The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘You’re right. I know Badr takes this whole accident personally. It would be good to show him that we are not holding him to blame.’

  ‘It’s not like he planted the snake there.’ She managed not to shudder when she said the word. Saskia hadn’t ever had any phobias before but she was pretty sure she was going to see that particular snake in her nightmares.

  ‘No, but the horse should have been better trained.’ Idris sounded grim and she looked up.

  ‘That was pure instinct, Idris. He was a perfect gent up to that part. In fact...’ She swallowed. Along with snakes she would be quite happy never to see that particular grey stallion again. But this wasn’t about her. It was about diplomacy, about a proud man, about a country. ‘I would like him. As my own.’

  Idris stared at her incredulously. ‘Are you insane?’

  Possibly. ‘He was on his way to market so let’s buy him. Just think how proud Badr, how proud the whole tribe will be if they see him on TV or in a magazine. Knowing he’s in the royal stables. My first real contact with Dalmaya.’

  ‘They’ll never let you buy him. They’ll insist he’s a present.’

  ‘If they do, then we’ll accept.’

  Idris stood, obviously torn between accepting that she made sense and an understandable desire not to allow any of the family near the horse again before agreeing with a curt nod. ‘I’ll talk to Badr. But tomorrow you ride pillion behind me again. No arguing or I will definitely call a helicopter.’ And with that he was gone.

  The evening passed slowly. Saskia’s head throbbed, her ankle ached and every bruise was making its presence felt in its own unique way. The soup had been delicious although she really hadn’t been hungry at all once she started to eat but, under the solicitous gaze of the local healer, she managed to finish the bowl and eat some of the flatbread as well. The sounds of laughter and music drifted into the tent and, lulled by the sound, she drifted into sleep.

  The sound of the tent unfastening woke her and she looked up to see Idris undressing by the light of the lantern. The shadows played on his back, highlighting his slim muscles, the dips and hollows in his back, and she swallowed. He was so ridiculously attractive. How could she keep her heart safe when his nearness made her tremble, her name on his lips made her ache? When just the sight of him half naked and unaware made her forget every bruise?

  She shifted and he turned, his eyes black pools in the darkness. ‘Pardon, Saskia. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘You didn’t. I wake every time I turn over.’

  ‘I think it’s best that I sleep over here.’ He gestured to one of the low couches and Saskia felt that old ache of rejection spread out from her chest, chilling her bones. He was willing to have sex with her but sleeping together was an intimacy too far. In the palace it kind of made sense for him to return to his own room. Maybe. But out here?

  ‘It’s very narrow,’ she pointed out, trying to sound non-committal, as if she really didn’t care one way or the other. Of course she shouldn’t care... ‘If you fall off and hurt yourself we’ll both be riding pillion. It’s not going to be very kingly when you show up at the trading post tucked up behind Badr, is it?’

  He scowled. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘Idris, this bed is big enough for four. But we can put a pillow down the middle if you would feel safer,’ she added sweetly, and the scowl intensified as he stalked towards the bed and climbed in. Saskia held her breath. She often shared a bed with Jack, at least she had done before getting pregnant, but she hadn’t slept beside another adult—beside a man—since Idris all those years ago. Here they were again.

  ‘You’re sure I’m not hurting you?’

  ‘There’s at least a metre of space between us,’ she said. ‘You may be overestimating your masculine powers.’

  To her surprise he chuckled, low and deep. ‘It’s a good thing you’re injured or I’d make you regret that.’

  Could it be her husband was actually flirting with her? Flirting knowing that there was no way they would be having sex as a result? Probably no way they would be having sex. She flexed her ankle and only just managed not to yelp as a jolt of agony ran through her. No, make that definitely no way. ‘Promises, promises.’

