many kingdoms in the past six months, he supposed it was inevitable that word had got out. He set down his glass, careful to keep his expression one of mild enquiry.

‘Greetings, Stranger.’

Christopher made a formal bow.

The palace guard in Nessarah were considerably more polite than some others he had encountered. ‘With regret, we must ask you to leave the bazaar with immediate effect.’

Extremely polite!

‘The bazaar is temporarily closed to the public in order to allow a royal shopping trip to take place. You may return in two hours.’

‘I would have thought King Haydar would have any number of people to do his shopping for him,’ Christopher exclaimed in surprise.

The man cast a glance over his shoulder. ‘It is the royal princesses who are gracing the bazaar with their presence. Please,’ he added hastily as another of the coterie approached him, ‘you must go now, quickly.’

He did as he was bid, following the crowds of people making for the central atrium. There were small posses of royal guards everywhere, some standing sentry, others sweeping through the warren of shops and stores, still others issuing urgent instructions to anxious-looking storekeepers. He left the rapidly emptying central atrium and stepped out into the blazing mid-morning sunshine, where most of the people stood, clearly eager for a glimpse of the royal cortège. Fascinated, Christopher stood too, finding a position on the far edge of the crowd.

The royal entourage arrived in a magnificent caravan of camels, flanked by two sentry lines of heavily armed guards on foot. Ten women, female attendants or ladies in waiting, in two rows of five were cloaked and veiled in finest silk. Their camels were also elaborately dressed, with colourful tasselled saddle bags, silver bells tinkling from the reins, braided necklaces and chest bands adorning the beasts themselves. Amidst them, what must be the princesses’ own mounts, pure white thoroughbred camels, which were adorned with pearls and semi-precious stones. Their saddles, unlike the others, were canopied to shield them from the sun.

Five princesses, women or girls, it was difficult to tell, for they were swathed in silk, head to toe and all of their faces, save the slit left for their eyes, leaving absolutely everything to the imagination. King Haydar’s most valuable assets, the kingdom’s most exclusive and reclusive females.

They would be riding in strict order of seniority, Christopher knew. As they approached, the crowds fell to their knees in obeisance and he followed suit. All eyes were lowered. It was disrespectful to look at the princesses, but on the assumption that the princesses were modestly keeping their eyes to the ground too, Christopher risked a glance.

He remembered now, what he had quite forgotten, that a princess of Nessarah was betrothed to Prince Kadar of Murimon. Now he looked more closely, he saw that the one in front was with child. Prince Ghutrif’s wife, he assumed, and so it must be the next one, clad in the colours of the setting sun, who was destined for the kingdom of Murimon. Impossible to determine anything of her, beneath those voluminous layers. He wondered idly whether the prince had been permitted to unwrap his prize before proposing. Most likely the match had been made for dynastic reasons. Bloodlines and power, that was what princes traded in, whether in Arabia or England. The story went that Prinny had agreed to marry Princess Caroline without meeting her. Not exactly the best example of the likely outcome of such random alliances. Though it was most unfair of him to compare the scholarly Prince Kadar with Prinny, it was barbaric, to think that the princess would have no choice in the matter. One reason, at least, to be thankful that the blood flowing through his veins precluded any dynastic match-making.

The royal caravan passed by and Christopher got to his feet with the rest of the crowd, his thoughts turning to Tahira. No dynastic power would be traded, no royal treaties nor alliances would be created by her marriage. Her wedding robes would not be dripping with precious jewels, her dowry most likely consisted of linens and pewter, but in one sense her fate would be the same. She would be married to a man of another’s choosing. She would be passed from her family to his like a—a parcel. Her worth would be measured by the sons she produced. He knew that it was a common enough fate, he knew that there were far worse, but still, it made him furious. He pictured her, separated from her beloved sisters, deprived of the freedom to escape into the desert night, effectively caged like one of the lionesses in the Tower of London, pacing back and forward in the home forced upon her, withering, her spirit broken.

It appalled him, but there was nothing he could do to change her fate. He couldn’t whisk her away on a magic carpet or even a white charger. Appealing as the fantasy might be, the reality was utterly impractical. She had nowhere to run to, no one to take her in, and he certainly had no place for her in his life. So why on earth was he even thinking about it! He recollected that one of Tahira’s dreams was to gallop across the desert on horseback. Such a simple wish. He wished he could indulge her whim.

Stupid thought. He had more than enough on his plate without adding any unnecessary distractions. For a start, he had no access to horses. Though there were thoroughbreds aplenty here in Bedouin country, the Bedouins were not exactly renowned for their generosity with their horseflesh. Quite the contrary, in fact, and entirely irrelevant. His entire focus must be on his quest.

Though it was not, for the moment, all consuming. He had to wait on an opportunity to acquire a sample of the turquoise from the mine once the miners had reached the ore seam. In the meantime, he had to find evidence that the mine was worked fifteen hundred years ago, but he could only search for that at night. He had to match his diamonds against samples from other mines in Nessarah. That was a trickier problem, regarding a deal of thought, now he knew the set up in the bazaar. But as to diamond and gold mines in Nessarah contemporary to the amulet—now there he was fortunate, for Tahira seemed pretty sure she’d be able to confirm those. Something which surely merited a favour in return.

He had time on his hands. Why not use it to surprise her, to please her? Cudgelling his brain, trying to recall her other wishes, Christopher smiled softly to himself. A bit of ingenuity, that was all that was required, and some lateral thinking. He prided himself on possessing both. He was already looking forward to the challenge.

* * *

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