“So now that you’ve seen the babies and heard their heartbeats, it’s too hot? What else, Rashid? Is it too dangerous to have sex now, too? Too dark at night, too light during the day, too many steps between the bedroom and the kitchen? Is Leo too energetic for me? Should I lie down in bed and not get out for the next few months?”
She was on the edge of hysteria. She knew it, but she was just so furious. It was like she’d had him for a little while, had the beginnings of such a perfect life going with him, and now he was slipping away. Slipping into the past and the tragedy that had happened to him.
Slipping away from her.
Because he was afraid of caring and afraid of being hurt. Her heart ached so much for him. She wanted to slap him silly and she wanted to hold him close and tell him that he had to learn to feel again. For their family. Because he deserved to know love again.
She wanted him to know that she loved him. She couldn’t help it. She’d tried not to fall, but how could she not?
The way he touched her, held her, the way he said her name when they were in bed together, and the way he reached out to her when she knew it was a difficult thing for him to do. He had feelings that went deep, and he was terrified of them.
But how could she love a man who didn’t love her? How could she watch him with her children and know he would always keep part of himself separate from them?
At this moment, he’d retreated behind his barriers. He was aloof and cool and she wanted to scream.
“Don’t be melodramatic, Sheridan,” he snapped. “I’m thinking of your health and the babies. There is nothing wrong with this. You should be thankful I give a damn at all.”
And that was it, the blow that had her reeling. The metaphorical slap to the face that reminded her of her place and jolted right down to her soul. She knew she wasn’t a replacement wife, but she’d hoped—no, she’d begun to believe—that she might mean something to him in her own right.
But this sarcasm, this utter arrogance? She couldn’t stomach it, no matter how she ached for him.
“I see,” she said, quietly shaking inside. He was stiff and formal now, all trace of the thoughtful lover gone. It hurt so much. She’d be damned if she’d let him see it, though. “Thank you for letting me know. I am so fortunate that you care.”
His nostrils flared, a single concession to emotion. She hoped he might break then, hoped he might tell her he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant that the way it sounded.
He almost did.
“Sheridan, I—” He stopped, clenched his jaw, shook his head. And then he looked at her again with eyes that were cold and empty. Icy. “Go rest. I’ll see you when I return in a week.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RASHID HAD BEEN gone for three days when the rumor reached her. Sheridan stared at Fatima and blinked. Hard. Her belly twisted into knots as she asked Fatima to repeat what she’d said.
Fatima didn’t seem to hear the note of anxiety in Sheridan’s voice.
“There is talk His Majesty will choose a second wife from one of the tribes, Your Highness.”
“A second wife.” How had she been in Kyr for over a month now and not considered that Rashid could have another wife?
“A Kyrian wife.”
“I see.” But she didn’t. Fatima clearly thought this was not a problem because she went about her work as if she hadn’t just upended the foundation of Sheridan’s entire being. A second wife. A Kyrian wife. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? And why hadn’t Rashid told her it was possible?
After they’d returned from the hospital, she’d been angry and hurt by Rashid’s sudden distance. But she’d known it would do no good to push him. She had to give him space, had to let him come around to it in his own time. He was an intelligent man and he would eventually realize he couldn’t hide from life. He would miss her in his bed and he would want to continue the relationship they’d had. She’d had every faith they would grow together as a couple.
They might not have married for love, but that didn’t mean love wouldn’t grow.
But what if she was only fooling herself? He’d spent two weeks taking her to his bed every night and making love to her. He’d given her a puppy because he knew she’d never had one. But what else did he do that indicated his feelings for her might evolve?
He’d gone to the hospital with her so he could show his support, but he’d come away more distant than ever.
And now he’d gone into the desert without her. Could he possibly be looking for another wife? It didn’t seem plausible, since he’d planned to take her with him up until the last possible moment. Would he really have gone wife shopping with her along?
His mood had changed so drastically after the revelation they were going to have twins that she couldn’t be certain what was on his mind anymore. They weren’t from the same world, and it certainly wasn’t unusual in his to contemplate such a thing.
She grew chilled as she considered what it would mean for Rashid to have another wife. He would take another woman to his bed. Sheridan would have to wait her turn to be with him. She would grow big with his children and she would be shunned while he chose to spend his evenings with another.
In spite of the churning of her brain, Sheridan tried to go about the business of helping Layla to plan the wedding ceremony. It was to be a day of celebration in Kyr, a holiday for the people, and no expense was to be spared.
But she kept asking herself if she’d be helping to plan another of these events for Rashid and a second wife. And that was something she could not do. Not ever. Her stomach twisted in on itself until she couldn’t even stand the thought of food. She grew shaky and hot and had to go lie down.
But she couldn’t really rest. She kept thinking about how much her life had changed, how Rashid had come and snatched her out of Savannah with little thought to what she wanted, and then how he’d managed to woo her with hot kisses and silky caresses. She’d fallen deep under his spell.
