A Wife for the Surgeon Sheikh

by Meredith Webber

  ‘So, I have explained and you may start,’ the leader said to them when he appeared from nowhere in front of them.

  Lauren unpacked the equipment box, setting alcohol wipes in front of each of them, the ice boxes of vaccines between them, and two sharps containers behind those. They had a jar of hand sanitiser each and a box of gloves, and, tucked down in a box she left between the two chairs, jars containing jelly beans to give the children.

  ‘At least we’ve had some practice at mass vaccination,’ she said to Malik as they began—the measles, mumps and rubella vaccine the first they gave to everyone.

  The young girls brought each patient forward and instructed them to roll up his or her sleeve, then, with the injection done, ushered the patient out through the open back of the shelter before writing in their notebooks.

  In the early afternoon the queues disappeared. There one minute and gone the next.

  ‘Lunch,’ the headman announced. ‘Come!’

  Once out of the shelter, Lauren realised how hot the day had become.

  ‘You will rest when you have eaten,’ the man commanded, and Lauren knew it was a good idea.

  ‘For an hour,’ Malik said. ‘No longer, for we wish to finish all the MMR vaccinations today. Tomorrow we will start on triple antigens for the babies and children, and for those to be effective we will need to return again and again.’

  ‘And tetanus?’ Lauren asked, ashamed she’d been so caught up in her longings for sexy lingerie she hadn’t thought to ask Malik the details of the inoculations they’d be doing.

  He smiled at her.

  ‘I did that many years ago—when I was still a student. A group of us, friends of mine, used it as a holiday placement. We had a four-wheel drive bus and set out along the nomadic tribes’ favoured routes. We had no hope of covering all the camps, but it’s a tradition that’s continued, and at each camp we would train a couple of people to give the injections and leave a small supply. Now they can replenish that supply when they are camped close to a town or city.’

  Lauren could only shake her head, imagining the young medical students on their trek across the wild, uninhabited plains.

  They rested in the main tent, on rugs piled on each other, made more comfortable by fat cushions. The two young women reclined by Lauren, who realised with an inward smile that Malik was ensconced on his throne of mats on the far side of the tent.

  He was speaking with the headman and Lauren sensed the talk, in their own language, was a serious one.

  The rest hour ended with cool drinks and sweet pastries, then it was back to work until the sun began to set, its red orb turning the desert into a field of flame.

  ‘There is a solar-powered freezer where the cool boxes can be stored,’ the headman told them. ‘And I have asked my driver to take you to the lodge. He will collect you in the morning.’

  He held up his hand to forestall Malik’s protest.

  ‘I know you know the way, but these days you are a city man—let me keep you safe.’

  He bowed quite deeply as he spoke and Lauren guessed Malik had spoken to him of his problems with the palace.

  If so, it was evident he had this man’s support—but would that count in palace circles? Was this man even a citizen of Madan, or were nomadic tribes stateless, governed by the rule of the tribe?

  * * *

  ‘We will sit in the back,’ Malik said, as he led Lauren to the big four-wheel drive vehicle. ‘To do otherwise would embarrass our driver.’

  He opened the door and took Lauren’s hand to help her up, felt the tremor in her fingers as he touched her, and his own nerves respond immediately.

  But what he’d planned would not be hurried. They were greeted at the lodge by the couple who lived there, looking after the place and also tracking the released leopards through small transmitters placed under the animals’ skin. In the main room, a large map took up most of the wall, and Malik led Lauren to it, explaining its purpose and showing her the paths the released animals followed.

  And as he watched her follow one track with a finger, her face showing her fascination in this, his pet project, he knew he loved her more deeply than he’d known he could love, and refused to consider there could be any other option than marrying her.

  Marla led her to the guest bedroom, and Malik smiled to himself as he imagined her reaction to the palatial space, with the huge, netting-shrouded bed and gleaming bathroom beside it.

  ‘You have all this out here in the desert?’

  He heard the disbelief in her voice and walked over to the doorway, Marla ducking out as he stood there.

  ‘My mother loved this place and, as you already know, she wasn’t one to stint on luxuries. With bores sunk deep into the desert for water and solar panels for power, this was my mother’s idea of camping.’

  ‘Are all the rooms like this?’ Lauren asked, then he saw colour rise to her cheeks, and he guessed she was wondering where he would sleep.

  ‘Not quite as luxurious and the beds are definitely not as comfortable,’ he said, stepping towards her and putting an arm around her shoulders to draw her close. ‘So perhaps we’ll have to share.’

  She shivered and he wondered just how inexperienced she probably was. Before Lily’s death there’d probably been boyfriends but the last four years, when she might have been learning more of the ways of men and women, had been stolen from her by her need to keep Nimr safe.

  He kissed her cheek, her nose, her forehead and finally her lips, which parted like a parched man’s seeking water. And through their tunics he felt the hard nubs of her breasts, and heard the tiny sigh she gave when his tongue touched hers.

