The Sheikh’s Forced Bride (The Sharjah Sheikhs Series Book 1)

by Leslie North

  Casey started to shake her head. “Fadiyah, I—”

  “Please. Even at this moment my father is speaking to the sultan, arranging my life.” She sniffed and brushed at her eyes and sat down again. “I ask too much, I know. I am a stranger. Why should you help me?”

  Walking over to her, Casey pulled up one of the other patio chairs and sat down. She settled her computer on her lap. “Have you ever thought about telling your father no? Or telling him what you do want?”

  Fadiyah nodded and stared at the scarf in her hands. “I want…my father is convinced a union between our family and that of the ruling sultan’s is best for all. But I’m in love. With a…a nobody. A man who is only a security guard here at the palace. Hazim.” The way Fadiyah said the name pretty much told Casey everything. Fadiyah breathed out the word and her mouth curved into a smile. Her skin almost glowed. So, yeah, she was gone over the guy. Casey had seen just the same look on her sister’s face once before.

  Fadiyah frowned again. “My father swears if I do not do as he asks and marry one of the sultan’s sons he will send me to our country house and keep me there for the rest of my days. And he can do that.”

  Rubbing a palm over her computer’s smooth metal case, Casey asked. “What about this Hazim? Would he run away with you?”

  Waving a hand, Fadiyah shook her head. “How can he? If I am not with my father, I am with my father’s security guards. I am never alone.”

  “Except for right now.” Standing, Casey grabbed Fadiyah’s wrists. “Come with me. We’re going to have a long girl talk. I want your whole story. And then we’ll see what we can do to get you out of this mess and into the life you really want.”

  11

  Khalid glanced from Zaid to Ahmed, who had turned pale. Zaid seemed to be taking this news that either he or Ahmed was to marry Fadiyah better in stride. Zaid—in jeans and a white polo—crossed his arms and waited, his expression carefully blank. Ahmed was rubbing the back of his neck. He had dressed in sweats and a T-shirt as if he had been out for an early run and he must be thinking he was too young to marry—and he was.

  Turning to their father, Khalid spread his hands. “Father, you cannot—“

  “Silence.” The sultan stood. “Khalid, you have your bride. Choosing Zaid to marry makes sense.”

  Ahmed let out a breath, and Zaid bowed his head, but Khalid could see the pulse beating in Zaid’s jaw—the man was angry, and Khalid could not blame him. He could also not think of a way to stop this outrage. He had not considered that when he ended his own possible marriage to Fadiyah that one of his brothers would be put in his place. He had thought that Mehmood would have had enough of the entire family.

  Waving his hands as if to scoot them out of the room, the sultan said, “Go. Go. We have much to discuss. This wedding will take place at once—just so there is no danger of it coming undone. And you, Khalid, I wish you to set a date as well. These long engagements only delay you giving me grandsons.

  Khalid started to protest again, but Zaid put a hand on his arm and pulled Khalid from the room. Ahmed followed them out. Once in the hallway, Khalid turned to Zaid. “You cannot be serious about going through with this.”

  Letting go of Khalid, Zaid faced him. “I know my duty. And I want you to remember, I would not be in this position if you knew your duty as well.” He turned and walked away his back stiff.

  Khalid rubbed a hand over his face. “This whole mess is just getting worse with him. Perhaps I should have just married Fadiyah.” Ahmed shook his head. “There was no chance for that—not after your American put an end to your wedding. And I think Father will make certain your American does not interrupt this wedding.”

  “She’s not—”

  “Not what?” Ahmed shook his head. “Not yours? Palace gossip is already buzzing that you spent the night with her. Your marriage to her is now certain. Unless she does something horrible.”

  “Such as stop Zaid’s wedding?” Khalid sighed. “I doubt Father will allow her to even step foot near the bride and groom until after the ceremony. He no doubt is laying down plans now for extra guards.”Ahmed put a hand on Khalid’s shoulder. “Get married to your American, Khalid. From what I have seen of her, she is not just beautiful but she is a woman who will always keep your interest. You will never be bored with that one.”

