Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (22 page)

“You are wearing this today for the sheikh.”

She lays clothing out on the bed. I’m excited to note there is delicate and feminine underwear along with the rest of the attire. Today I feel different, I feel like a woman, and I want to dress for my man. I touch the beautiful lace garments and smile, and then pick up the soft white cotton trousers and run my fingers over them. There’s also a white tunic with embroidery along the edges. The clothes are luxurious, feeling and looking expensive, the quality worthy of a sheikha. I don’t refuse Lamis’s assistance as she helps me dress, and I’m pleased to discover the clothing feels as comfortable as it appears. I’m just smoothing down the cloth, admiring how well it all fits, when the man who’s never been far from my thoughts this morning enters the tent.

I glance up to see him at the entrance, standing watching me. My first thought is how stunning he looks, tall and regal. I swallow rapidly, suddenly nervous in front of the man I’d been intimate with in the small hours. How should I behave with him in the cold light of day? It doesn’t help that his expression is unreadable.

When she catches sight of her sheikh, Lamis bows deeply and greets him in Arabic. Then, continuing in English for my benefit, she informs him, “We are finishing, Excellency.” Quickly she turns back to me. “You are wearing this now.” She helps me put on a headdress.

“Show her how to wear it as a veil,” Nijad says lazily. The first words he has spoken in my presence this morning.

I flinch, turning to him with pain in my eyes, my previous delight and excitement vanishing as the implication of his words slices through me like a knife.

“You want me veiled,” I whisper. I make no argument. I just lower my head in acceptance. After closing my eyes briefly, I find the strength from somewhere, just as I always do. I nod at Lamis and wait to be shown how to hide my pockmarked face from the world.

An angry exclamation gets my attention. Nijad walks over to me, his face furious. His hands grab my arms and he shakes me. With a raised voice he tells me forcefully, “You think I want to hide you, don’t you? Have you forgotten everything I said last night? In the desert we use veils for protection from the sand, not to hide our faces. Now tell me what I told you.”

Taken aback by his vehemence, I’m not certain what he’s expecting me to say. I look into his angry face but see no threat there, only disappointment that I hadn’t believed him. As he waits for my answer, his hands move to my face and caress it gently. I swallow and tell him shyly, “You said you found me attractive.”

There’s little conviction in my voice and he hears it. His fingers grip me harder, almost roughly. “I think the word I used was beautiful! I never want to hear you say anything derogatory about yourself again. Do you understand me?” The look I give him obviously isn’t very convincing because suddenly he grabs my hair in a firm grip that’s only just this side of painful. He pulls my head back, forcing me to look up at him while taking my hand and pushing it down between us until it’s resting against a very noticeable erection.

“Feel me. I’m harder than fucking stone from just looking at you. Now do you believe how fucking stunning and sexy I find you?”

I feel my eyes go wide as, ignoring the presence of the servant, he moves my hand along his length. He hisses through his teeth to show me the effect I’m having on him and, if it’s possible, he grows even more rigid under my touch.

“If we had time I’d show you how beautiful you are, but we haven’t.”

He releases my hair and moves my hand away, grimacing as he adjusts himself through his robes. Looking down he sees my dazed acceptance of his declaration and, satisfied, he nods. A smile spreads across his face. His anger dissipates as though it was never there, but he still uses the voice that makes my insides quiver as he speaks again.

“The next time you say, or even think, anything like that I will spank you.” Amusement dances in his eyes. “And that’s a promise, wife.”

His display of dominance doesn’t scare me. In fact, it does the opposite, his threat causing a throb of arousal in me, and I’m feeling ridiculously happy, as well as turned on, as I smile up at him.

“Yes” – I hesitate, wondering what I should call him, but to hell with it, we’re married aren’t we? What need for formality? – “Nijad, husband.” His eyes gleam, showing his pleasure, and then he leans over, taking my lips in a kiss that leaves me in no further doubt that he does, by some miracle, find my looks acceptable.

