She was a witch! Her words were some kind of spell, bringing him into her orbit.
He shook his head slowly, but it did little to free him from her power. “No.”
“Nor did I. But I think Tasha was talking to me last night. To have dreamed of that time in our lives, and then followed a hidden path to a similar spot … it was as if I was walking not away from the palace, but into the past instead.” She pulled her lip between her teeth again. His eyes dropped to the gesture, captivated by the way it transformed her face into a state of distracted anxiety. “I’m sorry you were worried.” And from where the courage came, she couldn’t have said. But she lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. To her surprise and relief, he didn’t move away. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath, his eyes lancing hers.
“And I am sorry you didn’t sleep well.”
She thought of Tasha and shook her head. “I thought I was honouring her memory in taking her place, but now I’m not sure. Am I betraying her, by being here with you? I’m living her life. Is that not a cruelty to her?”
He trapped her hand beneath his, and carried it from his cheek to his lips. He laid a gentle kiss in her palm then closed her fingers over it. “Nothing could change her fate. Your being here has nothing to do with why Tasha died. You did not cause this. You are salvaging a wish that was dearly held by both her and me.”
She swallowed painfully. “You told me …” she pulled her hand free and rubbed it. “That I am a consolation prize.”
A frown tugged at his lips. “When did I say this?”
“When you were pretending to be Kaman.”
He nodded, running a hand over his bearded chin. “I was testing your commitment. I spoke more harshly than was necessary, only to see if it would shake you from your purpose.”
“It didn’t.”
“And I’m glad. But you should know I do not consider you to be a consolation prize.”
Guilt was eating through her. She was practically begging him to distance himself from Tasha. And yet Tasha had loved him!
A good friend, indeed.
“Did you love her?”
His face was quizzical. “Love who? Tashana?”
She nodded.
“No.”
Her lungs felt like they were exploding. “She loved you.”
He laughed, the surprise was immense. “I assure you, you’re mistaken.”
Sally wasn’t though. She knew. And she understood it. How could any woman not love this man? He was some kind of ancient throwback, almost medieval for his strength and power, and yet he was a King. Educated, intelligent, charismatic and confident in a way that could never be taught.
There was no sense arguing the point now. Tashana was gone, and Sally had made her choice. “I apologise for worrying you. I had no idea you would even know I was gone.”
He shook his head, a small smile on his lips as he put his hands on her hips. “Little Saaliyah, I know everything you do. How did you not realise this?”
“What do you mean?” She was drowning. His words were the ocean and they were covering her in a swirling mix of misunderstanding.
“Fadi reports to me. So does Alena,” he referred to one of her more senior servants.
“Report to you?”
He dipped his head lower, so that his words were breathed against her ear. “I know what you learn. What you like. What you want. Where you’ve walked. I have not seen you this past week, but I have been with you on your journey.”
Her eyes were saucer-wide in her face. He spoke in a way that was distractingly poetic. “I didn’t know.”
He could no longer keep his distance. He didn’t want to. She was to be his wife in a matter of days. Was there really any point in waiting?
“Our wedding is a small ceremony. An officiating of a contract we have both signed.”
The statement confused her. Or was that the way his fingers were moving over her sides? “Yes,” she murmured, cursing inwardly when her body pressed forward, melding to his.
“I do not want to wait.”
Her heart began to sprint. It was not pounding. It was flying! Floating like a butterfly, out of her body. Something warm spread through her limbs. The desire to be with him was a throb low down in her frame. “You don’t?”
“I can organise it. Let us marry, Saaliyah. Let us marry tomorrow.”
‘Tomorrow?” She could not have been more taken aback by the words if he’d announced he was Elvis Presley. “What? We can’t?”
His smile was dismissive. “I can do whatever I want to.” He ran his fingers through her chaotic mane, catching it in his fist, then releasing it. “I want you with me. If you have this bad dream again, I want to be able to take it away. I want your body to know mine, in every way, and I want to know yours. I want to taste you and feel you any time I desire it. I want to know if you wake, and know where you’ve gone. You are mine, Saaliyah, and I realised today that I am glad for it.”
Flying higher and higher. Was it her heart that looked down on them from the window? Or the ghost of Tasha? Sally shivered. “But there are plans …”
“Plans can be changed.”
“Yes, I know.”
Uncertainty did not come naturally to him. “You do not wish it?”
“Of course I do.” The way she’d tripped over herself to admit it could leave him in little doubt of what she wished. Him. All of him. For all time. She flicked him a small smile, her cheeks flushing pink. She tried her hardest to sound blasé. “I agreed to marry you, and it doesn’t matter to me if it’s tomorrow or in a year.” A complete lie! The worst way to redeem her embarrassment was by lying about it.
She dug her teeth into her lip, massaging it thoughtfully. “But you don’t need to do this. I won’t go exploring again.”
He put his finger beneath her chin. “Exploration is a cornerstone to being. If it is your nature, you ought not to fight it. Only take someone with you next time. Abigail, or Fadi. Or both.”
“I wanted to be alone,” she whispered, dropping her eyes again.
