by The Sheikh
Next two men argued over the use of a small spring deep in the desert. Murat gave his ruling, then watched as a veiled woman approached. By the time she’d taken a second step, he knew it was Daphne.
Why did she seek him so publicly? To petition for her own freedom?
For a moment he considered the possibility. That she would seek to hold him to the fairness he claimed to offer all. A protest rose within him. There were no words, just the sense that she couldn’t leave. Then he remembered their night of lovemaking and the one that had occurred nearly three weeks before. She could not go until they were sure she was not with child. More than anyone, she understood the law of the land.
Relief quickly followed, allowing him to relax as she walked toward him. As she reached the dais, she bowed low, then flipped back her head covering to reveal her features. Many in the waiting crowd gasped.
“I seek justice at the hand of Crown Prince Murat,” she said, then frowned slightly. “You’re not surprised it’s me.”
“I recognized your walk.”
“I was covered.”
“A husband knows such things.”
Several of the women watching smiled.
He leaned forward. “Why do you seek my justice? For yourself?”
“No. For another. I call forward Aisha.”
A young woman no more than sixteen or seventeen moved next to Daphne. Murat held in a groan. He had a bad feeling he knew what had happened. The girl had approached Daphne and had told a sad story about being forced to marry someone she didn’t love. Daphne had agreed to petition on her behalf.
Murat looked at the teenager. “Why do you not petition for yourself?” he asked.
The girl, a beauty, with honey-colored skin and hair that hung to her waist, dropped her chin and stared at the ground. “My father forbade me to do so.”
Murat shifted back in his chair and waited. Sure enough, someone started pushing through the waiting throng. A man stepped forward and bowed low.
“Prince Murat, a thousand blessings on you and your family.”
Murat didn’t speak.
The man twisted his hands together, bowed again, then cleared his throat. “She is but a child. A foolish young girl who dreams of the stars.”
Murat didn’t doubt that, but the law was the law. “Everyone is entitled to petition the prince. Even a foolish young girl.”
“Yes. Of course you are correct. I never dreamed she would seek out your most perfect and radiant wife. May you have a hundred sons. May they be long-lived and fruitful. May—”
Murat raised his hand to cut off the frantic praise. No doubt the thought of a hundred sons had sent Daphne into a panic. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows.
“You see what you have started?”
“I seek only what is right.”
Murat sighed and turned his attention to the girl. “All right. Aisha. You have the attention of the prince, and your father is not going to stop you from stating your case. What do you want from me?”
It was as he expected. Her father wished her to marry an old man with many children.
“I am the wife he expects to care for him in his waning years,” she said in outrage.
“And the man in question?” Murat asked.
There was more movement in the crowd, and a tall, bearded man stepped forward.
He had to be in his late fifties. He bore himself well and had the appearance of prosperity about him.
The man bowed. “I am Farid,” he said in a low voice.
“You wish to marry this girl?” Murat asked.
Farid nodded. “She is a good girl and will serve me well.”
“Instead of asking for a dowry, he offers me five camels,” the father said eagerly. “He has been married before and has lost each wife to illness. Very sad. But all in the village agree the women were well treated.”
Murat felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. He looked at the girl.
“There is one more player missing, is there not?”
Aisha nodded slowly. “Barak. The man I love.”
Her father gasped in outrage, the fiancé looked patiently indulgent and a steady rumble rose from the crowd.
At last Barak appeared. He was all of twenty-two or twenty-three. Defiant and terrified at the same time. He bowed low before Murat.
“You love Aisha, as well?” Murat asked.
The young man glanced at her, then nodded. “With all my heart. I have been saving money, buying camels. With her dowry, we can buy three more and have a good-size herd. I can provide for her.”
“I will not give her a dowry,” her father said. “Not for you. Farid is a good man. A better match.”
“Especially for you,” Murat said. “To be given camels for your daughter instead of having to pay them makes it a fine match.”
The father did not speak.
Murat studied Farid. There was something about the color of the skin around his eyes. A grayness.
“You have sons?” Murat asked the older man.
“Six, Your Highness.”
“All married?”
“Two are not.”
Murat saw the picture more clearly now. “How long do you have?” he asked Farid.
The man looked surprised by the question, but he recovered quickly. “At most a year.”
“What?” the girl’s father asked. “What are you talking about?”
Murat shook his head. “It is of no matter.” He rose and nodded at his wife. “If you will come with me.”
He led her to the rear of the tent.
“What’s going on?” Daphne wanted to know. “Can you do this? Stop the hearing or whatever it is in midsentence? What about Aisha? Are you going to force her to marry that horrible old man?”
Murat touched her long, blond hair. “That horrible old man is dying. He has less than a year to live.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but the information means Aisha was right.
He’s buying her to take care of him in his old age. If he’s so rich, why doesn’t he just hire a nurse?”
