Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife

by Barbara McMahon

  “I can be reached by phone if there is an emergency. The staff is capable of handling things. Shall we explore the town after lunch?”

  “I would love to.”

  When they started out, Rashid insisted on buying her a wide-brimmed hat to shelter her head from the sun.

  “You aren’t wearing one,” she said as they left the gift shop.

  “I’m used to the sun. Your skin is much fairer than mine and I don’t want it burned.”

  She smiled, feeling cherished. No one had looked out for her in a long, long time.

  They walked around the square, looking into the shops, but when asked if she wanted to enter any, she declined. She wanted to see as much of the town as she could. The old buildings had ornate decorative carvings and bas-reliefs that intrigued her. The cobblestone streets showed wear but were still functioning centuries after they’d first been laid down.

  “Tell me about this place. It’s old, feels steeped in history. Is it a true representation of old Quishari?”

  Rashid gave her a brief history of the town, telling her it had been on the trade routes, a favorite resting place because of the plentiful water.

  As the afternoon grew warmer, she could feel heat radiating from the walls as they passed. Turning a corner and exploring some of the side streets put them in line with the breeze and it was pleasant.

  “The air feels drier than the coast,” she commented.

  “Quite. There’s a danger of dehydration. We’ll stop soon and have something to drink.”

  Stopping after three o’clock for cold drinks at a small sidewalk café, she was glad the tables had umbrellas. Even with the hat, she was hot beneath the sun. Yet she relished the sights. She loved the sense of timelessness. This town had been here for a thousand years and would likely be around another thousand. If only the walls could talk.

  “Will we be able to walk out on the desert a little?” she asked.

  “We can ask the driver to take us as far out as you wish to go.”

  “Just enough to get the feel for it. It’s amazing to me anyone can live in the desert.”

  “The old tribes knew the water spots which were crucial for survival. Caravans and nomads once roamed known trails. Now the routes are known to fewer and fewer people.”

  When they returned to the hotel, Rashid summoned the same cab. He spoke with the driver and before she knew it, she was sitting in the backseat with Rashid as the man drove crazily toward the west.

  “So we ditch the town and take off,” she murmured, feeling the delightful cool air from the air conditioner.

  “For a while. It’s best to see the desert with those interested, not those who wish they were elsewhere.”

  She laughed and settled down to enjoy the drive. To the right were rows of oil wells, the steady rising and fall of the pumpjacks timeless.

  “I’ve seen those pumps in California,” she commented. “In one place they are even painted to look like whimsical animals,” she said, watching the monotonous up-and-down action of the machines.

  “These kind of pumps are used all over the world. I had not thought about decorating them. They’re functional, that’s all.”

  “Is this an oil field that belongs to your company?”

  “It is.”

  “Do you come here often?”

  “No. Only once before, actually.” He was silent for a moment, then said softly, “It was my father’s special project. The wells don’t produce as much as in other areas, but he insisted on keeping the field going, and on checking on it himself. I came with him once. It held special attraction for him, not so much for me. As long as there are no problems, I don’t need to visit. Khalid comes occasionally.”

  “Must be nice for the local economy.”

  “One reason my father kept it going, I think. The discovery of oil helped revive the town and he felt an obligation to keep it going.”

  “And you do as well.”

  He shrugged. “I try. My father was a great man. I’m doing my best to do what I think would make him proud.”

  “Keep an open mind about mine,” she said.

  He looked at her, eyes narrowed. “What further is there to discuss?”

  “We don’t know what happened. But I know my father. And he was an honorable man. He would not have stolen your father’s plane.”

  “My father was also an honorable man. The betrayal of his pilot and the disappearance of the plane caused such stress and anxiety he suffered a heart attack, which killed him. It isn’t only the betrayal but the end result I find abhorrent.”

  Bethanne stared out across the desert as if she could search around and find a clue as to what happened to her father. She had only her belief in her dad to sustain her. “I have faith in my father just as you do in yours,” she said slowly.

  “It is not something we are going to agree on,” he said.

  “Tell me about being a twin,” she said, turning to look at Rashid. It was a definite change of subject, but she wanted the afternoon to be special—not have them at odds because of the past. “I don’t even have a sibling, much less a twin. It is true, you’re so close you can read each other’s mind?”

  “Hardly. I can sense things when we are together—like if he’s angry and hiding it. But we are two individuals. Growing up was fun. We delighted in playing tricks on our parents and tutors, switching identities, that sort of thing.”

  “Tell me,” she invited.

  He spoke of when he and Khalid were boys, visits to the villa to see their grandmother, trips to Europe and other countries around the Mediterranean Sea.

  To Bethanne, it sounded glorious. So different from her childhood in Texas. She laughed at some of the antics he described, and felt a bit of sadness for their homesickness when sent to school in England for eight years when Rashid told her how much they’d missed their country.

  When he spoke to the driver, he stopped. Rashid looked at Bethanne. “When we get out, look in all directions. Nothing but desert.”

  She did so, stepping away from the car, seeking all she could from her senses. The air was dry, hot. The breeze was soft against her skin, carrying the scent of plants she didn’t know. In the distance the land shimmered in heat waves, and she thought she saw water.

