A discreet tapping at the royal bedchamber's heavy wooden door almost went unnoticed, so engrossed was she in her preparations. When it continued, now a little louder, she glanced at the antique French clock on the mantelpiece. Who would dare disturb the sheik in his chambers at this hour? With a mildly vexed sigh, Alima went to answer it.
"Salma!" Her heart gave a leap of alarm when she saw her oldest and most trusted attendant standing there, almost bouncing on her tiptoes with ill-concealed emotion. "What's wrong? Is Leila all right? Is something-"
"Oh, no, Sitt," Salma interrupted breathlessly, "Princess Leila is fine. That is why-Oh, Sitt, please forgive me for disturbing you, but I must speak with you."
Casting a hurried glance toward the bathroom where, judging from the sounds coming from within, her husband-perhaps in anticipation of what was to come after?-seemed to be enjoying his bath more than he'd expected, Alima stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind her.
* * *
Flat on his belly with his eyes closed, Sheik Ahmed drifted on waves of pleasure. Ah yes… there… Alima's strong fingers never failed to find the spot that needed them most.
She wanted something from him, of course. She only resorted to the oils and herbs when she was hoping to cajole him into giving her her way. He knew this, but it did nothing to lessen his pleasure. He trusted his wife implicitly. He knew she would never use the considerable influence she had on him lightly. If she was attempting to manipulate him now, it would only be for something she considered to be of utmost importance. Ah well…she would get to it in her own good time. And meanwhile, as far as Sheik Ahmed was concerned, getting there was the most enjoyable part.
"Ahmed, my beloved…"
"Yes, jewel of my heart? Speak to me."
They had been speaking Arabic, as they often did on intimate occasions, but Alima switched now to English. "Ahmed, Salma was here, while you were in the bath. She brought news of Leila-"
"Leila!" A snort lifted his head and shoulders from the pillows.
Gently but firmly, Alima pushed them down again. "Hush, my husband-please, hear me." After a pause, which she decided to take for acquiescence, she continued in a musing tone, "What she had to say was interesting. I think you will want to hear it."
Ahmed gave a resigned grunt. "Very well…if you must."
Bracing herself for the expected upheaval, Alima bore down with all her strength on one of her husband's most troublesome spots, took a deep breath, and said lightly, "It is possible we have misjudged Elena's friend from Texas." A growl resonated beneath her fingers. She hurried on. "It seems this American may not be entirely without honor, after all. I say this-" she spoke calmly, but her fingers were kneading her husband's tensed muscles as hard and fast as they possibly could "-because of what your daughter has confessed to Salma. In tears." There was that growl again. "Yes, tears," she said firmly. "But not because this man had dishonored her. Quite the opposite. Your daughter was in tears because he had sent her away."
Like a small mountain shifted by an earthquake, Sheik Ahmed rolled himself onto his back. Raising himself up on his elbows, glowering fiercely, he bellowed, "Away? What do you mean, he sent her away? Explain yourself!"
Alima sat with her legs tucked under her, head high and eyes downcast. Her heart was beating rapidly and her hands, clasped tightly together in her lap, were cold. She was desperately afraid, though not of her husband-she could never be afraid of Ahmed! This was another kind of fear entirely-the fear of a mother for her beloved child. Her youngest daughter's future happiness was at stake.
"Yes," she said on a soft exhalation, "I fear it was not the American who behaved badly this evening, but our daughter. And I-" Her voice broke-she had not planned it. "I must say that I am not surprised. I have been afraid something like this might happen. Oh, Ahmed-" She rose and turned quickly from him to hide the tears that had sprung unexpectedly to her eyes. "Leila is so impatient and impulsive-she has always been so."
"Yes." Ahmed actually chuckled.
Whirling back to him, Alima was just in time to see him rearrange his face in its customary glower. "Ahmed, she is a woman. She has the feelings, the needs, the impulses of a woman. Every day I have watched her grow more impatient, waiting her turn, waiting for her sisters to choose husbands…"
Yes, and impatient for other things, for other reasons, too, about which Alima knew she could never tell her husband. Ahmed was a good man and a progressive leader in many ways, but he would never understand how bright, intelligent women like his daughters might feel frustrated at being patronized, overlooked, discounted and ignored. Particularly Leila, whom everyone considered silly and shallow, and whom possibly only her mother knew was anything but.
