Duty Bound Desire: The Sheikh's Forced Marriage (Desert Desires Book 1)

by Jennifer Jansen

  ‘The flora and intense colours are similar to the ones in my beloved home of Zashar.’ His eyes continued to scan the area. ‘They’re incredible.’

  Tall trees with hanging branches fanned out before them, huge magnificent palms filled the visual senses, flowers with the colours of an artist’s easel were everywhere, and the scent of jasmine was softly wafting through the air. He breathed in deeply taking in the scent.

  ‘Jasmine, so sweet, so innocent. Your name is perfect for you.’ He turned then, his dark eyes looked directly into hers.

  Yasmin again looked up at him. She held his gaze for a while not really sure how to respond. It was a beautiful compliment. Was he returning the one she had just given him? Or was he trying to butter her up?

  ‘I’m glad we met before the wedding. Now that I’ve met you in person, I believe we can make this work better than I had originally thought. We both have similar values. This marriage will definitely go ahead.’ He said it as if he was the only one who was deciding on this. Yasmin began to feel agitated again. He didn’t even know her values. Didn’t know her. But that didn’t seem to bother him.

  She stood there for a moment. Her mind was beginning to work overtime spinning with so many thoughts, so many fears. She loved her country, she loved her people. It seemed she was trapped. The fate of millions was resting on this marriage.

  She would now have to resign herself to the fact that her life was no longer her own, and everything she wanted was slipping from her grasp along with her freedom.

  Chapter 2

  Preparations had been well under way since that fateful day when the Herculean force of nature known as Nabil Al Massoud had blasted into Yasmin’s life and left it fragmented and torn. Her eyes burned from tiredness, shallow breathing wore out her lungs and her body ached from the stress. It all made for a terrible few days. Her life was spiralling so fast out of control and she didn’t know how or where she was going to land.

  Yet this wedding would go ahead. There was no other choice.

  A quiet knock at the door almost had Yasmin jumping out of her skin.

  ‘Sis, it’s Shehab,’ she heard her brother’s deep voice from the other side of the door, the familiarity filling her eyes with tears. She’d felt so alone the past few days preparing for the wedding.

  The door opened and Shehab, tall, solid and as always her strength, stood there taking up the entire door frame. He’d flown into Zashar the previous evening to be with her. For a few moments he looked at her without moving. He then walked in, closing the door.

  Arms outstretched, he came towards her and she fell into him.

  ‘I was about to ask how you’re holding up but I think this says it all,’ he

  murmured enveloping her in his big arms, his voice gentle and soothing.

  ‘It’s not fair, I know, but it’s the way it is now. Most people believe it’s a charmed life we live, and in many ways, of course, it is.’ He paused a minute. ‘The one thing I will promise you is that that husband of yours had better behave himself, in every way, or I will deal with him myself.’

  Shehab was a lion of a man. Yasmin admired and loved her brother.

  ‘I always felt everything would be ok as long as you were close. But now, now I’m here in another country. I’ll no longer be able to just walk to your quarters and talk.’

  Shehab released her, looked down into her face. ‘It’s less than an hour flight from Qaman. I timed it today. I can even take the helicopter if you need me. And of course there’s always the phone and facetime,’ he smiled.

  She put her head on his chest and just sat in the comfort of his embrace. She needed all the support she could get for as long as she could get it before this wedding.

  ‘I’m so frazzled, right now I’m wondering if I can even make it through the ceremony, Shehab. Thousands have arrived already, foreign and domestic dignitaries, worldwide press have filled the lawns, not to mention the people waiting outside the palace watching on big screens. I’m going to mess up something, I just know it.’

  Shehab sat her down on the divan. ‘You won’t. But even if you do, it’s not the end of the world,’ he offered, always practical, always her rock. ‘I tell you something though, this soon-to-be-husband of yours has spared no expense. I’ve never seen anything like it at any royal event. At least he’s taking this seriously. Could be a good sign. It will all go well, Yasmin,’ he repeated. ‘Mum’s on her way up.’

