Wild Jasmine by Bertrice Small Read Free Book Online Page B

grandmother, she was not fooled by him.
    “You will want to change your clothes, Salim, or perhaps you would prefer to leave,” she said, ignoring his question. Then she turned away, hurrying back into the house.
    Rugaiya Begum went to her daughter’s apartments, where Yasaman was bathing in a marble pool of perfumed water with the aid of her two body servants, Rohana and Toramalli. Looking about her, Rugaiya Begum sighed. The child was still such an innocent. Fou-Fou, the long-haired white cat Yasaman so doted upon, lay sprawled indolently upon a silken couch. Baba, the monkey, had perched himself upon the rolled arm of the couch and was eating a piece of fruit which was dripping juice all over the silk fabric. The parrot, Hiraman, strutted fretfully about the pool muttering, “Water! Water!” beneath its breath and watching Yasaman nervously.
    Rugaiya Begum shook her head. Yasaman had been too cosseted and too sheltered! It was all her fault that Yasaman was too immature to marry, and yet … Rugaiya Begum bit her lip in vexation. Was she mistaken? Surely Salim did not lust after his little sister! It had to be the imagination of an old woman seeing shadows where there were none. Still, Akbar was not well, although he hid it from everyone but his physician and her. A marriage had to be arranged for Yasaman eventually. Now was as good a time as any to settle the matter. Her instincts had never failed her before, but she was still loath to believe that the prince desired Yasaman as a woman. If Yasaman were married, however, the matter would be settled for good and all. If she was right, this would be but one of Salim’s temporary passions. A royal marriage for his sister would cool his ardor and bring him to his senses.
    “What have you decided to wear, my child?” she asked her daughter.
    “The peacock-blue- and gold-striped pajama, and a cloth-of-gold kurti with my new shabnam peshwaz, Mama Begum,” Yasaman answered as she stepped from the marble bathing pool.
    Rugaiya Begum looked closely at her daughter for the first time in a long while and realized, to her surprise, that Yasaman had the body of a woman. Her breasts were high cones of smooth pale skin that would grow quite lush with age. Her legs were long and shapely. With a young body like that, her desires would only increase as each day went by. No wonder she was so susceptible to Salim. Yasaman’s body was maturing faster than her emotions, which, of course, were confusing the girl, who did not know yet what to do with those emotions.
    “A perfect choice, dearest one, but then you always had an instinct for style,” Rugaiya Begum complimented her daughter. Then she said in a more serious tone, “We must speak, my daughter, for you have done something you knew would displease me, and yet you did it.”
    “What is that, Mama Begum?” Yasaman replied sweetly, raising her arms to allow her servants to dry her off before massaging her with almond oil.
    “You were wrong to ask your brother to come to your birthday celebration, Yasaman,” Rugaiya Begum said.
    “Next to Papa and you, he is my favorite person,” the girl answered.
    “Your father has not, nor will he ever forgive Salim for his part in the murder of Abul Fazl.”
    “Salim did not murder Abul Fazl!” Yasaman defended her brother.
    “No,” agreed Rugaiya Begum. “Your brother did not wield the weapon that pierced the heart of Abul Fazl; but he most certainly directed Bir Singh of Orchha to do so. It is no secret, Yasaman. You know it to be so. Bir Singh has publicly said your brother promised him his patronage and a rich reward for the deed.”
    “The cowardly bandit lies!” Yasaman exclaimed angrily, but at the same time she felt uncomfortable. She had heard the gossip, and Salim had always been jealous of her father’s friend, the historian. Abul Fazl had been a gentle, wise man with a wonderful sense of humor. He had always been especially kind to her, and Yasaman’s conscience