As she spoke, Walid searched her face, seeking some sign of deception. He must not have found anything, since his hard, guarded look began to melt as she spoke.
"The most unbelievable part was your father knew. He knew about everything and he didn't care because Ithnan was his second son. Your uncle rescued him and didn't dare send him back to your loving dad."
"If you had known our father, you would not find that so difficult to believe," Walid said. "However, our uncle did not have to make Ithnan his heir."
"Nope," she agreed. "But he did."
"The story does not change my opinion that the province of Zallaq is part of Askar and should be reintegrated."
"That will not happen." Ithnan's tone turned low and threatening. "If you invade, we shall defend."
Okay, probably not the best thing to say. Gwen rolled her eyes. Ithnan didn't have the hang of diplomacy. Or maybe he didn't care about diplomacy when his brother was involved.
"I am aware what you plan," Walid said. "I have watched you build up arms for years."
Ithnan opened his mouth to say something, but Gwen spoke over him. "You don't want a war, though, do you, Walid?"
"I will protect my country whenever necessary."
"But are you going to invade Zallaq when you inherit Sadad?"
Walid's brows lowered. "Why should I wish to?"
"To reunite Askar," Ithnan spat.
Walid had been speaking mostly to Gwen, but now he turned to his brother. "I consider Zallaq part of Askar. To invade Zallaq would be to murder my own citizens. Do you imagine me capable of such a thing?"
Whoa, thought Gwen. That's a new piece of info...
"Our father would not have hesitated."
"Our father," responded Walid, "should have hesitated far more often than he did."
"I have ever heard you criticize him before."
"Once, I would not have done so," Walid admitted. "But I have learned many things about his reign since I ascended the throne of Askar."
"So," Gwen said, "how about we hug it out?"
"No," responded both brothers as one.
***
"I thought that went pretty well," his wife said, after his brother had gone. "For a dysfunctional family armed to the teeth."
"Gwendolyn, why..." His voice cracked on the words.
As she had told the tale of his humiliating childhood to Walid, he had watched as if outside himself. Unable to react. Unable to stop her.
The feeling had taken him straight back to his first day in Hidd, when everything he had possessed was given to others while he watched.
She cocked her head in confusion. Did she truly not know what she had done? "What? Tell me."
She took his hand. He had not realized how numb he had gone until the touch of her fingers warmed him.
"Why would you betray me that way? I did not think..." His words broke. "Of all people... You..."
She flinched at the accusation, wincing as if struck. But in a second she recovered, standing to her full height. Standing up to him. "Betray you? By telling your brother the truth? Ridiculous."
"My greatest secret. In the hands of my worst enemy." His voice rose as if it were not under his control. The room echoed back enemy, enemy, enemy.
"What could he possibly do with this story? Tell everyone what a jerk your dad and the sheikh of Hidd were?" She lifted her chin in defiance. "There have been too many secrets in your family. It's time for some honesty."
What could his brother do with this information? His mind raced through the possibilities.
And he found... that she was right. This ammunition was functionally useless to Walid. He could not sell it. He would not share it—Walid thought too much of their father to permit such a damning story to get out.
But Ithnan had thought his secrets safe with Gwendolyn. The idea they were not... Had he trusted her with too much knowledge?
He found his composure returning, and got his tone under control. "This was not your decision."
"You didn't stop me, Ithnan. You could have kept me from telling him, and you didn’t. I think you're relieved." As she continued speaking, her voice lowered, got quieter and more certain. "You wanted him to know and you've never been able to tell him yourself."
"You had no right."
She nodded, but he had the sense that she was not conceding the argument.
***
"Ithnan, I'm not going to make the same mistake with you that I made with my dad. I won't hang back and keep my mouth shut. I'm going to speak up when I want to. You'll have to deal."
"It is done, I suppose." His jaw clenched. "But you should not have shared such information with a man who wishes to take my throne."
Maybe Ithnan was right, Gwen had to admit. She'd only been part of this family for hours, and had zero intention of staying part of it.
She had a good feeling about Walid, though. He seemed like a decent guy, which Ithnan didn't see clearly.
Still, she only had a feeling about Ithnan's brother, no proof. She'd taken a big risk, and maybe it wasn't her risk to take. But would either Ithnan or Walid ever step out of the cages they'd built for themselves? Or would they have just let their relationship deteriorate until they had an argument so dire people ended up dying in a war?
Maybe her temporary position as one of the family had just helped solve that problem. All she had to do now was convince her paranoid husband of that.
Some of Ithnan's normal composure had fallen away. He fought to maintain his cool. From the wild look in his eye, he was on the cusp of losing.
She knew his normal way of dealing with things. He adjusted his armor. He seemed to lack the defense mechanism right now, so she decided to take over.
She started picking imaginary specks from his lapels. They were perfect, of course. Nothing about him dared to be less than perfect.
"As soon as you returned, he gave your throne back to you." She shrugged. "I think he was just keeping your seat warm."
"He considers Zallaq part of Askar. He doesn't recognize our right to exist."
"True," she conceded. "On the other hand, he puts the citizens before the country. He's not about patriotism, he's about people. I don't think he's as bad a villain as we thought."
