The Sheikh's Contract Bride: Theirs was an ancient debt, and the time had come to settle it... (The Sheikhs' Brides Book 1)

by Clare Connelly

His smile was without humour. “It is a double-edged sword. I appreciate their way of life, and yet it is a frequent point of political difficulty. Their mortality rates are high, particularly among children. A simple infection can lead to death. The children do not learn to read nor write. They are an anachronism.”

  “A beautiful anachronism,” she said wistfully.

  “And there is the sword,” he said with a curt nod. “There is romance to their being. They capture the imaginations of those of us who have given up our claims to this land, to move over it almost as though we are a part of it. They tempt us with their freedom; taunt us with it, even.”

  “Even you?” She murmured, her eyes pinning him so that he was powerless to shirk the question even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Her quick responses were something that he had discovered was not normal, and he did not surround himself with fools. But even in comparison to his intelligent, erudite friends, there was something about her fast-wittedness that was utterly unique.

  “Especially me.”

  Not even a second’s pause. “Why?”

  “My family’s line came from the desert. We were Bedouin tribal leaders before we became the kings of today.”

  “And you miss that lifestyle?”

  “I never knew that lifestyle to miss it,” he corrected. “But there is a belief that our bloodline is tied to these lands. That my ancestors were cast from the same stones that form the mountains to the west.”

  A shiver moved inside of her. She could well believe that, looking at his harsh, symmetrical face. “You long for freedom,” she supplied.

  His smile was sardonic. “I long for nothing, and I consider I have great freedom. It is simply an observation that these people live in a way that most Kalasi admire. Despite the problems and the poverty, I am reluctant to introduce measures that would bring them the advantages of our civilisation.”

  “Who says they’re advantages?” She murmured. “Is it better to live a short life, a life that you love, a life that is a testament to what you believe? Or to live a long life, stifled by modernity and its restrictions?”

  He quelled the excitement in his gut. She had so perfectly expressed the sentiment he had frequently wrangled with, and yet he shifted into the part of Devil’s Advocate. “Do you think these children believe in this way of life, or are simply forced to live it for lack of other options?”

  “Show me a child that would disparage what his parents or grandparents fervently cared about,” she said with a shrug of her slender shoulders.

  Something like conscience burned inside of him. “Even you?”

  It caught her momentarily off-balance. He could see that in the way her eyes flickered closed. Then she smiled, a bright, beautiful smile that caused an answering off-balance sensation to tip him. “Even me.”

  “So you agreed to this marriage because it was the wish of your grandfather.”

  “Yes,” she said simply. “The first time around.”

  “And then second?”

  She was unreadable. Her face held in place using every single muscle. She gave nothing away. “My grandfather left Kalasi because my grandmother could not bear the heat, and because she was homesick for England. He missed it every day of his life.”

  “Arranging your marriage seems like an extreme way to express that.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “He didn’t arrange our marriage in a void. You agreed to it, too. As did I.”

  “You were too young to agree to anything.”

  She straightened her spine. “I knew what I was getting into.”

  “I doubt that,” he said darkly, his eyes shifting to the window once more. The little fires were gone; disappeared into the darkness. “You do not have a lover?”

  Her heart stammered in her chest. Her pulse raced; her temperature skyrocketed. “I don’t see that’s any of your business.”

  He lanced his eyes back to her with an amused smile that made her blood boil. “Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Even as your husband?”

  Her face darkened with a hint of colour, feathering over her high cheekbones. “We both know our marriage will have limits.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, imagining that it wouldn’t. Imagining that it was a marriage based on more than necessity. Imagining peeling her dress away and touching her body as though he had every right.

  “You said there’s political pressure on you to intervene with the Badawi?” She returned their conversation to safer ground and he noticed. He allowed her to shift past his question – for a moment, at least.

  “Yes.”

  “Can anyone pressure you?” She asked archly. “I believed your power to be absolute.”

  “It is.” He moved in the seat, his bulky frame over-sized even for the large arm chairs. “But it is still wise to listen to my people. To appreciate their concerns.”

  A frown passed over her features; not one of sadness but of concentration. “I don’t know if it’s your place to intervene.”

  “I am their sovereign.”

  “Are you?” Her eyes met his. Intense mauve curiosity spread through him. “It sounds to me like they exist outside of your rule completely. Like they have their own hierarchy.”

  “A kingdom within a kingdom?” He murmured.

  “Sort of.” She sighed heavily. He wondered what was behind it but she expanded before he could query her. “If you ask me, they probably have the right idea.”

  “Yes?” He prompted, studying her features as she was faced away.

  “No phones? No internet?” She flicked her head to meet his gaze for a moment and then looked beyond him, to the distant, sleeping figure of Lilly. “Sounds like bliss to me.”

  “For a while, perhaps,” he said quietly.

  She didn’t answer. The plane’s descent was tangible now, as though they’d met invisible sky railway tracks and were being guided gently into the city. She moved closer to the window so that she could appreciate the view as the plane dipped.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Violet didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Her blood boiled inside of her. “I told you it was none of your business.”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” he said with a twist of his lips.

