Midnight on the Sands: Hajar's Hidden Legacy / To Touch a Sheikh / Her Sheikh Protector

“Nice,” she said, touching the dark sleeve of his wool jacket.

“I haven’t had occasion to use it for quite a while.”

“Not a lot of heavy coat weather in Hajar.”

“No.”

He turned his focus to the passing scenery and Katharine closed her eyes, trying to shut it all out.

Far too soon, the car slowed and stopped in front of the main entrance of the palace.

“How is your father doing?” Zahir asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice choked. She hadn’t seen him in over a month and he wasn’t the kind of man who would admit to any frailty.

Their respective doors were opened for them in unison and they both stepped back out into the cold. Snow was falling now, sprinkling over the wide expanse of green lawn that dominated the palace courtyard.

There was no reticence in Zahir’s demeanor, but then, her father wasn’t a crowd. He strode ahead of her, his steps long and confident, and she tried to match them. Tried to feed off his strength, because for some reason, hers seemed to be failing.

She’d been treating Zahir like the enemy, because he’d hurt her, but she needed an ally now. Desperately.

The castle in Austrich was completely unlike the palace in Hajar. There were domestic staff everywhere, administrative personnel, visiting members of parliament and the occasional tour group. It was always busy, and it was never empty.

There were always flowers. And the most awful, gaudy garlands made of fresh vines and carnations strung over the public portions of the palace. High-gloss white marble floors and bright white, spotless walls with the matte impression of fleur de lis impressed upon them.

It felt foreign now, too, like the whole setting of the country had when she’d first stepped onto the tarmac. She moved a little bit closer to Zahir.

“This way,” she said, indicating which direction her father’s office was in. He would be there, waiting to greet her. Anything else would be far too casual. And anyway, this was a matter of State. Her wedding was about alliances and protection. Nothing more.

It would do her well to remember that.

They stopped in front of the heavy, dark walnut door that stood out in sharp contrast to the white walls, and Katharine took a deep breath, one she’d hoped would fortify her. It didn’t.

“Katharine.” Zahir touched her hand. “Look at me.”

She looked up into his eyes, at his handsome face.

You bring me back to myself.

That was how she felt, like he’d brought her back to herself. She took another breath, and this time, she did feel fortified.

“If you can storm my office like you did, you can certainly do this.”

She nodded and cleared her throat, knocking on the door with as much authority as she could muster. He was right. She had stormed his office. And then she’d moved in. She could do this.

“Yes?” Her father’s voice sounded thin coming through the door and it made her heart tighten. Because in so many ways she’d never truly thought of him as being human, mortal. But he was.

She pushed the door open and walked in. His office had always been different from the rest of the palace. Expansive, like everything else, but dark. Plush, navy blue carpets and dark wood paneling. He probably thought it gave it weight. It worked.

“Father, I would like to present Sheikh Zahir S’ad al Din, my future husband.”

Her father stood, and she noticed how shrunken his frame had become, how much more gray was streaked through his hair. “Sheikh Zahir, I am glad you decided to honor the agreement. Your family was always trusted by mine.”

It didn’t escape Katharine’s notice that it was Zahir her father addressed, not her.

Zahir nodded. “Katharine put forth a convincing argument.”

Her father arched an eyebrow. “Did she?”

Katharine gritted her teeth, fought against the burning feeling of … of injustice that was rolling through her. It was as though she wasn’t in the room. And now wasn’t the time to be angry with her father. Not when he was sick like he was. It wasn’t the time to see, so clearly, just how unimportant she truly was.

“She did. I said no, in fact, but she put forth some very good points.” Zahir looked at her, deferring to her. Her father looked even more surprised by that.

“It’s true,” she said, clearing her throat. And then she was lost for words, unable to find a way to say that she’d been brave or made good points in favor of the marriage. She just felt small. Insignificant. Everything she’d always feared she truly was.

Her father looked back at Zahir. “I can well imagine what might have convinced you.”

