The Widow And The Sheikh (Hot Arabian Nights, Book 1)

by Marguerite Kaye

  He stopped his furious pacing and gazed out of the window. He was not thinking straight. Her assertion that his conscience would not allow him to stay away from Qaryma was of course nonsense, but there was no harm in admitting, just to himself, that he did care for the kingdom where he had been born and raised. He did care for the people too. He wished for them only the king they deserved, a king who wanted to reign, and who was fit to reign. Not a king who saw his kingdom as a millstone around his neck. Not a king who had abandoned them ten years ago. And who would leave again in three weeks’ time, for ever.

  He pushed open the window that led on to his private terrace, taking his coffee with him. As far as Kamal was concerned though, he should be viewing the points Julia raised in a positive light. Shortcomings which could be addressed, not fatal flaws which could not.

  Actions. Azhar knew exactly what actions he would take. Summoning a servant, he rattled off a series of commands. The fresh perspective which he’d asked Julia to provide was already paying dividends.

  * * *

  Having spent the morning writing up her notes, one of her least favourite and most neglected tasks, Julia had eaten some fruit for lunch and fallen asleep on the couch in her sitting room. When Aisha shook her gently awake she was confused, the beginnings of a headache niggling behind her eyes from the sun streaming through the curtains she had left open. It took her a good five minutes to understand that Azhar required her presence in a room whose name she couldn’t translate but which was located in the Second Court.

  At Aisha’s insistence, she changed her crumpled clothing for a matching tunic and pantaloons in navy blue, a sky-blue scarf fastened over her face as she made her way through the palace. By the time she arrived at the Second Court, hurrying after the huge sentry, Julia was beginning to wonder if Azhar had decided he’d had enough of the honesty he’d demanded from her, and was having her expelled from Qaryma.

  The huge door slammed shut behind her and the scene before her convinced Julia that she was right. Though the chamber was much smaller than the Divan, and in a way more ornate, the air was oppressive with authority. The walls were panelled and painted, the ceiling vaulted and tiled, the floor marble. In the centre, the throne was more like a low chair with clawed feet covered in gold leaf. And on the throne sat Azhar in a white-silk tunic and cloak. His headdress was also white, though the headband which kept it in place seemed to be made of golden rope.

  Hovering in the doorway, Julia pushed back her veil. ‘You look extremely regal,’ she said. ‘What is this place? Ought I to kneel?’

  Azhar got to his feet, extending his hand in welcome. ‘It is the Hall of Pleas, and of course you should not kneel.’

  ‘You mean it is a court room. Am I on trial?’

  ‘Have you committed a crime?’

  She returned his smile uncertainly. ‘Some of the things I said to you yesterday about your brother were treasonable.’

  ‘But some of them were valid,’ Azhar said, ‘and as such, needed acting upon. This morning I had a formal audience with Kamal here. I have started to put measures into place to address your legitimate concerns.’

  Julia surveyed the room, the throne, the Prince in front of her. ‘You dressed up to give your brother a dressing down.’

  Azhar smiled faintly. ‘I thought a show of authority was in order to remind my brother that my word is final, my orders brook no challenge.’

  ‘The first time I saw you, you were sitting on a camel dressed in the clothes of a nomad, yet there was something about you that made me think—oh, I don’t know,’ Julia said. ‘I suppose what I mean is, you don’t require clothes or a throne to intimidate or exude natural authority, Azhar.’

  ‘Julia, you have singularly failed to be intimidated by me regardless of my attire, for which I profoundly thank you. Now, I do not have much time. I have summoned Council to assemble in an hour. The first of my actions, of which I hope you will approve.’

  Approve! Azhar had never asked for her approval before. He had probably used the word inadvertently.

  ‘I have ordered Kamal to resume the thrice-weekly meetings,’ Azhar was saying now. ‘A weak ruler—and you notice I do not deny that my brother is weak—needs a strong Council to bolster his reign. I intend to review the membership before I leave too, to ensure that he has the wisest and most trusted advisers possible.’

