Captured by the Sheikh

She felt her body flood with warmth, her face flush. No, it wouldn’t be hard at all—that was the problem. She looked away, willing her blush to recede. ‘I don’t like lying,’ she muttered.

‘Nor do I. But there is no choice. Although I would have hoped that such a pretence would not be quite so abhorrent to you.’ His eyes glowed with both knowledge and memory, reminding her of their kiss. It felt as if he were taunting her that he knew she wanted him, that such a fantasy would not be unpleasant at all but far, far too desirable.

Elena broke their locked gaze first, looking away from all the knowledge in Khalil’s eyes. ‘And after tonight?’ she asked when she trusted her voice to sound as level as his had been. ‘Then you’ll let me go?’

‘Yes. I’ll take you to Siyad myself. Now that Aziz will be forced to call a referendum, there is no need for me to remain in the desert.’

She swallowed, her mind spinning with all this new information. ‘What will happen to Aziz?’

Khalil shrugged. ‘He will return to Europe, I imagine. He has a house in Paris. He can live the playboy life he so enjoys.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Elena protested. ‘He might be a playboy, but he has his own business, and he’s done a lot of good—’

Khalil flung up a hand. ‘Please. Do not defend Aziz to me.’ She fell silent and he gazed at her, his mouth thinning. ‘Are you so disappointed,’ he asked after a moment, ‘not to marry Aziz?’

‘Only because of what it means for my country. My rule.’

‘You are a strong woman, Elena. I think you could stand up to your Council without a husband propping you up.’

She let out a short laugh, not knowing whether to feel offended or flattered. ‘Thank you for that vote of confidence, I suppose.’

‘I didn’t mean it as a criticism. You’ve shown me with your actions how strong and courageous you are. I think you could face your Council on your own, convince this Markos not to depose you. The vote has to be unanimous, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ She eyed him shrewdly even as she fought a lonely sweep of desolation. ‘Are you trying to make me feel better, or ease your own guilt at having wrecked my marriage plans?’

He looked surprised by the question, or perhaps his own answer. ‘Both, I suppose. Although a few days ago I wouldn’t have given your plans a single thought.’ He shook his head wonderingly, and then his expression hardened once more and he rose from her side. ‘I will be busy meeting with various leaders of the local tribes today, but I will see you at the wedding festivities tonight.’

She nodded, still smarting from their conversation, and all Khalil hadn’t said. That he didn’t feel.

She spent the rest of the day with the women, preparing for the wedding that evening. She helped make bread and stew meat, then when the food was finished and the sun was high in the sky the women headed back down to the oasis to prepare themselves for the festivities.

The bride was a lovely young girl with thick, dark hair, liquid eyes and a nervous smile. Elena watched as the women prepared her for her wedding: a dress of bright blue with rich embroidery on the sleeves and hem, hennaed hands and feet and a veil made of dozens of small copper coins.

What would her own wedding have looked like? she wondered as she watched the women laugh and joke with the young bride. A solemn, private ceremony in one of the reception rooms of the Kadaran palace, no doubt, witnessed by a few of Aziz’s staff. Nothing fancy, nothing joyful or exciting.

And the wedding night? She shivered suddenly to think how she would have been giving her body to Aziz, a man she barely knew. Would she have felt for him even an ounce of the desire she felt for Khalil?

Inexorably her mind moved onto the man who always seemed to be in her thoughts. The man everyone here thought was her husband. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, she thought suddenly, longingly, to pretend just for one day, for one night, that he was? That she was young and giddy with love, just as this pretty bride was?

What was the harm in that—in a single day of pretending?

Tomorrow she would return to reality. Soon she would be back in Thallia, facing a disapproving Council, forced to tell them her marriage plans had been cancelled. Perhaps facing the end of a monarchy that had lasted for nearly a thousand years—all because she hadn’t been strong or smart enough to hold onto her crown.

Yes, one day of pretending sounded wonderful.

And so Elena let herself be carried along once more by the women; she didn’t protest when they dressed her in a gown of silvery blue, lined her eyes with kohl, placed copper bangles on both arms and a veil of coins over her face. She understood they wanted to celebrate her recent marriage, just as the young bride was celebrating hers, and she didn’t resist.