And there was another thing Leila's mother knew. She had noticed the way her youngest child looked at the tall oilman from Texas. Tonight she had seen the soft shine in her eyes, the pink flush in her cheeks…
"Humph," said Ahmed. "I have been more than patient with Nadia, it is true…" He scratched his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Butrus wishes to marry her, and she seems willing enough." He shrugged and gave a regal wave of his hand. "Pah-I see no real value in this tradition of marrying off daughters in order of their birth. So-if you are certain that Leila is eager to marry, and impetuous enough to do something foolish, then the answer is simple enough. I must find her a suitable husband. And now, my beloved, if that is all that is troubling you-" He smiled, and his eyes gleamed wickedly.
Alima hesitated. This was the tricky part. She must be extremely careful not to give herself away. Breathing a relieved sigh, she bowed her head and said, "Yes, my husband. You are wise, as always. Only-"
Still smiling, he caught her hand and drew her closer to him. "Only? What is it now, my love?"
Bracing her hands firmly on her husband's shoulders, Alima looked gravely into his eyes. "Only, I fear that it may prove difficult to find a man willing to overlook tonight's escapade. Perhaps we should consider-"
"Not the American!" bellowed Ahmed, rearing back in outrage. "A nonbeliever? Never." "Of course not," said Alima, laughing. "What an idea! No, I was going to say, perhaps we should consider someone older, someone who will give Leila the firm guidance she needs." She paused, then continued demurely, "I hear the Emir of Batar is looking for a fourth wife."
"The Emir of Batar! The man is older than I am," fumed Ahmed, looking horrified. "And I have it on good authority that he treats his wives shamefully. No, no-we must do better for Leila." He gave his wife an absentminded squeeze and turned away from her. "Let me think about it."
"Of course, my husband," murmured Alima, beginning to knead his shoulder muscles. "Perhaps this will help."
After several minutes, Ahmed spoke, slurring his words slightly. "I have ordered the American to leave tomorrow, as early as possible." Alima said nothing, but continued massaging his neck and shoulders. "Perhaps," muttered Ahmed, "that was a bit…hasty. And somewhat unfair, under the circumstances. What do you think, dearest one?" He turned to encircle her with his arms. She saw that his eyes were twinkling.
She lowered her lashes so he would not see the gleam in hers. "You know best, my husband."
"I believe I will speak to the man, first thing in the morning." "Whatever you say, beloved," crooned Alima.
Chapter 5
Cade dropped his toiletry kit into his carry-on bag, added a half-empty pack of cheroots and the zippable daily planner in which he kept his business notes and appointments, then straightened for one last look around. Not that he was afraid he'd overlooked something; rather, his gaze was one of wonderment, reflecting his frame of mind. He was still having a hard time accepting what had happened to him. He tried to remember whether he'd ever suffered such a demoralizing tail-between-the-legs disaster before in his life. He couldn't.
Ah, the car, he thought when he heard the discreet knock on his door. He called, "Be right there," and grabbed up his big suitcase and moved it over beside the door. A little early, he t
hought, glancing at his watch, but so much the better. He'd have time to grab a bite of breakfast at the airport before his flight. He sure as hell wasn't about to eat anything here at the palace, or for that matter, impose on the Kamal family's hospitality in any way, for one minute longer than absolutely necessary. He'd seen enough of these royals to last him a lifetime. With the exception of Elena, of course. Though he sure wouldn't care to run into her, right now, either. He couldn't even begin to think how he was going to explain this to her.
He zipped up his overnighter, picked it up and placed it beside its bigger twin, then opened the door. The man who stood there, waiting at patient and respectful attention, wasn't wearing the white-and-gold uniform of the household servants, but a western-style suit, dark gray with an immaculate white shirt and blue-and-gray striped tie. He looked familiar-dark, swarthy, probably handsome, in an austere, arrogant sort of way. Undoubtedly Cade had been introduced to the man during the course of the weekend, which meant he was a member of the royal family or somebody high on the bureaucratic totem pole.
