Desert Sheikh vs American Princess

by Teresa Morgan

  She was definitely up to no good. Well, good from her point of view. Maybe not from the sheikh's.

  Or from your friend's, Bonnie said.

  Shut up, recommended Noelle.

  Pirate princesses have a sense of honor. A real pirate princess would never do lie to her friend.

  We can have a sense of honor when we're back in the States, she told Bonnie, trying to ignore the guilt that nearly made her seize up and turn back.

  She snuck a look at Faridah, but it wasn't the sparkle in the younger woman's eyes that caught her attention. It was the sparkle in the tiny shop behind her friend.

  And a matching tingle under her ribcage. Jewelry. Elise's jewelry.

  Noelle grabbed Faridah's arm and dragged her through the pungent crush of bodies blocking their way to the shiny objects. When they elbowed their way through and stood in front of the puny store--barely more than two feet wide--Noelle gasped.

  Not to be a total girl... but everything was just so damn pretty. The entire shop was made of the most amazing shades of yellow. A deep, voluptuous cadmium that you just wanted to lick like candy. A pearly lemon, nearly white, so pale you had to squint to see the yellow in its depths. An amber so dark it was almost black.

  Not jewelry. It was all scarves. Just scarves. But the scarves looked like they'd been woven out of jewels. Hung from the ceiling, they shimmered like flags of a nation of Barbie dolls. Scarves draped over the walls, curtains you'd rather look at than out the window. She touched the nearest one, a glowing fantasy shot through with shining gold, expecting it to scratch.

  Instead, it caressed her skin right back.

  Holy crap.

  The person behind the counter approached.

  "These are amazing," she said. When she ripped her eyes away from the silky confection, she saw a startled man looking back at her. He was tall and thin, olive-skinned, with elegant hands. He also had shimmery pink lips that had clearly been glossed, and wore more mascara than she ever had. He was fabulous.

  His kohl-outlined eyes were wide as dinner plates and it took her a second to figure out why. Hmmm, a woman in a burqa speaking to a man who wasn't a member of her family, and doing it in English with an American accent. Nothing strange about that at all...

  "I do not think that your friend would want one of these," offered Faridah, looking at Noelle skeptically.

  What was Faridah talking about? Noelle had to disagree. "I think she would."

  If Elise, back in San Francisco, had a shop full of these scarves, well, it wouldn't be full--she wouldn't be able to keep them on the shelf. Especially if she displayed them like this guy had, just papering the whole place with them. She could see it all now. Every one of her rich fashionista acquaintances would want a closetful. If they had the right branding. The tingle in her stomach intensified, like a bottle of Mountain Dew shaken to the point of busting out.

  "I think he would not."

  He? Oh, right. She'd convinced Faridah she wanted to buy Walid a surprise thank you present. That was why Faridah had agreed to accompany her to the market in the first place.

  She laughed. "Sorry. I was thinking of someone else."

  "Mr. Lodhi-Rajput sells the loveliest scarves," Faridah said. "Everyone has one."

  "Do they come in any other colors?" Noelle asked the man, who looked horrified. Or maybe terrified to actually answer the question of a woman in a burqa.

  "You should get rid of that thing," Faridah hissed to her. "Inaya Al Hurra would not wear one, and as the heir to her legacy, you should not either."

  Ugh. Bad things happened to her every time Faridah said that name. Or called her "princess." Or even looked at her with that admiring light in her eye. Like she expected Noelle to do something. Each time she did any of those things, a numbness crept up her finger, a prickling paralysis that made her arms into iron weights she didn't have a hope of moving.

  How could she tell Faridah that anyone who'd ever trusted her had been disappointed? That believing in Noelle would just get her heart and her hopes ground into little glass pieces.

  Mr. Lodhi-Rajput cleared his throat and answered in a polished Indian accent, "Many other colors, ma'am."

  "You never know what color his store is going to be from one day to the next," Faridah said happily. As she said most things.

