The sheikh's chosen wife (19 page)

'You surprise me with
your jollity this evening.' The older woman began her attack. 'On a day when
your husband won ail and you lost everything I believed you stood so proudly
for, I would have expected to find you more subdued. It was only as I watched
you laugh with our men that it occurred to me that maybe, with your unfortunate
accident and Sheikh Hassan's natural concern for you, he has not made you fully
aware of what it was he has agreed to today?'

Not at all sure where she
was going to be led with this, Leona demanded cautiously, 'Are you implying
that my husband has lied to me?'

'I would not presume to
suggest such a thing,' Zafina denied with a slight bow of respect meant in
honour of Hassan, not Leona   herself.   'But   he   may   have   been   a  
little economical with some of the details in an effort to save you from
further distress.'

'Something you are not
prepared to be,' Leona assumed.

'I believe in telling the
truth, no matter the pain it may course.'

Ah, Leona thought, the
truth. Now there was an interesting concept.

'In the interest of fair
play, I do feel that you should be fully informed so that you may make your
judgements on your future with the full facts at hand.'

'Why don't you just get
to the point of this conversation, Zafina?' Leona said impatiently.

'The point is...this...'
Zafina replied, producing from inside the sleeve of her dara a piece of paper,
which she then spread out on the bed.

Leona did not want to,
but she made herself walk towards it, made herself look down. The paper bore
the Al-Qadim seal of office. It bore the name of Sheikh Khalifa.

'What is it?' she asked,
oddly unwilling to read the closely lined and detailed Arabian script that came
beneath.

'A contract drawn up by
Sheikh Khalifa himself, giving his blessing to the marriage between his son
Sheikh Hassan and my daughter Nadira. This is my husband's copy. Sheikh Khalifa
and Sheikh Hassan have copies of their own."

'It isn't signed,' Leona
pointed out.

'It will be,' Zafina
stated certainly, 'as was agreed this morning at the meeting of the family
heads. Sheikh Khalifa is dying. His loving son will deny him nothing. When we
reach Rahman the signing will take place and the announcement will be made at
Sheikh Khalifa's celebration banquet.'

He will deny him
nothing... Of everything Zafina had said, those words were the only ones that
held the poison. Still, Leona strove to reject them.

'May be,' she said. 'No
matter what this piece of paper says, and no matter what you imply I know
Hassan. I know my father-in-law, Sheikh Khalifa. Neither would even think of
deceiving me this way.'

'You think not?' She
sounded so sure, so confident. 'In the eyes of his country. Sheikh Hassan must
prove his loyalty to them is stronger than his desire to pander to your western
principles.'

More certain on having
said it, Leona turned ice-cold eyes on the other woman, I will tell Hassan
about this conversation. You do realise that?' she warned.

Zafina bowed her head in
calm acquiescence. 'Face him,' she invited. 'Tell him what you know. He may
continue to keep the truth from you for his father's sake. He may decide to
confess all then fall on your mercy, hoping that you will still go to Rahman as
his loyal first wife to help save his face. But mark my words, Sheikha,' she
warned, 'my daughter will be Sheikh Hassan's wife before this month is out,
and she will bear him the son that will make his life complete.'

Stepping forward, she
retrieved her precious contract. 'I have no wish to see you humibated,' she
concluded as she turned towards the door. 'Indeed I give you this chance to
save your face. Return to England. Divorce Hassan,' she advised. 'For, whether
you do or not, he will marry my daughter, at which point I think we both know
that your usefulness will be at an end.'

Leona let her go without
giving her the satisfaction of a response, but as the door closed behind Zafina
she began to shake. No, she told herself sternly, you will not let that woman's
poison eat away at you. She's lying. Hassan would not be so deceitful or so
manipulative. He loves you, for goodness' sake! Haven't you both just spent a
whole afternoon re-avowing that love?