Probably a lawyer, Cade thought cynically. For the defense, he wondered, or the prosecution?
"The sheik wishes to speak with you," the man said, in clipped English. "If you will come with me, please."
What now? Maybe he's changed his mind about having me executed, Cade thought sourly as he gave his room one last look and with a fatalistic shrug, pulled the door shut behind him.
His escort didn't say another word as he led the way along the corridor, following virtually the same path by which the sheik had made his dramatic departure the night before. Cade made a conscious effort to relax, and tried not to think about the confrontation to come. Instead he made a point of noticing the arched passageways, the apparently ancient tiles beneath his feet and mosaics on the walls, and the lamps which, set into niches along the walls, added to the medieval look of it all. He half expected to see armored guards with swords and crossed pikestaffs barring entry through the massive carved double doors at the end of the hallway.
Instead, his escort merely knocked twice, paused, then pushed the doors open and gestured for Cade to enter ahead of him. Cade gave the man a nod and a sardonic, "Thank you," which went unacknowledged.
The sheik's office was huge, but was saved from seeming cavernous by the warm opulence of mahogany, leather and Persian carpets. Arched windows along one side of the room looked out on the sea; on the other, Sheik Ahmed waited behind a long mahogany desk. He wore an ordinary business suit this morning, but that didn't make him seem any the less imposing. He still looked positively biblical, Cade thought. Moses in a suit and tie.
The sheik had risen at Cade's approach. Now he nodded at the escort and said, "Thank you, Butrus. You may leave us."
As the man muttered and made his exit, the name came to Cade. Butrus Dabir. The sheik's most trusted advisor, and according to Elena, one with designs on his daughter, Nadia.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Gallagher. Please sit down." The sheik indicated one of several leather chairs in front of the desk, waited until Cade was seated, then returned to his own chair. Like a genial host, Cade thought, except without the smile. In fact, he seemed almost…in anyone else Cade would have sworn he was…No way around it. The reigning monarch of Tamir gave every indication of being embarrassed.
Sheik Ahmed picked up a pen and put it down. He leaned back in his chair and scowled at the pen with lowered eyebrows. At last, following an introductory rumbling sound, he spoke.
"Mr. Gallagher, I have asked you here so that I may offer you an apology. It seems that, in the heat of the, uh, moment last night, I have made a too-hasty judgment. I believe I accused you of being a man without honor, whereas it seems that you behaved with more honor than most men would have under the same… ahem… the circumstances. I hope that you will forgive my behavior, and that of my daughter." And with that, half rising, the sheik leaned across his desk to offer his hand to Cade.
Who was momentarily speechless, with his mouth hanging open like a schoolboy caught red-handed at mischief. Whatever he might have expected, it sure as hell wasn't this. Finally, though, there was only one thing to do, and that was shake the sheik's hand and say thank you. So he did it.
He was settling back in his chair, feeling dazed as a poleaxed steer, when the sheik gave another rumble and continued. "Regarding your proposal of marriage to my daughter…" There was a pause while the sheik stared intently at Cade, eyes glittering from beneath lowered eyebrows. Much against his will, Cade's heart began to beat faster. "Mr. Gallagher, I am fully aware of the circumstances under which it was made, and I- that is to say, your gallant attempt to salvage my daughter's honor is not unappreciated." There was another pause. Again the sheik's eyes pinioned Cade with the intent stare of a hawk zeroing in on a cornered gopher.
Cade's mind was racing. What was going on here? The old sheik had an agenda, that was clear enough. What wasn't clear at all was exactly how Cade was supposed to fit into it. Okay, he'd been cleared of dishonoring the princess, apologies had been made, he'd been let off the hook. On the other hand, his banishment hadn't been lifted, not in so many words. He had a very strong feeling that if he said thank you now, shook hands and left this room, he'd be taking that early flight home, no hard feelings, but no business deal, either.
What was it the old fox wanted from him? He'd made his feelings on the marriage issue plain enough. So, what?
