Free Wild Jasmine by Bertrice Small Page B

because she was no longer here. The proof of my great love for my English rose is Yasaman. I want only what is best for her. If you say that Prince Jamal Darya Khan is the best husband our daughter can have, then I trust your judgment.”
    “I thank you, my dearest lord,” Rugaiya Begum said. “I have indeed thought long and hard on this matter. Although she is half of our blood, and has been raised in India, Yasaman has Candra’s blood in her as well. There is an independence and determination about her that is totally alien. The Kashmiri peoples are independent-minded too. Here she will be freer to be herself.”
    “And,” the emperor continued with a smile, “once Yasaman delves into that Pillow Book Jodh Bai gave her tonight, her youthful curiosity will quickly assert itself. Who better to be the recipient of that curiosity than an eager and equally passionate young bridegroom?”
    “Do you remember,” Rugaiya Begum reminded him, “how you could not breach Candra’s defenses at first, and you came to Jodh Bai and me for aid? The book was originally intended as a gift for Jodh Bai’s niece who was to be married, but instead she offered to send it to Candra.”
    The memory was a bittersweet one for Akbar, but still he smiled and said, “She was so curious, and yet shy of it. I remember sitting with her and turning the pages for her, watching her slow arousal until at last she yielded herself to me. I have relived that night a thousand times and again a thousand in my mind over the years.” He sighed deeply.
    “And now the book belongs to the child she bore you,” Rugaiya Begum said. “I wonder if perhaps I should not have let her have it until after her marriage is arranged.”
    Akbar shook his head. “She is innocent, but curious, Rugaiya. I think it better to allow her curiosity an innocent release.”
    While her parents spoke on the things that would decide her future, Yasaman had stood patiently as her two women servants removed her clothing and sponged her with rose water. Twin sisters, Rohana and Toramalli were twenty-four years of age and identical in features but for one thing. They each carried a small flower-shaped birthmark set at the edge of an eye. Toramalli’s, however, was situated by the corner of her right eye, and Rohana’s was by the corner of her left eye. They had expressive dark brown eyes, golden skin, and long, straight black hair. They had been barely ten years of age when the Mughal had presented them to Candra, and when she had departed India, they had remained to serve her child.
    Rohana undid her mistress’s long black hair and brushed it free of gold dust. Then she perfumed it with jasmine oil. Toramalli brought her lady a large, light shawl to wrap about her, for the evening had turned cool. Then the two servants escorted Yasaman to her bed.
    “Leave me,” the princess told them. “Go to your own beds.”
    The twin sisters bowed themselves from the bedchamber. Alone, Yasaman leapt from her bed to fetch a small oil lamp and the Pillow Book. Setting the lamp on the little round table next to her bed, Yasaman settled herself down and opened the book. The small shawl slid about her shoulders, but she didn’t notice. She leafed past the title page with its cryptic words from the Kama Sutra to the page with the first painting. The colors were clear and bright. The picture depicted a prince, fully clothed, wearing a lotus crown, seated with his equally clothed consort.
    Yasaman found herself slightly disappointed. There was nothing at all titillating about it. Yasaman knew enough aboutthe Hindu faith to know that the lotus crown indicated that the wearer had attained a high level of spiritual awareness. Did a man have to reach such a spiritual plateau in order to make love to a woman? And what about the woman? Or did she misunderstand entirely? Perhaps men also wore lotus crowns when they made love to a woman. Yes! That had to be it! She turned the page to find she was totally