  ‘Excellent decision,’ Julia said, because Azhar seemed to require something from her.

  It seemed to be sufficient, for he smiled. ‘Then there is the matter of re-establishing the security of the border,’ Azhar continued. ‘The actions to be taken will be as follows.’

  He proceeded to list a good many. Julia marvelled at his eye for detail and his memory for tasks. It was almost as if Azhar was putting measures in place to prevent his own return.

  ‘The issue of the falling diamond yield still troubles me. There is something I am missing, I am sure of it. I have resolved to visit the other mines. I hope you will accompany me. We will go further east, where the terrain is very different—you should find some new species worthy of your attention, and I would value your insights into—whatever we may uncover.’

  ‘I will do what I can, though my lack of Arabic...’

  ‘As an artist, you have an eye for detail, Julia, that much is apparent in those beautiful paintings you produce.’

  ‘Thank you, but I am really only a competent draughtsman, nothing more.’

  ‘You call yourself a draughtsman, but you are a true artist. I thought you were resolved to refrain from demeaning yourself and your talents.’

  ‘Very well, I am an artist,’ Julia said, ‘and my artistic eye is at your disposal. How far are the mines from Al-Qaryma?’

  ‘Far enough to require that we spend two nights away from the palace. We will camp in the desert.’

  ‘Shall we be travelling—you will no doubt be expected to travel with a large caravan?’

  ‘This is not a royal procession. We will be travelling unaccompanied.’

  Two nights under the stars. Alone with Azhar. The prospect was both thrilling and slightly scary. What if their journey led to their other intimate journey progressing? To what undiscovered and magical places might that lead them? With Azhar as her guide the voyage was bound to be as exciting as the destination.

  She shivered, then remembered the real point of their trip. ‘I am flattered, Azhar. I appreciate the honour you have done me by confiding in me. Can you rely on Kamal to implement your instructions while you are temporarily absent?’

  Azhar’s frown was back in place. ‘He was naturally defensive, he certainly was inclined to view my suggestions as criticisms, but he did not refuse to co-operate.’

  ‘Kamal has no option but to co-operate,’ Julia said. ‘As far as Kamal is concerned, you are his future King.’ Azhar drew her one of his intimidating looks, but she simply glared back at him. ‘Wasn’t that the point of dressing up, of choosing this court room for the audience?’

  ‘What matters is his co-operation. I have achieved that,’ Azhar said stiffly.

  And all at once, Julia saw the fundamental flaw in his logic. It was so simple, so obvious, she couldn’t believe she had not spotted it before. Azhar thought his brother weak, but he did not doubt his good faith. Or he would not doubt it. When Azhar left, Kamal would be King. A weak man who was also an honest man would be grateful for the checks and balances and props that Azhar had put in place. But a corrupt man would set about dismantling them in an instant.

  Julia’s heart sank. Azhar claimed to value his freedom more than anything, but first and foremost he was a man of honour. He would surrender his kingdom to a weak ruler, but he would never leave it in the hands of a corrupt one. She hoped most fervently that their trip into the desert would prove that Kamal was the former, otherwise Azhar would be sealing his own fate.

  ‘May I take your silence for agreement?’ Azhar asked her.

  Julia hesitated only fractionally before nodding.

&n
bsp; She was rewarded with a smile in which she was certain she detected an element of relief. ‘I must leave you now,’ Azhar said, ‘I do not wish to arrive late to Council. Contrary to the opinion of some, I have found that tardiness serves not to enhance one’s sense of importance, but rather gives the impression that one does not value the importance of others. Have your maid pack for you. We leave at dawn.’

  A brief smile and Azhar was gone, leaving Julia with her second unwelcome insight of the day. It was not a reluctance to contradict him which kept her silent, but a reluctance to hurt him. She was beginning to care about this man, and she would be a fool to allow herself to care more. Whether he remained in Qaryma or not, wed to his kingdom or wed to his business, his future lay a world apart from hers. She had her own future to think of, her own freedom to finalise. This next trip into the desert would move her much closer to completing her collection of species.

