Hajar's Hidden Legacy

by Maisey Yates

  Katharine leaned into Zahir, who was seated next to her, placing her hand on his thigh beneath the table. “How about if I learned to dance like that?”

  He turned his head sharply, his expression fierce.

  She smirked. “Not in front of other people. For you.” She let her fingers drift over his thigh, up higher.

  “That has possibilities.”

  “I thought it might.”

  She loved that she had power over his body. So much strength, so much man, and he responded to her touch. An amazing, heady feeling. One that made her feel good. Not lacking. Like she was just enough.

  “I think it is time I was alone with my bride,” he said.

  She knew that tonight she was going to get her wedding night.

  Back in her room, she lit every pillar candle she could find, placing them on tall, ornate stands. It bathed everything in a sensual, flickering glow. Perfect for what she had in mind.

  Zahir was already lying on her bed, his focus on her. He looked relaxed, but she knew differently. Every one of his muscles was tight, ready to spring into action at any moment. Ready to pounce on her.

  Not a bad idea at all.

  She couldn’t get enough of him.

  “Dance for me now,” he said, his eyes dark, glittering in the firelight.

  She smiled and swayed her hips to the side. “Like this?” For some reason, she had no inhibition with Zahir. He made her feel … like herself. Just Katharine. For the first time in her life.

  “More.”

  She shimmied again and then laughed. “Okay, I have no rhythm.”

  “You have fantastic rhythm. You may not know how to belly dance yet, but you have fantastic rhythm.”

  She reached around behind her back and unzipped her dress, watching his face closely. Everything in his face tightened, the tendons in his neck standing out when she let the dress fall to the floor and she revealed the extent of the henna artwork that covered her body.

  Vines climbed her legs, creating a provocative look that drew his eyes. And she knew he couldn’t look away.

  “You want me, right, Zahir? Not just any beautiful woman?”

  He rose up to his knees. “You are my latifa, my beauty. Katharine, it is more than just simple skin. Beauty is much more complex than that. It is you, you alone, I want. My body had not responded to anyone sexually in years. I didn’t know if I had lost that part of myself, too. A drive completely erased from me. And then there was you. But I was afraid … afraid of what losing control might do to me. But when I lose control with you, there is only freedom. There are millions of beauties. But you are the only one my body desires.”

  He moved to the edge of the bed and encircled her waist with his arm. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the henna blossom on her thigh, then traced it with his tongue.

  “Come, latifa, let me show you how much I desire you.”

  And as he kissed her, entered her body, he whispered words meant only for her ears. Meant only for her, pleasure raining on her like a shower of sparks, a warm, honeyed feeling began to spread through her. Something beyond the physical, something beyond her love for him, even.

  Acceptance.

  “Katharine,” he whispered.

  And in that moment she felt very much as if she had to do nothing to be enough. With Zahir, she simply had to be.

  “Zahir.”

  She called out to him in her sleep again. Zahir watched as Katharine’s brow wrinkled and her body shook.

  She was scared. For him. Of him. It didn’t matter.

  Tonight, there had been bliss. He had forgotten, for a moment, seeing her in the throes of her nightmare that morning. He had forgotten all that something like that meant.

  It wasn’t simply that she was having nightmares; it was the effect his darkness was having on her bright soul. She had brought light in, and he had polluted it.

  He put his hand on her face and she quieted. And his heart clenched tight.

  That emotion that had hit him last night, again tonight when he’d entered her body, it was back. Truthfully it had never left. And there had been hints of it long before he’d ever made love to her.

  He loved her. With every shred of his broken soul, he loved Katharine.

  He would give his everything for her. It would never be enough. Not while the trade-off was nightmares and sadness. His own demons now circling her in her sleep while he took comfort in her arms.

  It was sick. It was selfish. He would take the flashbacks, the pain and fear, the anger, all of it back, if only it wouldn’t plague her as it had him.

  How could he keep taking from her while he made her ill with his past? That he would send her torment, when she had offered him rest.

  He could not do that to her. Even if what he had to do would kill the new life that had just started to grow in him.

  * * *

  When Katharine woke the next morning the bed was cold and the candles had burned down on their stands into wrinkled, misshapen masses.

  Zahir was standing with his back to her, his focus on the scene out the window, the sun rising, turning the air around them orange.

  “Every morning I am thankful I did not lose my sight in both eyes,” he said.

  Katharine sat up, letting the bedcovers fall around her waist. “Every morning?”

  “There is not a day when I don’t think about it. Not a day when I don’t realize how much more could have been lost to me.” He turned to face her. “It would have been a shame, never to see your face.”

  His voice sounded strange, guarded. He reminded her more of the man she’d first met rather than the man she’d gone to bed with the night before.

  “If you wish to go back to Austrich, you are free to go.” The words were stark, random. Painful.

  “What?”

  “I do not need you here. When we first struck this agreement, I thought that I might. But … you have made your appearance. Of course, you will need to come back periodically, but my people will understand that with the failing health of your father, you have duties at home.”

