Baby Of Mine

by Jane Toombs

  “Your grandmother told me Kholi is the desert and the desert is Kholi,” she said.

  “We try to keep the desert in our blood, but today, only the Bedouins are successful. And fewer of them every year.” He shook his head. “I fear the day we all become city dwellers with no tribal unity.”

  Linnea thought this over. “Are the Bedouins one large tribe?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “More than one. Each Kholi family is blood-bonded to one or another of the tribes. The three men who answered my call at the ruins were my blood brothers.”

  “The various tribes are friendly with one another, aren’t they?”

  “I’d like to say yes. The truth is most of the time a truce exists, just as in the cities families who have, in the past, been at odds with one another try to keep the peace. Sometimes that becomes impossible.”

  “Like the Zohirs and the Khalduns?”

  “The Khalduns once governed a part of what is now our united country. They never forgave my greatgrandfather Zohir for bringing the various small kingdoms together under a single ruler—himself. They went to war against the Zohirs—and lost. Kholi now includes their former kingdom. Old hatreds die slowly.”

  “If ever,” she said, hugging herself.

  He touched her hand lightly. “You’ll like my house—our house. I had it built to blend into the desert.”

  Our house? The words seemed to hang in the air in front of her. Did Talal expect their marriage to be permanent? Expect her to live with him in Kholi? She thrust the disturbing questions from her mind for the moment and asked, “Is your house right in Rabbul?”

  “No, I’m a few miles beyond the city outskirts, at the edge of the open desert,”

  Isolated. But possibly no more so than Zed and Karen’s ranch in Carson Valley. Their nearest neighbor was more than a mile down the road. Yet, to her, what a difference between being isolated in Nevada as contrasted to Kholi. Still, until she actually arrived at Talal’s house, it was only fair to reserve judgment.

  “You’re sure the man you left with Basheem will know exactly what to ask him when he comes out of the coma?” she said, a variation of the same question she’d asked more than once since they’d been aboard the copter.

  “He’s been thoroughly briefed.” Talal’s terse response meant his patience had begun to erode, but she plunged on.

  “What about Widad?”

  “I told you she remains safely locked in a room at the palace until the king decides her fate.”

  “She begged me for mercy. Whatever she’s guilty of surely doesn’t mean she should be put to death.”

  “Linnea.” Something in his tone dried up her words. “Enough. We are not going over these details again. I’m as eager as you to have everything over and done with. At the moment, we can do nothing more.”

  She supposed he was right—knew he was, actually. But she was unhappy about being forced to leave Akrim. In the palace hareem the women always seemed to know the details of what was going on and were happy to share any news with her. In contrast, Talal handed out mere tidbits, and she’d have only him for a companion until King Hakeem decided it was safe for her to return.

  “You seem less than happy for a bride setting off on a delayed honeymoon,” Talal said.

  “Honeymoon!”

  He smiled, that damned disarming smile of his that had charmed her from the first, and she melted like butter on a hot day. Companion and lover, she amended. Abandoning her resentment at the way everyone seemed to have combined to rush her away from the palace, she smiled back at Talal.

  His dark gaze caught hers, the gleam in his eyes telling her how impatient he was to be alone with her. She had to admit how much she was looking forward to that moment, too.

  Loyal, the king had called him. Which meant Talal was a man to be trusted. Since they’d boarded the copter, she’d done nothing but question his judgment. Shouldn’t she make some effort to offer this man who was her husband—at least temporarily—her trust?

  Maybe she’d never be the dutiful wife King Hakeem had urged her to be, but she could at least try to behave more like a wife than she’d been doing. Beginning when they arrived at his house. Our house, she corrected herself under her breath, trying out the feel of the words.

  Talal turned toward her, eyebrows raised inquiringly.

  “I’m looking forward to getting acquainted with the house you built at the desert’s edge,” she told him, meaning every word.