  Time was running out for her here in this fantastical world. But in the meantime, she resolved to make the most of it. Alone in the desert under the stars, there would surely be the opportunity for another stage of the journey she and Azhar had set out on. A journey she would embrace, not shy away from.

  * * *

  The sky was a spectacular deep fuchsia pink when they set out at dawn the next day. As the sun climbed slowly above the horizon, it lightened from pink to orange and then suffused gold. Julia had managed to mount her camel fluidly in the Bedouin manner, stepping lightly on its neck, giving her that vital few seconds extra to seat herself before it reared up. Still slightly smug from this success, and concentrating hard on mirroring the swaying rhythm of the beast she rode, for it did not come naturally by any manner of means, she did not notice that she and Azhar had no pack mules with them until they were well clear of the city.

  ‘We don’t have any tents. And my clothes...’

  ‘It is taken care of,’ Azhar replied.

  ‘How? In what way is taken care of?’

  He glanced over at her. ‘In the way of a surprise, Julia, nothing more sinister. A series of small treats, to show my gratitude.’

  ‘Treats? What sort of treats?’

  Above the flutter of silk that covered his face, Azhar’s eyes crinkled into a smile. ‘All will be revealed in due course. On any journey patience is a virtue, and enhances the experience. I hope to have the opportunity to demonstrate that to you.’

  There was no disguising his meaning. Julia reminded herself that this was not shocking since it was not real, it was fantasy. The world would be real again soon enough. She resolved once again to embrace whatever was to come. She wasn’t shocked, she was excited.

  The sky settled into newly minted blue, the sun to pale gold. The desert stretched before them, a vast swathe of undulating sands. Like the sky, the air was newly minted, not yet too bright nor too hot, though it would certainly be both very soon. Julia would never be able to acclimatise herself to the heat in the way the true people of the desert did. She still wilted like a water-starved plant in the blaze of the afternoon sun, and her head still ached if she was foolish enough to stay out in it too long, but she loved the tingle on her skin, that particular combination of dry air and sand that was the essence of the desert. She loved sunrise and sunset. She loved the oddly salty taste of the air as dark descended and the wondrous night sky lit up. She loved the way the landscape shifted and changed before her eyes. And she loved the contrasts, the sifting golden sands and the soft red rocks, the vivid greens of the oases and the exotic variety of crops that grew there. The colours of the clothes and the scents of the markets. She had even come to terms with the distressing variety of noises emitted from her camel, the sour huff and puff of its breath as it carried her, the groaning when she forced it on to its knees, the bleating sound it made when communing with other beasts.

  She curled her leg around the pommel, shifted in a vain effort to get more comfortable on the box seat, and looked around her with a contentment so all-consuming she felt she might burst. This was her favourite time of day, when the morning sparkled with promise. Of new places and new experiences. Of new people. Perhaps even new plants.

  And beside her, Azhar. Looking at him, she felt her contentment turn to a fizz of excitement. His tunic had pale-blue-and-white stripes today, the boots which clad his long legs dark-blue leather. His cloak was plain white silk, billowing out in the gentle breeze around his muscular frame. His keffiyeh was also white silk, tied with a scarf of dark blue. He sat on the camel with that graceful ease, that unconscious air of command that Julia had noticed from their very first meeting. Azhar did not need a huge caravan to follow him, he did not require a posse of servants or even cloth of gold to proclaim his status. He looked every inch the sovereign.

  Despite the fact that his desert clothes covered all but his hands and the top half of his face, he still managed to look quite devastatingly attractive too. Beneath her veil, a smile tugged at Julia’s mouth. This man, this powerful, honourable, quite beautiful man, found her attractive. It astounded her, but she no longer doubted it, and the knowledge thrilled her, imbuing her with a confidence she had never possessed before. So far, this so-called journey of physical exploration of theirs had been focused entirely on her. She had been content—more than content—to allow Azhar to direct it, and to define each destination. Looking at him now, Julia decided to surprise him. She wanted to see him naked. She wanted to see him out of control. The small issue of her utter lack of expertise in such matters momentarily deflated her, but not for long. Instinct, she told herself, would take over, fed by passion. It was the most natural thing in the world, what occurred between a man and a woman. She simply had to let nature—her nature, previously dormant—run its course.