  Saskia turned on her side and faced away from Idris but the drowsiness had ebbed. She was all too achingly aware of him despite the space between them; the slope in the mattress, the sound of his even breath, the scent of him. She swallowed, want racing through her hot and sudden, the throbbing of her bruises replaced by the steady thrum of her heart, the ache in her breasts, the pull deep at the base of her stomach. It was just good old lust, a biological imperative, she knew that. She’d been without a mate too long and now she had started sleeping with Idris her body was urging her on. Evolutionary science at its most basic. But thinking scientific thoughts wasn’t calming her hormones; they were continuing to jump around like excited cheerleaders urging her to cuddle in closer, urging her to ‘go on, reach out and touch him...’ She turned over, lifting a hand then dropping it. It was late. She was supposed to be staying quiet and getting some rest.

  With a huff she turned back over, wincing as she landed on a bruise, and grabbed the thin pillow, punching it to try and get some more support.

  ‘Trouble sleeping?’ Idris drawled, sounding like a man who had never suffered a restless night in his life.

  ‘No,’ she lied. ‘I’m fine. It’s just...’ She paused. She didn’t want to sound like a whiny girl and admit every bruise was making itself felt and her ankle was tight and seemed to be three times its usual size. ‘I’m a soft European who needs something more than a thin bolster for a pillow,’ she said instead. ‘It’s hard to get comfortable.’

  There was a long pause and all she could hear was the frantic thump of her heart until: ‘Come here, then,’ and she heard the unmistakable sounds of Idris shifting across to the middle of the bed. She scooted back a few inches until she collided with the solid wall of his body, heat instantly enveloping her, a heady mixture of body warmth and those pesky hormones brightening even more at the realisation he was bare-chested. A strong, bare arm slipped around her neck, another across her stomach. ‘Better?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she said unconvincingly even to herself.

  That laugh again, low and rumbling right through her until every atom quivered. ‘Still not comfortable?’

  ‘Well...’ But whatever she was about to say was lost as Idris swept aside the fall of her hair and pressed one kiss to the back of her neck.

  ‘Does this help?’

  ‘Maybe a little...’

  ‘Then maybe this...’ another kiss, just below her ear ‘...will help a little more.’

  ‘Mmm, just a little bit.’

  ‘And here?’ This time the hollow between her neck and shoulder. She shivered and felt his amusement reverberating through her. Amusement tinged with something more dangerous. ‘Of course, you are an invalid. Tell me if it gets too much.’

  ‘I think I can cope with a little more.’ Saskia arched against him as his mouth found the delicate skin behind her ear, his breath sweet and warm and, oh, so tantalising. ‘In fact this is definitely making me feel better...’

  ‘In that case...’ his hand slid up her waist to graze the tender swell of her breast ‘...I think it’s best that I carry on, don’t you?’

  * * *

  Saskia was awake again and, judging by the jerkiness of her movements, in some discomfort. Should he have overridden her wishes and called a helicopter to whisk her back to Jayah? The moment Idris had seen her crumpled and still in the sand, that damn horse racing away from her... His pulse escalated at the too-recent memory, at the fear that had taken over as he had raced towards her. Understandable fear: he had just lost his cousin; he was responsible for Saskia’s presence in the desert, for her safety; she had two children d
ependent on her...but there had been something else behind that mad dash, a thought he hadn’t been able to banish.

  I’ve just found you again.

  Which was ridiculous. He had never lost her in the first place; he had chosen to exclude her from his life.

  He sighed. It didn’t matter how much he justified his actions back then. It didn’t matter that he had made the right decision at the wrong time and in the wrong way, he was still shamed whenever he thought about that last night in Oxford. It said a lot, a hell of a lot, about Saskia that she didn’t hold it against him, that she was willing to be not just a trophy wife in a loveless marriage but a partner, that she didn’t want to spend her life shopping and living a privileged expat dream but wanted to find a role that stretched her and gave back to the country she now lived in.

  She shifted again, this time letting out a small, hastily smothered cry and Idris was out of the bed in one stride, heading over to the water jug to bring a glass over to her. He moved back to the bed, sitting by her side, helping her sit up. The tent was dim in the pre-dawn grey but he could see that her sweat-soaked hair was pressed to her scalp, that her eyes were huge and fatigued with pain.