  Noelle could make it happen. Elise had asked for jewelry, but this was so much better. Anyone could do jewelry. These scarves... they would take San Fran by whirlwind. Elise's shop would become--pardon the phrase--a fashion mecca. Mr. Lodhi-Rajput would become a rich man. At the center of it all would be Noelle, doing something right.

  For once.

  But as she stroked the scarf, reality crashed back into her brain. It would never work. Another great idea poisoned by her terrible luck. Or maybe just her own bad... whatever.

  Elise and Mr. Lodhi-Rajput would never learn about each other because she could never, never come back to Askar after she got out. Sheikh Walid would make sure of that.

  She didn't even have the money to buy a single scarf now. Something she hadn't mentioned to Faridah, of course.

  "These are amazing," she told Mr. Lodhi-Rajput, recycling the same words in her sudden depression. "Thank you."

  What she was thanking him for, she didn't know. All she knew was that she didn't stop thinking about Mr. Lodhi-Rajput's beautiful scarves when she and Faridah left and her tingle faded.

  *****

  "This is exactly what your friend would want," Faridah told her proudly.

  Noelle blushed so hard she felt like a match. White body, red head.

  I don't get it, Bonnie said. Why would anyone wear a bathing suit this small? Your butt cheeks would hang out.

  When Faridah led her to this discreet, unmarked, double-wide stall, Noelle had been thrilled. Northeast corner. The U.S. embassy was only two blocks away. She could make it. She just needed an excuse.

  She had never suspected that the black curtain that covered the entrance hid... this.

  It wasn't exactly La Perla lingerie. La Perla would run screaming from the neon bright colors on display here. Every shade of the rainbow, every style of lace you could imagine. This place took "lift and separate" to a whole new level.

  She was frozen in mortification in the middle of the shop as ladies around her oohed and aahed over a sexy garment--if you even call three ribbons tied together a garment.

  With a flourish, Faridah whipped off Noelle's head covering, removing the only thing coming between her and the full-on force of this shop.

  Noelle grabbed for the cover instinctively.

  "The burqa is not required when no men are present," Faridah told her.

  Noelle swallowed. Right now, men weren't what she wanted protection from.

  "You are blushing," Faridah pointed out, so loud that other shoppers stopped their giggling at the sexy underwear and turned to look. "Your friend will love this. I can think of no better present."

  Any man would love this stuff, Noelle thought. Well, maybe not Mr. Lodhi-Rajput. But Walid...

  Right. She was supposed to be pretending that she was in love with him. Or something.

  She screwed up her courage and approached a wall where a black lace corset with stiff boning hung. That only thing it lacked was a whip. That was okay; the shop sold them separately.

  "Hmm, I do not think that one is good for your"--the shop woman who had sidled up eyed Noelle's grossly blushing face sidelong--"complexion. May I suggest another?"

  Faridah jumped in. "Perhaps pink."

  "I'm not sure--" Noelle was not sure about a lot of things at this point.

  I kinda like pink, said the pirate princess.

  "He will love it," insisted Faridah.

  Would Walid love something like this? Yeah. He probably would. Noelle imagined herself wearing lingerie under her street clothes. Imagined Walid undoing the buttons of her blouse... finding the secret wisps of lace barely covering her breasts. Would he make a low note of approval? Would his amber-ringed
eyes darken?

  She'd thought for a moment, when they sat on the window ledge in the tower, that he was about to kiss her. Would he have tried? Would she have let him?

  The shop woman interrupted her thoughts. "What about this one, madam?"

  Holy crap, had she just been daydreaming about kissing Walid? The guy who kidnapped her? The guy she was trying to escape from right now?

  She grabbed the hanger from the startled woman. "I'll take it."

  "Would you not like to try it on?" Faridah asked.

  "Try it on," Noelle instantly agreed. "Yep. I'd love to try it on."

