CHAPTER ELEVEN
She was not asleep.
Her slender frame was silhouetted by the bright sunshine. She wore a simple, flowing dress. A pale green in colour that, he imagined, would bring out the flecks of magic that danced in her eyes. Her hair was not yet brushed. It was out, long and a little messy.
It brought a smile to his lips even when he knew that things were seriously disturbed between them.
“Jamila,” he said as he approached. She turned quickly, a fleeting look of sadness on her beautiful features before she adorned her face with its usual mask.
“I didn’t expect to see you today.” The soft admission felt like a knife being thrust into his gut.
“Nilam came to talk to me.”
Her eyes shifted anxiously. “Oh?” She licked her lower lip; the only betraying gesture in her otherwise unreadable pose.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He saw the way her delicate throat muscles bunched as she swallowed furiously. “Tell you what?”
“Any of it,” he snapped with exasperation. “She fought with you? She assaulted you?”
“She was upset,” Evie said gently, her eyes knitted together as she recalled the scene. “And I can’t say I blame her.”
“My God.” Malakhi dragged a hand through his thick, dark hair. “She threw a glass of champagne at you?”
Evie bit down on her full lower lip. “I think she was as surprised by that as I was.”
“Why do you defend this woman?” His chiselled cheeks were slashed with colour.
She propped her hip against the door frame and shrugged. “Because. She’s upset. She loves you, and she’s had to endure the rapid usurping of her in your bed. And now, I’m your wife, which effectively buries any hopes she had of filling this role.”
“Marry Leilani? That would never have happened.”
“How can you be such a bastard? She loves you. She was your lover. And yet you treat with disdain the very idea that she might have come to harbour hopes for more?”
“Our relationship was not like that, I told you. There were limits in place at all times. We both knew …”
“You knew,” she muttered. “Just as you always know everything.”
The accusation was obvious. And he had no defence. There was nothing he could say to soften her hurt.
“I couldn’t let him leave,” he said finally, instead, his expression regal and implacable despite the concern he had that he had truly gone too far.
She looked at him long and hard, her shoulders square, her body taught. And he had no sense of what she was feeling, but he knew his own heart. He knew the regret and scorn he felt.
“I know that,” she said finally.
“You do?” Surprise fanned his sense of self-disappointment.
“Of course.” She gnawed at her lip thoughtfully and when she spoke it was with such calm unconcern that he had no option but to believe it genuine. “I see that.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I’d known about the will, I would have taken him back to Australia.” Her eyes battled his, and for a moment he felt a sting of her rage. “Our situations were reversed. I thought, wrongly, as it turns out, that you had the legal claim to him. That your right to have him in your life was greater than mine. And I did whatever I could to remain with him.”
Malakhi blinked his eyes shut on a nauseating wave of self-disgust. “Such as becoming my lover?”
“Yes.” She waved a hand through the air though he wasn’t looking at her. “And marrying you.”
“I couldn’t lose him,” he said thickly, blinking at her and begging her to understand.
“I know. And nor could I. We both did what we had to in order to stay in his life.”
“You speak as though this doesn’t bother you?”
The air between them crackled and he hoped for some reason he couldn’t comprehend, that she would shout at him as he knew he deserved. He certainly didn’t expect her wistful smile.
“Why would it? Neither of us thought this was a love match. It’s a marriage of convenience. That we are attracted to one another is a silver lining, but even that isn’t essential.” She moved closer to him, her face a study in calm serenity. “I ask only this: when that lust fades, as I’m sure it will, that you conduct any affairs … discreetly. I married you for the sake of Kalem and I want him to believe, at least, that we respect and value one another as people.”
His breath was hot on her temple. God! How had she got through it? The most devastating statement she’d ever had to make and she’d delivered an Oscar-winning performance.
“You’re saying …”
“I don’t love you,” she lied, a smile heavy on her mouth and her heart. “You don’t love me.” Evie shrugged. “The same can’t be said for Leilani. She adores you. Her heart is broken. I wish her brother had never told you what happened between us.”
“No?”
“What’s served by this? She was upset. I’m not.” Evie managed to pull off an expression that approached bemused. “Apart from feeling sticky from the champagne, that is. I am angry that you manipulated me, but I understand why you did it. I would have – and did – the same thing, when I thought our positions to be reversed.”
“So without the worry of losing Kalem, you wouldn’t have come to my bed.”
“And you wouldn’t have married me. Yet here we are.”
Darkness saturated his being. “Here we are.” It was impossible for Malakhi to define his emotional response. “What exactly did she say to you?”
Evie expelled a soft breath. “That’s really between her and me.”
