Promised to a Sheik (10 page)

He watched in satisfaction and pride as Elizabeth charmed his father with her intelligence, her grace and her warmth. The conversation was as good and varied as the food that was served.

He also knew that Elizabeth had made conquests in Jahara and Malika, the younger of his father's two wives. They sat side by side, gazing wide-eyed at Elizabeth as if she were a wonderfully exotic creature. But they smiled at her often, smiles that promised the hand of friendship.

Hayfa was another matter. The older woman sat at his father's right hand, watching Omar's bride with suspicious eyes. She was the only one of the wives with her face half-veiled and her hair covered.

It had been Hayfa who had raised Omar. Intensely maternal, fiercely loving, she was a curious mix of woman, warrior and girl. While she loved many things from the United States, including Tom Cruise movies and the music of Elvis Presley, she had campaigned for Omar to marry a woman from Gaspar.

Omar caught her eye and winked at her, then grinned as she sent him a scathing glare. Elizabeth would have a challenge in winning Hayfa's respect
and affection, but he had no doubt eventually Elizabeth would prevail.

“I think a party is in order, to officially introduce your new bride,” Sheik Abdul said while they were lingering over coffee.

“A dance!” Malika replied, her dark eyes lighting with excitement. “We can have it in the grand ballroom on Friday night.”

“Friday night is too soon,” Hayfa replied. “It would take at least a week to pull something together.”

“Oh yes, Omar, please say yes.” Jahara looked eagerly at Omar.

He glanced at Elizabeth and smiled. “I think that's a fine idea. We'll plan something for a week from Saturday night. We'll make it a day of celebration to honor my new wife.”

“Please, that isn't necessary—” Elizabeth began to protest, but Omar held up a hand to still her.

“I've made up my mind and it will be done,” he said. “Besides, I have yet to dance with my wife, and that's something I look forward to with great anticipation.” He smiled at Jahara and Malika. “And I am sure my father's esteemed wives will be more than happy to see to it that my bride has an appropriate dress for the occasion.”

“I don't want to put anyone to any trouble,” Elizabeth protested again.

“Trouble?” Sheik Abdul laughed. “My wives live to shop. Trust me, it would not be a problem for them to take you to their favorite stores.”

“How about tomorrow?” Malika asked. “We could have lunch out and make a day of it.”

Elizabeth looked at Omar and it was obvious she was a bit overwhelmed. He smiled at his stepmothers. “We'll let you know later today if those plans will work for tomorrow. And now, as pleasant as this has been, I'd like to give Elizabeth a tour of the palace and grounds. We arrived too late last evening for her to see much of anything.”

They bid his family goodbye, and he and Elizabeth left the dining room. “My father was quite taken with you,” Omar said the moment they walked out of the quarters.

“He seems to be a wonderful man,” she replied.

“He is one of the finest men on earth. Kind and wise. He was not only a good ruler for Gaspar, he was also a wonderful father.”

A tiny frown worried the skin across her forehead as he led her down the grand staircase. “I think your stepmother hates me.”

Omar laughed and took her hand in his. “Hayfa doesn't hate anyone. She merely enjoys giving the illusion of being fierce. She's the eldest of the three wives and was the first that my father married. It was Hayfa who raised me, and she's perhaps a bit too protective where I'm concerned.”

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Omar led her into a large reception room. “We call this the throne room,” he explained.

At the far end was a throne, flanked by flags. Most of the rest of the room was taken up by chairs facing
the throne area. “This is where I meet with the people to discuss problems and issues that concern them.”

“When did your father marry Malika and Jahara?” she asked as they left the throne room.

“Father married all three women in the year following my mother's death and my birth.” Omar realized she was struggling to understand the idea of a man having three wives. “He told me once that he married Hayfa because he needed a mother for his son. She had been a friend of my mother's, and he knew she had a maternal heart and would love me as her own.”

They entered a huge ballroom with elaborate crystal chandeliers and walls covered with silk embroideries. “This is where we'll have the dance on Saturday night,” he explained, then continued on the original subject. “Father married Malika several months after he'd married Hayfa. He was drawn to Malika's quick wit and sharp intelligence. He knew she was a woman he could talk to about any subject.”

“And Jahara?”

