Broad shoulders tapered into a flat torso. An old scar etched his chest, and a new one, pink and puckered, marred his shoulder. His legs were muscular, made powerful by years of riding. She examined him with fascinated eyes, making no protest when he removed her gown.
He stood over her a moment, admiring her body, white in the moonlight. Then he eased her back on the bed and lay down beside her. His strong hands were gentle and questing, his mouth tender yet demanding. Instinctively the girl returned his caresses, offering herself gladly. She felt no shame, but rather wonder at the sensations he aroused in her. Lovingly they joined, soaring together until both shuddered simultaneously in release and Sharif collapsed beside Bryna.
She tenderly brushed his hair back from his damp forehead. “Why did you not tell me before that you loved me, my lord?”
“Because my love for you was wrong while Nassar lived.”
“Is it wrong now that he is dead?”
“It would make no difference.” His possessive arms tightened around her. “I would have you for my wife.”
“I cannot marry you. Sharif,” she refused gently. “Not while I have so many unanswered questions.”
“You do not love me?” The powerful sheik felt vulnerable. How could she refuse marriage after what they had just shared? This woman would drive him mad with longing.
“I...I do not know. You have been good and kind to me.”
“I do not want your thanks,” he said harshly, sitting up on the edge of the bed, his back to her.
“No, my lord.” She laid her hand on his bare shoulder, feeling his muscles quiver in response to her delicate touch. “I know, you want a wife, a wife who would be honest with her husband. Then I tell you this, I believe I could learn to love you. I know I desire you. And I know that is wrong. Do you think me a terrible person?”
“No, Farha, I desire you, too.” His answer seemed to drift to her on the night air. “But I love you, more than you know.”
“I care for you, Sharif. It’s only that I am still so lost and confused. All I ask is some time before I answer.”
“I will give you time, but understand, it is not your gratitude I want. It is your love.” Rising stiffly, he turned to gaze down at her. She could not see his shadowed face, but Bryna ached at the pain in his voice.
The man left the room, shaken to the core. What he had just done was against his very upbringing, yet it had been so right. Could it be that forbidden fruit was always sweeter? Forbidden or not, now that he had tasted Bryna’s love, Sharif was more determined than ever to have her for his own.
CHAPTER 19
“Thank God your health is returning, my lady. You look fair indeed today,” Bryna’s maid pronounced, standing on tiptoe to put the final touches on her mistress’s coiffure.
“You are kind, Wardha,” the girl murmured as the little woman bustled around her, her dark eyes bright with pride. The maid had been with her only short time but already she was devoted to her young mistress.
“And you are modest,” Wardha countered. “Look thou hither.”
Obediently Bryna turned on her stool to look into the mirror, smiling when she saw her reflection. She felt better than she had for months, and her face reflected the vibrant glow. Her cheeks and lips were naturally pink, and under her sapphire ghata her hair was glossy and dark. Lined with kohl, her blue eyes were clear and sparking.
“Will you wear the golden earrings today?” The maid held them out expectantly.
Fingering Sharif’s gift lovingly, Bryna nodded. How good he was to her. There had been many gifts—dresses of fine Halaili silk, attar of roses, oil of absinthium for her hair, a diamond ring to protect her from possession by evil spirits. Although there had been no repeat of that passionate night a month ago, Bryna was secure in his love.
“Mashallah,” Wardha exclaimed over her handiwork. “But sit there one moment more.” She began to rummage among the vials and jars that held Bryna’s cosmetics.
Behind the women a door opened, and a streak of brown fur shot into the room, followed closely by `Abla, her robes flowing out behind her as she ran.
“Allah protect me from the devil,” Wardha shrieked in genuine fright. Dropping a jar of powder onto the floor with a clatter, the diminutive maid jumped back, knocking over vials and upsetting a jar of powdered malachite so an that iridescent green cloud hung over the dressing table.
Gasping with surprise, Bryna found her arms suddenly filled with squirming, jubilant saluki. His tail wagging ecstatically, the dog licked her face with joyful affection.