  She followed the shop woman to a row of curtained-off changing rooms at the back of the store, and entered the closest one, the lingerie in one hand, her burqa in the other.

  She'd barely shut the curtains and assured Faridah she'd be a few minutes when she saw a pair of eyes looking up at her from under the stall. A little boy, lying on the floor? As soon as she spotted him, those eyes went wide with terror and he shot off. She nearly called out for the kid's mother when she realized a) that she'd just narrowly avoided being gawked at by a pint-sized pervert and b) he shouldn't have been able to look at her--wasn't this the wall of the shop?

  She lifted the back curtain of the change room.

  Light flooded into the room and hope into her heart.

  The hole in the wall was a little more than a foot wide. Just big enough to escape through.

  Yarrgh! said the pirate princess.

  Yarrgh, agreed Noelle.

  *****

  Across the road, the U.S. embassy shone like a beige brick, four-story beacon. The only thing standing between her and true freedom was a hugely busy street stuffed with cars whooshing past. She hesitated on the curb.

  Run for it! shouted Bonnie.

  She could make it--weave between the cars like some action heroine in a burqa. Or not. Maybe she'd get wrecked in a mass of honking, exploding twisted metal.

  She bounced on her toes, readying herself to make a dash through the traffic.

  Then it stopped, as if someone had waved a magic wand. Or maybe... turned a traffic light red.

  One other good thing about burqas, she decided, was that they hid your embarrassment. She joined the crowd crossing the street--duh, at the crosswalk. Like normal people.

  Once on the other side, she could smell freedom in the air. Only a block to go to the wrought iron gate that enclosed a courtyard with tall palms heavy with green and brown dates. The scent of the sea flavored the air here, salt along with the chemical smoke smell of some of the rusty cars that sped by alongside the occasional Jag or Alfa Romeo.

  She was almost there. She wanted to throw off the burqa and skip like a schoolgirl. No time for that now. Faridah--a lump caught in her throat at the thought of how she'd tricked the young woman--would notice she was gone soon. Walid wouldn't punish Faridah, would he? Wouldn't fire her, Noelle thought, her steps slowing.

  She might, Bonnie said. Walid is going to be ma-ad.

  No, no. She couldn't feel guilty about what would happen to Faridah. As a prisoner, her first duty was to escape, no matter what.

  Maybe she could call Walid right before getting out of Askar, put in a good word for Faridah.

  Not far now. She'd be on American soil in a couple minutes...

  Then she saw the limo.

  The long, shiny car lurked at the curbside in front of the embassy. Her throat lump turned into a globe. The car had zero outward signs of belonging to the palace. No crests on the doors, no flags on the hood.

  Somehow, she knew that Walid had sent it.

  She prepped herself for a sprinter's crouch... But wait. No. The burqa covered her from head to foot. She had total anonymity here. Mr. Lodhi-Rajput had been afraid to even talk to her. No man would dare accost her on the street--she looked just like the few other covered women she'd seen. She had no reason to run, or even hurry.

  She might just keep this burqa.

  We could have all kinds of adventures, Bonnie put in.

  Noelle nearly laughed as she held her back straight and maintained her casual pace toward the embassy. She could walk right by the limo. Even if Walid had sent it, his guards would be looking for an American woman, not a devout, covered-up Askari lady. They couldn't even talk to her without causing a scene.

  Two steps away from the limo--and only a few more from the entrance to the embassy--the vehicle's door opened. A tall guard oozed out, looking straight at her.

  "Miss Oldrich," said the guard, indicating the open door. "Please get in."

  A couple of people in the crowd looked over the guard who dared to disrespect the woman in the burqa. When they realized what they saw, they shrugged and moved on.

  The lump in Noelle's throat was now so big she had to struggle to talk around it. "Walid really does like his female security."

  The guard could have given Brienne of Tarth a run for her money. And maybe the bear that the female knight had once been forced to face. This African (or was it Askari-African?) woman could shove her into the back seat of the car with one pinky while drinking a full-fat latte.

