The Sheikh's Untamed Bride

He was refusing to marry her.

‘I understand. In that case I need to try and find my sister myself, before Hassan does. He is at his most dangerous when he is angry and he will be very angry.’ She struggled to her feet, but her legs cramped from kneeling for so long in one position and she lost her balance.

He caught her and scooped her into his arms.

Afraid of being dropped to the ground for the second time in one day, Layla gripped his shoulders and her fingers dug into an unyielding layer of solid muscle.

In her day-to-day life at the palace she didn’t encounter men like him. Her father had surrounded himself with men like Hassan: men whose flesh was softened from inactivity, sycophants whose purpose in life was to indulge to the fullest.

She doubted Raz Al Zahki had ever overindulged in his life. He was lean, athletic, super-fit—and dangerous in every way.

As she turned her head, her eyes met the fierce black of his. Curiosity turned to fascination. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, now terrifyingly close to hers. Hassan’s mouth was full and fleshy, but this man’s lips were firm and perfectly shaped. His face was beauty blended with hardness. Hardness in the savage slash of his cheekbones and the lean line of his darkened jaw. Hardness in the grim set of his mouth and the glint in his eyes. And that hardness gave him an edge of danger. Even she, with no expertise or interest in men, could see why women might describe him as spectacularly handsome.

Something tightened deep in her stomach. Heat washed across her skin and poured through her veins.

They stared at each other and then his mouth compressed. He strode across the tent and lowered her onto the silken cover draped over the large bed, standing over her, powerful and imposing in every way.

‘Where does it hurt? Explain your injuries.’

That curt command jolted her out of her dreamy state of contemplation.

Layla told herself there was no reason to feel intimidated. He couldn’t help his height. He couldn’t help his powerful build. And she could hardly blame him for not smiling in the circumstances.

He’d asked about her injuries.

All the talk of romance and emotions had stressed her beyond belief, so the practical nature of his question soothed her. She preferred the definable to the indefinable and her injuries were definitely definable.

‘I ache all over, but particularly my legs, my back and my arms. I suspect it’s a mixture of stiffness from unaccustomed muscle use and bruising from the fall. Based on the symptoms, I don’t believe anything is broken.’

His eyes gleamed with irony. ‘Presumably you have studied medical texts along with Aristotle and the Kama Sutra? Your reading matter is diverse, Princess.’

She didn’t tell him she hadn’t even started the Kama Sutra. ‘I read a lot.’

‘You read. Your sister talks.’ He studied her for several long and deeply unsettling minutes. ‘Take the robe off.’

‘What?’ Feeling like a tiny mouse in the sights of a predatory eagle, Layla stared at him. ‘Why?’

‘Because I want to assess the state of your injuries for myself.’

‘I don’t have any injuries,’ she said quickly. ‘Truly, it’s just muscular. Superficial. Nothing for you to worry about but I appreciate your concern.’ She’d been desperate to be out of the robes, but now she was equally desperate to keep them on. The thought of removing them in front of this man unsettled her.

With a sigh he sat down on the bed, his thigh brushing briefly against hers. ‘You say you want marriage and yet you’re afraid even to remove your robe in my presence? Are you proposing that once we’re married we go to bed fully clothed?’

‘No, of course not. That’s different.’

‘How is it different?’

He was testing her. He thought she couldn’t do it.

Desperation blew away modesty. If he refused to marry her she would never see Yasmin again.

‘I will be fine. I will take the responsibilities that come with the role very seriously.’

‘Responsibilities?’

‘Physical intimacy is one of the responsibilities of a wife. I understand that. I understand exactly what is involved.’

‘Are you sure?’ Those dark eyes swept her face with disturbing intensity. ‘How much of the Kama Sutra have you read, Princess?’

If she said she’d read the whole thing cover to cover would he marry her?

Layla opened her mouth and then closed it again, because she knew her skills at lying were on a par with her horse-riding abilities. ‘Not much.’ She hoped honesty wasn’t going to kill her future. ‘In fact just the title so far. But I’m a fast reader,’ she added quickly, afraid that her lack of knowledge might put him off. ‘And you have experience.’

