Shackled to the Sheikh(16)

He needed to think straight.

He paused, his hands on the door to the library.

Then again, maybe he was better off keeping his distance. She was trouble. Madonna, siren and shrew all wrapped up in one irritating package.

He snorted. Yeah, he’d tried leaving her alone and look how far that had got him. But he could hardly just tell her he’d changed his mind about his hands-off policy and expect her to go for it. She’d made it plain she wasn’t about to simply fall into bed with him again at a click of his fingers. But what to do?

Fed up with torturing himself over her, he pulled open the doors.

‘Excellency,’ said Kareem, who was waiting for him inside, already busy at his notes and making his countless plans for Rashid while he waited. ‘I trust you slept well.’

‘More or less,’ he said, not wanting to think about how little he’d slept or any more about the why. ‘So what do we have to consider today?’

‘Many things,’ Kareem confirmed. ‘But I know it is all very dry and Sheikh Zoltan will be here soon so I thought perhaps tomorrow we might take a tour of Malik’s new palaces, to see if you would prefer to use one of them for your official residence.’

‘If you think it’s important. How many were there again?’

‘Six.’

Good grief. Rashid suppressed a sigh, feeling already weighed down with the volume of the historical and economic texts he had been given to digest. ‘Are there not more important matters to consider?’

‘Certainly. But if I can use an expression you might well know, Rome wasn’t built in a day. You are yet to accept this role, and anyone would be foolish to expect you to conquer it overnight. There are things to be assessed in the kingdom that do not require your poring through old documents or dusty tomes twenty-four hours a day, things that might give you a broader view of the kingdom, before your possible coronation.’

‘Fine,’ Rashid conceded, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. ‘Arrange it.’

Kareem bowed. ‘It will be done.’

And suddenly Rashid had a brainwave. ‘What about Tora? Could she come, too?’

‘Sheikha Victoria?’ The vizier shook his head while he deliberated. ‘I don’t see why not. She would no doubt appreciate seeing some more of our architecture.’

‘So long as it won’t cause any problems, if people were to see Tora with me, only for her to subsequently disappear?’

Kareem looked unabashed as he weighed the air with his big hands. ‘This will not be a problem. In past years, our people are used to seeing our Emir with any one of a number of consorts, and frankly they would be more surprised to think you were unmarried.’

‘Excellent,’ said Rashid, rubbing his hands together as he found his first smile for the day. Maybe a day out with him would prove to her he was not the sullen, resentful and miserable monster she had painted him. Maybe if they could be friends first, they could be more... ‘Now, where were we?’



Tora was enjoying a day of sheer girly fun. It started in the morning, with Yousra giving her a tour of the various gardens of the palace and around the pools and fountains where the lush foliage and flowers and sprays of water combined to turn the air deliciously cool and fragrant while tiny birds darted from bush to bush. It was exotic and different and serene. And after her tense breakfast with Rashid, Tora felt that serenity seep into her bones and she could breathe again.

Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better or more beautiful, Yousra showed her to the secret garden, hidden away in a courtyard and thick with trees and palms that gave way to a lily pond where small ducklings paddled. And there tucked away in the centre like a gift-wrapped jewel stood a square pavilion with ivory-coloured columns and red balustrade with a tiled roof and white curtains for walls that billowed gently from on high.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, cursing the inadequacy of the description as Yousra smiled, waiting for her reaction. It was like something from a fairy tale that became more so as two peacocks emerged from the foliage and quietly wandered away. Tora was entranced by it all. ‘What is it?’

‘It is called the Pavilion of Mahabbah and was built by Emir Haalim when his favourite wife died. This was her favourite courtyard, you see. And he had loved her so much he had named her after the Qajarese word for love—mahabbah. It is said he filled this pool with his tears. Come,’ she said, leading the way. ‘I have arranged us to take tea there.’

‘So it is the pavilion of love,’ Tora said a few minutes later as she sat on one of the low sofas, thinking how appropriate it was, how romantic and how tragic, imagining the Emir standing between the curtains, looking out over the pond and remembering his beloved wife. Beside her on the rug on the floor, Atiyah played under a baby gym, kicking her legs as she swatted at the hanging toys above her with her little hands. ‘He must have really loved her.’

