The Sheikh's Bargain Bride (Desert Kings)

by Fraser, Diana

  It was hours before Anna moved, could even think clearly enough through her grief to realize where she was or what she should do. It was only when the street lamps outside flicked on that she realized she’d sat in the same position the whole evening through.

  Stiffly she rose and looked around. She cleaned up the mess of the stale alcohol and slipped on her warm robes. Somehow, wearing them, she felt closer to Zahir, more comfortable, more herself. She went to the telephone and dialed Qawaran. This time she wanted to speak to her son.

  But Matta wasn’t available—he was out in the desert on a hunting party expedition with Zahir. She smiled. She knew he would enjoy it. And she would be seeing him soon there. Zahir had given her joint custody and allowed her free access. She was scheduled to go to Qawaran at the end of the month to collect Matta and bring him back to begin the autumn term in Paris. But she knew full well that Zahir would not be seeing her again. He’d finished with her. He’d never promised her anything other than a brief time together. But, oh, how she’d believed differently.

  She rarely cried. Zahir had noticed. She’d cried when she pleaded for Matta; she’d cried when she’d pleaded with Zahir and she cried now, for herself. For her lost self, alone in her world of freedom. It wasn’t capture she’d been avoiding after all, it had been a home she was seeking: an emotional one—one that came with people who loved her and a place where she felt safe. She’d found it and somehow she’d let it slip through her fingers.

  She jumped up and faced herself in the mirror. She saw a fierce look in her eyes, one of a warrior—a desert warrior—who wasn’t going to sit back and let her man leave without a fight. She’d stick to Zahir’s beloved schedule for Matta’s sake but she would make sure she saw Zahir in Qawaran. Somehow.

  She took a deep breath. Oh how she’d missed the smell of the desert—dusty yet clean—and the sounds of the desert—the clatter of date palms and birdsong, the sounds and smells of freedom. She’d spent time with Matta who was looking forward—a little scared and a little excited—to starting his new school in Paris. But she hadn’t seen Zahir who was always busy, unable to be disturbed. Zahir might be determined not to see her. But he’d underestimated her determination to see him.

  She hated the falconry with its mesh of cages, its hooded birds. It was everything that scared her: the bird’s sharp talons flexing on their perches, the mute shuffle of their feet, the hint of power still in their feathers now sleek and unruffled. Waiting. Simply waiting until they were allowed to fly. Zahir would never expect her to be there. Therefore, there she must be.

  He looked exactly the same. She hadn’t expected that. When she looked in the mirror she saw a changed woman. But Zahir, despite the self-recriminations and blame he’d loaded onto himself over Abduallah’s death, looked exactly the same. He’d grown hard again. Still, even if it ended in failure she had to tell him something that she’d never expressed to him before.

  “Zahir!” Her voice was soft but she knew he’d heard because his shoulders froze. He did not turn round.

  She walked up to him and first looked at his face, his eyes narrowed as they stared into the bright sunlight of the desert. He did not look down at her, nor make any indication that he knew she was there. So she followed his gaze to his falcon, circling overhead.

  “Aren’t you going to speak to me?”

  “What is there to speak about? I assumed you’ve come to see Matta not me. In which case you’ve come to the wrong place. He will be in the school room at this hour.”

  “I know. I’ve just come from there.”

  “And you found everything satisfactory? He is sufficiently prepared to begin his new school?”

  She nodded, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at his coldness. “Yes. Everything is satisfactory. Matta is happy and well and keen to get started in Paris.”

  He held up his gloved hand to the hawk.

  “Good.”

  The bird landed on his arm, the breeze of his passage blew Anna’s hair back it was so strong. She took a deep breath while she admired the bird. The same bird that months ago she would not go near.

  “May I?” For the first time Zahir glanced at her but she could read nothing in his black eyes. Coolly, he nodded.

