again.
“Lady, your uncle and I have spoken, and he says that marriage—”
He stopped when he saw the expression on his face: that of a man about to recite the devotions at his own funeral. He rearranged his features into serious, gentle lines—or so he hoped—and took a breath.
“Lady, it has been suggested that you and I—”
No, that made it sound like a business proposition—which, after all, it was in a way, but it would never do to say such a thing to a young girl.
“Lady—”
“You could try using my name, you know.”
He pivoted on one heel, horrified to find Jemilha standing in his doorway. She wore a robe of white silk belted over a long crimson tunic, with embroidered gold slippers and a matching gold scarf tying up her hair. Abruptly he did not wonder why all those young men had followed her today—or why they had been doing so for almost three years. The skinny little girl with the unruly braids had been transformed. But how and when had she become beautiful?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not mean you to hear—”
“—until you had perfected your little speech?” She raised a sardonic eyebrow.
Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. However long she’d been listening, she’d heard more than enough. So he plunged in. “Your uncle and I have spoken of marriage—”
She gave him a sweet smile. “I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
“Jemilha!”
“Good—my name. Now we make a start.” She entered his room, leaving the door open, and sat on the chair beside the window. A breeze through the carved wooden shutters plucked at the scarf and toyed with tendrils of her black hair. “Uncle Bazir told me that you and he talked yesterday. Now you and I will talk. Yes, I have it in mind to marry you. My uncle and my father approve of my choice. I know you do not love me, and neither do I love you —but love is nothing to the point in such matters, don’t you think?”
“I—”
“A moment, Azzad, I’m not finished. Uncle Bazir told you why he and Father approve, but I will tell you two other things. I trust in your capacity for friendship—Fadhil and Meryem are devoted to you, and they are both persons of quality, so there must be something substantial to you after all. And the second thing is that I think you and I will make very interesting children.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him expectantly. “Ayia, I’m done. Your turn.”
His tongue wasn’t just tied, it was tethered. “L-Lady—”
“I thought we had decided that I do indeed have a name.”
He knew how to accomplish a seduction. The self-possessed girl sitting before him now was, to all appearances, not seducible.
But this wasn’t
—and a father and an uncle who would do unspeakable things to him—and very slowly, too—if he hurt her in any way.
“Jemilha,” he said at last, “are you certain you want me? You could have any man.”
“You are not just any man, Azzad.”
He crossed to her, holding out both hands. She allowed him one of hers. It was small and warm and dry, and the pulse in her wrist was perfectly steady. He could hear his grandfather’s cackling laughter in the back of his mind:
“Jemilha, it would be a greater honor than I deserve if you would consider taking me for your husband.”
She looked up at him through thick, blunt lashes. “Would you consider taking me for your wife?”
“Did I not just say so?”
“No.”
Up until now, he’d had the uncomfortable feeling she was secretly laughing at him. The expression on his face evidently made keeping the laughter secret impossible. Hers was not a girl’s giggle, but a woman’s full- throated chuckle. For a moment he was annoyed. But as her lips parted to reveal dazzlingly white teeth, fine and even but for a bottom front tooth set slightly askew, he found himself thinking two things. First, that he hoped Jemilha laughed at him often, for she had a lovely laugh; and second, that he wanted nothing more in this world right now than to run his tongue over that slightly crooked tooth.
Ruefully, he smiled back. “I wish very much for you to be my wife.”
All at once her mirth vanished and she bit her lip. “Azzad—”
“Yes, Jemilha?”
“I risk much in telling you this—you may lose all respect for me—”
“Never.”
The dark eyes flashed up at him. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to tell you I’ve thought of nothing but marrying you since I first set eyes on you!”
He gaped at her again. “You have?”
“Yes. And I accept you as my husband.” But as he bent to press his lips to her wrist, as a proper lover ought, she drew her hand away. “Now that it’s settled, there are other things to discuss. What are your plans for the new horses? And what about all those poor dead trees? And—” Here she fixed him with a pair of suddenly fierce dark eyes. “—and I tell you now, Azzad al-Ma’aliq, that if ever you think to amuse yourself with other women—even Bindta Feyrah, whom I rather like—I will have your testicles served to you on a golden plate with white wine sauce.”
He stared; she really meant it. Wordlessly, he nodded.
“Just so we understand each other. Now, sit down, Azzad—no, not so close to me, we’re not yet wed—and tell me about planting trees.”
8
“Husband,”said Jemilha, “I don’tlike this.”
Azzad glanced up from the account books. There were seven large leather-bound volumes, one each for
