Tamed: The Barbarian King (12 page)

“And Umar?”

“He will forgive us.”

“And you?” She slowly looked up at him. “When you take your bride, Qusay’s queen? What will become of me then?”

He set his jaw. The thought made him sick.

“Perhaps I will die a bachelor,” he growled.

“But you need an heir,” she whispered.

He shrugged, a casual gesture that belied the repressed emotion in his eyes. “My brothers’ children can inherit,” he said lightly. “Or their grandchildren. I intend to live a very long life.”

“But your brothers are not even married. What makes you think they ever will be?”

He felt brief uncertainty, which swiftly changed to anger and impatience. “They will.”

“They don’t even care enough about Qusay to live here. Do you think Rafiq would give up his billion-dollar business empire to come back from Australia and rule? And from what I’ve heard, Tahir is squandering his life away on the international party circuit—”

“People can change—”

“Are you willing to risk the throne of Qusay on that? To place that kind of burden on your younger brothers?” She shook her head desperately. “Even if they do someday have children or grandchildren…those grandchildren will know nothing of Qusay. You think our people would tolerate being ruled by someone ignorant of our languages, our customs?”

His jaw clenched as he looked away. When he looked back at her, his voice was full of agony he no longer tried to hide.

“Is there no chance you could get pregnant, Jasmine?” he said hoarsely. “Not even a small chance? We could see the best fertility specialist in the world, spare no expense, do whatever it took for you to bear my child—”

“No,” she said brutally. “I’ve visited some of the top obstetricians in Manhattan. I got second and third opinions. I can never get pregnant.” A sob rose to her lips. “I won’t destroy my family by becoming your mistress.” She wiped her eyes, lifting her chin. “I deserve more than that. And so do you,” she whispered.

He grabbed her shoulders savagely.

“I’ve waited for you for thirteen years. I’m not going to lose you again.” His hands tightened on her painfully. “Even if the whole world goes down in flames for it. I’m not going to let you go.”

She looked up at him, so impossibly beautiful. Unreachable.

Behind her, the bright flowers and garish red-and-gilt of the private room seemed flat, as if covered by dark mist. Outside the mirrored window, the green grass and brown horses and colorful shirts of the jockeys seemed to fade to black as Jasmine pushed away from him coldly, kneeling to pick up her hat and purse from the carpet.

“Marry another,” she said in a low voice, not looking at him. “Be the king you were born to be.”

He stared at her. “Is it so easy for you to thrust me into the arms of another?”

She sucked in her breath. Her eyes were stricken.

“No,” she choked out. “I hate the woman you’ll marry. Whoever she might be.”

“And I’ll hate any man who has you in his bed. Even the friend who saved my life.” He looked down at her, his jaw hard. “You won’t be my mistress. So there is only one answer. You will marry me.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

“Marry me.
You
must be my queen, Jasmine. Only you.”

Her eyes were huge. Then she seemed to shudder, blinking her eyes as if closing a door in her heart.

“It cannot be. You need an heir. If you married me—whatever you might think—you would be forced to abdicate.”

“I have the right to choose my own bride—”

“No,” she cut him off harshly. “You don’t.”

“But Jasmine…” he started, then stopped. He’d offered her everything. His kingdom. His name. He’d offered her everything he had, and she’d refused.

But he hadn’t offered her everything. There was one risk he hadn’t taken.

“But you have to marry me, Jasmine,” he said. “You have to be my wife, because I…” He took a deep breath and looked straight into her eyes. “I love you.”

Her eyes widened. He saw her tremble. Then slowly, ruthlessly, she squared her shoulders.

“Then you’re a fool,” she said evenly. “I pity you with all my heart.”

With a growl, he started toward her. “But you love me,” he said. “Tell the truth. You love me, as I love you!”

She held up her hand.

“The truth is that I want what you cannot give me.” Her voice was cold as ice, like a sharp icicle through his heart. “Marrying Umar might be my only chance to ever have children.” Her eyes narrowed as she delivered the killing blow. “You took away my chance to be a mother, Kareef,” she whispered. “You took away my chance to ever have a child.”

It was his greatest grief. His greatest fear. The guilty thought he’d whispered silently around the desert fire by night. Only this was a thousand times worse, since the accusation fell from the lips of the woman he loved.

