THE WARLORD'S DAUGHTER
CHAPTER 4
Melisande retreated to her rooms and made no plans to stir from there until tomorrow. She would beg off from having breakfast with the Husseins, claiming illness. For the rest of the evening, she tried to distract her mind by reading, but her thoughts kept returning to Henri. She needed so badly to speak with him, to convince him that they needed to run away, no matter what. There was no more hope for her mother to successfully help their cause.
Long after dark, her restlessness and longing for Henri eventually caused her to flee the solitude of her bedroom. "I'm going for a walk in the gardens," she told Lakshmi.
The servant frowned a rebuke but knew better than to voice her concerns about her mistress's nocturnal ventures. Sometimes Melisande wondered if the girl knew about her clandestine visits with Henri, and sometimes she wished she could tell Lakshmi everything. After all, she shared all other aspects of her life with the servant. Lakshmi was almost like a younger sister to her. Melisande occasionally felt guilty that she had to deceive even her, but she consoled herself by maintaining it was safer this way, for all of them, including Lakshmi.
More men of the security force were on duty tonight because of the Husseins's visit, so it was virtually impossible for Melisande to leave the palace undetected. She used the servants' entrance, but an armed guard stood watch there as well.
"I beg your pardon, miss," he said, taking only a half step away from blocking her path. "You shouldn't be out here alone so late."
"Good evening, Mr. Dawoud," she said, sweetly smiling. "Isn't it a pleasant evening?"
"Yes, miss, but—"
"I'm just going for a short walk in the gardens. I won't be long, I promise."
Dawoud was the youngest member of the palace security force. Melisande had caught him on several occasions admiring her when she passed him during her day. When she caught his eye at such times, he would immediately and fearfully look away, swallowing and reddening slightly. He, like all her father's employees, knew she was irrevocably off limits, even when it came to an admiring glance.
"Your father has guests tonight, miss. You know when he does, he prefers—"
"Oh, I'm well aware of our guests," she said lightly, waving a dismissive hand, the silver bracelets on her wrist jangling musically above the night sounds of insects. "Dinner was a long affair, and I need to clear my head before bedtime. Please let me pass."
"I'm afraid I must insist—"
"If someone stops me, I promise I won't mention coming through you." She batted her long eyelashes at him and continued to smile, this time mischievously as if they were co-conspirators.
Dawoud shifted his weight, frowned.
"I suppose," she continued, changing to a wounded tone, "I could send for Mr. Ducard and ask if he could approve of you allowing me out. But that would mean interrupting him while he's protecting my father. I'm sure neither one of us wants to do that, do we?"
Dawoud swallowed and glanced at the door behind her.
"Ten minutes," she said near a whisper. "That's all. Then I'll come right back here. You have my word."
He hesitated a moment longer, then finally said, "Ten minutes. If you aren't back here by then—"
"I will be." After she stepped past him, she rewarded him with a smile over her shoulder. "Thank you."
Moving almost soundlessly in her soft-soled shoes, she hurried into the gardens, keeping to a narrow path where acacia trees would hide her from view of anyone on the palace verandas. Following the pathway to where it took a ninety-degree turn to the right, she came to a favored stone bench near the rose garden. There she settled to close her eyes and take in the flowers' heady aroma. A tiny breeze also brought a hint of jasmine from a nearby arbor.
Opening her eyes, she took in the lit windows of the palace's upper floors. She prayed to see Henri step out onto one of the verandas, perhaps allowed a break from his duties, but of course it did not happen; he would not be more than a few feet from her father right now.
A memory brought a smile to her. Another day, another veranda. Her veranda. It had been early morning, a spring day. She had just finished showering, and Lakshmi had brushed her hair. With it still loose, Melisande had stepped onto her veranda to admire the golden morning light spilling across the gardens below. She noticed someone standing not far away on a parapet, bareheaded, wearing desert fatigues. It was Henri. His hair stood slightly ruffled up in front, as if he had just run his fingers through it. The rising sun bronzed his skin, accentuating his high, lean cheekbones. Surprisingly, he was staring at her. She expected him to look away for fear of being discovered, but he remained unmoved, studying her.
His boldness had intrigued her. At the time, he had only been at the palace a month. Prior to that, he had led her father's forces in the field or accompanied him personally when her father was away from the palace. His loyalty and capable skills had prompted her father to allow him the palace as his base. It was not until after Melisande's relationship with him had begun that Henri admitted to requesting the change so he could be close to her.