“Because this isn’t about his health. It’s about his wealth. Farid has six sons.
Two are not married. Per our laws, he must leave everything to them equally, which divides his fortune into small pieces. But that is not the best way to maintain wealth in the family. What if the sons do not get along? What if their wives want them to take the inheritance to their own families? If Farid dies married, he can leave forty percent of what he has to his wife. The rest is split among his children. I believe his plan is for one of his unmarried sons to then marry Aisha and together they will run the family business.”
Daphne looked outraged. “Great. So she’s to be sold, not once but twice? That’s pleasant.”
“You are missing the point. Farid doesn’t want her for himself.”
“I get the point exactly. Either way she’s been given in marriage to someone she doesn’t know or care about. And she’s in love with someone else. What about that?”
Why did Daphne refuse to see the sense of the union? “She could be a wealthy widow in her own right in just a few months,” he said. “She wouldn’t have to marry one of the sons if she didn’t want to.”
“Are you saying she should agree to this? That in a few months, she could bring in what’s his name—”
“Barak.”
“Right. She could bring in Barak? That’s terrible, too.”
Murat shook his head. “Marriage isn’t just about love, Daphne. It is about political and financial gain.”
“I see that now. What are you going to do?”
“What do you want me to do?”
She raised her eyebrows. “It’s my choice?”
“Yes. Consider it a wedding gift.”
“I want Aisha to have the choice to follow her heart. I want her to be free to marry Barak.”
“Despite what I have told you?”
She stared at him. “Not despite it, but because of it.
”
“And years from now, when she and Barak are struggling to feed their many children, do you not think she will look back on what she could have had and feel regret?”
“Not if she loves him.”
“Love does not put food on the table.” Love was not practical. Why did women consider it so very important?
“I want her to be with Barak,” Daphne insisted.
“As you wish.”
He led her back to the dais and took his seat. Aisha had been crying, and her father looked furious. Farid seemed resigned, while the young lover, Barak, attempted to appear confident even as his shaking knees gave him away.
Murat looked at Aisha. “You chose your petitioner well. Daphne is my bride and, as such, I can refuse her nothing. I grant your request, but listen to me well.
You are angry that your father would sell you to a man so many years older. You see only today and tomorrow. There is all of your future to consider. Farid is a man of great honor. Will you not consider him?”
Aisha shook her head. “I love Barak,” she said stubbornly.
Murat glanced at the boy and hoped he would be worthy of her devotion. “Very well. Aisha is free to marry Barak.”
Her father started to sputter, but Murat quelled him with a quick glare.
“I give them three camels in celebration of their marriage. May their union be long and healthy.”
Aisha began to cry. Barak bowed low several times, then gathered his fiancée in his arms and whispered to her.
Murat turned to the angry father. “I give you three camels, as well, in compensation for what you have lost in your deal with Farid.”
Murat knew that Farid had offered five camels, but he wasn’t about to give the father more than he gave the couple.
Finally he looked at Farid. “When it is your time, your family may bring you to the mountain of the kings.”
The crowd gasped. The honor of being buried in such a place was unheard of.
Farid bowed low. “I give thanks to the good and wise prince. I wish that I would live to see you rule as king.”
“I wish that, as well. Go in peace, my friend.” Murat then waited as they all left.
“Who is next?” he asked.
Daphne stayed quiet during dinner. Murat seemed tense and restless. He had been that way since returning to their tent.
When the last plate had been cleared away, she put down her napkin and smiled.
“I want to thank you again for what you did today.”
“I do not wish to speak of it.”
“Why not? You made Aisha very happy.”
“I granted the wish of a spoiled girl. She is too young to know her heart. Do you really believe she will love that boy for very long? And then what? She will be poor and hate her husband. At least her father sought to secure her future.”
Daphne couldn’t believe Murat actually thought the marriage of a sixteen-year-old to a man four times her age was a good thing.
“Her father wanted to sell her,” she said in outrage. “That’s pretty horrible.”
“I agree, the father’s motives were suspect, but Farid was a good man, and she would have had financial security.”
“Right. To be sold again into marriage with one of his sons.”
“She might have fallen in love with one as well.”
“Or she might not.”
Murat stared at her as if she were a complete idiot. “As a widow, she would be free to marry whomever she liked. No one could force her into the marriage.”
“Gee, so it’s only the one time. That makes it all right.”
He turned away. “You do not understand our ways and our customs.”
“I don’t think it’s that, at all. I think you’re angry because I petitioned for the girl.”
He stood and glared at her. “I am angry because my wife took the side of a foolish young woman and I did as she requested. I am angry because I believe Aisha chose poorly.”
He stopped talking, but she sensed there was more. Something much larger than Aisha and her problems. But what?
Murat walked away from the table into the sitting area of the tent. She followed him.
“You gave a woman her freedom, Murat. What is so terrible about that?”