  She reached up and tentatively stroked the feathers of the bird. They were not soft but held the tensile strength of a fine fabric designed for hard wear. Deceptive.

  “He’s beautiful.”

  “He’s a wild thing made tame. I no longer know if that’s a beautiful thing.”

  She touched his arm then, insisting that he meet her gaze. “You can’t release him back to the wild any more.”

  “No. It’s too late for that.”

  She stroked the bird but kept her hand firm on Zahir’s arm. “He’s known your touch and will always crave it.”

  Zahir abruptly dropped the hood onto the bird’s head and the bird immediately relaxed and his head sunk down into his body.

  “Captive once more.” He turned to face her, his arm and the bird outstretched to the side.

  She shook her head, absorbed in the beauty of Zahir’s face and body. He was as rugged as the land and as dignified and upright as his people. The wind stirred his headdress, the only thing that moved around a face that was hard and set. She turned away and looked out at the flat plains that stretched forever and wondered how she could have ever longed for what lay beyond them when what she’d wanted had been before her all the time. But, judging by his unmoving expression, she wondered if it was too late.

  “Captive, or perhaps simply home now?”

  His eyes narrowed further.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I told you—to collect Matta.”

  “No here, in the falconry. You have no further business with me. I thought I made that plain.”

  Shock slammed into her gut and she stumbled back as if physically struck and turned away, suddenly realizing she’d made a huge mistake by coming to see him. But the pain in her heart, that she rubbed instinctively, told her otherwise. Whatever he felt, she simply had to know for sure because she couldn’t go on without knowing. She turned back to face him.

  “That was the only thing you made plain. Nothing is ever so black and white as you want to believe.”

  He shrugged. “People over-complicate things. With us, it was simple. I never made false promises to you. We had a deal: I wanted you until I grew bored and you wanted your freedom. Well, that is what happened. And it did have to happen.” He added more quietly.

  The remaining shreds of Anna’s strength dissolved with that final blow. She’d trusted her emotions in returning to him and she’d been wrong. She couldn’t believe that everything they’d had had come to this. But apparently it did. Zahir didn’t love her after all.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “I think you should go, don’t you? Return to Matta and then at the end of the week return to Paris as planned.”

  “As planned,” she muttered under her breath. “So that’s it. I won’t be seeing you again.”

  “While you are here of course you must join us for dinner.”

  His cold civility was worse than any abuse. She was a stranger to him now and he couldn’t have made it plainer.

  “Of course. I couldn’t think of anything nicer.” Two could play at that game.

  He passed his falcon to a keeper to return her to the falconry and walked back with her to the palace. “I trust your studies are going well.”

  “Of course. It’s all going to plan. Studying full time I should be complete my first year in six months.”

  “And then you will have everything you’ve always wanted.”

  She stopped. “No. No I don’t.” They had stopped in the public foyer of the palace and a sweep of cars suddenly entered the courtyard outside.

  “I’m sorry, Anna. Let me know what it is you are lacking and I will have someone take care of it for you.”

  “It’s not something someone can take care of. You can’t
delegate this. I need to tell you something Zahir. We need to talk.”

  “Not now. I have business to take care of. I will see you at dinner.” He nodded formally and turned away, all thought of her apparently forgotten.

  She backed away, unable to tear herself away from him completely. She stopped in the shadows of the palace and studied his face. She wanted to remember every nuance of shade, every line etched by experience, pain and sadness and happiness on that face. She wanted to feed her soul on him because she knew her time with him was limited. She realized this might be the last time she ever saw him.

  She watched as he greeted the small family group that emerged from the convoy of cars, bringing forth a gorgeous dark-eyed, dark-skinned young woman. It was obvious by the body language of all concerned that the woman was being offered to Zahir.