"I loved you from the first time I saw you," Henri had said. "I knew it was best to be in the field away from you, but I found myself always thinking of you, remembering the few times we saw one another when I would be at the palace on business. And when your father asked me one day how he could repay me after I had saved his life, I told him that I wanted to spend more time in a fixed location and that I would be honored to serve his immediate family at the palace."
That early day on the veranda, before returning inside, she had faced him for a brief moment, thinking he would flee if she looked directly back at him. But not only was he daring enough to remain staring at her, he had the audacity to smile; not an open, leering smile but instead a confident, almost amused smile, one corner of his mouth raised higher than the other. She should have been scandalized or insulted, but she found herself instead intrigued. It was not love at first sight for her, but the encounter fired her curiosity. Was he not afraid that she might tell her father that he had lingered outside her bedroom? Obviously not, yet why not? Was he recklessly brave or recklessly foolish? She wanted to find out.
Of course she had seen Henri before that day, whenever he had business at the palace, so, naturally, they had spoken to one another—polite, brief, business-like encounters. But that smile of his that day from the parapet had somehow changed things for her. She suddenly realized what an attractive man he was. Perhaps it was because she was maturing. Knowing they could never romantically pursue one another, she tried to stay away from him, but Henri managed to insert himself into her immediate sphere, and every time he did, she grew more and more attracted to him.
Whenever she traveled to Jaipur or Jodhpur to shop or visit relatives, she requested that he accompany her as part of her security detail. It was on such trips that they learned more about one another, and their relationship quickly blossomed, like a match to dry kindling. She found herself telling him everything about her life, her hopes and dreams, her disappointments and triumphs, and he did the same.
When they returned to the palace after these excursions, resuming the roles expected of them grew impossible. The guesthouse was the natural place to meet, for she already had an established practice of retreating there to read. Whenever Henri was off duty, they spent hours together there, meetings that remained chaste for only a short time. It took every ounce of her power of self-control to remain a virgin.
"I gave my mother my word," she had told him one day in the guesthouse. She was lying on her back on a sofa, fully clothed, Henri atop her, kissing her neck, his hands in her hair. "I promised I would wait until I'm married."
He paused to grin at her and say, "Then let's get married," before he resumed his ministrations.
"I'm serious, Henri," she scolded, trying her best to stay focused on the conversation and not succumb to the rapturous torture of his mouth and hands.
He kissed her ear and whispered, "So am I."
Shocked, she pushed him back to break his spell on her, to see his eyes. "What?" she breathed. "You can't be—"
"Oh, but I am." He smiled and gave her a brief kiss. "But in order for that to happen, you have to say yes." One eyebrow raised teasingly, his gaze locked with hers.
"But we can't." Melisande sheepishly looked away. "You are…you are—"
"An infidel." He tipped her chin up with one finger, grinning, confident as always.
"Well," she stammered, "yes. But—"
"But you love me."
"Yes, of course."
"But not as much as your religion." He feigned a wounded look.
"It's not because of my religion. It's because of my promise to my mother."
"Whose religion is more important than her daughter's happiness."
"Henri, please stop. You know how close my mother and I are. I would feel like I betrayed her."
"Maybe if you spoke to her about us, explained—"
"That would make this even more difficult for us. It's best if she knows nothing."
His hand slipped downward, leisurely, over her right breast, over her hip, which instinctively arched upward into his hardness. He drew her lehenga upward to slip his hand beneath. Upward along her inner thigh, igniting a fire between her legs, making it difficult to continue the discussion. She moaned as his fingers explored her as never before.
"Stop, habibi," she murmured with little conviction.
"Marry me." He kissed her deeply.
She made a half-hearted attempt to push him away, but his weight had settled heavier upon her. His other hand captured one of hers and drew it to the bulge in his pants. He continued kissing her, both of them breathing heavier, his hips now moving in a languid rhythm. As the strokes of his fingers summoned more and more from her, she could no longer speak. Instead, she allowed her hand to slip beneath his waistband.
"Marry me," he repeated hoarsely. "We belong together."
Melisande gasped as a surge of ecstasy from his expert touch caused her to stroke him with passionate energy, now silencing all but moans and panting from him. She wanted to make the shuddering waves from between her thighs last, but the new experience was too much for her to control, and she succumbed with outcries, uncontainable even for the sake of secrecy. As if to remedy this potential danger, his mouth took hers in a deep, probing, silencing kiss until her hand rendered him unable to silence his own animal sounds as she brought him to release.
Afterward, he lay atop her for a moment, breathing hard. She inhaled his earthy scent, eyes closed, and sighed, enjoying the weight of him and the security of his arms. Finally he, too, sighed, then shifted onto his side with a final, appreciative kiss.