  She didn’t contradict him, but nor did she offer confirmation and suddenly he wanted her, desperately, to say those words. To admit that she didn’t have a lover, left behind in England, languishing, longing, wanting her touch desperately.

  “It is not such a personal request,” he pushed, moving closer and putting a hand on her knee. She jerked at the touch, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she met his eyes.

  “Do you have a lover?” She asked, challenge ringing in her voice.

  He laughed; a hoarse sound that made her gut turn. “Not presently.”

  Her lip lifted in a half-smile. “Not presently. Same.”

  It was a frustrating answer. “And in the past?”

  She shook her head. “You’re asking if I’m a virgin?”

  His breath snagged in his throat. Images of her naked were too easy to picture. Of being the man to be her first; to break through her invisible barrier and make her his in the most unique of ways. “Apparently.”

  Her skin paled. “That’s something you’ll just have to wonder about.”

  “Or I could discover it for myself.”

  Now it was Violet’s turn to gasp. She shifted her legs away, sending him a look of absolute annoyance. “That would be …” Unwise. Unwelcome. Foolish. Her mouth couldn’t find the words. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared back at the window. It framed a more populated view now. Small, white buildings huddled close together, fringing narrow streets that seemed to curl haphazardly.

  “It’s not what we agreed,” she said finally.

  “You’re right,” he said after a tiny pause. “That’s the old city.” He changed the subject quickly, swerving away from the dangerous, seductive topic of her sexual h
istory – or lack thereof.

  Her breath was forced but she tried to speak calmly. “It looks beautiful,” she said. “I’d like to explore it at street-level.”

  “You will have plenty of time for that,” he said. “Syed lives there. He will show you.” Until he offered his brother’s services, she hadn’t realised that she’d meant she wanted to explore it with him.

  Dangerous ground shifted frighteningly beneath her feet. “I wouldn’t want to put him out,” she said softly.

  “He is curious to meet you,” Zahir sought to reassure her.

  “Is he married?”

  “Not yet.” He looked at her. “Like me, he has an intended bride.”

  “Your father’s big on the whole arranged marriage thing, huh?”

  He shrugged. “Our father became Sheikh at the end of a dangerous period of civil war. An imprudent marriage had caused a national divide. He is cautious in wanting our own brides to be wisely chosen.”

  “So I’m somehow meant to placate your people?” She murmured with arch disbelief.

  His smile was wry. “You are not incendiary.”

  “And Anna?” She prompted, unable to stop the question from flying out.

  He didn’t seem to mind. “Anna was … she was not Sheikha long enough for my people to know her.”

  Emboldened by his swift response, Violet continued, “She was pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what … how she died?”

  “Complications. Her uterus ruptured.”

  Violet shuddered and reached forward, unable to stop herself from touching his arm now. “That must have been awful.”

  “It was excruciatingly painful for her. Swift, mercifully. The baby suffocated.”

  “Oh, Zahir.” It was the first time she’d said his name and it felt strange in her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was not your fault,” he said stiffly. “And it proved one thing to me that I had long suspected.”

  “Yes?”

  “I do not want children of my own. I have no interest in becoming a father, nor of seeing a woman go through that because of me.”

  Violet’s chest was hurting, as though something heavy was being pressed against her. “That sounds like an incredibly rare complication,” she said gently.

  “A fact which offers little consolation.”

  “I’m sure. Could anything?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “So, if you don’t have children, what happens to the throne?”

  “It passes to my brother, and his heirs.”

  “Syed? But you said he’s not married…”

  “No. But then there is my cousin. Our line of succession is strong enough to withstand my choice not to procreate.”

  It wasn’t a real marriage. Theirs was to satisfy two short term goals. To placate his father and to separate Lilly from a lifestyle that must surely be damaging.

  Whether Zahir chose to have children or not had little to do with Violet. So why bother arguing? At twenty three, children were nowhere on her radar either. Just a very distant faraway thought, an idea that she might, one day, feel life burgeon in her belly; that she might issue it from her body and hold it in her arms. But not for many years. And not with a man like this, in a marriage that was just a sham.

  “Does your father agree?”

  He looked at her sharply. “He would not. And he will never need to know.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. The plan seemed fraught with complications to Violet. For example, what if Adin lived beyond the expected time? She had no concept of his health, but it was not uncommon for people to defy the doctors’ advice. What if he lived for years and no heir appeared? And would that mean she needed to stay married to Zahir? These were doubts she kept to herself. Wise beyond her years, she told herself that until she saw Adin for herself, she would need to simply wait and see.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Let me look at you.” The man’s voice was thin and punctuated with too much air, yet there was something to him, even pressed back against crisp white pillows, that showed the strength of his core.

  Confused, Violet took another step into the room, moving deeper into his sanctuary. It was early still. Having not been able to settle since being shown to her enormous suite of rooms – more like an apartment, in fact – she had been sitting on her balcony reading when a servant had invited her to visit King Adin.

