Desert Rogues Part 1. Susan Mallery
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women’s screams when they were beaten for a transgression.
Now, Dora stood in that same garden, a woman of the twenty-first century. So different from those long-ago women whose only purpose in life had been to bring pleasure to a king…and yet very much the same. While she was in El Bahar, most of her world revolved around the whim of the prince. The man she’d married impulsively and had not seen except at dinner for the past eleven days. The evening meal, taken in the company of the family, was her only contact with Khalil, and they had never once been left alone.
She shivered as she remembered his heated gaze the night before. How he’d looked at her with such desire that she’d lost her ability to eat or drink. She could only stare back at him, captured by his dark eyes, wondering how she could ever have doubted his desire.
Every look, every word, every touch told her he wanted her desperately. Whether or not he loved her remained in question, but for now, the wanting would have to be enough. Only three more days until they were married in a traditional ceremony. A ceremony with rituals and meanings as old as time.
She heard the soft click of the harem’s outer door closing and returned to the central chamber. Fatima had already poured tea for them both and divided the plate of sandwiches.
“You were never occupied by the British,” Dora said as she resumed her seat on the sofa. “So why English tea?”
Fatima smiled as she handed her a delicate bone china cup. “It’s very civilized. We were never occupied by the Americans, yet we use electricity—which I believe your Thomas Edison first invented.”
“Point well taken,” Dora said, stirring in a drop of milk, then sipping the strong, hot brew.
Fatima patted her neatly coiled chignon. “You have learned much of our history in these past few days.”
“The books you loaned me were very interesting. I want to learn as much as I can about my new country.”
Shrewd dark eyes regarded her thoughtfully. “I have traveled all over the world, Dora. Some of that time was spent in your native country. I know a bit about American culture. You are bright, well-spoken, organized and a natural leader,” Fatima said. “There are many business opportunities available to women. So why were you working as Khalil’s secretary?”
Dora set her cup on the table and smoothed her hands over her skirt. “Why wasn’t I an executive in some company?” she asked.
“Exactly.”
“I don’t have a four-year degree. I had a scholarship, but things didn’t work out, so I earned a two-year degree, instead.” She paused, not sure she wanted to go into the mucky details of her past. Fatima was warm and friendly, but she was a woman of class and breeding. Dora doubted she would understand how Dora could have gotten herself in such a mess.
“You never went back to complete your education?”
Dora pressed her lips together. She’d meant to. Once the pain and the humiliation had faded, she’d thought she might apply to one of the many colleges in the Los Angeles area. If enough time had passed, perhaps no one would care about the scandal.
“Time slipped away from me,” was all she said.
Fatima continued to study her. Dora felt as if the older woman could read her thoughts. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Fatima guessed the source of her problems.
“Men are odd creatures,” Khalil’s grandmother said at last. “The weak ones run away from their problems and blame the world. The strong ones accept responsibility, but they have other flaws. They resist admitting they need someone to be complete. They want what they can’t have. Sometimes they need to almost lose something to appreciate it.”
Dora smiled. “Is that why you have me living in the harem?”
“Perhaps. Does Khalil need to be tricked into seeing that he has married a jewel?”
She was charmed by the compliment and uncomfortable with the question in equal measures. “I hope not.”
Fatima nibbled on a watercress sandwich. When she’d finished she wiped her fingers on a linen napkin. “I have enjoyed having you with me in the harem.”
Dora glanced around at the luxurious quarters. “It’s even more lovely than I’d imagined.” She grinned. “And my education is quite different from what I’d thought it would be.”
Fatima made a dismissive gesture. “You were thinking we would discuss sexual arts. There is plenty of time for that. The first year or so of your marriage will be a time of great passion. It is all about quantity and emotional bonding. After the first child is born, we’ll talk of men and women, of lovemaking. Then you’ll be ready to learn the ancient secrets.”
Dora felt herself flushing at the other woman’s candor. Were there really secrets she could use to keep Khalil in her bed? She thought about their single night of lovemaking. It had been wild and amazing, and she couldn’t imagine anything better than when he’d held her in his arms. She’d spent many hours reliving their intimacy, remembering the touch of his fingers, his tongue as he’d—
“Why did you marry Khalil?” Fatima asked sharply, the question jerking Dora out of her reverie.
Dora stiffened and stared at her. Fatima’s expression was unreadable.
“He swept me off my feet,” she blurted without thinking. “I was deeply impressed by him, but I didn’t think he would ever notice me. I thought he assumed I was simply a very efficient robot. But that wasn’t true. When he told me he cared about me and wanted me, I couldn’t resist him.”
“I see.” Fatima’s eyes gave nothing away. “He is not an easy man. Of course, look at his brothers, or his father for that matter. They don’t understand the heart of a woman. You will have to be the slender reed, bending in the storm.” She sighed. “How I loathe to speak in clichés, but it’s true in this case. The men of the Khan family are great leaders, honorable and just, but they are also arrogant and unyielding. So stubborn I wanted to hit my husband with a frying pan more than once.”
Dora didn’t know how to respond to Fatima’s confession. She pictured the slender, well-dressed queen of El Bahar toting an oversize frying pan from room to room in search of her annoying husband.
“Khalil is a man worth having, but only if the woman is worthy and strong,” Fatima continued. “You must be those things, my dear. Even if you don’t yet feel them.”
Dora swallowed, but didn’t respond. Nor did she ask how this wise old woman had figured out the truth…that Dora didn’t feel the least bit worthy of Khalil or her new title. Nor did she know if she would be able to bend like a reed. While it wasn’t in her nature to fight for something, she wasn’t sure she could simply acquiesce, either.
Fatima changed the subject, mentioning a charity fashion show that they would attend together at the end of the month. Dora listened, grateful that Khalil’s grandmother hadn’t asked anything difficult…like why Khalil had wanted to marry her. Dora knew it had happened; she had the wedding license and the ring to prove it. She saw the passion in his eyes, a fire so bright she could almost believe it. But none of that answered the real question of why he’d chosen her.
Dora stared at the henna staining her hands. The intricate pattern worked its way across her palm, then circled each finger, like dark lace.
Fatima brushed the back of her hand. “Tradition has it that a bride does not do work in the household until the last of the henna has faded. It marks the end of the honeymoon. You can imagine how for centuries young brides avoided water, or anything else that might hasten the fading process.” Fatima smiled fondly. “That is not for you to worry about, however. You’re a princess in this great house, and we’re unlikely to set you to work in the kitchen.”
“I don’t know,” Dora teased. “I peel a pretty mean potato.”
Fatima