Historical Romance: April Books 1 - 4. Marguerite Kaye

her, but she knew he studied her when he thought her attention elsewhere.

      She frowned, rearranging the cushions, placing a marker in her book. Juwan had warned her this morning to ‘expect a joyous announcement regarding her marriage’ from Ghutrif, before the birth of his son. In days gone by, Juwan’s lying-in would have been the responsibility of the Head Nurse, one of the most powerful positions in the harem, when the kings and princes of Nessarah had taken many wives as well as concubines. No royal male had taken more than one wife for over a century now. The birth of Juwan’s child would be overseen by Nessarah’s most senior accoucheuse, but the woman was no longer part of the harem.

      The royal males of Nessarah still considered several concubines to be indispensable to their well-being. In the unofficial harem, the concubines could call on their own, less senior midwife, Juwan had informed her stiffly this morning, when Tahira had enquired.

      ‘A perfectly adequate woman. As mistress of the entire harem, I am responsible for their welfare,’ Juwan had unexpectedly volunteered. ‘I tell you, for you will be mistress of your own harem very shortly, and should understand the customs and practices.’

      ‘I am expected to be responsible for my husband’s concubines?’

      Tahira had been unable to keep the shock from her voice. Juwan, always happy to demonstrate her superior understanding, had smiled smugly. ‘Naturally you do not acknowledge them, but you should be aware that their well-being reflects on you.’

      ‘And their children, who will be half-blood sisters or brothers to my own? Am I permitted to acknowledge them?’

      ‘They share no royal blood,’ Juwan replied, outraged. ‘How can you ask such a thing, Tahira! You are twenty-four years old, you cannot have lived your life behind these precious walls without understanding such a basic fact. Offspring of men’s lusts, that is what they are, and as such, they are fortunate to be adequately provided for, once they have been weaned. Did your mother not explain how such matters were dealt with?’

      Tahira, feeling quite overwhelmed, shook her head dumbly. ‘I knew there were other women, but I did not think—do you think my father—that I have brothers, sisters in Nessarah...?’

      ‘Never say that,’ Juwan hissed, giving her a shake. ‘I cannot believe your mother left you so unprepared. I cannot believe that I am having to explain to you—but there it is, it seems I must. These are not children of royal blood, Tahira. They are not related to you. The concubines exist to sate a man’s lust, for it is greater than that of a woman, and must have an outlet, especially while she engages in the honourable duty of bearing his child, as I am doing. But when these woman bear fruit, it is tainted and must be sent away, you understand? The male children in particular, though they are not of royal blood, there can be no risk taken, lest they get ideas above their station.’

      ‘What do you mean, sent away?’

      Juwan laughed shortly. ‘Not what you are imagining, though in the past—but we live in modern times. They are given another name, another family. They know no other life. That is why they are taken young, it is much kinder.’

      ‘Kinder? To be taken from their mother...’

      ‘When they are weaned. It is kinder for the woman too, for she may quickly return to her duties.’

      ‘And if she does not wish to?’

      ‘Then she is given a pension, but she cannot keep the fruit she bears, Tahira, under any circumstances. You understand this, I hope, for it is something you may have to enforce.’

      ‘I can’t imagine—it seems very cruel. When I lost my mother...’

      ‘A very different matter. You were already ten years old. A baby cannot miss what it has never known,’ Juwan said firmly. ‘I trust matters are now clear to you. I have no wish to discuss them again.’

      ‘Yes. Thank you.’

      Juwan had smiled then. ‘I do believe that you will make a very good wife. You are naïve, there is much your mother left undone. But soon, sooner than you may hope, Prince Ghutrif will provide a husband for you.’

      Juwan would not be drawn further. The conversation left Tahira deeply troubled and deeply embarrassed by her own blind acceptance of the situation. She had always known, but until now she had chosen to ignore, and not to question. But soon, sickeningly soon, she would find herself in the peculiar situation of being responsible for those women, those children, belonging to her husband, yet whose existence she must not acknowledge. It was taken for granted that a man needed many woman, she had never questioned that, but would she feel different when it was her husband?

      Another question it had not occurred to her to ask, largely because she avoided the entire subject of matrimony, but now she forced herself to confront it. The man she would share a divan with, the man who kissed her, touched her, gave her children, would kiss other women, touch other women, give other women children. It was the way of things, it was what she had been raised to, but it felt very wrong.

      The only man she had ever kissed was Christopher. The only man she had ever wished to kiss. And a man she fully intended to kiss again, if she was given the opportunity. She lay back against the orange tree, closing her eyes. She thought about Christopher making love to her. His mouth on hers. His hands on her breasts. His lean, hard body pressed against her...

      ‘Tahira, here you are! Surely you are not asleep again! You have been sleeping half the day away of late. You are not ill, are you?’

      Alimah and Durrah stood over her, looking concerned. Tahira sat up, smiling at her sisters. ‘I was not sleeping, merely musing. Come sit with me. What have you been doing?’

      Alimah rolled her eyes. ‘Avoiding Juwan. She has promised Durrah and I needlework lessons.’

      Tahira repressed a guilty smile. ‘You can’t deny that you would benefit from them. Your needlework is atrocious, Alimah, and your sister’s is not much better, while Juwan’s is exquisite.’

      ‘Yes, but her conversation is not,’ Durrah said, throwing herself on to the cushions beside Tahira, placing her head on her lap. ‘It is all, Ghutrif says, and Ghutrif does, and Ghutrif has decided. Anyone would think she actually likes him.’

      ‘He is her husband,’ Ishraq said primly as she crossed the courtyard to join them. ‘Better to grow a rose in a marriage bed than a bitter lemon.’

      ‘That’s all very well,’ Durrah said plaintively, ‘but she expects us to like him too. She is constantly bleating about how dreadful she feels that she has not yet provided him with a son. It is not her fault.’

      ‘Juwan knows that,’ Ishraq said, ‘but she can hardly go around blaming our brother, can she? Imagine his reaction if he found out!’

      A collective shudder ran around the sisters as they did so. ‘All the same,’ Alimah said in a small voice, ‘you’d think she would drop the dutiful wife act when it’s just us in the harem. Ever since she came here, it’s been different.’

      ‘She’s a usurper, an interloper, is what she is,’ Durrah said staunchly, ‘and she knows it.’

      ‘Hush now,’ Tahira intervened guiltily, for she knew full well that Durrah was expressing Tahira’s own views. ‘Juwan is the Crown Princess and as such we must treat her with the respect she is due.’

      ‘You don’t.’ Durrah pouted. ‘She isn’t one of us, why pretend? She doesn’t understand our jokes, she doesn’t read books, she doesn’t even paint or dance, and she loathes Sayeed.’

      Ishraq and Amirah chuckled. ‘Save for Tahira, we all loathe that cat, and Sayeed makes it very obvious the feeling is mutual, so at least we have that much in common.’

      ‘That is true,’ Tahira said, relieved to see Ishraq smiling.

      Though it was short-lived. Her next sister pursed her lips. ‘That cat is growing too vicious to remain here. Look at your hands, Tahira, they are in a disgraceful state.’