  His pleased expression warmed her, making her vow to do her best to place her anxiety over the two little Yasmins on hold. Incessantly going over and over the same ground didn’t bring her birth daughter any closer to her. She hoped she’d be able to keep her chosen daughter. Whatever might happen to Wadid, it was obvious the woman did not want any of her children. As for her birth daughter, she’d been waiting for news of her for almost three years, couldn’t she manage to control her fear, to wait a few more days, perhaps a week?

  When the capital city of Rabbul came into view, she expected they’d soon set down at the airport. To her surprise, the copter flew over the city and beyond. Maybe she was wrong about where they were.

  “Wasn’t that Rabbul?” she asked.

  “I have a helicopter pad at the house,” Talal said. “We’ll set down there.”

  Would she ever grow accustomed to being married to a prince? Of course Talal would have more than the ordinary conveniences—he’d have everything.

  “We’ll have time to talk,” she said.

  “Among other things.” The warmth in his voice told her exactly what he meant.

  The anticipation thrilled her. Suddenly she could hardly wait to be in his arms.

  As the copter lowered, quick impressions flashed one after the other, tan brown desert-colored walls, a rambling house with a tiled roof, greenery and cascading water within a courtyard, a vast nothing of desert beyond.

  Nearer the ground, she noticed people running toward the copter, servants, no doubt. By the time the pilot stopped the whirling vanes, the servants were at the door. Talal slid out first and helped her to the ground. After a quick greeting to them, he paid no attention to the servants unloading the luggage from the copter. She stepped into stifling heat that took her breath away.

  Taking her hand, Talal led her from the pad, through a gate and into the oasis he’d created outside his house. Flowering bushes with pink and red blossoms lined the drive and palms spread their fronds, creating shade pools. The elaborately carved front door, tall and arched, opened into a high-ceilinged entry that she was pleased to note was as sparsely furnished as anything in Grandmother Noorah’s house. Cool air welcomed her, wrapping her in comfort.

  She took a deep breath and felt her tension ebb away. Women servants in long but sleeveless cotton dresses appeared.

  “This is my wife, Princess Linnea,” he told them in English. “She will choose one of you to attend her.” He spoke in Arabic, no doubt repeating the words.

  Aware she had no choice but to choose, Linnea asked, “Which of you speaks English fluently?”

  No one moved or spoke for a long moment, then a dark-skinned young woman stepped forward. “I’m Shadi, Princess,” she said hesitantly. “I speak English good.”

  About to tell the woman she’d picked her, Linnea hesitated. Wouldn’t a dutiful wife, at this point, defer to her husband? As a small concession, she turned to him, saying, “Shadi’s my choice.”

  He nodded. “Shadi, you’ll see to the luggage.”

  “Yes, Prince.” She turned and left.

  Talal issued orders in Arabic and the rest of them dispersed. “We’ll have lunch in our rooms,” he told Linnea.

  “Rooms?” she echoed.

  “A suite of three with but one bed. The two of us will initiate its use.”

  “You’ve never slept there?”

  He shook his head. “I had my bachelor quarters.”

  “Which, I imagine, you never expected to leave,” she teased.

&nbs
p; “I should have known my life would never be the same after I rang your doorbell in New York,” he said with a rueful grin.

  “Nor mine,” she agreed. How many times since then she’d wished she’d never met him. And now? She looked at the man before her, a Kholi prince, impressive in the clothes of his country, and her breath caught.

  It didn’t matter who he was or what country he came from, he was Talal. He was the man she wanted.

  He led the way to their suite and, when they reached the open door, lifted her into his arms and carried her into the room, depositing her on the bed.

  “Is this going to become a habit?” she asked. “Carrying me from one bed to another?”

  “It’s one way to get you there quickly. Besides, I was honoring what I thought was an American custom, carrying the bride across the threshold.”

  She stretched out on the bed, flinging her arms out, and gazed up at him. “Ya, Talal,” she said, “Yallah!”

  He threw back his head and laughed. Moments later he’d slammed the door shut, peeled off his headdress and the rest of his clothes. “Your wish is my command,” he said, looming over her.

