Breaking the Sheikh's Rules

by Abby Green

  He’d told himself that it made complete sense for him to meet Iseult and Devil’s Kiss himself. But his head groom Jamilah’s eloquent silence had spoken volumes when he’d told her what he was doing. She hadn’t needed to spell out that he’d never done this before—especially when she was usually the one to meet new horses and bring them to the stables.

  Iseult was watching the uniformed men approach her and starting to feel very alone and very conscious of the fact that she was in a foreign land with not one person she knew anywhere near. What if they didn’t speak English? What if they weren’t expecting her? But just then she felt a prickling on the back of her neck, and heard the sound of a door opening from the other Jeep.

  Her head whipped round and her heart stuttered to a stop as she saw the impossibly tall and broad figure of Sheikh Nadim uncoil from the vehicle. He was dressed all in black, and looked so ridiculously gorgeous and exotic that Iseult felt weakness invade her limbs. She told herself it wasn’t abject relief at seeing him there.

  He strode over to where she stood, and Iseult was rendered speechless. At his brusque, ‘I trust you had a pleasant flight?’ she just nodded helplessly.

  He gestured then to the men in uniform, who had stopped a respectful distance away. ‘These men are from Immigration in Al-Omar and Merkazad. They’ll check through your documents and issue you with the work visa that I’ve organised.’

  Iseult’s head was spinning as she murmured something that she hoped was coherent. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting at all, and being faced with Sheikh Nadim like this was making treacherous butterflies erupt in her belly. It was very disturbing to know that this man had completely upended her life in the space of thirty-six hours, and what she felt for him had morphed from intense antipathy and mistrust to something much more nebulous and scary.

  In no time at all the smiling men had handed Iseult back her passport, which was now covered with various official-looking stamps. Sheikh Nadim was with the vet and leading Devil’s Kiss out of the hold, down a ramp.

  He looked at Iseult as she approached. ‘He fared well through the journey?’

  Iseult looked to the vet for confirmation. He nodded his head. ‘Yes, he was fine.’

  ‘That’s good news,’ Sheikh Nadim said. ‘Sometimes if a horse does not weather its first air journey well, it’s an indication of problems.’

  Iseult was trying to ignore the persistent feeling of relief—and also the way Nadim’s big graceful hands, smoothing over Devil’s Kiss’s flanks, was making her feel hot inside.

  Together they installed Devil’s Kiss in the most luxurious horsebox Iseult had ever seen, and after saying goodnight to the vet Sheikh Nadim made sure Iseult’s luggage was installed before they got into the Jeep.

  It was only as they were driving out of the airfield that Iseult noticed two other similar Jeeps come into position—one before them and one behind them. She guessed that they must be his bodyguards. It was only then that she saw all the Jeeps had ceremonial flags attached on either side of the bonnets, reminding her of the status of the man beside her.

  Once they were on a well-lit and sleek-looking motor-way, Iseult said nervously, ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you at the airfield.’

  Sheikh Nadim flicked her a cursory glance and said coolly, ‘I had a meeting with the Sultan of Al-Omar, but he got called away on sudden business so I decided to return home tonight. I have a meeting in Merkazad in the morning that I don’t want to miss.’

  Iseult’s hands twisted in her lap. Of course he hadn’t come to meet her out of anything other than pure practical necessity.

  She was acutely aware of the Sheikh’s huge rangy body beside hers in the luxury Jeep, and was so tense she nearly jumped out of her skin when he said, ‘You’ll have time to rest and settle in once we get to my stables. I won’t expect you to start to work straight away.’

  Iseult looked at Nadim, taking in his harsh but beautiful profile. Being taken out of her comfort zone so spectacularly was making her feel intensely vulnerable. ‘It has been a bit of a whirlwind… This isn’t exactly what I was expecting.’

  He inclined his head. ‘My head groom is called Jamilah. She’ll show you around in the morning and tell you how things run. It’ll be up to her as to how she sees fit to use you.’

  Iseult was taking this information in, and her silence must have sent a message to Sheikh Nadim, who sent her a mocking glance. ‘You weren’t expecting that I’d employ a female head groom?’