For some reason just saying that made her body warm.

Because looking at his face made her feel hot and uncomfortable she stared instead at his hands, but for some reason that didn’t make her feel any better. She felt as if she’d had a shot of adrenaline straight into the heart.

‘You are reluctant to take off your robe,’ he said softly, ‘but once we’re married you are going to be naked when you share my bed.’

Layla felt her stomach curl. Everything inside her twisted and heated. She felt dizzy and strange.

Nerves, she thought. ‘Does this mean you’re agreeing to my suggestion?’

Without warning he lifted a powerful hand and pushed back the swath of fabric covering her head. His handsome face was taut and unsmiling, as if he were weighing up a decision of enormous importance.

Layla tried not to flinch even though the gentle brush of those strong fingers against her cheeks made everything inside her clench. She told herself he had every right to look at the woman he might marry.

Was he looking to see if she were as beautiful as his wife? Or was he deciding if he could look upon her every day and not see the face of her father and Hassan and think of the destruction they’d caused in his life.

He continued to look, his gaze disturbingly intense as his fingers trailed slowly over her cheek.

She knew her face was flushed. She could feel the heat and knew he would be able to feel it, too, with those fingers that seemed in no hurry to cease their exploration of her skin.

Her heart started to pound.

The seconds passed and a minute became two minutes and longer.

His forefinger traced the line of her jaw.

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

Layla was rigid with discomfort. She had no idea of the correct etiquette in this situation. Was she supposed to do something? Say something? Was it some sort of test?

She remembered Yasmin telling her that his wife had been stunningly beautiful.

Was this all about comparison?

When he spoke, there was something in his tone she couldn’t identify. ‘You are brave.’

Torn between relief that there was at least one thing about her he liked and disappointment that such close examination hadn’t uncovered anything else to commend her, Layla felt obliged to tell the truth. ‘I’m not very brave. I ran away from the palace.’

‘And you ran to me and offered me everything, even though deep down the thought of it frightens you.’

‘I’m not frightened.’

‘So far I believe you have been honest with me. I advise you not to change that.’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t think you’ll hurt me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘I will inevitably hurt you—as you would know if you’d read the book.’

Was he talking physically? Out of her depth in a conversation that felt like a swim in boiling oil, Layla had never felt more mortified in her life. ‘If there is pain then I’ll bear it.’

‘You seem determined to pursue this course, but what you are proposing will tie us together for a lifetime, so I urge you to think carefully and be sure this is what you want.’

‘That’s why I came to you and suggested it.’ Surely the facts spoke for themselves? Why did he keep asking her? ‘The alternative is being tied to Hassan for a lifetime and you must see that lacks appeal for so many reasons.’

There was a glimmer of something in his eyes. It might have been admiration or it might have been pity or even humour.

‘You have strength and honesty and I respect those traits. If respect is truly all you need from a relationship then I can promise you that. It will be done.’ He rose to his feet, sure and confident and very much the one in control. ‘I will send Salem to find your sister and instruct him to bring her here. I agree that there is no time to lose, so you and I will be married within the hour. I will send someone to help you prepare. Oh, and princess...’ He paused by the entrance to the tent, his eyes a wicked shade of black. ‘You have no need of that book. When the time comes I will teach you what you need to know.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I AM TO search for a princess who talks too much? What sort of a description is that? Every woman I know talks too much.’ Salem sat relaxed on his horse, a look of incredulity on his handsome face as he looked at his brother. ‘If the stallion she stole is the one we think it is, he was bred for speed and endurance. He could have carried her for miles. She could be anywhere. Or lying dead somewhere in the desert.’

‘The fact that she talks too much should make her all the easier to find and we both know that with your abilities you can track anyone.’ Raz rode alongside him, controlling a horse who snorted and pawed at the sand, yearning for speed. ‘Be careful. Hassan will be looking for her and the horse. And also for you.’

