Free Beloved by Bertrice Small Page A

seem to catch her breath; and when she swayed uncertainly his muscled arm reached out to sweep her next to him. She had no idea how tempting she was to the prince, her moist coral lips slightly parted, her dark gray eyes wide. Her honest innocence was the most tantalizing and provocative spur to his passions; but Odenathus maintained a firm control over his own wants. It would be so easy to make love to her this very minute, he thought. It would be easy to sink onto the sand, drawing her down. How he would enjoy teaching this lovely girl the arts of love! But some deeper instinct warned him that now was not the time.
    Instead he held her firmly and said in what he hoped passed for a normal voice, “We will get to know one another, my little flower. You know that I want you for my wife, but because I care for you I want you to be happy. If being my wife would bring you sadness then it cannot be. You would do me honor if you would stay at the palace this summer. Then we may get to know each other within the protective circle of our families.”
    “I … I must ask my father,” she replied softly.
    “I am sure that Zabaai ben Selim will agree.” He let her go then and, taking her hand, again turned back to the encampment. Escorting her to her tent, he bowed politely and bid her a good night.
    It was a bemused Zenobia who passed into her quarters. The desert night had grown cool, and Bab sat nodding by the brazier.Zenobia was relieved, for she didn’t want to talk at this moment. She wanted time alone in the silence to think. She was quite confused. Prince Odenathus had roused something within her, but she could not be sure if it was the kind of love that grew between a man and a woman. How could she know? She had never felt that kind of love. Zenobia sighed so deeply that Bab awakened with a start.
    “You are back, child?” The old woman rose slowly to her feet. “Let me help you get ready for bed. Was the evening a pleasant one for you? Did you walk with the prince? Did he kiss you?”
    Zenobia laughed. “So many questions, Bab! Yes, the evening was pleasant and the prince did not kiss me, though I thought once he might.”
    “You did not hit him the way you have done with the young men of the tribe?” Bab fretted.
    “No, I didn’t, and had he tried to kiss me I wouldn’t have.”
    The older woman nodded, satisfied. The prince obviously sought to win over her lovely child, and that was good. He was obviously a man of sensitivity, and that, too, was to be commended. Zenobia, little hornet that she was, could be won over by honeyed persuasion. Force would be fatal. Bab helped her young mistress to undress, and settled her in her bed. “Good night, my child,” she said and, bending, kissed the girl’s forehead.
    “He wants me to spend the summer at the palace, Bab. Do you think Father will agree?”
    “Of course he will agree! Go to sleep now, my dear, and dream beautiful dreams of your handsome prince.”
    “Good night, Bab,” came the reply.
    By noon the next day the camp was struck, and they were on the road back to the great oasis city. The prince rode next to Zenobia, who proved far more talkative in the saddle than she had been the previous evening. By the time the city came in sight two days later they were in the process of becoming friends. The prince left the caravan of Zabaai ben Selim at his home, and rode on to the palace to prepare for Zenobia’s visit.
    He was greeted by his mother, Al-Zena, who had been a Persian princess. Al-Zena meant “the woman” in the Persian language; a feminine woman who personified beauty, love, and fidelity. Odenathus’s elegant mother was all of these things. She was petite in stature, athough quite regal. Her skin was as white as snow, her hair and eyes black as night. Al-Zena loved her son, her onlychild, above all else; but she was a strong-willed woman who wanted no serious rivals for her son’s attention. She held Palmyra in contempt, forever comparing it