  “A mirage,” she breathed softly.

  “There?” Rashid stood next to her at the rear of the cab, bending down so his head was next to hers so he could see what she saw. He pointed to the distant image and she nodded. “It does look like water, but we would never find it.”

  “I know. I have only seen one other mirage. This is fascinating. And quiet. If we don’t speak, I think I can hear my heartbeat in the silence.”

  He didn’t reply and for several long moments Bethanne absorbed everything, from the awesome, stark beauty of the desert to the heat from Rashid’s body next to hers, his scent mingling with that on the wind. She never wanted to forget this special moment.

  Turning, she was surprised how close he stood. “Thank you for bringing me,” she said.

  To her surprise, he put his palm beneath her chin and raised her face to his. “You constantly surprise me,” he said before kissing her.

  His lips were warm against hers, moving slowly as if savoring the touch. He pressed for a response and Bethanne gave it to him, sighing softly and stepping closer. His lips opened hers and his tongue teased her. She responded with her own and was drowned in sensation. Forgotten was the world; she was wrapped up in emotions and feelings and the exquisite touch of his mouth against hers. Only the wind was witness, only the sand reflected the heat of passion.

  All too soon he ended the kiss and gazed down at her as she slowly opened her eyes. His dark gaze mesmerized. Her heart pounded, her blood sang through her body. If she could capture only one moment of her entire life to never forget, it would be this one.

  “We should head back,” he said.

  The spell shattered. She stepped back and turned, trying to regain her composure so he would nev
er know how much the kiss meant.

  “I’m ready. Thank you for bringing me here. It is a special spot.” And would forever remain so.

  The drive back to Quraim Wadi Samil was silent. Bethanne hugged the sensation of his kiss to herself as the desert scenery whizzed by. Before long the roof lines of the buildings could be seen. They drew closer by the moment. As she and Rashid drew further apart. It had been a whim, an alignment of circumstances—the scare in the plane, the worry about the pilot, being away from home. It meant nothing beyond they were glad to be alive.

  She wished it had meant something.

  Dinner that evening was again on the terrace of the small hotel. Fatima joined them and the sheikh kept the conversation neutral, translating back and forth between the two women. Bethanne wasn’t sure if she were glad Fatima was present or not. It kept things on an even keel, preventing her from reading more into the afternoon’s outing than warranted. But it also meant she had to share the precious time with Rashid. And of course the topic of conversation remained focused on Alexes. The doctor had been cautiously optimistic.

  Rashid had obtained the report upon their return to the hotel. It looked as if it was a small stroke.

  “But he’ll fully recover?” Bethanne asked when Rashid told Fatima.

  “That’s what the tests are assessing. I hope so. But I don’t know if he’ll ever fly again.”

  Bethanne nodded. “Or at least not as a solo pilot,” she said. “If he were copilot, there’d be someone else in case of another emergency.” Her heart hurt for the man. Flying was a way of life; how sad if it ended prematurely.

  Rashid nodded. “However, I do not want my family or employees put in any danger if unnecessary. Alexes has served us well for many years. He will not be abandoned.”

  Sending up a quick prayer for his recovery, Bethanne asked if he would be released before they returned to Alkaahdar.

  “Unlikely. We will return in the morning. He’ll need care for several days.”

  Fatima spoke.

  “She wonders when she will return home,” Rashid said to Bethanne.

  “She doesn’t need to stay on my account,” she replied.

  “I believe my mother is more comfortable with her as your chaperone. Otherwise, you might have to stay with my mother.”

  Bethanne stared at him in dismay. “You can’t be serious.”

  “If we are to continue the pretense, we need to be authentic. I would not have a woman in a home I owned without a proper chaperone—not if I were serious about making her my wife.”

  “That’s totally old-fashioned.”

  “We are an old culture. We have certain standards and procedures that have served us well for generations. One is the sacredness of the marriage bond. And the high standards we hold for women we make our wives.”

  “So you might have a fling with someone in another country, but once in your own, it’s old-world values all the way?”

  He nodded, amusement showing at her indignation.

  “I protect whom I’m interested in. There would be no gossip or scandal. The full authority of the al Harum family would be behind the woman I showed interest in—as it would for Khalid’s chosen bride.”

  “Is he also getting married?”

  “Not that I know of. He’s not the older son.”

  Bethanne thought it over for a moment. In an odd way, it was interesting. Old-fashioned and a bit chauvinistic, but romantic at the same time. A woman who truly caught Rashid al Harum’s interest and affection would be cherished, cosseted and treated like royalty at every turn.

  Lucky girl!

  The next morning Bethanne piloted the plane back to Alkaahdar. Rashid sat in the copilot’s seat. Alexes had been declared out of danger, but the doctor in charge wanted him to remain a bit longer for observation to assess his reaction to medications. He would be transported home in another company plane in a few days’ time.

  As she flew back, Bethanne was lost in thought as she studied the landscape, so different viewed from the air than on the ground. There were endless miles of sand beneath them, no signs of life. Yet she’d felt the vibrancy of the desert when they’d stopped yesterday.