“Jahara became his third wife a month after he married Malika. He married Jahara because she made him laugh. She's filled with life and spirit and has a wonderful sense of humor.” He recognized by her expression that she was disturbed by his words, and he drew her into an embrace. “I was far luckier than my father. I found one woman who has all those qualities.”

“But what about love? How can your father love
three women?” she asked, her green eyes gazing at him curiously.

He released his hold on her. “Elizabeth, the concept of love is different for a sheik than for a normal man.”

“I don't understand. What exactly does that mean?” she asked.

“It means that you should be a good and dutiful wife so I'll never have the need to marry another one,” he teased.

“Your Highness?” Rashad appeared in the doorway of the ballroom. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but Mohammad Dubar is on the phone and says he has an update on the oil negotiations.”

Omar turned to Elizabeth with an apologetic smile. “I'm afraid I must take this call. Rashad, would you mind showing Elizabeth the formal gardens?”

Rashad smiled at her. “It would be my honor.”

“Good.” Omar kissed her forehead. “I'll catch up with you later.”

As he left Rashad and Elizabeth, Omar hoped there would be no more talk of love.

He'd followed Elizabeth's exploits before marrying her, had known she had a reputation as something of a jet-setter, and while he'd been surprised to discover her a virgin, he'd thought she would understand that he had married her for many reasons, but love hadn't been one of them.

C
ara had been in a mild state of shock from the moment Omar introduced her to his father's three wives. All the time she had dreamed of living in Gaspar, in all the letters Omar had written to her, she'd never imagined, and he'd never told her, that polygamy was a way of life here.

She'd been worried that he'd be angry when she told him the truth about her identity, but now she had a new worry. If she upset him or made him angry, he could just go out and marry another woman.

Had her mother been right, after all? Had she jumped into this relationship, this new country, with out thinking about all the changes that would take place in her life? Had she married Omar for all the wrong reasons?

Her heart answered the question.
Absolutely not.
She loved Omar. Every moment of every day that she spent with him, her love only grew more profound.

But, because she loved him so much, she couldn't imagine sharing him with another woman. The very idea was alien to her.

“You are troubled.” Rashad's voice broke into her
thoughts as he led her toward an enormous set of doors.

He looked around, as if checking to see if anyone else was nearby, then smiled at her. “Do not let Hayfa's silence and sourness frighten you. She has the bark of a dog, but the dog doesn't bite.”

Cara couldn't help but laugh at his description of the older woman. “I have to confess, I found her a bit daunting.”

“She likes to pretend to be daunting.” Rashad opened the door, and together they stepped out into the bright sunshine of midmorning. “But she has a good heart.”

The air was heavily scented with the fragrance of a thousand flowers, and Cara's breath caught at the beauty before her. For as far as her eyes could see there were plants and trees, flowers and shrubs.

“Sheik Abdul created the gardens as a wedding present for his wife, Omar's mother,” Rashad said, as they began to walk down a path through the center of the garden. They were surrounded by the most lush, colorful blossoming flowers she'd ever seen.

“Did you know her?” she asked.

Rashad nodded. “Yes, I was working for Sheik Abdul when he met her.”

“Tell me about her,” she said, welcoming a change in topic that momentarily made her forget the fact that at any moment her husband might decide to take a second wife.

“Antonia was her name.”

“Antonia? So she wasn't from Gaspar?”

“No. Sheik Abdul met her on a trip to Greece. She was the daughter of an ambassador and was one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in my life. She had beautiful dark hair and black eyes that held a wealth of emotion and warmth. Sheik Abdul was besotted with her the moment he lay eyes on her, and she seemed to be equally besotted with him.”

“And so they married,” Cara said, and paused to smell a brilliant purple flower she didn't recognize.

“Indeed, there were days of celebration all over Gaspar during the week of the royal wedding. The people of Gaspar love a good romance and particularly love any reason for a celebration.”

Rashad motioned to a stone bench in front of a beautiful fountain. “Would you like to sit for a few minutes?”

She nodded, and they sat side by side, enjoying a few minutes of silence broken only by the burbling of the water in the fountain.

“This was one of her favorite places,” Rashad said, finally breaking the peaceful quiet. “She came here almost every day to sit and enjoy the tranquillity of the garden. She said whenever she sat here she felt surrounded by Sheik Abdul's love.”

“That's nice. How long were she and the sheik married before she passed away?”