  Iseult flushed and said defensively, ‘It’s not that common. Even in Ireland it’s more usual to find stables largely run by men.’

  ‘You’ll find that women are widely employed in all kinds of jobs in Merkazad—although outside the main towns and cities things are still more conservative and traditional. If anything, we try to cling onto that. It’s a pity the more traditional nomadic Bedu way of life is becoming a thing of the past. The Bedu warriors are the ancestors of my people. Merkazad has always been a defensive stronghold.’

  Despite her tiredness, Iseult was suddenly fascinated to know more. But she felt too shy to ask, and instead just asked how far they were from Merkazad.

  ‘Our journey won’t take long. Ordinarily we would fly my horses into B’harani, the capital of Al-Omar, but it adds a couple of hours onto the journey. Sometimes we use that airfield, which is closer to the Merkazad border. We’re in the process of building an airstrip and a small airport in northern Merkazad, but it won’t be ready for at least another year.’

  ‘Oh…’ Iseult fell silent and looked out at the impenetrable darkness outside, wondering what lay beyond. Was it desert? She’d seen them cross over the Arabian Sea as they’d flown in to land, so they weren’t far from the coast. She’d read up on Merkazad last night on the internet, and had learnt that it was tiny—literally just about one hundred miles from north to south, and two hundred miles from east to west. It had a natural border of a mountain range within Al-Omar, and had been ruled by Sheikh Nadim’s father before his death some twenty years before, when it had passed to Nadim.

  The little information apart from that had told her how it had been fought over for many years by various rulers of Al-Omar, before Sheikh Nadim and the current Sultan of Al-Omar had reached a momentous peace agreement fifteen years ago. Iseult had realised that Nadim must have been only about twenty-one then, and had felt stunned to think of someone that young taking on such responsibility.

  They were climbing into the mountains now, and Nadim explained to Iseult, ‘Once we’re through the mountains the altitude drops again. The country literally sits within them, almost like a plateau. It’ll probably surprise you when you see it if you’re expecting a desert. We have our own ecosystem, thanks to the geography, and we’re the only region that experiences a monsoon. We’ve just come out of it, so the land is still relatively lush.’

  Before long Iseult could feel that they were indeed driving down, and within the hour she finally saw lights ahead. She was reminded of footage she’d seen on TV of what it was like to approach Las Vegas in the desert at night.

  There were no skyscrapers or buildings taller than two or three storeys, but everything glittered and looked very clean. It was late, so not many people were on the streets. A beautifully ornate mosque was floodlit against the night sky and stars. The architecture of the buildings was a mix between something very Arabic and also something much more European, and she recalled reading in its history of a brief invasion led by colonising Portuguese. The roads were wide and straight, with tall palm trees swaying gently in the night breeze.

  Not long after driving through the intriguing city and into a more suburban area Sheikh Nadim turned onto a long winding road which eventually led to a white-walled compound where a lit-up sign read al Saqr Stables. The huge heavy gates opened slowly and the Jeeps filed in.

  Iseult’s eyes opened in wonder as the interior was revealed. A massive courtyard held all sorts of vehicles: horseboxes, Jeeps and cars. There was an enormous g
reen grassy area, where a water fountain shot high in the air, falling down in a glittering cascade into an ornate pool.

  Two wide driveways appeared to lead away from the courtyard, and while the bodyguards’ Jeeps parked up, and Iseult saw huge burly men emerge, Nadim kept driving and took the right-hand fork.

  ‘I’m taking you to the staff accommodation area, which is beside the main stables. One of the grooms will meet us there and take Devil’s Kiss to his new box.’

  Iseult was beginning to feel light-headed, and she wasn’t sure if it was from fatigue, delayed shock, or just the effect of Sheikh Nadim. She realised that not once since she’d arrived had she thought of home or her family.

  Meeting the new manager that morning, and seeing the way he’d listened so patiently to her father, had made her feel inordinately relieved. She’d been even more relieved to hear that he too was committed to a vision of keeping O’Sullivans from becoming a homogenous conveyor belt stud. It had driven home to Iseult how lucky they were to have been bought out by Sheikh Nadim.