‘And for you. You should not be asking me to leave you at this time.’

‘I’m not asking you. I’m giving you an order.’

‘Is it true that you are going to marry the Princess tonight?’

Salem’s voice was soft and Raz kept his hand steady as he soothed the horse.

‘It is the right thing to do. The only thing.’

‘It may be the right thing for Tazkhan, but is it right for you?’

Raz ignored the question. ‘You will do everything in your power to find the younger sister.’

‘You vowed never to marry again.’

No one but his brother would have dared make such a personal remark and the words were like the sharp flick of a whip.

‘There is more than one type of marriage. This will be a marriage of the head, not of the heart.’

‘And the Princess?’ There was a creak of leather as Salem shifted his position in the saddle. ‘She’s young. Is that the life she wants?’

‘She claims that it is.’

‘Does she know about—?’

‘No.’ Raz interrupted him before he could finish the sentence. ‘But she understands exactly what I am able to offer her.’

‘And you trust her? You can live with her, knowing who she is?’

‘I will learn to live with her.’ He blocked thoughts of her heritage and instead thought of her sitting huddled on his bed, gripping the oversized robe in clenched hands. He thought of the book she’d chosen to bring from the library to equip her for her new role. Thought of the courage it must have taken to come to him. ‘She has very little life experience.’

‘Whereas you have decades too much. You’re not an easy man to know, Raz—are you being fair to her?’

‘I will endeavour to be as fair as possible.’ Frowning, Raz released his hold on the reins and urged the stallion forward. ‘You’re wasting time. The key to my bride’s happiness will be finding her sister safe and well. Make that happen.’

Salem rode away from him. ‘Just watch your back, brother.’

* * *

‘His Highness instructed us to bring you clothes.’ The girl dropped a dress on the bed. Resentment and animosity throbbed from her and it was obvious she wished she had not been the one chosen for the task.

‘Thank you.’ Having washed away the dust from her fall in the water that had been hastily provided, Layla stared at the exquisite fall of silk, caught at the waist with a silver belt. ‘I didn’t expect a dress.’ Especially not a dress like this one. A romantic dress. Where had he found it?

She remembered his comment about romance and felt a flash of panic that Raz Al Zahki would think she was secretly nurturing dreams about their relationship, and then remembered that he was the last person to encourage such a delusion.

He didn’t want this any more than she did.

‘You cannot marry His Highness in dusty robes that swamp you. You have to look your best on your wedding day.’ There was censorship in her tone and something else. Jealousy?

Feeling desperately alone, Layla missed her sister more than ever. She suppressed the urge to point out there was no reason for anyone to feel jealous. That this marriage was driven by loyalty to his country and no other emotion.

Surely it was obvious?

‘The Sheikh and I met for the first time a few hours ago.’

‘But you have been chosen as the one to warm his bed and his heart.’ The girl removed the bowl of water that she’d placed by Layla’s feet. ‘You carry a big responsibility.’

The words did nothing to ease the churning in her stomach. Layla knew she’d warm the bed simply by lying in it, but she also knew that wasn’t what the girl meant. She did not feel it appropriate to point out the absurdity of being chosen to warm his heart when his heart was in his thoracic cavity and more than capable of maintaining its own temperature. No, what the girl was really pointing out was that she was filling the gap left by his wife. Suddenly Layla realised that it was all very well to speak blithely of a different sort of marriage but in the end this union was about a man and a woman spending their lives together, and she had no idea if he would even be able to treat her with civility, given everything that had happened.

But what difference did it make? Her alternative was marriage to Hassan and nothing could be worse.

Rationalising that, Layla only half listened as the girl braided her hair and continued to praise Raz in terms close to hero-worship. She was aware of the worsening throb in her head and the steady gnawing of anxiety about her sister. And beneath all that there was anxiety about herself. About what lay ahead. About him.

It was all very well to state bravely that this was what she wanted. Quite another thing to contemplate the reality.

I will inevitably hurt you—as you would know if you’d read the book.