  And for a moment his determination to make love to her slowly and sensually wavered and he pictured himself lifting her through the screens around the bed and—

  ‘I will leave you here to have a bath and rest before dinner,’ he said, easing her away from his body and dropping a parting kiss on her lips. ‘There is a deck out front, we can sit there to eat, so come through when you are ready.’

  By the time Lauren joined him on the deck, wearing the blue trousers and tunic that was Nim’s favourite, a nearly full moon was rising in the sky, turning the sands silver with its light.

  Malik was seated at a low table, and he stood, hand outheld, to help her to a chair, so they could sit together and look out at the magic of the desert at night, where flashes of shadow suggested small animals might be hunting in the cool air of the evening.

  The table was laden with silver platters, all with domed silver covers over them.

  ‘It’s like a game—lifting the covers to see what’s underneath,’ Lauren said, and Malik smiled at her, his eyes telling her things she longed to hear from his lips.

  Or maybe she was just carried away, and it was nothing more than moonlight glinting in his eyes...

  Until he touched her, just lightly on the shoulder, and said the words.

  ‘I love you!’

  But now the words she’d longed to hear sent her into a panic. What to do? What to say?

  And did he mean it?

  Was that question the reason why the words had thrown her so much? Shouldn’t she have been thrilled, excited, throwing herself into his arms and telling him she loved him too?

  She’d accepted some time ago that what she felt for him was love, but she’d never considered his care of her, his consideration, even the attraction between them might be signs of his love for her...

  Thoughts and words chased through her head and she shook it to clear it, but that didn’t help.

  Maybe he had guessed at her confusion that he said, ‘Let’s eat,’ and lifted one of the covers to show a mound of golden rice, speckled with currants and toasted almonds. He spooned some on a plate and then uncovered a meat dish—tantalisingly spicy—and added a spoonful of that.

  ‘You can help
yourself to anything you’d like with it,’ he said, as if the ‘I love you’ had never been said. ‘You will find preserves and pickles under the smaller covers.’

  * * *

  But Lauren was shaking too much to lift a single cover, shaking so much she used two hands to reach for the plate he’d served for her.

  ‘Relax,’ he said. ‘We will be all right—that I promise you.’

  And even though that little ‘if’ still hovered in the back of her mind, the words did help her relax, and she thanked him—for the words, the food, and for his love.

  She set the plate on the table in front of her, then leaned across to kiss him on the lips.

  ‘I love you too,’ she said. ‘And, yes, we’ll work it out.’

  Her own lie, really, that last part, for doubt about the outcome of their relationship was alive and well deep inside her, but for now she’d eat and love, and love and smile, and the love would leave her with happy memories, if nothing else...

  Well, probably a broken heart, but she wouldn’t think about that now, especially as he’d served himself some food but wasn’t eating. Instead he was running his finger up her arm, beneath the sleeve of her tunic, and she knew, had her arm been bare as it would have been at home, the feeling could not possibly have been as erotic as this delicate touch beneath her clothing.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MOONLIGHT FILLED THE room with its silvery magic, making Lauren’s skin lustrous as he slipped off her tunic and trousers, the silk material making soft noises as it slid across her skin.

  And as he’d promised, Malik took his time, wanting to see her, all of her—the gleaming skin, her pert breasts, a tiny waist and flaring hips.

  He touched her, just to feel that skin—feel the warmth of it as the desire he could read in her eyes heated her body.

  ‘My turn to strip you,’ she said, but her voice trembled just a little and he knew she was uncertain. So he took her hands and guided them, removing his long tunic and the cloth he wrapped around his hips, so she couldn’t help but see how ready for her he was.

  But he’d promised to go slowly—to tease and tantalise—and he began with kisses that started on her lips but soon slipped lower to her neck and then her breasts—one and then the other, feeling her tremble now, though the hands that held his head to her were fiercely strong.

  He lifted her to the bed and set her down, trailing his fingers now as well as his kisses up and down her body, her legs, her thighs, her belly button, lips kissing still, fingers teasing, touching, prying—opening her to further exploration as she twisted on the bed and uttered little cries that fired his own need even more.

  But only when she cried out for him to stop, to not stop, to stop the torment, did he enter her, taking her slowly and carefully, feeling her moist warmth tighten around him, her body in rhythm now with his, until they finally crested the wave of desire together, gasping, crying out, clinging to each other like the survivors of a shipwreck.

  He held her, wanting to stay like this for ever, their bodies bonded, their need satisfied for now.

  Turning her so she lay by his side, she nestled closer, murmuring his name, looking into his face with a kind of wonder. Then her dark-lashed eyelids drooped and closed and she slept, while he watched over her, and wondered what lay ahead for both of them.

  * * *

  By morning they were sated with love, sleepily holding, touching, stroking each other, reluctant to leave the cocoon of the canopied bed, although work was waiting for them.

  As was breakfast when, showered and fresh and slightly shy, Lauren made her way out onto the deck. There were baskets of fresh fruit, platters of cut melons, dishes of yoghurt spiced with nutmeg and sweetened with honey, and silver plates with their domed covers hiding spicy meat dishes and couscous or rice.

