The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘I’ll get your maid.’ He grabbed his robe and hastily threw it on, backing out of the tent before she could say another word. He didn’t want or need her gratitude, not for merely giving her a purpose and not when his plan suited him just as well as it suited her. Nor did he want to dwell on how it had felt to sleep with her nestled in close, her hair soft on his chin, her body warm and yielding against his. And he definitely didn’t want to think about the day ahead, Saskia sitting before him on a horse all day long, every jolt pushing their bodies together. It was going to be a very long, very hot journey and he was going to need every bit of self-control he could muster.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’

  Saskia blearily opened one eye to see a card and present practically touching her nose and, right behind the garishly wrapped gift, Jack beaming down at her.

  ‘Morning, tiger,’ she croaked, a quick glance at her watch confirming that, yes, it wasn’t yet six a.m. ‘Is that for me?’

  ‘Let Saskia have her coffee first,’ Idris interjected. Saskia refocussed to see him standing behind Jack, Sami in his arms. She smiled a weary thanks at him; she had only started drinking coffee again a few weeks ago but was already as addicted to her favourite wake-me-up as she had ever been.

  As she struggled to a sitting position her maid put a tray on the bedside table; figs and freshly cut oranges, little cinnamon-dusted pastries and a pot of steaming coffee making an aromatic and visually appealing feast. Saskia took a fresh-smelling Sami from Idris as he poured her coffee, adding exactly the right amount of milk to it. He was already dressed, but this was the first time she had seen him upon awakening since their night in the desert. Even on the occasions when they shared a room on one of their tours he awoke, dressed and left before she stirred and although he now came to her most nights in the palace he was gone before she awoke.

  She understood it, his need to separate the intimacy of sex from the intimacy of sharing a bed, but her heart still ached when she woke in an empty bed—or when she tried to fall asleep, all too aware of the empty space beside her, his scent still permeating the pillows.

  ‘Open it, open it.’ Jack thrust his present at her and, laughing at his eager face, she accepted it.

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Slowly, more to tease Jack than out of patience, she slid her finger underneath the sticky tape, her mouth opening as the paper unfolded to reveal a slim A4 book, the front cover a posed portrait of Jack and Sami. She took a deep breath as she opened it, discovering pages full of photos of both boys, some posed, many candid shots—including plenty of Jack as a toddler and small boy, several of her posing for selfies with him. ‘What? How did you get these?’ She glanced at Idris in shock. Most of the photos existed only on her laptop or on her email account.

  ‘Jack knows your password. We only looked for the albums with him in there,’ Idris added hurriedly.

  ‘There are no other albums.’ She mock glared at Jack. ‘A hacker eh? I need to change my password. But this is lovely, so thoughtful. Thank you.’ She swallowed, aware of the lump in her throat, the burning at the backs of her eyes as she flicked through page after page, memories unfurling as she looked back at the last seven years of the life she had shared with her brother. She glanced towards Idris, trying to convey her thanks. He must have thought of this gesture, noticed she only had one framed picture of Jack on her bedside table and that was years old.

  ‘This is from Sami.’ Jack held another gift towards her. ‘I helped him choose it.’

  ‘It looks intriguing.’ Saskia took the bulky, heavy present with raised eyebrows, squealing as she opened it to see her favourite chocolates, wrapped cheese, oatcakes, a packet of scones with a pot of jam and her usual brand of tea. The food in Dalmaya was fantastic but occasionally she yearned for a Wensleydale and pickle sandwich, a chocolate bar or a cup of Earl Grey tea. ‘Amazing. What a clever baby.’ She kissed Sami and then Jack. ‘And isn’t he lucky to have such a helpful big brother?’

  She reached a hand out towards Idris, who had awkwardly curled his tall frame into the small nursing chair next to her bed. He had to have organised these presents, had heard her occasional wish for a ‘plain cup of English tea’ or her laughing promise to Jack that when they next visited London she was going to eat scones until she burst. Their eyes connected and Saskia ached with wishing that this was real, that they really were a family bound by love and the bonds of affection, not by duty and an attraction born from nostalgia.

