Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees...

by Clare Connelly

  She watched the city pass by her window, and the gaping chasm of sadness in her heart gulfed larger. This city, so vibrant and beautiful, a perfect blend of new, old, east and west, was never going to be more than a passing destination for her. How she would have liked to learn more about these people and this culture.

  Historic mosques and Christian churches were side by side, showing the diversity of this progressive nation. She knew that it was largely with thanks to the man beside her, and his father before him. It was a proud tradition. One she was destined not to be a part of.

  A fast-flowing river crossed the city from north to south, and the limousine skirted the banks with ease, towards another palace that stood, proud and large, in the near distance.

  “The city palace,” Tariq said unnecessarily as they pulled through the large security gates.

  “Oh, I never would have guessed,” she responded with an unbecoming sarcasm.

  “Rebecca,” he leaned across and took her hand in his but she pulled her fingers away. The contact had seared her and brought her dangerously close to breaking point.

  “Please, don’t,” she whispered, her pale eyes beseeching him to understand how hard this was for her.

  His face was shuttered, but he removed his hand.

  He must think her an incredible fool, for becoming so emotionally involved in such a meaningless relationship. She lacked the experience to have been more mature about it all, she supposed. Maybe her next arranged marriage would be more successful. Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble out of her lips and she clapped a hand to her mouth, just wanting to get out of the car.

  It drew to a halt and Tariq stepped out, holding the door for her. The hand he held to aid her in standing was resolutely ignored.

  “I see you are determined to be childish,” his voice was light hearted. “Come, Rebecca. Inside.”

  “Do I have a choice?” She asked tartly, but she did fall into step beside him.

  This palace was just as luxurious as the one she had left earlier that same day. All the more so for being more modern, and in the heart of the city.

  “My father’s father built this palace,” he said, as she took in the details. “It acts as an embassy in part, only this section is private.”

  “I don’t need a history lesson, do I? I’m unlikely to be teaching my students about Assanian palaces in the near future.”

  He dipped his head. “Fair enough. This way, please.”

  A security guard opened a heavy door with gold and turquoise paint as they approached.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “Tea, please.” She felt exhausted, and she sank with relief into one of the damask covered chairs around an ornately carved table.

  He poured liquid from a teapot and handed her a cup. She took it, careful that their fingers not brush against each other, and sipped it gratefully.

  “Well, Tariq, would you care to tell me why you’ve dragged me here in the middle of the night?”

  Despite the obvious rancour in her tone, a smile twitched at his lips.

  “It’s not even nine o’clock,” he pointed out with a logic that scathed.

  “Do you really want to discuss the finer points of time keeping?” She said sarcastically, and his twitching lips formed a full blown smile.

  “I’m sorry,” he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t mean to laugh. I’m not used to being in this position. It’s unnerving.”

  “What position is that, Tariq?” She said on a sigh.

  “That of apologising.” He came to crouch in front of her, resting on his strong haunches. He took her hands between his, and she was so surprised that she didn’t fight it.

  “Apologising for what, exactly?” She demanded eventually. “Ending our marriage after two months? Leaving me to depart in such ignominy? Or sleeping with a woman you had installed as my attendant?”

  His eyes flared. “I am sorry about what you overheard. Those idiots will be looking for new jobs tomorrow.”

  “It is hardly their fault that you were unable to stay faithful.” She pointed out waspishly. “Did they force you into Monique’s bed?”

  He raised a hand imperiously. “Just stop, Rebecca.” He paused, trying to understand from her expression just what she was feeling. He sighed heavily. “I was wrong to keep the truth about my relationship with Monique from you. At first, I thought you didn’t need to know. Then, as you and I became closer, I thought it would upset you.”

  “Oh, yes, Tariq, I can tell how worried you are about upsetting me.” Her words dripped with angry sarcasm.

  “I care more about your emotional state than I realised.” He said, furious with himself. “I couldn’t let you leave tonight, having heard what you did about Monique and me; believing what you did about the whole damned mess.”

  “That you had an affair with her? I don’t simply believe it, Tariq. I know it to be true.” Her eyes narrowed as his words penetrated her fogged brain. “How do you even know what I overheard?”

  “Monique called me.” He took her hands in his once more. “She was right to do so, Rebecca.”

  “I’m sure she has your number in her speed dial,” she bit out, jealousy wrapping tight chords around her racing heart.

  “Perhaps,” he admitted wryly. “But she knows my views on marital fidelity. I do not believe in mistresses, or affairs. When I married you, it was with the intention of being faithful.”

  “How long did your intentions last, Tariq? Hmmm? Monique is very beautiful, and I daresay far more experienced and entertaining in bed than I am. You must have hated making love to me when you knew it could have been her. Why didn’t you marry her instead, Tariq? She would have made you a good wife. I’m sure she would have been desperate to please you.”

  “I know you are upset, Rebecca, but she does not deserve your condemnation.”

  “Oh, really?” Her tone was scathing.

  “She called me because she was worried about you, Rebecca. She cares about you.”

