by Annie West
‘Don’t worry, Safiyah, I won’t foist any bastard children on you.’
His tone cut like a blade and his brow wrinkled into a scowl, making her wonder at the depth of his anger. For anger there was, vibrating through the thickening atmosphere.
Safiyah tried to fathom it. Even when she’d told him he could forget about sharing her bed she hadn’t sensed fury like this.
Then, as abruptly as it had surfaced, it disappeared.
‘So, you agree to marry me?’
He still didn’t approach. Didn’t attempt to woo her with soft words or tender caresses.
Safiyah told herself she was grateful.
‘I...’ The words stuck in her throat. Duty, maternal love, patriotism—all demanded she say yes. Yet it was a struggle to conquer the selfish part of her that wanted something for herself. Finally she nodded. ‘Yes. If you take the throne, I’ll marry you.’
She hadn’t expected a display of strong emotion, but she’d expected something to show he appreciated her sacrifice. Even a flicker in that stern expression.
She got nothing.
* * *
‘Good. We’ll travel to Assara tomorrow.’
Karim kept his tone brisk, masking the momentary flash of emotion that struck out of nowhere and lodged like a nail between his ribs.
He inhaled, drawing on a lifetime’s training in dismissing inconvenient feelings. He didn’t do sentiment.
‘Tomorrow?’
Her eyes rounded. Almost as if she didn’t want this. Didn’t want him.
‘I’ll accept the Council’s offer in person. Now I’ve decided there’s no time to be lost. There’s no point giving Shakroun any opportunity to build more support.’
It would be a long, tough road ahead, establishing himself as Sheikh in a foreign country. Karim was under no illusions about that. But excitement burgeoned at the prospect. It was the work he’d been bred to, the work he’d missed even if he hadn’t allowed himself to admit it.
And nor was it just the work he looked forward to.
He watched Safiyah watching him and kept his face studiously blank. It wouldn’t do to let her guess that one of the benefits in acting quickly was to secure her.
Purely for political reasons, of course.
Yet Safiyah unsettled him more than she should. Thoughts of her had interfered with his decision-making and he’d kept following her around the room as if his body refused to follow the dictates of his brain. Baser impulses ruled—impulses driven by the organ between his legs and the urgent need to claim what he’d once so desired.
That had to be the reason for his current fixation. He’d once been prepared to offer Safiyah everything—his name, his loyalty, his wealth. Now he had the opportunity to claim what he’d been denied.
Relief dribbled through him. It was good to have a sane explanation for this urgent attraction.
A powerful throb of anticipation pulsed through him. That kiss, brief as it had been, had proved the attraction was there, stronger than ever.
‘What are you thinking?’
She repeated his own question, her eyes narrowed and her chin lifted, as if she’d read the direction of his thoughts and didn’t like it. That surprised Karim. He’d long ago learned to hide his thoughts.
‘Just thinking about my priorities when we get to Assara.’ He paused. ‘I’ll instruct my lawyers to draw up the adoption papers with the marriage contract.’
‘Really? I hadn’t expected that so soon. Thank you.’
For the first time since they’d met again Safiyah actually approached him. The tight line of her beautiful mouth had softened and her eyes glowed. If Karim had needed any proof that she was motivated by love of her child, here it was.
He watched the slow smile spread across her face and felt a curious niggle inside. What would it be like to have someone—Safiyah, for example—look at him that way. Not because he was doing something for the one she loved, but because she cared for him?
Blood rushed in Karim’s ears as he stiffened and pulled back. Such fanciful thoughts were totally foreign. He was a grown man. He didn’t need anyone to care for him. It was just curiosity about the loving bond between mother and child. Something he’d never experienced.
As a child he’d convinced himself that his mother loved him. He had fragmentary memories of being held in soft arms and sung to. Of playing with her in that rose-scented courtyard.
But those memories were wishful thinking. If his mother had loved either of her children she wouldn’t have deserted them—left them to the mercies of the man who’d raised them. The man he’d thought of as his father had been irascible, impatient, and never satisfied, no matter how hard Karim had tried to live up to his impossible standards.
‘Karim? What is it?’ Safiyah had lifted her hand as if to touch his arm.
A white-hot blast of longing seared him. Unlooked-for. Unwanted. Because hankering after such things made him weak. He’d almost fallen for that trap once before with Safiyah. But he’d learned his lesson.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
He let his mouth turn up in a slow smile. The sort of smile he knew melted a woman’s resolve. Safiyah blinked. Twice. Her lips parted and he saw her pulse pound in her throat.
‘On the contrary. Everything is perfect.’
CHAPTER FIVE
KARIM LEFT HIS meeting in the Assaran palace torn between satisfaction and frustration. The interminable deliberation over legalities was complete. Agreement had been reached on all the important issues—including the provisions for Tarek and Safiyah.
And if some of the Assaran officials had been surprised that he, the incoming Sheikh, was the one ensuring the little Prince lost nothing as a result of Karim’s accession, they’d quickly hidden it.
As for the red tape...
His homeland of Za’daq had its fair share, but Assara outdid it. They’d spent hours longer than necessary on minutiae. But Karim hadn’t hurried them. Time enough to streamline processes after he became Sheikh.
