Chapter 6
Cara
Marry? Me marry a sheikh? That anyone would want to marry me is a step beyond belief, but a sheikh and, more than that, a real live prince? I’m having difficulty pulling myself together as I realise how ludicrous and unbelievable the proposal is. I must be the butt of a very elaborate joke. Perhaps if I look around I’ll see hidden cameras? Eventually I stop laughing, my mirth ending in a series of unladylike hiccups. I gaze incredulously at the two princes, who are giving me time to let their suggestion sink in. I shake my head, knowing Sheikh Kadar cannot be serious. When I’ve sufficiently got myself together to be able to speak, I start telling them how ridiculous they are being.
Looking at them scathingly I begin, “Look, this is crazy.” Remembering who I’m addressing, I realise I need to choose my words a bit more carefully. Insulting princes in their own land is probably not the brightest idea. “I don’t know why you brought me here; there’s obviously been a big mistake. What you are suggesting is ridiculous.” I pause and, noticing their expressions remain sober, try a different tack. “I appreciate Benting has caused trouble for your country, and I’m sorry to hear that. If there was any way I could help repay the money I’d do it. But you have to be joking to think that I could marry your brother. I’ve never met him, but he wouldn’t want to marry someone like me. And I’m certainly not worth the bride price you are suggesting! You’ve had your fun; you’ve succeeded in frightening me. Please just end this now, and let me go home.”
Two sets of grave eyes are on me now; two men looking at me with sympathy. They are not laughing. I go completely still, horror filling me at the prospect that they could actually be serious. “You are joking, aren’t you?” My voice sounds hoarse. Suddenly nothing would feel better than escaping back to what Hunter refers to as command central, and burying myself in familiar work. Perhaps I should pinch myself to prove this is a dream.
Kadar reaches behind him and rummages. Turning back, he hands me a tissue. I take it, and mop up the wetness that seeped from my eyes during my laughing fit; I hadn’t even been aware I had tears running down my cheeks. He waits, presumably for me to compose myself, and then starts to speak.
“In our culture arranged marriages are the norm, particularly for the royal family …”
“But it’s not my culture!” I interrupt, not caring if I'm rude. An arranged marriage? I can’t conceive of that. But their manner is making me realise that they are serious. They mean this. Oh shit! I start to hyperventilate as I begin to consider their proposal as a possibility. “I can’t marry a stranger.” I shudder. “I can’t …”
“I’m afraid you can and you will. You have no choice.” Kadar pronounces his statement as if he’s hammering nails into my coffin.
“Miss Benting.” Jasim addresses me now. “Let us try to explain. The tribes are angry.” He throws his brother a quick look when he pauses, and with a gesture shows he expects him to continue. But when Kadar just stares back, Jasim gives a frustrated sigh and starts to provide me with a fuller explanation. “The tribes want revenge. I appreciate you don’t understand our ways.” He takes a deep breath and then continues. “Amahad is a country of two parts. In the north we have industry and large towns. Al Qur’ah has a prime position on the coast and over the centuries has become an important port and gateway not only for our people, but also for neighbouring landlocked countries. Nowadays we attract significant tourism as well. The northern towns and cities are cosmopolitan as a result, with acceptance of different cultures and religions. But a third of our population still live a traditional life in the southern desert. It’s a wild place; the people living there are predominantly of the Muslim faith, and there is a divide between the city and desert dwellers. The desert tribes play an important role, acting as a buffer against the less tolerant countries surrounding us.”
It’s a lot for me to take in, let alone try to understand. Jasim gives me a moment to digest his geography lesson before continuing.
“We need the tribal leaders to be united, or we are unable to protect the border. The tribes blame the Crown for losing their money and we cannot afford to have them rebel. Once they have a taste for blood, they will turn among themselves. Your marriage, the payment of the bride price, will appease them. We have their word on that.”
His explanation doesn’t help. Tremors are shuddering through my body as his unsmiling face shows his determination to achieve this outcome. How can I get out of this? I stare at him.
“But it’s got nothing to do with me. I don’t know anything about your country. Look, I don’t mean to sound uncaring, but your tribal disputes have nothing to do with me. There must be some other way to appease them?” I look round, as if for an escape route. I’m wildly clutching at straws. “I’m a forensic accountant! I’m British. You can’t treat me like this. I will not be a pawn in your political game.”
Kadar stands up so rapidly that his chair tips backwards. Automatically our eyes go to it, watching it rocking, waiting to see whether it will fall. Before it does, Kadar reaches out a hand to steady it. He doesn’t exactly shout, but his stern voice increases in volume.
“This is not a game! Your father stole from Amahad and you are his only kin. That debt must be repaid.”
“But I didn’t even know my father!” I continue to protest, vexed tears filling my eyes. They are not listening to me. “I want to go home.” I try to put some strength into my voice. “I insist you let me go back to England!” Thinking quickly I add, “I need to contact the British embassy!”
“Enough!” His voice was quieter now, but his tone made me automatically obey.
I shut my mouth.
“You will remain in Amahad. And you will be married.”
