“I know more about you than you think. I understand your childhood was, shall we say, ‘interesting’.”
“I know what you’re saying, Zahir. You despise my background and, you know what? I don’t blame you because I didn’t much like it myself. But I tried to do something about that.” She couldn’t go on, her voice faltered and tears threatened the mask she was trying to keep on her emotions.
“And you failed, didn’t you. Married, became pregnant, and let your own weak need for ‘respect’ and ‘love’ prevent you from escaping that world. You see, every opponent has a weakness. And I know yours.”
He was watching her closely, waiting to see if she would take the bait. She looked down briefly. “You can think what you like.”
“There, again, you are holding back. You are not wanting an argument, you are waiting, watching.” He smiled as he acknowledged the truth in her face. “That is the measure of a good tactician.”
“It is the measure of someone with no other resources than to wait and discover how, exactly, you aim to seduce me. I’m sure, like everything else, you have it planned.”
“Indeed.”
“Then what is your strategy?”
“I have fought many battles and have never found it in my interests to reveal my strategies before battle commenced.”
“Battle.” She repeated, nodding, her lips pursed with restraint. “I guess anything goes in a battle, then. Tricks, treachery—”
“And skill, don’t forget skill.”
She looked up quickly and caught the heat of his gaze. There was no doubt he was skilled. She remembered his skills vividly.
“It’s a game to you, isn’t it? Listen, Zahir, there’s only one reason I’m here, and that’s for Matta.”
“You have to face facts, Anna. There is little you can give the boy. He has everything he needs here. He will receive only the best education and care. His nurse, Muma Yemena, will ensure that he—”
“He has a name—”
“Will be cared for.”
She sighed in exasperation. “Well, isn’t that just fine and dandy. The woman who helped spirit my son away from me is now given full-time care of him.” She’d felt the pang of helpless jealousy as yet another person in her life found love elsewhere.
“Of course. She was my brother’s nurse, and then Matta’s.”
“I thought Matta was safe with her.”
“He is.”
“I’d taken his passport, I didn’t think they’d be able to leave the country.”
“You underestimated the determination of a dutiful and loyal Arab woman.”
“And you underestimate the power of a mother’s love.”
“No.” He paused. “I don’t.” He looked at her directly. “You’re here aren’t you?”
“I don’t know how you could use Matta like that. To blackmail me into coming here.”
“The fact that Matta has also brought me you is a bonus. But he was always going to be raised here with me. There was no question about that.”
Anna shook her head in despair.
“Come.” Zahir stood up. “I will take you back to your rooms.
“It’s not necessary. I’m sure you’ve business to attend.”
“I have cancelled everything over the next few weeks except for an important meeting later this morning. That, I must attend alone.”
“A few weeks. You think that will be enough time?”
“To seduce you? Of course.”
They walked silently through ancient passages supported by arches that soared high into the ceiling, one arch following another until they faded into the pale gold of the sandstone.
Despite the fact it seemed such an alien world to Anna, she couldn’t help be awed by it. She felt a sense of peace settle within her, as if the very walls emanated a strength absorbed from the people who had lived and loved and died there over countless centuries. Somehow its power seeped under her skin and calmed the frustrating blend of anger and arousal that simply being with Zahir sparked.
“I imagine Abduallah spoke to you of the palace?”
“A little. He described its beauty but I never imagined it would be like this.”
“It is more than merely beautiful. It is a symbol of my people, of the strength that lies in their culture and tradition, of the importance of loyalty and duty.” He stopped in front of a heavy latticed door and turned to her. “Such things are still important today, don’t you think?”
Gone were the accusations and chilling control of the day before. Instead, his expression looked curious, as if he was genuinely interested in her reply.
“Depends on one’s culture and tradition. Some people need to escape their ‘family traditions’ and find their own way in the world.” She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, trying not to remember her own desperate need to escape her family’s downward spiral. “Not much chance of escape from here though.”
“The palace is about security, not escape. Come.” He opened the door into an exquisite courtyard garden. It was smaller than the others they’d passed, with a perfectly round white marble fountain surrounded by a jasmine-covered pergola, fragrant citrus and subtly colored paths. It was the garden upon which her bedroom opened.
“My suite of rooms is opposite yours.”
She hadn’t realized that.
The intimate privacy of the garden and his proximity unsettled her. She was very aware of the earthy notes of his aftershave mingling with the heady jasmine.
She moved away from him, over to the fountain, desperate to clear her head of him. She sat on its polished, gleaming edge and plunged both hands into the water. She cupped the crystal clear water in her palms and brought it to her face. She could almost swear it had a fragrance, of something sweet and pure. She let the water trickle through her fingers.
“Spring water.” He was suddenly there beside her, watching her intently. She kept her eyes fixed on the water, but aware of every movement, every ripple in his gown. “Drawn from deep in the mountains. It’s been the life force of the palace and its community for centuries. Ma-ush-shafa.”