  Her eyes roamed over the familiar face, pausing at the hollows in the lean cheeks, the early-morning stubble grazing his chin, the curve of his proud mouth, the fall of the dark hair, her mouth drying out as she drank him in. Her commitment to Jack had made it near impossible to date but the truth was that although, thanks to her temping jobs, she had met plenty of men, had had plenty of invitations, she had never been tempted to accept. Idris was nothing but temptation and like Eve she fell, night after night.

  ‘This is from me.’ His voice was gruff as he handed over a small box and Saskia’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she took it.

  ‘You didn’t have to.’

  ‘I believe...’ a teasing note entered his voice ‘...that the correct response is thank you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She repeated it as she bent her head to examine the small box, her heart thumping harder than ever. Her fingers felt too big, refusing to work as she carefully opened the present, folding the paper neatly and putting it to one side, aware she was delaying opening the box.

  It was probably a duty gift. She had been given plenty of jewellery over the last few months, Dalmayan custom dictating that a woman’s worth, a family’s wealth should be reflected in the jewels she wore. Glittering ropes of emeralds and sapphires and amethysts, jingling bangles of gem-studded platinum and rose gold, elaborate headdresses and tiaras, heavy rings—she wore them on formal occasions, for feasts and celebrations and some meetings. They helped transform her from plain Saskia Harper, hard-working temp, to Sheikha Saskia DelacourAl Osman, soon to be crowned Queen of Dalmaya. She fumbled with the catch, finally opening the box. ‘Oh!’ A slender charm bracelet sat inside, two tiny charms already attached. Jack leaned over, pointing to one. ‘That’s my hand print, all shrunken down and made into gold, and that’s Sami’s. Do you like it?’

  ‘Like it? I love it.’ She could hardly get the words out for the lump in her throat. A year and a bit ago she would never have believed this possible. That she could be lying in such luxurious surroundings, a warm, contented baby in her arms, a healthy thriving Jack by her side and married to a man who surely must care about her even if he didn’t love her. She should be happy. It was greedy to wish for more.

  Saskia lifted out the bracelet and studied each tiny charm, knowledge racing through her. She didn’t just wish for more, she craved it, just as she had long ago. She had craved Idris Delacour’s love then and she craved it now, and, despite everything, part of her had never stopped loving him.

  ‘Jack tells me you have a long-standing birthday tradition.’ Idris’s elegantly French-accented rumble broke into her thoughts and she started, sure her wishes must be written all over her face.

  ‘Tradition? Yes.’ She smiled at her small brother. ‘We always spend the morning at the V&A because it’s my favourite museum and then we have a picnic in Kensington Gardens, right by the fountain.’

  ‘With bought food not a pack up,’ Jack added. ‘And lots of cake.’

  For the first couple of years after she took Jack in Saskia hadn’t celebrated her birthday. It was too much of a reminder of what she had lost. Before every birthday had been an event, a celebration orchestrated by her father. But as Jack got older he insisted they do something special and so the tradition had been born. Her favourite museum and then a little celebratory autumn picnic.

  Later, as they put down tiny roots in their neighbourhood, there had b
een other celebrations, a glass of wine with their neighbours, dinner at Jack’s friend’s house, but the birthday picnic remained a staple and Saskia loved it, never wishing that she could replace it with the lavish parties her father had always thrown for her.

  ‘I can’t manage the V&A but how do you fancy a night at the villa and a picnic on the beach instead?’ Idris suggested and Saskia almost sagged against her pillows with relief at the idea. The autumn was a particularly hot one this year and even the well-ventilated marble halls of the palace felt oppressive at times. The very thought of being back by the sea, in a place where the staff were more like friends, where she felt at home, not like a pampered guest, was the most perfect gift of all.

  ‘Don’t we have a Council meeting today?’

  ‘I’m sure you can be excused under the circumstances. I’ll make your apologies.’

  ‘Oh. Right, thank you.’ Disappointment flooded through her at his calm, almost dismissive words. Of course she didn’t need to be at the meeting; of course he didn’t want to come to the picnic. He was making all the right gestures but that was all they were, right? And she was a fool for wanting more, for hoping for more.