I’m not having this. The situation is beyond preposterous. They can’t force me to do anything. Surely any marriage needs my agreement? I stand up, and it’s my chair that actually falls over, and I couldn’t give a damn. “I demand you let me go home right now. You can’t coerce me like this. I refuse to consider this any further.” I’ve never been so angry in my life – or so scared.
“Then you will pay the ultimate price!” Kadar throws this back at me. “Sentence has been passed. The tribespeople will have your life.”
“What?” I start. The thought of this preposterous marriage put the earlier threat of the execution out of my head. I stop breathing in the stunned silence. A scraping sound tells me that Jasim has righted my chair. His hand comes to hold my arm as he gently guides me back into it.
Kadar’s cold eyes focus on mine. “Marriage or death. Those are your choices.”
Jasim gives my arm a gentle squeeze; a gesture of comfort, not support. I don’t take my eyes off his brother. The horror of his pronouncement shakes me to the core. Jasim glares at him and turns me to face him.
“The tribes wanted Benting’s daughter dead, Cara. As we have already explained, we managed to get them to accept an alternative: marriage to Sheikh Nijad.” Another squeeze of his hand, his actions at odds with the brutal finality of his words. “But if you don’t accept the marriage you will have to take the only other option.”
I turn my eyes to him; I read the compassion in his face and his distaste for the words he is saying. I find myself considering whether death is a better option than the impossible marriage they are planning for me. In truth, what have I got to live for? A lonely life hidden away from the world, my only interaction with other people consisting of delving into their digital lives.
Kadar seems to understand that I’m considering the ultimate option. “You would die by being beheaded, Miss Benting. A public execution.”
After staring at him and noting that, unlike his brother, his unyielding features show no sign of sympathy, I put my head in my hands and rub my forehead, pressing my fingers into my temples. What the fuck kind of nightmare have I got myself into? I feel sick to my stomach, and my headache is coming back with a vengeance.
Jasim sees my actions, interprets them corre
ctly and places a glass of water in front of me. I stare at it for a moment, before picking it up and taking a few sips.
“If only you knew …” I whisper. The men are silent, giving me time to take in what they’ve told me, but my thoughts take a different turn. They weren’t taking revenge by insisting on this marriage. Joseph Benting would be over the moon to know he’d sold his daughter, and received such a large payment for her. It was what he’d wanted all along. But then, he hadn’t dreamed my life had any value at all. To him, I’d been worthless.
I have no choice. Well, I do have a choice, but a deep innate survival instinct persuades me that losing my head isn’t a particularly attractive option. For the first time, I start to realise that this marriage could become a reality. I consider the princes in front of me, looking from one to the other. They are both handsome men: tall, well-muscled, fit-looking, intimidating, powerful men, neither of whom would have even glanced at someone like me if they’d passed me on the street. If my potential husband is cut from the same cloth, it will be a marriage made in hell. There’s no way he would want to be tied to me. I’m under no illusions as to what I look like: overweight and badly scarred from my childhood acne, not fit to be seen on the arm of any halfway decent-looking man, let alone a prince! If Nijad is anything like his brothers, why on earth would he agree to marry me? Surely the princes can see I’m not princess material?
My thoughts were tumbling through my head in no particular order. How would such a marriage be arranged? Was there an option to meet Nijad first to see if we might be compatible? If we did meet, I know he’d reject me on sight. What a preposterous idea that I was to get married, and even more than that, to a sheikh? Impossible! Surely they must see that. Are they blind?
My voice comes out as a horrified gasp. “This is absurd! It’s nonsensical to think I could marry anyone at all. Certainly not a prince. Even as an arranged marriage, your brother wouldn’t want to marry me!”
I know I’ve surprised Kadar when I see him frown. “Why not?”
My embarrassment at drawing unwanted attention to my features makes my voice grow shrill. “Just look at me!”
Tilting his head to one side, Kadar does as I suggest, and then exchanges a look with his brother. He shakes his head as if he can’t understand.
His nonchalant attitude makes me angry. Giving an exasperated sigh, I continue, almost shouting, “Why would Sheikh Nijad even consider marrying me?” I raise my eyes to the tall, imposing sheikh.
Still standing, but looking down, examining me intently, Kadar seems to be choosing his words. Then he tells me, “Sheikh Nijad has no more choice in this matter than you do. It is his duty. The emir has spoken.” He looks down at his brother, but Jasim only shrugs and stays silent. They seem to be communicating without words. I’m starting to think there’s something they aren’t telling me, something about Nijad, something important. Why would their brother, a prince, third in line to the throne, be forced to marry a commoner from another country?
Kadar takes his seat so he can address me face to face. “Our brother lives in the southern desert. He hasn’t left the desert for three years and is unlikely to, so you will join him there. The tribespeople will be monitoring the marriage very carefully; you need to understand that.” Again he glances at Jasim, looking for encouragement. “You must satisfy Nijad as his bride. You will not bring shame upon him or his name, and you will not disrespect him.”
He wasn’t saying it, but there was an unspoken consequence in there, I was certain. I want it clarified. “Or else?” I whisper.
