Sheik

by Mason, Connie

  “Are you sure that’s wise? Not telling your mother about us, I mean?”

  “I want her to hear it from my own lips. And I want her to meet you first. Don’t worry, she’ll love you.”

  “What do I call your mother?”

  “Her name is Eloise, Lady Lanford. Just call her ‘my lady’ until she tells you different. You’ll get along famously, I know you will.”

  “How far is it to Kent?”

  “Not so far, but I want to take it easy with you. We’ll stop on the road the first night. Traveling by coach in winter can be hazardous if roads are icy. Then there are road agents to contend with.”

  “Road agents?”

  “Thieves who stop travelers and rob them. But that won’t happen to us. I intend to hire outriders to make the road safe for us.”

  “The gangplank is in place, my lord,” Captain Brahim said as he came up to join them. “Will you and your lady be going ashore now?”

  “I’m going ashore first to hire a conveyance to take our party to Lanford Manor, and outriders to protect us. When I return, the entire party will depart for Kent.”

  “What about the ship? Do you wish her to remain berthed in London Pool?”

  “If you’re not averse to remaining in London a few weeks, I’ll endeavor to find a cargo for you to take back to Morocco. I have decided to give the Plunderer to you in payment for your faithful service. I have enough interests here in England to keep me busy, including shipping investments. Pirating no longer appeals to me. What you do with the ship is your business.”

  Brahim appeared stunned. “My lord, you are most generous. The crew is eager to explore London and its environs and will appreciate a few weeks on land. I’ll give them the good news.”

  “I won’t be long,” Jamal said to Zara after the captain took his leave. “I need to hire a coach large enough to transport our party to Kent and to buy a horse for Haroun. Wait with the others in the cabin where it is warm.”

  She lifted her lips for his kiss. “Hurry back, my love. I’m most eager to meet your mother and see your home.”

  Zara watched Jamal stride down the gangplank, thinking him the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She never tired of touching him, of kissing him, of finding ecstasy in his arms. Their lovemaking brought a dimension to her life that had been missing before. Nothing could describe the unspeakable pleasure he gave her. He knew exactly how and where to touch her to produce the most intense bliss she had ever known.

  But Zara was not without reservations. England was a strange country. How long would she hold her husband’s love? she wondered. Would he find pale English beauties more appealing than she? Would he take a mistress when she grew too large to accommodate him? And what about his mother? Lady Lanford wanted him to take a wealthy English bride, one with a title. In the face of such opposition, could she survive in this cold, dreary country?

  Only time would tell.

  Jamal arrived back at the ship much later than expected. He’d had a difficult time renting the kind of coach he wanted for his wife and friends and had ended up buying a brand-new coach and four. The coach was roomy enough to seat six and luxuriously appointed with leather seats and squabs and running lanterns. The horses were well-matched and spirited. The equipage had cost a small fortune, but Jamal had decided to splurge. Zara’s comfort was important to him. Hiring two brawny men as outriders and an experienced driver had proved less difficult than finding an appropriate conveyance.

  “It’s very handsome,” Zara said admiringly as she climbed into the coach.

  The others piled in behind her. Zinab huddled beside Zara, miserable in the damp cold despite Jamal’s thoughtfulness in providing fur lap robes to keep them warm.

  They made it to Chatham the first night, stopping at an inn that seemed crude and primitive compared to Jamal’s palacial home in Morocco with its tiled courtyard, lush gardens and sumptuous baths. They supped on English fare of kidney pie, rare roast beef, boiled potatoes and cabbage. The food was far too heavy and unappetizing for Zara’s delicate palate. Since there was no fruit in England at this time of year, she went to bed hungry.

  “You’ll like Lanford Manor,” Jamal said, aware of Zara’s misery. “There are hearths in every room to ward off the chill, cheerful gardens and vast orchards that produce delicious fruit in the summer.”

  He took her in his arms, warming her with the heat of his body. “Barring anything unforeseen, we will reach the village of Maidstone before dark tomorrow. Lanford lies a few kilometers beyond the village. Go to sleep, my love.”

