She ate her rice and watched the three brothers: all handsome with bold features and tall, broad physiques, but now that she looked more closely they did look different. “So you have more siblings?”
“Yes, they’re much younger, though. Our father’s fourth wife was unable to bear children, so there was a long gap between us and the youngest.”
“What happened to her?” She couldn’t help asking.
“She died.” Osman shot her a look that dared her to ask for more information.
She took the hint and silently ate a slice of melon. If divorce was forbidden in Ubar, what did a wealthy and powerful man do with his wife once he grew bored with her?
A cold, nasty feeling gripped her gut. Had these men’s mothers all been killed while they were still young? Had they watched their father take successively younger wives to replace the mothers they loved?
No wonder they all moved away. “Were you close with your father?”
The brothers glanced at each other. “Not in recent years,” said Osman. “But we must be grateful to him for bringing us together again after many years apart.”
“In our country, the eldest inherits everything.” Zadir put down his glass. “It’s been that way for many centuries. But when he died our father split his kingdom in three and divided it equally among us.”
She glanced at Osman. How did he feel about being deprived of his traditional birthright? “Were you surprised?”
“Absolutely.” Osman looked at his brothers. “I dreaded my father’s death for decades, but now I find he’s created a warm and welcoming environment for me to return to by bringing my brothers home, too.”
Sam’s heart swelled. Osman really did seem happy that his brothers gained a share of the kingdom that was supposed to be his. “And how did you two feel about it?”
Amahd shrugged. “Surprised.”
“Confused,” admitted Zadir with a slight grin. “But we’re always up for a challenge.”
“We have a lot of work to do here in Ubar, but together we can accomplish anything.” Osman rose and crossed the room to look out over the balcony. “Let’s go down among the crowds. The singing is about to start.”
12
Sam was determined to find Allan, even if she had to slip away from Osman unobserved. For all she knew he’d hitched a ride and was on his way to the airport. She didn’t think so, though. Allan was trustworthy.
She bit her lip when she realized that she’d had lunch, but he probably hadn’t. Still, he had local currency on him so he could buy something from a vendor. Men and women wandered through the crowds offering sweet and savory delicacies that people ate from hand-folded paper cones.
“Samantha, come to the center with me.” Osman held out his hand. She looked at it for a second, then took it, because it would have created more drama if she hadn’t. “Listen to the music. Many say it’s the heart of our culture.”
“I really do need to find Allan. If he’s not in the center filming, I’ll have to go looking for him.”
“Of course.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. Though there was nothing reassuring the way her body temperature jumped and her nipples pressed against her ceremonial dress. He probably knew the effect he had on her and enjoyed it.
Strange music rose from the center of the crowd. The sound was between a woodwind and a string instrument, a melodious humming and strumming. The dancers stopped twirling around and now stood facing a carved wooden gazebo-like structure that hadn’t been there before. Inside it stood three beautiful women wearing dresses similar to hers, one in blue, the others in shades of lilac.
The one in blue sang first, a mournful sound in a minor key, then the other two sang a haunting harmony. The music seemed to travel right through bone and tissue and grab her fast somewhere deep inside. Her breathing quickened and her chest filled as she tried to control the emotion the unfamiliar music created in her.
A glance at Osman showed him standing tall and proud, chin lifted. He was a head taller than most people here, every inch a king—with her hand in his.
This whole experience was so unlike what she’d expected that it was hard to focus on her reason for being here. Her goal was to create a fine documentary that would serve as a record of an ancient ritual that—like everything else—would likely soon go the way of the dodo bird. It was something she’d done before, in Zanzibar and the highlands of China. But never before had circumstances conspired to draw her into the event as a participant.
Not that she was really a participant, since she was hardly going to marry Osman in the ritual tomorrow.
She snuck another glance at him, and this time he looked back, pleasure and approval in his eyes. He could tell that the singing moved her, and no doubt he liked her being drawn into an appreciation of his culture. But why was he wasting time with her when it was imperative for him to find a bride and marry?
If he were some random camel-herding dude collecting women for his harem, she’d certainly be nervous by now that he intended to enroll her. But Osman was urbane, educated and traveled, wealthy and successful. He could have his pick of any woman in the world. He’d hardly choose her out of all the gorgeous girls here today. Especially when she would certainly say no even if he did propose.
If I tell her too soon she might laugh at me.
Osman’s words snuck into her mind. She would laugh if he proposed. It would seem ludicrous, impossible, like a joke at her expense.
Was he warming her up slowly with a view of seducing her into the role? He was certainly doing a great job keeping her away from Allan. She scanned the crowd and didn’t see him, but she was loath to break the spell of the singing by tugging her hand from Osman’s.
Why would Osman want to marry her?
The women abruptly stopped singing and Sam joined in the clapping, glad of the chance to get her hand back. She spotted Allan crouched low near a stall selling cones of roasted nuts, and she hurried over. He was filming an elderly couple watching the proceeds with rapt expressions that suggested they were reliving their own courtship.