  Rebecca let out a harsh, strangled cry. She pulled her hands out of his and stood, pacing across the room. “Don’t you dare defend her to me,” she pleaded, her voice high pitched. She was finding it difficult to breathe, and her eyes were clouded. “How dare you defend her? How dare you make me feel guilty in the midst of this?”

  “It is not my intention to make you feel guilty.” He spoke quietly. Across the room from him, his wife looked terrible. Distress had made her pale, anger caused her body to shake, and her eyes were wide with confusion and hurt.

  “How many more were there, Tariq? Is there a harem of women waiting to please you somewhere here in the palace?”

  “You are being ridiculous,” he admonished gently. “You know that is not the case.”

  “I don’t know anything about you! You come down to the city for days at a time. I know enough of your appetite to find it impossible to believe you were alone.” She yelled, bringing a hand to her neck and fidgeting with the necklace she wore. With a visible effort at calmness, she spoke a little more quietly. “I wish I’d never met you. I wish I’d never married you. I want to get back on that plane and go anywhere but here. I want to forget I ever knew you. For all I care, you can go to hell, Tariq,” she finished, but the fight depleted the last of her energy and she felt herself falling towards the ground in an unconquerable feint.

  Hashim Mehzed had worked for the palace since graduating with his medical licence thirty two years earlier. He’d known the ruling Emir since he was a young boy, and he’d never heard his voice hold such a note of raw panic.

  “Hashim, the Queen has fainted. I need you immediately.”

  Hashim disconnected the call and grabbed up his leather bag. As the on-call palace doctor that evening, he was prepared for any contingency. Though the most exciting his job had been recently was a case of food poisoning that had torn through the servants’ quarters a couple of weeks ago.

  His office was three floors up and a wing acro
ss from the room Tariq had mentioned, and he ran the whole way, arriving in a state of some physical distress himself only minutes later.

  “Where is she?” He asked in clipped tones once he’d entered the room. He scanned the room and saw the woman who had married Tariq, being cradled in his lap. He crossed to them and bent down, feeling her pulse, and checking her temperature.

  “What happened?” He asked, simultaneously lifted her eyelids and checking her pupils’ reactions to the small flashlight he had in his bag.

  “We were quarrelling. She passed out.” His voice sounded strained, his face was drawn.

  “Have there been any other symptoms? Any illness?”

  Tariq ran a hand across his stubbled chin. “She vomited a week ago. Could it be a virus?”

  “It could be any number of things. I won’t know until we do some blood tests. More than likely there is a reasonably innocuous explanation. May I draw a vial of blood, sir, for the lab to analyse?”

  “Of course,” Tariq nodded his assent. He watched as the doctor skilfully inserted a needle into Rebecca’s pale inner-elbow to remove crimson blood from her body. As he withdrew the needle, she squirmed a little in his lap.

  “Rebecca,” he leaned forward so that he could see her eyes. “Rebecca. Can you hear me?”

  Her eyes fluttered open, beheld the face just inches away. And memories came crashing back to her. “I’m fine,” she said, her throat thick. “I’ve hardly eaten today, that’s all.”

  Tariq lifted a glance to an aid standing by the door. “Fetch a light supper, immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” The servant bowed from the room, leaving them alone with the doctor.

  Hashim sealed the container in an envelope. “I’ll have results within the hour. Have a little something to eat, but not too much, just something bland, and some water to drink.”

  “Sheikha, do you feel okay?” Tariq asked, and because she was determined to stand, he helped her up, keeping an arm protectively around her waist as he led her to the sofa.

  “Don’t be over-dramatic, Tariq. I passed out, that’s all.”

  “Have you ever fainted before?”

  Her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “No, but there’s a first time for everything.”

  The blood test results were returned in half the estimated time. And with them, came news that would change Rebecca’s life forever.

  “You are pregnant, your highness,” Hashim announced with a smile. “From the levels of hormones indicated in the test, you must be around six or seven weeks. We won’t know until we do a scan. Congratulations, your highnesses,” he added cheerily. He left shortly afterwards, telling Rebecca that he would arrange for the best obstetrician in Assan to call on her the following morning.

  She nodded uncomprehendingly. As the door shut behind the friendly doctor, she turned her attention to her husband. Staring straight ahead, his face unreadable, he was quite clearly as shell-shocked by the news as she was.

  Who could blame him? Only hours earlier he’d thought he’d be able to get rid of his wife. Now, they were stuck with each other. For surely there was no way he’d let her go now. Not with his child in her belly. Why wasn’t she more upset? She wanted to escape marriage to a man who was incapable of fidelity, who obviously wanted to be rid of her, and yet, confusingly, her heart was bursting with happiness over the lifeform tucked safely inside of her.

  “You weren’t going to tell me.” His cold-voiced statement broke through her thoughts.

  She knitted her brows together. “I only just found out myself.”

  “Is that even possible?” He demanded, standing and turning away from her, his spine held rigid.