  She knew her way around the Madan breakfast feast by now, and stuck with the yoghurt and fruit, Malik joining her as she selected a ripe, red strawberry.

  He plucked it from her fingers.

  ‘Open wide!’

  And popped it in her mouth, so she tasted his skin with the sweet burst from the fruit.

  She looked up into his eyes and saw him smile—knew she was smiling too.

  * * *

  For three idyllic days they worked together at the camp, exploring in the late afternoons, hoping to catch sight of a leopard, happy just to be together, with the curtained bed waiting for them in the lodge.

  But that third night Malik was distracted, taking phone calls late into the night, collapsing into bed beside her, holding her tightly to him before turning on his side to sleep, lovemaking lost in his distraction.

  She turned towards his unyielding body in the bed they’d shared with such joy and slid her arms around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder.

  ‘Why can’t you talk about what’s worrying you?’ she whispered to him. ‘I probably can’t help but sometimes talking about a problem will make things clearer. Talk to me—try it?’

  Felt his shoulder move as he took in a breath and heard the sigh as it came out.

  ‘Through all our generations there has been a divide—’

  He stopped as if he had no idea how to continue.

  ‘Between men and women?’ Lauren guessed. ‘Between what was men’s business and what was women’s business?’

  She felt his nod and held him close, hoping she could find the right words.

  ‘But the old ways are already changing. You have spoken so passionately about bringing Madan into the twenty-first century.’

  ‘Over time,’ he said gruffly, but she could feel his body relaxing.

  ‘So talk to me. I’m already there—I’m a twenty-first-century woman. To me, you sharing your problems would be a gift—a sign of trust. And without trust, how can there be love?’

  He turned and took her in his arms.

  ‘It’s such a mess that I cannot get it straight in my own head, let alone explain to you or anyone else. I’ve told you the elders can make laws and right now they are discussing a law that would sabotage our marriage, which has already been delayed far too long. I know who is behind it—my uncle, spurred on by his wife.’

  ‘And you know this?’

  ‘I do, but what I cannot work out is why. If I knew that, I could probably sort it out, but it doesn’t make sense because I cannot connect it to Tariq’s death. Yet I know from information my informants have given me that the two must be connected.’

  Lauren wrapped her arms around him and warmed him with her body, her own head trying to make sense of things.

  ‘Are you sure Tariq was the target?’

  Malik pulled away from her as if to search her eyes for answers, although the moonlight would reveal little.

  ‘The police—your police—were certain the accident wasn’t set up to kill your parents. They looked into that quite deeply.’

  It was Lauren’s turn to sigh.

  ‘I know all about that part of it—he was the only heir and chief target—I fielded many hours of questions myself. But if it wasn’t Tariq or my parents, that only leaves Lily,’ she said. ‘Although why anyone would want to kill her, I cannot imagine.’

  ‘Lily!’

  He breathed the name, but his arms tightened around Lauren, clasping her to him so he could drop a quick kiss on her lips.

  Then he was gone, out of bed and out the door, back on his cell phone, his voice urgent, questioning—demanding?

  * * *

  They returned to the city in the morning, Nim and Najeeb welcoming her with cries of delight, both wanting stories about the nomadic tribe and their camp—and life returned to normal, although a new normal now.

  Aware that Malik had been neglecting things while they’d been away, she accepted that she wouldn’t see much of him, and their time was reduced to brief glimpses in hospital corridors, hurried con
sultations over a sick child.

  But even in these almost stolen moments she knew the bond of love was there between them, and now she understood a little more of the ways of this new country—understood the traditional places held by men and women in it. Now he’d spoken to her once about the problem, perhaps he would again, but if not, she wouldn’t pester him—wouldn’t force cultural change on him too suddenly. Loving him as she did, she was content to wait until the business that was troubling him had been resolved.

  He came early one evening to see Nim before he went to bed, and to walk with her among the roses.

  But his face was drawn with worry, his eyes deeply troubled, and though his hand touched hers as they walked, he didn’t take it, didn’t hold her and kiss her in the shadows of the colonnade.

  Instead, he pulled a small pocket knife from somewhere and cut some roses as they walked—white and yellow, pink and red, a huge bouquet of colour and perfume by the time they were back at the front steps.

  And there he handed them to her, his handkerchief wrapped around the stems to protect her hands from thorns.

  ‘I caught the scent of roses in your hair that first day we met,’ he said, so serious Lauren felt a quiver of fear in her heart. ‘Now, for ever, you’ll be tied to me through roses—roses and love.’

  He took her free hand, lifted it and kissed her fingers, then departed, the quiver in her heart now a shard of ice, for his words had sounded like goodbye...

  * * *

  Malik walked away, aware he should have spoken—trusted her to understand. But how could he tell her that the information was pointing more and more to a member of his family—his uncle’s wife—being behind the deaths of her family? And the abduction of the child she loved?

  How could she, knowing this, hold him in her arms again, make love with him again?

  Although not telling her was surely worse.

  He shook his head. As yet it was merely suspicion and there was still the vote to be faced, one way or another.