“Oh, no,” `Abla groaned, surveying the havoc the dog had created in a matter of seconds. “I didn’t know he would do all this. I just thought he would be glad to see you.” She hurried to Bryna and tried to pull the dog from her lap.
“And I am glad to see him.” Bryna chuckled, maintaining a hold on the wiggling animal as she scratched behind his ears.
“What is all the noise?” Sharif appeared in the doorway, the curious frown on his handsome face becoming forbidding when he saw the disorder in Bryna’s room. “Wallahi, what happened here?”
“It’s my fault, Abu,” `Abla confessed, hanging her head. “Even though you never allow the dog in the house, I brought him into the harem, thinking he could keep Farha company while I am away, visiting Umm Sâlih. It has been so long since she has seen him and I did not want her to be lonely.”
“I would not let her be lonely,” the man responded to his daughter. His eyes rested lovingly on Bryna, his irritation forgotten.
She was bent over the dog, scratching his belly. The saluki sprawled on his back on the floor, his tongue lolling rapturously and one back leg pumping wildly.
“He knows me.” The girl beamed at Sharif. “And he likes me.”
“Of course he likes you. Who else had a treat for him every time she saw him? Who nearly ruined him as a hunting dog?” the man teased.
“I did? He is your dog?”
“I am not so sure anymore.”
“What is his name?”
“He has no name.” He blinked in astonishment at her question.
“Don’t you name your dogs here?” A surprised look flitted across the girl’s face. She had spoken without thinking. What had she meant by that?
“Judging by the state of this room, I would call him Sheytàn,” Sharif answered, keeping his voice deliberately light. “He certainly seems one of life’s torments. What would you call him?”
“Rih!” Entranced by the idea of naming the dog, `Abla piped excitedly before Bryna could answer, “Let us call him Rih, the wind, because he runs as fast as the wind.”
“Excellent. Rih,” Bryna approved. Then she looked up at the man questioningly. “If it is all right, Sharif?”
“I could deny you nothing. Farha,” he replied with a smile. “But do not expect him to answer when you call. You would have as much success summoning the wind itself.
“Hurry and help Wardha clean that mess, `Abla, if we are to go to the souk,” he urged.
Poised with a broom in her hand, the maid watched with approval as the man led Bryna to the garden to wait. If the sheik did not take her lady as wife, surely she would at least become his favorite concubine, she thought hopefully, bending to her task.
The saluki bounded in circles around them as the couple walked in the garden Bryna had come to love in the past few months. When they sat on the bench, the dog settled himself contentedly at her feet.
“Should you not sit in your majlis today, Sharif, instead of going with me to the market?” she asked. “Do not misunderstand me, my lord,” she added soothingly when his face clouded. “I love your company more than anyone’s, but you do not belong to me alone. Your people need their leader.”
“What you say is true. By Allah, you are as wise as you are beautiful.” he said, delighted by the perceptiveness that would make her a good wife to a sheik. “I will sit in the majlis this morning and take you to the souk in the afternoon.”
“
`Abla, Wardha, and I could go alone,” she suggested daringly.
“Farha...” He frowned disapprovingly.
“I have seen other women at the market, accompanied only by a servant.”
“Other women have not been stolen from the ones who love them.”
“That was in the desert, my sheik. What could happen in the city?”
“I don’t know, but let us not tempt fate,” he muttered uncharacteristically, and stalked back into the house.
Not long afterward Kedar was working at the edge of the stable yard when he saw Sharif accompany the females of his household to the litters that waited near the back door. The big slave’s sharp eyes immediately picked Bryna among the cloaked figures, and when she glanced his direction he beamed and bowed deeply, happy to see the kind lady with his just and fair master.
“That man there...do I know him?” she asked Sharif.
“You must have been kind to him. He is not one who forgets such things.”
“He looked for a moment as if he would speak to me, but he did not.” Her tone was disappointed.
“He cannot speak. He is a mute, Farha.”
