Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride by Marguerite Kaye Read Free Book Online

construed as a curtsy. ‘I assure you, no insult was intended.’
    Silence. A nod. More silence. Constance stared down at her feet. ‘I expect you’ve brought me up here to tell me I’m to be packed off on a ship at first light,’ she said resignedly.
    Prince Kadar pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘It is, unfortunately, uncommon for trading vessels from the west to call in at our port. Most sail straight for India once they have navigated the Cape of Good Hope. I have confirmed that the next ship is not expected until August.’
    â€˜August! But this is only May.’
    â€˜Unfortunately we have no other ship here at Murimon which is fit for the voyage. Apparently my brother commissioned a schooner to be built. A three-master. Ocean going.’ Prince Kadar shook his head. ‘Why Butrus imagined he needed such a thing, I have no idea, but it is beside the point. It is not completed, and will not be until July at the earliest.’
    â€˜So I am effectively stranded here for two months,’ Constance said.
    â€˜Possibly three.’
    â€˜I’m terribly sorry.’
    Prince Kadar gave her one of those assessing looks. ‘For what?’
    â€˜I shall be inconveniencing you. Three months is a long time for an uninvited guest to stay.’
    The Prince smiled. ‘But I did invite you, last night, to stay for as long as you wish.’
    â€˜Yes, but...’
    â€˜Lady Constance, I repeat, your presence here is most welcome.’
    Goodness, but when he smiled she quite lost track of her thoughts. It was like the dazzle of a faraway star captured in the lens of her telescope, temporarily blinding her to everything else. ‘Thank you,’ Constance said, blinking. ‘If there is anything I can do while I am here to work my passage, so to speak, then I would be delighted to help. I’m afraid I’m not a very good needlewoman, but I’m very good with accounts. Though I can’t imagine why you would need a bookkeeper when you most likely have a treasurer.’
    â€˜And an assistant treasurer and any number of scribes,’ the Prince said. ‘There are any number of needlewomen here at the palace too, I expect. Your time will be your own.’
    â€˜I’m not sure I’ll know what to do with it. I like to be busy.’
    â€˜Then you must see some of our country, explore its delights. Which brings me to the reason I asked you up here, to my private terrace. Come.’ Prince Kadar ushered her over to the waist-high parapet. ‘There, take a look at Murimon.’
    The view which confronted her was quite stunning. Sea and sky met on the horizon, both brilliant azure blue, the sky streaked with wispy white cloud, the sea sparkling with little white-crested waves. A line of fishing boats was strung out in the distance, too far away for her to make out more than the distinctive shallow hulls and single lateen sails. The wide sweep of the coastline to her left consisted of a number of little bays and fishing villages similar to Bashir’s village, with white strips of sand, the houses huddled together on the narrow shoreline. Behind the nearer villages, narrow strips of green cultivated land could be made out. On the right, the terrain was more mountainous, rolling red-and-ochre hills guarding much steeper, jagged peaks. Here, there were few vestiges of green, and even fewer villages.
    The port of Murimon sat proudly in the centre, directly below the palace. The harbour was formed by two long curves of rock embracing the sea. At the end of each arm stood a lighthouse. On the furthest-away point, buildings covered every inch of available space, some three or four storeys high, some squat and low. Presumably wharves, their huge doorways opened directly onto the jetties which sat at right angles to the shoreline. The nearer harbour wall was higher and rockier, housing a small defensive fortress. The port was nothing like the size of