The Secret of the Sheikh's Betrothed

by Felicitas Ivey

  “As stupid as this sounds,” Rayyan said, “congratulations.”

  “That is stupid,” Fathi snapped. He sighed, because Rayyan didn’t need to bear the brunt of his anger. And panic—couldn’t forget about that either. “But thank you.”

  Fathi looked at the door their grandfather had stormed through. “I supposed I should apologize to him.”

  “That is going to lead to more shouting,” Rayyan said. “Let me deal with him. You would both start yelling at each other again if you talked right now.”

  Fathi opened his mouth to protest and then nodded. “We’re too much alike.”

  “Meeting is not marrying,” Rayyan pointed out. “He’s overstepped his bounds.”

  “Grandfather would be the first to tell you that as head of our family, it is his duty to do these things,” Fathi said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And he’s right.” He paused. “I walked into this one. I mentioned if he wanted me married, he’d need to introduce me to the woman. I just didn’t think he’d take me up on it.”

  “You still haven’t told him you are gay?” Rayyan asked.

  “How did you know that?” Fathi demanded, his stomach tying itself into knots again at another problem presenting itself.

  Rayyan rolled his eyes. “You never emailed me about the girls you met, only the boys. Your secretaries are practically stripping off their clothes and throwing themselves at you, and you don’t look even a little bit interested. Plus, I’ve never seen you socially with a woman.” Rayyan paused. “Even unsociably. How many times have you walked in on me with a woman in my bed?”

  “Too many times,” Fathi said.

  That had been a nightmare when they shared an apartment after returning from university. It was one of the main reasons he had wanted and gotten his own place.

  So Rayyan knew and didn’t hate him. That was one load off his mind. He just had to tell Grandfather, though he knew that would never happen in this lifetime or the next.

  “I could marry her,” Rayyan said.

  “I would have to explain to him why I wasn’t marrying her,” Fathi said. He sighed. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

  He didn’t want his grandfather to reject him because he preferred a man as a romantic partner and helpmate rather than a woman. He had seen the hurt in eyes of men he knew in America, a deep soul-wrenching pain caused by their families rejecting them for their sexuality. He didn’t think he could face that.

  “So you’d hurt the feelings of a woman you’ve never met?” Rayyan demanded.

  “I can work out an agreement with her better than Grandfather,” Fathi said. She would be easier to talk to, he hoped. She might even be relieved he wasn’t interested in consummating their marriage. “She might be just grateful to be married. I can deal with any problems arising from this marriage when we meet, better than I can deal with Grandfather.”

  “Hopefully she’s a sensible girl, then,” Rayyan said, his tone indicating he didn’t think Fathi would be that lucky. “And now let me go and soothe our grandfather so he doesn’t disown us and then marry the girl himself.”

  Chapter Two

  IKRAAM stared at his sister. “I am to be what!”

  “Married,” Bahiyya said calmly as she started to search through the trunk she was kneeling in front of. “What did you think I said?”

  They were in the women’s section of the family tent, the harem, where all the women of the family lived and even the male head of the household didn’t enter without an invitation. Ikraam hadn’t expected to be married, since at twenty-one, he was older than many of the tribe’s brides. His sisters had been married off in their midteens.

  “Marrying me off isn’t one of the wisest things you can do, sister,” Ikraam said. “There is the small matter of my not being what a man looks for in a bride.”

  So that was why his sister was rummaging through his mother’s dowry trunk. His mother, Zaynab, had been Muna’s second wife, an indulgence in his old age, and Muna had died when she was pregnant with Ikraam. His mother had died when he was nine.

  Ikraam put aside the thought that his sister had been looking to steal his mother’s jewelry. Not for herself, of course, but she did have a daughter to marry off, and why part with any of her jewelry for her daughter’s dowry? It wasn’t like Ikraam would be able to wear any of it. But when he was married, everyone in the tribe would know his sister had been lying about his sex for years. What excuses would she give them? Would she even bother?