  ‘Here.’ He passed her the glass and she accepted it with a wan smile of thanks. Idris touched a hand to her cheek and was relieved to find it cool. At least she had no fever.

  ‘I really think...’

  ‘No, no helicopter.’ She drank again and passed the glass back to him, lowering herself against the thin bolster with a grunt. ‘I just don’t want to slow the caravan down too much.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. Can I get you anything else?’

  ‘That glass, next to the fruit bowl. It’s got some kind of natural painkiller in.’

  He reached out and scooped it up, nose wrinkling as he sniffed the cloudy liquid. ‘Are you sure this is safe?’

  ‘Alya, the healer here, is a qualified nurse as well as a traditional healer. It’s fine. Disgusting but works miracles. Not that I enquired too closely what was in it.’ She downed the contents of the glass and pulled a face. ‘Ugh. Anything that tastes that nasty has to be good for me, surely.’

  He half smiled, watching her as she drank. ‘As predicted Badr insists on gifting you the horse, although I want it put through its paces by the best trainers at the stables before you go anywhere near it again. We can’t run the risk of it throwing you again.’

  ‘There’s always a risk, Idris. Horses, cars—we know that more than anyone.’ She was silent for a moment and he thought she was falling back asleep but then she turned to face him, eyes still too wide, too shadowed but her face more relaxed, the drawn expression of pain softened. ‘You know, the nearest clinic is a day’s ride away. Alya works between there, here and another clinic three days’ ride in the other direction.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘That’s where the schools are too. She says the children do a lot of learning remotely when they’re between schools and she diagnoses a lot through video calling. It’s odd, isn’t it? No cars and living in tents but everyone has a smartphone.’

  ‘It’s the way of the world.’ Where was she going with this? It didn’t sound like idle conversation. There was a spark in Saskia’s eyes he hadn’t seen for a long time.

  ‘She’s the only qualified midwife as well. She says most of the women give birth in special tents, attended by traditionally taught women. Mortality rates are higher than in the cities because there’s no way to get them to hospital when things go wrong. Alya lost her own baby just a year ago, a miscarriage that might have been prevented if she’d got to a hospital in time...’

  ‘It’s a tragedy, I admit, but this is a nomadic tribe. Clinging onto tradition means tragedies happen. It’s the price they choose to pay. Dalmaya is a big country and there are huge swathes where there is very little approaching civilisation—or at least the trappings of it.’

  ‘That was pretty much Alya’s answer. That these things happen. But if I had concussion or had broken my leg then we wouldn’t have left that to fate, would we? You wanted to call a helicopter in for a sprained ankle and a few bruises!’

  ‘I still want to call a helicopter to make sure that’s all that it is.’

  ‘If there’s a helicopter for me then why not for Alya and her patients? To get people to clinic in minutes, not days, to hospital if the clinic can’t manage, to transport her and the one other nurse out to patients?’

  Idris couldn’t answer. Money? Dalmaya was a rich country. ‘Tradition, I suppose.’

  ‘Tradition stated that girls stayed at home and didn’t go to school, let alone university—and your grandfather’s edicts may have worked in the cities but not out here in the desert. Luckily Alya’s father indulged her and allowed her to study and now, thanks to the Internet, all Al Bedi girls are educated and any that wish to study further have the freedom to go on to college. True, most prefer to stay at home but at least they have that choice. Technology helps girls get to school. Why can’t it help with medical emergencies? Beyond a video-call diagnosis, I mean. The Al Bedis contribute a lot to Dalmayan culture—the horses, the tourist camps. We should give something back. Something of value. Lifesaving medical help shouldn’t be restricted to princesses by marriage.’