  Katharine felt ill, like she’d been punched … no, it was deeper than that. As though she’d been flayed, gutted, everything in her pulled out, leaving nothing but raw, bleeding confusion.

  His people. Not hers. Not theirs. Last night she had felt a part of Hajar, and of him. Now he was drawing a line. There was no malice in his voice, not anger or hate. Just a simple, matter-of-fact statement.

  “What happened to … everything you said? I … Do you want me to go?”

  “We’ve had … It’s been good between us,” he said, his eyes flickering back to the sunrise. “But I have responsibilities here and your presence has been … a disruption. I need to be able to concentrate. To keep a handle on everything.”

  Now anger flared inside of her. He may feel nothing. Blessed, empty nothing, but she felt everything. And she refused to keep it inside. “A disruption? Is that what you call it? As if I was no help to you? What about yesterday?”

  He swallowed. “Yesterday would not have played out as it did if I hadn’t married you. Cause and effect. Anyway, I had thought you were hoping to conduct as much of the marriage as possible from Austrich.”

  “That was before.”

  “Before sex? You instigated it, I assumed you wanted it. It was never meant to change anything. It didn’t change anything. You knew that.”

  There was no response to that. Because she had. In her head, she had. But her heart had forged a connection with him, one she’d been so certain he’d felt, too.

  The things he’d said …

  She shook her head, getting out of the bed, using the sheets as a cover. “It changed things, Zahir. It did. Five years without a woman, remember? You told me I was different.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You are.”

  “Then what is this?”

  “I am giving you your freedom!” He roared the words, the Beast in him surfacing, a side of him she had nearly forgotten exi
sted. “I am offering to let you out. To give you all that you asked for from day one! Why do you fight me?”

  “Because I’ve changed,” she said, her throat tightening. “My feelings have changed. You … you showed me things about myself. You made me believe that I could just be me.”

  He shook his head. “No. Do not speak.”

  For once, she heeded his command, because she couldn’t have formed words to save her life. Her throat burned, her eyes aching to spill the tears she was forcing herself to hold back.

  “I do not want to hear about your feelings,” he said, his voice harsh. “They have no meaning to me.”

  “Yes, they do. I know they do. I remember last night, what you told me. That I was your hope. And I believed … “

  “You are right,” he said, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I said those things. I meant them. You are brilliant, Katharine, a shining star. All any man could ever want in a woman. But I am dead inside. I feel nothing,” he bit out. “And you deserve a man who can feel everything.”

  She swallowed, trying to force the motion when her throat was blocked by a lump that made her ache and burn.

  “Since when is it up to you to tell me what I deserve?” she said.

  “Why will you never stop trying to force yourself into my life!” he roared.

  “Get out,” she choked, shocked by his words, numb to her core, little flashes of pain breaking through the blessed fuzz, giving her hints of just what she was in for later.

  He didn’t move, he only stood there, watching her. For what? For a crack in her armor? To see the effect of the devastation he had just poured over her?

  “Out!” she said again, her voice breaking.

  He inclined his head and walked out. His steps were heavy, his walk uneven, familiar. She felt a tear slide down her cheek and she brushed it away, turning her back on him until she heard the door close.

  She walked into the bathroom and dropped the sheet, leaving it bunched around her feet.

  She leaned over to the mosaic-tiled shower and turned the water on, waiting until the spray was hot before getting in and standing beneath the punishing heat.

  She looked down at her arms, at the henna designs still inked into her skin. A sob climbed her throat and she grabbed a bar of the luxurious handmade soap set in its gaudy golden holder and rubbed it over her skin, trying to remove the marks.

  Trying to erase him. What she had done for him.

  It wouldn’t come off.

  She dropped it onto the floor of the shower and lowered her head, letting her tears blend in with the water that was cascading over her hair. For one moment, she imagined boarding a plane and going back to Austrich. It had been home all of her life. She could go back, live in her father’s house. She had withstood his cutting remarks all of her life. She had remained strong. She still could.

  But that thought only lasted for a moment.

  She looked back down at her arms, at the vines and flowers, still so vibrant and strong, even beneath the elements.

  Her heart felt as though it was going to burst with the pain it was in. With the brutal force of his rejection.

  But the henna remained. It had been a symbol of their marriage. The sand remained, too. As did the change he had brought about in her. The belief that she was worthy. That she was worthy on her own. Without having to earn it, or prove it. It was a part of him he had left behind. The grains of sand that were embedded in her, impossible to remove completely.

  The vase of sand that had been created on their wedding day. It had been unwelcome then. A shocking surprise that seemed so out of place with their fake arrangement.

  It hadn’t been. It had been true. He was a part of her. He had been then. And she knew, beyond anything, that she was a part of him. He might not believe it, but he was.

  More likely, he knew it, and he couldn’t face it.

  She put her hand over her face and wiped the water and tears away. She wasn’t going back to Austrich. It wasn’t an option. Quitting wasn’t an option. Turning away from the man who had shown her her own inner strength, who believed in that inner strength, wasn’t possible.