  Sleep didn’t come easily. Grave misgivings plagued Zara. She could neither understand nor explain her disquiet, for Jamal’s mother sounded like a caring woman. A loving mother wouldn’t hate her son’s bride, would she?

  The coach sped through Maidstone the following day. The day was cold and bleak, and few people were out and about. Sheets of freezing sleet pelted against the windows of the coach. Having lived in the mountains through many winters, Zara suffered less than Saha and little Zinab, who hadn’t experienced bitter winter weather before and hated it.

  A gloomy twilight had fallen over the hushed land by the time the coach turned into a long lane guarded on either side by tall oak trees devoid of all their leaves. The outline of a large manor constructed of gray stone came into view, and Zara strained to get a better look.

  The house was nothing like the magnificent marble palaces of Morocco with their wide covered walkways and tall arched windows. While homes in her country tended to be built closer to the ground, this imposing structure consisted of three stories and as many turrets. Though Zara couldn’t exactly describe it as a castle, nevertheless she thought it monstrously oppressive.

  Jamal must have read her mind, for he said, “’Tisn’t nearly as depressing as it looks. The inside is surprisingly cheerful.”

  Zara gave him a half-hearted smile. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  The coach drove beneath the porte cochere and stopped to discharge its passengers. Jamal hopped down first and helped Zara to alight. Hammet descended next and helped the other ladies. Suddenly the front door flew open and a serenely beautiful lady of middle years rushed into Jamal’s open arms.

  “Ah, Jamal, how I prayed for this day. You’ve always been so adamant about remaining in Morocco that I’d nearly given up hope of having you permanently in England. My fondest wishes have come to pass.”

  She remembered her manners after a moment and released Jamal. “Welcome. Welcome, everyone,” she said, addressing the group who had descended from the coach and stood shivering in the frosty night air. “Come inside where it’s warm.” She smiled at her son. “I have a surprise for you, Jamal. I hope you’ll be pleased.”

  Lady Lanford led them into the parlor, where the women made directly for the hearth, drawn by the welcome warmth of the cheery fire. Zara was delighted to learn that Jamal hadn’t lied when he’d said the inside of the manor wasn’t as dreary as the outside. She felt herself warming to the cherrywood furniture, overstuffed chairs and walls brightened with paintings and tapestries.

  Though there was nothing here to remind her of the airy, uncluttered Moroccan palaces with their colorful mosaic walls, tile floors and thick carpets, she felt she could be happy here. She came out of her trance when Jamal grasped her hand and pulled her toward his mother.

  Zara gripped his hand hard and waited. But before Jamal could perform the introductions, there was a commotion in the hall. Lady Lanford turned away from Jamal and Zara to greet the arrival of an attractive young woman.

  “Ah, Caroline, you’re just in time. Jamal has finally arrived. Come greet him, my dear. You remember Caroline, don’t you, Jamal? She’s the surprise I mentioned.”

  Jamal groaned in dismay. Caroline, Lady Wellsley, was the girl his mother hoped he would marry.

  “Wasn’t it clever of me to send for Caroline so she could be on hand to greet you?” Lady Lanford said, beaming at her son.

  “I hope you don
’t mind,” Caroline said, blushing for Jamal’s benefit. “Lady Lanford insisted that I be here when you arrived.”

  Zara thought Caroline quite attractive with her ash blood hair and porcelain complexion. Her nose was a trifle long and she seemed to have it in the air a lot, but otherwise her face was a nearly perfect oval. She wondered who Caroline was.

  “Mother, before this goes too far, I want to present Zara and my friends to you.”

  Lady Lanford gave the group her friendliest smile, and Zara felt certain all was going to be well.

  “I already know Nafisa, Hammet and Dr. David ben Israel, but the other women are unknown to me.”

  “Saha is Haroun’s … woman,” Jamal said for lack of a better word. His mother would know exactly what he meant. “Zinab”—he indicated the young girl beside Zara—“is Zara’s maidservant. And Zara,” he said, slipping an arm around Zara’s waist, “is my wife.”

  Lady Lanford gasped in dismay as she sent Caroline a speaking glance.