Bile rose in Katharine’s throat. “Excuse me, please, I need to … It was good to see you, Father.” She turned and walked out of the office, striding down the hall without pausing until she reached a segment of corridor that she knew was most likely to be vacant.

She leaned against the wall and took a breath, trying to undo the knot of pain that had gripped her heart.

How had she never realized? How had she never truly known just how little her father thought of her? She’d known he didn’t think she was capable of ruling, that he’d imagined her less because she was a woman. But she hadn’t realized that the quiet, insidious voice that whispered in her ear, told her how dangerously close she was to total insignificance, had been his voice. That it had been hidden, layered in every word he spoke.

Today it had been clear.

She heard heavy footsteps and she pushed away from the wall, schooling her face into a stoic expression. Zahir came around the corner, his left hand pressed against the wall, his jaw tight.

“I told him never to speak to you, or about you, that way again. Why didn’t you tell me, Katharine?”

“Tell you what?”

“What a raging bastard the man is.”

“I didn’t … I didn’t really realize. Until he started insinuating that I used my … body … to talk you into marriage.”

“You could walk away, you know.” His dark eyes were intent on hers, and for a moment, she wanted to take him up on that. To take his hand and walk out. Walk away.

“I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing it for Alexander. For my people. But I’m not going to worry about proving myself by doing it. Not anymore.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I wanted him to see that I was … that I could be just as important. But he never will.”

“It’s different with the heirs. They need confidence. They need to understand the weight of their duties. They need to be prepared to lead. The spares like us … we are incidentals.”

“Were you?”

He looked behind her. “My parents were good to me. When I saw them. Malik was my father’s priority, and that is understandable in a sense.”

“But you’re the one ruling Hajar.”

He swallowed. “Yes. And you’re the one saving Austrich.”

She smiled at him, the motion a near impossibility. “When I have children, I won’t rank them like that. I refuse to do it.”

“I’ll never have children, so that isn’t an issue.”

“Never?”

“They would cry at the sight of me.”

“They would love you.”

The light in his eyes changed, a strange, deep sort of longing opening up behind it. It reached into her soul, tugged at her heart. In an instant, it was gone, his control returned. “I would not know how to love them.”

The bleak pain in his eyes nearly broke her. “You could, Zahir. You would.”

“You don’t know what it’s like in here.” He tapped his chest. “Empty. Thank God.”

“Because feeling hurts too much?”

“There’s hurt, and then there’s the feeling that your insides are being ripped into pieces and scattered throughout your body. Left to bleed, stay raw and blindingly painful forever. At some point … you become dead to it. And to everything else. Good and bad. But anything is better than that kind of pain.”

Her heart felt like it was tearing, mirroring what he had described. She put her hand on her chest. “But you still have pain. It finds you still. I’ve seen it. Why deny yourself good things, Zahir?”

“How can I accept all the things in life, my family, our guards, the innocent bystanders who were simply caught in the crossfire, will never have a chance to have.” His eyes were flat again, the connection lost.

He turned like he was going to leave, and she blurted out a question to keep him there. “So, what did my father say when you told him off?”

“Nothing. He is, perhaps, still in there choking on his ire. But he will not push. He needs me, remember?”

“He’s really not bad, Zahir. He has old, set ideas and tunnel vision ambition. He’s done wonderful things for the country. As a ruler, he’s a man of great compassion. As a father … not quite so much. But I respect all that he’s done here, and I support him in that wholly.”

“And I’m still going to help ensure that Austrich is protected.”

She couldn’t help but realize that he’d only named her country, and not his. That his priorities seemed to have shifted. People and not trade, right and not money.

But she suspected that truly, that had been in him from the beginning. He simply hadn’t been willing to reach in and find it.

Now he had.

CHAPTER TEN

THE snow relented for the day of the wedding, the sun shining down on the glistening blanket of white that covered the entire grounds of the castle.

Katharine adjusted her grip on her bouquet of pale, pink roses and closed her eyes, banishing the butterflies that were swirling around in her stomach.

It had been a long, hectic couple of weeks with Zahir and her father hashing out details, and Alexander sitting in on the meetings, trying to understand his place in a man’s world when he was little more than a boy.

