His voice softened on the last sentence, but Amber barely noticed. ‘So the contract has been signed,’ she said dully. ‘I have no choice in this at all.’ Her only decision was to go down fighting, or accept her future with grace.
‘No, my dear, you don’t.’ The words were gentle, but inflexible. ‘It has been inevitable from the moment the Lord Harun was made aware of his duty towards you.’
She pressed her lips together hard, fighting unseemly tears. Perhaps she should be grateful that the Lord Harun wasn’t leaving her to face her public shame—but another man willing to marry her from duty alone left her stomach churning. At least she’d known and liked Fadi. ‘But he doesn’t even look at me. He never talks to me. I never know what he’s thinking or feeling about anything.’ Including me. ‘How am I to face this—this total stranger in the marriage bed, Father? Can you answer me that?’
‘It’s what many women have done for thousands of years, including your mother and my grandmother Kahlidah, the nation’s heroine you’ve always admired so much. She was only seventeen when she wed my grandfather—another stranger—and within a year, eighteen, pregnant and a new widow, she stopped the invasion of Araba Numara, ruling the nation with strength and wisdom until my father was old enough to take over. Do as she had to, and grow a backbone, child! What is your fear for one night, compared to what Harun faces, and alone?’ her father shot back.
Never had her father spoken to her with such contempt and coldness. She drew another breath and released it as she willed strength into her heart. ‘I’ll do my duty, of course, Father, and do my best to support Lord Harun in all he faces. Perhaps we can find mutual friendship in our loss and our need.’
Father smiled at her, and patted her hand. ‘That’s more like my strong Amber. Harun is a truly good man, for all his quiet ways. I know—’ he clearly hesitated, and Amber writhed inside, waiting for what she’d give anything for him not to say ‘—I know you…admired Lord Alim. What young woman wouldn’t admire the Racing Sheikh, with his dashing ways, his wins on the racing circuit worldwide, and the power and wealth he’s brought to this region?’
‘Please stop,’ she murmured in anguish. ‘Please, Father, no more.’
But he went on remorselessly. ‘Amber, my child, you are so young—too young to understand that the men who change history are not always the Alexanders, or even the Alims,’ he added, with a strained smile. ‘The real heroes are usually unsung, making their contributions in silence. I believe Lord Harun is one of them. My advice is for you to look at the man I’ve chosen for you, and ask yourself why I brought this offer to him, not even wanting to wait for Alim’s recovery. I think that, if you give Harun a chance, you’ll find you and he are very well suited. You can have a good life together, if you will put your heart and soul behind your vows.’
‘Yes, Father,’ Amber said, feeling dull and spiritless at the thought of being well suited and having a good life, when she’d had a moment’s dream of marrying the man she—well, she thought she could have loved, given time…
At that moment, a movement behind the door caught her eye. Damn the officious staffers and inquisitive servants, always listening in, looking for more gossip to spread far and wide! She lifted her chin and sent her most icy stare to the unknown entity at the door. She felt the presence move back a step, and another.
Good. She hoped they’d run far away. If she must deal with these intrusive servants, they’d best know the calibre of the woman who was to be their future mistress—and mistress she’d be.
‘If you wouldn’t mind, Father, I’d like to—to have a little time alone,’ she said quietly.
‘You still grieve for Fadi. You’re a good girl.’ Her father patted her hand, and left the room by the private exit between their rooms.
The moment the connecting door closed, Amber said coldly, ‘If I discover any of you are listening in or I hear gossip repeated about this conversation, I will ensure the lot of you are dismissed without a reference. Is that clear?’
It was only when she heard the soft shuffling of feet moving away that Amber at last fell to her bed and cried. Cried again for the loss of a gentle-hearted friend, cried for the end of an unspoken dream—and she cried for the nightmare facing her.
