Shackled to the Sheikh(25)

She was a natural with the children just as she was a constant for him, always at his side, looking calm and serene and so beautiful that his heart ached. And it was hot and there were hours to go before they could escape, and she so easily could have resented having to take part in the ceremony at all when she was no real wife of his, but she made it look easy.

She made him think anything was possible.

He could do much worse for a wife.

And later, when they were back at the palace during the coronation, when Kareem removed his black headband and lifted the gold igal to replace it, it was her words from this morning that he remembered. ‘You’re strong... You will be a good Emir.’

Kareem then uttered the ancient words to install him and placed the crown on his head and it was done. He was the Emir.

Cheers and applause broke out across the banquet room, the loudest coming from the quarter where his desert brothers and their families were sitting, and he smiled as he let go a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

He turned to her and saw the moisture there in her eyes—the tears she’d shed for him—and he was moved beyond measure.

But before he could tell her, before he could thank her for this morning’s words and for her quiet strength today, first there was another feast, another party complete with cannon fire and fireworks, a display above the palace that was echoed all over the city and in the tiny desert and mountain villages of Qajaran.



It was after midnight by the time the festivities wound down. Yousra had taken Atiyah back to her bed hours ago—a day of formalities interspersed with playing with the children had worn her out—and now Rashid walked silently beside Tora towards their suites.

And it seemed to Tora that the very air around them was shimmering, there had been so much energy generated by the celebrations of today, energy that now turned the air electric as they moved, into currents charged by every swish of robe against robe, every slap of leather against the marble floor a metronome, beating out the time she had left.

And all she knew was she didn’t want this night to end. She didn’t want this feeling to end—this feeling of being at peace with Rashid, of being part of his life...an important part...if only for a day. She wanted to preserve the magic of this moment and hold it precious to her for ever.

For soon her time in Qajaran would be over. Soon she would be back in Sydney in her black skirt and buttoned-up shirt and there would be no more robes of silk to slide against her skin, no more frangipani on the air.

No more Rashid.

Her heart grew tight in her chest.

He was nothing to her really. A roll in the hay and then a quick buck—a deal made with the devil—with plenty of grief along the way. He was nothing to her—and yet her heart had swelled in her chest when he was crowned, she’d been so very proud.

Nothing to her?

And her heart tripped over itself in its rush to tell her she was a liar.

All too soon, it seemed, they were at the door that led to her apartments and she turned and looked up at him, so handsome in his robes, his features a play of dark and shadow against the stark white, the gold igal on his head gleaming in the low light. ‘Thank you for seeing me to my rooms.’

He shook his head. ‘It is you who deserves thanking, Tora. What you said to me this morning...’ He trailed off, searching for the words, and she put a finger to his lips.

‘I didn’t say anything you didn’t already know. Maybe you just needed to hear them.’

He caught her hand and pressed it hard against his mouth. ‘You are a remarkable woman, Tora.’

‘No, Rashid.’

‘Yes, you know it’s true. From the moment you arrived, you have impressed everyone you have met.

‘Today, you were the star of the show, charming everyone from the tiniest child to the most important dignitary. I know our hasty marriage was foisted upon you and unwanted, but you have been one of the highlights of my return to Qajaran.’

‘We had a deal, Rashid, remember? I got something out of it, too. The money—it helped a friend of mine out at a tough time.’

‘It was nothing compared to all you’ve done. I owe you, Tora. I don’t know how I can possibly repay you.’

And she knew that the moment was now, that if she wanted this night to continue she would have to be the one to make it so.

She looked up at him, at his dark eyes and his beautiful tortured features, and knew that when she left she would be leaving a part of herself right here in Qajaran.

Her heart.

‘Make love with me, Rashid.’





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE GROWL RUMBLED up from low in his throat. But then words wouldn’t come close to how he was feeling right now. He swept her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers before he carried her through to his suite where he scattered coloured cushions in all directions with one hand before he laid her reverentially in the centre of his bed.

There was no rushing as there had been that first night together. No stripping of clothes separately before they came together. This time Rashid undressed her as if he were opening a gift, taking his time to expose each part of her skin, worshipping it with his lips and his mouth—the hennaed patterns of her hands and feet, the insides of her elbows and the backs of her knees—until she was quivering with desire and need before he’d even slipped her golden abaya over her head.

Breath hissed through his teeth when he looked down on her. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he told her with his words and with his adoring eyes, and warmth bloomed inside her. She felt beautiful when he looked at her that way.

He shed his robes and turned from desert ruler into her ruler. Tonight she was his kingdom and his most loyal subject. Tonight she was his queen. Tonight she was his, utterly and completely, and he gave her everything in return.

They made slow, sweet love, long into the night. Making love, she thought, not sex this time, for that tiny seed of a connection had grown into something more, something richer and more powerful.

Love.

And the thought simultaneously terrified and thrilled her, but tonight it seemed so right. She loved him.

And when he followed her into ecstasy and she heard him cry out her name on his lips, she knew he must love her, too, even just a little.

He pulled her close and kissed her and it didn’t matter that he was sleeping like the dead less than a minute later. In just one night, he’d given her more than she could have ever wished for.

‘I love you,’ she whispered, testing the words, touching his lips with hers, before she snuggled closer and closed her eyes, still smiling.



There was a noise from beyond the interconnecting door. A cry. Atiyah. Tora listened in the dark, waiting, and a few seconds later came another cry, more insistent this time. Tora strained to hear Yousra’s footfall on the tiled floor but heard nothing and Atiyah was working herself up to full throttle now.

Beside her Rashid slept on. He would be exhausted after the strain of the coronation and the physical excesses that followed. She should leave it to Yousra but she didn’t want Rashid to be woken, so she rose from the bed, pulling on Rashid’s oversized robe, and slipping into her suite.

She scooped Atiyah from her cot and held her to her chest. ‘What’s wrong, little one? What’s the matter?’

Yousra appeared looking ill with dark shadows under her eyes and Tora sent her straight back to bed. Rashid would have to find another carer to share the load now.

Tora checked the baby’s nappy and made sure there was nothing pressing in her clothes or bedding. A nightmare, she guessed, just something that spooked her in her sleep. The baby whimpered and snuffled against her chest and she massaged her back and started singing the lullaby she liked to sing to Atiyah. Eventually the little fingers of the fist holding on so tightly to her robe finally relaxed as she drifted back to sleep.

‘Where did you learn that song?’

She started and turned, the baby still in her arms, to find him standing there, a towel lashed low on his hips. ‘You’re awake.’

‘That song,’ he said. ‘It’s beautiful. How do you know it?’

‘I learnt it at the child-care centre where I worked. We had children whose families came from all over the world and we tried to learn songs from most of the major languages, even though we were never quite sure of the words.’

‘Did you know it was Persian?’

She looked up at him. ‘I knew it was Middle Eeastern. Why do you ask?’

‘Because I’ve heard it before. Apparently my mother used to sing it to me. And maybe my father, too. I’d forgotten it until I heard you singing it to Atiyah, that first night on the plane.’

She stilled at his side, her heart going out to him. She couldn’t begin to imagine how it must feel—the pain on discovering your parent had been alive all those years you’d thought him dead. The betrayal and the hurt would be almost too much to bear.

‘Your father must have loved you a lot,’ she said.

He sniffed. ‘How do you figure that?’

‘Because he left you Atiyah,’ she said, trying to find some way of soothing his pain. ‘I read that her name means gift. He left you questions without answers, I know, but he left you Atiyah, and the gift of joy and love as well, if you will only see it. He must have loved you to have entrusted her in your care.’