Engaged to the Doctor Sheikh

by Meredith Webber

  They sat in silence for a while, Lila wanting reach out to the older woman, to show her sympathy, which she was pretty sure would be rejected. First Mother was nothing if not strong.

  ‘So I helped them,’ she said at last.

  Lost in other dreams of love—her heart’s love—it took Lila a moment to realise First Mother had spoken again.

  ‘You helped them?’ Tariq echoed.

  First Mother reached out and touched the Ta’wiz that hung around Lila’s neck.

  ‘That was mine, you see, but while it would always remind them of home it wasn’t enough. I knew my husband would hire people to find them so they would need money to disappear successfully, to get false documentation, to travel to different places to cover their tracks. My husband made it easy by sending Fahad to America to study, then Nalini only had to wait until enough time had passed that her disappearance wouldn’t be connected to him. He wrote to her every day, in letters addressed to me, and I think she wrote back just as often.’

  ‘But the jewellery?’ Lila asked, hoping at last to find out exactly what had happened. ‘How did she get that?’

  For a long moment she thought First Mother wasn’t going to answer, but when she did, it was to surprise them both.

  ‘I got it for her,’ she said. ‘As you now know, I was suffering one-sided love, but there was someone else who also suffered. The Keeper of the Treasury was my husband’s youngest brother, and he had loved me for a long time. He knew I was unhappy, so when I asked him for a favour, for him to bring some jewels to me, he thought I was escaping myself and did it, although he knew he would be punished.’

  ‘Didn’t that bother you, him being punished? Lila asked, while her heart gave a little skip of joy that her mother had been exonerated.

  ‘I knew he’d be banished, and in truth I thought that would be good for him. To get away from me, you see, because one-sided love, as I’d found out, is not only painful but it is dangerous. He has done well and I think found happiness. At least he married and had children and now grandchildren.’

  ‘But this is a secret you’ve kept for so long, why reveal it now?’ Tariq asked, and his mother smiled at him.

  ‘Because your wife, Nalini’s daughter, shouldn’t be tainted by something in the past, something for which Nalini was completely blameless.’

  ‘So you will tell my father?’ Tariq asked, and the regal head nodded once again.

  ‘And his other wife, who must be stopped from telling stories and spreading gossip about a woman who did no wrong.’

  Her mother, and she would be exonerated! Lila could only shake her head, excitement stirring in the pit of her stomach at the thought that she no longer needed the proviso of leaving him should Khalil die.

  She could be his wife in every way.

  If he wanted her...

  But that thought failed to dampen her imagination as she pictured what might lie ahead.

  Tariq’s kisses, Tariq’s hands on her body, Tariq—

  Oh!

  How embarrassing, but she’d have to...

  She’d have to tell him!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THEY WALKED OUT through the rose arbour, side by side, close but not touching. Tariq looked at the words written on the walls, and forced his head to rule his heart, although it caused him physical pain.

  ‘So now you know both parents, your mother’s been exonerated, and you have given Khalil your stem cells, I would not keep you here if you wished to go.’

  ‘Go?’ It was little more than a sigh in the night air, but the next words were stronger, even incredulous. ‘You want me to go?’

  He took her hand.

  ‘There is nothing I want less,’ he whispered, and realised his heart had won the battle.

  Now he led her to the labyrinth, something he’d always thought of as a fancy hedge of no particular meaning, walking with her down the winding paths until they reached the middle.

  There he turned to her, and saw her face, gilded by the moonlight, a slightly puzzled frown marring the smoothness of her forehead.

  ‘This is the centre of the labyrinth so I can make a wish?’ he asked, resting his hand against her cheek, unable to not touch her but fearing where anything more intimate could lead.

  ‘Yes, but you don’t tell wishes,’ she said, looking steadily into his eyes.

  Trying to tell him something?

  ‘I’m sure you can when they’ve been granted,’ he said, and she smiled.

  ‘Okay,’ she admitted, ‘I wished with all my heart that I’d find out who my parents were.’

  ‘And that’s come true, which proves to me that what I wish for now might also come true.’

  Her frown deepened.

  ‘What do you have to wish for?’ she said. ‘You know your family, you have all this...’ She waved her hand around. ‘What more could you possibly want?’

  ‘Love?’ he said, as his head gave in completely. ‘The kind of love your parents knew—the love of two hearts.’

  He paused, wondering if he’d gone too far, for she was trembling now.

  He drew her close and kissed her hair, whispering from his heart, ‘I love you more than I ever thought to love anyone. You have brought me joy. You fill me with admiration for your caring nature, your kindness to all you meet, and the strength that brought you here in search of your parents. They all add up to an inner beauty that almost, but not quite, outshines your outward beauty, your laughing eyes, your soft rose lips, the feel of you against my body. I have disobeyed my father’s dictum and I am sorry, but I do love you with my heart as well as with my head.’

  She raised her face to his, wonderment and something else shining in her eyes.

  ‘You love me?’ she whispered, as though the idea was too much for her to handle.

  ‘More than life itself! You have stolen into my heart, and you will always be there.’