* * *
Frozen two steps back from the partially open door to the rooms of state allotted to the Princess Amber, the man who was the subject of his guests’ recent discussion had long since dropped the hand he’d held up to knock. Harun el-Kanar’s upbringing hadn’t included eavesdropping on intimate conversations—and had he not frozen in horror, he wouldn’t have heard Amber so desperately trying to get out of marrying him. He wouldn’t have seen that repellent look, like a shard of ice piercing his skin.
So now he knew his future wife’s opinion of him…and it was little short of pure revulsion. Why did it even surprise him?
Turning sharply away, he strode towards the sanctuary of his rooms. He needed peace, a few minutes to think—
‘Lord Harun, there is a call from the Prince al-Hassan
of Saudi regarding the deal with Emirates Oil. He is most anxious to speak with you about the Lord Alim’s recent find of oil.’
‘Of course, I will come now,’ he answered quietly, and walked with his personal assistant back to his office.
When the call was done, his minister of state came in. ‘My Lord, in the absence of the Lord Alim, we need your immediate presence in the House for a swearing-in ceremony. For the stability of the country, this must be done as soon as possible. I know you will understand the anxiety of your people to have this reassurance that you are committed to the ongoing welfare of Abbas al-Din.’
His assistant raced in with his robes of state, helping Harun into them before he could make a reply.
During the next five hours, as he sat and stood and bowed and made a speech of acceptance of his new role, none of those hereditary leaders sensed how deeply their new sheikh grieved for a brother nine years older. Fadi had been more like a father to him.
Could any of them see how utterly alone he was now, since Alim’s disappearance? He hid it behind the face of years of training, calm and regal. They needed the perfect sheikh, and they’d have one for as long as it was needed. Members of the ruling family were trained almost from birth—they must display no need beyond the privilege of serving their people. But during the ceremony, in moments when he didn’t have complete control of his mind, Harun had unbidden visions: of eyes as warm as melted honey, and skin to match; a mouth with a smile she’d smother behind her hand when someone was being pompous or ridiculous, hiding her dimples; her flowing dark hair, and her walk, like a hidden dance.
Every time he pushed it—her—away. He had to be in command.
As darkness fell over the city he sat at his desk, eating a sandwich. He’d left the state dinner within minutes of the announcement of the royal engagement, pleading necessary business as a reason not to endure Amber’s company. Or, more accurately, for her not to endure his company a moment longer than she needed to. He’d seen the look of surprise and slight confusion on her face, but again, he pushed it away.
His food slowly went stale as the mountain of papers slowly dwindled. He read each one carefully before signing, while dealing with necessary interruptions, the phone calls from various heads of state and security personnel.
In quiet moments, her face returned to his vision, but he always forced it out again.
Okay, so Amber was right; he hadn’t looked at her much. What she didn’t know was that he hadn’t dared look at her. For weeks, months, he’d barely looked at her, never spoken beyond politeness, because he’d been too lost in shame that he hungered night and day for his brother’s intended wife. Even her name had filled him with yearning: a precious jewel.
But never until yesterday had he dared think that she could ever become his jewel.
Lost and alone with his grief, unable to feel anything but pain, he’d been dazed when, out of nowhere, Sheikh Aziz wish
ed him to become Amber’s husband. He hadn’t been able to say no. So close to breaking, he’d come to her today, touched by something he hadn’t known in months, years…hope. Hope that even if she didn’t feel the same, he wouldn’t have to face this nightmare alone. Could it be possible that they might find comfort in one another, to stand together in this living death…?
And the overheard conversation was his reward for being so stupid. Of course Amber wanted Alim, his dashing brother, the nation’s hero. As her father had said, what woman wouldn’t want Alim?
A dream of twelve hours had now become his nightmare. There was no way out. She was stuck with him, the last option, the sheikh by default who didn’t even want to be here.