Ithnan's lip twitched, but he said nothing.
"Is it possible"—she hesitated—"you've associated him too closely with your father?"
"He speaks exactly like our father." Ithnan glanced at the door Walid had exited, as if expecting his brother to come back at any time.
"But look at what he actually did. He took control of the situation, kept people from panicking, organized search parties, tried to pay the ransom..." She paused, flattened her palms against the fabric of his jacket. "I don't get it. What kind of kidnapper doesn’t take a ransom?"
Ithnan seemed to be too deep in his own thoughts to answer her question. "He said those things, but perhaps he lied."
She raised her hands in surrender. "Easy enough to find out. Ask your people what orders he gave while he was here."
He gestured toward the chairs that the room focused on. "From my throne."
"Which he turned over to you the second you got back here."
"What is his game? I don't trust what he says."
"Well." She fiddled with his tie as she spoke. She twisted first one way then the other before settling the tie down in the perfect straight line where it had been before she started. "He could have refused to deal with the kidnappers, found them and gone in shooting. You could have been caught up in friendly fire. Or he could have given orders for your troops to stand down and rolled his tanks over your border. He didn't."
"I know." Ithnan's eyes narrowed to slits, as if she were Walid and he wanted to see into her mind. "Why would he do things against his own best interests?"
She raised his arm, and pulled at his shirt cuff—something she knew always put him at ease. "I don't think he is who you think he is."
"I do not trust him."
&nbs
p; "Yeah, well, after your childhood, I can't believe you trust anyone. Why not talk to him more?" She lifted his other arm and tried to figure out how much shirt cuff he liked. "Take one step at a time. Build some mutual respect. Start with trying not to see your father when you look at him."
She stepped back to have a look at her work. He looked perfect to her. But Ithnan immediately began adjusting his shirt cuffs for himself—which made her chuckle. He's back.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Fair enough." His sudden doubt was progress. "You've got a lot to deal with."
"You and I also have much deal with," he told her, his voice turning low, sexy, and full of promise.
"You probably have sheikh things to take care of now, though."
He took her hand and put her palm to his lips. "I do. But tonight I will have nothing to focus on but you."
NINE
In Gwen's dream, the kidnapper held a gun to her head. "I want your heart," he said, in a voice sounding like Ithnan's. "And I want it now."
She knew she had to do what he said. If she didn't give him her heart, the man would kill her. If she did, she would have to live without the most precious thing she had. She had no choice.
So she plunged her hand into her own chest. Her fingers sank deep into her flesh until they wrapped around something cold and hard. Her heart. She looked to the kidnapper, but she couldn't see his eyes. Even if she could, she knew she would see no mercy there.
She drew the organ from inside her, clutched in her grasping fist. Light glinted off the shining facets of her jeweled crimson heart. Wordlessly, but filled with regret, she offered the precious gem to the kidnapper with its golden chain dangling from her fingers.
Though the kidnapper's face was covered, she felt his slow, greed-filled smile grow under his mask.
"Gwendolyn," he said.
No, wait. That wasn't in her dream.
She jolted to a sitting position, dropped into sudden awareness. Adrenaline poured through her, setting every nerve ablaze.
This room. Where was she? Not the room in the concrete house where they'd been held. It wasn't the cave, either. She'd been taken someplace else. Where now?
Her pulse roared into overdrive. The room was huge and filled with luxurious furniture. The bed she lay on seemed to stretch for silk-covered miles.
"Gwendolyn," repeated the voice. "You are safe. Please do not worry."
Ithnan. He was here, too. Of course he would be—they were handcuffed...
No. They weren't. He sat next to her on the bed, his arm around her waist. He wasn't in his tux, but casual trousers and a flowing blue shirt.
She brushed the hair out of her face. Her panic had begun to subside. "We're back in the palace," she remembered out loud.
"I believe you had a nightmare. You are safe now. Nothing will hurt you here."
"The last time I fell asleep here, I woke up kidnapped and handcuffed to a stranger," she pointed out.
He set his jaw. "Which will not happen again, Gwendolyn. I have spent the last few hours making inquiries and ensuring our safety."
"They moved my stuff to this new room," she said. "It's way bigger than the guest room I was in."
"The move surprised me as well, but I suppose I should have anticipated such a thing."
"Why would you—" And then she knew what had happened. She'd changed positions. "Oh, dear Lord. They moved my stuff into the queen's chamber."
The realization slammed into her like she'd run into a concrete wall. The people in the palace thought she was their queen, married to Ithnan now. They expected her to do royal things and sleep with him. They thought she and Ithnan were in love and would make royal babies who would grow up to rule their country.
She groaned and collapsed backward. A mountain of the softest pillows she'd ever felt broke her fall.
"No, not the queen's chamber," he told her. For a second, she was reassured. Unfortunately, he kept talking. "This apartment is mine."
She groaned again.
He lowered himself to his elbow, stretching alongside her. He gazed down into her face and put a possessive hand on her belly. The last time his hand had been there, he had moved his fingers south, touching her in the most intimate places. He'd played her body like his instrument, sending her to the heights of pleasure.
