Engaged to the Doctor Sheikh

by Meredith Webber

  ‘But Fahad did?’

  Tariq nodded.

  ‘Fahad did. As I said, my father sent him to study in America, and from there somehow it was discovered he’d had a holiday in Brazil, then someone had had contact with him in Paris, and his family always swore he’d gone back to the States. But within a year the trail went cold, and the investigators’ reports were more padding than information. He had disappeared.’

  ‘But if he left first—left legally with a good excuse for going—then he would have had nothing to do with the theft.’

  She sounded despondent, as if she’d have preferred that at the very least her parents had shared the blame.

  Or did having two parents who were thieves make her feel worse?

  He looked at the woman by his side, and read both excitement and weariness in her face, but the weariness was winning.

  ‘Come,’ he said gently, ‘I will walk you to your bedroom. There will be time enough tomorrow to talk of these things. We might even find some photos—at least of Fahad—for I’m certain Second Mother would have destroyed all the photos of Nalini.’

  He stood up and took Lila’s hand, her fingers fitting perfectly into his palm, his hand wanting to hold her for ever.

  But now the Fahad business had been raised, he knew she’d want answers.

  Could he give them?

  He doubted it!

  Just because Lila had vague memories of her mother calling her father leopard, did that make the Fahad connection true?

  Tariq tried to think, to remember exactly how the events had transpired. First Fared leaving, then, months later he was sure, Nalini.

  Lila was silent as they walked back through the apartment to her rooms, but she’d be tired, and on top of that had much to think about.

  So he was surprised when she stopped outside her door and turned towards him, rising up on her toes to kiss him lightly on the lips.

  ‘Thank you for all you’ve done for me today, and thank you, too, for maybe finding my father.’

  He put his arms around her, not wanting to let her go.

  In fact, what he really wanted to do was throw her over his shoulder and take her into his room next door, there to ravish her until they were both exhausted.

  Wouldn’t his barbarian ancestors—and hers possibly—have acted that way?

  Not if their heads really had always ruled their hearts.

  And having grown up believing in his father’s dictum, could he change it now?

  He returned her kiss, his own a little more insistent, less polite than inviting, caught a sigh from her, faint as a whisper, then she eased away and disappeared through her door.

  Into a room that had a connecting door to his!

  Did she know that?

  CHAPTER TEN

  LILA SLIPPED INTO her bedroom, only too aware that the door in the side wall of her bedroom must lead into Tariq’s room.

  The urge to use that door, to slip through it so she could be held in the safety of his arms, was almost overwhelming.

  And, after all, she now knew who she was—or was fairly certain of it.

  So why hold back?

  You can still leave him if the worst were to happen and Khalil were to die, keep that part of the agreement; she just had to explain that she had not wanted to be with someone until she’d discovered who she was.

  Surely he would understand that...

  But explaining that would be the easy part. Admitting to being a virgin would be totally humiliating. Yes, Karuban men apparently valued virgin brides, but those brides would all be far younger than her, many of them still in their teens.

  And what did she know?

  What would she do?

  Knowledge of physiology and biology was all well and good, but the actual act of sex? And worse still would be how to please him—who told you things like that? Hallie certainly hadn’t, although her sex talks had been clear, open and understandable, but as far as Lila could recall, pleasuring your husband hadn’t been a topic.

  And she’d like to pleasure Tariq...

  Feeling saddened and not a little forlorn with her thoughts, she determinedly threw them off. You’re the one who put the embargo on sex in this marriage, so live with it. Head not heart, remember.

  But it had definitely been her head that had added the proviso, mainly because her heart was already lost to the man who was now her husband.

  Her head had been very firm about the fact that it would be so much harder to leave him if they’d been intimate than it would if they remained nothing more than friends.

  She peeled off her clothes, wondering as she did so if Tariq was mirroring her movements right next door. She pictured him, broad chested, slabs of muscle beneath pale olive skin, reaching down to peel off his...

  She still didn’t know what he wore under his gown but he’d been in chinos tonight so he’d be peeling off either jockeys or boxers, revealing—

  Knees suddenly weak, she sat down on the bed and held her head in her hands, unable to believe she’d been thinking such carnal thoughts about her husband.

  About anyone, for that matter...

  But not even the icy blast of water she tortured her body with at the end of the shower could wipe away the images in her mind, and she went to bed, still picturing the man, but now in bed with her, holding her close, whispering things his head probably wouldn’t let him.

  Sleep came eventually, but she woke unrefreshed, and when Tariq joined her for breakfast in the arbour, he looked little better.

  ‘Why don’t you stay at home today?’ he said. ‘I can send someone over with the injection, and to take the blood for testing to see if the stem cell levels are high enough.’

  Lila shook her head.

  ‘No, I’d like to finish the report, and the short clinic trip should be back this afternoon so I’ll need to talk to Rani and Sybilla about how it went. I feel I’m letting down the side, lolling around the hospital while the team is out working.’