  Khalid shook his head. “I do not want to be married. I am not ready. But…but neither is Zaid.”.

  Ahmed shook his head. “Why am I the youngest and the only one with sense? Khalid, your American is everything you could want—and if you can’t see that, perhaps you are indeed not ready to deserve her.” Turning, Ahmed strode away, following after Zaid.

  Khalid stared after him, wondering if there was perhaps some truth in his brother’s words. But he did not like being pushed. Oh, he had slept with Casey—and she had been amazing in bed. He did not want to give that up. Ahmed was right about one thing—Casey was never going to be boring. But marriage—no, this was all being pushed on them by their father. And perhaps it was time the sultan learned he could not order the entire world to his liking.

  12

  The article came pouring out. The interview with Fadiyah had been just what she’d needed—the woman’s point of view about this tradition of arranged marriages, many of which were bound to lead to unhappiness. She tried to balance how the Emirate of Sharjah was slowing coming into the modern world and struggling to balance their traditions with the modern trend of recognizing the rights of the individual. But she wanted to stress that this was one age-old tradition that had to go—and Fadiyah was a poster girl for the cause.

  Fadiyah had been great—she’d been passionate, expressive, and had paced Casey’s room as she spoke. Thankfully, Casey’s room had been cleaned by the maids—it would have been hard to work in there with the smell of sex and honey scenting the air. But Casey wasn’t sure Fadiyah would have noticed a bomb going off in the room—now she had someone who would listen to her, she poured out her story in a mix of rapid English and Arabic.

  Fadiyah had wanted to go to college—and her father had refused. She’d snuck in online classes and books to educate herself. She’d met Hazim when her father had come to visit the sultan and had found someone she could talk to—she’d fallen in love quickly, but had been heartbroken when her father had demanded she marry Khalid. She viewed Casey as some kind of angel sent to save Fadiyah—and Casey was determined now to find a way out of this second arranged marriage for Fadiyah.

  When Fadiyah had finished with her story, Casey had promised to talk not just to Hazim but to Khalid as well. Someone had to help this poor girl, and it was about time Khalid told his father that he had to stop being such a tyrant.

  Now, staring at the story she’d written, Casey bit down on her lower lip. Her finger hovered over the send button because another thought had occurred to her—what was Khalid going to think about this story?

  It was the truth and this story needed to be told. But would Khalid see this as a betrayal on her part? Except how could he? He’d known from the start what her views were on arranged marriages in Sharjah. But she couldn’t help worrying a little—the story did not paint a great picture of Sharjah as a forward-looking country. Some American companies might well pull back on investments once this story hit the wires—or that was Casey’s hope. Change would only come from outside pressure.

  Pulling in a breath, she sent the story. Now it was time to see what else she could do for Fadiyah.

  She closed her laptop and headed to the door. As soon as she opened it, two burly men in suits blocked the doorway. She glanced from one to the other. There was no missing the fact that these were the same two that had dragged her out of the Khalid’s failed wedding—and handed her over to the local police.

  Neither man smiled, but one said in lightly accented English, “The sultan would prefer you to stay in your room for the next two days.”

  “He would?” Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “I don’t suppose one of yo
u is named Hazim.” The two guards swapped looks but said nothing. Casey nodded. “Tell Hazim I want to see him. And he’d better be here in the next hour or I’m going to start making some noise—and you both know I can be more than a handful.”

  She closed the door on them. Heart pounding, she leaned against the door. Did Khalid know she was being held a virtual prisoner in her own room? Heading to the balcony, she glanced down. Too far to jump. Too hot as well. Maybe she could make a rope from knotted sheets, but she’d only seen that done in movies—she had the feeling any knot she tied would come undone. However, she had the palace phone, her cell, and her computer. She was not without resources.