Being alone was a luxury that she would come to miss. He knew from experience how difficult it was to find time without the intrusion of others. And he could well understand the temptation to escape the demands of palace life for a time.
He had hesitated to allow her to take up this responsibility, for she was young and, he feared, ill-equipped for the rigours of the life she was choosing. He now had proof that she was finding it a hard adaptation, but the time for allowing her a way out had passed.
Oh, technically he could release her from the betrothal at any time.
If he’d wanted to.
And the last thing Khalid ash-Hareth wanted was to set Saaliyah free.
No.
She was his, and the sooner everyone knew it the better.
“No more delays,” he said firmly. “We will marry tomorrow, Emira.”
CHAPTER SIX
The decision had been made.
His decree sent the palace into a fever pitch of activity. Arrangements had to be abandoned altogether, and new ones cobbled together in the space of hours. For the second time in as many months, the Sheikh’s marriage plans had taken a significant shift.
And though his servants were bound by ties of duty and love to their ruler, and his people equally revered and respected Khalid ash-Hareth, there were some who took the news with far less pleasure than most.
Far across the desert, a woman and a man sat in shocked silence. “He cannot marry her!” The woman spat, shaking her head at the very idea.
“It is planned for tomorrow, at the time the sun sets.”
“We have to stop it,” the woman’s voice was high-pitched from her desperation. “Is it still Fadi who serves her?”
“Yes.”
“She can help us again.”
He considered it, but with a shake of his head. “The new Emira is under great protection.”
“I thought you said she was given great freedom! That she was allowe
d to wander the entire palace?”
He nodded. “She disappeared yesterday, for a period. It is why the Sheikh has tightened security, and brought the wedding forward.”
The woman’s smile was tinged with emotion. “He doesn’t want to lose another bride.”
“No.” The man flicked his paper napkin into the fire at their feet. “And it will not be easy to remove another Ibarra princess from the palace of Tari’ell. The first time was a fluke. You know that.”
“I don’t care.” The determination in her eyes took his breath away. There was a madness there, too, which he chose to ignore. “The wedding cannot be allowed to go ahead.”
* * *
The crowd beyond the gates of the palace wall was enormous. It could be seen from any of the windows on the East wing, and it could be heard from anywhere. Sally stared down at the throbbing mass of people, all brightly dressed and appearing to haze in the afternoon sun.
“I’ve never seen so many people,” she remarked in wonderment.
Abigail and Fadi were engaged in quiet conversation across the room. Sally knew they were talking about the change of plans. Without even looking in their direction, she could deduce from the tone of Abigail’s voice that she was concerned.
Fadi was harder to read. She had taken the news with only the smallest flicker of response. Her smile had been small. “Then it will happen tomorrow.”
Sally lifted a hand to the window pane. The glass was cool to her touch. She’d learned much of Tari’ell culture in the preceding week. Legends and protocols that had been written into the fabric of society for decades and centuries.
“They’ve come for the Haranathi-al,” she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. A small child was pressed to the front of the gates. Sally couldn’t see much from this distance, but she could see that she was slight and dirty. That the promise of royal favours being given on the eve of the wedding had brought her to the palace. And that she needed those gifts.
“Fadi,” her tone was resonant, her voice clear. What a difference a week had made! “Please have someone advise Khalid that I intend to perform the Haranathi-al.”
Fadi stared at the future Emira with obvious consternation.
Abigail, who hadn’t learned as much as Sally in their time at Tari’ell, looked blankly from one to the other. When no one spoke, she asked firmly, “The what?”
“It is an ancient story of my people. It dates back to the first union of the Tari’ell family.”
“What is it?” Abigail’s lips were pursed in that unique was she had. Sally understood her impatience, and it brought a swelling of affection to her chest.
“The story goes that she was very poor. She was a peasant from a village at the northern most point of the Allani mountains. He was the first warrior of Tari’ell, a Sheikh and a Bedouin, regarded across the lands as fearsome and just.” Her words were almost a complete recital of Fadi’s telling of the tale. “They met, and fell in love instantly. Though he didn’t need to marry, and could have continued his nomadic existence – plundering jewels and wealth as he went – he met her and refused to leave. She convinced her family to accede to the union. Their marriage took place at dusk. The day before, fearful that her family might spirit her away against the couple’s wishes, the Sheikh and his betrothed walked amongst the village, giving away all of his treasure as they went. The villagers were so grateful at this show of generosity that they became a sort of army, protecting the bride and ensuring the wedding went ahead as planned.”
Fadi picked up the thread of the legend. “It is why royal weddings always take place at dusk. And until now, why every royal wedding is preceded by the Haranathi-al. A ceremonial giving of gifts. It is a blessing to the people and brings luck and longevity to the royal couple, too.”
Abigail’s face was pale. Fear was wrapping around her heart. “It is a … lovely tale,” she conceded. “But not practical in these circumstances. It is too risky. Khalid will never agree.”
Sally’s eyes were wide with her resolve. “You heard what I said. This tradition is as old as the Kingdom. I will not be the bride who breaks with it.”
