Bartered to the Sheikh: Honour, duty, marriage ... and passionate desert nights Read online

“You won’t do that again,” she said coldly, her fingers shaking a little as she ran them over her hair. “You might have been instructed to appraise my suitability as a royal bride, but I do not think the Sheikh would have expected you to take it that far.”

  He still didn’t speak. His face was set like stone; those harsh features completely immovable.

  “I trust I’ll have your personal recommendation?” She enquired, stepping further away from him.

  “I will think on it.”

  Her heart dropped.

  The foolishness of coming to this country with the expectation that it would be smooth sailing filled her with incandescent embarrassment. Of course it wasn’t going to be an easy path to navigate.

  They had been at war a long time. And it now appeared that the Sheikh’s most trusted advisor was against her.

  * * *

  Tari’ell was met by mountains to the east, and desert to the south and west. In the North, there was ocean, but it was a long way from the palace, and no refreshing sea breeze reached them to break up the relentless heat and humidity.

  Saaliyah fanned her pink face with her hands, staring out at the moonlit desert.

  Her memories of this land were fragmented. Her family had fled when she was only eight years old. Her recollections were peppered with magical evenings under the stars, as her Bedouin ancestors had lived. Firelight dances and mythical murmurings of tales that were kept out of print. Stories of their people that were so sacred they could only be spoken, rather than written.

  This palace was familiar, yet different. The spices in the food spoke to her, and yet she couldn’t remember her favourite dish. Over the years, Saaliyah had lost much of her connection to this beautiful and ancient land.

  Being back was odd.

  Particularly as she was back in such an uncertain capacity. Was she to officially become Emira? Or to return to London, rejected by the Sheikh who had approached her for this union?

  Something sweet floated past her. The fragrance of a bud that was better at night. She breathed it in deeply.

  He’d kissed her.

  The memory made her stomach squeeze.

  He’d kissed her, and it had sent her whole body into an abyss of sensation that she hadn’t ever imagined possible.

  The way he’d felt – so big and powerful against her slight frame – would stay with her forever.

  And yet she stood on the balcony outside her suite of rooms, praying that he would tell the Sheikh she would make a good wife. That she was ready for the duties that becoming Emira would carry.

  It was late when a knock sounded on her door. She looked inside, past the palatial bed, to the white and gold doors that provided access. She sighed, sending the desert one last soulful glance, and then padded back into her room.

  She’d discarded the uncomfortable dress of earlier that day and opted for a pair of linen pants and a casual cream shirt. She had not been expecting any further interruptions. Even Abigail was safely tucked into her room next door.

  “Good evening.” The servant bowed low, waving his hand to the floor in an obsequious manner. “I apologise for the late interruption, but his royal highness, the exalted Sheikh Khalid ash-Hareth has requested an interview.”

  Her heart turned over in her chest. “Oh.” She looked down at her casual outfit. “Certainly. Please inform the Sheikh I’ll be there shortly.”

  “I apologise, madam, but he was quite explicit that you should come immediately.”

  “Oh, he was, huh?” She bit down on her lip in silent consternation. While she hardly felt dressed for an audience with her prospective husband, the fact that he was beckoning her so soon was positive.

  She backtracked to the mirror and took a few moments to neaten her hair, then straightened. Outwardly she appeared calm, but her insides were fluttering.

  The servant led the way through the marble tiled corridors of the guest wing and into the more lavishly decorated royal apartments.

  With every step she took, Sally’s nervousness increased. She had come to Tari’ell to marry the Sheikh, and now? She was about to find out if he wanted that after all.

  What if the devastatingly handsome cousin had said she wasn’t suitable? What if he’d said … what if he’d told the Sheikh what had happened between them? Memories of the kiss seared to the centre of her soul.

  The hopes and dreams of her family and her people felt heavy on her slender shoulders. She moved quietly through the hallways, until the servant paused outside a set of gold doors. He knocked three times, and then stepped back, his hand lifted in a salute while he stared into the distance.

  The door opened inwards, and another servant in matching attire took the same stance.

  “Should I go in?” She asked in a sotto voce. When neither servant so much as batted an eyelid, she took in a deep breath for courage and took a step through the doorway. It was a spacious sitting room, with ornate furniture, decorative mirrors and a chandelier right in the centre. It dangled into the centre of the room, loaded with sparkling crystal and shimmering glass.

  But there was no one there.

  She looked from one door to another, a frown on her face as she contemplated what to do next.

  A breeze rustled in at that moment, billowing a sheer cream curtain through the opening in the wall.

  A balcony! Just like hers, she thought, walking towards it on autopilot. Her fate was beyond those billowing curtains.

  She saw him immediately.

  It was him.

  Not the Sheikh, but his cousin. And though she was very angry with him for the way he’d interrogated her and then kissed her, she felt a thump in her heart as she looked upon his back. His hair was down now. Freed from its bun, it fell in thick waves to below his shoulders. He was wearing loose black pants and a dark shirt. He looked sinful and sexy.

  He turned when she emerged, his dark eyes pinning to her instantly. He examined her as though she were little more than an object. Insolently, his gaze drifted from her hair, to her make-up-less face, and the casual clothes she wore.