We are interrupted by a delighted gasp that causes us both to swing round. My hand goes to my mouth. Lamis is standing there, grinning like the cat who caught the proverbial canary, holding the bedcovers in her hand. I rush over and try to pull them over the bottom sheet to hide it again. Blood rushes to my cheeks as embarrassment floods through me, and the servant and I tussle with the covers.

Laughing, Nijad puts his arms around me, pulling me back. When I look up at him to protest I see he is grinning from ear to ear as he stares at the small patch of blood in the middle of the bed.

“Lamis, leave us.”

Dismissed, she bows and departs. Nijad turns his hold into a hug, pulling me into his body and resting his chin on the top of my head.

“Be proud, Sheikha. It’s a sign you were pure when you came to me, and that you had saved yourself for your husband.”

My mortification makes me annoyed with him, and I want to thump him.

“I didn’t save myself; no one else wanted me! And you didn’t really – you had no choice.”

“Sheikha,” he starts in a very light-hearted tone. “Do you honestly want to be spanked? Because you’re asking for it. If you are pregnant, then there will be no doubt that the baby is mine. My true heir.”

“It’s embarrassing,” I protest.

He gives a long-suffering sigh and then laughs, giving me a quick, playful swipe on my backside.

“Ouch!”

It hadn’t hurt, but I rub where his hand landed to make a point. He just smirks.

“Oh, I can do much worse than that, Sheikha.”

Pulling me to him again he touches his lips to mine, and then presses against them more forcefully, his tongue pushing, demanding entrance. I open for him and he ravishes my mouth. I love the taste of him, his unique sensual flavour with a hint of coffee. My arms come up, round his neck, and I touch his silky soft hair, confined today in a tie. Our kiss deepens and I’m wrapping myself around him as though I’ve lost all control. His hands grasp my elbows and he pushes me away from him. We are both breathing fast. Holding me at arm’s length he tells me, regretfully, “Much as I’d like to continue this, we can’t. I’ve got a surprise for you. Come, now.”

“I’ve already found your gift.” I point over to where the dagger lies in the sheath.

Another laugh. “I keep my promises. Always.” His grin becomes wicked. “You’d better remember that, sweetheart.”

I can’t stop the grin that comes over my face, suddenly ridiculously happy, enjoying this playful, light-hearted side of him. And I feel on top of the world as I watch him ruefully turning away and adjusting himself again, relishing the power I have over him. Letting him take my hand, he leads me outside into the bright sunlight, which makes me squint after the dimness of the tent. I’m learning things about Nijad by the minute, and the next is his thoughtfulness; in his hands are a pair of sunglasses he’s got ready for me – an expensive brand, I notice immediately. Thanking him I put them on. Now able to adapt to the harsh light, my eyes widen when I see what’s waiting just off to the side. Two beautiful Arab horses, tacked up, ready to go.

I gasp, my hands framing my face. I turn to him, my eyes are wide, not quite able to believe it.

“We’re riding?”

His eyes gleam down at me, pleased at my evident delight. “After what you told me, I thought you might enjoy it. The grey one is yours.”

I throw a quick look at him, unsure of the protocol around a desert prince. Would it be acceptable to throw my arms around him and kiss him? Seeing the stoic faces of the tribespeople standing around, I curb my desire for a physical display of my pleasure and resort to a verbal ‘thank you’ instead. Then I can’t hold back any longer, and quickly step forwards to stroke the lovely horse he tells me is mine.

‘Grey’ is a misnomer; the beautiful mare is almost gleaming white. She’s standing patiently, her only movement a flick of her tail to remove annoying flies, while the larger black stallion is stamping his feet with impatience. As I stroke the mare’s nose she lowers her head, undoubtedly seeking treats. I’ve nothing to give her. Instead, I put out my hand so she can lick the salt from my palm. As her tongue rasps over my fingers, I feel an instant connection with her.

“She’s gorgeous.” I turn back to Nijad.

“She’s called Sakin. I selected a quiet ride for you as it’s been some time since you’ve ridden. The stallion, my horse, is Amal.”