But she had to be brutally honest with herself: it wasn’t mutual. She wasn’t sure it ever would be. And she couldn’t live like that. She just couldn’t. She was patient and she’d been willing to give him time—but if he brought home another wife? Hot tears fell down her cheeks and she swiped them away angrily.
No. Just no.
Sheridan got up and went to wash her face. She changed into a Kyrian dress and covered her hair with a hijab. She wasn’t going to sit here and wait for Rashid to return with another woman on his arm. She’d been the good girl for so long. All her life, she’d given up things she wanted so that Annie would be happy.
It was the ultimate irony that she was here with Rashid because she’d been trying to make Annie happy. No other reason. And she’d been doing what she always did with loved ones, which was to be supportive and understanding and hope that they could come to happiness on their own. She’d tried to give Annie a baby, and she’d tried to give Rashid time and space.
Nothing she’d done worked. It was time she admitted that. And it was time she stood up for herself. Past time. Sheridan was done putting everyone but herself first. It was time she took action.
Time she demanded that Rashid make a choice.
* * *
Rashid sat through yet another meeting in yet another desert enclave, listening to his people’s concerns and making plans for how to best help them. The nomads weren’t quite the same as when he’d been a boy. Now they had generators, televisions, cell phones and satellite dishes. These things brought concerns of their own, so of course he promised to look into them.
And then there were the daughters. At every stop, he was presented with daughters who would, it was hinted, make fine wives. All of Kyr knew of his marriage to Sheridan, and of the upcoming national holiday in celebration. Soon they would announce the impending arrival of the royal twins, but not until S
heridan was safely into the second trimester.
Rashid’s teeth ground together at that thought. Was there truly anything quite so ironic as safety during a pregnancy? So many things could go wrong. Babies were fine up until birth, and then they were stillborn. Mothers hemorrhaged to death. Things went wrong.
It made him break out into a cold sweat.
Not because he was in love with Sheridan, but he did like her. Against all his plans otherwise, he liked the woman he’d had to marry. She was so open and giving, so thoughtful. She’d been worried about his reaction at the hospital before anything had happened—and he’d proved her correct, had he not, when he’d been unable to handle the news she was pregnant with twins?
He’d hurt her by being so cold after, but he’d had to escape. He’d had a sensation very like panic that had wanted to crawl up his throat and wrap its fingers around his neck. He hadn’t known what would happen if that was allowed to occur. And so he’d planned his escape. He’d left her there and embarked on his trip without her.
And now he missed her. Missed her sweet scent, her sensual body, her soft hands and wicked tongue. He sat through meetings and pictured her naked, and then he shook his head and forced those thoughts away before he embarrassed himself in front of the tribal chieftains.
At dusk, Rashid returned to the tent they’d set up for him—an opulent tent adorned with the usual beautiful carpets, but also with most of the modern conveniences one would expect in the city, thanks to the generators that hummed efficiently nearby.
Rashid peeled off his head covering and shrugged out of the long robe, leaving only the light trousers beneath. Maybe he should call Sheridan, see how she was faring. He’d had reports from Mostafa that all was well with her, and the tight knot around his heart had slowly begun to ease.
He would go back to the palace in four days, and he would no doubt take her to his bed again. But he wouldn’t let himself forget there were consequences to allowing a woman to get too close. Not ever again.
Yet part of him chafed at that restriction. Finally, he reached for his phone, determined to call her and see how she was doing.
But it rang right as he was about to dial. He answered to find a very breathless Mostafa on the other end. “Your Majesty,” he said, and Rashid could hear the panic in his voice. The thread of utter chaos running through that familiar baritone.
Ice water ran in his veins then, flooding him with that familiar calm before the storm. “What is it, Mostafa?”
“Her Highness,” he began, and Rashid’s gut twisted. “She is gone.”
Rashid was tempted to take the phone from his head and stare at it, but instead he forced himself to be cool. “What do you mean gone, Mostafa? Has she left the palace to go shopping? Gone to the airport in order to run away? Or is she hiding in the stables, perhaps?”
“She took a horse, Your Majesty.”
Rashid blinked. “A horse?” Had Mostafa lost his mind? Had Sheridan? “Where is Daoud?”
“He is gone, too. When we discovered Her Highness had left on horseback, he went after her.”
Daoud and Sheridan were on horseback. In the Kyrian Desert. But for what purpose? Why had Sheridan done such a thing? To get his attention? To bring him back to her side? The fear he’d tried to keep at bay broke through his barriers and flooded his system like a swirling tornado of sand. It scoured through him, raked him bare and filled him with utter dread.
And fury.
She’d taken a horse. She was pregnant and she’d taken a horse. Climbed on top of its back and rode it into the desert. Why? Why?
And then realization hit him. Hard. What if she wanted to harm herself? The desert was dangerous and she’d gone into it alone. Had he pushed her to the edge? Was she trying to get his attention—or trying to end her life?
That thought made the ice in his veins harder than ever—but for a different reason. He couldn’t imagine Sheridan gone from his life. Couldn’t imagine waking up without her in this world, without her smile or her touch or the look in her eyes when he entered her body and then took her with him to paradise.
