“I did not doubt her readiness for this.”
Coldness threatened to squash her pleasure. She wouldn’t allow it to. “You doubt mine.”
“No. I do not doubt that you are ready.” He lowered his mouth and teased the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck with his warm kiss. “I know you are not. If there were any way, besides marrying you, to stop this needless bloodshed, I would employ it.” His mouth lifted higher, until it could capture hers. He plundered her with his tongue as though he was making love to her. His hands on her breasts were insistent, and his body against hers was unmistakably aroused.
Her legs were shaking almost unbearably, and she leaned against him with all her body, craving support, and so much more. Somewhere, her brain was taking his comment in, and storing it for analysis at a later point. But not then. Beneath the stars, in his arms, she felt like a fever of desperate longing had overtaken her body. And she was powerless to resist.
If he hadn’t stepped away, and broken the kiss, Sally couldn’t have said what would have happened. Or could she? A need she’d never experienced was cranking to life inside of her.
She stared at him, panting for breath, as he moved across the balcony with apparent ease.
He lifted his wine to his lips and drank it, keeping his eyes pinned speculatively to her. “You are, perhaps, not as meek as I first thought.”
Low in her abdomen, there was a dull throbbing ache, and she had no idea what would ease it. Only that this man was somehow integral.
She bit down on her lip and turned away from him, so that she could stare at the desert bathed by moonlight. Gradually, sanity was beginning to permeate the haze of desire, though, and she knew enough to believe she could not show him too much of her weaknesses.
With the exception of Abigail, Sally had never depended on anyone in her life. She instinctively bucked against the idea of letting this man know that she could very easily come to depend upon him.
“Did you know my cousin well?” The words were formed before she knew she was going to ask the question.
He put his wine down but continued his dark stare from afar. “I met her twice.”
A frown tugged at her lips. That explained very little. “I’ve met you twice,” Sally pointed out with quiet insistence, “and I would not say I know you well.”
His brows quirked in surprise at her rejoinder. For she was right. They had met twice. “My marriage to Tashana would have been more traditional, in every way. My highest ranked servants spent more than a year acquainting her with the details of her role. When she and I met, it was in formal settings, surrounded by my staff, and her attendants.”
He prowled to her with that stealthy grace she had observed in him from early on. “I did not see her and want to run my hands over her naked body, as I do you.”
Sally’s eyes flew to his face in surprise. “You do?”
“I did not expect to feel true desire for you, little one.” He was very careful not to touch her.
“I thought you wanted a wife who was sexually compatible,” she said throatily.
His laugh was soft. “True,” he ran a finger down the pale softness of her cheek. “And Tashana would have been.”
Ridiculously, it was the first time she’d thought of her cousin and this man in a sexual relationship. It filled her with an odd sense of nausea. He understood, and instantly shook his head. “We never so much as discussed it. She was researched prior to our betrothal. It was … apparent … that she was, shall we say, worldly?”
Sally’s heart swelled in defence of her cousin. “She was a beautiful woman who dated a few men. She was not some kind of slut or something.”
His eyes were hooded. “I did not imply, for a moment, that I judged her for her sexual inquisitiveness. Innocence is not a prerequisite for my union. In fact, in some ways, I had thought I would prefer an experienced bride.”
Were they really having this conversation? It was a surreal, but heady, slice out of time. “Why?”
“It removes the need to be gentle and cautious,” he murmured the words against her ear, so that little buds of heat sparked through her.
Fascinating. “And you will be with me?”
“Yes.” His eyes were clouding with emotions she couldn’t unravel. “I will enjoy teaching you everything you need to know. I will be your first lover. And your last. That is an aphrodisiac I hadn’t realised I craved.”
Starbursts of wonderment were exploding in her mind. “She was better suited to this.”
It was a slight shift in conversation; he recognised her need to cling to safer ground, and he understood it. “Why?”
She turned away from him, bracing herself with two hands against the balcony railing. “Tashana was one of those people that everyone loved. She was outgoing and charismatic. But she was strong and fearless too. She wouldn’t have let criticism or difficulties upset her.”
“Having a soft heart can be its own weapon,” he observed quietly.
“Are you sorry? That it’s me, and not her?”
“No.”
Relief flooded through her. You will be a consolation prize. His words from earlier that day came back to her with an unwelcome sludge of recollection. She tried not to focus on them.
“I am sorry that she is dead, and that your life was interrupted to fulfil her promise. I wish you were not twenty one, and so very youthful with it.” He lifted a hand to her hair but dropped it before he could touch her again. She was not looking at him. He could only stare beyond her, to the country they both loved. “But I cannot let concern for you override what is a sensible, pragmatic decision. Our union exists to form a bond between two warring groups of people. Whether you or Tasha, the same goal will be achieved. An Ibarra bride is the only solution that has not been tried.”
And all the desire, and need, and attraction and magical, lust-filled wonderment were sucked into a sinkhole of sharp, searing despondency. It was at that moment Sally thought of him, for the first time, as Tasha’s.
Had her cousin not had the misfortune to be murdered, it would have been her on this balcony. It would have been Tasha thinking about what it would be like to lie in his bed and be made love to by this man.