“Healing water.” She streaked her hands through the water, watching the sun sparkle in its midst, remembering her husband’s love of poetry and the Koran. If Zahir was the fighter in the family, her husband, Abduallah, had been the poet. He used to read aloud to her, revealing his love for the country that he could never return to. Shame bit too deep. He couldn’t face his family. She suddenly realized Zahir had been silent for a few minutes. She looked up.
Zahir held her gaze for one long, unfathomable moment before turning away abruptly.
“I must go. I have business to attend. You will stay here and we will dine later—”
“I am not one of your servants to order—”
“And Matta is here. Be with him until my business is complete.”
She looked around startled—she hadn’t heard Matta approach—and suddenly he was in her arms once more. His old nurse and young cousins hovered on the edge of the garden, awaiting permission to enter.
By the time she’d freed her arms and beckoned them to come, Zahir had gone.
By late afternoon, Matta was asleep and Anna was free to wander the corridors, gardens and rooms of the palace alone. She found herself on one of the upper levels, looking down on the entrance to the palace. It must have been from here that Zahir had watched her arrive only the day before. It felt like weeks. Now it was her turn to watch as Zahir bid his Bedu guests a formal farewell.
They were a fearsome sight: belts filled with gun cartridges; rifles held as naturally in their hands as if they were briefcases; heavily-engraved silver daggers thrust under their belts. Their white robes gleamed in the harsh sunlight, a stark contrast to their dark, weathered skin. Despite the lack of weapons, Zahir looked every inch the sheikh with his commanding presence. She knew that being a ruler of his people wasn’t strictly an hereditary entitlement. He had to be the sheikh at all times. He had to prove constantly
that he deserved that honor. There must be no infringement on his dignity.
Suddenly she heard running feet.
With an impending sense of horror, she put her hand to her mouth, wanting to call out, to stop Matta from being rejected, to keep him from harm. He had no business to be there. But he was too far away. Neither Zahir, nor Matta, could see or hear her.
She watched as Matta bounded up to Zahir from behind and jump onto his leg, his little hands digging in to the folds of his robe. With one swift movement, Zahir had swept his arm around Matta’s small body and swung him high in the air.
Appalled, Anna watched, waiting to see the inevitable. But it didn’t come.
Matta’s loud shrieks of joy echoed around the courtyard as Zahir swung him again and again into the air, catching him before he fell.
The guests laughed and turned away to leave.
As the adrenalin ebbed from her body, she sank against the wall for support. She felt sick and dazed. She continued to watch as Zahir swept the boy up until he sat across his shoulders, each chubby leg firmly secured by Zahir’s hands. As they turned towards the gardens, Anna caught sight of Matta’s wide grin below eyes that shone bright in the sunlight.
By the time she reached them Matta was back on his feet, trying to catch up with his young cousins. She fell into step with Zahir as they made their way through to the rear entrance of the palace, out to a plateau that overlooked the wide plains.
She reached out and placed her hand lightly on his arm. He stopped walking immediately and turned to her expectantly.
“Zahir, I was wrong.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you were. But about what in particular?”
She even ignored his jibe. “About Matta.”
“Ahh.” He nodded. She could see he understood.
“You were right. This is the place for him. He will be happy here.”
He hesitated. For a moment she wondered if he realized what it had taken for her to say these words. Perhaps. Perhaps not. She would never know for he didn’t speak. He simply nodded slowly.
“He is happy here. Look.”
Her gaze followed his, out to where the boys were playing, safely within the battlements of the palace, safe from the plunging drop below, his nurse watching close by.
The late afternoon was giving way to a sunset that flooded the surrounding plain with fire, warming Zahir’s face. She dropped her hand that was still touching his arm and stepped away.
“I have to go now.”
“Get changed for dinner. We are not always so traditional. You are free to wear whichever of your clothes you like: traditional or western. You have plenty to choose from. I will send Matta in shortly.”
She nodded. She couldn’t even wait for her son. It was as if something inside her had shifted, the pressure was off. The wide-open plains, her son safe, she felt herself being lulled into a state she couldn’t have imagined twenty-four hours previously. She needed to get away from Zahir. She needed time to think.
Zahir watched her go and smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was that so reassured her. Presumably seeing the boy with his friends and relations. Whatever. The first part of his plan had gone well: reassure her about the child.
She was wrong. He hadn’t underestimated her maternal instincts. The first stage of his plan of seduction was based on them. And, with that worry gone, she would know there was no other place for her than here. Now she had to realize that there was no other place for her than in his bed. And she would. She would soon see that there were worse things than being the wife and lover of Sheikh Zahir Al-Zaman of Qawaran.
Dressed in one of the beautiful designer gowns that now filled her wardrobe, Anna looked through the east window, out to where a line of darkness crept over the plains as the fiery sun dipped behind the mountains. The view, so beguiling in its expanse, so different to the intimate beauty of the courtyard garden, called to her strongly. Her acceptance that Matta was where he needed to be came at a cost. The void she’d felt open within her, couldn’t be filled. Part of her believed that that was enough; that was all she could hope for. But something deep inside demanded more. She closed her eyes and felt the wide, open space as though it were a living entity. Could she find her own freedom here?