She snuck up on him slowly, not wanting to interrupt what could be the award-winning centerpiece moment of the documentary. The couple started to talk softly, and one gestured across the crowd.
“Allan,” she hissed. He didn’t stop filming. “Allan!”
He looked up and frowned. He cast a glance at her festive attire and shook his head. She decided to ignore his rude behavior. “How’s the filming going?”
“Pretty good.” He polished the lens with a special cloth.
“In terms of overall content, how would you say you’re doing?”
“Okay.” He adjusted a setting on the camera.
Frustration bubbled inside her. “Allan! We’re supposed to be a team. Why are you shutting me out?”
He shoved the camera at her. “You want to shoot the footage?”
“No, of course I don’t, but I want to hear about what you’ve shot. I think we’re creating something really special here.”
“We are? I’ve been alone all day. I imagine you’ve been busy being swept of your feet by his majesty.” He didn’t even look at her. Just scanned the crowd.
“He’s just being polite,” she protested, hoping it was true.
“Is he? I don’t think so. I think he’s taking brutal pleasure in stealing you right out from right under me.”
Her gut flashed a warning, maybe because his words rang true. Was Osman playing a game with her affections for his own entertainment? “I came here with you, Allan, and I’m leaving with you. Sheikh Osman and his intentions are of no consequence.” She wanted to grab him and kiss him to prove her affections still lay with him.
Except that they didn’t. Allan had rebuffed every attempt she’d made at affection on this trip. She didn’t feel like being rejected again right here in the marketplace during a festival of romance.
“Has he been coming on to you?” One sandy eyebrow lifted.
“Harmless flirtation.” She didn’
t feel like lying. “He’s just a charmer. I’m sure he does it with everyone.”
“Probably. What love rite will you be sharing with him this afternoon?”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t know what’s happening this afternoon, but why are you being so sour? Everything’s going as smoothly as it possibly could. Come back and relax with the group. Osman’s brothers are here.”
“That’s a relief. Then I won’t be the only third wheel.”
“Allan, you are really ticking me off.”
“Good. That’s my intention.”
“Why? Do you want to break up with me?” Once she’d said the words she knew she’d gone too far.
Allan stared at her. “If you want to end it, let’s end it.”
“It’s you who’s being difficult, not me.” She didn’t want to take the blame. Just two days ago she’d had every intention of spending the rest of her life with this man. Now everything was spinning out of control and was about to crash and burn, and she couldn’t stop it.
“I’m trying to deal with a difficult situation the best I can. I’ve filmed enough footage for about three documentaries. What more do you want from me?”
She swallowed and plucked up her courage. “I want love. I want affection, companionship. I want passion.” She drew in a deep breath. “I want to feel like we’re on the same team, helping each other and working together, not bickering and sniping and making life difficult for each other.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t rush so easily into another man’s arms.”
“I didn’t! I wanted to sleep with you that first night at the palace. I wanted to sleep with you last night. But you pushed me away! How do you think that makes me feel?”
Yes, she felt guilty about the kiss with Osman—even though it wasn’t her idea at all—but it could have been avoided if Allan hadn’t left her hurting.
A nasty thought crept over her. Did Allan know she’d kissed Osman?
No. She didn’t think so. He’d have thrown his camera down and headed for the hills if he knew about that. She had to make sure he didn’t find out, either. It was time to pour enough oil on these troubled waters so they could finish the job here. One more day of filming and they could go home and pick up the pieces, or not.
Allan had the decency to look distressed. He rubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Sam. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course I can.” She neglected to mention that she’d never be able to see him in the same light again.
“Tonight I’ll sleep with you. I promise.”
She gulped. “Great.”
“No matter where, no matter when.”
“Thanks, Allan.” She patted his arm. The prospect of sleeping with him didn’t appeal at all now that she’d decided their relationship was probably best ended. Still, she’d handle that situation when it happened. “You’re one in a million. Come back and join…Osman and his brothers.” She narrowly stopped herself from saying “us.” She and Allan were supposed to be “us.”
He shook his head. “I’m better off alone. I’m getting some really good stuff. Just come find me when it’s time to leave.”
She agreed and walked away with a powerful sense of relief. At least she’d managed not to destroy their relationship and this almost-complete documentary project at the same time.
Maybe this trip and its tribulations were a test and she and Allan would emerge stronger and better than ever?
No. Just the fact that she was attracted to Osman—entirely against her will!—proved that Allan was not “the one” she’d always pledged to wait for. Right now it was hard to imagine how she’d ever thought he was.
She wound her way through the crowd, looking for Osman and his brothers.
“I’m right behind you.” His deep voice made her spin around.
“What? How long have you been there?” She’d be furious if he eavesdropped on her private conversation with Allan. But if he’d been hovering behind her, surely Allan would have seen him?