  A kiss on her head and Shehab was gone as handmaidens now flooded her rooms busily fussing back and forth, ruffling fabric around her, henna artists at the ready.

  On the other side of the palace, Nabil was mentally preparing for what he had promised himself he would never do again. Yet here he was, on the brink once more.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, as subtle and disconcerting as it was, his body reacted to just the thought of his new bride. What the hell? He wasn’t a hormone-ridden teenager, although of course, he could always appreciate an attractive woman.

  ‘She’s a stunner,’ his sister Aliyah’s voice brought him out of his musings and he was annoyed at how accurate her perception was. Smiling up at him she added, ‘What? Do you think after all these years I don’t know my own brother?’

  At least the physical part would be pleasurable. ‘Heirs are high up on my to-do list,’ he responded. ‘But this one knows the rules.’

  ‘Rules?’ His sister repeated.

  ‘The rules of an arranged marriage. It has been made very clear to Yasmin that this is strictly a marriage of political convenience – for both of us. Business. She is well aware of all the contract details. I’m certain she will respect that and not ask anything more of me.’ For emotional connection is one thing I cannot give her.

  He heard Aliyah sigh loudly. ‘Be careful, brother. Don’t allow the past to influence the future. Yasmin is not Samara.

  Nabil almost flinched at the sound of her name. ‘That was an incident that damaged the royal reputation more than anyone could have foreseen.’ Nabil ran his hands through his hair remembering the bad choices he had made and how he had nearly ruined everything his forefathers had built. He exhaled loudly, cursing as he did so. ‘It could have brought down our entire House, Aliyah.’

  ‘The strife was avoided, brother,’ Aliyah offered.

  ‘Only narrowly,’ Nabil shot back. ‘And nothing like that will ever happen again. The royal line will now be secured, our nation and its people will have strength and stability, and father, he’ll get the grandchildren he’s always wanted.’

  ‘Hmm,’ was all Aliyah would say. He could read her as well as she could read him, but there were more pressing matters right now – like his wedding ceremony in just a few minutes.

  Mahir appeared just in time to put a stop to this conversation. ‘Everything and everyone is in place, ya Sayed.’ Nabil nodded. He never liked Mahir calling him Sayed, or master. After all, they had shared a childhood, Mahir’s father working in the palace. They had bonded over their love of computer games as children. But Mahir also had a fierce loyalty and honour and had refused Nabil’s demands time and again to call him by his name once he had ascended to his position when his father had become ill.

  Nabil stood and strode to the door.

  Yasmin put one foot in front of the other having to concentrate on even this simplest of physical tasks, her entourage close behind. The Ceremonial Square of the Zasharian Palace had been transformed in the past few days to a wonderland of exotic flowers and golden lanterns. She could hear the buzz of helicopters outside, the whirring just another jolt on her already overloaded senses.

  She hadn’t seen nor spoken to Nabil since the day she had met him.

  Looking in the mirror before leaving her rooms, she had hardly recognised herself. Her pure white dress was adorned with intricate beading coming from the top of her shoulders to the hem of the dress, touching her shoes. The gemstones within the beading were the purest, softest shade of pearl she had ever seen. Her long, brown hair was pin
ned up above her head, held in place by a beautiful tiara with sparkling diamonds. It accentuated her skin and delicate features in a way she couldn’t have imagined.

  She wasn’t used to being in heels though, and secretly sent a prayer to the heavens that she wouldn’t fall flat on her face in front of a crowd of several thousand.

  But that wasn’t what was really bothering her. She didn’t want to suffer this sham of a wedding nor the marriage that would soon follow. But an entire population depended on it and she would not let them down.

  As she rounded the last corridor Yasmin could see Nabil at the front of the Ceremonial Square in the gardens from where she stood at the top of the outdoor stairs. He had his back to her but his presence was unmistakable, and not only because he stood above the rest due to his height. He had an aura that was impossible to ignore. His shoulders were straight, his body upright, a man who was always cool, calm and collected.

  There he stood, dressed in black, surrounded by a sea of white.

  She froze. The scene before her was overwhelming. She watched as Nabil slowly turned, his eyes immediately locking onto hers with such precision, as if he had seen no-one else but her. She inhaled sharply. His strong gaze was hypnotic.