“Sheikh Nijad holds your life in his hands.”
Jasim is watching us and his cough draws my attention back to him. “It won’t be a life sentence, Cara.” His voice is as comforting as it can be in the circumstances. “You will sign a contract that specifies the length of your marriage. It’s probable that the conditions can be accomplished within five years. At that point, you would be free to return to your old life.” His words do slightly soften the blow.
Still reeling from the idea that my proposed husband will have the power of life or death over me, I try to process what Kadar was saying. A relatively short marriage? For five years only? Does that make a difference, knowing it isn’t for ever? Perhaps we would have a business-type arrangement; I could cope with that. Perhaps Nijad is gay, and needs a wife to keep up appearances?
But the swift rise in my hopes are immediately dashed as Kadar continues, “Our ruler has decided it’s time Nijad has an heir. And for that, he needs a wife.”
I recoil. Any thoughts I had of a platonic marriage just went flying out of the window.
“An heir? He will want children?” Everything had been sprung on me so quickly this morning that I hadn’t thought things through. Children meant sex. Agreeing to this marriage would be agreeing to be intimate with a man I have never met, and know absolutely nothing about! But as soon as Kadar continues speaking in that deep solemn voice, I realise he is deadly serious.
“Yes. A son. You will remain married for five years, or until the terms of the marriage contract have been satisfied.”
“The contract will call for me to have a child?” I’m stunned. I’ve never even had a boyfriend, and now I am to get pregnant? Pregnant by a man I don’t even know. “This is beyond crazy!”
Ignoring my whispered statement, he just answers my question. “The contract calls for you to provide Nijad with a son, yes,” he repeats.
“But what if I can’t … what if I can’t have children? What if any children are girls?” I’m reeling at the thought of having a child, any child – and, in particular, the unimaginable actions that are necessary for it to come about.
Kadar shrugs. “If there is no child at all, or only females, after the period of five years has passed Nijad will be able to discuss his options with the emir.”
I don’t think I want to hear what those options might include. And, on the other hand, “What if I do have a child? What happens after five years?” My voice grows sharp. I really can’t believe I’m having this discussion.
“At the end of five years, you will be able to return to your old life. You will be provided for, with more than sufficient for your needs.”
Marriage, sex, having a baby … All things I never thought I’d experience. But wait: Kadar’s expression tells me I haven’t been told everything yet and, as the elder prince clears his throat, I soon found I was right.
“Any child of the marriage will naturally remain in Amahad.”
So that’s it. The suggestion is for me to be a breeding machine. It’s barbaric! Things like that don’t happen in this century, and certainly don’t happen to me! Me! Plain, boring, ugly Cara. Marriage! A consummated marriage, no less. It’s ludicrous. I’ve never considered having children. Who would want to have them with me? But if I did have a child, could I bear to part with it? My head is swimming. Abruptly, I pull myself together. The whole thing was insane, unthinkable. I would refuse.
“No,” I tell them, my voice as firm as I can make it. “You cannot do this. Kidnapping and forced marriage, it’s not legal …”
Kadar interrupts. “It is our ruler’s wish. And the emir is the law. There is no way out, Cara. Not if you want to live.” He touches his forehead, his hand wiping his brow before coming down to cup his chin. It suddenly hits me that, underneath his autocratic exterior, he is trying to hide his sympathy for me, and struggling not to show it. But whether or not he feels compassion, as he continues speaking I realise nothing is going to deter him from this decided course of action. It is too important to their country, even if their solution is unacceptable to me.
“We have to avoid warring among the tribes, and there is no other way to achieve that aim.”
Feeling as if I’m sinking fast into a quagmire, I make a request. “I need time to get my head round all of this. And I’d like to call someone …” I’m thinking of Hunter, or if he’s not available, I’ll try and get through to Grade A. Oh my God, Hunter, had bee
n so right to warn me about Amahad.
“No phone calls,” Jasim answers quickly.
“But at the very least I’ll have to tie up my work commitments. There’s my house, my account with the bank …” My mind fills with inconsequential practicalities.
“You’ll give us the power of attorney. We’ll sort out all the details for you.”
I stand, surprised that my legs support me. “I need time to think about this.”
This time, both men shake their heads in unison. They glance at each other, and Kadar nods as if confirming he is taking the lead. “The lawyers are waiting in the next room with the paperwork. You’ll sign the marriage contract now. You’ll be taken by helicopter to Nijad’s desert camp this afternoon.”
“No!” I’m truly starting to panic. I begin walking back and forth across the room, as if the movement can help get my thoughts in order. “I’m not ready.” I shoot a look of appeal to Jasim, who I think has the most empathy with my plight, but he merely lifts his shoulders up in a shrug and stares back with a sad look on his face.
“You sign the contract, or you will be taken to prison to await execution.” In a cold voice Kadar reminds me of the unpalatable alternative.
Panic increasing, I come out with the only thing I can. “I need to see the contract before I sign it. I don’t sign anything I haven’t read,” I say desperately. Anything to buy myself some time.
Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) Page 10