  Anna couldn’t watch any more but turned and tried to walk without stumbling across the uneven paving of one of the older, disused paths around the palace, taking her away from Zahir and his guests. She felt numb, barely felt the sharp edges of the crumbling stone beneath her thin sandals or the blazing sun on her head. It was as if she had no physical substance, only deep, unadulterated grief. Somehow she made it back to her room. There, she slammed the door shut and concentrated on breathing, on slowing down the heart that threatened to burst from her chest.

  “Are you coming to dinner then?”

  Anna looked up from the sketch book she’d been doodling in, surprised at Matta’s question.

  Matta lay on his stomach on the floor coloring in. He didn’t stop the heavy pressure of his pencil on the paper shifting jaggedly up and down, to speak to her. He seemed to be able to focus better on a conversation if he was busy with something else at the same time. Anna wished she had that ability. At the moment all she could do was to lie stretched out on a couch, a fan strategically placed beside her trying to keep at bay the heat, sickness and exhaustion.

  “No, I don’t think so, darling, I’m feeling tired.”

  “Muma Yemena didn’t think you would be.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because of our guests.” Matta suddenly stopped working on his picture and flicked her a deep, yet concerned look. “Because of the lady who is staying here.”

  She felt a chill run in her veins. “Ab Zahir said it was business.”

  “People say that Ab Zahir needs a new lady as you’re in Paris all the time.”

  Anna could hardly speak but she had to, to make sure Matta understood. She rose and put her aching arms around him, holding back the stinging tears that she could feel threaten. “You mustn’t listen to what people say. It’s just gossip. And whatever Ab Zahir decides to do, don’t worry. He and I love you and will always love you. Nothing he does will ever make any difference to that.”

  “Mom, it’s not just me; I’m worried about you.”

  She could hardly breathe with love and grief. “But you mustn’t worry about me.”

  “And I do worry about me too. You used to love Ab Zahir like you love me. And now you don’t. Perhaps you might not love me any more soon if I’m naughty?”

  “I will always love you. And I will always love him.”

  “For real? How much do you love Ab Zahir?”

  It was killing her telling her young son these things but she had no alternative but to reveal to him her deepest feelings if she were to reassure him.

  “You remember that story I used to read to you about the hare that loved his baby over the moon and back?”

  He was silent for a moment and Anna watched with an aching heart as he riffled through his selection of coloring pencils and selected one, his brow contracting with concentration, whether on her words or his drawing, she didn’t know. “I’ve never seen a hare.”

  “Well, you know when you lose sight of the falcon and you think he’s gone out beyond where you can understand? You think he’s lost but he’s not?”

  “Yeh.”

  “Well I love your Ab Zahir beyond where I can see, beyond what I know.”

  “Way beyond a falcon can fly? Wow. That’s a long way.”

  “Yes. I suppose it is.” Satisfied with the answer Matta immediately continued where he left off, coloring in an outline of a falcon. Matta’s tongue peeped out from between lips pursed in concentration. Her heart swelled. She loved everything little thing about Matta. And she missed him desperately when she was gone. But there was nothing she could do about that. This was his world, not hers any more. But he would be returning to Paris soon. He would have two worlds. The best of two worlds, she reminded herself.

  “Do you like it mom?” He held up the half-completed picture where the initial hard-pressed lines of careful color had given way to broad, swift strokes that went beyond the outline of the bird. It was an illustration of impatience. That was something he’d inherited from her.

  “The colors are exactly right and you’ve caught the energy of the bird with those swift strokes.”

  He looked at it critically. “Ab Zahir said I need to keep within the lines. But it’s hard.”

  “Yes, it’s hard all right.” And trust Zahir. Matta was already fidgeting, wanting to get on to the next thing, watching his friends playing with a ball out in the courtyard.

  “Can I go, mom?”

  “Wait, one moment.” She caught hold of him to keep him from wriggling away. “Remember tomorrow I will go and you will follow me in a few weeks. But you will see your friends at the end of term. Not long. And you will make lots of new friends in Paris. And your other cousins will be there.”

  “Yeh.”