“I stood at a distance. I didn’t invade your privacy.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.” Her hand wandered to her hair, where she tucked some loose strands back into her chignon. Osman’s gaze made her suddenly self-conscious. He looked at her as if she were a rare art object—or at least that’s how it made her feel. She almost wanted to turn and look behind her to find what he really regarded with such interest and admiration.
“I’d like you to hear me sing.” He lifted his chin slightly as he said it, as if preparing for the blow of rejection.
This unfamiliar sign of insecurity touched her. “I’d love to hear you sing.”
“Excellent.” He wound his arm through hers with no further sign of bashfulness and led her across the crowded town center, under the fluttering red-and-yellow banners. She heard male voices but couldn’t see any of the men singing. She glanced around to see if Allan was watching. She didn’t want him to see her arm in arm with Osman if she could help it.
Not that she could help it. Osman took charge with such force she never felt she had any choice but to go along with it, which was oddly refreshing after years of waffling men who waited for her to take the lead in everything.
He led her toward a tent about ten feet across. It was beige in color, and she noticed about thirty of them had sprung up across the marketplace. “People do know how to erect a tent fast here.”
“It’s in our DNA.” The glint of humor in his eye stirred that annoying attraction she couldn’t seem to ignore. “Permanent structures are overrated. When you tire of the size and layout of your residence or the location, you simply move things around.”
“I guess that’s fine as long as you can survive the heat without air-conditioning.”
“I doubt there’s a single air conditioner anywhere in Ubar. I suppose that’s why the palace is made of stone. It releases the heat during our chilly desert nights and stays cool during the day. Still, you don’t mind warmth, do you?” He jostled her and she giggled.
“I guess I don’t. I like the heat, actually. I hate winter.”
“Excellent.” He beamed. She realized that was the second time in less than five minutes that he’d pronounced something excellent. She glowed a little to have the Sheikh Osman seal of approval.
The inside of the tent was totally empty, illuminated by sun shining through the canvas and turning it gold. He let go of her arm but took hold of her hands. Her fingers felt supersensitive inside his, and she tried to stay calm and keep her breathing even. His green-gold eyes glowed with anticipation, which was surprisingly adorable. She wanted to make fun of the situation, as the air of expectation was becoming oppressive, but he seemed so excited that she didn’t dare break the mood.
His chest rose with a deep breath, and he launched into a low melodious chant that filled the space of the tent. His expression remained deadly serious while his eyes sparkled with pleasure. She knew enough about music to recognize an untrained voice, but his passionate delivery shone with raw talent.
The words were in the esoteric regional dialect and she understood little but she could feel the emotion vibrating from his core and it stirred something deep inside her. She felt tears well up as he sang a thoughtful-sounding passage, holding her hands with tender intensity and singing to her as if his life depended on it.
She knew it was a love song. Probably one of the traditional songs from the festival in which he pledged his life to her. She still had no idea why he’d sing such a song to her and to sing it with such force that her chest rose and fell in sympathy with his.
Maybe he was practicing for the real thing. Maybe he just wanted her to experience the festival like an Ubarite so she could better describe it to people back home.
Or maybe he did intend to marry her in the ceremony tomorrow. Possibly without asking her or telling her what was going on.
Fear punched low in her gut, and the powerful force of his song became overwhelming and oppressive. Maybe he saw something
in her demeanor, because he softened his singing and trailed off with a series of sweet notes. “What’s the matter, Samantha?”
“Why are you singing this to me? It’s a love song. I don’t understand.” Sheer panic made her honest.
His impressive brow furrowed slightly. “It’s a traditional expression of admiration.”
“Of a man for his future bride?” She heard the quaver in her voice.
“Yes.”
She tried to pull her hands from his and was almost surprised when he let them go. “You don’t know me. We’ve barely even spoken. Are you just practicing on me?”
He narrowed his eyes as if trying to understand. Then he laughed. “Practicing? No.” She watched his chest rise again as he drew in a breath. “Do you believe in love at first sight, Samantha?”
“No,” she said with conviction. She recalled the way he’d looked her in the eye and kissed her hand at their first meeting. It felt pretty intense at the time, but that had nothing to do with love. “And I doubt you do, either. We’ve both been around long enough to have fallen in love before.”
“Mere crushes. Affairs. I admit that I’ve known and cared for several women over the years, but never one I’ve wanted to marry.”
“And you want to marry me?” It made so little sense she had trouble forming the words.
“Yes, Samantha. I want to marry you.”
She straightened her back. “Well, you can’t.”
“You find me objectionable?” He gestured to himself, obviously sure there was little to object to. He was right. A more delicious male specimen had never walked the earth.
“Not personally, no. In fact, I find you charming and personable and very handsome.” She bit her lip. Un-nameable emotions churned in her chest. “But I have a whole life back in the U.S. with good friends and a loving family and an interesting career, and I have no intention of leaving it all behind to move to Ubar and become your royal bride.” Something akin to regret washed over her as she rejected him so finally.
“You don’t like my country.” His eyes looked sad.
Her heart squeezed. “I like it very much, but I don’t even speak the language.”
Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology Page 50