  She was also starting to wonder just why the sultan wanted her locked up—but the answer seemed obvious.

  The sultan was ready for one of his other sons to marry Fadiyah, and if he wanted Casey out of the way that had to mean the wedding was supposed to happen right away. Fadiyah wasn’t just being pushed into a marriage, she was being shoved in right away.

  Sitting down on her bed, Casey started sending out texts—and cursing because she’d never gotten Khalid’s number. She did, however, have the palace phone—and hopefully she had Hazim coming to see her.

  It took Hazim over an hour.

  She’d ordered breakfast—a large one—and had tried to get the maid to take a note to Khalid for her. The maid had turned pale and hurried away, as if frightened to do anything for Casey. She was going to guess the sultan had sent out orders to make sure Casey didn’t stop this second wedding with a scene. But Casey had other plans.

  She’d also gotten texts out to Luke—one asking him to track down Khalid’s private cell number, but that was going to take time. And she’d texted her sister—Candace was a wiz with online research, and followed a dozen gossip websites. She might be able to get Khalid’s information faster than Luke could.

  Casey had downed her coffee, nibbled on some sweat pastries and was starting to write an article in her head on tyrant sultans when a knock sounded on her door. She jumped up, her pulse skidding into high gear, and was almost a little disappointed when a stranger stepped into the room. She realized then she’d been hoping to see Khalid.

  She faced the guy and folded her arms over her chest. “Hazim I presume?”

  He gave a small nod and shut the door behind him. “I had word you wished to speak to me?”

  She nodded and waved him into the room. She didn’t want the guards at the door to overhear anything. “I spoke to Fadiyah earlier today.”

  Hazim’s steps faltered. He recovered and headed to the French doors. For a moment, he stared out the glass, then turned to her. He was a good looking man—not has handsome as Khalid, but rugged and broad. He wore his black hair close cropped, his dark eyes seemed hooded and guarded, and he had hands the size of good-sized hams. He tucked one hand into his suit pocket.

  Casey shook her head. Hazim obviously wasn’t the talkative type. “Look, I know she’s in love with you and you’re in love with her.”

  “She is to marry Sheikh Zaid tomorrow.”

  Casey stared at the man. “You don’t sound all that upset.”

  He lifted one hand. “What can I do?”

  “You could do something—do you love the woman or not?”

  “My wishes do not matter. I work for the sultan.”

  With a low growl, Casey threw her arms up. “I’m about ready to let whatever happens to you happen—but I promised Fadiyah some help. Now are you going to help me?”

  He gave her a wary stare. “Help out?”

  “As in get me out of this room. I need to see Khalid.”

  Hazim shook his head. “I will ask Sheikh Khalid if he will come to see you—more I cannot do. Fadiyah…it was never meant to be. I knew that always. And…and Sheikh Zaid is not a bad man.”

  He started to the door, but Casey stepped into his path. “So you’re not going to do anything to save the woman you love from a marriage she doesn’t want.”

  He stared at her, his expression as impassive as ever. “I do not expect you to understand our ways.”

  “I sure don’t. A man should be willing to help the woman he loves.”

  “It is not…the sultan rules Sharjah. We must trust in his wisdom.” Hazim walked out of the room.

  Casey stood facing the door, shaking her head. “Like hell we must.”

  Khalid’s day had been more than stressful. He had gone to Zaid to apologize and had asked to at least handle all arrangements for his brother. Zaid had agreed—he seemed indifferent to his fate, and that worried Khalid. And that left him wondering if Casey’s attitude was rubbing off on him. Hazim had come to tell Khalid that Casey wished to see him, but Khalid had much to do and little time. He had sent back word he would see Casey as soon as he could—if it was important she would have come to him directly. She would have to wait.

  Then he had gone to speak the palace staff.