"If you had not had a nightmare," he told her, his low voice full of meaning, "I would have woken you in a different fashion..."
He kissed her. He poured desire and passion into the kiss. He demanded she respond to him, left her no room for doubt about what he sought.
He filled her senses. She felt nothing but his lips and his body moving over hers, his bicep slipping beneath her neck. His scent of exotic wood and male arousal made her crave more of his touch, more of his skin. The hardness of his sleek muscles against her leg set her desire flaring.
He claimed her mouth for his own, exploring every inch of her. Sparks flashed behind her eyes as she gladly gave him what he wanted, demanding him in return.
"That," he said, after a long time, "is how to wake a sleeping princess. And I believe you have woken me as well."
She slipped her hand between them, to brush along the front of his trousers. "I noticed."
When he dipped his head to kiss her again, she somehow managed to resist. "I hate to be cliché, Ithnan, but we have talking to do."
He rolled away from her. She had an instant of regret. A nice seduction would have been so much easier than dealing with things. "I am unsurprised. What is on your mind?"
She stared at the canopy over the bed, trying to find meaning in the soft green and bright blue geometric pattern. "Who cares what's on my mind? All my decisions have been made for me."
He brought her hand to his lips for a soft kiss. "What you think matters to me, Gwendolyn. I invite you to stay. I find I cannot regret anything that happened between us."
"You don't? Even for yourself?" she asked. But... D'oh. She'd been thinking with her Western mind, considering things from her own cultural point of view. Ithnan could take three or four more wives if he wanted to. "I was going to say you might fall in love with a woman, or even use your marriage to make a political alliance, but I guess you still can."
"Gwendolyn, a man may not take multiple wives in Zallaq. Nor would I want to. One woman is enough for me if she is the right one, and I believe you are."
Something jolted inside her. Her throat threatened to close up. Was the sheikh telling her he loved her?
No. No, of course not. His childhood had probably damaged him too much to let him make himself vulnerable enough to love a woman, no matter how much she loved him.
Wait, what? Who loved him? What?
She rolled the thought over in her mind, a tender thing, a tiny pearl hidden even from herself. But there it was. She loved him.
"Oh God," she whimpered.
"Gwendolyn?" His confusion was unmistakable. "What have I said to offend you?"
She reached for his hand. "No, you didn't say anything wrong. I realized I love you."
He paused for a moment. "You love me."
"I guess I do."
"And your reaction was to curse?" Since they were lying on their backs, she couldn't see his face. He sounded mostly bewildered... but something else hid in his tone. Perhaps a tiny bit of hurt?
"The situation is complicated, mister." She didn’t bother hiding her irritation. "We were kidnapped together and then forced to get married, so maybe I'm feeling intimate with you, but it's artificial. You're the ruler of a country I've barely visited, and there's no compromising. Being your wife means leaving being everything I loved about my life for a guy I've known for less than a month. And I notice you're not exactly declaring your undying love for me, so yes, I cursed, as you put it."
"Gwendolyn." He spoke softly as he touched her cheek with a gentle hand. "I know what is in your heart is real, because I know you. My sole regret is Zallaq is now associated in your mind with fear and danger. I would not change
the fact I had an opportunity to be alone with you, and to know you better." He turned to her and she saw the sincerity in his amber djinni eyes. "I have seen your bravery, your determination, and your honesty. I do not believe Zallaq could have a better queen."
"You're nuts," she told him, but instead of forceful, her words were breathless. "I'm just a human resources specialist from Chicago."
"Who can move through diplomatic circles as if she was born there, who can defend herself against a man intent on harming her, and who can escape half a dozen kidnappers armed with assault rifles. You are so much more than a human resources specialist, Gwendolyn." He had genuine admiration in his voice as he spoke. "Should the story of the kidnapping come out, you would be a national heroine in Zallaq, an inspiration to girls across the country."
Okay, she had to admit she loved that idea a bit. Zallaq had an excellent record on women's rights—except for the stupid three-day marriage thing—but if she inspired even one girl to defend herself against someone attacking her, then everything she'd gone through had been worth the pain.
But what was worth throwing over everything she knew and marrying a guy she'd met two weeks ago?
"Say you will stay, Gwendolyn. I will see you never regret the choice."
"It's too soon for me."
"Then the answer is simple," he told her. "Do not choose today, or even tomorrow. Stay in Zallaq until you are ready. Rest and relax. I have told you what I want. The choice is yours, but there is no time pressure."
She shook her head. "You say so, but I have to decide soon. It'll get harder and harder to leave. What are you going to tell everyone?"
"The truth," he admitted. "You are my wife. But they know this already."
"And I can't erase it from my life. We can divorce, but I'll always be the girl who was married to a sheikh."
"You cannot change the past," he said. "Yet the future is yours to grasp. Gwendolyn, I know we did not plan our marriage in the usual way, but we are well matched. You are too trusting. You need a man like me to protect you from those who would betray you. You rely too much on your emotion. I will bring more logic into your life. Your father's business, which will one day be your own, will thrive here."
Handcuffed to the Sheikh, Too Page 13