She wasn’t Daria but she was...she was Sheridan. And Sheridan meant something to him. She really meant something....
He was still reeling from the realization that he cared, that he’d not insulated himself from a damn thing by running away from her, that he couldn’t control his emotions as if they had an on/off switch the way he’d always believed, when Mostafa said something that made his gut turn to stone.
Mostafa was talking about a search party and the coming night—and a thunderstorm.
A thunderstorm. Sandstorms in the desert were bad enough, but rain was the true danger. It was such a rare occurrence that when it happened, the rain created floods in the wadis—and the sand turned to sludge. Sludge that could trap anything in its path and annihilate it.
Rain was the true enemy of the desert, and a woman alone on a horse in unfamiliar territory—even if she did survive the brutality of a night exposed to the cold and sand, the jackals and scorpions and lions—was no match for a thunderstorm.
Rashid dressed quickly and then strode from the tent, calling orders as he went. Someone saddled a horse at the same time the Bedouin men emerged from their tents where they’d been preparing for dinner. Rashid and two dozen other men swung into saddles simultaneously. Arabian horses pranced and pawed and snorted, but ultimately they were ready for a ride into the night.
Sheridan could be anywhere out there, but Rashid knew the direction of the city and he knew the most traveled routes. All who were raised in the desert did. Rashid spurred his horse into a gallop and twenty-four men did the same. It was still light, though only barely, the sky a pink stain across the horizon. The moon was full tonight and they would have it for a couple of hours once it rose, until the predicted storm swept in off the gulf and wreaked its havoc.
Rashid only prayed they would find Sheridan before that happened. Because if they did not, if she had to endure a storm in the desert alone... His breath caught painfully in his lungs as the truth hit him full force: if they did not find her soon, there was no way she would survive.
* * *
It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, Sheridan thought. She’d been going to the stables so often that no one had thought anything of it when she went again. Even Daoud had relaxed his guard because he was accustomed to her visiting the stables. There were still a couple of the puppies who were waiting for their forever homes, and she wouldn’t stop playing with them just because Rashid had given her Leo.
It had been ridiculously easy to saddle a horse and ride out of the barn. She hadn’t been thinking too much at the time, but she’d known from listening in the palace that the Bedouin were only a few hours away by horseback. Had she really thought she could ride out to the oasis and find Rashid?
Fatima had told her he was in a place called the King’s Oasis, and she’d described it in great detail. Sheridan wasn’t an idiot. She had a map and a compass—handy devices, those, and still quite necessary. She’d located one in the palace after a bit of inquiry. All smartphones had them these days, but of course there were battery and satellite issues to contend with.
So now she was riding along a ridge on a delicate Arabian mare, with the desert a sea of sand in front of her and the city a speck behind her, and beginning to come to her senses. Not only that, but darkness was also falling fast and she had no idea how she was supposed to keep riding in the night. To her left, there was a dark wall of clouds in the distance, and she didn’t know if they were headed her way or not. They looked ominous, though, like thunderheads off the coast in Savannah.
The occasional brightening of those clouds told her that was exactly what they were as lightning sizzled through them and painted parts of the bank white and pink. She’d never realized there were thunderstorms in this area of the worl
d, but why wouldn’t there be? Her only comfort was that this was a desert and therefore they would lose their destructive power long before they arrived. Or so she thought, since a desert by definition was dry.
She was tempted to turn around, but the compass told her she had gone past the point of no return. If she stayed on track, she would reach the oasis in two more hours.
And Rashid would blow a gasket. Sheridan sank into the saddle as she imagined his face when he saw her. At first, she’d thought she would ride in like a general at the head of the army, triumphant and oozing righteousness. Now she imagined she would limp in like a worn-out puppy, her tail between her legs and her body aching from the punishment of a long ride.
In another hour, it was completely dark, except for the silver light of the moon painting the dunes. It was gorgeous and wild out here and Sheridan was at least partly enchanted by the beauty. But she was also worried, because the clouds were drawing ever closer. The moon would be blotted out before long, and while the flashing in the clouds would give light, it was a lot more worrisome the closer they got.
Not to mention the sand was beginning to blow in gusts, stinging her exposed skin. The horse trudged along sure footedly, but Sheridan wasn’t certain how much longer that could last. She’d been so stupid. She’d behaved impulsively, rashly, and Rashid was going to be ashamed of her.
She could hear thunder in the clouds now—and something else. Something that set the hair on the back of her neck prickling. There was a howl somewhere to her right. And then another howl behind her. The horse snorted and kicked up her heels, and Sheridan snatched at the reins, desperate to keep the mare from bolting.
And then something snarled nearby and there was the sound of many animals moving at once. The mare tossed her head and reared onto her hind legs—and then she bolted forward while Sheridan cried out and tried to wrap her hands into the mare’s mane.
But she’d been caught by surprise and she couldn’t hold on. She fell to the sand with a scream.
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