The Sheikh's Disobedient Bride

Tossing aside the pillow, Tally forced herself to eat even as she struggled to remember who she last spoke with, whom she’d written, and the last e-mails she’d sent from the Internet café in Atiq a month ago.

Did anyone even know she was still in Northern Africa? Her editor might, but they hadn’t communicated in weeks.

No, keeping in touch wasn’t her forte. While she loved taking pictures, she didn’t like writing and most of her e-mails were brief one-liners.In Israel, went diving in the Red Sea. Or,Arrived in Pakistan, took a bus through Harappa, have never been so hot in my entire life.

Tally now stared glumly at the breakfast tray. She was going to pay for her laissez-faire attitude, wasn’t she?

The older man was outside her tent again, calling to her, saying something she didn’t understand as he spoke with an accent or in a dialect she’d never heard before. But before she could answer, he’d entered the tent, carrying a relatively large copper tub. He placed the tub on the carpet, indicated that he’d go and return and when he returned he had help. Three men carried pitchers of water.

A bath.

So something she’d said to Tair had sunk in. Thrilled, Tally watched as the elderly man filled the tub with the pitchers of steaming water and left behind a soft soap and towel. The bath wasn’t particularly deep, and not exactly hot, but it was warm water and she had a bar of soap, a soap that reminded her of olive oil and citrus. She washed her hair, soaped up and down and by the time she rinsed off, the water was cold but she felt marvelous. Marvelous until she realized she had nothing but her dirty clothes to put back on.

Regretfully Tally dressed in her clothes, combed her fingers through her hair, pulling the wet strands back from her face and then looked around the tent. She was sick of the tent. She’d been here for not even a day and she already hated it.

So enough of the tent. She was heading out to explore the camp.

From the moment she pushed the goatskin flap up and exited her tent, stepping into the startling bright sunlight, Tally became aware of the eyes of the men in camp on her. It was obvious they didn’t approve of her wandering around but no one made a move toward her. No one spoke to her and no one detained her. They pretty much let her do as she pleased.

The camp was actually bigger than it first appeared. There were over a dozen tents, and several large open ones with scattered rugs and pillows and Tally guessed these were the places the men gathered to eat and socialize.

A mangy three-legged dog hopped around after her and Tally considered discouraging the dog but then decided she liked the company. And it was her first friend.

Crouching down, Tally scratched under the dog’s chin and then behind one ear. “If I had my camera working, I’d take a picture of you.” The dog wagged its tail that looked half gnawed. “Poor dog. You look just as bad as this camp does.”

And the camp did look bad. She’d never seen anything like this place. It was poor. Stark. Depressing. And once again she thought she’d give anything to have one of the memory cards back because she’d love to photograph the camp. The stained tents with the backdrop of sand dunes and kneeling camels would make amazing pictures.

Suddenly she heard a now familiar voice—the old Berber man—and he was running toward her with long cotton fabric draped over his arm.

Tally didn’t know what he was saying but once he unfurled one of the strips of fabric and she saw it was a robe she knew he wanted her to cover up.

“No, thank you,” she said, shaking her hands and head. “I’m fine.”

But he insisted and the more he insisted the more adamant Tally was that she wouldn’t wear the black robe and head covering. “No,” she said more firmly, even as she began to wonder just where Tair was. She’d walked the circumference of the camp twice without spotting him once.

“Tair,” she said to the old man. “Where is he?”

The old man stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then he lifted the robe, shook it. She knew what he wanted but he didn’t understand what she did.

“Tair,” Tally repeated and this time she stood on her toes, lifted her hand high above her head to indicate Tair’s immense height.“Tair.”

The elderly man only looked more puzzled and Tally wanted to pull her hair out in mad chunks. This was a nightmare. A nightmare. She couldn’t stay here, couldn’t be left here, couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“Tair,” she said more loudly, firmly, extending her arms to show width, size.