  She had an excellent game face, he thought with surprising admiration. Though he somehow just knew she was terrified, she was looking at him as if they were about to discuss something completely inconsequential.

  “I was told the Sheikh wanted to see me,” she said finally, her accent distinctly English.

  He turned his whole body to face her. “Yes.” He waved a hand at one of the chairs. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “I’d prefer to wait until the Emir is available,” she demurred, dropping her gaze from his face.

  “Sit down, Sheikha,” he spoke with a firm insistence.

  “Where is he?”

  “My cousin? His room is on the other side of the palace.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “Do you mean to tell me you summoned me here? Pretending to be the sheikh to get me to your private quarter at this time of night?”

  He dipped his head. “You were keen to have a resolution to matters.”

  Her heart turned over. It couldn’t be good news, if this man had been given the task of ending things.

  So what? She would go back to her normal life, and this whole debacle would be cleared up.

  He moved with a panther like grace to a table in the corner. There was something so uniquely confident about his gait. She’d never known anyone like him. With every step he seemed to emanate courage and confidence.

  He poured two glasses of wine into large goblets and handed one to her. Though she rarely drank, she took it gratefully.

  “We believe your cousin was assassinated. There are factions in our country who do not wish for a union to exist between our two people.”

  At the mention of Tashana, Sally’s throat began to burn with unshed tears. “I know.”

  “That objection still exists. Despite the lasting good that might come from this marriage, it may well be dangerous. Are you certain that you would take up that responsibility? You are young. It will be a dut
y that will define the rest of your life.”

  She acknowledged with an unsteady tilt of her head. “My life is already defined by duty.” And though she had every reason to think ill of this man, she found herself confiding in him. “My childhood was far from normal. I grew up in London, but I didn’t really belong. I was never allowed to socialise with my school friends. Not properly. I was an outcast.” She sipped the wine for something to do. “I need a purpose.”

  He leaned against the railing, wondering at this tiny woman who wanted to change the world.

  “A purpose?” He let out a small laugh despite the seriousness of his mood. “Why not go to university, like anyone else your age?”

  Her fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt. “Is that what you want?” How the question cost her! She felt an ache in her gut at the sudden realisation that this man was so against the union.

  He crouched down on his powerful haunches, stretching his pants over the muscular expanse.

  “What I want?” He probed, his dark eyes lightly teasing her.

  She bit down on her lip. “We kissed.” She swallowed past her mortification. “And I’m going to marry your cousin. Won’t that be weird for you? When we get married? Him and me, I mean. Not you and me.”

  His laugh, deep and rumbling, sent tiny darts down her spine. “No.”

  She lifted a finger and hooked it around her hair. “I see.”

  He laughed again. “I doubt that.”

  “Is it just that I’m Medouzan? Is that why you disapprove of this?” She had to know. He would forever be the first man she’d ever kissed.

  His mouth, still creased into a smile, slowly straightened. He put a hand on her knee, and goose bumps immediately broke out on her skin.

  His voice was contemplative when he spoke. It was in such contrast to the arrogant, overbearing man she’d met earlier that day. “Do you see those trees over there?” He nodded towards a long line of pines. They were tall and dramatic. She’d noticed them the moment she’d arrived at the palace, for the way they formed such a strong border to the palace.

  “I’m young, not blind,” she quipped.

  His small smile was acknowledgement of her words. “They are very ancient.” His dark eyes flashed to her, to be certain she was listening. “They are cypress pines, planted almost five hundred years ago, when one of the ruling Sheikh’s wives died. Back then, our rulers had up to five wives at a time, but legend has it, this was his favourite. He mourned her for two long years, and at the end, had a line of Cypress pines planted in her honour.”

  She nodded slowly. “So you don’t want me to marry the Sheikh in case I end up as his least favourite wife?” She was able to joke only because she knew the practice of Sheikh’s taking multiple wives had died decades earlier in Tari’ell.

  His hand on her leg was warm and soul-stirring. He stroked her distractedly. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “I grew up here. In this palace. When I was ten years old, I decided to try my strength against one of those trees.” He shot her a look that she didn’t understand. “They are as big as twenty men at their base. It took a very long time to saw it through.”

  Her eyes were knitted together. She could imagine him as a child. He would have always been strong and capable. Like her, perhaps he grew up feeling out of step because of his obvious differences to his peers. “But why?”

  He shook his head. “I was ten. A child. I wanted to see if I could bring it down. And I did.”

  “You did?”

  He took her hand and pointed it to a discernible gap in the wall of green. “Right there. Can you see?”

  The moon was angled right through the gap in the hedge. She nodded slowly, her eyes floating to his face. “Why are you telling me this?”

  He studied her with dark concern. “Those trees are some of the most beautiful I have ever seen. And yet I destroyed one. For the sake of destruction. I tested my power against it, and felled it. It took me over a week. I crept out every night, and worked until the first light of dawn was breaking over the Allan ranges. Finally, it succumbed. I learned one of the most important lessons of my life that day.”