  She owed both of them more than that. She knew now that she owed herself more than she’d been ready to give. That she deserved love. And that Zahir could give it to her. That no matter what darkness or fear held him back, it was there.

  He should know her well enough by now to know that Sheikha Katharine S’ad al Din would not back down from a challenge.

  Zahir felt like he was bleeding inside, and he didn’t know how to staunch the flow. It was pure pain, hot and destructive.

  Letting her go was bad enough. To have to hurt her to have it done was unbearable. This was a the kind of pain a man could lose himself in.

  But theirs was an imbalanced relationship. She gave and she gave. And he took it all. And he relished it.

  He strode out of the palace to the paddock. He could not watch her leave. He knew she would, he had made sure to strike at her, to hurt her as best as he could. He closed his eyes, let all of the emotions wash over him, let them tear through him like a tidal wave. He waited for something, for the flashbacks. There was nothing. Nothing to cushion the pain. Nothing to take him from this moment.

  He saw Katharine’s face. And he felt like he had finally found himself again. But it hurt like hell.

  But he couldn’t watch her leave. That he could not do. Because he would stop her.

  He prepared Nalah for the ride, all of his usual survival gear in place in saddlebags. He had to get away. Because his strength would only last so long.

  Watching her go would break him. He had rebuilt himself once. He did not know if he could do it without her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ZAHIR’S hand shook as he placed it flat on the door to what had been Katharine’s bedroom. He had been gone three days. Long enough to give her a chance to get her things together.

  Things would settle in. They would have to. She would get over feeling hurt. She would be relieved eventually. If her father died, he would fulfill his duties as much as was needed, even if it was just on the legal end. Katharine hardly needed him to hold her hand. She was strong. Stronger than he was. Stronger, smarter, than anyone he’d ever known.

  He debated whether or not to open the door. Whether it would be too final. If he left it closed, perhaps he could still imagine her there.

  He shook his head. No. One thing he didn’t do anymore was ignore pain. Or feeling. She had taught him that. Had helped him find his heart again.

  He pushed the door open and his heart seized tight.

  There she was, sitting on the edge of the bed, her posture stiff, her hands folded in her lap, her jaw set.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Oh, I didn’t leave,” she said.

  “I asked you to.”

  She nodded. “You did. And then I told you to get out of my room, but here you are.”

  “Three days later.”

  “Still.”

  His throat felt tight, far too tight. “Why are you here?”

  “Because I’m not leaving. I committed to that the very first day, and I’m standing by that. I’m not leaving you. Not until we speak with some honesty between us.”

  “You should,” he ground out. “You … what can I give you, Katharine?” The words were torn from him, from his heart and not his mind. “You have given and given, and I take and take from you. Why do you accept it?”

  “Because I love you.”

  He felt the words hit him like a physical blow, spoken so soft, so sweet, with the power to drop a grown man to his knees.

  He shook his head. “You cannot.”

  “Why? Because you have scars? Don’t you realize that I … “

  “Because of who I am,” he bit out. “What I am. To heal myself I have stolen light from you and I cannot bear that.”

  “Do you know what I see when I look at you, Zahir? You are the bravest, most amazing man
I have ever known. You have conquered more than any one person should have to take on, and you have done it with so much power.”

  “I have been afraid … “

  “Good,” she said, a tear sliding down her cheek as she stood. “Good. Because that tells me that you’re even braver. Because you do it anyway. You think you take from me? Don’t you realize what you give me? Respect. Caring. You’re the only person in my life that has ever seen me as more than just looks. More than a pawn. You told me you would have thrown me out that first day if not for my actions. If not for my words. Not my body. Not my connections. How can you not know what that means? What’s that done for me?”

  “The people in your life have been fools, Katharine. You are beautiful, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. But it’s your heart, your character, your mind … that is what I … I see your face. When memories or nightmares crowd in, I see your face and it banishes the darkness.” He took a step toward her, cupping her cheek with his hand. “But I fear I have left the darkness with you. You are everything good and bright, and I have tainted you with the death that lives in me.”

  She shook her head. “Why would you say that?”

  “You had those dreams. I … I could not bear to continue poisoning you.”

  “Zahir … yes, I had some bad dreams. About losing you. That happens when you’re trying to hold on so tight to something, and you fear it might slip away. It’s what happens when you fear you’re in love alone. It’s not you. There is no death in you. No darkness. You have given me more joy, more happiness, more pleasure than I’ve ever had in my life. You haven’t stolen my light from me. Light banishes darkness, Zahir. It wins. All you have done is strengthen me.”

  He believed her. Her words filled with such strength and conviction he would be shamed to call them lies. The truth in them rang down to the depths of his soul. “But I am not … I’m not everything you should have. I am not even near what you deserve.”

  “And I’m probably not everything you should have, but that’s not how it works. I love you. And with that, I take everything you are. And if you could love me, too, you’d take all of my bad things along with the good.”