  He tightened his arms around her, drawing her closer, his heart racing as he waited, hoping to hear she loved him, fearful she might not...

  ‘As you will be in mine,’ she finally said, and he could breathe again. ‘I may not have known you long but I love you for the kind, generous, caring, unselfish man you are, and for your gentleness and tenderness, your understanding.’

  ‘And my body?’ he teased as his blood fizzed with joy, and he drew her even closer to seal their love with a kiss.

  ‘So, what’s left to wish for?’ she teased, when they finally drew apart to take a breath.

  ‘I think we both know that,’ he said.

  ‘Do your labyrinth rules allow a joint wish?’

  ‘I’m sure they could,’ she said.

  ‘Then we wish for a long life together, with the love that binds us bringing joy and light and laughter every day.’

  They walked back through the gardens to Tariq’s apartments, hand in hand, but wordless, as if the words spoken already had been of such magnitude there were none left to say.

  Tariq felt the warmth of the woman by his side, picked up a faint scent from her shining hair, wanted desperately to hold her, kiss her, learn her body through all his senses, yet something held him back.

  She’d had a big day, and could well be exhausted, yet he doubted she’d object if he kissed her, tempted her with teasing touches, and eventually led—or maybe carried—her into his bedroom.

  But was that fair?

  Eckert, damn his soul, had said she should rest, but tomorrow?

  And it occurred to him exactly what to do tomorrow. Tomorrow he would give her a very special gift—a visit to the pink sands—and there he’d make her his.

  Excited now, he walked more swiftly for there were plans to be made, orders to be given, things to be put in place.

  ‘Are you hurrying to get away from
me?’ she asked, and he realised she was having trouble keeping up.

  He stopped and turned towards her, taking her face in his hands, kissing her soft lips.

  ‘Never!’ he said, ‘Never.’

  And found he truly meant it.

  She met his kiss with one of her own, her tongue teasing at his lips, tangling with his, her body pressed so close they could already be one.

  He ran his fingers through her hair, kissed her eyelids, temple, chin, covered her face with kisses while her hands roved his head, his neck, his back, learning the contours of him through her fingertips.

  She was trembling now, his own body hard, both wanting yet restrained by their presence in the garden where their every move could be being watched.

  And he thought again of his idea and knew it was right.

  ‘Not tonight, my love,’ he said, easing her away from his body. ‘But tomorrow. Tell Sousa we will leaved at nine, and that we’re going to the desert.’

  A tiny furrow appeared between her eyebrows as if his words had disappointed her, so he drew her close again.

  ‘You must rest tonight,’ he said, ‘and if you were in my bed, there’d be no chance of that. So I shall escort you to your room like a proper gentleman, kiss you goodnight, and see you in the morning.’

  Except he did more than kiss her goodnight, he told her of his love, and heard with a fast-beating heart her own confession of the love she felt for him.

  * * *

  Lila lay in bed, exhausted but finding sleep elusive. In her mind she replayed the conversation over dinner, and hugged Tariq’s parting words to herself, but niggling away inside her was the silly virginity thing, and the question of how and when to bring it up—if at all—kept her awake long into the night.

  In the end, it was easy, because Tariq’s gift the next day was so extraordinary, so special, so much an avowal of his love that other matters faded into insignificance.

  Or almost.

  They flew in his small helicopter, out across the sand, along the shoreline until ahead she could see a vision of pink.

  ‘Pink sand?’ she asked, and Tariq smiled at her.

  ‘Pink flamingos—the flamingo lake.’

  ‘The sand is near it? Is the sand pink because it reflects the flamingos?’

  ‘Wait and see,’ he teased, settling the little helicopter down a small distance from yet another low-slung tent, carpets spread in front of it, fat cushions heaped on them, and a small fire burning at the edge.

  They walked, hand in hand again, towards the tent, and looking down Lila realised the sand was pink. She knelt and scooped up a handful then turned her back on the lake and the graceful birds, and held the sand in shadow.

  Still pink, the sand, so not a reflection at all.

  ‘Disbeliever!’ Tariq teased, and she smiled at him.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, letting the sand run through her fingers. ‘Thank you from the bottom of my heart, because now I feel my journey is complete.’

  ‘Not quite complete,’ he said, his voice husky with desire.

  She knew she was blushing, heat reddening her cheeks, but as he led her to the cushions on the carpet, she knew the time had come.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said, and saw surprise shadow the desire in his eyes.

  ‘It’s a little embarrassing but best got out of the way and if you could understand that I had to study hard at school to get into medicine, then study hard there, and at the same time look for my parents, and while I had boyfriends, they didn’t ever last because I was too intense, too serious, or too intent maybe on finding out my story, so although I know all the theory, I—’

  The words had come out in a rush, and suddenly dried up.

  Tariq was now obviously perplexed, as if trying to replay all she’d said in his head. He was frowning now, so she plunged into speech once more.

  ‘And it was more than that,’ she said. ‘It was to do with who I was, and a feeling I had that I couldn’t really give myself to anyone until I knew who I was.’