  ‘You are doing something far more important for my family and the country,’ Tariq told her in a no-nonsense voice, his head firmly in control. ‘And tomorrow, providing the test results are good, they will take your blood, after which you will have a proper rest, a few days off to recover because for all your casual attitude to what you are doing, it will take a toll on your body.’

  Lila was about to ridicule this idea, insisting it had been nothing, until she remembered the pink sand.

  If Khalil died, she would be leaving Karuba and she didn’t want to leave without at least seeing the sand her mother had so treasured.

  ‘Could we go to the pink sand?’ she asked.

  ‘The pink sand?’

  Was Tariq really so surprised?

  ‘You said you’d take me,’ she reminded him.

  And he smiled.

  ‘Of course we can go to the pink sand. It would be an ideal place for you to rest and relax.’

  ‘You can get away?’

  He smiled now.

  ‘I’m the boss, I can get away anytime.’

  She returned his smile, although she doubted he took much time off at all—boss or not. She might not have known him long, but knew his dedication was to the hospital and the health and welfare of his people.

  * * *

  A day later, with the blood tests showing her blood was ready to harvest, Lila was taken to a special room, where she had cannulas inserted into each arm, then wrapped in tape and bandages to keep them secure. A line from one led to the machine, which then fed her blood, minus the stem cells, back into her body.

  Tariq stalked the passage outside the room, knowing he had no part in this but feeling helpless because of that.

  To his surprise, his mother appeared, looking as regal a
s ever.

  ‘Is Lila all right?’ was her first question.

  ‘As far as I know,’ he growled in reply.

  ‘Then why do you not sit with her? After all, how boring it must be to sit there for, what—five hours, I believe—with no one to talk to.’

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to me,’ Tariq grumbled, and his mother smiled.

  ‘Then you must talk to her, and if she is well enough, tell her I would like the pair of you to come to dinner tonight. I know it’s not the custom for newlyweds to do much visiting in the first month of their marriage, but I need to talk to you both.’

  And on that note, his mother disappeared.

  But she’d left him heartened, even emboldened. Lila was his wife, why shouldn’t he sit with her?

  He entered the room and she smiled as if pleased to see him—or perhaps just pleased to have her boredom relieved...

  ‘I’ve come to sit with you,’ he announced, pulling a chair over so they both had chairs.

  He took her hand, what was left of it under the swathed bandages.

  ‘After all, you’re doing this for the family, and what’s more, I am your husband.’

  Lila laughed, a light, amused sound.

  ‘Seems a strange time to be undertaking husbandly duties,’ she teased. ‘Though I must admit I was bored and it’s good to have some company other than a pretty, young male nurse who pops in every now and then to make sure I haven’t absconded.’

  ‘Would you like to?’ Tariq asked, squeezing her cold fingers in his warm hand.

  ‘Oh, no, I’m happy to be doing this. I know it may not work, but I’d never have forgiven myself if I hadn’t tried.’

  ‘But you barely know us. You don’t know Khalil at all,’ he protested.

  ‘But he’s family,’ Lila said simply. ‘Not that I wouldn’t be happy to give stem cells to a stranger, but when it’s family it’s special, don’t you think?’

  ‘More than special,’ Tariq answered, and Lila wondered if they were still talking about the stem cells.

  But the conversation soon became general. Lila, with her insatiable need to know everything she could about Karuba, asked questions and Tariq answered, expanding on some things, explaining others.

  It made the time pass quickly, so Lila was surprised when Professor Eckert came in to declare himself satisfied with his collection, and to arrange for Lila to be released from the restraints of the cannulas and bandages.

  Tariq drove her home, instructing her to rest.

  ‘My mother has invited us for dinner,’ he said. ‘She wishes to speak to us, but if you feel too tired, I can call it off—make it another day.’

  Lila was tempted, but getting to know First Mother better was getting to better understand Karuba, and now she knew who her parents were, she longed to know more about their country.

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ she told him. ‘What time?’

  ‘I’ll tap on your door a little before eight,’ Tariq replied. ‘We’ll be dining in the small dining room, but it’s a jewel of a room if architecture and antiques interest you.’

  She nodded, hoping he’d take the gesture as interest in such things, when all she was really interested in was the man who stood beside her at the door.

  Perhaps making love to him would clear the restlessness she now felt constantly when she was in his presence.

  Then leaving would be easier, not harder...

  But she doubted that was true, so she said goodbye and shut the door, certain she wouldn’t sleep. So she was surprised when Sousa woke her a little after seven.

  ‘Come,’ her friend said, ‘You will be late and First Mother hates lateness. You should wear that emerald tunic we bought in the shops at the hotel. The trousers were too long for you, but I have taken up the waist so none of the pattern was lost. The colour is ravishing against your skin, perhaps the best colour of all.’

  Was Sousa saying this to make her feel better?

  The sleep had left her mind fogged and muzzy, but the shower should clear it. In the end she stood under the hot spray for so long she had to hurry to be ready for Tariq’s knock.