  ‘You’re not coming?’ Jack looked up, the disappointment on his face a mirror to that which Saskia was trying so hard not to show. ‘But, Idris, you promised me a horse-riding lesson on the beach. And you said we’d play cricket. Please come, it won’t be the same without you.’

  * * *

  The sun had begun to redden when the nanny retrieved the two tired, sandy boys to take them back to the villa for baths and bed, Jack well and truly exhausted by a day of horse riding, cricket and swimming. Saskia turned and watched the small group climb the steps to the villa, her face soft with love. ‘What a fantastic day he’s had. Thank you, Idris.’

  ‘You don’t need to thank me. Besides, it’s your birthday. Have you had a good day?’ Idris hadn’t intended to accompany the family to the villa. He had so much work to do, so many meetings to attend, a day and a night off seemed unachievable. Turned out he couldn’t say no to a pair of beseeching brown eyes and a small boy’s flattery—nor had he escaped the flitting wistfulness on Saskia’s face when he said he’d stay behind. They didn’t want anything more from him than his company. It was a refreshing change in a world where his grace and favour was sought at every turn.

  ‘A lovely day, thanks. I would have liked to have ridden but my ankle is still a little weak. Blissful to swim in the sea though. I stuck to the safety of the pool when I was pregnant but there’s nothing like the wildness of salt water.’ Saskia looked a little like a wild water creature herself, the red hair still damp, pinned back off her face, a turquoise sarong knotted around her waist.

  ‘As good as the V&A?’

  ‘Well, I do hate to miss out on my annual pretend-I’m-in-a-costume-drama trip. I only just made it last year—we moved out here just a couple of weeks later. I was a few weeks pregnant at the time, already feeling tired and queasy, so the picnic wasn’t quite the treat it usually was and even the regency costumes couldn’t distract me!’

  Idris led her over to the picnic area, just below the villa. A gazebo had been erected to protect Saskia and Sami from the sun, colourful woven blankets and cushions laid out on the fine white sand and several of the villa’s loungers brought down to the beach. Now the light was beginning to fade torches were lit and the fairy lights strewn around the gazebo’s edge sprang into life. The housekeeper and houseboy were busy setting dishes out on the long low wooden table and aromatic aromas filled the evening air.

  ‘Shokran.’ Idris nodded at the beaming pair. ‘We’ll serve ourselves.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to stay for dinner.’ Saskia seated herself on a lounger, peering over as Idris lifted the heavy silver lids to reveal a slow-cooked lamb stew, couscous, bursting with vegetables and plump raisins and spices, flatbreads, round falafel and a platter filled with figs, peaches, grapes and melon. ‘Goodness, the kitchen have done us proud. I hope they don’t expect us to eat it all. I’ve only just digested lunch! Do you have time to help eat enough so the cook isn’t offended before you head back?’

  ‘I thought I might spend the evening here. It doesn’t seem worth going back to the palace when I promised Jack more cricket tomorrow.’

  Saskia stilled, her eyes fixed on him. Idris didn’t meet her steady gaze, busying himself with filling her plate. She knew as well as he did that it would take him only an hour to return to the palace, that he could be back before Jack had even noticed his absence.

  Idris had never stayed at the villa before. It was Saskia’s territory. He had no rooms here, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. His pulse began to beat hard and fast as he handed her the plate and poured a glass of the rich red wine, imported from his own estates. ‘If that’s okay,’ he added, setting the wine down beside her.

  ‘Of course, we’re married, you don’t need to ask my permission.’ She picked up the wine, lying back against the padded back of her lounger with a contented sigh. ‘When I first came here I couldn’t believe it, that this view, this beauty, was to be mine for a whole year. I’m glad you kept it on. The palace is beautiful, but it doesn’t feel like home, not like this place does.’

  Idris poured himself a glass. ‘I’m glad that you have a place in Dalmaya where you feel like home.’