She knew sixteen wasn’t really a child, and that a hundred years ago, he would have been placed straight on the throne. But he seemed so young. Much too young. It made her grateful for Zahir all over again.

The wedding, though, still terrified her.

She hadn’t seen Zahir in twenty-four hours and she didn’t know how he was feeling about it. About standing before a massive crowd of people. If his muscles were bound up by tension, as she’d witnessed on drives into town. If he would get lost in another flashback.

Suzette, her one bridesmaid, lifted the train of her dress and dropped it gently, letting the air catch hold of it so that it fanned over the ground, the sun shining through the window of the cathedral catching the delicate lace, the rays shining through the gossamer fabric.

“Totally gorgeous, Kat,” she said.

Katharine sighed.

It was perfect. Perfect on the surface, at least.

And that’s all that matters.

She turned to Suzette, the only person she could really count as a close friend. The American heiress had gone to the same boarding school Katharine had and they’d forged a bond. It was a bond that had loosened since adulthood, but if she ever needed anything, the chipper blonde was always willing to drop whatever she was doing and make sure she was there for her. And Katharine had always done the same for her.

“Suzette, is Zahir in there?” she asked, gesturing to the sanctuary, hoping the other woman had seen him at some point.

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t be,” she said, straightening the top on her pale green gown.

Katharine sighed. “You’re right. Of course. Prebridal nerves.”

Suzette’s eyes widened. “Not wedding night nerves, I hope. Because if so … we need to have a talk after the ceremony.”

Katharine huffed a laugh, her face heating as she recalled her night with Zahir. The way he’d made her feel, the decadent things he’d done. Yes, she was still a virgin on technicality, but from the cold comments she’d heard some women make about sex and past lovers, she had a feeling she had a better grasp on what was meant to pass between a man and a woman than some with ten times her experience.

“Not that,” Katharine said. “Not in the least.” Although, now that Suzette mentioned it, she wondered if it being their wedding night would mean anything to Zahir. If he would want …

No. Likely not. He’d basically said he had no desire to sleep with her, a statement she didn’t believe. But there was something behind it, she couldn’t deny that.

“Just, actual vow-taking nerves,” Katharine said. And nerves about whether or not her groom would do well beneath the pressure, with all those people crowded near him.

She pictured him, walking tall out of the palace of Hajar, going to meet the reporters at the gate. He was strong, her Zahir.

My Zahir? Yes. He sort of did feel like hers. Like a part of her. She couldn’t explain it, and she didn’t really want to. She didn’t really want it to be true, either. Because that part of herself would have to be surgically removed when they parted in a few years’ time. And if it was this bad now …

So much for calming her nerves.

“Just a sec.” Suzette walked in front of her and opened the heavy wooden door that led into the sanctuary, just enough to see in. She turned to face her and offered a wide smile and a thumbs-up.

Katharine offered a weak smile back, her stomach dropping into her toes when the music suddenly changed. It was showtime.

Zahir’s fingertips felt cold, and he knew it wasn’t due to the snow outside. The slow onset of panic was distinct. His heart rate increased, his muscles tightened, his stomach clamping down like a steel trap. And his fingers always grew numb. He didn’t know why. He only knew it was far too familiar a feeling for his liking.

It was a small wedding, by royal standards, at Katharine’s request. That had been out of deference to his issues, he was certain. Something that galled.

Still, small meant at least two hundred guests, filling the ancient stone sanctuary, along with the music of the strong quartet. It was loud. Packed. He could feel it all closing in.

A curvy little blonde in a spring-green dress began her walk down the aisle. She was Katharine’s maid of honor; he nearly remembered being introduced to her the night before, although now, her name escaped him. It had all become very fuzzy. Everything seemed a little fuzzy.

He blinked hard, tried to ignore the metallic tang that coated his tongue. The fear that seemed to be slowly binding his muscle and sinew, making him feel frozen, stiff.