  Which came, as she’d expected it to, at exactly one minute to eight.

  ‘Very glamorous!’ he said, as he took in her appearance.

  Lila waved away the compliment, although inwardly it pleased her.

  ‘It’s all Sousa’s doing. She tells me what to wear and when to wear it and I just go along with it.’

  ‘No, it is the beauty of the person within the clothes that makes them special.’

  Startled by the compliment, Lila looked up into his eyes, seeking something—truth?

  ‘I mean it,’ he said quietly. ‘I may not have known you long, but I do know you are beautiful, inside and out. As your mother was...’

  She wanted to protest, But my mother was a thief who risked another man’s life to get what she wanted, but deep within she knew his words were true, that her mother had been a beautiful person, inside and out.

  ‘So why? How?’ she said instead, the pleasure of his compliment now dimmed by the past.

  He clasped his arms loosely around her and drew her towards him—close but not touching.

  ‘We do not know, and may never know—can you live with that?’

  Lila thought about it for a moment, then nodded slowly.

  ‘Yes, I believe I can, for my memories of her are of a warm, loving, vibrant, laughing being. I will never let the stories taint that.’

  ‘Because you won’t be here to hear them?’

  His voice was very serious, dark somehow?

  ‘Not if Khalil dies,’ she said softly. ‘You know as well as I do—better even—that the stories would undermine anything good you wished to do, and diminish your achievements.’

  The words were a little shaky, for standing like this, so close to the man she loved, the surge of desire, to have him in her arms, to have him take her as his own, was almost overwhelming.

  ‘We will be late,’ she whispered, and wondered if he felt it too, for his hold on her tightened before he sighed and she was able to move away.

  * * *

  Tariq watched as Lila gazed around the room his mother called the small dining room. True, the table would seat only twelve but it was a French antique and shone with years of polish. A large chandelier, another of his mother’s purchases from France, hung above it, while the walls were draped with tapestries, the floor covered with rich Persian carpets.

  His mother welcomed them and drew them to the small area at one end of the room where guests could mingle or sit quietly and have a drink before dinner.

  ‘You will have juice,’ First Mother said to Lila as she led her forward, and Tariq, seeing his mother in full regal mode, knew something was afoot.

  Poor Lila must be wondering what had happened, for his mother had been pleasant, and quite human, at their other brief meetings.

  The initial chat was general, and, although he could see Lila’s fingers trembling on the delicate crystal glass, she held her own, answering politely when questioned, listening politely when being...instructed...

  Then First Mother rose.

  ‘We will talk as we eat,’ she declared, and as if by magic servants appeared with food, spreading it out at one end of the table then slipping away on silent feet.

  ‘You, Lila, will sit here beside me,’ their hostess said, ‘and, Tariq, you will take the other side. I wish to speak with you both, but do not want staff present. Please help yourselves to what you want and enjoy the meal.’

  It was an unmistakeable order, however quietly spoken, and they both obeyed, Tariq offering dishes first to his mother and then to Lila.

  But although the food was delicious, the main dish tender chicken in a honey and raisin sauce,
with couscous to absorb the gravy, and tiny vegetables—eggplant, tomatoes and peppers—to complement the dish, he ate little.

  Lila was more valiant, tasting everything, complimenting his mother on how delicious it was, stopping only when his mother put down her fork.

  ‘I wish to talk to you of love,’ she announced, startling Tariq, and Lila too, from the look of bemusement on her face. ‘When two hearts love it is a truly wonderful thing, and I have lived long enough to believe that it is also very rare.’

  They both stared at her in silence, until Lila found her voice.

  ‘You are talking about two particular hearts?’ she asked, and First Mother nodded.

  ‘I am, child. I am talking about two young people who fell in love many years ago. I was sad at the time, for I had realised the love I felt for my husband wasn’t returned, but seeing the young couple, seeing the light in their eyes, the joy of their smiles, the careful attempts to not show how they felt about each other, that brought me a little happiness, because it confirmed for me that the heart could rule the head in terms of love.’

  It dawned slowly on Lila, and even then she wondered if she should ask the question.

  But this was why she’d come to Karuba. She had to set aside the pain in her own heart that knew its love was not returned.

  ‘Was it my parents? Was it their love you saw?’

  The regal head nodded.

  ‘But it was impossible, you see. Fahad was to be married to someone else, and my husband was already looking for a bridegroom for your mother. He was also writing “The Head Must Rule the Heart” all over the palace walls to punish me for wanting love from him, heart love, so I knew how dangerous their love was.’

  Lila was wondering just how hard this must have been for her parents when Tariq asked his mother, ‘But if it was obvious to you, how did no one else see it?’

  First Mother smiled sadly.

  ‘No one else was hurting the way I was. You must realise I was hurting for love at that time, so I was attuned to it.’

  She paused, then added very quietly, ‘As I still am, for still I love my husband and long for his heart to be mine.’