  ‘Do you have somewhere too?’ Her gaze was far too penetrating. ‘In the shock of all these changes it’s easy to forget that this life is almost as new to you as it is for me. Do you feel at home?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ He paused, weighing his words carefully. ‘Not in a place, not yet. When I take Jack riding or sailing or Sami for a walk. When we’re in Council and the leaders stop bickering and listen to my suggestions. When I see the solution to a problem.’ When he was holding Saskia, his mouth on hers, her body wound round his. Then he felt at home—and yet also like a trespasser, on ground he had no right to occupy.

  ‘You miss France?’

  ‘Not so much France as the vineyard, the chateau.’ He stopped, trying to find the right words. ‘I knew what was expected of me there, who I was. I’m still working that out here. My grandfather, my Dalmayan grandfather, would tell me that his blood ran in my veins, that I was an Al Osman in all but name, but I knew that to everyone else I was the French son of an immoral woman. I had to be better behaved than Fayaz, stronger, cleverer, nicer. It made no difference. They all loved him anyway. Everyone loved him. He had that gift.’

  ‘Did you come here a lot when you were a boy?’

  Idris shifted, uncomfortable with the personal turn the conversation had taken—and yet relieved to share. Now he was living in Dalmaya full time, the memories and what-might-have-beens haunted him around every corner. ‘Non. My mother, she and my grandfather didn’t speak at all. But when I was eight he invited me over. Acknowledged me as one of the family. Usually I spent all the summer holidays with my grandpère at the chateau so I began to spend the winter and spring holidays here. Just four weeks a year.’ Weeks he had both loved and loathed. Loved for the bond with the proud old man—and because this desert kingdom was in his blood, just as his grandfather claimed.

  Loathed because he was always an outsider, always other. ‘There was some resistance when Grandfather named me as his second heir. This is why we must always be above reproach, you and I. There is no room for error, for scandal, for gossip. I must be my grandfather’s heir, not my mother’s son, and you have to be the perfect Queen. It won’t be easy but it’s the only way.’

  Saskia nodded, her face pensive. ‘Does your mother miss Dalmaya? I know when the Manor was sold, it felt like part of me had been ripped away. I was raised in that house, and suddenly I was homeless. To lose a whole country must be worse.’

  ‘She knew what she was doing,’ he said, his mouth compressing into a thin line. ‘Knew that if she crossed that line she could never go back
and yet she jumped right across it with no thought for how it would affect me or her father.’

  Saskia put her glass down. ‘I am angry with my father every day. Angry because every moment of my childhood was a lie, because he abandoned me, abandoned Jack. I don’t see any reason, any excuse for what he did. But, Idris, your mother is still here, still in your life. That has to count for something.’

  ‘Oh, I know she loves me. I know she’s proud of me. She is very free, very open with her affection—everyone she meets adores her.’ His mouth softened as he thought about his beautiful, whimsical mother.

  ‘It’s just in her way she’s as much a child as Jack and because mon père thinks of nothing but his art, if he decided we needed to be in Switzerland then off we went to Switzerland, no matter that we had nowhere to live, I had no school to go to. It would work out, my mother always said, details were for other people—for me—to worry about. As I grew up I realised other children didn’t spend some months with money to burn and other months without a centime, that they didn’t flit from town to town, country to country. That they didn’t worry about paying the rent because their mother had bought a new dress or get home from school and cook dinner not knowing where their parents were. My time with my two grandfathers, here in Dalmaya, at the chateau, they were the times when time slowed, when I knew who I was.’

  ‘They must have been two exceptional men.’

  ‘Yes, they were.’ He paused again, recoiling from the disloyalty of his thoughts. ‘Yes, but they always expected so much from me. They never met but they were similar in many ways, both needing me to right the wrongs of the past, to be everything my parents weren’t, to be the legacy they needed. They made sure I knew where my duty lay and how to achieve it.’

  He hadn’t noticed her leave her lounger, noticed her walk around to sit by his side until a cool hand covered his. ‘No wonder you got so irritated when I suggested you skip a lecture to jump on a train and see where we ended up!’