The Desert Bride of Al Zayed / Best Man's Conquest: The Desert Bride of Al Zayed / Best Man's Conquest. Michelle Celmer
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At last he spoke and his eyes were hard. “I won’t leave my father for as long as a week. Not when he is so near the end. Nor will I be leaving you to cool your heels, habiibtii. You will be coming with me. Be ready to leave by daybreak.”
* * *
The courtyard behind the palace was already bustling when Jayne got there the following morning.
Tariq was waiting beside a lone white SUV, clad in a thobe with a ghutra tied with two rounds of black cord around his head. The SUV had already been packed high with provisions. In the back, beside their bags, Jayne spotted a kafas, a cage with holes to allow circulation, holding Noor along with large storage bottles of water—a sobering reminder of exactly how remote their destination was.
Jayne slowed to a halt in front of Tariq. “Is this it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You were expecting camels?”
Not camels. Anyway, the white SUV was the modern equivalent of the white stallion for a desert traveller. But she’d expected some sort of entourage. Tariq never went anywhere alone. Bodyguards. Aides. A veritable army accompanied him. “When we travelled before—”
“Last time I organised camels because that’s what you wanted.”
She gave up. They were talking at cross purposes. He was referring to the trip they’d made in the first few months after their return to Zayed not long after their marriage in London. He’d taken her into the desert—by camel. They’d camped out under velvet skies studded with stars as bright as diamonds.
“You expected the fantasy,” he was saying, his eyes intent. “A desert romance. That excursion was supposed to be romantic—to make up for the honeymoon I’d never given you.”
She clambered into the vehicle and muttered dismissively, “Another mirage.”
“What do you mean?” He leaned in through the doorway, his brows fierce.
She shrugged, reluctant to get into a skirmish, and stared through the windshield determined not to look at him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
“When a woman says ‘It’s nothing’ only a fool believes her.”
Jayne remained mute, pressing her lips firmly together.
She sensed him watching her. After a long moment he sighed and shut the door before walking around the front of the vehicle to hop in beside her. A flick of his wrist and the vehicle roared to life. Jayne put her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes.
Their desert romance had been nothing more than a mirage. Even that belated honeymoon had been cut short. After only two days a helicopter had landed where they were camped. Tariq had been summoned back to the palace. During the flight back he’d apologised. Promised that there’d be other times.
And Jayne had been left wondering if it had been another instance of the long hand of the Emir acting to destroy their marriage.
When she’d been taken ill with a violent stomach bug the next day, she hated everything in the desert…and Zayed.
But that was in the past.
In the end, the Emir had won.
Their entire marriage had been a mirage.
Now she’d finally made herself a new life. A real life. And she was ready to move on. Find an ordinary man with whom to create a real marriage with real children.
Turning her head, Jayne focused on the passing landscape. The morning was lovely. A smattering of clouds meant that the heat had lost the edge common even in the winter months.
“It’s hot,” she said a while later, more to break the throbbing silence than because the heat worried her.
“Tonight will be cool in the desert.” His hand flicked a dial, and a blast of cold air swirled around her. “Better?”
She stared at the lean hands on the steering wheel, and a bolt of emotion shot through her. No, it wasn’t better. The cold air did nothing to alleviate her inner tension. She swallowed. “Yes,” she said finally. “It’s cooler.”
A sideways glance revealed a hard, hawkish profile. The white ghutra should have softened his jagged profile; instead it added to the mystique and ruthlessness of the man. Her gaze lingered on the black agal—the cords that wound twice around his headdress and hung down his back. Beside his mouth, the deep, scored lines showed the strain he was under. Tariq must be terribly worried about his father…and then there was this situation that Ali and Mahood had created. She had to remember that if she felt tense, he was under infinitely more stress. Finally she turned her head away and tipped her head back again, closing her eyes, and tried to doze.
Jayne woke suddenly to find that several hours had passed and she was chilled. The desert sun had vanished and a white blanket of cloud stretched across the sky. The air-conditioning was chilly enough to have Jayne reaching into her bag for a lightweight merino cardigan.
“Cold?” Tariq fiddled with the air-conditioning controls, and the rush of cool air slowed.
“A little. Despite the heat that is probably out there.” She gestured to the desert that stretched out, bleak and inhospitable, in every direction.
“The cloud cover makes today cooler than normal.” Tariq dipped his head and glanced up through the windshield. “I don’t like the look of them, they’ve been gathering over the last hour.” He slowed and examined a gadget that had to be a GPS.
Four-wheel-drive. GPS. What was she worried about? This was the twenty-first century. The desert was not as alien and threatening as she imagined. She was overreacting, allowing her dislike and resentment of Zayed to get to her. Jayne laughed. “Rain? Little chance of that out here.”
“The desert does get storms, not often but they happen. They can be devastating because the desert does not absorb the water. So it gathers on the surface until there is sufficient for floods.”
“Floods?” Jayne stared at the barren landscape and her apprehension crept back. Just enough to make prickles rise at her the base of her neck. “Hard to imagine.”
“Believe it. As much as water brings life, rain can wreak havoc.”
“Will we be able to reach Aziz before the rain comes?”
“Maybe. If it comes at all. The clouds may dissipate—not uncommon.”
“That would be a relief.” The prospect of a desert storm did not thrill Jayne. She stared out of the window at the clouds, then at the expanse of stony ground that stretched without end to the horizon. It gave the desert a foreboding feeling, even greater than it already possessed, and Jayne shivered.
Another hour passed. They’d stopped briefly to eat pita rounds filled with shredded lamb and lettuce and tomato and drink bottles of mineral water, before setting off again. Since the meal, Tariq had been silent, but Jayne thought that they’d picked up speed. The banks of cloud had been rolling, piling high into stacks that made Jayne’s insides twist.
“I hate this place.” Jayne’s tension spilled over. “I really do.”
“I know.” Tariq’s voice held a bleak quality that made Jayne give him a quick glance.
“You shouldn’t have made me come back to Zayed.”
“I needed you.”
Her heart missed a beat. In the past she would have killed for an admission like that. But Tariq had been more focused on his father, on the good of Zayed than on her. She’d been lonely, her heart bruised by his lack of care.
“To convince your father that you will be settled after his death?”
“In my country it is believed if a man has given all his children in marriage through the course of his lifetime, then he has successfully fulfilled the duty of his life. Our marriage