  Bahiyya looked up from the trunk and sat back on her heels, finally giving Ikraam her full attention. “You have been betrothed since birth to this man. Neither one of you have a say in the matter. You will be married.” The “and like it” was silent, but Ikraam heard it loud and clear.

  Ikraam sighed. “There is the small problem that I am also a man.”

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about the matter. Bahiyya and his other sisters had teased him enough about “maidenly desires” as he was growing up, cutting and hurtful with their words. But Allah knew, the issue was that his husband would actually want a maid and not a man willing to play the part. Ikraam had known very young he wouldn’t ever be married, instead becoming one of the old aunties of the tribe, dependent on his family for whatever they would be willing to give him. Marrying this stranger would avoid that fate, but he would probably be killed on his wedding night when his husband discovered the true sex of his bride. Ikraam didn’t know if that would be better than the slow decline and humiliation he foresaw in his future if he stayed with Bahiyya or any of his other sisters. A swift death would be a blessing.

  “I have looked over our copy of the contract,” Bahiyya told him. “All that is stated in the contract is our father’s youngest child will marry the oldest grandchild of Amir Saladin al-Murzim, in gratitude for saving his life. There is no mention you have to be a woman for the marriage to take place, since it was well-known all our father had were useless girl children.” Bahiyya’s smile sharpened. “Who would have known our father’s last and least wife would be the one to give him the heir he sought… after he was dead.”

  “Something you hurled at my mother often enough until her death,” Ikraam snapped. “But this secret you have kept for so long will be spilled when I am married. What will Hashim do then?”

  Bahiyya’s face twisted unpleasantly. Ikraam knew he had struck a blow to her pride, and one he would pay for later. But he had been the least-loved long enough, so he didn’t fear what she could do to him. Bahiyya had terrorized Zaynab until her death, threatening to accuse her of adultery, unless she claimed her son was a daughter. His mother had had no relatives to call upon for help or to shelter with, so she suffered under the thumb of her stepdaughters until a desert fever took her life.

  “Leave Hashim to me,” Bahiyya said. “He would have married you off before now if it wasn’t for the hope of what your bride price would be from what the family had sent when the contract was signed. We have you to thank for our wealth of goats.” She shrugged. “If you hadn’t been born, I would have married Tabussuma off to him. When the messenger finally arrived, I was overjoyed. It was my chance to finally get rid of you.”

  “So you’re just going to deliver me to my groom, snatch whatever else you can from him, and leave before the wedding feast?” Ikraam asked. His sister had never hidden the hatred she had for him, but to hear her speak of it freely was soul draining.

  Bahiyya tilted back her head, smiling coldly. “I think that is the most intelligent thing I have ever heard you say. That is a wonderful plan.”

  Ikraam gaped at her.

  “We leave early on the wedding night, so we will be far enough away that when your groom finds out, we will not be around to be blamed,” she continued. “And it isn’t like a soft city dweller would be able to find us in the desert.”

  “He might kill me,” Ikraam pointed out, a note of terror in his voice.

  Bahiyya tilted her head. “But you wouldn’t be my problem anymore, so why
should I care?”

  Ikraam stared at her in horror for a second before grabbing his chador and wrapping it around his body so he would be covered like a proper woman should be, even as he stormed out of the tent.

  He moved past the tents, past the herd of goats and sheep on the far side of the oasis. He was just out of sight of the camp when he sat down on the sand. It was getting on toward night, but the sand still kept the heat of the day. Ikraam leaned forward and wondered what he was going to do. This marriage was out of the question. But so was staying here, unmarried and at Bahiyya’s mercy. He was lucky she kept this a secret as long as she had. She only stayed her hand at killing him because she didn’t want the blood of her kin on her hands.

  Ikraam didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, when a heavy weight plopped against him. He reached out and petted the hunting cat who had just appeared at his side.

  “What am I going to do, Saumer?” he asked the cat.

  Saumer purred and rubbed against him shamelessly for attention. Saumer was a feral cat, a leopard who followed the tribe and was tolerated because he left the herds alone. He adored Ikraam and ignored the rest of the tribe.

