The Sheikh's Disobedient Bride

She was angry, very angry and he didn’t blame her. Everything she’d said was true. Everything he’d done had been manipulative. The problem was, in her world what he’d done was wrong. Immoral. But in his world, he’d been sly, clever. He’d found the woman he wanted and taken her, made her his. In his world this was good. Successful.

She was right about their worlds being different and he at least had the advantage of knowing her world having a mother who was English and years in English boarding school. Now his mother had never returned to England after marrying his father—another successful kidnapping story—but she was also a spirited woman, beautiful, educated, proud.

Tair’s first wife, Ara, was Barakan—a chieftain’s daughter—but she and Tair’s mother were like two peas in a pod. They’d been close, Ara becoming the daughter his mother never had. Then the slaughter in the desert and all their lives changed.

It was then his mother moved to Atiq, giving up her beloved Bur Juman for the relative safety—and anonymity—of Baraka’s largest city.

She lived close to the Nuri’s palace, in a compound of her own but with excellent security. The Sultan Malik Nuri and his wife Nicolette included Tair’s mother in many government and social events. Between her teaching and her friends at the palace, his mother lived a full life. But he knew his mother missed Ara and desperately grieved for the grandchild she lost. Zaki had been her only grandchild and it was hard on his mother—a good, kind and loving woman—to have lost so many of those she loved.

Tair hoped Tally would like his mother. He knew his mother would love Tally. He also knew that his mother hoped for more grandchildren.

Tair glanced at Tally who rode not far from him, her back tall, head high, eyes straight forward. She was so furious with him, barely speaking to him, answering in monosyllables.

That would change once he had her alone later, in his bed. She’d be far warmer and more eager to talk then.

They reached El Saroush just before nightfall and Tally gave his men orders. Some were to inspect the city palace maintained by the el-Tayer family for the past two hundred years. Others were to see to the horses. Others were to keep watch during the first part of the night.

Tair showed Tally where her room would be and told her that dinner would be served shortly. He encouraged her to explore the interior gardens where the purple and mauve jacarandas were in full bloom but not to leave the palace’s high walls and impenetrable iron gates.

Tally was happy to wander through the walled courtyards and fragrant gardens. After riding all day she was tired and sore and she found the gardens, now illuminated at night by ancient torches, beautiful as well as inviting.

The assault happened so fast Tally wasn’t even sure what had happened until it was all over. In one of the gardens she’d bent over a fountain to see the intricate mosaic in the bottom of the pool when a man grabbed her from behind, covered her mouth and nose and pressed something sharp against her ribs.

It was like the morning she’d been kidnapped by Tair—one moment she was fine, intent on taking pictures, and the next she was in danger. She bit the hand covering her mouth only to be rewarded with a forearm against her throat, pressing tight.

“You make a sound and you will die,” a rough voice muttered in her ear. “Understand?”

He spoke English, excellent English. In fact, she recognized the voice and accent. “Sadiq?” she asked, realizing it was her translator. The man who’d spent two weeks with her traveling from Atiq to El Saroush.

“Be quiet and you won’t get hurt,” he said.

Tally nodded, wincing as the knife blade was pressed harder against her side. She could feel it nick, cut, but she wasn’t afraid, not as afraid as she should be. Tair had said the men she’d traveled with were Barakan rebels, zealots who refused to recognize Ouaha as an independent territory.“Ash bhiti? What do you want?” she whispered, speaking the simple Arabic she’d learned, and calmed by the knowledge that Tair would help her. Tair would save her. He always did.

“How many are with him?”

“With who?” she asked, deliberately playing dumb because she knew this was about Tair. It had to be about Tair.

The forearm against her throat tightened, bruising. “Don’t be stupid.”

She wouldn’t tell him anything. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Her captor didn’t like her response and he increased the pressure on her throat, ruthlessly punishing, squeezing, cutting off her air. Tally’s head swam. Little spots danced before her eyes and just as her knees started to buckle everything went dark.