His agonized blue eyes were focused on her. He took a single stumbling step backward, bumping a nearby silver champagne bucket on a table. It crashed to the floor in an explosion of ice. The bottle rolled against the wall, scattering ice and champagne across the carpet.

But he didn’t notice. Pain racked his body, ripping him into little pieces more completely and ruthlessly than any sandstorm.

You took away my chance to ever have a child.

Pain and grief poured through him, burning like lava.

She’d told him it had been an accident. She’d told him he was forgiven.

Lies—all lies!

Suddenly, he could not contain the rage and grief inside his own body. Savagely, he turned and smashed a hole in a nearby wall. She flinched back, gasping.

“Teach me how to feel nothing, like you,” he said in a low voice. “I’m tired of having a heart. From the moment I loved you, it has never stopped breaking.”

Walking away from her, he paused in the doorway without looking back. He didn’t want her to see his face. When he spoke, his voice was choked with grief.

“Goodbye, Jasmine,” he said, leaning his head against the door as he closed his eyes. “I wish you a life filled with every happiness.”

And he left her.

A
N HOUR
later, Jasmine looked blankly at her own image in the large gilded mirror of the late Mrs. Hajjar’s pink bedroom.

“Oh, my daughter,” her father said tenderly as he pulled the veil over her head. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

“So beautiful,” her plump, gray-haired mother agreed, beaming at her. “I’ll go tell them you’re ready.”

Jasmine stared at herself in the mirror. The round window behind her lit up her white veil with afternoon sunlight, leaving her face in shadow. She was having trouble breathing and could barely move, laced into a tight corset, locked into a wide hoop skirt beneath the layers of tulle.

Umar had ordered every component of this gown for her, even her underwear, from a Paris couture house six months before she’d agreed to be his bride. She looked at the mirror. The perfect gilded princess for this garish palace.

She could see the desert through the window behind her. She could almost imagine, in a far distance, a low-
slung ranch house of brown wood, with trees and simply tended flowers beside a swimming pool of endless blue, and a loggia where she’d once held the man she loved, naked against her body.

Here in the desert, the harsh sun burned away all the lies.

Except for one.

The lie Jasmine had told to drive Kareef away.

Staring at the perfect bride in the mirror, she felt dizzy from the frantic beat of her heart.

Kareef had told her he’d loved her.

And she’d tossed his love back in his face!

I had no choice
, she told herself as her knees shook beneath her.
I had no choice! He asked to marry me. He would have been forced to abdicate the throne for me!

To push him away, she’d conjured the most cruel spell, the most vicious accusation she could imagine to drive him away from her. She’d used his own grief and guilt against him.

It made her sick inside. No matter how pure her motives, she knew she’d committed the deepest betrayal of the heart. And if she married Umar today, she would be committing suicide of the soul.

And suddenly, she knew she couldn’t do it.

She could not marry a man she did not love.

For any reason.

“Where is Umar?” she whispered, pressing her hands against her tightly corseted waist, struggling for breath. “He said we would talk before the wedding. Please find him.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea—” her father began ponderously.

“We’ll find him,” her mother said, giving her husband a sharp look. She smiled at Jasmine. “Don’t worry.”

“Wait.” She grabbed her mother’s wrist. A lump rose in her throat at the sudden fear that Jasmine would never see her again.

“Why Jasmine,” her mother said softly, stroking her hair though the veil as if she were still a little girl. “What’s wrong?”

Would they forgive her for calling off the wedding? Would they ever forgive her?

She would pray they would. She’d do everything she could to help her sister. She’d do everything she could to show her family she loved them.

But not sacrifice her soul.

“Mother,” Jasmine said, fighting back tears, “I know I haven’t always made you proud but…” Sniffling beneath her elegant veil, she looked from her mother to her father, then shook her head. “I love you both so much.”

“And we’ve always loved you, Jasmine,” her mother said, squeezing Jasmine’s hand. “We always will.”

“Come,” her father said gruffly, pulling his wife away. “Let us leave Jasmine in peace.”

Her mother’s hand slipped away. The door shut softly.

With a deep breath, Jasmine opened her eyes in the flowery pink bedroom designed by Umar’s dead wife. Jasmine saw moving rainbows against the wallpaper. She looked down to see the enormous diamond on her hand with its endless reflecting facets. She pulled the ring off her finger.

The stone was so cold, she thought, looking down at it in her palm. So hard. So dead.