  “I’m supposed to be married to a man I was contracted to even before I was born.”

  “You act like Mother wasn’t ever going to marry you off,” he heard his niece Sabah say as she walked up behind him. “She has to have all her sisters settled before she can marry me off. She’s finally ready to get rid of me.”

  Ikraam nodded, still idly petting Saumer. Bahiyya had married off all her sisters advantageously and as far away from her husband as she could. Allah knew why—Hashim was unattractive and smelly. Ikraam didn’t know how Bahiyya stood him long enough to conceive her children. He had vague memories of a more attractive Hashim when he was younger, though, before the man had overindulged in his vices.

  “I just never thought it would happen,” Ikraam muttered.

  “Because you are barren?” Sabah said innocently, even if there was a faint hint of sly humor in her eyes.

  Ikraam twitched when she said that. Barrenness had explained his lack of courses, and it had been an easy explanation for everyone to believe. Yet he was beginning to believe Sabah wasn’t as ignorant of his sex as the rest of the family wanted her to be, since they had been raised together. Thankfully, he didn’t have a heavy beard or other “manly” traits to worry about betraying him to the rest of the tribe. In fact, he was certain Bahiyya’s face had more hair than his. It was embarrassing, but it did keep up his pretense of being a woman. He only had to shave once or twice a week, in secret.

  “I’m surprised she waited this long,” Sabah continued. “Father wants a marriage alliance with the din Qamar tribe.”

  “And he doesn’t realize that is only going to happen if your mother wants it,” Ikraam said.

  “Father understands that more than you realize,” Sabah snapped. She took a shuddering breath. “Mother….”

  “I know,” Ikraam said. He wasn’t much older than his niece. His mother had taken care of both of them, since Bahiyya was too involved in the lives of her sons and grasping all the power she could through them to care about her daughter. Sabah was more of a sister than a niece to him. “I was just… startled. The contract is an old one and had been written before I was born. I was just surprised, since I hadn’t heard about it before.”

  “You should go back there to make sure she doesn’t take everything of yours,” Sabah said, accepting both the apology and the explanation. “She’s been eyeing your mother’s jewelry and bridal thawb for as long as I remember.”

  His mother’s bridal robe was a pale green heavy silk, shot through with darker shades of green. It had extra wide sleeves, which hung almost to the ground. It was embroidered with silver and gold threads, along with accents of black and red. Ikraam had dreamed of being married in it when he was younger, before his sister’s cruelty had ruled his life.

  Ikraam sighed. “I suppose so.”

  He rose gracefully, Saumer grumbling in annoyance when his pillow moved. Ikraam didn’t think he would be able to stop his older sister from stealing more from him, but he should try at least. He didn’t know if it would hurt more or less if he didn’t.

  “She claims I’m too big for the gown, and so she’ll not let me wear it,” Ikraam said. He was much taller than his petite mother had been, but it wasn’t like Bahiyya would fit into it either. Ikraam eyed his niece. “You would fit into it perfectly.”

  Sabah shook her head. “I’m really not ready to wear one.”

  “Not ready or not willing?” Ikraam half asked, talking to himself more than her.

  Saumer let out a small growl, and Ikraam believed the cat knew what he was saying. The cat wasn’t very fond of anyone but him, but Saumer seemed to hold a special hatred for Ghalib as soon as he’d seen his horse.

  The poor horse had been so broken-spirited; Ikraam’s heart had gone out to it. With a proud look in his eyes, Ghalib had described what he had done to the animal. Ikraam instinctively knew Ghalib would do the same to his wife. That was not a man he wanted near his niece. It wasn’t like he could appeal to Sabah’s mother, since Bahiyya thought less of her daughter than she did him.

  “Let’s see what damage your mother has done,” Ikraam said aloud, not wanting to get into an argument with Sabah. His family was right. He had to marry someone, and this would let him escape their hatefulness. His intended might not blame him for the trick his family had played. And the sun would rise in the west tomorrow too.