  “I fear we have been premature, Lady Lanford,” Caroline said in a brittle voice. “Obviously, your son preferred a heathen to a proper English wife. ’Tis such a shame. A fortune comes with me, you know. Papa will be disappointed. He wanted a duke for me, but an earl would have sufficed.” Turning on her heel, she swept past the group and out the door with regal grace.

  Lady Lanford stared at Zara, forgetting to close her mouth.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean to shock you,” Jamal said. “Aren’t you going to welcome Zara?”

  Finally Lady Lanford remembered her manners. “Forgive me, my dear. Jamal hasn’t changed. He does enjoy shocking a poor old lady. Welcome to the family.” She gave Zara a halfhearted hug. “Where did Jamal find a beauty like you?”

  “I’m a Berber, my lady,” Zara said. “My father is Youssef, cadi of the Berbers. Have you heard of him?”

  Lady Lanford staggered backward as if struck. Color drained from her face and her eyes became two burning coals. “You are Youssef’s daughter?” The question came out as a hiss.

  “Mother, what’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. You’re frightening Zara.”

  “Zara, Youssef’s daughter,” Lady Lanford repeated. “Take her away, Jamal! Get her out of my sight!”

  Zara recoiled in horror. What had she done?

  “Mother, what is it?”

  “Don’t you know, Jamal? Has no one ever told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  “You know your father was killed fighting Berbers, don’t you?” Jamal nodded. “Obviously, what you don’t know is that he was slain by Youssef, Zara’s father. I can’t look at her without thinking of my poor Ahab.”

  Zara recoiled in dismay. This couldn’t be happening to her. Just when she had everything in life she could ever desire, it was about to be snatched away. How could Jamal love her when his father had died at the hands of Youssef, her own beloved father?

  “Mother! I had no idea,” Jamal claimed, flying to Zara’s defense. “Nevertheless, you can’t hold Zara responsible for something her father did.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lady Lanford said, turning away. “Take her away, Jamal. It’s going to take a while to become accustomed to having the daughter of your father’s killer living in my home. I will see that your friends are settled in their rooms. Meet me in the library later and we’ll discuss this in private.”

  “Mother, I—”

  “Nay, son, say nothing. Take your … wife and leave me. I need time alone to come to grips with this.”

  Zara felt as if the earth had dropped out from beneath her. In a daze, she allowed Jamal to draw her with him out of the room and up the curved staircase. Once they reached Jamal’s room, he remained thoughtful as he walked to the window and stared moodily into the distance.

  “I’m sorry, Jamal. I had no idea,” Zara began. “I did so want your mother to like me.”

  “Things will work out.” The tremor in his voice belied his words. Why hadn’t he known the name of the man who had killed his father? Because it had never mattered before, he told himself. Knowing the man’s name wouldn’t bring his father back. He’d been away at the time and arrived home months after his death.

  “No, they won’t! How can they?”

  He turned to her then, his face softening. “She’ll come around. I’ll speak to her while you rest. Should I send up something for you to eat?”

  Zara shook her head. She couldn’t manage a bite. Nor could she pretend that Lady Lanford’s shocking disclosure hadn’t affected Jamal. She had only to look at him to know he was deeply distressed. Allah help her. Why were there so many obstacles to her happiness?

  Jamal left Zara a short time later. He needed to speak to his mother before Zara became more upset than she already was. It wasn’t good for the baby. Somehow he had to make his mother understand that Zara was the woman he loved, the only woman he wanted. His father’s death had occurred a long time ago. Nothing would bring him back. Blaming Zara for something her father had done was not fair.

  Lady Eloise was waiting for Jamal in the library. He could tell she was genuinely disturbed, and he felt her pain keenly.

  “Are you all right, Mother?”

  “Tell me about Zara, son,” Lady Eloise began without preamble. “How did you meet Youssef’s daughter?”

  “Sit down, Mother, while I explain how Zara came to mean so much to me. When I finish, you will know why I love her as I do.”

  “I prefer to stand. Begin, son.”

  Jamal began at the beginning, explaining how he’d met Zara and everything that had taken place since that day. “So you see, Mother,” he concluded, “Zara saved my life on more than one occasion.”