  He was clad in traditional Zasharian dress – a floor-length abaya, all black, to signify his strength and the power he commanded. It had gold trimmings coming down on either side of his shoulders. He wore the traditional keffiyeh, draped over his head and held in place with a gold and black cord. He truly resembled the desert warriors of his heritage. He stood, a man among men, bronzed, composed, his eyes strong and serious.

  Despite herself, Yasmin could not help but be mesmerised by the sight of him. Oh, but there was something magnificent about him.

  And there he stood, silent and resplendent.

  Then something happened. Something Yasmin wasn’t sure she had seen at all. He squeezed his eyes shut for a very brief moment and opened them again, his eyes again on her face, his lips slightly parted. Yasmin didn’t quite know what to make of this quick display of – what was it? Humanity? Was he tired? Or, was he nervous too?

  She felt a hand on her elbow, looked over. It was her father. He was next to her dressed in his formal, regal attire. ‘I promise you, daughter,’ he said softly as he momentarily leaned in, ‘I have placed you in good hands. He is the only man I trust to take care of my only daughter.’ As he looked into her eyes Yasmin could see her father’s eyes were misty.

  He patted her hand gently and she was escorted down a large aisle through the Square to the man she was about to marry, the man who would be her husband from this day. As she emerged into the open area where Nabil waited, a crowd of what seemed like a million people all turned their eyes on her.

  As she neared his space she felt the air become thick. Nabil’s gaze didn’t waver. She felt like it was boring into her soul. And the hunger within it was unmistakable.

  As she came and stood right next to him his lips tilted upwards and a smile played upon them. He leaned down close to her ear. She held her breath.

  ‘You look stunning, habibti.’ His voice was soft, almost hypnotic. He’d just called her his beloved. Pity it wasn’t true.

  ‘Thank you. And you…’ look incredible, she wanted to say, but he didn’t wait for a response. With a wave of his hand the trumpets declared the commencement of the ceremony. He reached out and took her hand in his, its warmth a soothing balm on her frayed nerves.

  They walked, their first steps together, towards the koshah, a dais, where they would sit while the ma’zoon would lead the ceremony.

  Every step she took was bringing her closer to a life she didn’t ask for but would get anyway with this man. This strong, powerful handsome man. Her breathing became ragged. She could feel her lungs constricting. As she walked her shoes crushed white rose petals which had been placed all the way to the dais. Her heart began thundering in her ears.

  Nabil looked down at her, his eyes soft now. ‘Everything will be alright,’ he whispered. She felt him gently squeeze her hand, a tender gesture of support, his strength flowing through to her.

  The ma’zoon who walked slightly ahead of them, was now waiting on the podium, dressed in gold with a white head covering. Nabil led Yasmin to the two golden chairs which had been strategically placed on the dais.

  The mehr took place first. She watched as Nabil rose from his chair, brought over a small, golden chest, and knelt down on one knee in front of her. His eyes penetrated her soul as he looked up. Just the sight of this magnificent, powerful man, in his black and gold, on one knee before her, offering her his wealth and his life, was breathtaking, in the literal sense.

  But she would have traded it all to have love added to the mix.

  He then rose and sat back down next to her. Nabil reached for her hand once again and they were then joined beneath a white cloth over which the ma’zoon began reciting prayers, the drone of his voice a momentary distraction from her situation.

  She felt Nabil’s grip gently squeeze her hand under the cloth. He turned to look at her. Waiting. Shaking herself out of her daze, Yasmin realised everyone was waiting for her to speak.

  Trembling slightly, she heard her robotic voice as she repeated the phrases that would seal her fate. ‘I accept this marriage to you, Nabil Al Massoud, under the direction of Ma’zoon Ibrahim,’ she uttered in a shaky voice.

  ‘I accept this marriage to you Yasmin Al Sayed, under the direction of Ma’zoon Ibrahim,’ came Nabil’s strong voice beside her. There was no trembling, no shaky vocals, just a statement of fact.