  WHEN they got back to their tent, Bahiyya had scattered the contents of his sundouq over the rug on the floor. She was pawing through everything that had been in it with a disgruntled expression on her face, as if looking through a fruit bin in a souk, searching for the best figs. “I thought there was more,” she said in disgust when she saw them enter.

  “There was before you stole whatever you wanted for Latifa, Karima, Shadh, and Tabussuma’s dowries,” Ikraam reminded her.

  He had been too young to fight his older sister’s taking from him the first time, when Latifa had married. What remained in that trunk was about a quarter of his mother’s dowry jewelry, bedding, and clothing. All of his mother’s thawbs were gone, except for her bridal one. He had managed to hide the best of the jewelry that was left after the first time Bahiyya had raided the trunk, but he had had to sacrifice most of the rest to do so. Ikraam was surprised he had anything left at all, even the trunk. Whatever his sisters wanted of his or his mother’s, they had gotten. Ikraam was certain they had all done so out of spite, but greed seemed to rule his sisters as well.

  “I don’t even know if it’s worth it to do anything for you,” Bahiyya said, looking at Ikraam calculatingly. “I suppose I will claim your future husband insisted he supply all that you needed. That will be something the tribe will believe.”

  With an effort, Ikraam kept his face blank. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter, but he felt his sister was treating him like a pile of garbage left behind when the tribe moved camps.

  She spied Sabah behind Ikraam. “Get over here,” she ordered her daughter.

  “Yes, Mother,” Sabah murmured.

  Bahiyya rose smoothly with Zaynab’s bridal thawb in her hand, holding it up against Sabah. “That will fit you,” she announced.

  Ikraam bit his lip, hard, to keep from demanding Bahiyya to stop, to put the robe away and leave him some memory of his mother. It had never worked in the past, and he still had scars on his back from the switch she had taken to him in her fury the times he had tried, before he had learned it was futile to fight his sister.

  Bahiyya looked over at him, her eyes glittering with malice, daring Ikraam to protest. “It isn’t like you can wear it. And don’t you want your beloved niece to look her best at her wedding?”

  “When will Sabah be married?” Ikraam asked, trying not to rise to his sister’s taunts. Sabah would treasure the garment, at least.

  “She will go on to Gh
alib din Qamar’s tribe after your marriage, since she needs to learn their customs,” Bahiyya said airily. She tossed the thawb on the floor like it was a cleaning rag. “Now straighten this place up! It’s a mess.”

  With that, she walked out of the tent, leaving Sabah and Ikraam looking at each other. Sabah took a deep breath and burst into tears. Ikraam rushed over to her, cradling his niece in his arms, letting her cry.

  “He’s…. He’s….” Sabah sobbed.

  Ikraam rocked her and patted her back until she cried herself to sleep. He laid her gently on his bed and drew the covers over her, so she would be warm. He’d get something for both of them to eat later.

  Sabah didn’t have to finish what she was saying. Both of them knew Ghalib was a brute and would make her life a living hell. As Ikraam cleaned up the mess Bahiyya had made, carefully folding what he had left of his mother’s possessions and putting them back in the trunk, he wondered if his or his niece’s marriage would be the more miserable.

  Ikraam’s groom would probably kill him quickly for the trick Bahiyya played on him. Sabah wouldn’t have that mercy as her husband broke her for his amusement and pleasure—just as he had done to his poor horse.

  Chapter Three

  A COUPLE of nights later, Rayyan stopped off at Fathi’s office with a sheaf of papers.

  “The tribe is barely a blip with the government,” he started as his greeting. “They show up on the census, and that’s about it. Rumor has it the oldest daughter is the one who is really in charge and not her husband.”

  “And why do people say that?” Fathi asked him. “And good evening to you too.”

  Fathi gestured to Rayyan to spread out the papers he had on the small table in front of the sofa. It seemed odd to see the information not called up on a computer, but he doubted if any of this was online or even in some sort of electronic format. Rayyan laid out the photocopies and printouts he had.