  The Jeep came to a halt and Iseult got out, seeing that they were in another huge courtyard, with modern-looking stables on one side and a long, low one-storeyed building on the other. The building was L-shaped and crumbling, but she guessed in a deliberately artful way. It had the same stamp of Arabic design she’d noticed already. She also noticed the fact that it was cooler here than it had been in Al-Omar, which had to be due to the higher altitude.

  A sound came from behind them, and she turned to see Sheikh Nadim greet the most stunningly beautiful woman Iseult had ever seen. She was dressed casually in jeans and a shirt, and her hair was a sleek fall of midnight-black down her back.

  Her eyes were huge and piercingly blue—which, along with her olive skin, made Iseult think she had to come from somewhere almost mythical. She turned to face Iseult and a warm smile lit up her face, making her even more beautiful. She held out a hand. ‘Hi, I’m Jamilah, the head groom. Welcome to Merkazad and the al Saqr stables.’

  Iseult shook her hand and glanced up at Sheikh Nadim, who was frowning down at Jamilah. ‘I thought I told you not to wait up.’

  Something pierced Iseult deep inside when she heard the obviously affectionate rebuke in his voice, and saw his concern. She looked back to Jamilah, who was still smiling. ‘Of course I had to be up to meet Iseult—and this wonder horse you’ve been talking about. It was nothing. I just set my alarm for when I knew you’d be home.’

  She walked around to where a stablehand had magically appeared to open the horsebox. Jamilah led Devil’s Kiss out and gave him a thorough onceover, before saying with obvious appreciation, ‘He really is a beauty. You’ve done a good job. I can see that you’re going to be a welcome asset here, Iseult.’

  Iseult blushed with pride. No one, apart from her father or grandfather, had ever complimented her before. And Sheikh Nadim had all but accused her of potentially ruining Devil’s Kiss. ‘Thank you.’

  Iseult felt Sheikh Nadim’s heavy gaze on her as she followed the stablehand who was now leading Devil’s Kiss to his new home. It too was as luxurious as the horsebox had been.

  She was trying desperately to ignore the fact that she felt so all over the place now that she’d noticed the special relationship between Jamilah and the Sheikh, and then Jamilah came alongside her and took her arm with friendly ease. She had Iseult’s case in the other hand, and Iseult insisted on taking it from her.

  ‘Come on—you must be exhausted after you’ve been so summarily dragged across the globe. I’ll show you to your rooms and you can rest. There will be plenty of time to show you around tomorrow.’

  Iseult tried weakly to joke. ‘I’d hardly call private air travel being dragged across the globe.’

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see Sheikh Nadim raise his hand in a gesture to Jamilah, who nodded silently back to him. Easy communication flowed between them. He wasn’t even making any attempt to say goodnight to her, and Iseult hated the fact that she’d noticed. Clearly he’d gone above and beyond the call of duty in meeting Iseult to bring her and Devil’s Kiss here, and now couldn’t wait to be gone. Perhaps he hadn’t even trusted that she would have taken care of Devil’s Kiss on the journey, and that was why he’d met them himself.

  The Jeep and horsebox disappeared out of the stables area, and Jamilah led Iseult over to the long L-shaped building. She could see now, as they drew closer, that it must have been the old stables, now converted.

  Jamilah had a key, and opened a door in the furthest part of the building and led Iseult in, turning on lights which sent out a low warm glow. Iseult came in and put down her suitcase. The downstairs was open-plan, with a kitchen and sitting area furnished in cool white and neutral tones. Up some stone stairs there was a comfortable and pristine bedroom and bathroom, again furnished in whites and creams. It screamed understated luxury, and was a million miles from the kind of accommodation staff would have been used to at O’Sullivan’s stables, even in the good times.

  Jamilah was explaining. ‘They’re all pretty much the same in this block. I’m in the one at the other end—nearest the stables. That’s where my office is too. We have bigger ones for couples, and we have proper houses too, for staff with families, not far from here. I hope this is suitable for you?’