  “And we have a few days before school starts. How about another trip to Disneyworld?”

  “Cool. Can I bring some friends?”

  “Of course you can. Just clear it with Ab Zahir first.”

  A blur of hugging and kissing and then he was gone in a haze of dust. She watched the piece of coloring drift down onto the marble floor.

  Yes, she did love Zahir, further than the falcon could fly. But she would not be going to dinner, would not be saying good-bye to him. She couldn’t stand to see him looking at another woman as he’d once looked at her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Zahir watched the dust billow and settle from the trail of vehicles that marked the end of the visit from distant relatives and the lovely Aisha. Despite his firm denials of interest his family had encouraged their visit and it had ended, predictably, in disaster. They meant well and he’d never met anyone more beautiful than the young woman, or anyone who left him more cold.

  All through the interminable dinner he’d sat surrounded by talk that he couldn’t bear to listen to. His thoughts were of a woman who was as prickly as Aisha was placid; as feisty as Aisha was submissive and as complex as Aisha was straightforward. He should want Aisha. Any sensible man would. But, instead, his mind was focused on a woman who played his body and mind like a virtuoso, creating a magic that he found he craved more with each passing day.

  But what could he—a destroyer of love and life—possibly give to anyone? Especially someone like Anna? He’d given her the only thing she wanted and the only thing he could give her. She’d never told him she loved him, never said she wanted anything different to her dreams of freedom.

  And, despite specifically asking her to dine with them, Anna hadn’t joined them in the dining hall that had been full of people and laughter but had felt empty without her. He’d given her the opportunity to say whatever it was on her mind. But it couldn’t have been as important as preparing for her return trip to Paris. She’d left at first light, leaving a message that she needed to do some shopping in Riyadh and would meet Matta there before going on to Paris. And she disappeared without trying to see Zahir again.

  “Ab Zahir! Look.”

  Zahir turned to his son, a welcome diversion from the pain he felt at his loss, a distraction that numbed the pain into a dull heaviness from which he could never escape.

  Matta held out his arm, steady and strong, with the
small hawk perched on top. The pride on the boy’s face at his achievement reminded him of Anna. The set of the face was the same: determination and courage despite a sensitive nature. If Matta looked like him physically, he was proud to see that he possessed his mother’s charm and essentially happy nature. He was someone who showed exactly what he was thinking and feeling in his expressive body and face.

  “Excellent, but be sure to be steady for her. Any nervousness or doubt will betray itself in your arm and she will become agitated.”

  “I’m strong, Ab Zahir. Mom says so. It will be fine. How far will she fly?”

  “She is young and not so strong as the peregrine.”

  Matta was absorbed in the bird, watching each movement of its eyes, every flicker of its feathers. “Not as far as mom’s love for you then.”

  Zahir froze. “What did you say?”

  Matta held up his bird aloft, shifting it in the light still distracted and absorbed by its beauty and the sense of ownership. “Nothing.”

  “You said something about your mom. Matta, tell me.”

  Zahir’s sense of urgency got through to Matta who turned his head to Zahir. “Nothing much. Just that mom said she loved you beyond where we could see the falcon fly. That’s big isn’t it?”

  Zahir followed Matta’s gaze to the distant horizon. It was big. It was also impossible. Perhaps Matta had heard wrong. But no, it wasn’t the kind of thing the boy would invent. The falcon could fly forever, find its freedom anywhere.

  For the first time in months the heaviness that weighed him down lifted and he felt light with possibility. Swiftly followed by doubt. Was her love big enough to encompass his shortcomings? The extreme swoops of doubt and happiness echoed the uncertain, erratic movements of Matta’s young hawk taking its first flight. It was the complete opposite of how Zahir liked to be. It was out of control, erratic. But that wasn’t life, was it? He’d learnt that through letting Abduallah down. If there was the remotest possibility that Anna might want him then he needed to know. And there was only one way to find out.