  While yallah meant let’s go or hurry up, she hadn’t expected him to take her quite so literally. It was highly evident he was ready to go in more ways than one. Gazing at his splendid nakedness brought an urgent need to be in his arms, flesh to flesh. She sat up and began flinging off her clothes.

  He reached for her, but only to take her hand and urge her to her feet, leading her across the room and through a door into what she could only think of as a bathroom suite, with separate rooms for tub and shower, toilets and two dressing areas complete with sinks.

  “Because this is my house, now ours,” he said, “and I’ve brought you here as my wife, we will shower together first and come to one another as though for the first time.”

  His words took her breath away, making her feel that, in a way, what he meant was a reenactment of the wedding ceremony, this time for real. Though the idea unnerved her, she had no desire to refuse.

  A few minutes later they stood under the flow of water, at first scrubbing each other with sponges. Then the sponges got tossed aside and the scrubbing turned to caresses.

  Sheer determination to carry out his ritual cleansing was all that kept Talal from making love to Linnea under the shower. Using all the willpower he possessed, he shut off the water, opened the shower door and reached for the towels. He meant to make their first lovemaking in this house as perfect as possible. He’d make Linnea as happy and fulfilled as a man could. He would not allow what he’d have to tell her later to interfere with what he meant to be the true consummation of their marriage.

  He watched her towel herself, admiring her grace of movement as well as the beauty of her body. She was, as he’d realized from the first moment he set eyes on her, a woman made for keeping. Then, that knowledge had scared him off. The king’s edict had forced his hand; he hadn’t wanted to marry her—or anyone. But the shock of almost losing her had woken him to his own blindness and rearranged his thinking, not only about his true feeling for Linnea but about his own selfishness.

  He’d finally understood that no woman had ever deliberately betrayed him. Not his mother, nor his grandmother, nor his poor, misguided first wife. And not Linnea, either. They’d all been driven by circumstances they couldn’t control to act as they did. He regretted his hasty words to Linnea and he’d tell her so. But not at this moment. Later.

  “My beautiful princess,” he murmured to her as he flung his towel aside and took her hand to lead her to their marriage bed.

  “Even though blue eyes and golden hair didn’t come with the title?” she asked, smiling at him.

  “Your amber eyes trapped me from the beginning,” he said, pausing to take her in his arms and kiss her. A mistake. As soon as he felt her soft sweetness against him and her fervent response to his kiss, his control slipped.

  He couldn’t let her go, couldn’t move, could only deepen their kiss and caress her enticing body, her soft moans further eroding what fragments of control he still clung to. Her scent, her taste, the silken wonder of her body, intoxicated him in a way alcohol never had.

  Gripped by such intense passion, he lost all contact with his surroundings. Talal felt himself swaying on his feet, felt them both swaying. In a moment they’d be on the floor, locked together, and he didn’t want that. Still holding her, he staggered toward the bed and they fell across it.

  Then, somehow, he was inside her, enclosed in her warmth, and traveling again, like Omar, to Saturn’s throne.

  Linnea threw her head back, gasping, her body arched against Talal’s as they joined in the most ancient dance of all, the mating dance, the one that celebrated life itself. She gave herself up to pure feeling as her pleasure spasms of completion triggered his release.

  Wonderful as making love with him was, she enjoyed the snuggling together afterward almost as much. He made her feel she was still a part of him, that, though apart, they were one in a way that would last far beyond the physical act of lovemaking. Last forever.

  A stray thought made her smile. “Was that another variation of the Kholi sword dance?” she murmured.

  He chuckled. “Irreverent woman. Have you no respect for custom?”

  “I think I might be able to get accustomed to your particular variation,” she said, sliding her hand along his abdomen until she reached the sword in question.

  Someone tapped at the door.

  “Later!” Talal called.

  “Don’t you think whoever that might have been was bringing us food?” she said.

  “I plan to starve you into submission,” he growled, nuzzling her breast.

