Wild Jasmine (20 page)

Together they crossed the chamber. Jamal Khan opened the door, ushering his new wife into his zenana. Warm, golden light greeted them. The room was well-furnished with brightly upholstered couches, large floor pillows, low tables of ebony and brass, and fine rugs covering the marble floors. There were five women in the zenana. They looked up at the entry of the prince and his bride with fluttering cries of greeting. They arose to surround Jamal, totally ignoring Yasaman as they nudged her aside quite rudely.

“My lord, you have returned!” The speaker was a small, golden-skinned woman with long, straight, blue-black hair and slanted black eyes. She wound herself sinuously about Jamal Khan, looking adoringly up at him.

“Samira, why is the princess’s apartment not prepared? Did I not tell you to direct the servants to do so?” He disentangled the clinging woman from his person.

“
My lord!
I am not some steward,
or wife
, to order servants to the cleaning of a house. I have been trained
only
to give my lord pleasure.” She pouted up at him for a brief moment and then smiled winningly. “Would you like me to give you pleasure now, my lord? Is that why you have joined us? We are ready to do your bidding, are we not, ladies?” She glanced at her companions, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Oh, yes, my lord! Let us offer you pleasure!” the others chorused obediently, clustering about him again, touching him intimately.

Jamal Khan was at a loss for words, embarrassed at the open rudeness his women were displaying, but before he might gather himself to act, Yasaman said coldly, “Who are these creatures,
husband
? If they are indeed the ladies of your zenana, they are obviously as ill-trained and as bad-mannered as your servants. I can see that I have my work cut out for me.”

Four of the women wilted visibly beneath her scorn, but the one called Samira put her hands upon Jamal Khan’s shoulders, pressing herself boldly at him. She looked into his face and said, “My lord! Will you allow this girl to speak to me thusly?
Am I not your favorite woman? Chastise this stranger at once!” Samira stamped her little foot for emphasis, her long hair swinging about her.

Her outrageous words spurred him to action. The prince put Samira aside more firmly, now saying angrily, “It is you whom I will chastise, woman! On your knees, all of you! This is Yasaman Kama Begum, the daughter of the Grand Mughal.
My bride
. She is mistress here, not any of you. You knew I was to bring her back tonight. Yet you have deliberately disobeyed me when I requested that you prepare a welcome for her. You will be beaten, every one of you!”

The four quiet women threw themselves at Jamal Khan’s feet, crying, “Mercy, my lord! We would have prepared the welcome as you bid us, but Samira would not let us!”

Now Samira wrapped herself about his feet, sobbing piteously. “
They lie!
How could I, one small woman, prevent them from doing their duty?” And then she said slyly, “Besides, my lord, if this is your wedding night, will not the princess be spending it with you?”

“Of course I will,” Yasaman said quickly. “Let us end this, my lord, and tomorrow I will see that all is made aright. Show mercy, my prince. There shall be no beatings. I am tired now and would seek my bed.”

“You will not get much sleep, Princess, if our master loves you as well as he loves us,” Samira said boldly, smirking as Yasaman paled visibly.

Jamal Khan slapped Samira for her less than subtle innuendo, but she did not flinch, pleased to have gained his special attention once more. Turning from her, he gently led Yasaman from the zenana.

They were only halfway to the door when Yasaman pulled away from him and, whirling about, said, “You would do well to seek your beds, ladies. Your master will not need your
services
this night; and tomorrow a new regime will begin, altering life as you have known it here. I have little use for idleness.”

“So,” he said, as he led her through the little palace to his own quarters, “the little kitten I have married is, when aroused, a fierce tigress.” He chuckled, amused. She had not only surprised him, but he found he had been rather pleased by her swift retaliation toward Samira’s viciousness. Many a wife’s life had been made difficult by a clever concubine. He could
already see Samira would not have that advantage over Yasaman.

“You would do well to remember that I am the tiger’s daughter,” Yasaman said fiercely. “The woman, Samira, is rude beyond my bearing. There can be but one mistress in this house. I will not tolerate any further disrespect.”

“You are indeed the mistress here, Princess,” he assured her. “This house and all in it are yours to command. Know that I will not allow any irreverence to be shown toward you. You are not just the Mughal’s daughter, Yasaman Kama Begum,
you are my wife.
”

They entered his quarters, and again all was dark and there were no servants to be found. Still, the room was placed in such a manner that the moon lit it well enough for them to find their way.

“Where am I to sleep?” she asked him.

“The bed is there,” he said, pointing to a large bed set upon a raised dais.

She walked to it and wearily sat down. “Where will you sleep, my lord?”

“There is but one bed here, Princess. We will share it,” was his answer.

Yasaman quickly stood up. “You promised me that we …” She flushed and struggled for the right words.

Jamal Khan walked over to his young bride and tipped her face up that he might see it. “It is a promise I will keep, Princess,” he told her seriously, “however, there is but one bed in this room. I do not intend to sleep on the floor.”

“Then I will,” she declared stubbornly.

“No,” he said, “you will not. Lady, do I appear to be some lust-crazed monster, unable to survive the night without a taste of your sweet flesh? If you prefer,” he told her wickedly, “I can return to the zenana and leave you in full possession of this chamber.”

“
No!
” Yasaman squeaked. She would sooner die than allow those wretched zenana women to know what transpired, or did not transpire, between her husband and herself.
And he knew it!
“Do not be smug,” she told him tartly. “Even here in the dark I can tell you are smirking.”

Jamal Khan chuckled and began to remove his wedding finery.

“
What are you doing now?
” she demanded nervously.

“It is not my habit to sleep in my clothes,” he said mildly, and he turned from her as he continued to slowly disrobe.