  * * *

  It took three hours to reach the village, by which time Julia’s mind was far from the night to come, with all its potential excitement, and focused only on keeping her numb bottom securely perched on the boxed saddle. Above them, the sky was now azure blue dotted with white clouds. A mountain range loomed on the far horizon, the jagged rock streaked pink and purple by the sun’s rays. The terrain had become progressively rougher over the last hour, the soft sand giving way to hard-packed mud and coarse gravel. The houses formed from adobe were built into the foothills, a cluster of domed roofs, arched windows and doorways which huddled together for protection. Three palm trees loomed high somewhere behind the houses, their green fronds vivid against the mud brown of the buildings, indicating that there must be an underground well nearby.

  They were expected. As Azhar dismounted, Julia was surprised to see a servant wearing the palace colours emerge from the shade to take the reins. She followed suit, managing with relative grace, and the servant took her reins too.

  ‘This is another of our diamond-mining villages,’ Azhar said, pushing back his headdress to reveal his face.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ Julia asked, puzzled. ‘Surely you don’t send women and children down the mines?’

  Azhar laughed, holding out his arm. ‘This way,’ he said.

  She followed him through an archway that she’d taken for a doorway, then stopped short with a gasp of surprise. The village was formed in the shape of a circle. In the centre were the palm trees and the small turquoise pool of the well. A huge silk canopy had been stretched across the space under the palm trees and anchored to the roofs of some of the houses, forming a vast open-sided tent, under which tables laden with food and drink were heaped. The villagers themselves were formed into two rows, men and women and children, in the classic pose of obeisance.

  Azhar stepped forward, making the traditional greeting and asking them all to rise. Still standing under the archway, Julia watched as the villagers did as he bid them with some alacrity, rushing forward to surround him in a babble of excited exclamations. She understood almost nothing of what was being said, but it was clear from the odd combination of deference and excitement that Azhar was no stranger to this village—or he had not been in the past. He was smil
ing, relaxed and at ease, showing none of the discomfort that had been apparent when faced with the huge show of adulation the first day they had arrived in Al-Qaryma, and again, on the first occasion they had visited Johara. Though now she thought about it, on the second visit to that oasis, Azhar had been as he was here, quickly discouraging the formal greetings and encouraging his people to approach him.

  His people. They clearly were his people, whether he wanted to admit it or not, and he was every inch the ruler of those people too, whether or not he wanted to admit that either. Such obvious affection and respect did not stem from what was due but what had been earned.

  Unsure of her reception, unwilling to detract attention from Azhar, and embarrassed once more by her limited Arabic, Julia would have happily remained in the background, but he seemed to have other ideas, indicating that she join him. Though her veil was firmly in place, her bright plait of hair and pale skin betrayed her foreign origins. She kept her eyes down, feeling absurdly shy, raising them only when a little ripple of applause broke out in response to Azhar’s introduction.

  ‘I told them that you are a famous English botanist, come to study our plants and to tell the world of the beauty of our desert,’ Azhar told her. ‘This is Fatima, a friend of Johara and also a noted herbalist,’ he added, introducing the older woman. ‘She says she has some plants which may interest you. Do you wish me to come with you, to translate?’

  ‘No, no,’ Julia replied hastily, ‘I would not deprive all these people who are clearly eager for your company after so long.’

  ‘This was a favourite place of mine, back in the—when I was—before. One of our best swordsman is a native of this village. He is the Chief of the Guards at the palace, and taught me how to fight with a dagger as well as a scimitar. Fatima is his sister. Go with her, I can see she is eager to impart her knowledge,’ Azhar said, translating his words into his own language for the sake of the other woman, and receiving a beaming nod in return.