She wanted to celebrate it too.

* * *

The sky was deep indigo and studded with millions of stars when the ceremony began. The entire tribe had assembled and Elena watched, enchanted, as the ceremony played out amidst a riot of colour, music and dance. The women and men sat separately, and although she looked for him she could not find Khalil amidst the men gathered under a tent. She wondered if he would even recognise her in the Bedouin dress, headscarf and veil, wondered what he would think of her like this.

After the ceremony people circulated freely to enjoy food, music and dance. Several giggling women pushed Elena towards a group of men and then she saw him standing there, dressed in a traditional white cotton thobe richly embroidered with red and gold.

Khalil seemed to stare right through her and Elena knew he didn’t recognise her. Emboldened by the women who had pushed her forward, or perhaps simply by the desires of her own heart, she walked towards him.

‘Greetings, husband,’ she said softly. She’d meant to sound teasing but her voice came out earnest instead. Khalil glanced down at her, clearly startled, and then heat filled his eyes and his whole body tensed.

‘Elena.’

‘What do you think?’ She twirled around and her dress flared out, the coins covering the lower part of her face jingling as she moved.

‘I think you look lovely.’ He placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her in mid-twirl, and drew her closer to him. ‘Very lovely indeed. Sometimes something hidden is more alluring than something seen.’

Suddenly she was breathless, dazed by the look of undisguised admiration in his eyes. ‘Do you really think so?’ she whispered.

‘Yes. And now I think the people of the tribe are expecting us to dance.’

‘Dance?’

‘I know the steps. Follow my lead.’ And with one hand on her waist, the other clasped with hers, he led her to the circle of dancers.

The next hour passed in a blur of music and dance, every second one of heightened, almost painful awareness. Khalil’s hand in hers, his body next to hers, his gaze fastened to hers, everything in her pulsing with longing. She’d never felt so beautiful or desirable, so heady with a kind of power she’d never, ever experienced before.

When she moved, Khalil’s gaze followed her. When she spoke, he leaned forward to listen. She felt as if she were, at this moment, the centre of his universe. And it was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

She never wanted it to end.

But of course it did; the bridal couple was seen off and people began to trail back to their dwellings. Elena turned to Khalil, uncertainty and hope warring within her. He gazed down at her, his expression inscrutable.

‘They have arranged for us to share a tent tonight. I hope you don’t mind.’

Mind? No, she didn’t mind at all. ‘That’s...that’s all right,’ she managed.

Smiling faintly, Khalil threaded his fingers through hers and drew her away from the others...towards the tent they would share.

CHAPTER EIGHT

KHALIL KNEW HE was a little drunk. He hadn’t had any alcohol to drink; none had been served. Yet he still felt dazed, almost drugged with possibility. With something deeper and stronger than mere lust, even if part of him wanted to give it that name, make it that simple.

He held the tent flap open for Elena and watched as she moved past him, her Bedouin clothing emphasising the sinuous swing of her hips, her graceful gait. Once in the tent she turned to him and he saw the expectation in her eyes, felt it in himself.

Tonight, to all intents and purposes, they were married. Husband and wife.

‘Did you have a good time this evening?’ he asked and she nodded.

‘Yes... I don’t know when I’ve had a better time, actually.’ She let out a little laugh, sounding self-conscious, uncertain. ‘I haven’t gone to many parties before.’

‘Not gone to parties? Not even royal or state functions?’

She shook her head, her grey eyes heartbreakingly wide above her veil. ‘I’ve gone to those, but they weren’t...they weren’t fun. I could never just be myself. I was always Queen Elena and sometimes it felt like an act.’

‘A danger of wearing the crown so young, I suppose. But you should be proud of yourself, Elena, and all you have accomplished.’

He took a step towards her, the need to touch her growing with every moment they spent together. His palms itched and he had to keep himself from reaching for her. ‘And were you yourself tonight, Elena? Looking as you do, like a Bedouin girl?’