Teach me how to feel nothing, like you. I’m tired of having a heart. From the moment I loved you, it has never stopped breaking.

Kareef had already left Qais, she’d heard, returning to the city on his helicopter. Tomorrow morning, he would be crowned king—alone.

Jasmine had finally gotten what she wanted. She’d finally pushed him away.

The ring fell from her lifeless hands. Jasmine sank to the floor, enshrouded by layers of white tulle as she fell forward into the voluminous white skirts. Her head hung down as her whole body was racked with sobs of grief.

“Oh my God,” she heard Umar say in the doorway. “Someone told you.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, covering her veiled face with her hands. “I’m so sorry….”

She felt Umar’s arms around her. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said. “I should have told you days ago.”

Staring up at him, she said, “Told me what?”

“I’ve been courting you for so long, but you pushed me away…and she was right there, warm and loving. She was never the type of woman I thought I would take for a bride. She has no money, no connections, no particular beauty.” Shaking his head, he stared at the floor. “In the middle of our engagement party, she called me. She said she thought she might be pregnant.”

“Pregnant,” Jasmine breathed. “Who? Who are you talking about?”

“Léa,” he whispered. He shook his head. “I never
should have allowed my courtship of you to continue while I was sleeping with another woman. I told myself Léa didn’t count. She was a servant. But my children love her, and she’s pregnant with my child. I must marry her.” He pressed his hands over hers, his voice pleading for understanding. “I
want
to marry her. Though she is nothing like the bride I imagined…I think I could love her.” He pressed her hands to his forehead as he bowed his head. “Forgive me,” he said humbly.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. A half-hysterical laugh burbled to her lips. “Because I myself…”

He gave her a sideways glance. “You and the king?” He smiled. “Gossip that rich travels swiftly, even to Brittany, where I was getting permission from Léa’s father to marry her.”

Umar had four children already, and would soon have a new baby. Shaking her head, Jasmine stared at the carpet. In the shifting patterns of colored light from the round window, she could imagine a meadow of flowers, hear a child’s laughter. She looked up into his face. “I wish you every happiness,” she said softly. “You and your precious little ones.”

He kissed her hand in gratitude. “You are too good,” he whispered.

She stared at the patterns of sunlight on the floor. Good? She was far from good. Picking up the ring, she handed it to him.

“What will you do?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “Go back to New York. Run my business. Help my sister however she needs me.”

“And the king?”

She shook her head. “His duty lies elsewhere.”

“Are you sure?”

Trembling, she rose to her feet. “He must marry a woman who can give him children.”

“Sometimes, Jasmine,” Umar said, looking at her quietly, “you must put aside the person everyone wants you to be—to become the person you were born to be.”

She stared at him.

For years, Jasmine had lived alone in New York, working to build her investment portfolio. She’d focused on the past and the future, but never the present.

Now the past was done. The future was unknowable. But she was only twenty-nine years old. There could be a life for her back in New York, if she chose to create one. She could make her sterile Park Avenue apartment a comfortable home. She could start with a fresh clean slate.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Jasmine?” he asked. “Perhaps explain to your father?”

She gave a deep, shaky laugh. “That’s an idea,” she said wryly, then shook her head. “There is one thing. You have that private plane….”

“Done.”

She pulled the white veil off her head, dropping it to the floor in a shimmering cascade of translucent light.

“I cannot allow Kareef to sacrifice himself for me. But there is one thing I can do.” She glanced out the round window, thinking of the ranch house, far across the unseen desert. She straightened. “I can watch him become a king. And before I leave Qusay, I can take back a lie. I can tell him…” She took a deep breath. “I can tell him the truth.”

Kareef looked around the royal bedchamber in the bright sunlight.

His coronation day.

His enormous bedroom was richly appointed, lavishly decorated and big enough for the ten servants that usually insisted on waiting on him. This morning, he’d thrown them all out. He would dress for his coronation—alone.

Slowly, he picked up the ceremonial sword with emeralds on the scabbard and wrapped the belt around his white robes. So much had changed in the last week. And yet nothing had changed.

He was king.

He was alone.

And he felt nothing.

He had dim memories of flying back from the desert last night after the Qais Cup. He was fairly sure he’d spent the evening making small talk with foreign dignitaries. But he could not recall any conversation or whom he’d spoken with. When he tried to think of last night all he could recall was the image of Jasmine’s pale expression, the way she’d flinched when he’d punched the hole in the wall.