She stood silent and still for a long moment, and then began to undress herself. She hadn’t realized how warm she had been until she removed her heavily embroidered angya-kurti. She laid it, along with her orhni, carefully upon a chair. To the pile she added her slippers, and her jewelry, and finally her sari. “I have nothing with which to brush my hair,” she grumbled as she undid the bejeweled braid and ran her fingers through her dark hair. “Nor can we wash.” She shook her head. “Never again, my lord, will you be subjected to such a poor welcome in your own house, I promise you.” She lay down upon the bed and turned her back to him.

Jamal Khan watched her undress from beneath his thick, lowered lashes. To stare would have been rude and would have embarrassed or frightened her. He hadn’t forgotten his glimpse of her in her bath. But that had been so brief. Just enough of a look, he thought, to whet his appetite, but not enough to allow him complete knowledge of her magnificent form. He was astounded by the lush curves and full breasts of the young girl who was now his wife. How easily, he thought uncomfortably, he had promised to honor her virtue; but of course that had been before he had seen her full beauty in his bed.

He lay down upon the other side of the bed, turning his back to her back. “Are you asleep?” he asked her softly.

“No,” she answered.

“Before we sleep,” he said, “will you do one thing for me?”

“What is that, my lord?” She moved just slightly.

“Will you say my name? We have been married for several hours now, and I have yet to hear my name upon your lips, Yasaman.”

“Good night, Jamal,” she replied. “God grant you a good rest.”

“Good night, Yasaman,” he murmured low.
I do not think I will be unhappy being your husband, my proud princess
.

They slept.

Chapter 5

W
hen Yasaman awoke she was confused for a moment as to where she was. Then, as memory reasserted itself, she rolled over to find she was alone. Had he gone to one of his women? she wondered, surprised to find that she was jealous. Why should she be jealous of a man she hardly knew? She arose and wrapped her sari about her body, annoyed that there was again no water for washing. The servants were worse than lax. Walking out onto the terrace that bordered the chamber, she was pleased to find that it was early morning. Jamal was seated at a table eating, quite alone.

Joining him, she said, “Good morning, my lord. I am pleased to see that at least you have been fed. Would that someone show me the same courtesy.” She helped herself to a banana.

“Indeed, Princess, you do have your work cut out for you,” he agreed, watching her neatly peel the fruit.

“This is all mine to oversee?” She waved her hand airily. “You will not interfere with my management or authority? Last night you said so,” Yasaman reminded him, wanting to be certain she understood.

“You are the mistress here, Princess,” he said. Then he smiled at her. “You are very beautiful, Yasaman, when you sleep.”

“Only when I sleep?” What had made her say such a thing? Was this flirting? She blushed.

He laughed. “You are beautiful at all times,” he replied diplomatically, and then he amended his words teasingly, “at least as far as I can see, my princess, based upon our short acquaintance.”

He was flirting with her!
Her heart accelerated and her cheeks grew even pinker. She distinctly felt at a disadvantage. She wished she were safely back in her own palace across Wular Lake playing with her cats, but she was not. She was a married woman; no, not yet a woman. She was a bride, and she had a formidable task ahead of her if she was to put her
husband’s house in order. She could see he thought her an amusing child. She would gain his respect and hopefully, in time, his love.

“I have much to do, my lord,” she told him formally. “Please excuse me,” and she turned away from him, hurrying back into the little palace.

Her sense of direction being good, Yasaman left her husband’s apartment, making her way through the building and back into the women’s quarters. In the daylight her own rooms appeared in even worse repair than they had last night. They were dingy, old-fashioned, and appallingly dirty. She could see that once they had been elegant, for the tiles were beautiful and the walls inlaid with lapis, carnelian, malachite, mother-of-pearl, coral, and obsidian. Obviously, they had belonged to his mother, and even more obviously, they had not been cleaned in the years since her death. She mentally noted that the rugs were missing.

“My lady!” The dual voices belonged to her twin servants. Toramalli’s glance swept the room. “Surely this is not your chamber,” she said, shocked, as a puffball of dust wafted by her foot.

“I’m afraid it is,” Yasaman said, “but we cannot blame the prince. His servants and his women are out of control for lack of a guiding hand. We have our work cut out for us, I fear, if we are to make our new home livable.”

“My lady! Come out onto the terrace and see,” Rohana said indignantly. “The trunks sent two days ago remain where our people delivered them! We are only fortunate it did not rain. Although the dew has not been good for them, there is no damage, I am relieved to report. It is untenable that you should be treated in so shameful a fashion!”

“Run quickly, Rohana, and tell our boatman I must see him before he returns across the lake,” Yasaman instructed her servant.

The girl called down to the boatman. He leapt from his vessel and hurried up the steps to the terrace, bowing low before the princess.

“Take a message to my mother,” Yasaman told him. “Say I must have Adali and at least half a dozen of our best house servants this very morning without delay.”

“Yes, Princess!” the man replied.

They watched as he departed, rowing the boat, it seemed, with more speed than he usually did.

“
Now
,” said Yasaman, “we must regain control of my lord’s zenana. There are five women in it, of whom one is particularly bold. The others seem afraid of her. We must either pull the stinger from this queen bee’s tail or destroy her. She will eventually decide her own fate.”

Rohana and Toramalli followed their mistress as she made her way back into the building and into the zenana. Though silent, their eyes widened at the luxury of these quarters compared with Yasaman’s apartment. Neither twin was stupid. They quickly realized the deliberate insult leveled at Yasaman by the zenana women. A look of understanding passed between them. They knew what these foolish creatures did not know. Their mistress might be young, but she was very determined and she would have her way. If Yasaman had made up her mind that she would take total control of this palace and of the prince, then she would.