The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

“I would never abandon my lord,” he snarled, and Megan realized she’d spoken aloud.

“But you did. You let him face those barbarians all by himself!”

“The sheikh ordered me to stay here. I cannot disobey an order.”

“Not even if it might save his life?”

“Obedience to him is not a matter of choice. You have no understanding of us, Miss O’Connell, or you would not question my actions.”

“You have no understanding of what could be happening beyond that door, and damn your obedience!”

“Lord Qasim ordered me to watch over you.” Hakim’s mouth thinned. “I assure you, had I the power, I would not chose to do so.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that. Why do you despise me, Hakim? I haven’t done anything to you.”

“You have bewitched the sheikh. He does not see it, but I do. You have clouded his thoughts.”

“That’s crazy!”

“He forgets that his duty is to Suliyam.” Hakim came toward her, fists clenched at his sides. “Your witchcraft started when you wrote words in a document that made him want to change our way of life.”

Megan threw out her hand, as if she were brushing aside a stinging insect. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I made projections, estimated costs. Any changes for this—this godforsaken piece of earth come from Qasim, not me.”

“And you show him disrespect. You refer to him by name, as if you were his equal.”

“I am his equal,” Megan snapped. “We don’t scrape and bow to anyone in my world.”

“That is the problem, Miss O’Connell. You think your world is the standard by which others must live, just as you think you know my lord. You do not! Soon, your witchcraft will wear off. You are only a female. In the end, his strength will be greater than any of your spells.”

“I’m not going to listen to another—”

Hakim grabbed her arm. “You are a temporary diversion in the sheikh’s life. Though he may bed you, I can promise that you’ll never gain his heart.”

“Touch me again,” Megan said, grimacing as she twisted out of his grasp, “and I might just treat you to one of my so-called spells, you miserable old—”

A fist pounded against the door. Megan forgot Hakim, forgot everything when she heard Qasim’s voice.

“Open up!”

Hakim started toward the door but she ran past him, slid the heavy bar free and flung the door wide.

“Qasim,” she said happily, “Oh, thank God! I was afraid—”

“Nothing to be afraid of,” Qasim said, and lurched sideways. “Nothing at…”

He fell toward her. Megan closed her arms around him but his weight was too much. The best she could manage was to slide slowly to the floor with him still in her arms.

“What did they do to you?” she whispered. “Qasim?”

“Caz,” he said thickly, eyes closed and a loopy grin on his face. “You might as well call me…”

A snore rattled from his throat. Megan’s eyebrows drew together. She bent over the man in her lap, sniffed…

“He’s drunk,” she said, looking up at Hakim in disbelief.

Hakim sighed. “That is good.”

Good? It was good that Qasim had been drinking with his pals while she almost lost her mind imagining what had happened to him? That she’d been blaming herself for whatever awful fate had befallen him? That she’d been terrified she’d never see him again, never hear his voice, never feel his mouth on hers?