He was not a man given to prayer. But standing there, in a church, he felt it appropriate to send up a request. That he not do this here. He had wanted to do it all on his own strength, and yet it was proving impossible. He would take borrowed strength if he could use it to simply get through.

The sharp change in the music cut through the fuzzy edges of his mind, and he turned his focus to the doors that led from the sanctuary out into the foyer. They parted, and all of his focus zeroed in on the angel that moved through them.

An answer to his prayer.

Katharine looked as though she was floating, her strawberry-blond hair cascading over her shoulders, the frothy, lacy dress flowing and shimmering with each step she took. But that wasn’t what held him captive.

It was her face. The same face that had brought him back in the marketplace. The same face he had watched alter beautifully as he gave her pleasure.

As Katharine came into view everything else faded away. It was as they had planned it, of course. But he had not imagined it would work quite so well.

He extended his hand, and she took it, and in an instant, he was warm again.

He leaned in. “You didn’t have your father give you away.”

She shook her head. “This was my decision,” she whispered.

Good for her. Katharine was running on extra strength today, too, it seemed.

The priest spoke in Latin, and at length. And Zahir didn’t know the meaning of the entire ceremony. But he did know what the bejeweled goblets filled with sand placed near the back of the stage meant. A Hajari tradition, one that he had not thought would be included here.

The vows were spoken in each of their native languages, and before the priest made his pronouncement, he gestured to the two chalices of sand. One filled with white sand, one golden brown, set on either side of a clear glass vase.

“Now Sheikh Zahir and Princess Katharine have chosen to seal their vows with a tradition from the Sheikh’s homeland,” he said, his voice thinner in English, his tone disdainful.

“What is this?” Katharine whispered.

“A Hajari tradition. Your father must have seen fit to add this.” Because he’d known what it meant. An unsubtle reminder, perhaps, that the union was meant to be permanent.

Keeping her hand in his, he led her to the table, where they knelt on velvet cushions.

“What does it mean?” she asked, keeping her voice hushed.

He picked up both cups, and handed the one filled with white sand to Katharine. “The sand represents us, as individuals. Today, we do not leave here as two, but one.”

He tipped his cup over the vase and poured a measured amount inside it. “Now you,” he said.

Katharine did the same, and then he repeated the motion until they had emptied the cups, layering the sand into the vase.

“You are still there,” he said, pointing to a bright streak of sand. “As am I. But, just like the sand, we will be impossible to separate. We are bonded together.”

Katharine’s green eyes looked glassy, her mouth dropped in shock. He leaned in and put his lips near her ear. “I’m sorry. I did not know this would be a part of the service.”

She nodded stiffly. “It’s … it’s all right.”

He led her back over to where the priest stood, her hand trembling in his. The priest made his pronouncement, and gave the command to kiss the bride. A command Zahir was more than happy to follow. Just for another taste, brief though it would be.

He leaned in slowly, watched her green eyes flutter closed as he descended. He pressed a soft kiss against plump, tender lips. The sensation was enough to take him out at the knees. Explosive in every way. Incredible.

And it was only a hint of the kind of pleasure her body offered. He knew, because he’d experienced much deeper torture at her hands. Rather, his own. She had been ready. And he had been forced to deny them both.

She pressed her mouth more firmly against his and he simply rested there for a moment, caught up in her touch. Just a moment of warmth. Of being surrounded by her.

Then he pulled away, his hand still joined with hers and the guests clapped for them as the priest introduced them as a married couple for the first time. He thought he felt Katharine’s fingers tighten on his, almost imperceptibly.

They walked down the aisle together, the crowd a blur as they passed by. And he kept his eyes on Katharine, and his mind firmly in the present.

“Ready?” Zahir asked, his hand extended.

The crowd had made a half circle in the massive ballroom, preparing for the bride and groom dance.

The reception had been a blur from the moment they’d walked in, so many well-wishers, and cake, and a fountain that was spraying punch. It was everything a wedding should be. Except real.

The sand had thrown her. It had been so symbolic, the depth of it a shock she hadn’t anticipated. It was how marriage should be. Their own color, their own individuality still on show, yet entwined with their partner’s. There would be no easy way to separate the sand, and it had struck her then, how hard it would be to separate herself from Zahir.