He was Tasha’s first.
And Sally’s by default.
Grief lodged deeper into the recesses of her heart. A grief that no time and no experience could shake, because the facts were incontrovertible. In attempting to honour her cousin’s life and decisions, she had instead stepped right into Tasha’s place.
And no one cared.
She was a convenient substitute. A consolation prize.
And Tasha’s death little more than a mild inconvenience.
“So what happens next?”
He had hurt her. The coldness in her tone was a disguise for the pain that he’d inflicted.
Though he’d been raised to hate the traitorous Ibarra family, he hadn’t realised that he carried anger for this woman. And yet he must. What else could explain why he didn’t feel sorry for having upset her?
His needs and wants were difficult to decipher.
“Tomorrow you will meet my family and be formally announced as my betrothed. After that, you will get a crash course in Tari’ell life and politics. It will be intensive – remember, Tasha received this training in twelve months. You will have a little over a week.”
“I see.” She was being valiant but still he knew she was obsessing over something. Something that upset her.
“The wedding itself is short. A commitment in front of an official, and two government ministers. Given the death of your predecessor, I felt it would be circumspect to curtail many of the usual festivities. It may seem callous to go on without maintaining the appearance of mourning.”
The appearance of mourning. Sally’s heart thudded painfully. It was no appearance for her. She did mourn. She mourned every day. “Yes, you’re right,” she murmured, hoping he didn’t understand how his every sentence was sending her into a tailspin.
“We will not honeymoon. You will move into my suite, once the wedding is official. And our life will begin.”
Pain lanced through her.
He had not told her anything she didn’t know. It was all perfectly sensible. And yet it made her feel strange inside.
“This is what you want.” A statement, rather than a question. She had noticed his habit for expressing himself in bald-remarks rather than inquiries.
“It’s fine,” she nodded jerkily, her eyes still focussed on the distance.
“Saaliyah, turn around,” he commanded huskily.
She flattened any emotion out of her expression and then did as he’d said. Only her eyes showed that she was in angst. “I cannot lie to you. You do not wish me to.”
She swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“Neither of us believes this to be a love match. We have only met today. It is a blessing that we feel a physical connection. But do not allow yourself to question the facts of this marriage. Both of us gets something out of this union. For me, it is the hope of peace for my people.”
“And me?” She asked huskily, completely unprepared for the pain that was running through her.
“The dowry that was settled upon your parents, for one,” he failed to keep the note of judgement from his tone. The hatred he felt for the Ibarra family was not in doubt when it came to her parents. “And you claim to also want stability for our people. So it is win win for you, is it not?”
CHAPTER FOUR
It was the first she’d heard of a dowry. Her parents had never mentioned it, and she resolved to speak to Abigail about it as soon as they were alone together.
But time alone with anyone was becoming increasingly unlikely. From the moment she awoke, the day after their discussion on the balcony of his suite of rooms, Sally was surrounded by attendants and servants, all of them carrying on their duties in a separate yet complementary way.
“My name is Fadi, and I am to be your assistant,” a young woman said, her smile kind and her eyes bright. She was a little taller than Sally, and curvier.
“Fadi,” Saaliyah breathed the name with relief. The army of attendants she’d come to know tended to treat Sally as though she was made of cotton wool. No one she’d met so far had spoken to her, and certainly not smiled at her. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“The Sheikh has asked me to help you understand what will be expected of you in the lead up to the wedding ceremony.”
“Excellent.” Sally arranged the gold and purple tunic so that it sat evenly over her shoulders. The wide legged pants that matched were surprisingly comfortable and cool.
“Today, you are to meet the royal family. It will make it easier for you if you have a little information about them beforehand.” Fadi’s accent was soft, leading Sally to conclude that she’d been educated overseas.
“Are you from Tari’ell?” She asked, slipping her feet into the gold shoes she’d been handed as part of her outfit. They fit perfectly, and she marvelled at the way everything had been organised, down to the final detail.
“My mother is a cousin of the Sheikh’s mother, Hadiya.”
“I see. And how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Fadi’s smile was knowing. “I was told you needed help to accept the uniqueness of your position. I can see now what the Sheikh meant.”
Sally scanned her attendant’s face. “Oh?” She prompted, when the woman did not speak.
Sally lifted a small gold tiara from a burgundy velvet box, and placed it on top of the Emira’s head. “You are to be a leader of this great land. Everybody but your husband will bow down to you. You must not apologise for asking a question. Sheikhas do not meekly ask questions. They demand information. They expect loyalty and servitude. You, more than anyone, will need to show that you expect this reverence.”
Sally watched as the attendant wove the crown into her hair, making it steadfast. It was beautiful – the same shade of yellow gold as her shoes.
“I understand,” she said quietly, dropping her eyes to the floor.
Fadi watched the gesture of embarrassment with a small wave of despair. “Hey!” She murmured, putting a hand on Saaliyah’s arm. “You are not to feel worried. I will help you become just what the people expect.”
“And what’s that?” She asked, her throat parched.
“Regal, untouchable and magnanimous.”