“But darling,” Abigail crossed to her young ward and held her hands. “These are grave circumstances. Your cousin is dead. She has been murdered. Probably by a palace insider. You must be sensible.”
“Exactly,” Sally was triumphant. “I am likely more at risk here, within the palace walls, than with those people out there.” She lifted her eyes to Fadi. “Don’t you agree?”
She studied the Emira long and hard. “You are not necessarily at risk anywhere. It is certainly better not to live your life looking over one shoulder, waiting for danger.”
“Yes! Exactly so. Please have the Sheikh informed I intended to perform the Haranathi-al.”
“Saaliyah,” Abigail only ever used Sally’s full name when she was most seriously unimpressed. “I don’t approve of this.”
Sally squeezed her hands. “I know, Abigail. And I understand. But I am not going to cower from my future. This is the life I chose. I knew there would be risks. I refuse to be terrorised by Tashana’s fate.”
Fadi seemed distracted. She was looking out of the window, at the crowd beyond.
“Fadi?” Sally prompted. “I presume measures were in place for Tasha to do this?”
“Yes.”
“So have them reinstated. Whatever gifts had been organised, and whatever security was thought necessary before the assassination.”
“Yes,” she nodded, finally understanding that the Emira was not going to be dissuaded.
Fadi slipped out of the rooms and moved swiftly through the corridors.
Two guards flanked the Sheikh’s office. She nodded at one, and he opened the door.
Khalid was working. His head was bent over a set of documents, a pen poised as he struck large swathes of writing from each one.
“What is it?” He asked without looking up.
“It’s Saaliyah,” Fadi said, fascinated by the way his face lifted. “She’s fine!” Fadi hastened to add, the concern etched into his features overpoweringly obvious.
He placed the pen down without wresting his eyes from her face. “I’m pleased. Are preparations finalised for tomorrow.”
Fadi nodded. “The ceremony will take place in the temple, at sunset. Everything will be as planned, only a few days early.”
“Good.”
“Only Saaliyah …”
“Yes?”
“She seems determined to carry out the Haranathi-al,” she said, trying to wipe her wan thoughts from her voice.
“What?” He stood, his body squared with tension.
Fadi nodded.
“How does she even know of this custom?”
His distant cousin’s cheeks were pink. “You asked me to acquaint her with our ways.”
He stared at Fadi as though she had taken leave of her brain. “Yes. And our wedding was to eschew anything that brought her into danger.”
Fadi stared at the ancient carpet beneath them. “I thought …”
He swore in his own tongue, his eyes moving towards the heaving crowd beyond the palace. “Where is she?”
“In her room.”
“When I get there, Fadi, I want to be alone with Saaliyah. Go ahead, and make sure she and I will not be disturbed.”
Fadi, who had never seen the Sheikh so visibly emotional, doubled back to Saaliyah.
The bride-to-be was ethereally lovely, dressed in a cream robe and staring out at the sizable group of people. The sun was at its zenith, high overhead, and it bathed her in its golden glow. At the sound of the door opening, Sally turned.
Her chin was set at a defiant angle. “Well?”
“The Sheikh is coming to you.”
Her heart began to fly again, floating and turning and tossing in her chest. “Now?”
Fadi nodded. Her eyes encompassed the two servants who were performing their tasks, and Abigail who was busy worrying in a large armchair. “
The Sheikh would like to speak with Saaliyah. Alone.”
The servants moved swiftly, without so much as a glance in Sally’s direction. Abigail however did not shift. Fadi shook her head, the smile on her lips impossible to hide. The curmudgeon had so much love for her ward that it took Fadi’s breath away. “Come, Abigail. This does not concern us,” she found the strength to intone flatly, despite her amusement.
Abigail still didn’t move, prompting Sally to crouch before her. “I’m all grown up now, Abigail.” She put her head on Abigail’s knees, as she’d done as a child. “I will always love you, and I will always need you, but I must make my own choices in this matter.”
Abigail stroked Sally’s cheek. “Doesn’t what I want matter to you at all?”
“You want to cage me in gold and keep me safe forever.” Sally lifted her face to Abigail’s, affection bursting from every pore. “And I love you all the more for that. But that’s not a life. That’s not the life I want.” She smiled encouragingly. “You raised me well, Abigail. Now you have to let me go.”
Abigail patted Sally’s shoulder. She was right. But it wouldn’t come easily. “I don’t like this.”
“The marriage?” Sally kneeled, so that she could see Abigail’s face more clearly.
Abigail waved a hand through the air. “No. I understand you have made your mind up there. But you are taking risks for the sake of risk-taking.”
“I could not have said it better myself.”
The Sheikh was a brooding figure in the door. He was big, and enigmatic and dominant. He reminded Sally, in that moment, of how he’d looked the first time she’d seen him. She stood quickly, straightening her dress.
It was difficult, but she wrenched her eyes back to Abigail. “I’ll be fine.” She smiled, but her pulse was hammering. All for this man.
Bartered to the Sheikh: Honour, duty, marriage ... and passionate desert nights Page 7