But now, after hours hemmed in by nervous officials and nit-picking lawyers, he needed air.
He turned away from the palace’s offices, past the broad corridor leading to the state rooms, and headed down towards the main courtyard where he guessed the stables were.
Emerging outside, Karim glanced at the lowering sun dropping towards the distant border with Za’daq. Purple mountains fringed the horizon and even here, on the coast, he registered the unmistakable scent of the desert.
His nostrils twitched and he inhaled deeply, though he knew he was imagining that elusive scent. The desert was half a day’s journey away. Yet the very air seemed familiar here, as it hadn’t in Europe and North America. He felt more at home in Assara than he had in years there.
Karim smiled as he sauntered across the yard to the stables. In the couple of days since he’d agreed to come here his certainty had increased. He’d made the right decision.
But his smile faded as he registered the stable’s echoing silence. The doors were shut and there was no sign of activity except in a far corner, where part of the stables had been turned into garages. There, a driver was busy polishing a limousine.
‘The stables?’ he said, when questioned. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but they’re empty. No one has worked there in years. Not since the last Sheikh’s father’s time.’
‘There are no horses at all?’
Karim couldn’t believe it. Assara was known for its pure-bred horses. Surely the Sheikh would have the finest mounts? Plus, Safiyah had virtually been born in the saddle. Riding was a major part of her life.
He remembered the first time he’d seen her. She’d been on horseback, and her fluid grace on that prancing grey, her lithe agility and the way she and the horse had moved as one had snagged his admiration. The sight had momentarily made him forget the reason he was v
isiting her father’s stud farm, the horse he wanted to buy.
‘Where does the Sheikha keep her horses?’
‘The Sheikha, sir? I don’t know of her riding or about any horses.’
Karim stared. Safiyah? Not riding? It was impossible. Once there’d been talk of her possible selection for the national equestrian team. He recalled thinking she’d never looked more alive than on horseback. Except when she was in his arms.
The memory curled heat through his belly, increasing his edginess.
Thanking the driver, he turned and entered the palace, heading for the royal suites. It was time he visited Safiyah anyway. The past couple of days had been taken up with meetings and he’d barely seen her.
Five minutes later he was admitted into her apartments. His curiosity rose as he entered. This was the first room he’d seen in the palace that looked both beautiful and comfortable rather than grandiose. The sort of place he could imagine relaxing after a long day. He liked it.
‘If you’d like to make yourself comfortable, sir?’ The maid gestured to a long sofa. ‘I’ll tell the Sheikha you’re here.’ She bobbed a curtsey and headed not further into the apartment, as he’d expected, but through the open doors into a green courtyard.
Instead of taking a seat Karim followed her, emerging into a lush garden full of flowering plants. Pink, white and red blossoms caught his eye. Fragrance filled the air and the swathe of grass curving amongst the shrubs was a deep emerald.
He paused, taking in the vibrancy of the place, so unlike the courtyards elsewhere in the palace, which were all symmetry and formal elegance. This was inviting, but casual, almost mysterious with its thick plantings and meandering paths.
The sound of laughter drew him forward. There was the maid, moving towards someone half hidden from view. Beyond her, on the grass, was a tumble of movement that resolved itself into a floppy-eared pup and a small boy. Giggles filled the air and an excited yapping.
Karim stepped forward and discovered the half-hidden figure was Safiyah, seated on the grass.
His gaze was riveted to his bride-to-be. In Switzerland he’d seen her cool and reserved, then later satisfyingly breathless in his arms. He’d seen her mutinous and imperious. But he hadn’t seen her like this—relaxed and happy, with laughter curving her red lips.
For a moment something shimmered like golden motes in the late-afternoon light. A mirage of the past, when they’d enjoyed each other’s company, gradually getting to know one another. Safiyah had laughed then, the sound sweet as honey and open as sunshine. Her laughter, her eager enjoyment of life, had been precious to someone like him, brought up by a man who had been at best dour, at worst irate, and always dissatisfied.
‘Karim.’
Her eyes widened and the light fled from her expression. Stupid to mind that the sight of him dulled her brightness. It wasn’t as if he wanted to share her laughter. He wasn’t here for levity.
Safiyah said something and the maid moved towards the boy as if to scoop him up.
‘No. Don’t take him away.’ Karim turned to Safiyah. ‘Don’t cut short his playtime because of me.’
It was time for him to meet the boy. Karim had agreed to be a father to him. The idea still elicited a confusing mixture of feelings and he’d berated himself more than once for acting as if on a whim where Tarek was concerned.
But it was no whim. The thought of the little Prince at the mercy of a ruthless man like Shakroun had struck a chord with Karim. He’d had to act. Nor could he rip the child’s birthright away. Just as he hadn’t been able to take the crown of Za’daq over Ashraf, though he’d been brought up solely for that purpose.
Besides, Karim knew what it was like growing up with the burden of royalty. The child needed a role model—one who understood that there was more to life than court protocol and politics. Karim would be that mentor.