“Jeez,” Sally sighed heavily. “That’s a veritable role call of things I know I’ll never be.”
“Nonsense,” Fadi contradicted. “You are a princess, by birth, and soon by marriage. It is just about getting you to behave as one. Together we will work on it. You are to meet the royal family today, and it will be an excellent opportunity for you to rehearse an air of untouchability.”
“Why do you say that?” Sally queried, toying with her necklace.
Fadi reached out and batted her fingers away. “Do not fidget. Never again. You will stand with your hands by your side, or clasped in your front. When you feel nervous, do this.” Fadi tilted her head slightly to the side and lifted her lips into a small, beatific smile. She looked like an angel, all dark hair, long lashes and rounded cheeks.
Sally couldn’t help but laugh. “This?” She imitated the pose but her smile was far too mischievous for Fadi’s liking.
“No. That’s not right.” She took a step back to look at the royal bride from a distance. “Try this.” She clasped her hands in front of her, and focussed straight ahead.
Sally imitated it, and this time, Fadi nodded with a hint of approval.
“It’s better. And another thing,” she said, waving her hand in the air so that Sally would relax. “The sheikh does not approve of your name.”
“My name?” Sally’s voice raised an octave in indignant surprise.
“Your assumed name. Sally.” Fadi shrugged. “It is too common. Too western. He has asked me to remind you to refer to yourself as Saaliyah. It is how you will be introduced, and how he shall address you.”
“I see.” The spark of disapproval glowed in her eyes. “Anything else?”
Fadi grinned. “I am twenty five.”
Sally looked at her for a moment before realising that Fadi was answering her earlier question. She didn’t look twenty five, but then again, she was not weighed down by matters of duty and honour.
Though training a completely unprepared woman for the rigours of royal life was a somewhat stressful task, Sally imagined. And it occurred to her then that Fadi might have performed this duty before. Her eyes widened as she spun around. “Did you know my cousin?”
“Your cousin?” Fadi knelt down, to check the fit of the golden shoes. Her face was obscured by her dark hair.
“Tashana Ibarra. She was to marry the Sheikh until … until she died,” Sally finished with an emotional catch to her voice.
Fadi was quiet as she ensured everything about the outfit was as it ought to be.
“Fadi?” Sally prompted. “Did you know her? Did you do this for her?”
Fadi’s expression showed true anguish as she stood. “Yes.”
Moisture blinked in Sally’s caramel eyes. The knowledge that she was with one of the last people who’d seen her much-loved cousin alive filled her with a strange sense of affection. She put a hand out and wrapped her fingers around Fadi’s forearm. “You can tell me then what I need to know.”
Fadi’s face was a mask of quiet concern. “What do you need to know, Saaliyah?”
“I hadn’t seen her for months. Her emails were as ever. I thought she sounded happy. Was she? Did she die as committed to this choice as the day she made it?”
Fadi lifted her fingers to Sally’s hair and pushed it back from her shoulders. “She did,” she said finally.
Sally was convinced that Fadi was grieving then, too. And it bonded her to her attendant in a way that nothing else could.
“My cousin was my best friend,” Sally said under her breath. “I will miss her for the rest of my life
. I am glad that she had someone like you with her at the end.”
Fadi turned away, her eyes overbright. “We will be late,” she murmured, taking a moment to collect herself.
“Yes, you’re right.” Sally turned so that she could check her own appearance in the mirror. And froze, when the reflection confronted her. “I look … like …”
Fadi came to stand behind her. “You look like you were born to be a Sheikha,” she finished the sentence, tilting a wistful smile at the Emira.
“Yes. I really do. You’ve done wonders.”
And Fadi shook her head. “That is self-deprecating speech and you should not employ it. When someone offers you a compliment, you simply nod, or smile, or at worst, give them thanks. Do not ever rebuke it, nor downplay it.”
Sally’s shoulders slumped. “None of this is going to be easy for me. Tashana and I are not alike in this way.”
“No,” Fadi swallowed. There were many ways in which the two Ibarra women were different. She fixed a steely gaze on Sally in the reflection. “The Sheikh’s parents and cousin support this union. His sister Jamil does not. Many of his extended family feels there were eminently more suitable brides for a man such as the exalted Khalid ash-Hareth. And yet he was insistent: it needed to be a bride of the Ibarra family.”
It reminded her of his words, the night before. That any bride of her bloodline would have sufficed. It was, strangely, just the shot of strength she needed.
Nerves would have been apt if she were looking for his family’s approval.
She wasn’t.
Whether they liked her or not, this union was about little more than attempting to stitch back a wounded people, broken asunder by generations of fighting.
“I’m ready.” And she really truly was.
At least, until the moment the glass doors were opened to reveal a room full of well-dressed Tari’ell royalty. Her first impression was simply one of wrongness. She felt out of place in the midst of the palace, and those who belonged.
Second, she was impressed by the very beautiful women and the stately men.
And at the heart of the room, surrounded by at least ten people, was the man she was to marry.
Bartered to the Sheikh: Honour, duty, marriage ... and passionate desert nights Page 4