  She swallowed, not quite sure why her emotions were rioting all over the place. “I don’t understand. What lesson?”

  His accent became thicker when he was concentrating. “My father was furious. But he knew that no anger could punish me more than my own regrets would. I had ruined something irreplaceable. I had destroyed something of untold value. I swore that day I would never be so reckless again.”

  The story, told by someone as breathtakingly macho as this man, made her pulse thready. “I still don’t …”

  He groaned, crushing her to him and kissing her in one movement. “How do you not see?” His mouth devoured hers, sending shockwaves of pleasure rioting through her body. “I’m not going to ruin you.”

  She pulled away from him, confusion making her face pale. “I don’t understand, I’m sorry.” She lifted her trembling fingers to her lips. They were swollen by his passion.

  “I wanted to meet you. To be sure.”

  “You did meet me. Yesterday.”

  His lips lifted. “Yes. But you haven’t met me.”

  “I … haven’t?”

  He stood abruptly, his dark eyes glinting in his face as he looked down at her. “I am Khalid ash-Hareth, and you are to be my wife.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  An owl hooted in the distance, and the stars seemed to twinkle in and out of her field of vision. She brought her wine to her lips, but barely tasted its butter-like sweetness. Her throat was burning. Her stomach was flip-flopping, and her ears seemed to be ringing.

  It was a moment of both confusion and clarity.

  “I don’t understand,” she said finally, placing her glass on the table and standing. She wrapped her arms around her chest and stared at him as though waiting for him to explain the joke.

  “I am Khalid.” His face was autocratic, no longer revealing any of the sensitivity he’d shown her a moment earlier.

  She blinked at him in consternation. “You’re … not.”

  He ran a hand through his hair without taking his charcoal eyes off her. “I assure you, I’ve been this man every day for twenty eight years.”

  “With the exception of earlier today?” She prompted, so many emotions spiralling through her that she couldn’t have described how she felt.

  He dipped his head forward. “Our wedding arrangement is unusual. The haste with which it must happen causes difficulties.”

  “What difficulties?” She said, because she needed time to unravel the tangle of confusion that was in her mind.

  His laugh was a harsh bark. “You are inexperienced, for one.”

  Her cheeks were a vibrant shade of pink – her readiness to blush was a quality he found fascinating. “I believe we’ve already covered that.”

  Now, when he smiled, it did briefly touch his eyes. She felt a corresponding warmth unfurl from the pit of her stomach. “I do not mean in the intimate sense, Emira,” he murmured quietly, taking a step closer to her. “Though the disparity between our experiences in that area did cause me to wonder if we would be compatible.”

  She tried to swallow, but there was an enormous lump in her throat complicating matters. “I don’t understand.” She blinked furiously. At his look of muted impatience, she shot him an acerbic glare.

  “Then how can I put it?” He closed the small gap between them, and put his hands on her waist. They were large hands. Capable. What had she first thought, when she’d met him? That his hands could bring great pleasure, or pain. She shivered a little at the strange certainty that had come to her out of nowhere. He strummed his thumb along the fabric of her shirt, sending waves of awareness leaping over her skin. “I have a healthy sexual appetite, habibi.”

  She wanted to tell him not to use the term of affection, but his statement forestalled her words. In fact, it robbed her of the ability to speak. She was caught, l
ike a bug in a spider’s web, incapable of doing anything but staring up at his chiselled, enigmatic face.

  “I would prefer to marry someone who can match my needs.” There was only an inch or two between their bodies. He pressed forward, so that she was intimately connected with his strength and hardness. A moan breathed from the depths of her soul.

  She was shivering, despite the warmth of the night.

  “You are innocent, but I believe there is a fire burning inside of you.” He lifted his hands, so that they were poised just beneath her breasts. Gently, he moved his thumbs over her nipples, watching as her face shuddered in shocked pleasure at the unfamiliar intimacy. “And I will enjoy teaching you what your body is capable of, and how to please me.”

  “How to please you?” She murmured, but her voice was hardly more than a silent caress.

  “This is not the only area in which you lack experience,” he said huskily, not removing his touch from her breasts. She didn’t want him to. She leaned against him, revelling in the strange sense of desire that was turning her blood to lava. “You cannot imagine what it will be like as my wife. Your schedule will be demanding, and you will face opposition from many. There are some amongst your family’s supporters who will view this union as a betrayal. My own people, loyal to me, will not welcome you.”

  “And yet you proposed it,” she shuddered against him, as the darts of pleasure began to make coherent speech difficult.

  “It will be worth it, I believe, in time. But the road to peace will be filled with bumps. And you will suffer the brunt of them. I want you to know what is expected of you, before you speak your vow.”

  She knew she should step away from him. What he was saying was thoughtful and it was right, and it deserved more consideration than she was able to give it in her current state of sexual intoxication.

  “I came to Tari’ell to marry the Sheikh. I didn’t expect any of it to be easy.”

  “You are very different to Tashana,” he said quietly, and if she hadn’t been so clouded, she might have wondered why there was an undertone of anger in his words.

  “I know.” She sucked a shaky breath between her lips.