The Sheikh’s Disobedient Bride(47)

“Yes.” She turned over onto her stomach and kicked her feet to stay afloat. “This is bliss.”



“Bliss?” His black eyebrows arched. “You’re easily pleased.”



“No. But this is amazing, you have to admit.” She turned in a circle, gazed around the courtyard formed by mountain and castle, and the sole palm tree that arched above the pool in its small allotment of dirt. “You have a pool in the middle of a mountain.”



“A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”



Tally laughed. Not a fake laugh, not one of her tense laughs, but a big belly laugh and the sound poured out, filling the moonlit, star filled night.



“I’ve never seen you so happy,” Tair said after a moment, watching Tally slowly swim one length of the pool and then another.



“I feel free,” she answered, turning easily onto her back to float, head back, eyes riveted on the indigo sky above, the heavens blue-black in places and fluorescent in others. So much sky. So many stars. So much life still ahead of her.



Her hands fluttered at her sides, small strokes to keep her floating.



As a kid in North Bend she used to sit in her backyard and stare up at the sky and make wishes and dream, and vow to get the life she’d never had, the life she’d always wanted, all the adventure, all the drama, all the great moments denied because she wasn’t pretty and wasn’t clever and her family was poor.



“When I was little I wanted to be a princess,” she said, water lapping at her ears, making her voice sound hollow and far away. “I used to count the stars and make promises to myself. Someday I’d be beautiful. And someday I’d be famous. And someday I’d be rich.” She sat up, her arms and legs circling, keeping her upright in the water. “I really thought if I could just be a princess—marry Prince Albert of Monaco or even one of Princess Diana’s sons—I’d be happy.”



Tair’s dark gaze followed her in the night. “And you still think becoming a princess would help?”



She laughed softly. “No. I don’t want to be a princess, but I still want a lot. I still want virtually everything.”



Tair sat in a chair at the side of the pool and watched Tally float, her skin pale, pearl-like in the light of the moon.



She’d bewitched him. She with her hellcat ways, temper and tears. So full of fire, her spirit never seemed to break and the fact that she hadn’t bowed to him—that, too—he welcomed, wanting a woman not a doormat. No matter how much he teased her.



He needed a woman like Tally, a woman to stand up to him, be honest with him, give her opinions. He’d been feared by so many, and women either adored him or ran in abject terror. He craved neither pedestal or absolute authority. A relationship was what he wanted, needed, a relationship with a woman like Tally.



Tally reminded him of a past he no longer knew, a past where he’d been fun, carefree, easy. When he was sent to England at six for school, it’d never crossed his mind that he’d return years later sheikh and leader. He’d never wanted to lead. It hadn’t been his dream, or his vision. He’d loved sports. He’d loved studies. He’d loved fun.



Fun. The corner of his mouth lifted, his gaze resting on shimmering Tally. She made him want to join her, made him want to shed his robe and responsibility and just let go. Let go of power and duty long enough to live. Long enough to feel. Long enough to let go of the pain of the past and the man he had become.



But no. That couldn’t be. Horrific things happened in life and Tair had to be prepared for every possibility, had to be aware, alert, vigilant.



Tair’s first lesson in reality was his father’s death. Summoned from the university in Cambridge, Tair came home to a changed world. A world where the West was bad, evil. A world where his father had been killed by a superpower sharpshooter. The jittery soldier had assumed Tair’s father, Sheikh Hassem el-Tayer, was dangerous, a threat, and pulled a trigger too quickly. The foreign governments and their military offered perfunctory apologies but apologies don’t bring men back from the dead.



As if the death of Tair’s father wasn’t hard enough, there were the border wars and the endless bloodshed, senseless bloodshed in Tair’s estimation. Why should Arab be pitted against Arab? Why Berber against Bedouin? Tair had fought to remain impartial—fair—until the war came home while he was in Baraka on business.



The war shouldn’t have come home. Ara should have listened to him. Ara should have obeyed. But no, his Ara had been proud, fierce, beautiful and so sure she could handle anything life threw at her.