I will deny him nothing...
Hassan's own words, exactly as spoken only days ago. Her stomach turned,
sending her reeling for the bathroom. Yet she stopped herself, took a couple of
deep controlling breaths and forced herself to think, to trust in her own
instincts, to believe in Hassan!

He would not do it. Hands
clenched into tense fists at her sides, she repeated that. He would not do it! The
woman is evil. She is ambitious. She cannot accept failure.

She used your own
inadequacies against you. How dare you so much as consider anything she said as
worthy of all of this anguish?

You promised to believe
in him. How dare you let that promise falter because some awful woman wants you
out of his life and her daughter in it?

A contract. What was the
contract but a piece of paper with words written upon it? Anyone could draw up
a contract; it was getting those involved to sign it that was the real test!

She would tell Hassan,
let him deny it once and for all, then she could put all of this behind her
and—

No she wouldn't. She changed
her mind. She would not give that woman the satisfaction of causing more
trouble between the families, which was what was sure to happen if Hassan did
find out what Zafina had said.

Trust was the word. Trust
she would give to him.

The door opened. She spun
around to find Hassan standing there. Tall and dark, smooth and sleek, and so
heart-achingly, heart-breakingly, precious to her.

'What is wrong?' He
frowned. 'You look as pale as the carpet.'

'N-nothing,' she said.
Then, because it was such an obvious lie, she admitted, 'H-headache, upset
stomach...' Two tight fists unclenched, one hand going to cover her stomach the
other her clammy forehead. 'Too much food tonight. Too much water from my dip
in the sea, maybe. I...'

He was striding towards
her. Her man. Her beautiful, grim-faced man. He touched her cheek. 'You feel
like ice.' He picked up her chafed wrist between gentle finger and thumb. 'Your
pulse is racing like mad! You need the medic' He spun towards the telephone.
'Get undressed. You are going to bed...'

'Oh...no, Hassan!' she
cried out in protest, I will be okay in a couple of minutes! Please...' she
pleaded as he picked up the telephone. 'Look!' she declared, as he glared at
her from beneath frowning black brows. 'I'm feeling better already. I—took
something a few minutes ago.' With a mammoth gathering together of
self-control, she even managed to walk over to him without stumbling and took
the receiver from his hand.

'No,' she repeated. 'I
will not spoil everyone's enjoyment tonight. I've caused enough fuss today as
it is.' And she would not give Zafina a moment's smug satisfaction. 'Walk me
back along the deck.' Firmly she took his hand. 'All I need is some fresh air.'

He wasn't sure. But Leona
ignored his expression and pulled him towards the door. Actually the walk did
her more good than she had expected it to do. Just being with him, feeling his
presence, was enough to help reaffirm her belief that he would never, ever, do
anything so cruel as to lie about a second wife.

He's done it before, a
small voice inside her head said.

Oh, shut up! she told it.
I don't want to listen. And she pasted a bright smile on her face, ready to
show it to their waiting guests—and Zafina Al-Yasin—as she and Hassan stepped
back into the salon.

Zafina wasn't there,
which in a way was a relief and in another was a disappointment, because she so
wanted to outface the evil witch. She had to make do with shining like a
brilliant star for those left to witness it, and she wondered once or twice if
she was going to burn out. And she was never more relieved when it became time
to retire without causing suspicion that this was all just a dreadful front.

Raschid and Imran had
collared Hassan. So she was free to droop the moment she hit the bedroom.
Within ten minutes she was curled up in bed. Within another ten she was up
again and giving in to what had been threatening to happen since Zafina's
visit. Fortunately Hassan was not there to witness it. By the time he came to
bed she had found escape in sleep at last, and he made no move to waken her, so
morning arrived all too soon, and with it returned the nauseous sensation.

She got through the day
by the skin of her teeth, and was pleasant to Zafina, who was not sure how to
take that. She spent most of her morning with Evie and her children, taking
comfort from the sheer normality of their simple needs and amusements. It was
while she was playing with Hashim that the little boy inadvertently brushed
against her breasts and she winced at their unexpectedly painful response.