But she would have to. As long as she remembered that she would be fine. She just couldn’t forget. The sand was just a thing. Just sand. It wasn’t them.

But in that moment …

“Yes, I’m ready.”

They moved into the open area that had been cleared for the dance, and Zahir drew her into his body, one arm banded across her waist.

They had a live orchestra this time instead of the slow, sensual music they’d danced to in the library at the palace. But the guitar music was what she heard in her head. She felt everything recede.

Oh, so dangerous. So stupid. And yet, she found she couldn’t fight it. Didn’t want to.

He leaned in, his cheek pressed against hers, the skin rough on hers. But it felt right. It felt like Zahir.

“We made it through,” he said, his voice soft, his breath hot against her neck.

“You did it,” she whispered.

“I looked at you.”

They didn’t speak again, they simply moved with the music while Katharine fought the overwhelming tide of emotion threatening to consume her.

She could feel his heart beating against hers, matching hers. She’d never felt so close to anyone before. Had never wanted so badly to hold someone to her. And she didn’t want to know what that meant.

So she just wouldn’t think. Not now.

When the song ended, Zahir released her. It happened far too soon. If it were possible to freeze a moment, she would have done it with that one. In that moment, the desire to be in his arms was simple. She had accomplished what she’d needed to accomplish as far as the marriage went and she could rest. And be happy for a moment.

“I need a drink,” she said, as they walked back off the floor. “You?”

“I am ready to be done.” The way he said it, the look in his dark eyes … she wondered if he wanted to claim his wedding night. In the most traditional sense of the word.

Her pulse pounded, her blood turning fizzy in her veins. And if he did? If he did, she didn’t think she’d refuse him. Quite the opposite. He was in her already, mingled in who she was, like the grains of sand in the vase.

“Just … just a moment.” She turned and headed to the punch table, giving a finger wave to a cluster of women she’d gone to school with.

“Katharine?” One of the women, Katharine couldn’t remember her name, stepped to the forefront of the group. “You aren’t going to live in Hajar now, are you?”

Katharine frowned. “Of course I am. We’ll still be here sometimes, of course.” Especially if Zahir had to fulfill his duties as Regent. Most of it could be done remotely, especially with parliament in the solid shape it was in. But there would be traveling.

The other woman narrowed her eyes. “Won’t you have to wear a veil there?”

Katharine shook her head. “No. Women aren’t veiled in Hajar.”

One of the women in the back, Ann, Katharine remembered, because she’d always been awful, snorted a laugh. “It’s not the women who need to be veiled, though, is it?”

Katharine stiffened, anger rolling through her. Anger and the need to strike out, to wound as she was wounded. Because the comment seemed aimed at her heart.

Everything in her itched to slap the smug smile from the other woman’s face. But with press everywhere, it would be the slap heard around Europe. And while part of her found that very attractive, she knew it would end up being much more trouble than it was worth.

“If that’s your assessment it’s clear you don’t know what true sex appeal is, Ann,” she said, keeping her voice as soft and even in tone as possible. “And my husband has it.”

“In that case,” Ann returned, “you had better hope you have it in you to hold on to him. I remember how you were in school. Trust me, sweetheart, rule following isn’t sexy. And a shy little virgin like yourself, and no point pretending you aren’t, is hardly going to hold the interest of a man who’s done so much … living.”

A sharp slug of anger and insecurity jabbed at her. She knew Ann was just taking strips off her because it was what Ann did, but that didn’t erase the small amount of damage her remarks had done. It didn’t help that Zahir didn’t seem to have too hard a time resisting her. That he’d been in bed with her, toying with her body, bringing her past the point of reason and control, and then simply walked away hadn’t been the biggest ego boost anyway.

Ann’s eyes widened and Katharine turned sharply, into the warmth of Zahir’s solid chest. His fingers curled into her arms, pulling her more tightly against him, the strength in his touch reminiscent of the day in the market.