“But he hears?” At his nod, she asked hopefully, “Is his name Smemi? I seem to remember that name.”
“No, his name is Kedar.”
“That is fitting. Was he always with your smala?’
“No, I bought him in—”
“In Kasr al Haroun,” Bryna finished for him with satisfaction, but then her triumphant smile faded. “I remember! Well, I remember the name. Now if only I could recall the place.”
“Perhaps you will someday,” Sharif said, nearly weak with relief that she had not.
“I know I will,” she said seriously. Then she laughed as she nearly tripped over the saluki. “No, Rih, you cannot go. Hold him, Sharif, or he will race us to the market.”
Kneeling beside the high-strung, whining dog, Sharif watched until the women’s litters disappeared around the corner, escorted by six men at arms. Already he wished he had not allowed Bryna to change his mind.
* * *
“Perhaps Sharif loves this woman,” Daoud bin Hatim suggested reasonably. He and ten or twelve other men were ranged on the divans of the sheik’s majlis, awaiting his arrival.
“By Allah, Daoud speaks of love.” One of the men snorted. “You have not been married long enough to know the sun does not rise and set in the harem, cousin.”
The young man’s face reddened, but before he could retort, his grandfather spoke. “We must remember she belonged to the sheik’s nephew and there is no one else to protect her. It is honorable that Sharif has taken the woman into his harem.”
“It would be honorable if the infidel had been Nassar’s wife, but she was his slave,” Mautlauq asserted vehemently. “She is an unmarried woman living in the harem of our chief.”
“Perhaps he will take her in marriage,” Daoud suggested.
“Perhaps he waits only for her health to return,” offered Sâlih.
“Or her memory,” said another tribesman.
“More likely she has bewitched him with her blue eyes,” Mautlauq grumbled, turning with a start when Sharif spoke from the doorway.
“I will admit I have spent much time recently away from my council, but I assure you I have not been bewitched.” The sheik strode into the room and positioned himself in front of his detractor, his arms crossed on his chest.
Mautlauq refused to meet his eyes, but he muttered piously, “It is not mine to say yea or nay if you take the kaffir for a concubine. Only God can determine right or wrong.”
“Yet you have judged that is wrong for this woman to dwell in my house, have you not? Would you have me cast her out into the streets?”
“Better that than to blacken our face,” the man answered with a challenging note in his voice.
“I tell you there is nothing about the lady Farha that would dishonor our tribe. Have you some proof of wrongdoing?” Sharif’s steely gaze caught Mautlauq’s and would not release it.
“Is it not enough she is a kaffir?” he mumbled.
“Is this what you think also, Abu Hatim? Or you, Ibn Mahdi?” Sharif’s gray eyes swept the bearded faces in the room.
For a long, uncomfortable moment there was silence, then a debate followed, long and loud. Taking the seat of honor, the sheik listened to what each of the elders had to contribute to the discussion, struggling to maintain self-control when Mautlauq derisively described his “fascination” with the foreign woman. If they had been simple Bedu in the desert, he might have killed Mautlauq, but Sharif was the chief of a mighty tribe and would lose face.
At last the sheik rose and began to pace, raising his hand for silence. “I have led you for twelve years, through good times and bad. We have spoken many times in council, and we have always been truthful one with each other. I will be truthful now. As soon as this woman makes her shahada, I intend, Insh’allah, to make her my wife. Whether you wish to keep me as your chief under these circumstances, only you can say. I leave it to you.”
Now that it was necessary to make a choice, the men seemed to feel no more need for debate. One by one they came forward to give their bay’ah to Sharif until only Mautlauq was left sitting. Grudgingly he too rose and offered his sword to his sheik, and a cheer rang out in the room. Sharif was still the leader of the Selim tribe.
“My lord”— Daoud leaned to speak confidentially in Sharif’s ear as the other men were leaving—”my wife would petition you if you will permit it.”
“Bring her tomorrow.”