What a fool. Hadn’t he learned long ago that dreams were for other people? For Fadi, there had been his destiny as the next sheikh; for Alim, there was the next racing car, the next glamorous destination, the jets and the women and the adoration of his family and his nation. Habib Abbas: Alim was the country’s beloved lion, their financial saviour since he’d found oil deep beneath the water of their part of the Gulf, and natural gas in the desert.
His parents would have been so proud of him. They’d always known Alim was destined for greatness, as Fadi had said so many times. We’re all so proud of you, Alim.
Alim, the golden child. Of course he had Amber’s heart—and of course he didn’t want it. He’d thrown her away without a thought, just as he’d thrown his brother into his role of sheikh. He’d left them both to their fate without even a farewell or reason.
And yet, he still loved Alim; like everyone else in the country, he’d do anything for his brother. Alim knew that well, which was why he’d just disappeared without a word. ‘Harun will do it better than I could, anyway,’ had always been his casually tossed words when Fadi had needed him for one duty or another. ‘He’s good at the duty thing.’
Harun supposed he was good at it—he’d been raised to think his duty was sacred.
I never know what he’s thinking or feeling. To her, he was Brother Number Three, nothing but an obligation, a means to enrich her country. She was only willing to marry him after being bullied and brought to a sense of pity for his grief by her father.
No, he had no choice but to marry her now—but he had no taste for his brother’s unwanted leftovers. He’d dealt with enough broken hearts of the women who’d been rejected by Alim over the years, calling the palace, even offering themselves to him in the faint hope that he had the power to change Alim’s mind.
Not this time. Never again. I might have to marry her, but I’ll be damned if I touch her.
‘It’s lust, just lust,’ he muttered, hard. Lust he could both deal with, and live without. Anything but the thought of taking her while she stared at the ceiling, wishing he were Alim—
His stomach burning, he found he was no longer hungry, and threw the rest of the sandwich into the garbage.
It was long past midnight before Harun at last reached his rooms. He sent his hovering servants away and sat on his richly canopied bed, ripping the thin mosquito curtain. With an impatient gesture he flung it away; but if he made a noise, the bodyguards watching him from one of the five vantage points designed to protect the sheikh would come running in. So he sat looking out into the night as if nothing were wrong, and grieved in dry-eyed silence.
Fadi, my brother, my father! Allah, I beg you to let Alim live and return to me.
Three days later, the armed rebel forces of the
el-Shabbat family invaded Sar Abbas.
CHAPTER TWO
Eight weeks later
‘HABIB Numara! Harun, our beloved tiger, our Habib Numara!’
Riding at the head of a makeshift float—two tanks joined by tent material and filled with flowers—Harun smiled and waved to the people lining the streets of Sar Abbas. Each cheering girl or woman in the front three rows of people threw another flower at him as he passed. The flowers landed on the float filling his nostrils until the sweet scent turned his stomach and the noise of the people’s shouting left him deafened.
Still he smiled and waved; but what he wouldn’t give to be in the quiet of his room reading a book. How had Alim ever endured this adulation, this attention for so many years? Fighting for his country, his men and repelling the el-Shabbat invasion—being wounded twice during battle, and having his shoulder put back in place after the dislocation—had been a positive relief in comparison to this.
You’ll never be your brother.
Yet again his parents had been proven right. No, he’d never be like Alim.
As the float and the soldiers and the cheering throng reached the palace he looked up. His future father-in-law stood beside his bride on the upper balcony, waving to him, looking proud and somehow smug. He supposed he’d find out why when he got some time.
Amber stood like a reed moving in the wind as she watched his triumphal entry. She had a small frown between her brows, a slight tilt to her head, as if trying to puzzle out something. As if she saw his discomfort and sympathised with him.
He almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought. She who loved Alim of racing fame and fortune, the real sheikh? Right, Harun. She sees nothing in you but the replacement in her life and bed she’d do anything to avoid.
She half lifted a hand. A smile trembled on her lips. Mindful of the people, he smiled and waved to his bride, giving her the public recognition and honour they expected.