An inner voice whispered that he hadn’t been such a good mentor to his younger brother...hadn’t been able to protect him from his father’s ire or bring much joy into his world. He vowed to do a better job with Tarek.
Safiyah rose in one graceful movement. Her long dress of deep amethyst slid with a whisper around that delectable body and Karim cursed his hyper-awareness of her. It had been like that since they’d arrived in Assara. No, since that kiss in Switzerland, that had left him fighting to mask his urgent arousal.
Karim drew a slow breath and forced himself to admit the truth. He’d been attuned to her from the moment she’d turned up in his hotel suite. She still had the power to unsettle him.
Safiyah murmured something to the maid, who melted back down the path.
‘How kind of you to visit.’
Safiyah clasped her hands at her waist and inclined her head—the gracious Queen greeting a visitor. Except this visitor was the man who was about to save her country and her son. And he was going to become far more to her than a polite stranger, no matter how hard she pretended indifference.
Satisfaction banished his jab of annoyance at her condescension. Soon there’d be no pretence of them being strangers.
‘The pleasure is all mine.’
He let his voice deepen caressingly. Her eyes rounded and he smothered a smile. Oh, yes. He was looking forward to a much closer relationship with Safiyah. Her attempts to keep him at a distance only fired his anticipation.
‘I thought I’d take a ride, but discovered the stables empty.’
‘My husband wasn’t a rider.’
Karim watched her refold her hands, one over the other. Her mouth flattened, disguising those lush lips. Curiosity stirred. His nape prickled with the certainty that he’d hit on a subject she didn’t want to discuss. Which made Karim determined to discover why.
Was her reaction a response to him or to the mention of her dead husband?
‘But you are.’
He wasn’t sure why he pressed the point, except that it was sensible to know the woman he was about to marry.
She lifted her shoulders but the gesture was too stiff to be called a shrug. ‘I was.’
Karim lifted one eyebrow questioningly.
‘I don’t ride any more.’
The words were clipped and cool, but he sensed something beneath them. Something that wasn’t as calm as the image she projected.
He waited, letting the silence draw out. Concern niggled. Had she had a bad fall? Had she been seriously injured? It would take a lot to keep the woman he’d once known away from her beloved horses.
Finally, with a tiny exhalation that sounded like a huff of exasperation, she spoke. ‘Abbas didn’t ride and he preferred that I didn’t either.’
‘Why?’
Karim shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his feet, reinforcing the fact that he had plenty of time. Especially as he sensed Safiyah was reluctant to explain.
Equestrian prowess was a traditional part of a warrior’s skills. It was unusual to find a ruler who didn’t ride—especially as Assarans were proud of their fabled reputation as horsemen. The country was world-renowned for the horses it bred in the wide fertile valley along its northern border.
Safiyah darted a glance at the little boy and the puppy, now playing a lolloping game of chase. Was she checking they were okay or whether her son was listening?
‘When I got pregnant I was advised not to ride. To keep the baby safe.’
Karim nodded. That he understood. But that had been years ago. There was more to this tale.
‘And after the birth?’
A wry smile curved her lips. ‘Only someone who hasn’t gone through childbirth would ask that.’
It was tempting to be side-tracked by that smile, but Karim knew a diversion when he heard it. ‘Not immediately, but in the years since your son was born. Why haven’t you ridden?’ A crazy idea surfaced. ‘Did he forbid it?’
Karim knew by the sudden w
idening of her eyes that he was right. Sheikh Abbas had forbidden his wife to ride. But why?
Safiyah lifted her chin. There was no trace of her smile as she surveyed him with regal hauteur. That was something she’d learned only recently. The woman he’d known had been as fresh and unaffected as they came. Or, he amended, had given that impression...
‘If it was known that I rode regularly I’d be expected to ride during royal processions and official gatherings. That was what royals have always done in the past. But...’
‘But then you’d show up your husband if you were on horseback and he wasn’t?’
A flush climbed her slender throat and she looked away. As if she were the one with an embarrassing secret.
‘What happened? Did he have a bad fall? Is that what made him afraid to ride?’
The colour had seeped across her cheekbones now. ‘It’s not important. Abbas was beginning to modernise Assara. He saw no point in clinging to tradition. Travelling by car is quicker and more convenient.’
The words sounded like something she’d learned by heart. No doubt they’d been her husband’s.
Karim felt something gnaw at his belly. Dislike.
He’d carefully not allowed himself to dwell on thoughts of Safiyah with her husband. He’d spent enough fruitless hours in the past, fuming over the way she’d dumped him so unceremoniously and then given herself to another bridegroom a mere five months later.
At the time the idea of Safiyah with another man, in his bed, giving him what she’d denied Karim, had been a special sort of poison in his blood.
But now his animosity was directed at Abbas.
Particularly as the possibility now arose that her defence of the dead man might be driven by love.
It hadn’t occurred to Karim that Safiyah had loved her husband. There’d been no outward sign of it. On the contrary, her response to him had told him she didn’t carry a torch for Abbas. No, ambition had been behind her first marriage, not love.
‘Tradition matters if the people still value it.’
He read the flicker in her expression and knew that to many in Assara seeing their Sheikh on horseback was still important.