Nijad stands watching me, his flowing robes billowing around him in the slight breeze. He’s put on his headdress now and looks every inch the sheikh that he is, formidable and strong. There’s something untamed about him, and I catch my breath as it hits me that I’m actually married to him.

“Thank you.” I smile at him to show my appreciation. It’s been a few years since I was on a horse, but it’s as if I’ve come home. I lean against the mare, breathing in that distinct odour that I’ve always found so comforting. It calms me now.

Caught up in memories, I realise I’ve been lost in my thoughts when I hear his amused voice.

“Are you ready? I’d like to get going so we won’t be riding in the heat of the midday sun.”

Starting, I give an embarrassed nod and go round to the nearside to mount. Moving quietly and smoothly he comes across and cups his hands to give me a leg up. Landing gently, I quickly find the heavily ornamented leather saddle is as soft as it looks, and see the bridle is complete with little silver bells that tinkle as the mare shakes her head. The tack feels different from the utilitarian English type I’ve used before, but nonetheless very comfortable. Gathering up the reins I realise they are both supple and strong, and the grip feels firm. The pungent aroma of leather takes me back to the happy, carefree times at the riding stables of my youth. While I’m getting used to the feel of a horse under me once more, Nijad is busy adjusting the girth and making sure my stirrups are the right length. Throwing a smile up at me, he goes and mounts his horse. Once seated he glances across at me, his eyes questioning how I’m feeling. I respond and give him my confirmation with a nod and a grin wide enough to split my face in two. As if that’s the signal he’s waiting for he presses his heels into Amal’s sides, and we are off.

The morning is still young, but already the air is warm, the sand shimmering in the heat. As though it was only yesterday I’d last ridden, I quickly start moving naturally with the horse as my muscle memory takes over. Soon I feel relaxed and confident, and able to take in my surroundings. As we make our way through the tented village I see the oasis is relatively small, like a little lake surrounded by palm trees offering shade. There’s a rock formation at the far end. Children play in the water while their mothers are washing clothes. Laughter fills the air as the children shout and splash and the women watch them fondly. It’s a peaceful scene. We leave the oasis behind and the bleating of goats becomes louder as we pass an enclosure of nannies with kids. Chickens peck around in the sand. I sigh softly, feeling content. Despite the primitive lifestyle, I believe I could be happy here. It’s such a contrast from my dreary house in London and my lonely existence there. While some of the tribespeople are looking at me, it’s with curiosity to see the new wife of their sheikh, and not with pity or condemnation. Fighting my natural urge to lower my face from their view, I pull my back up straight and sit tall.

Today really is the first day of the rest of my life.

Two very well-armed men are following behind us on horseback at a respectful distance. It gives me food for thought. Maybe the desert is not as serene as it appears.

“Nijad, why the guards? Is there danger here?”

Throwing me a quick look he replies enigmatically, “There’s danger everywhere.”

“But a specific threat?”

I want to know more. It’s not as though I’m frightened, not unless anyone tells me there’s a real risk, but I want to learn all I can about what has, so quickly, become my new home.

He lets the horses amble on a while before he answers. “We’re close to the border, sweetheart. While Amahad is peaceful, progressive compared to some other countries, we have borders with two of those who envy our wealth, and our multiculturalism. There are zealots who believe there is only one true faith and would enforce their beliefs by force.” He pauses.

I look at him avidly. “They come across the borders?”

He nods. “Yes. That’s why I’m based here. In my camp, and those of other tribes, we have soldiers who can quickly put down any skirmish that might start.”

“Are there many?”

“Enough. But so far it’s always been small pockets, not determined action. Some years ago now there was a major war with Ezirad, the country that borders us on the edge of the southern desert. The war is over, but jihadists still try to cross into Amahad. They don’t succeed.”

I’m silent for a while as I consider this information, remembering what his brothers had explained about the importance of keeping peace in the desert, and invaders from crossing the borders. My mare plods on through the vast acres of sand, but instead of calm I’m now envisaging the same ground turned red with blood. I frown as the realisation of his status hits me.