Yousra nodded. ‘The heart of a Qajarese Emir is worth the hearts of ten men. And it is said the Emir loves ten times truer.’

Tora sipped her tea, not wanting to argue, but not entirely sure that was true for all the Emirs. Malik might have loved ten times as many as other men with his palaces full of harems, and then there was Rashid.

She wanted to believe Rashid had a heart. She hadn’t seen much evidence of it so far, but she so wanted it to be there, if only so his sister might grow up surrounded by love rather than indifference. And she wondered again about a man who’d let slip that his own childhood had been lacking. Something dreadful had happened to him, that much was clear, something bound up in a tortured history that had scarred him deeply and, if she wasn’t mistaken, was still hurting.

She shouldn’t care, she told herself. He was nothing to her but the means to fund a promise she’d made to her best friend. Nothing more to her than that—if she discounted one heated night of the best sex she’d ever had and one stolen kiss last night that she hadn’t wanted to end.

She really shouldn’t care.

And yet it was hard not to.



The afternoon provided a different kind of entertainment. There were just the three of them, Tora, Yousra and Atiyah, amidst a dressing room overflowing with the most amazing clothes Tora had ever seen.

Yousra sat holding Atiyah on the sofa at the end of the four-poster bed, as Tora turned model and tried on garment after garment to much applause and encouragement in between cups of honey tea and sweets made of nuts and dried figs, apricots and dates. Yousra advised her on which were more suitable for during the day, and which she might consider for night-time events like formal dinners.

How Kareem had pulled this off, Tora wondered as she slipped into another gown, she had no idea. They’d all been on their way to Qajaran when this whole mad marriage scheme had been contrived, so he would have had to have messaged ahead from the plane with his instructions.

Clearly it was a different world when one was connected to royalty.

‘That one, yes!’ said Yousra, as Tora turned to the young woman wearing a robe of aqua-coloured silk, embroidered around the neckline and the cuffs of the sleeves. ‘That colour suits you so well. You look beautiful.’

Tora turned to the mirror and was inclined to agree. But then it was a beautiful gown, whisper-soft against her skin and so cool. ‘I like it,’ she said, and moved on to the next.

And after she’d exhausted both the contents of the wardrobe and tiny Atiyah, who’d been put down for a nap, Tora couldn’t bear to go back to her serviceable skirt and shirt, but returned to the aqua gown that felt so deliciously cool against her skin. Yousra brushed out her hair and made up her eyes, so she had Qajaran eyes, she called them, ringed with kohl, before she hennaed Tora’s feet. ‘Just a little,’ she said, ‘for you will have your hands and feet done for the coronation.’ Tora returned the favour by painting Yousra’s fingernails and toenails and making the younger woman giggle as she tickled her toes.

They were both laughing as they compared the results when there was a knock on the door and Rashid entered.

‘Nice to see someone having fun,’ he said, his eyes sweeping the room to take in the situation. ‘Won’t all that noise wake the baby?’

Yousra bowed immediately, her hands clasped demurely in her lap, her painted toes tucked discreetly under her robe, as if she’d been chastised. ‘Excuse me,’ she said softly.

Tora saw no reason for repentance. She did see an opportunity for bringing Rashid closer towards caring for his sister. ‘It’s actually a fallacy babies need silence to sleep. They hear plenty of noise while in the womb and it is good for a child to grow up hearing laughter. Come and see for yourself how untroubled she is.’

His eyes raked over her. Confused eyes, as if he didn’t know how to respond, so she slipped her hand in his and steered him towards Atiyah’s darkened room, pulling aside the netting. Atiyah lay on her back, one hand to the side of her head as she slept. ‘You see,’ she said with a smile as she looked up at him. ‘Sleeping like a baby. Isn’t she beautiful?’

He supposed she was, with her black curls framing her face and her eyes a dark line of lashes, her lips pink and perfectly serene. He nodded. ‘She is,’ and only then, when he went to reach out a hand to see if the skin of her cheek was as smooth as it looked, realised Tora’s hand was still in his. ‘I take your point,’ he said, and squeezed her fingers before he let them go, and touched fingers warmed by Tora’s to his sister’s cheek. So smooth. So perfect. The baby stirred slightly before sighing back into sleep, and Rashid took his hand away so he didn’t disturb her more.