The Sheik's Captive Bride (The Jawhara Sheikhs 3)

Chapter 1

Erin Malone, future Sheikha of Jawhara, took another shallow breath, trying to stave off the horrible nausea that had become increasingly worse over the last hour and a half. The oppressive desert heat was starting to make itself known and she tried to calculate how much time had passed since she went missing.

Her humanitarian mission to the refugee camp along Jawhara’s western border had seemed like such a good idea to begin with. The people had been without adequate water or food and, at her insistence, Kamal had ordered the situation fixed. The fact that he had allowed her to visit the refugee camp one last time had been a small miracle. Sheikh Kamal Mehalel El-Jawhara was very possessive, even more so now that Erin was carrying the future heir to the empire.

God, Kam is going to kill me – that is, if I make it out of this situation intact. And then he’s going to kill the man who did this to me! She took yet another shallow breath, wishing her hands were free so she could move the heavy stale cloth covering her face away. Her feet and hands had been bound as soon as she entered the small tent, the rough hemp already starting to abrade her wrists beyond what was comfortable.

She had only meant to help the refugees until they were allowed to return to their own country. She had never dreamed that she would be endangering her life or that of her unborn child by trying to help. And that one of the palace guards was a traitor!

The young guard had only been employed for a few weeks at the palace and Erin had been given no reason to suspect that he meant her harm. Until they had made the trek out to the refugee camp, he had not been part of her normal security detail. When he had informed her an elderly woman was asking to speak to her personally, she had ignored her misgivings and followed him several rows of tents back. I’ll never distrust my intuition again! Why didn’t I listen to Kam’s warnings?

Hearing footsteps approach, she held herself still, waiting for her kidnapper to address her and hopefully uncover her face. When the heavy cloth was pulled away, she blinked into the dim light, trying to gain a better understanding of her surroundings while she could. Taking a breath of fresh air, she swallowed convulsively for a moment, trying to hold the nausea at bay.

“We’re leaving,” said the young man who had identified himself as Amir Bashai.

“Where are we going?” Erin asked, not liking the fact that he intended to remove her from the refugee camp. She knew the palace guards and American private security personnel Kamal had hired were probably already looking for her, and leaving the camp would only hinder their ability to rescue her.

“That is not important. You will come with me quietly, or I will personally see to it that the future heir to the Jawharan throne dies this day.” The young man sneered at her, spitting the words out and leaving Erin with no doubt that he meant them.

Erin tried not to grimace as he pulled her roughly to a sitting position and then pulled her to her feet. He untied her hands and feet, and the older woman – someone she assumed to be his mother, helped dress her in the black burqa the Islamic extremists seemed so fond of.

The garment was stifling and covered her from head to toe. The headdress, or niqab, included a piece of mesh screen, which covered her eyes, allowing her to see out, but preventing anyone from seeing in. She had been pleasantly surprised upon arriving in Jawhara at how modern the men and women dressed. Many of the older women still wore the colorful gowns and veils of their ancestors, but just as many people wore conservative western clothing.

The older woman spoke rapidly to Amir in a language Erin couldn’t understand and was most definitely not the common Arabic dialect heard in Jawhara. Erin had been trying to learn the language of her future husband, but only knew a few words, and then only if they were spoken slowly. Amir seemed to be upset by the conversation, but eventually he nodded his head before turning to her.

Lifting the veil so he could meet her eyes, he told her, “My mother is worried that you will draw attention to yourself. She has suggested I gag you beneath the veil.” Seeing Erin blanch at that possibility and start to shake her head, he nodded and continued, “I have assured her that you will do no such thing. I do not wish to harm you; it is your Sheikh who must be stopped from working with the infidels who have taken over my country.” He dropped the fabric back over her face, enclosing her in the material once again.

Erin bit her lip beneath the heavy veil, trying desperately to come up with anything that would help defuse the situation. Nothing came to mind. Her experience, working with the Charity Foundation back in Washington D.C., had given her many opportunities to work with distraught people facing domestic or psychological problems. But dealing with someone who was motivated by a strong religious belief was new territory for her and she was at a loss.

“I wish you could help me understand what the problems in your country are. Maybe I could speak to the Sheikh and another solution could be…,” she began, only to be cut off rudely.

“The only problem,” Amir spat, “is the influence your country has forced upon us. Your western ideas go against everything we believe, and must be eradicated from our society. Only then will we be able to live our lives in peace once again.”

Eradicated? Erin was still mulling over this statement when he continued, “My country has lived in harmony with Jawhara for hundreds of years without incident. We’ve shared the border, each people respecting the beliefs and religious practices of the other. But since Sheikh Kamal came back from university in your country, Jawhara has become much more progressive and adopted many western ideals.

“Our young people have become enamored of these new ideas. These things are an abomination to Islam and have no place in our society. Those that have forced their way into power in my country must be stopped before the entire nation becomes corrupted.”

“Not all change is bad,” Erin started to explain only to be cut off as Amir laughed without humor.

“That is the problem with you westerners. You all think that change is necessary. Islam has been our guide for hundreds of centuries and will continue to do so long after your so called ‘democracy’ is destroyed.”

Spoken like a true extremist! “What about tolerance?” Erin asked. “Doesn’t the Qur’an teach tolerance and peace…”

“Enough! Do not think to lecture me about the Qur’an! I don’t have time to debate my actions with you anymore. Now, do I have your promise that you will come quietly with me, or do I kill you and your unborn child right no

w?”

Erin looked at the wicked looking knife Amir pulled from the sheath at his side and tried not to shiver in fear. “I’ll come with you, but know this, Kamal will send men after me, and they won’t stop until I’m found. Why not just let me go and I’ll arrange for you to meet with him and discuss your concerns…”

“Talking is useless! Now is the time for action! Come,” Amir grabbed her arm and pulled her through the flap at the back of the tent. He paused briefly before leading her to a donkey and almost throwing her on its back. Taking the reins, he carefully made his way among the tents, keeping an eye out for the guards that had begun searching through the tents once again.