‘The book’ was safely tucked away in her bag, along with the other book she’d smuggled out of the Citadel. Raz had told her she didn’t need to read it but she couldn’t think of anything worse than relying entirely on someone else for information.

She wished she could have time alone to study it before the wedding, but there seemed to be no chance of that and she couldn’t argue with his decision to proceed as quickly as possible.

Hassan would be out looking for her. And for Yasmin.

She winced as the girl’s fingers encountered a fresh bruise.

‘His Highness told me you fell from your horse. It’s a shame that you can’t ride because he is a magnificent horseman.’

The implication being that he couldn’t have picked a worse match in her.

Her confidence plummeting as each of Raz’s qualities was revealed, Layla sank into gloom. She was starting to wonder if this might not have been the worst idea of her life.

And then she heard noise from outside the tent and sat up, clutching the towel, terrified that Hassan might have found them. ‘Who is that?’

‘The wedding guests. A Bedouin wedding gives everyone a chance to dress up and celebrate. Word has spread that His Royal Highness Raz Al Zahki is to marry Her Royal Highness Princess Layla of Tazkhan.’ There was a brittle note to her tone. ‘Even though it is short notice, he wants as many of the local people here as possible. It’s important that it is witnessed.’

He wanted rumour spread. He wanted Hassan to hear and be afraid.

‘Even when I’m married to Raz Al Zahki, Hassan is unlikely to step aside.’

‘His Highness will know what to do.’

Layla was surprised by how much faith people seemed to have in him. She was used to living in an atmosphere of negativity and resentment, not of trust.

Nothing about this new life seemed familiar, and certainly not the dress.

She had never worn anything so beautiful. Her hair, now shiny and clean, was concealed by a veil and her eyes had been accentuated by kohl. The shiny gloss the girl applied to her mouth felt sticky and strange and Layla felt utterly unlike herself.

Any hopes she’d had of being able to sneak a look at the Kama Sutra died as she was immediately led outside. It seemed that she and Raz Al Zahki agreed on at least one thing, and that was that the marriage should take place as fast as possible.

And clearly he had also decided that there should be as many witnesses as possible, because a surprising number of people had poured into the desert camp in the time it had taken her to wash and change.

The wedding itself was a blur, conducted with an urgency driven not by feelings of sentimentality but by the knowledge that any delay could give Hassan an advantage.

Layla kept her gaze focused ahead of her, aware of what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes fixed on her—some curious, others with unconcealed hostility.

And all the time she was aware of Raz next to her, tall and powerful, doing his duty for the good of his people, his own personal wishes set aside.

The event held no emotional meaning for either of them, but they stood side by side, spoke the words required of them, and Layla felt a rush of relief that came from the knowledge that no matter what happened now Hassan couldn’t make her his wife.

As Raz turned towards her relief was washed away by reality.

She was now living in the enemy camp with a man who had no reason to feel anything but animosity and contempt for her.

The fact that this was a marriage of expediency didn’t seem to bother the guests, who danced and celebrated until Layla was almost dropping with exhaustion.

And he noticed, of course, because it seemed he noticed everything—from the slightest change in the wind’s direction to a child who had wandered off unattended.

‘Come.’

Just a single word, but delivered with such authority that it didn’t occur to her to contradict him. Or maybe it was that she was too preoccupied with what lay ahead.

She hoped the physical side of their relationship didn’t require too much input from her because she was fairly sure she was going to fall asleep the moment she lay flat.

They were halfway towards the tent when there was a sound in the distance. She heard horses and shouts and Raz tightened his hand over hers and hauled her close to his side. Moments later two men she recognised from her arrival at the camp galloped up with the Sheikh’s stallion—that same huge black beast that had become as much of a legend as its master.

Layla strained her ears to catch what they were saying and then gasped as firm hands grasped her and swung her onto the back of the animal. Less than thrilled at being back on a horse so soon after her last experience, she clutched at the stallion’s mane feeling unbalanced and horribly unsafe.