It was all she wanted from him.
* * *
At last the wedding night she’d dreaded was upon her.
With a fast-beating heart, Amber stood in the middle of her bridal suite, with unbound hair, perfumed skin and a thin, creamy negligee over her nude body. So scared she could barely breathe, she awaited the arrival of her new husband.
The last of the fussing maids checked her hands and feet to be sure they were soft enough, perfumed to the right scent. Amber forced herself to stand still and not wave them off in irritation—or, worse, give in to her fears and ask someone, anyone what she must do to please a man she’d still barely spoken to. The way she felt right now, even the maid would do—for her mother had told her nothing. As she’d dressed her daughter for the marriage bed, the only words of advice to Amber had been, Let your husband show you the way, and though it will hurt at first and you will bleed in proof of your virginity, smile and take joy in your woman’s duty. For today, you become a woman. And with a smile Amber didn’t understand, she’d left the room.
In the Western world, girls apparently grew up knowing how to please a man, and themselves; but she’d been kept in almost total ignorance. In her world, it was a matter of pride for the husband to teach his wife what took place in the bed. No books were allowed on the subject, no conversation by the servants on the threat of expulsion, and the Internet was strictly patrolled.
She only wished she knew what to do…
More than that, she wished she knew him at all—that he could have taken an hour out of his busy schedule to get to know her.
In the end, she’d had the few months’ wait she’d asked for, but it hadn’t been for her sake, nor had they had any time to know each other better. The el-Shabbat family hadn’t reckoned with Harun’s swift action when they’d invaded the city. Handing the day-to-day work to his intended father-in-law, Harun had taken control of the army personally. Leading his men into battle using both the ancient and modern rules of warfare he’d learned since boyhood, Harun had gained the adoration of his people by being constantly in the thick of the fierce fighting, expecting and giving no quarter. The whispers in women’s rooms were that he bore new scars on his body: badges of the highest honour. He’d spent no more than a night in the hastily erected Army hospital. Every time he’d been injured, come morning he’d returned to the battle without a word.
Within eight weeks he’d completely quelled the rebellion. By forgiving the followers of the el-Shabbat family and letting them return to their homes with little if any punishment and no pu
blic embarrassment, he’d earned their loyalty, his new title—and Amber’s deep respect. By assuming control of the el-Shabbat fortune and yet caring for the women and children the dead enemy had left behind, he’d earned the love as well as the respect of his people.
If Alim was their beloved lion, Harun had become Habib Numara, their beloved tiger. ‘It’s a good omen for his marriage, with his bride coming from Araba Numara,’ the servants said, smiling at her. ‘It will be a fruitful union blessed by God.’
And in the weeks since then, as he’d put down the final shadows of the rebellion and with rare political skill brought together nation and people once more, Harun had had less time for her than Fadi had done. In fact he still barely spoke to her at all; but though he’d never said a word about his heroism on the field, he’d earned Amber’s deep, reluctant admiration. If she still harboured regrets over Alim’s disappearance, Harun’s name now had the power to make her heart beat faster. He’d proved his worthiness without a word of bragging. She was ready to endure what she must tonight, and become the mother of his children.
As the main door opened the maid rushed to leave the room.
Sick to her stomach with nerves, she turned to where he stood—and her breath caught. It was strange, but it was only on the day she’d seen him returning to Sar Abbas as a national hero that she’d truly taken in his deep resemblance to Alim. A quiet, serious version, perhaps, but as, in his army uniform, he smiled and waved to the people cheering him in the streets, she’d seen his face as if for the first time.
Now, she struggled not to stare at him. So handsome and strong in his groom’s finery, yet so dark and mysterious with those glittering forest-green eyes. She groped with one hand to the bedpost to gain balance suddenly lacking in her knees. He was the man who’d come home a hero. He was—magnificent. He was hers.
The Sheikh's Jewel Page 2
