The Sheikh’s Disobedient Bride(44)

“Tair!”



But he was walking, heading out the door. He didn’t stop, turn, didn’t respond. No, he just kept walking, leaving her alone with the memory of a kiss that burned and burned and burned some more. And it wasn’t just her lips burning. It was her heart.



CHAPTER NINE



THEwomen want you to join them for coffee this morning.Tair’s voice echoed in her head as she made her way from her suite of rooms to the rooftop on the far tower of the walled city, that tower officially designated as the women’s space.



Tally hesitantly entered through the high arched doorway, the stone columns supporting the fancifully carved arch. She heard a chorus of voices down a corridor and followed the sound of the voices into a large chamber lined with low benches and vibrant silk pillows and cushions.



Everyone stopped talking and turned to look at Tally when she appeared. Tally hadn’t been sure if she’d truly be welcome but as she shyly entered the room the circle of women beamed at Tally.“Ahlen-wa-sehlan,” one after another cried.Welcome, welcome!



They bustled about, finding space for Tally among them on the cushions on the floor. Flustered at the attention, Tally sank onto one of the cushions and made a show of arranging her robes, and pulling back the veil on her head so that her long hair spilled down one shoulder.



Beautiful, one woman said, while another reached forward to touch Tally’s hair.



“Salaam,” Tally greeted, nodding at one and all, trying to ignore the flurry of nerves. There was no reason to be so fearful, she told herself. They wouldn’t bite.



But they won’t approve, either, she thought darkly, knowing that for a man like Sheikh el-Tayer, a man with such great power, a suitable marriage was one with a woman from his own people, a woman from his tribe.



The women were all still beaming at her, waiting, and Tally’s smile wobbled a little. What if she never did leave? What if she couldn’t escape?



Her forehead furrowed as she scanned the eager, open, curious faces of the women gathered. Her gaze lighted on one of the youngest women, visibly pregnant.



What if this place truly became home? Nodding, smiling, she accepted a small cup of Turkish coffee. Could she ever be happy here? Could these women become friends?



She didn’t know. Tally bit the inside of her lip, fought the wave of confusion, realizing the only thing she was sure of was that these ladies deserved some place nicer than a rooftop and cemetery for socializing.





She kept coming back to anger. She couldn’t get away from it. No matter what she did, no matter how she tried to occupy herself, the anger snuck in and colored everything.



Maybe Tair could be good company. Maybe they even had moments that were surreal—gorgeous, sensual, seductive—but in the end, they were just moments and reality barged in, reminding Tally about truth. Honor. Justice. Never mind respect.



The truth was men couldn’t kidnap women. The truth was a man couldn’t hold another human being hostage. The truth was she couldn’t respect a man who refused to let her make decisions for herself…indeed, who forced his decisions on her.



This is why she couldn’t like Tair, and wouldn’t like Tair, and wouldn’t calm down and wouldn’t play nice, and wouldn’t be the good girl and do as she was told.



She couldn’t.



There had to be a line that one didn’t cross. There had to be morals. Principles. Values. Tair was about neither.



Tair was about Tair.



She harrumphed beneath her breath, temper hot, spiking. It seemed to always be up lately, always heated about something.



Tair’s effect on her world.



Tair should be kidnapped, she silently groused, scooting lower in bed, tipping her head back against the bright silk cushions, staring up at the dark carved bed canopy that had been lined with silk the color of orange marmalade.



The orange silk made her hungry and marmalade made her think of toast and toast made her think of tea and toast and tea made her wish she were back in her own apartment in Pioneer Square with her own kitchen and her own groceries. She hated relying on others, depending on others, hated not being able to do what she wanted when she wanted it.



Like now. She wanted food, a snack, wanted to wander out and about and not be sent to her room simply because it was late, and dark, and all good women went to their rooms now.



Tally reached for a crimson cushion, the corners heavily embroidered with gold and crimson beads and nearly tossed it across the room, but at the last second, didn’t throw it. Clung to it.



Why couldn’t she go get a snack? She knew the general vicinity of the kitchen. Why couldn’t she get something because she was hungry?