  The wedding had to be traditional, he told them—highly traditional. Robes and veils and the palace ballroom turned into what seemed to be the inside of a tent with yard and yards of fabric. The lighting would be colored lanterns only—no electricity. When the cook asked about food, Khalid decided he had enough for his plans in place and simply said, “Whatever delicacies you think best.” He left the staff scurrying to obey his orders, and then went to find Ahmed to draft him into this scheme. He had thought Ahmed would balk, but Ahmed grinned and agreed to become Zaid’s shadow—and to do his part tomorrow.

  Satisfied all was in place, Khalid started to Casey’s room, but came upon his father in the main hallway. His father stopped in front of him. The sultan had changed into a casual thobe without a headscarf. His stare raked Khalid and he said, “Just what are you planning, Khalid?” Khalid struggled for as innocent a look as he could muster—it was one he had long practiced as a boy. “Father, what do you suspect? I have simply been helping to ensure the staff is prepared for the wedding tomorrow.” And that was the utter truth. The sultan shook his head. “Khalid, I have known you all of your life—do you not think I know that look of yours? You have something in mind—some mischief. Ah, why must I be possessed of such undutiful sons?”

  Khalid’s mouth tightened, but he bit back the words that sprang to mind and the hot anger. Had not Casey said he was too much like his father? Trying to keep that in mind, he forced a smile. “I promise an excellent day, father.”

  “And your own wedding, Khalid? What plans do you make for that? Your honor is at stake. This American is not the woman I would have chosen for you, but it seems I have underestimated her.”

  Frowning now, Khalid asked, “What do you mean?”

  With a slight smile, the sultan gestured for Khalid to follow him to his office. He pulled out a computer from his desk—one he kept hidden to preserve the appearance of an old fashioned office. In truth, the sultan was more conversant with computers and the modern era than most in his country. With a few keystrokes, he called up a website. “Your Casey, I must admit she can write. And such a story as this will bring tourists to Sharjah.”

  Khalid scanned the article. It had been published in an online magazine and seemed to be all about Casey’s visit to various places in Sharjah, including the reserve. Thankfully, she had not written about having sex with one of the sultan’s sons, but everything else was there. Straightening, Khalid glanced at his father. “So this pleases you? You think her useful and that makes it a good alliance.”

  The sultan wagged a finger. “Good enough. And Mehmood is pleased to see his daughter as a bride. Now go—and set a date with your bride.”

  “Oh, I plan to speak to her at once,” Khalid said.

  He headed out of his father’s office, ran up the stairs and paused when he saw the guards outside Casey’s room. He waved a hand to dismiss them. “You may go.”

  Neither man moved. “The sultan has ordered us to remain here.”

  “And I am ordering you to go. Or do you wish to find new employment?” The two men swapped
uneasy looks. Khalid let out a breath and added, “What kind of man do you think I am if I cannot control my own woman?” That seemed to leave them thinking. They also gave short bows and left. Thankfully, they had no real knowledge of Casey, and Khalid had no illusion that he controlled this woman—that article she had written proved such a thing.

  Opening the door, he stepped inside to find her pacing. She stopped and glanced at him. Relief seemed to spread over her face and she came to him at once and put her arms around him. She hugged him tightly, let go and then asked, “Where have you been? I’ve been stuck here all day trying to get word to you that your father has me kept a virtual prisoner. Do you know your brother is being forced into a marriage with—”

  “Yes, I know, and no, I do not care. I have it handled.”

  “Handled?” She took another step back. “What does that mean?”

  Instead of answering her, he headed to her computer. It was on, and he pulled up the same website his father had shown him. “It means you need not concern yourself. But you may tell me why you write such praises of Sharjah? I thought you meant to write a scathing article on arranged marriages?”

  Blinking, she came over to him, moving wary, as if she feared he might pounce on her. He turned the screen so she might see her work displayed. Her mouth sagged open. She leaned over the computer and paged down on the article. “That’s not…I mean it is my writing, but that’s not my article. That’s the background information I sent to Luke, my editor. It wasn’t supposed to see print.”