  The King had eyes just like his son’s. They were intense and determined and they studied her now. But not as Zahir had. There was no heat to Adin’s look. It was interest, fascination, a curiosity he had been forced to squash for many, many years. He spoke, finally, his gaze resting back on her face. “You are well?”

  “I am, thank you.”

  “You look pale.”

  She smiled, despite the self-conscious butterflies that flapped against her stomach. “We caught a night-flight from London. I barely slept.”

  “I see.” His eyes had the same burning intensity as his son’s. They were not as unsettling, though. Violet moved closer into the room. It was large, with windows that were open to allow the last of the dawn breeze into the room. She could already feel the searing heat that the day would bring, though. “I apologise for sending for you so early. I have been impatient to see you since I knew Zahir had gone to London.”

  “I was awake,” she assured him.

  He continued to stare at her for a long moment. “You remind me of him.”

  She smiled. “I think I am more like my grandmother and my mother.”

  His eyes roamed her face with critical focus. “In looks, yes. You are Sophie. But there is something …” He coughed, his frail body racked with effort. She watched, unmoving for a moment, and then reached for his side table. She passed a glass of water to him, careful to keep sympathy from showing on her face.

  He drank and then held the glass back to her. She replaced it and continued their conversation as though the outburst hadn’t taken place. “He raised me,” she said simply. “He taught me a lot.”

  “Tell me,” the old man sat straighter and leaned forward a little. “Did he teach you to play chess?”

  Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “You could say I taught him.”

  “Eh,” he laughed, a cackle that sounded painful. “You think you are good?”

  “I know I am.” Warmth flowed from her body. “He told me you are too.”

  “Indeed.” A light seemed to flicker in his eyes. “I could not tell you how many hours we played. Late into the night, and early into the mornings. It was a rivalry that did not even die with his absence.”

  “That’s right.” She had forgotten, until that moment, that Efani and Adin had enjoyed games of chess over the internet. They had stretched for months, given their various commitments.

  “I have a board. Will you bring it next time you come?”

  “Only if you’ll allow me the honour of playing in my grandfather’s place?”

  Adin studied her, a smile on his cracked lips.

  She was a good choice. An excellent choice. In her, his son would have found a true match. Smart, kind, beautiful. She possessed the qualities he sought for his daughter-in-law. For the woman who would sit upon the Queen’s throne.

  “Yes.” A hiss, almost, as too much air escaped with the word. His eyebrows were white, and several hairs had grown beyond their remit, springing impetuously and at odd angles for freedom.

  “I’ll come tomorrow,” she said with a nod. “But I should warn you, I have no intention of going easy on you because you’re a King.”

  His laugh was hoarse and again he broke into coughs. When she reached for his water, he batted away her hand. “Do not trouble yourself.”

  She understood. She had seen her grandfather like this too. So proud, to the end. Refusing to be babied and coddled. She waited for Adin to catch his breath.

  “Your grandfather was immensely proud of you.”

  “I know.”

  “
Your marriage was talked of between us for a long time. When Zahir married That Woman, we were both of us a little destroyed.”

  “I know that too,” she said sympathetically.

  “And you?” He prompted.

  The question caught her off guard. She had the sense that he knew more about her than she wanted him to. “I was surprised,” she said quietly. “But not upset.” That was a lie, one she offered to placate a dying man.

  “No? Efani thought …”

  “My grandfather was outraged on my behalf,” she said with that same soft insistence. “Believe me, I had no personal stake in it.”

  “It was a foolish error in judgement. That woman was not – and never could have been – right to be his wife.” He expelled a breath, shaking his head. “Yet I did not wish her dead. It was a sad business.”

  What could Violet say to that?

  She let her gaze drift to the windows, and the view of the city beyond. They were on the eastern edge, high on a hill. The view of the city was exquisite. She caught flashes of the bright, metallic highrises with their reflective glass, and in the far distance, overwhelmed and cast into shadow by the height of the modern constructions was the old city she’d glimpsed as their plane had come into land at the royal military base a short distance from the palace. “I like your view,” she said quietly.

  “As do I.” He followed her gaze. “If it is the last thing I see, I will be happy.”

  She turned to face him sharply, for once at a loss for what to respond.

  As it happened, a reply was unnecessary. The door pushed inwards and Zahir swept into the room looking as fresh as if he’d slept on silk for three days straight. His skin glowed, his eyes showed intrigue. She looked at him for the bare minimum amount of time before forcing her gaze to rest, as if relaxed, on the frame of the door.

  But she didn’t miss, out of the periphery of her vision, the way he startled at the sight of her, sitting beside his father. “Good morning, Violet.” His voice was a deep husk. Her blood simmered, gushing through her body so fast she could hear its incessant rushing in her ears.

  “Good morning.” She stood, still not quite meeting his eyes. “Your father sent for me.”

  Zahir narrowed his eyes for a moment. “You do not need to explain yourself.”