The Sheikh’s Disobedient Bride(40)

His reputation.



Leaving his stables where he’d checked that all the horses had been properly seen to, Tair slowly ran his thumb across his jaw, rubbing slowly, thoughtfully over the squared chin.



Tally didn’t know his reputation but she should. She should know the kind of man he was. She should know what he’d done, what he’d do, without the least bit of remorse.



He was proud of his nature, comfortable being the warrior. The aggressor.



Bandit. King. Thief. King.



His lips pressed as he inhaled, nostrils pinching.



He’d lived too long to be timid, suffered too much to be gentle, risked too much to be sympathetic. Perhaps there were other men in his tribe, future leaders who’d be more temperate—just—but that was not him.



He wasn’t kind, or generous. Neither patient nor sensitive.



He stole. He demanded. He insisted. And that was the way it was. He was also a man who had vowed to protect Tally now she was his.



And his Tally would be wise to accept the truth, and facts, fast.





Exhausted from the trip, Tally had hoped she’d fall into bed and sleep one of those deep dreamless sleeps but no, sleep wouldn’t come and she spent hours tossing and turning in her bedroom high in Tair’s personal tower.



Rolling over onto her back, she punched her pillow behind her head and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.



It wasn’t that getting married or being a wife was so distasteful. It was the way Tair did everything. It was his high-handedness, his authority, his insensitivity. It was the fact that heinsisted it be done.



First of all, marriage wasn’t a solution. Tally had lived enough years to know that love and relationships were important, but marriage was more of a problem then a solution. Marriage meant compromise, loss, sacrifice, and maybe someday she’d be ready to settle down, scale back her aspirations, give up some dreams but she wasn’t there yet. Wasn’t ready. There was still so much she needed to see, so much she wanted to do. Tally knew she had it in her to be a good mother—someday.



Someday. As in five, ten years from now.



Impulsively Tally left her bed. She knew where Tair’s room was. His room was just doors from hers, on the same floor. Slipping a silk robe over her nightgown she went there now.



Tally knocked softly. “Tair?”



He called for her to enter.



His lamp was on and he was stretched out on his bed, shirtless, reading the first of an enormous stack of newspapers. His room was considerably cooler than hers with the tall glass paned doors open to the night.



“Can’t sleep,” she said nervously, glancing at his thickly muscled chest, and the scars over his heart, before looking away. The scars troubled her. Made her afraid for him somehow. “Am I bothering you?”



“No,” he said, folding the paper he was reading in half, watching her approach.



She moved round the side of the bed. There were no chairs near the bed, just two nightstands heaped with books and more books. She glanced at the spines of one stack of books. The titles were all different, most foreign and it was like viewing the entries in an international film festival—French, English, Arabic, Italian.



Tally picked up a book from his nightstand, studied the cover.Theory of Economics: Supply and Demand in Agrarian Society. “Nice, light reading,” she noted, returning the book to top of the stack. “Are they all like this?”



“There’s a comfortable mix of history, politics and economics.”



She bit her lip, wondered how on earth to start. The beginning, yes, but what was the beginning?



“Something’s on your mind,” he said.



“Yes.” She suddenly wasn’t sure she could do this after all.



“So tell me what’s on your mind.” He set the paper aside. “Or let me guess. You’re angry about the wedding plans. You don’t want to marry me. And you’ve no intention of staying here and spending the rest of your life at Bur Juman. How’s that?”



“Pretty good.”



He patted the side of his bed. “Sit.”



Tally sat on the foot of the bed, taking a seat as far from him as she could. “So you know why I can’t do this.”



His gaze met hers. “I know why you can’t leave.” His gaze never wavered. “Tally, you know too much about us.”



“Too much?”



“You have seen where we live, and work. You have seen the most private aspects of our lives. I can not send you back now. I can not risk my people’s safety.”



“I’m no risk. Surely you can see for yourself. You are a leader. You must be able to read people. You must be able to see the truth. I am not a dangerous person. I’m a good person.”