  Iseult whirled around, aghast that Jamilah might have taken her stunned silence to mean anything else. ‘It’s wonderful. I had no idea what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t anything as luxurious as this…’

  Jamilah quirked a smile, and once again Iseult was struck by her beauty. ‘Nadim takes care of his staff very well. That’s one of the reasons why he’s so respected and gets so much out of his workers.’

  ‘You…’ Iseult bit her lip. ‘You call him Nadim… Don’t we have to call him Sheikh?’

  Jamilah laughed—a beautiful tinkling sound. ‘No! He’d hate that.’ She slanted a stern look at Iseult, but her mischievous eyes told her not to take her too seriously. ‘Nadim insists on informality, but that’s not to say that everyone doesn’t know their place and respects him as the ruler and supreme leader of Merkazad… Don’t worry—you’ll see how it works.’ Jamilah led Iseult over to a low window and pointed outside. ‘From here you have a view of the castle, that’s where Nadim lives.’

  Iseult looked out, and shivered when she took in the sight. The castle was more like a fortress—too huge and imposing to be described as beautiful. It was like the man himself. Effortlessly intimidating. It was built on a rocky outcrop which she guessed would have a view out over Merkazad and, like the other buildings she’d seen on their journey to the stables, Iseult recognised the Arabic influence. The wide sweeping archways and ornately intricate designs of the trellised stone perimeter glowed white in the moonlight.

  ‘It dates from the sixteenth century, and although it’s been updated and modernised on the inside, the outside is still the same as when it was a defensive castle. It has some of the best examples of intact Islamic murals on the Arabian peninsula. Scholars come from all over the world to study them.’ Jamilah straightened up and smiled. ‘I’ll take you there and show you around in the next few days, when you’ve got your bearings.’

  Iseult felt shy. ‘Are you from here?’

  A shadow seemed to pass across Jamilah’s face just for an instant, and then she answered easily. ‘Partly. My mother was from here, but my father was French. I was born in France, but then we came back here. My father worked for Nadim’s father. My parents died in the same air crash that killed Nadim’s parents, and as I had no other family he took me into his.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

  Jamilah waved a hand. ‘Don’t be silly. It was all a long time ago. I owe Nadim everything.’ She moved to go downstairs, and then turned back abruptly. ‘And, despite what you may have thought just now, Nadim is like my older brother. Nothing more.’

  Iseult blushed beetroot-red and stammered, ‘I didn’t…didn’t think…anything like that…’
/>
  But Jamilah was already disappearing back downstairs, with an enigmatic smile on her face. Iseult followed her, mortified to think she’d been so obvious in her assessment of their relationship. If Jamilah had seen her reaction, had Nadim? Her insides curdled at the thought.

  Jamilah showed Iseult a few more practical things about the accommodation, like where the food was stocked, and then left her, telling her that she’d come by to get her after she’d had a long lie-in in the morning.

  That night, as Iseult lay in the strange bed, all she could think about was the fact that Nadim and the stunningly beautiful head groom weren’t in a relationship. And her predominant feeling was one of something scarily like relief, when she had no earthly right or reason ever to imagine herself in any kind of a relationship with such a man.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE following morning Iseult was surprised to find that she’d slept right through, for about eleven hours. She could hear a hum of activity coming from outside, and after a quick shower and cup of coffee she went to investigate with something that felt suspiciously carefree in her chest. She’d never been in a situation where she wasn’t automatically responsible for every little thing.

  As soon as she opened her door she faltered on the doorstep. The sheer intense heat nearly knocked her sideways. She realised she’d have to go shopping at some stage. Her Irish wardrobe of long-sleeved T-shirts, jumpers and fleeces would be woefully too much for here.

  There was an intense hive of activity before her. The quiet stables courtyard from last night had been transformed, and was now full of people all engaged in various activities. Iseult immediately felt guilty. At home she would have already been up for several hours and working.

  Horses were being led to and from stalls—some by women in the long Muslim abeyya, with veils covering their hair. But others were in Western dress—jeans and T-shirts—which negated her suspicion that they had to dress in a more conservative fashion.