  In a short time she saw the high-rises of the city on the horizon.

  “I can’t imagine living down there without the modern conveniences,” she said.

  “My brother likes the challenge. He goes to the desert a lot. I’m like you. I prefer modern conveniences—especially air-conditioning.”

  “Funny that twins would be so different.”

  “More a difference in circumstances. When Khalid was burned so badly, he withdrew. I know the woman he thought to marry was horrified and did not stand by him. I thought he was better out of that arrangement, but it was still a bitter pill to swallow. It was after that he began seeking solitude in the desert.”

  “Can’t the burned skin be fixed with plastic surgery?”

  “He had some operations, decided against any more. He says he’s satisfied.”

  Bethanne knew even with the badly burned slash of skin, Khalid was as dynamic and appealing as his brother. “Too bad.”

  “It could have been worse. He could have died.”

  Once they landed at the airport, the familiar limousine slid into place near the plane.

  “I have work to do. Teaz will take you to the villa. I’ll see you for dinner around seven?” Rashid said.

  “I’ll look forward to it,” she said, disappointed they wouldn’t spend this day together. “I’ll double-check things on the plane before leaving.”

  Since Rashid would be tied up until later, she’d revisit the café in the square near where her father once lived to see if his friend had shown up. The longer she was around Rashid, the more she wanted to clear her father’s name. It grew in importance as her feelings for the sheikh grew.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SATURDAY Bethanne rose early. Today was the polo match, followed by a dinner dance in the evening. She hoped the dress she’d brought for the actual match was suitable. The light blue cotton had appealed to her the moment she’d first seen it. It was slightly more casual than the dresses Rashid had bought. Suitable for outdoors and easily cleaned if something spilled on it. She hoped she’d chosen well. The sparkle in her eyes and the blush of color on her cheeks showed how excited she was with the excursion.

  The maid knocked on the door before nine and told her Rashid was waiting.

  Grabbing her small purse and the wide-brimmed hat Rashid has bought in Quraim Wadi Samil, she hurried down to greet him.

  He was waiting in the foyer, dressed in jodhpurs and a white shirt opened at the collar. He watched as she ran lightly down the stairs while she could hardly take her eyes off him. He looked fabulous.

  “I’m ready,” she said as she stepped onto the tile floor.

  “A good trait in a woman, always being on time.”

  “Comes from pilot training, I expect,” she said as they went outside.

  A small sports car stood where the limousine normally parked.

  “I will drive,” Rashid said, escorting her to the passenger’s side.

  Bethanne loved riding in a convertible—especially beside Rashid.

  Within twenty minutes, they had reached the polo field. The bustle of activity reminded Bethanne of horse races in Texas. Lots of people walking around, studying horses, reviewing printed programs, laughing and talking. Clothing varied from designer originals to the jodhpurs and white shirts that Rashid wore. Once in a while she spotted a man in more traditional robes, but for the most part she could be in England or France, or Texas.

  Rashid parked near a stable and Bethanne went with him to one of the stalls where a groom already had a beautiful Arabian saddled.

  “This is Morning Star,” Rashid said with affection, patting the arched neck of the horse. His glossy chestnut coat gleamed. His mane and tail had been brushed until they looked silky soft.

  “He’s beautiful,” she said, reaching out to pet him a
s well.

  “He is one of four I have. Come, we’ll look at the rest, all great animals. But Morning Star is the one I ride most often.”

  Bethanne loved the entire atmosphere of the event. She was introduced to other players. She petted a dozen or more beautiful horses. She watched as the grooms prepared horses for the event.

  Khalid was also riding and they visited him shortly before Rashid escorted her to the viewing stands. His welcome wasn’t exactly warm, but better than his mother’s was likely to be, Bethanne thought.

  “My mother is already in the royal box,” Rashid said as they began to climb the stairs.

  Bethanne’s heart dropped. She had not known she’d be spending time with Madame al Harum. It was enough to put a damper on her enthusiasm. Still, with any luck, the woman would be so busy rooting for her sons, she would ignore the unwelcomed woman her one son was entertaining.

  There were several guests in the al Harum box, and Rashid made sure everyone was introduced to Bethanne before he left.

  “See you later,” he said, with a special caress on her cheek.

  She played the part of adoring girlfriend and told him to win for her.

  Smiling at the others, she took a seat left for her on the front row and focused on the playing field and not the chatter around her. Not that she could understand it. Just before the match began, Madame al Harum sat in the seat next to her.

  The game was exciting and Bethanne was glad Rashid had gone over the main points so she had a glimmer of an idea how it was played. Often she saw a blur of horses and riders when the players vied for the ball. Other times Rashid would break free and hit the ball down the field. Or Khalid. His horse was a dark bay. That wasn’t the only way she could tell the men apart, but it helped. She seemed tuned in to Rashid and kept her eyes on him for most of the game.

  When the match ended, Rashid’s team had won by two points. The people in the box cheered and Bethanne joined right in.

  “Come, we will meet them for celebration, then return home to change for tonight’s fete,” Madame al Harum said, touching Bethanne on the shoulder. The older woman walked proudly to the area where the winners were celebrating.