His heart was pounding, his mind in chaos. However, only his narrowed eyes betrayed the turmoil he was feeling as he calmly said, "Sir, I assure you-I didn't propose marriage to your daughter merely to save her reputation. My desire to marry Leila was-is-sincere."
God, what had he just said? Marry Leila? He felt a bright stab of panic before he remembered that he was safe. Her royal papa was never going to go for it anyway.
At the moment, though, the way the old sheik was staring at him was making him decidedly uneasy. Still intent as a hawk about to pounce, but now-there it was again, that odd little shift of embarrassment.
"Hmm, yes…I see." Sheik Ahmed tapped his fingers on the desktop. "Mr. Gallagher, you must understand that in our culture, such an alliance would be impossible…"
"I understand," Cade murmured, gravely nodding.
"Unless-" the sheik pounced "-you were to convert."
Cade's heart leaped into overdrive. "Convert?"
"To our ways, our culture." The sheik spread his hands and in the white nest of beard his lips curved in a smile. "Then there would be no objection to a marriage between you and my youngest daughter-from me, of course. Naturally, Leila would have to consent to such a match." He actually chuckled.
"Naturally…" Cade breathed. His head was whirling again. What the hell was happening? He gave his head a little shake and tried to smile. "Wow. Convert, huh? That's an…interesting idea. I'11…definitely have to…"
"Of course," Sheik Ahmed said smoothly, "I understand such a decision should not be made lightly. And I would fully understand if you wished to leave us, Mr. Gallagher, after the treatment you have recently been subjected to, from me and, uh…members of my family. However, if you should decide to stay…" another of those strategic pauses, another shrewd glare "…it is my understanding that my son, Hassan, and daughter-in-law, Elena, had scheduled a visit to the oil-producing regions of our country, and a tour of our facilities, before their departure on their…uh…" He frowned, searching for the word.
"Honeymoon?" Cade supplied.
"Yes, honeymoon." The sheik waved a hand and muttered something about "western traditions," then harrumphed and went on. "It is also my understanding that the three of you wished to discuss a possible business arrangement between your own company, Elena's and Tamir."
Cade, who was pretty much in shock at this point, could only nod and mutter, "Yes, sir, I had been looking forward to meeting with you on that subject-"
Sheik Ahmed gave another hand wave and leaned dismissively back in his chair. "I have decided to leave that aspec
t of my country's business dealings to my son. And his new wife, who, as the head of her own company, seems very knowledgeable on the subject. You may consider them my representatives. Any agreement you might enter into with them, especially as a member of the family, if you should chose that course-" the sheik smiled, showing strong white teeth "-would be honored fully by the government of Tamir."
Cade let out a gust of breath. He felt absolutely calm, now, clear through to his insides. The cards were on the table; he was pretty sure he knew both the game and the stakes. He also knew he'd been seriously outmaneuvered.
"I understand," he said as he rose to accept the sheik's proffered hand. "Thank you, Your Highness. You've given me a lot to think about. I'm looking forward to visiting your oil production facilities." He tried a strategic pause of his own, meeting the old sheik's glittery black eyes and locking on as their hands clasped across the mahogany desktop. His smile felt frozen on his face. "I'm sure we can work out something," he drawled, "that'll be to both our advantages."
* * *
"He is what?' Leila shrieked, slopping hot coffee into her saucer and very nearly her lap.
"He is going to convert," her mother repeated, her face so round and happy she looked like a child's drawing of a beaming sun. Leila felt as though her sun had just been covered by a huge black cloudbank.
She was on the terrace with Nadia, having a late breakfast-or perhaps an early lunch-while Nadia, who had already eaten, passed the time in her usual way, with her sketchbook. At their mother's interruption Nadia looked up briefly, then went back to making little pencil sketches of Leila.
While Leila mopped up coffee with her napkin, her mother selected the chair next to her and turned it so that it angled toward Leila before she sat. She took Leila's hand, holding it in both of her warm, soft ones. Tears sprang to Leila's eyes. She had to swallow hard to fight down the lump in her throat.
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