The Sheikh’s Bargain Bride(50)

But he didn’t want to keep it with her. Zahir had done what he’d always set out to do, rid himself of his obsession with her and now he, too, was free. And he’d made the most of it. Hadn’t hung around to celebrate their mutual freedom, but had left as soon as he could.

It was hours before Anna moved, could even think clearly enough through her grief to realize where she was or what she should do. It was only when the street lamps outside flicked on that she realized she’d sat in the same position the whole evening through.

Stiffly she rose and looked around. She cleaned up the mess of the stale alcohol and slipped on her warm robes. Somehow, wearing them, she felt closer to Zahir, more comfortable, more herself. She went to the telephone and dialed Qawaran. This time she wanted to speak to her son.

But Matta wasn’t available—he was out in the desert on a hunting party expedition with Zahir. She smiled. She knew he would enjoy it. And she would be seeing him soon there. Zahir had given her joint custody and allowed her free access. She was scheduled to go to Qawaran at the end of the month to collect Matta and bring him back to begin the autumn term in Paris. But she knew full well that Zahir would not be seeing her again. He’d finished with her. He’d never promised her anything other than a brief time together. But, oh, how she’d believed differently.

She rarely cried. Zahir had noticed. She’d cried when she pleaded for Matta; she’d cried when she’d pleaded with Zahir and she cried now, for herself. For her lost self, alone in her world of freedom. It wasn’t capture she’d been avoiding after all, it had been a home she was seeking: an emotional one—one that came with people who loved her and a place where she felt safe. She’d found it and somehow she’d let it slip through her fingers.

She jumped up and faced herself in the mirror. She saw a fierce look in her eyes, one of a warrior—a desert warrior—who wasn’t going to sit back and let her man leave without a fight. She’d stick to Zahir’s beloved schedule for Matta’s sake but she would make sure she saw Zahir in Qawaran. Somehow.





She took a deep breath. Oh how she’d missed the smell of the desert—dusty yet clean—and the sounds of the desert—the clatter of date palms and birdsong, the sounds and smells of freedom. She’d spent time with Matta who was looking forward—a little scared and a little excited—to starting his new school in Paris. But she hadn’t seen Zahir who was always busy, unable to be disturbed. Zahir might be determined not to see her. But he’d underestimated her determination to see him.





She hated the falconry with its mesh of cages, its hooded birds. It was everything that scared her: the bird’s sharp talons flexing on their perches, the mute shuffle of their feet, the hint of power still in their feathers now sleek and unruffled. Waiting. Simply waiting until they were allowed to fly. Zahir would never expect her to be there. Therefore, there she must be.

He looked exactly the same. She hadn’t expected that. When she looked in the mirror she saw a changed woman. But Zahir, despite the self-recriminations and blame he’d loaded onto himself over Abduallah’s death, looked exactly the same. He’d grown hard again. Still, even if it ended in failure she had to tell him something that she’d never expressed to him before.

“Zahir!” Her voice was soft but she knew he’d heard because his shoulders froze. He did not turn round.

She walked up to him and first looked at his face, his eyes narrowed as they stared into the bright sunlight of the desert. He did not look down at her, nor make any indication that he knew she was there. So she followed his gaze to his falcon, circling overhead.

“Aren’t you going to speak to me?”

“What is there to speak about? I assumed you’ve come to see Matta not me. In which case you’ve come to the wrong place. He will be in the school room at this hour.”

“I know. I’ve just come from there.”

“And you found everything satisfactory? He is sufficiently prepared to begin his new school?”

She nodded, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at his coldness. “Yes. Everything is satisfactory. Matta is happy and well and keen to get started in Paris.”

He held up his gloved hand to the hawk.

“Good.”

The bird landed on his arm, the breeze of his passage blew Anna’s hair back it was so strong. She took a deep breath while she admired the bird. The same bird that months ago she would not go near.

“May I?” For the first time Zahir glanced at her but she could read nothing in his black eyes. Coolly, he nodded.