The Ice Maiden's Sheikh by Alexandra Sellers Page A

them.
    â€œThey are called the Shahini, The People of the Falcon, and they will be leaders in the valley till the time comes for the valley to be destroyed. That’s you, and they are so proud of you and your family, Latif.”
    Latif watched her from under drooping eyelids. “And what else?”
    â€œSo the valley was protected from the winds, and the floods, and from foreign conquerors, but there was still one thing that was not protected, and that was the hearts of the people.
    â€œSo the people asked God for protection for their hearts, and God sent the fourth and last protection—he sent them Islam. And now the valley is protected in all four directions, and no harm can come to the people, and that’s why they are now called al Marzuqi, the Blessed, the Provided For,” she finished, smiling.
    â€œDid I get it right? It’s a lovely story.”
    â€œYou tell it well. One day, if God wills, you will tell it to our children.”
    She could only press her lips together and shake her head.
    When they had finished the meal with fresh fruit, they washed hands and mouths with rose-scented water poured each for the other from the intricately moulded silver ewer with its matching bowl.
    Then Latif lifted the trays and brazier to one side and Jalia lay back on the cushions, feeling crazily free and unlike herself in bare breasts and harem pants.
    He lay down again and rested on one elbow beside her, gazing into her eyes in a way that made her body remember delight.
    He drew out a tiny white flower that still lurked in a twist of her hair, lazily touched it to the end of his nose, inhaled like a man tasting fine wine, and, watching her with a look in his eyes that she would never forget, thoughtfully caught it on the end of his tongue, drew it into his mouth, and ate it.
    Jalia’s throat gave a little involuntary whimper of reaction and she lost track of what she was saying.
    Latif lay back on the cushions and drew her onto his chest. Her breasts brushed hungrily against the mat of hair, and her hips melted with renewed yearning as his strong hand stroked down her back and over the swell of her bottom, lightly, possessively.
    â€œWhy did the women do all this?” she asked, nodding at the now empty trays and the room. “They know we aren’t married.”
    â€œThey tell me that the date is very auspicious for the wedding of the Shahin. There won’t be another such beneficial day for months, or maybe years, according to the old way of reckoning such things.”
    Jalia frowned curiously. “What is the old way of reckoning such things?”
    â€œOnly the women know.”
    â€œDo you believe them?”
    He shrugged. “It was predicted to me last year thatthis year would be beneficial for our attempts to put Ash on the throne. They also said that if the Sultan returned the drought would end.”
    â€œPretty impressive. But we aren’t married, so how can it be beneficial just to decorate a bedroom?”
    Latif smiled. “By the rules of the old, pre-Islamic tradition, we are married. This is all it takes, that bride and groom should be bathed and perfumed and led to bed by the women.”
    â€œWhat?” She leaped as if from an electric shock, and Latif laughed.
    â€œThe ritual allowed the women of the tribe to make sure that bride and groom had the necessary parts in good working order. Some parts of the ritual have been abandoned since Islam came to the valley—the groom used to be put through his paces by the women, they say.
    â€œBut the practice itself has never been wholly abandoned. Tradition is a powerful thing, and most people here would not feel married without this.”
    He toyed with another lock of hair, twirled another flower, smiled at her. “They didn’t explain this to you?”
    â€œNo. They just—started stripping me off. Latif…what will you say when you come back to the valley and I’m not