"You know we won't be able to stop this," he murmured dreamily.
"I don't want it to stop."
"Then marry me."
She stared at the ceiling in frustration. "Oh, my love, if only you knew how much I want to be your wife."
"Then say yes." His finger traced her lips. "I can't deny myself of having you, Melisande. It's more than I can bear."
She groaned and closed her eyes as his hand drifted to her breast. "I can't bear it either."
"Then let's get married."
Melisande gave a small laugh. "No one will marry us even if I said yes."
"That's where you're wrong. I've already found someone. But we'd have to go to Jaipur. You could go shopping and request me as your bodyguard." His hand had dipped beneath her bra to tease her nipple. He said with a grin, "There is nothing I desire more than to guard this body."
She could not help but giggle, "You're crazy." She closed her eyes and enjoyed his caresses.
"Yes, I'm most definitely mad; mad with love." He kissed her neck, languid and torturous. "You know this is inevitable, so just give in. I will take care of everything." Henri's kisses traveled the length of her neck. "Say yes." He positioned himself above her on hands and knees, his face close to hers, still shining with sweat. A seductive smile slowly appeared. "I won't let you leave here until you've said yes." When she playfully tried to dislodge him, he captured her hands and raised them above her head, against the arm of the sofa. He kissed her. "Don't you believe me? Your mother will send someone to find you. Imagine what they will see." He chuckled roguishly.
Melisande squirmed beneath him, tried to turn away from his seeking mouth, softly laughing. "All right," she murmured, then repeated it more forcefully as he nuzzled her ear before sucking gently on her lobe. "All right, habibi."
Henri studied her. "All right?"
"All right, I will marry you."
"Do you mean it, or are you just saying it so I free you?"
"Both. I have to get back now."
He kissed her with new energy, triumphant. "Talk to your parents straight away about going to Jaipur. Let me know, then I will contact my guy."
She drew her hands from his and touched his cheek, suddenly sober and afraid, while at the same time excited. "Are you sure? If my father—"
Henri put a silencing finger to her lips. "No more talk about your father. This is about us, not him."
She frowned and nodded.
"Don't be afraid, my love. We're meant to be together."
Henri kept repeating that mantra all the way to their wedding day. She began to believe it, repeating it in her head whenever fear struck her. Love conquers all. That was what the romance novels and movies told her. Henri was as confident in his declaration of their destiny as he was in every other aspect of his life.
By the end of that week, they made their way to Jaipur where they stayed at the luxurious Rambagh Palace. The Nikah was overseen by a Qazi, an Islamic judge, whom Henri had undoubtedly paid handsomely for his discretion, along with two witnesses.
When Melisande voiced her concern that those outsiders might expose their secret union, Henri assured her that would never happen. Two weeks later, there was a news report of the Qazi's death in an automobile accident. When Melisande mentioned it to Henri, he merely shrugged and said, "A tragedy for his family." She considered asking him if the Nikah witnesses had also met with untimely deaths, but she swallowed the question, afraid to hear either the truth or Henri's evasion.
The most difficult task after the marriage was keeping it from her mother. Returning from Jaipur with her virginity left among the silk sheets of Rambagh Palace, Melisande felt as if she were floating on air for weeks afterwards. She had traded one life for another, a life in which she was no longer a caged child but a free woman, a woman who had gone from a solitary life to a communion with another being, a man who was now a physical part of her, as if they shared one mind and one body. Harmony.
"What has you in such a radiant mood, daughter?" A question her mother asked in various forms, her eyes bright with curiosity and a pleased smile on her face. But every time Melisande made up some simple explanation, her mother would tilt her head and study her, her belief in her daughter's explanation fading in time. Eventually the inquiry changed to a semi-playful, subtly wounded, "What are you hiding from me, habibati?"
Melisande would laugh and wave a dismissive hand before lying, "Nothing, Mother." Then she would kiss Maysam's cheek and hurry from her presence, feeling torn inside. If only her mother knew how much she wanted to tell her everything. As time went by, Melisande learned to disguise her joy, or at least she thought so.
With a sigh and a final look at the peaceful, black-velvet sky above the gardens, Melisande reluctantly stood. She had better get back before Dawoud sent someone to look for her. As she headed toward the palace, her steps quickened at the thought of Henri's reaction to this evening's dinner. Since it would not be wise to try to see him in person tonight, she would have to risk sending him a sealed message, delivered by Lakshmi, to be burned after his reading. She could not bear the thought of him going to sleep tonight, thinking she had any hand in the Husseins's visit.