The unearthly screech of a bird of prey echoed around the darkening plains and drew her attention up into the blood-red sky. She watched the huge falcon spread its tawny-black feathers and hover for a moment before swooping downwards suddenly. It flew past her window and landed on a man’s outstretched gloved hand.
She could see the bird’s plumage, rich and textured in the last of the fiery sun, could see it stretch its neck in pleasure as the man gently stroked the falcon’s body. The falcon stopped pacing on the man’s gloved hand, calmed and ducked his head in submission.
Then the bird let out a call, harsh and strong, as if it were a cry for freedom, a request to return to its previous state. A cry full of a longing for what it could no longer have. But it didn’t move from the man’s glove. The man might let it fly—give it its freedom when he chose—but, once his arm was outstretched he expected obedience; he expected the bird’s return.
The man slid on the falcon’s hood and moved into view. It was Zahir.
CHAPTER THREE
She was late.
Zahir’s gaze swept the table along which his extended family sat. They had already begun the banquet that was in her honor. Above the low hum of conversation and clatter of cutlery and glasses, Zahir could sense the atmosphere had become unsettled.
It was unheard of for a guest to be late. It was inexcusable. But then the woman seemed to have no idea how to behave or if she did, went out of her way to do just the opposite of what was expected.
He signaled for his glass to be re-filled and, rather than witness the frowns and puzzled looks of his family, focussed on the subtle flicker of candlelight on the highly polished table.
His feelings towards Anna were as ambiguous as the shifting patterns of light on dark. There was no question that he wanted her for his wife and that was his priority. But whether he could forgive her for betraying Abduallah by sleeping with him and for the lies that followed, he didn’t know. Her behavior was anathema to him. And still the insults continued. Here, now, she was not only insulting his family but their tradition, their culture, their—
His train of thought was broken as the light that played on the darkly grained wood suddenly shimmered down its length. The flames of the candles sputtered and distorted as the door swung open silently. It was only when they had regained their steady glow that Zahir looked up. Anna was standing just inside the room: tall, elegant and lost. All anger vanished as he felt his need for her slam hard deep inside. Blood roared in his ears, obliterating all else. There was only her.
The light caught the crystal beading on her dress, and reflected a silver glow into her eyes, making them appear almost spectral, just as he’d imagined they would. But he hadn’t anticipated its effect on him. The gut-wrenching need was still there—always would be—but he felt again that sense of her vulnerability, seeing her standing there so unsure. And for some reason it hurt.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she walked towards the table—the grey silk dress shifting sensuously with each movement of her hips.
He rose to meet her, everyone else forgotten.
“Anna.” He took her hand and pulled her to him. It was only when he saw her cast tentative smiles to the others that he turned from her, suddenly conscious of his family watching them.
“May I introduce Anna Whitman. Anna, my family.”
“It’s lovely to meet you at last.” She flashed a wide, all encompassing smile at everyone, her eyes connecting with individuals up and down the table in an intuitive intimacy that made each and every one believe her words were meant only for them. “And I’m so sorry I’m late. Matta was unsettled and took longer to get to sleep than usual.”
All the women nodded with understand
ing and the men simply smiled admiringly: all irritation evaporating like water under the full force of the desert sun. It angered him, this ability of hers to charm people with a smile and a few words in her seductive low voice.
How did she get away with it, he wondered, as he introduced her to his cousins, aunts, uncles and the one sister who lived with him, Fatima, and then seated her opposite him? Anna seemed to think she could do what she liked and all would be forgiven with a show of her charm. He turned abruptly to talk to his uncle unwilling to face the unsettling thought he, too, was not immune to it.
Anna knew she’d messed up big time; knew that they would never forgive her for such a breach of Bedu tradition. Hospitality was central to their lives and she’d just treated it as if it were of no importance. But Matta was her priority. She did as she had always done when confronted with failure—put on a big smile and acted like her mother, acted like nothing had happened. Trouble was, the bigger she acted, the smaller she felt.
She felt her smile quiver around her lips as she desperately tried to find the strength to face the intimidating al-Zaman clan.
Was Zahir going out of his way to intimidate her by presenting them all to her at once? Did he not realize how terrifying it was to be surrounded by the people who at best thought her family to be a bad influence on their younger brother, Abduallah and who, at worst, blamed her for his death and who now had to face the prospect of her marriage to their elder brother?
“Anna, it is so lovely to meet you at last.” Fatima rose and kissed Anna’s cheeks. “May I call you Anna?”
Anna’s smile relaxed with relief at the warmth of Fatima’s greeting.
“Of course.”
“Not ‘of course’ at all. You are now my elder sister, despite the fact you are so much younger.”
Anna raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“But you are a westerner, you do not know our ways. Did my brother—Abduallah, that is—not explain anything?”
The Sheikh's Bargain Bride (Desert Kings) Page 3