Evie noticed the wince.
'You okay?' she enquired.

Her shrug was rueful.
'Actually, I feel a bit grotty,' she confessed. 'I ache in strange places after
my fight with the fishing net yesterday, and I think the water I swallowed had
bugs.'

'The same bugs that got
you the day before that?' Evie quizzed.

'Okay,' she conceded. 'So
I'm still stressed out.'

'Or something,' Evie
murmured.

Leona's chin came up,
'What's that supposed to mean?' she demanded.

It was Evie's turn to
offer a rueful shrug, then Raschid walked into the room and the conversation
had to be shelved when he reminded them that lunch was being served.

After lunch came siesta
time. Or, for those like Hassan and Raschid, time to hit the phones and deal
with matters of state. Leona had never been so glad of the excuse to shut
herself away in her room because she was really beginning to feel ill by then.
Her head' ached, her bones ached, her stomach was objecting to the small amount
of food she had eaten for lunch.

Maybe it was a bug, she
mused frowningly as she drew the curtains across the windows in an effort to
diffuse the light that was hurting her eyes. Stripping off her top clothes, she
then crawled into the bed.

Maybe she should have
steered well clear of Evie's children just in case she had picked up something
catching, she then added, and made herself a promise to mention it to Evie
later just before she slipped into a heavy sleep.

She came awake only as a
scarlet sunset seeped into the room. The last sunset before they reached
Jeddah, she recalled with relief. And found the reminder gave her a fresh
burst of energy that she took with her into the bathroom where she indulged in
a long leisurely shower then took her time getting ready for dinner. She chose
to wear a calf-length tunic made of spearmint-blue silk with a matching pair of
slender-cut trousers.

Hassan arrived in the
room with a frown and his mind clearly preoccupied.

'Hello stranger,' she
said.

He smiled. It was an
amazing smile, full of warmth, full of love—full of lazy suggestions as he
began to run his eyes over her in that dark possessive way that said, Mine,
most definitely mine. It was the Arab-male way. What the man did not bother to
say with words he could make up for with expressive glances.

'No,' Leona said to this
particular look. 'I am all dressed up and ready to play hostess, so keep your
lecherous hands to yourself.'

'Of course, you do know
that I could easily change your mind?' he posed confidently.

Jokes. Light jokes. Warm
smiles and tender communication. Would this man she knew and loved so well
look at her like this yet still hold such terrible secrets from her?

No, of course he would
not, so stop thinking about it! 'Save it until later,' she advised, making a
play of sliding the silk scarf over her hair.

His eyes darkened
measurably. It was strange how she only now noticed how much he liked seeing
her dressed Arabian style. Was it in his blood that he liked to see his woman
modestly covered? Was it more than that? Did he actually prefer—?

No. She stopped herself
again. Stop allowing that woman's poison to get to you.

'Wait for me,' he
requested when she took a step towards the door. 'I need only five minutes to
change, for I showered ten minutes ago, after allowing that over-energetic
Samir talk me into a game of Softball on the sun deck.'

'Who won?' she asked,
changing direction to go and sit on the arm of one of the chairs to wait as
requested.

'I did—by cheating,' he
confessed.

'Did he know you
cheated?'

'Of course,' Hassan
replied. 'But he believes he is in my debt so he allowed me to get away with
it.'

'You mean you played on
his guilty conscience over my accident,' she accused.

He turned another
slashing grin on her. It had the same force as an electric charge aimed
directly at her chest. Heat flashed across her flesh in a blanket wave of
sensual static. Followed by another wave of the same as she watched him strip
off western shirt and shorts to reveal sleek brown flesh just made for fingers
to stroke. By the time he had replaced the clothes with a white tunic he had
earned himself a similar possessive glance to the one he had given her.