  And then it was done. Her fate sealed.

  The marriage contract signed, the festivities could begin. The crowds outside the palace roared with happiness and appreciation. Women trilled their tongues in celebration.

  Within the palace walls, the atmosphere was a little more subdued, according to protocol, but there were many smiling faces and words of congratulations as they moved off the podium.

  ‘You did very well, Yasmin.’ Nabil’s voice cut through the noise. ‘How are you feeling?’

  She looked up at him. His eyes were showing genuine concern. ‘I…I’m alright,’ she lied.

  But he didn’t let go of her hand and Yasmin was so grateful for his strength because these last few days had taken their toll and she felt weak and shaky.

  ‘So many people,’ she uttered more to herself than to him.

  ‘I hope it is all to your satisfaction. You are now, after all, a member of the House of Al Massoud,’ Nabil said, looking out at the banquet hall.

  White tablecloths covered each table and on top there were beautifully lit candles blazing, next to Egyptian cotton serviettes held together with golden leaves. A small gift of appreciation was neatly placed at each table setting along with each guest’s name engraved in pure gold.

  ‘You must eat something,’ Nabil said, looking down at her as he escorted Yasmin to her chair. A wave of his hand and the food magically appeared before her. ‘Try some,’ he coaxed.

  Despite the aroma of the food, Yasmin’s stomach clenched. Tonight she would have to expose herself to this man in only a matter of hours. She had never before exposed her body to anyone.

  The deep thunder of drums pulled her again out of her reverie. Fifty men swinging their arms against the drums with big batons moved around the edges of the dance floor. Swift and loud, they were beats of celebratory joy. Then the clarinets joined in. The guests stood and began clapping to the music. Yasmin watched them move, happiness on their faces. She looked around at the tables. Some of the people she recognised from her homeland. High-ranking ministers and their families. All of them brimming with happiness. They would be spared the ravages of war.

  Others she did not know. They were Zasharian officials. Happiness reigned in their ranks too. A new princess would mean more stability for their prince and heirs to carry on the royal name. Everyone would win. Except her.

  Suddenly, through her thoughts, she heard his voice. A
strong, bronzed hand reached out to her. ‘It’s time for us to dance.’

  Yasmin kept her eyes down at his hand, admired his strength of it, the long fingers. Then she placed her hand in his and was lifted off the chair.

  He led her onto the dance floor as the crowd clapped and cheered. They stood facing each other, hands raised and joined above their heads, well, above her head anyway. He began moving his feet with the beat. Yasmin tried to keep up but her brain felt so weary she knew she was missing steps. He leaned down, she could smell his scent. ‘Relax, just follow me,’ he said over the music.

  Yasmin felt as if she had no control over her body. Her movements were stiff and awkward. If she could have run for the door, she would have.

  Nabil unexpectedly moved in closer. ‘Smile,’ he muttered thickly. ‘Even if you don’t feel like it.’ Yasmin stared up at him, mouth agape. His eyes were now very serious. ‘The world’s press is here and you look like you’re at a funeral, not a wedding,’ he growled.

  Yasmin felt like a caged animal forced to perform. But perform she would; there was too much riding on this. The smile appeared on her face, the one she had been trained to fake since her youth. The one the cameras loved.

  From the corner of her eye, a young woman caught Yasmin’s attention. As Nabil turned her for the dance, she was able to get a better view. She examined this woman carefully; long, light brown hair, beautiful dark eyes. Something about her looked vaguely familiar but Yasmin couldn’t pinpoint what it was, where she had seen her before. This woman had her eyes on Nabil. An ex -lover perhaps? Or, God forbid, a current one?

  Yasmin stopped for a second but before she could think any more about it, the tug of a strong arm pulled her attention back to him. She briefly looked up into his face. Why, oh why did she do that? Those eyes. They were like fire. This level of raw masculinity she hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle. She believed that since this was a forced marriage upon both of them, it would be strictly political business, as Nabil had so indelicately pointed out. She had seen her share of royal weddings. The first dance and the first touch on the dance floor was always chaste, unlike the intensity she saw in Nabil’s eyes.