  “Could you find no other way to repay her?” Lady Eloise asked.

  While Jamal was speaking with his mother in the library, Zara came to a decision. She needed to be present while Jamal and his mother discussed her future. It was her fate they were deciding, and she wanted to have her say. She needed to let Lady Lanford know how much she loved her son.

  With that thought in mind, Zara left the bed chamber and crept down the stairs, meeting no one. She located the library by the drone of voices coming from behind the partially closed door. She intended to knock but froze with her hand raised when she heard her name spoken in anger by Jamal’s mother.

  “Lady Caroline is twice the lady Zara is,” Lady Eloise argued. “She brings a hefty dowry and is a perfect match for you.”

  “I don’t love Lady Caroline, Mother.”

  “I didn’t love your father when he bought me for his harem. Love came later.”

  “I married Zara; nothing will change that.”

  “Did you marry her in an Islamic ceremony?”

  “Of course.”

  Lady Eloise smiled smugly. “Then ’tis a simple matter to divorce her and marry Lady Caroline. I can never accept the daughter of the man who killed my beloved Ahab.”

  Zara didn’t wait around to hear Jamal’s answer. Turning on her heel, she fled back to her room.

  Jamal stared at his mother. He’d never known her to harbor such animosity toward another. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother. I understand your feelings, but I don’t share them. I loved Father as much as you, but Zara isn’t the one who killed him and I don’t hold her responsible. If not for Zara I wouldn’t be standing here today. She gave me the will to live when I was prepared to die.”

  Lady Eloise gave Jamal a look filled with sadness and regret. “I know I’m being unreasonable, son, but I can’t help it. Obviously you love Zara. Just don’t ask me to love her.”

  At a loss for words, Jamal turned away, saddened by his mother’s obstinacy where Zara was concerned. “I hope you’ll change your mind once you get to know Zara. I’m going upstairs to my wife. She was understandably upset when I left her.”

  Zara was more than upset, she was devastated. How could she and Jamal expect to find happiness when his mother despised her for being Youssef’s daught
er? There was no future for her here in England, none at all. Jamal belonged with Lady Caroline, a woman born to be an earl’s wife. She should have stayed in Morocco with her father, Zara thought. She was stupid to think she could have any place in Jamal’s new life as an earl. She would only be a hindrance to Jamal if she remained his wife.

  Her dilemma had but one solution. She must return to Morocco. She would never come between a mother and her son. In time Jamal would come to hate her, and she couldn’t bear that.

  The door opened, scattering Zara’s thoughts. Jamal entered the room, closing the door behind him. “Are you all right, love? Why aren’t you resting?”

  Zara turned from the window, drinking in the sight of Jamal as if it were the last time she would look upon him. “I was waiting for you. Did you speak with your mother?”

  In two steps he was beside her, folding her in his arms. “Forget Mother. She’ll come around. Learning that you were Youssef’s daughter was a bit of a surprise. Give her time, love. When she learns you’re going to give her a grandchild, she’ll change her mind.”

  He kissed her, a slow, lingering kiss that brought tears to Zara’s eyes. She loved him so. She’d do anything to make him happy, even leave him. He might not realize it at first, but later he’d come to appreciate what she’d done for him. He deserved an English beauty like Lady Caroline, not a Berber outlaw’s daughter for a wife.

  Zara returned his kiss, sadly aware that her time with Jamal was limited. One day soon she would make her way back to the Plunderer and return to Morocco with Captain Brahim. But for now she wanted to savor the sweetness of Jamal’s loving, storing away enough memories to last a lifetime.

  When Jamal found himself becoming aroused by Zara’s kisses, he reluctantly set her away from him. “You’re tired, love. We’ve the rest of our lives to make love. I don’t want to hurt you or our child.”

  “I don’t want to wait, Jamal. Make love to me now. I need you.”

  Jamal searched her face, concerned for her well-being. Desperation and fear were clearly visible in the green depths of her expressive eyes. Zara had never exhibited fear before, and it alarmed him. She was overwrought, but that was only natural given his mother’s reaction to her. Still, if making love to her would offer her comfort, he certainly wasn’t going to deny her.