“They had two years together before she died. They were wonderful years both for Sheik Abdul and for the country.”

“And she died in childbirth?”

Rashad nodded, his expression sad. “She told no
body that she had a severe heart condition and that her doctor had warned her against pregnancy. She was determined to give Sheik Abdul the son he longed for, and she did, but at the greatest cost.”

Again they were silent, and Cara found herself thinking of the woman who had been Omar's mother, a woman who had sacrificed her life for her son.

Had Sheik Abdul loved her with all his heart, with all his soul, or had his love been limited somehow because he was a sheik? She thought of Omar's words—that sheiks loved differently than other men. What had he meant? And what did that mean for her?

“You liked her,” Cara finally observed, disturbed by her thoughts.

“Very much,” Rashad replied. “I don't think anyone disliked her. She was not only kind, but she brought to the palace life and laughter and a kind of magic that died when she did.”

“And Sheik Abdul?”

“Withdrew into privacy for two weeks and has never mentioned her name again. Within a month he married Hayfa, who had been caretaking for Omar since his birth. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“What about you, Rashad? Have you ever been in love?” she asked, curious about his life beyond his position as Omar's personal assistant.

“Once…long ago.” His dark eyes grew soft and his mouth curved into a faint smile. “I was very young, and she was very pretty. She ended up marrying a wealthy businessman from the United States and now lives in California.”

Cara placed her hand on his arm. “I'm so sorry.”

“Ah, it was a long time ago, and besides, I have been subtly courting a woman who works at the palace as a maid.” To her surprise his cheeks darkened with the stain of a blush. “Although, things have been progressing rather slowly. We have coffee together early every morning, but there are usually others there, as well.”

“Have you asked her out?” Cara asked.

He shook his head. “I'm unsure how she would react to such a request.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she replied. “What's her name?”

“Jane.” He smiled at her look of surprise. “She is not originally from Gaspar. She, too, is from the United States. She married a man from Gaspar many years ago and came here to live. Ten years ago her husband was killed in a car accident, but she chose to remain here instead of returning to Montana, where she is from.” He cleared his throat. “But enough about me. Shall we walk some more? There is still much of the gardens to see.”

She nodded, and together they stood and began to walk again. As they walked, he pointed out different species of flowers, each grouping meticulously planned to show their particular brilliance and color.

Still, despite the beauty that surrounded her, despite Rashad's interesting commentary about the gardens and the various flowers, Cara's mind continued to whirl with the knowledge that Omar's father had three wives.

Would there come a time when Omar tired of her and sought a new diversion, a new wife? When she finally mustered the courage to tell him the truth about herself, would he, in anger, choose another bride?

As much as she was growing to love him, she didn't think she could stand being one of several wives. She wanted, needed from him the kind of love regular men felt, the kind of love that was a commitment between two people, a promise of fidelity and respect.

“I don't mean to intrude, but you still seem troubled by something. Is there anything I can do to help?” Rashad asked, his eyes gazing at her sharply as they continued their tour through the gardens.

“I'm still trying to digest the idea of a man having three wives,” she said truthfully. “In none of our letters and conversations did Omar mention to me that his father had more than one wife.”

“Then Hayfa, Jahara and Malika must have been a big surprise,” he observed.

“That's certainly an understatement,” she replied dryly. “Now I find myself wondering if and when Omar might decide to follow in his father's footsteps and take another wife.”

“That isn't likely to happen,” Rashad said with a smile.

“Why not?” Cara eyed him curiously.

“First and foremost for the obvious reasons.” Rashad's dark eyes twinkled merrily. “He will never
find a woman as beautiful, as charming and as perfect for him as you.”

Cara laughed. “There is an exceptionally large chunk of malarkey in you, Rashad.”

He laughed, as well. “All right, then I'll tell you another reason why he's not likely to take another wife. The laws changed some twenty years ago, and polygamy is now against the law.”

Cara was surprised by the relief that fluttered through her, a relief tempered with a touch of irritation that Omar hadn't mentioned the same little fact.

When she saw him, she would show him just how good and dutiful she could be.

 

Omar was on his way to the formal gardens to find his wife, when he ran into Hayfa in one of the corridors.

“Mother,” he said respectfully, then leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead.