You took away my chance to ever have a child.

Punching the wall, he’d been trying to rid himself of the pain. In a way, it had worked. His hand still felt numb. Just like the rest of him.

He’d offered Jasmine everything. His name. His throne. His love. And she’d still refused him.

You’re a fool. I pity you with all my heart.

The servants waiting outside his bedchamber door
followed him in a line as he went down to the breakfast room for his final meal before the formal coronation.

Final meal
, he thought dully.
The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast.

He’d loved her. He loved her still. But he could not have her.

“Ah, sire!” the vizier said brightly as he entered the room. “Good morning! A fine joyful day, sunny and perfect for the first official day of your reign. Now that you are free of…er…entanglements, perhaps after the coronation, I might have your permission to begin the process of seeking a royal bride?”

Kareef looked up at him wearily at the word
entanglements
. Akmal Al’Sayr gave a single discreet grimace. The man had somehow discovered already that Jasmine had thrown him over, and he was so damn happy about it. It made Kareef grind his teeth.

“Fine,” he bit out. If Jasmine could move on, then so could he. He’d lived without love before. He could do it again.

Duty was all he had left. Cold, endless duty.

“Perfect, sire! I have several lovely princesses to choose from.”

“Choose whomever you like,” Kareef said heavily.

“I know the perfect bride. She’s already here to attend the coronation. I will speak with her family immediately, and if they agree, we will begin negotiations later this afternoon.” He paused. “Unless you’d care to meet the girl first?”

“I don’t need to meet her,” he said flatly. “Just make sure she understands this is a political marriage, nothing more.”

“Of course, sire. I will tell her.” Akmal paused delicately. “Although of course there must be children….”

Kareef looked down at his plate and saw that it was empty. Somehow, without tasting any of his food, he’d gotten it all down. The thought made him grimly glad. He would survive. At least his body would, and that was all that was required, wasn’t it?

“Ready?” His brother Rafiq entered the breakfast room.

“Is Tahir here?”

“No sign of him.”

“Right.” Why was he not surprised? Of course his youngest brother had changed his mind about coming home, promise or no promise. Kareef thought of his own optimism and joy a few days ago and felt like the exact same fool Jasmine claimed him to be.

Rising slowly to his feet, Kareef followed his brother down the long hall. But as he went outside the door and into the courtyard overlooking the cliffs above the Mediterranean, he heard someone scream his name. One sweet voice above the rest. A ghost from a long-forgotten dream.

But he kept walking. He didn’t even turn his head.

Then Kareef heard it again. He stopped.

“Did you hear that?”

“I heard nothing,” the vizier said nervously, then tried to sweep them forward. “This way, if you please, sire. You don’t wish to be late….”

Kareef took another few steps. Above the roar of the common crowd that had gathered to watch the coronation from outside the palace gates, he heard her voice
again. Screaming his name desperately. He took a long, haggard breath.

“I must be losing my mind….” Kareef whispered. “I keep imagining I hear her.”

“Who? Jasmine?” Rafiq said. “She’s right there.”

Kareef whirled sharply. And there, on the other side of the palace gate, surrounded by shoving, cheering crowds, he saw her.

He whirled back to the vizier. “Get her in here!” he thundered.

“Sire,” Akmal Al’Sayr begged, “please. She’s been trying to get in all night but I’ve done my best to keep her out. For the good of the country you must consider…”

With a gasp, Kareef grabbed the older man by the neck. Then, with a shuddering breath, he regained control.

“Bring her to me,” he ordered between his teeth. Terrified, his vizier gave the frantic order to the guards. A moment later, Jasmine was inside the gate.

She ran straight to his arms. She was dressed in a simple red cotton smock and sandals, her dark hair loose and flying behind her.

“Jasmine,” he breathed, holding her against his chest. Half the world’s leaders were waiting to see him crowned king, and yet he could not let her go. He pulled her back inside the royal garden, to a private spot behind stone walls.

“It was a lie,” she gasped out with a sob. “I said those horrible things because I thought I had to push you away. I don’t blame you for the accident. Forgive me,” she whispered. “I thought I had no choice.”

His eyes fell upon the emerald hanging on a gold
chain around her neck. Then he saw her left hand…was bare!