  The knocking came again. A man’s voice spoke urgently in Arabic. The only word Linnea could clearly identify was Hakeem. The king.

  Alarm shot through her. She watched apprehensively as Talal called back a few curt words, slid from the bed, strode to the door, eased it open and plucked a portable phone from whoever stood outside. He began talking into the phone even before closing the door. In Arabic.

  Linnea sat up, clutching a pillow to her, her gaze fixed on Talal’s face. If the king had called him, it was sure to be with bad news. During the conversation, no smile crossed his face, confirming her impression. An eternity passed before he hung up.

  “We must dress,” he said, without looking at her. He grabbed his clothes and made for one of the dressing rooms.

  Linnea released a pent-up breath, her anxiety all but overwhelming her. Her hands trembled as she gathered her things together and walked slowly toward the other dressing room.

  When she returned to the bedroom, Talal wasn’t there, he’d gone into the sitting room. She joined him. Food had been set out on a table, but he wasn’t eating or even drinking tea. He stood in a bay window, his back to her. She crossed to join him and looked out into the desert’s sandy expanse, drifting clouds casting dark patterns on the tan surface. The lowering sun told her it was late afternoon.

  “Talal?” she said. “Talal, what is it?”

  He took so long to answer she’d almost given up before he turned to her. She wanted to flinch from the sadness in his dark eyes, afraid of what he might be about to tell her.

  “King Hakeem’s call was to let us know we’ll have to leave Kholi as soon as possible. He suggested tomorrow and he’s offered his private jet.”

  Taken aback, she asked, “Why? What’s happened?”

  “I told him we’d be on our way before noon tomorrow.”

  “You haven’t said why.”

  “Basheem Khaldun is dead. Though he’s the last of his immediate family, others are related to the Khalduns. I’ll be held responsible for Basheem’s death and the king fears they may target me for a retaliation assassination. He believes I’ll be safer in America for the time being, until tempers cool.”

  She put a hand to her heart. “You mean you’re in danger of being killed?”

  His attempt at a smi
le didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe in Kholi. Not in America.”

  She tried to feel relieved, but it was clear he hadn’t yet told her everything and the heaviness in her chest remained. “Did Basheem wake enough to talk before he died?” she asked.

  The muscles tensed in Talal’s face as though he was gritting his teeth. “Not after we left.” He put an arm around her shoulders and led her to a white wicker settee where he pulled her down beside him.

  “I was able to speak to Basheem before we left,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me!” she cried. “Did he say where my daughter is?”

  “He told me a story I couldn’t bring myself to repeat to you immediately. I wanted to bring you here, where we could be alone together, first. I planned to tell you in the morning, but Basheem’s death means you’ll have to hear everything now.”

  Her urge to demand he hurry faded with each word he said as she began to realize Basheem’s story might be one she’d rather not hear.

  Talal took a deep breath. “Basheem was not a party to the abduction of your daughter. As you know, another cousin was with Malik. But Basheem was waiting for them at the airport when they returned from America. Linnea—” He paused and took her hand.

  She gripped his hand hard, her entire body tense with dread.

  “Malik came off the plane with the baby completely swathed in a blanket despite the heat. Basheem soon realized the swathing was so those on the plane wouldn’t realize the truth. Somewhere en route to Kholi, your daughter died—possibly from her heart condition. She was dead when Malik carried her off the plane.”

  Linnea heard herself whimpering, but it was as though the sound came from another woman because at first she couldn’t control it. She clung to Talal’s hand so frantically that hers began to ache. At last she was able to swallow her grief so it stuck in her throat instead of emerging in whimpers. “What—what did Malik do then?” she asked.

  “After he swore his two cousins to secrecy, they took the baby into the desert that same night and buried her. No one ever asked what became of the child.”

  Tears rolled down Linnea’s face. “My baby’s been dead all these years. All these years I’ve searched for her and she’s been dead. I’ll never even know where her grave is. Why didn’t he tell me?” Her voice broke on the last few words.