The Reluctant Princess. Kholo Matsha

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СКАЧАТЬ did indeed know each other. They’d been friends for as long as Lesedi could remember. After matric Phetana had gone away to study for her nursing diploma and Lesedi had gone to university for her social work degree, but they had both come back to GaTloung to work in their own community. They truly were a pair.

      Phetana laughed again. “Even though you are a beautiful woman, I don’t think you should get any darker than you already are.”

      Lesedi blanched, her hands going to her face. A distressed sound escaped her lips – she hadn’t thought it was that bad.

      Phetana stopped laughing. “Hey, don’t stress. It’s nothing a few applications of lotion can’t fix.”

      “Guess who saw me looking like this,” Lesedi said, shutting her eyes in horror.

      Lesedi knew that with the history they shared she should actually not care if Mogale found her attractive or not, but she still didn’t want him to see her in such a state.

      Phetana was looking at Lesedi thoughtfully, trying to figure out who could have caused the horror on her face, but at that moment the back door was filled by a tall, wide frame. She looked away quickly, wishing she was invisible.

      “Lesedi, our father needs you,” Lesedi’s brother Tsietsi said simply, glaring at Phetana. He had a way of commanding attention.

      “I still have some things to do,” Lesedi replied. “I can’t just leave.”

      “This is far more important,” Tsietsi continued, picking up Lesedi’s bag and turning towards the door. “Come with me.” If he saw anything wrong with her appearance, he didn’t say so.

      “Tsietsi, what’s this about?” Lesedi got to her feet.

      Her brother turned impatiently, looking pained. “The high and mighty prince of Batloung has returned.” He spat the words out as though they left a bad taste in his mouth.

      Lesedi felt her heart give a painful lurch in her chest, a sense of foreboding wrapping itself around her. “What has that got to do with me?” Her voice sounded strange, even to her own ears, and Lesedi feared that she had revealed her true feelings where Mogale was concerned.

      Tsietsi eyed Phetana, who had suddenly gone still, her hands frozen in the sink. This was not going according to plan, he thought – not that he had believed that it would, considering the circumstances. He could not believe that his father had caved in when the chief’s people had come and asked for his daughter’s hand. They had come bearing gifts, true, but his and Lesedi’s family was not some charity case. Tsietsi swallowed his anger, knowing it to be futile, wrapped his fingers around Lesedi’s arm and gently guided her out of the door.

      Five minutes later Tsietsi had Lesedi settled in his bakkie and they were on their way up a sloping gravel road. Lesedi was stunned. She couldn’t move a muscle. Thoughts and questions warred with each other in her mind. And the most prevalent question was: What could Mogale possibly want from her? Apart from their brief encounter that morning, she hadn’t seen him in over six years. He hadn’t tried to contact her. For all she knew he hated her. What could he possibly want?

      “He’s come to marry you,” her brother blurted out as though answering her silent question.

      Lesedi felt a blend of fear and ecstasy spiralling through her. Marrying Mogale had been her dream ever since she had known what it felt like to be in his arms. Even though at the time her reactions to him had been childish and clumsy – and he had been reserved and protective, so much so that he hadn’t taken their secret relationship any further than a few chaste kisses and warm hugs – she had known. And then he had turned on her.

      Head bowed, Lesedi worried the folds of her skirt, the sense of foreboding she had felt growing stronger. Their past was complicated; they had been young, their new-found love explosive and undeniable, but they had kept it secret, mindful of the situation they found themselves in. Of course, someone had eventually found out about them – his cousins and brother – but they had just laughed at her . . . Had they known she was there, overhearing? She’d heard them say that Mogale was playing her, and she didn’t even know it. He had proposed to her with a ring fashioned from sweet wrappers, and like the fallen princess that she was, she wore it as if it were pure gold. At that moment her eyes had gone to the ring on her finger. Its blend of colours had impressed her and she couldn’t believe the time he had taken to make it. Despite their laughter, she’d still reasoned that Mogale wouldn’t do such a thing, he loved her. But then one of them had said something so personal – something she had trusted only Mogale with – that her heart had burst open in her chest, hurt and rage mingling, causing her to see only red. And from that moment there had been no turning back.

      Later, when she’d had time to compose herself, she had sought Mogale out, and when she’d found him she hadn’t spared him. She’d taken off the ring, and with all the dignity she could muster, shoved it at him, laughing all the while, saying, right in front of his father and other high-ranking members of the royal family, “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have a prince chase after me, and give me cheap little trinkets.” She had laughed harder. “Now I know. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man alive, Mogale Tloung.”

      He’d said nothing, his face hard. Finally he’d taken the ring from her and pocketed it, and then he’d turned away from her, dismissing her as though she was one of no importance to him. That had hurt her even more. And with her heart breaking, she had blindly made her way home.

      And now he was back and wanted to marry her.

      Tsietsi sent her a sideways look. “Lesedi, you know you don’t have to do this.” Her brother’s face softened. “Talk to Father and tell him how you feel. You don’t have to marry a man you don’t love just because it makes some kind of political sense.”

      Lesedi blinked – she had been so wrapped up in her own hurt that she hadn’t realised the significance of all of this. In marrying Mogale she would be resurrecting her clan. Her connection to him would restore her people, and they could once again walk the dusty roads of Ga-Tloung with pride. The prospect was tempting, but Mogale’s betrayal, though long ago, was still raw. How could she marry a man who had abused her trust, played with her emotions? Could she do this for her clan? Lesedi didn’t know.

      But then, would marrying Mogale truly be such a sacrifice on her part? She could hardly say that she’d been able to forget him. Over the past six years she’d thought about him almost every day, wondering why she should be destined to continue to love a man who had treated her so cruelly. And yet, wasn’t she just learning not to make everyone else’s burden her own?

      Facing forward, she watched the gates to her home appearing ahead, knowing that a decision would soon be made.

      * * *

      Mogale Tloung growled as he paced the length of the simply furnished sitting room where he waited for Lesedi. The rage he felt inside marred his handsome face, but there was nothing he could do – it bubbled up inside him like lava in a volcano about to erupt. He released a heated breath to cool himself, glad that he was alone. Lesedi! Just the mere thought of her sent him into another dimension, a dimension where he lost control. Just like now.

      Seeing her earlier had almost undone him. His first instinct when he’d seen her had been to abandon his car right there, in the middle of the road, and crush her to him. Why he should still feel this way about her he didn’t know. He was twenty-nine, but his feelings for her hadn’t aged a day.

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