Her face was no longer covered, and she smiled with pleasure as he released her. “My son, it's so good to have you back where you belong. I miss seeing your face when you're away.”

“You just miss me because when I'm gone you have nobody to yell at,” he replied teasingly.

“That's not true. I regularly yell at Malika and Jahara. They often forget their age and act like teenagers.”

Omar laughed and took her arm, and together they walked down the corridor. “So, tell me, Mother, what did you think of my new bride?”

Hayfa hesitated before answering, as if schooling her thoughts. “She's very beautiful. It's easy to see why she captured your eye.” She said the words thinly, letting him sense her vague disapproval.

“You didn't raise me to be so shallow that I would marry a woman for her looks alone,” he chided. “She has a good heart, Hayfa. If you would just give her a chance, she's bright and funny and spirited.”

“Yes, I know of her spirited nature. The gossip columns have occasionally mentioned her spirited exploits.”

Unfortunately, Omar had no argument against this fact. There were times when he himself struggled with the characterization of Elizabeth Fiona he'd gleaned through gossip magazines and the quite different Elizabeth Fiona he'd gotten to know through her letters and in spending time with her.

“One could say that I was equally spirited,” he finally replied. “I believe on more than one occasion I've been written up in those same gossip columns.”

“It's different for a man,” she replied stiffly.

He laughed and gave her a quick hug. “And you are occasionally an old-fashioned frump.” He released her and grew more serious. “Be kind to her, Hayfa. She's left her family, her country and all that she knows to be my wife. Your friendship and approval here could make things easier on her.”

She reached up and placed her palm on the side of his face, her eyes warm with love. “I only want to see you happy, and if she makes you happy, I will respect that.”

“She does make me happy.”

Hayfa nodded. “Then, I will be kind.”

Omar kissed her again, then left her and went in search of his wife.

He found her with Rashad in the gardens. He saw them before they saw him, and he paused to drink in the sight of the woman who would be at his side at the end of each day, the woman who would eventually bear his children and grow old with him.

She was laughing at something Rashad had said, and for a moment he desperately wished he had a camera to capture forever the sheer joy that lit her lovely features.

Her dark brown hair shone in the sunlight, sparkling with just a hint of red highlights, and he knew her green eyes would be twinkling.

Desire hit him right in the middle of his gut. It was not just a desire to take her to bed and stroke her nakedness, lose himself in her. Rather, it was also a desire to see her laugh often, to never be the cause of tears in her eyes.

The inertia that had momentarily gripped him broke, and he was suddenly eager to join in the conversation, to get close enough to see the sparkle of her eyes.

He hurried toward them, surprised when he reached them and Elizabeth bowed deeply.

“Your Highness,” she murmured with her head kept down. “How good of you to join us.” She glanced up at him just quickly enough for him to catch a glimpse of those teasing, flirtatious eyes. “Is
there anything I can do to please you? I await your command.”

Omar cast a look to Rashad, who shrugged in equal bewilderment. “Elizabeth, what are you doing?”

Again he saw a flash of emerald eyes, then she returned her gaze to his feet. “I am attempting to be a good and dutiful wife so that you will not see the need to marry another woman.”

Rashad, obviously recognizing he was not needed, nodded quickly to Omar, then scurried away.

Omar returned his gaze to her, amusement rippling through him. “This presents a wealth of possibilities to me. Perhaps we could return to our quarters and you can show me just how good and dutiful you can be.”

She raised a hand and smacked him lightly on the chest, her eyes holding the light of indignation. “You are a wicked man not to tell me that polygamy is no longer practiced here in Gaspar.”

She started to smack him again, but he caught her hand and laughingly pulled her to his chest. “I thought you knew.”

“I didn't know until Rashad told me a little while ago. It was mean of you to let me worry for even one single moment that I might have to share you with another woman.”

“And you would mind that so much?” he asked.

Her eyes flashed darkly. “I don't like to share,” she said as she wound her arms around his neck.

“Good, because neither do I,” he replied, electri
fied by the fierceness in her tone and the sweet press of her body against his.

She unwound her arms and stepped back from him. “Good, now that we have that settled, perhaps you'll show me the rest of the gardens.”

“I would be delighted.” He took her arm in his, and together they walked at a leisurely pace. “Have you given any thought to your plans for tomorrow? Have you decided to go shopping with my father's wives?”