  Slowly Idris got to his feet, looking around at the tent, now illuminated in the pinks and reds of a desert sunrise. It all looked so traditional but the bed easily pulled apart for transportation. The glasses were made in China and bought from a Swedish furniture store. The Al Bedi might seem unchanging but they knew how to incorporate what they needed from the modern world to keep their traditional life viable. Allow their girls to study and bring their expertise back to the tribe, welcome tourists and by doing so safeguard their freedoms and their lands.

  His grandfather, educated at Oxford and the Sorbonne, had been full of reformist zeal. He had taken the oil money and invested it, not into a lavish lifestyle for a few, but into a new Dalmaya. Invested it into schools and hospitals and opportunities for all who wanted to take advantage of it. But like all reformists he had been iron-willed and impatient of those who didn’t see his vision—and the Al Bedi had not been the only ones who had rejected his Western influences to modernise at a slower pace. Fayaz had been King for too short a time to break the coldness between the throne and the nomads. Could this idea, a flying medical service, be the thing to bring them properly onside? Badr too was new to leadership and far more conciliatory than his father had been...

  And Saskia had complained of being bored. This idea of hers could solve two problems before they were even formally crowned.

  He turned and looked at her, still obviously sore but lit up with enthusiasm. ‘How do you know all this? About the healer...’

  ‘Alya.’

  ‘She was with you for what, an hour? Working for most of that. And yet you seem to know her life history!’ It would usually take Idris months if not years to work up to that level of personal detail. ‘And it isn’t just Alya. You were incredibly well prepared when you were introduced to Badr, not just about the right way to be introduced, but you asked all the right questions, had him charmed within an hour.’

  ‘I read the briefing documents,’ she said then smiled. ‘Look, I admit that when you knew me before I may have come across as a little self-absorbed.’ He raised an eyebrow and she coloured but carried on. ‘Of course I was. I was an only child, doted upon by a dad who gave me everything I wanted before I knew I wanted it, raised to think I was the most fascinating, desirable, interesting person in the world.’

  It should have made her unbearable, yet that confidence, that utter sureness in herself had been self-fulfilling. Everyone had wanted to know her, the girls had wanted to be her friend, the boys had all wanted to sleep with her.

  ‘It was a shock when I started temping. No one cares about a temp. They want you to be up to speed straight awa
y and to blend in. That’s it. I blundered around my first few jobs acting—thinking—like photocopying was below me—even though I had no idea how to use the machine—that I was too good to make coffee and people should be falling over themselves to help me. A few bruising encounters showed me how wrong I was. And I soon realised that to get the good jobs, I had to be the best. Be prepared, do my homework, cause as few problems as possible and solve as many as possible. Be so indispensable they want you back.’

  ‘So that’s what you did.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘It wasn’t easy but yes, I learned what the most important things were: security codes, how to work the printer, where the kettle was, how the switchboard worked. How to retain that information. How to ask the right questions. How to fit in. Turns out temp skills are very transferrable for being Crown Princess, for being Queen.’ She laughed a little self-consciously but she was right. She’d walked into this hostile tribe a stranger and a foreigner and would ride out a valued friend and ally because she’d taken the time to ask the right questions, and, more importantly, to care about the answer. Something he should have learned in all his business dealing. Maybe he had where stock and figures were concerned but not with people.

  ‘But you wanted to change careers?’

  ‘Well, yes. Temping was fun but turns out it was temporary.’ Her smile made it clear the pun was purposeful. ‘I wanted a new challenge, to be able to put down some roots. But I liked problem solving, helping. I thought I could do that as a lawyer.’

  ‘You can do that here,’ he said, aware how brusque he sounded. ‘Look into an air ambulance. Look into costings and potential problems as well as benefits and write me a report—or commission one. Then we’ll talk and, if it adds up the way you want it to, then I’ll talk to the Council. Or you can...’

  The somewhat self-deprecating smile broadened until it shone from her eyes. ‘Really? I can do that? Thank you. That’s amazing. Thank you, Idris.’ She made to rise but fell back with an ‘Oof!’ as her ankle hit the floor and he stepped back, shy of her thanks.