* * *
“May your day be prosperous, my lord,” the veiled woman greeted him. She offered her hand, wrapped in her cloak, to shake.
“May your day be prosperous and blessed, Taman bint Sa’id,” Sharif returned the greeting. “Your husband has said you wish to ask me something.”
“Yes, my sheik, may I see Bryna bint Blaine? I have worried so about her,”
“You know she has lost her memory?” the man asked cautiously.
“`Abla told me,” Taman confirmed. “And she told me Bryna is happy in your home, except...”
“Except what?”
“Except perhaps she misses feminine companionship,” Taman blurted, trying not to notice his fierce scowl. “I like Bryna and I would like to be her friend still.”
Consideringly, Sharif began to pace. Perhaps if Bryna had a friend, a female friend, it would help chase away the sadness that still shadowed her eyes. When they were married, she must again be a part of the tribe, he reasoned. A sheik’s wife must not be isolated from the other women.
But Sharif did not want the girl to meet everyone at one time. The very thought terrified him. Who could say which face among many would jog her memory?
Those fleeting glimpses of her past seemed to cause Bryna such pain. He must spare her. Perhaps, beginning with Taman, the Selim relatives could be reintroduced to Bryna slowly. With time, those who still disapproved of the foreigner could be won over. With time, she would adapt and come to accept her new position in life.
“You may see her,” he told Taman, “but you must abide by my rules.”
“I agree,” she said with a nod when he had finished. “Bryna...Farha’s place is with us. I will say nothing to remind her of her life before she came to us.”
“Then I will summon Abu Ahmad to take you to the harem.”
Bryna was playing with Rih in the garden when the old servant appeared at the door.
“There is someone to see you, my lady Farha,” he announced respectfully. He had tried so hard to dislike her when she first came to the house in Riyadh, but the young mistress had won him over without even trying, as she had won everyone in Sharif’s city household.
“Someone to see me?” Bryna rose, mystified. She held the saluki to keep it from jumping on the new arrival when she stepped out into the garden.
“Farha?” the strange woman said tentatively, her pleasant face uncertain.
Bryna nodded hes
itantly.
“I see you are still spoiling the sheik’s dog,” she teased. “Don’t you remember me? I am Taman.”
“Taman?” Bryna’s face looked absorbed and withdrawn as she struggled to remember. Without realizing it, she released the saluki, who ran to sniff at the other woman’s feet.
“Taman bint Sa’id?” Bryna asked slowly as the name returned to her.
“That’s right,” her friend cried excitedly.
“Taman!” She leapt to her feet and ran to hug the other girl. “I remember picking wild thyme with you and—”
“And thaluk and thunma,” the other girl cut in, hoping they would not have to talk about that dreadful day at the shott.
“How is your family?”
“My father was killed in the raid on our camp,” Taman answered with reluctance.
“Lo! we are Allah’s, and lo! unto him we are returning,” Bryna said, pleased to have remembered the proper response.
“The rest of my family seem fine when I see them. I am married now,” Taman explained almost shyly.
“To Daoud bin Hatim?!” Bryna nearly wept for joy, uncertain whether it was for Taman’s happiness or for her as another name came back to her.
“Yes.” The bride blushed, as she had so many times in the past at the mention of his name.
“Now things are clearer to me.” Bryna sighed. ‘‘`Abla goes to visit your mother frequently now because Umm Sálih is lonely since her last child—you—has gone. I knew her name was familiar. I just could not put it together. When did you marry?”
“Not long after our return to Riyadh, while you were...ill.”
“I’m much better now,” Bryna said easily, “and I am so glad you are here.”
Delightedly the young women resumed their friendship. Learning that she had known Taman only a few months before the raid, Bryna asked mostly about their brief association but nothing of her earlier life. Taman answered each question carefully, remembering Sharif’s instructions. She was relieved that Bryna did not seem to remember Pamela or how she came to be a part of Sharif’s smala. Since `Abla had answered her questions regarding Nassar, the American girl seemed to assume she had belonged with the Selims.
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