“What is so terrible about our marriage?” he asked. “Why do you seek to escape?”
Was that it? Did he see her in Aisha?
“I’m not in love with anyone else,” she told him. “I would have told you if I was.”
“I never considered the matter,” he said, but she wasn’t sure she believed him.
“Being married to you isn’t terrible,” she said slowly, still not sure what they were arguing about. “My objection is to the way it happened. You never asked.”
“I did and you refused.”
“Right. And you went ahead and married me, anyway. You can’t do that.”
“I can and I did.”
She couldn’t believe it. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
“Achieving my goal is always a good thing.” He moved toward her. “We are married now. You will accept that.”
“I won’t.”
“And if you carry my child?”
Daphne pressed both hands to her stomach. They should know fairly quickly. “I’m not.”
“You are not yet sure.” He loomed over her. “Make no mistake. Any child will stay here. You may leave if you like.”
“I would never leave my baby behind.”
“Then the decision is made for you.”
She wanted to scream. She wanted to demand that he understand. Why was he being so stubborn and hateful?
“I won’t sleep with you again,” she said.
“So you told me before, yet look what happened.”
She felt as if he’d slapped her. “Is that all that night meant to you? Was it just a chance to prove me wrong?”
“Your word means very little.”
She turned away, both because it hurt to look at him and to keep him from seeing the tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry I came on this trip with you,” she said. “I wish I’d never left the palace.”
“If you prefer to be back there, it can be arranged.”
“Then go ahead and do it.”
Chapter 13
Murat left the tent without looking back. Daphne wasn’t sure what to do, so she stayed where she was. Less than forty minutes later she heard the sound of a helicopter approaching. One of the security agents came and got her, and before she could figure out what had happened, she found herself being whisked up into the night sky.
The glow of all the campfires seemed to stretch out for miles. She pressed her fingers against the cool glass window and wished for a second chance to take back the angry words she and Murat had exchanged.
He’d hurt her. She refused to believe he’d spent last night making love with her only to prove a point. Their time together had to have meant something to him, too. But why wouldn’t he admit it? And why had he let her go so easily?
Just like before, she thought sadly, when she’d broken their engagement. He’d let her go without trying to stop her then, too.
The trip back to the palace took less than thirty minutes. She made her way to the suite she shared with Murat and let herself inside.
Everything was as she’d left it, except that the man she’d married was gone. She had no idea when he would return or what they would say to each other when he did.
She wandered through the room, touching pictures and small personal things, his pen or a pair of cuff links. She missed him. How crazy was that?
Something brushed against her leg. She looked down and saw one of the king’s cats rubbing against her. She picked up the animal and held it close. The warm body and soft purr comforted her. Still holding the cat, she sank down on the sofa and began to cry.
“So, how was it?” Billie asked the next morning as she threw herself on one of the sofas. “I can’t imagine rid
ing through the desert. Flying would get you there much faster.”
Cleo sat next to her sister-in-law and swatted her with a pillow. “The journey is the point. When you fly you never get to see anything.”
“Yeah, but you get there fast.” Billie grinned. “I’m into the whole speed thing.”
“And we didn’t know that.” Cleo fluffed her short, blond hair. “Did you have a good time? I thought you would have been gone longer.”
“It was great,” Daphne said, hoping the cold compresses she’d used earlier had taken down some of the swelling around her eyes. Crying herself to sleep never made for a pretty morning after. “I enjoyed the riding, and the tent was incredible. Like something out of Arabian Nights. There were dozens of rugs underfoot, hanging lights and a really huge bathtub.”
Billie smoothed the front of her skirt over her very pregnant belly. “Tubs can be fun. Anything you want to talk about?”
“Not really,” Daphne said, trying to keep things light. “The cultural differences were interesting. I enjoyed watching Murat work with the council.”
“You weren’t gone long enough to get to the City of Thieves, were you?” Cleo asked, then covered her mouth. She winced and dropped her hand. “Tell me Murat told you about it. I so don’t want to be shot at dawn.”
“Not to worry. He did. And, no, I didn’t make it there.”
She’d been looking forward to it, too. She hadn’t really wanted to leave the caravan. She’d acted impulsively in the moment. Why had she reacted so strongly last night? Why had he been so willing to fight with her and let her go?
“I wanted to see Sabrina and meet Zara,” she said.
“They’re both very cool,” Cleo said. “You’ll have time later. Or we could plan a lunch. The show-off here can fly us out there in a helicopter.”
“Cleo’s just jealous because I’m talented,” Billie said with a grin.
“It’s disgusting,” Cleo admitted. “And she brags about it all the time.”
“Do not.”
“Do, too.”
Daphne felt a wave of longing. These women weren’t sisters, yet they were closer than Daphne had ever been to anyone in her family. If she stayed, she could be a part of this, as well.