  A decidedly male hand came out of the darkness in the limo's back seat, waving her in.

  Noelle gave a shoulder-shaking sigh.

  "Miss Oldrich," insisted the guard.

  "Hang on," she said, gazing at the embassy for just one more second. The breeze grazed the twin flags dangling from poles that extended from the front of the otherwise colorless building. White stars on a blue background and red stripes waved goodbye. Old Glory had never seemed like more of a symbol of freedom to her than this moment.

  Five

  TOLD YOU HE'D be mad, Bonnie said.

  He's not the only one, Noelle responded, as she felt the limo roll into traffic.

  After thanking the guard, whose name was apparently Kitoko, Walid lounged back against the limo seat, watching Noelle from under heavy-lidded eyes. His silence seemed more dangerous than his exasperated voice ever had.

  "Who gave me away?" she demanded.

  Faridah. She didn't want to think about it. But only Faridah knew she'd left the palace.

  Walid inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly. As if he was the one who needed to release tension. He flipped a button and the tinted glass between the front and back seat whirred up. He waited while the barrier locked into place.

  "No one," he said.

  "Try again." Her eyes got hot. "Okay, maybe you could have posted a guard outside the embassy as a precaution, but then it would just be the guard. Why would you be here?"

  *****

  Why was he here? Why pursue her personally when he should be trying to formulate an alternative plan, since there were only sixteen days left before the debt must be paid?

  He had felt it. Felt her leave the palace. No one had needed to tell him. He hadn't realized that her spirit had infected his home until that spirit was gone.

  He'd been speaking to his education minister about the man's latest idea for improving schools in rural areas and a sudden emptiness had assailed him. He'd known instantly what had happened.

  As for coming to the embassy, that had been a guess. He considered what he would do under Noelle's circumstances and decided that getting to the U.S. embassy would be the best chance she had at leaving Askar. She had no identification, so she could not board a plane. She had no money, so she could not travel to another city to put distance between herself and the palace.

  So he'd come to the embassy.

  When he'd seen her--and it had to be her--in the full cover of a burqa, unaccountable anger had passed through him. First, he'd been angry at her body-baring runner's outfit. Now, he felt rage at seeing that same body covered.

  He made no sense, even to himself. Especially to himself.

  Now the uncontrolled emotion running through him was quite different. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and kiss her in relief. That she had not disappeared from his life forever, one way or another.

  She, h
owever, sat on the same seat as he did, her long legs crossed under her ankle-length skirt, and faced stubbornly forward. Wore the same granite look that she had when he had told her that she would remain in Askar for a time. This time, he could only examine her expression in profile, her chin lifted, eyes chilled, mouth gritted.

  "I do not have to explain myself to you," he informed her. The truth? He could not even explain the situation to himself. "You had no money, no identification. In a country where you do not understand the customs and you do not speak the language. Anything could have happened to you and I would not have been able to prevent it."

  The small hairs on the back of his neck made themselves known. He had meant only to keep her with him. For the ransom, of course. But if she'd been harmed...

  The crisis of watching her descend from a treacherous rope came plummeting back into his mind. Again she seemed to him to personify Askar itself. Now, she had run from him, tried to escape. What did that mean for his rule? Did it presage his failure?

  "Yeah," she said, her mouth screwed up wryly. "A rogue sheikh could have kidnapped me and held me for ransom."

  "I have never been a rogue anything in my life."

  "Well, maybe you should have."

  "This is not a joke, Noelle." He fought to keep his tone even. "Any number of worse things than having a pleasant holiday in a luxurious palace could have happened to you."

  She shrugged. "Deira is perfectly safe, which you should know, since you live here. Besides, it's your fault for not letting me leave. Anything happens to me, I blame you."

  "Finally," he said. "We agree. You are my responsibility. I bear the burden of what happens to you while you reside in my country, as I bear the burden for what happens to Askar. And if I am to take the blame, then I must have the control."