Moments later Raz vaulted on behind her and locked his arm around her waist.

‘I’m sorry to do this to you when you’re still bruised after your last encounter with a horse, but Hassan has discovered your absence.’ His mouth was right by her ear. ‘Right now he is doing everything in his power to find you. It isn’t safe to stay. We must move on.’

‘But now that we’re married—’

‘That does not make it safe. No matter what circumstances led to our marriage, you are mine now and I will protect you. You have my word on that.’

Layla heard the steel in his voice and wondered if he were thinking of his wife.

Did he blame himself for not preventing the accident that had killed her?

Had she given him yet more responsibility to add to the load he already carried?

‘Could we use a different mode of transport? I’ll slow you down. I can’t ride.’

‘I am the one doing the riding. You are merely the passenger.’

‘I’ll fall off.’ She glanced down and then wished she hadn’t. It was a long way to the ground. The stallion was enormous and she felt the power of him beneath her, felt the quivering suppressed energy, and remembered how the horse Yasmin had taken from her father’s stables had shot forward like an arrow from a bow, leaving her in an aching heap on the sand.

His arm tightened around her. ‘I will not let you fall.’

‘Can’t we use a helicopter or a Jeep or something?’

‘One of my men is flying the helicopter and another is taking a Jeep to provide a decoy. They will not expect us to be on horseback. It is the safest way.’

Thinking that he had a very different idea of the definition of ‘safe’, Layla gripped tightly with her legs and felt the warm flanks of the quivering horse pressing against her bare thighs. ‘I’m not dressed for this.’

Even as she said the words a cloak was wrapped around her and he said something to someone close by.

‘There is no time to change. You will be fine. Trust me.’

Layla was about to point out that she didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her, but the horse sprang forward and she squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Is it wise to ride at night?’

‘No. Which is why Hassan will not look for us on horseback.’

‘Is that supposed to be comforting?’ She thought she heard him laugh but decided it must have been the wind, because who could find such a dangerous situation amusing?

‘I know this area as well as you know the palace. We are following the stars and the riverbed. Now, relax and go with the rhythm of the horse. You are very tense and that will make the whole thing more uncomfortable,’

Go with the rhythm of the horse...

She told herself that last time she hadn’t had a skilled rider in control or a strong male arm wrapped around her.

‘Pull the scarf across your mouth.’

She released her rigid grip on the horse’s mane to do as he instructed.

She wanted to ask where they were going, but knew the question was not only superfluous but also potentially hazardous because the hooves of the horses sent sand flying into the air and she only had a thin layer of scarf protecting her. So she kept her mouth closed and tried to remember what she’d read about riding, and then realised it didn’t matter because he knew and was driving the horse forward, controlling the animal with one hand on the reins while the other remained firmly locked around her waist.

She was aware of the dull thud of hooves on sand, of the feel of Raz’s thighs pressed hard against hers and the brush of the cool night air on her face. A sensation tore through her that she didn’t recognise and it took her a few moments to realise it was exhilaration. With the responsibility for controlling the horse in someone else’s hands, the ride on the back of this powerful animal was the most exciting, breathtaking experience of her life. In her restricted, regimented life this was the closest she’d ever come to freedom, and it felt so good she smiled behind the protective covering of the scarf. She couldn’t remember when she’d last smiled, but she was smiling now as each pounding stride of the horse took her further away from Hassan. It felt like the end of something—and then she remembered that Hassan was unlikely to give up that easily.

And Yasmin was out in the desert alone and lost.

Her smile faded.

She hoped Salem’s knowledge of the desert was as good as it was reputed to be and that he’d find her sister quickly.

They rode for several hours, until time blurred and sleep overcame her. Several times she was jarred awake as her head hit his shoulder, and eventually he shifted position to give her somewhere to rest her head.

‘Sleep, Princess.’

And she did, because her body gave her no choice, exhausted by the exertions of the past twenty-four hours. Her last coherent thought before her brain shut down was that sleeping against his chest like this was the safest she’d felt in her life.