  “You heard the doctor,” she hissed, her anger stoked by his reaction. “I’m only six or seven weeks along. Too early to have noticed any difference. You know as well as I do that we gave this baby every opportunity to eventuate.”

  The allusion to their active sex life would have caused her to blush if she were so inclined. Instead, it just made her heart stutter with pained remembrance.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He pushed on with his line of questioning. “Did you think my security agents wouldn’t have informed me when you started to show?”

  “I didn’t think any such thing. There was no plan to deceive you, Tariq. If you think I’m the kind of woman who would keep such a thing secret, then you’re even more mistaken about my character than I realised.”

  He expelled a harsh sigh.

  “Tariq,” her pale blue eyes clashed with his accusing stare. “You’ve spent the last two months believing I married you to get my hands on your money. Do you admit now that your assumption was wrong?”

  He inclined his head. “In that instance, yes, I have already admitted I was mistaken.” He looked away. “But Rebecca, you have vomited, you’ve been exhausted, did you truly not suspect...”

  “I have a very limited point of reference but I would have thought the exhaustion could have been chalked up to our sleepless nights,” she said wryly. “As for vomiting, eating that goat’s cheek would have made me queasy at any time in my life. Other than that, I truly don’t feel any different.” She splayed her fingers protectively across her stomach.

  “I guess those security guys did you a favour,” she mused a moment later, when he hadn’t spoken.

  “How so?”

  “If it weren’t for them, I’d be halfway to England by now.”

  “With my baby.”

  “With your baby,” she whispered.

  “I don’t know if you are telling me the truth, Sheikha. The only thing I know for sure right now is that you’re not leaving my sight for the next seven months. What you choose to do beyond that is up to you.”

  “Are you actually saying you would expect me to leave my child?” She stared at him, her mouth open with shock.

  “If you can’t bear to be married to me, as you claimed only a little while ago, then yes, you will leave me, but you sure as hell won’t be taking our child out of Assan.” He was implacable, his voice firm and unwavering.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For the second time in her life, Rebecca felt her fingers itch with the desire to slap this man.

  “If you think I would ever leave this baby, then you’ve got another thing coming, Tariq.” She pulled herself up to her full height, tilting her chin defiantly. “You’re stuck with me, your highness. I’m sorry if that ruins any plans you and Monique might have had.”

  He clenched his jaw, visibly trying to quell his emotions.

  “You should go to bed, Rebecca. It is late, and you must get used to thinking of the baby you are carrying.”

  She let out a groan of annoyance. “You really are the most insufferably arrogant bastard.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he nodded. “We can speak tomorrow about our plans for the future. For now, sleep.”

  What a joke, she thought, hitting the pillow several hours later. She’d counted the mosaic pieces in the detailed little lamp beside the bed, and mentally unpacked her suitcases, but sleep continued to elude her. Despite the bone weary exhaustion that she’d felt only a little while earlier, she was now alert, and filled with adrenalin.

  The most pressing matter to consider was this baby. Her relationship with Tariq was far, far from perfect. But she’d fallen in love with him, so their baby had been conceived with love. On her part, at least. As for Tariq, Rebecca groaned as she thought of him now, and the beautiful Monique. How had she missed the fact that they were seeing one another? She was blindly trusting and always had been, and she had wanted a friend. Were they signs she should have picked up on?

  They’d never discussed the issue of fidelity. Before marrying him, Rebecca had done her research, though. Polygamy was outlawed in Assan, and harems and mistresses were all a thing of the ancient past. Or so she had believed. But, like any culture the world over, marriage certificates were not a guarantee of faithfulness.

  But the very thing she loved most abo
ut Tariq was his character. He was strong, indomitable, and honourable. The idea that he’d been slipping away from her to sleep with Monique... if she didn’t know it to be true then she’d almost think it was impossible.

  But it was more than possible. It was the truth. Cold, hard fact. Apparently everyone but her had known about it.

  She pushed back the crisp white sheets and moved across the room, padding quietly despite the fact she was alone for miles. Out of her window, she could see Assan’s capital city. A blanket of low-rise buildings, with some lights twinkling prettily beneath the pre-dawn sky.

  Her mother – her real mother – had always said that a cup of tea solved the world’s problems, and she’d grown to believe that was an incontrovertible truth. Wrapping a robe around her nightie-clad self, she pulled open her door and made her way through the palace. At the first security agent she saw, she made enquiries for the kitchen and was guided there in person.

  “Thank you,” she said dismissively, impressing herself with how accustomed she’d become to giving orders.

  The kitchen was more like what belonged in a five star hotel. It was enormous and modern, with every expensive piece of equipment imaginable on the stainless steel bench top. A gigantic cold room and several stoves left her gaping.

  “Looking for something?” Tariq’s voice, unmistakable, made her freeze. Guiltily, she spun towards him, and at the sight of him in just a pair of cotton boxer shorts, her breathing became laboured. A million things were on her mind but leaning indolently against the door frame, so gloriously strong and desirable, meant that only one thought was left in her brain. Desire.