  There, that should make it plain, but looking into Tariq’s face she wondered if it had.

  Then suddenly he smiled, and drew her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and swinging her around.

  ‘Are you telling me, my wife, that you’re a virgin?’

  Blushing rosily again, she nodded, and began to apologise, but he kissed the words away.

  ‘My precious woman, my flower, my bride, and soon my wife, do you not realise how rare a gift you bring me? To know that you are mine and only mine is very, very special. And now our union must be gentle, and you must guide me if I’m rushing you, for I want it to be as great an experience for you as it will be for me.’

  He carried her into the tent, where more soft cushions were piled on carpets, and stood with her in front of him, first kissing her, then touching her, her arms, her waist, hands sliding down her legs, then up, brushing lightly against her womanhood, and pausing briefly on her breasts.

  Then slowly he removed her tunic, lifting it over her head, so she stood naked but for a bra from the waist up.

  ‘You’re allowed to undress me as well,’ he teased, holding out his arms so she could lift his robe from his body, but his height and her nerves made that impossible so he stripped it off and stood before her in a snowy white sarong tied around his waist.

  Not boxer shorts then, Lila realised, and knew the thought was more hysteria than anything else, for this slow undressing, their closeness and light touches already had flames burning inside her.

  So aware of moving slowly, Tariq curbed the heat within him, and lifted this very special woman, to set her down in the soft cushions, there to fondle her, excite her, remove the rest of her clothes and his, so skin to skin they could communicate without words.

  But touches said enough, hers shy at first, then growing bolder, and while he traced his fingers up her inner leg and moved them between her thighs, he heard her whimper with need, and felt her hands tighten about him.

  He nipped at one rosy breast and heard her gasp, then felt her body move as the sensations he was creating in her told her that there was more—that she needed more.

  She was moist and ready, but still he moved slowly, although her hand had found his hardness and was teasing it, feeling the skin, the length, the tip where moisture beaded.

  ‘There’ll be a little pain—and if I’m going too fast, tell me to stop.’

  He whispered the words in her ear as her hands guided him towards her moistness, then suddenly they were joined, and, yes, a wince of pain, but he moved slowly, letting her catch the rhythm that was as old as the sands on which they lay, as old as time itself.

  He felt her shudder as she reached her peak, and finished with her, holding her tightly, staying joined as he rolled onto his side, taking her with him so he could look into her eyes.

  ‘It will get better,’ he said gently, but she smiled and pressed her finger to his lips.

  ‘I know it will, but that was special and I thank you.’

  He held her tight, this woman who had swept into his life, wearing the ancient Ta’-wiz, returning it and good fortune to his country.

  And now she was truly his.

  Later, they walked on the sand, nibbled on delicacies packed in hampers inside the tent, and that night made love beneath the light of a billion bright stars.

  ‘But none as bright as my star,’ Tariq murmured, tucking Lila close to his body and drawing a quilt over them as the night air grew cold.

  At dawn the flamingos took off in a vast flying carpet of pink, circled above the lake, then settled back down, to prod and poke among the weeds.

  Tariq made coffee in a silver pot, setting it above the fire that had burned steadily through the night.

  He found pastries
and other delicacies in the hampers and fed his wife, his woman, who, in turn, held her coffee cup to his lips so they could drink together.

  But as they prepared to leave—they both needed to return to work—Tariq produced a small parcel, and handed it to Lila.

  ‘A wedding gift,’ he said, quietly and very seriously, so her fingers shook as she undid the wrappings, and tears rolled down her cheeks when she saw the box.

  It was as like her mother’s as she could remember, burnished wood with silver-and-gold filigree work all around it. She opened it and he knelt at her feet and passed the pink sand up to her, then she, too knelt, to kiss him as her throat was too tight for words.

  Later, with the box full of sand and clutched firmly in one hand, she recovered enough to say, ‘But I have no gift for you.’

  And he smiled, and held her close, and said, ‘You gave me your gift last night, my love. I could have thought of no greater one.’

  And standing on the pink sand by the flamingo lake, they held each other, and kissed, not passionately this time, although passion wasn’t ever far away, but with a quiet promise to each other, that this was how it would always be...

  EPILOGUE

  IT WAS A day of celebration. Flags and bunting festooned the city while in the palace Lila tried desperately to control the excitement of her children. Fahad, now twelve, would be going with his father to the men’s side of the wedding, while the twins, Nalini and Barirah, at ten, would be allowed to attend with the women.

  Now dressed and ready to be gone, they were chasing each other through the corridors of the apartment, or were, until Hallie appeared from a doorway and called them to order, suggesting they wait outside until their parents were ready to depart.

  Lila had to smile. Hallie and Pop, both still vibrant with life in spite of their age, had flown over for the wedding, insisting, when Lila had invited them, that they’d missed one wedding in Karuba and had no intention of missing another.

  And although they had only been here a few days, the children were already taking far more notice of Hallie when she spoke than they did of their mother. As for Pop, they followed him around the gardens, asking questions about Australia, a country they’d all visited many times but were still fascinated by.