Surprise tempered his mood. “You are saying you won’t tell me?”
She nodded slowly. “I don’t think she spoke wisely.” Evie considered her explanation. “In fact, I’d put money on the fact that she regrets what she said today.” She moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. “But if I were to tell you, I doubt you’d take the same view.”
His pupils dilated with barely concealed impatience. “Should it not be my decision? If I wish to react harshly to whatever she’d said …”
“No.” Evie turned away from him and padded, barefoot, across the palatial space. Her dress pulled at her as she went, revealing her slender figure beneath the swathes of linen. “Because I think you’re angry I found out about the will. You feel, rightfully, that you betrayed Sabra’s wishes by lying to me. I think you’ll take that emotion out on Leilani.”
He felt as though he’d been punched in the solar plexus. Were he another man, he might have been able to agree with her; to tell her that’s just how he felt. But a man like His Royal Highness, Supreme Sheikh Malkahi Sitar-Omari? It wasn’t in his personality to confess fault.
“Whatever you may think of my feelings and actions, you assumed a role this weekend and that role brings with it an inherent right to respect.”
She made a small, tight laugh. “Let’s give your mistress a period of grace to adjust to that, hmm?”
“She is not my mistress.”
“But she has been for a very long time. And perhaps she will be again.”
Malakhi narrowed his eyes. “Is that what she told you? Did she threaten to come between us?”
“There is no us,” Evie warned carefully.
“You are my wife.”
“Yes, and to almost all of Ishala, that fact will not be in dispute. But there are some people who must know the truth. Leilani is one of them.”
His temper was rising; he hadn’t known himself capable of such darkness but it chewed at him now, coating his insides with rancid disgust. “Leilani is not relevant. She is nothing to me. Nothing to you. From this moment forward I wish you never to speak her name nor think of her again.”
“Fine,” Evie shrugged, again pretending that this would be easy – that she truly didn’t care.
It did nothing to help his mood. “And you are to tell me if she ever threatens you.”
Evie’s eyes startled to his and in that one swift reaction he saw everything she hadn’t shared. He saw her fear and resolve; her strength and vulnerabilities. “She didn’t threaten me.”
“You are lying to me now,” he deduced coldly. “And our marriage will not become a lie.”
“It already is,” she disputed rationally. “You lied about the necessity of marrying you.” She lifted a hand to forestall his objection. “I understand why you did it, but you still lied.”
In his life, he had never been spoken to with such frankness.
“So let’s just get on with it.” She propped her bottom on the edge of her dressing table, her eyes scanning his face thoughtfully.
He nodded as though her proclamation made sense, but he was turning the problem over in his mind. “So tomorrow we go on our honeymoon.”
“As planned,” she agreed, her heart feeling shredding by a mincer.
Malakhi, on the brink of uttering something incredibly stupid, spun on his heel and stormed from the room, slamming a second door that hour.
* * *
Three weeks into their trip, Evie awoke with a start.
It was a warm night, but it was longing and anxiety that had caused her to stir suddenly.
She awoke sometime before dawn, her body coated in perspiration, and sat up straight in her bed. Though it wasn’t really a bed, she reminded herself, despite the luxurious furnishings and comfortable softness that had enveloped her all night.
The camp was just that: a camp. Several tents erected in the middle of a Bedouin community: desert sands stretching wide on either side, a few trees to provide an interesting horizon, and the stars overhead.
She pushed aside thoughts of how she might have felt, had things been different, yet her eyes still shifted to her husband. Lying beside her, his arms thrown carelessly above his head, his face tilted away from her, she felt her breath snag in her throat at the sight of his broad shoulders.
Her gut clenched and despite every reason she had to despise him, she wanted him. She wanted as much of him as he was willing to give for as long as he was willing to offer it.
With a determined shake of her head, she stood from the mattress. There was no sand underfoot; their tent was the last word in luxury. A rich burgundy carpet covered the entire floor, and the tent itself was the size of an apartment. She stretched her arms overhead, luxuriating for a moment in the freedom of her nudity before reaching for the outfit her maids had laid out for her the night before. She dressed quickly and silently and, with one last look at her sleeping husband, separated the calico doors and slipped into the desert.
The vastness was amazing.
She stared up at the sky and she thought of Sabra and Dave and the energy that had filled their souls. It was the kind of energy that surely had to have been put somewhere. They were both too vital to have simply died and been lost.
She nodded at a guard as she moved further from her tent. Theirs had been erected on the edges of the Bedouin city. In the distance she could see hundreds of smaller tents, some white like theirs, others striped with bright colours. The inky sky set the differences off, rendering the scene with an almost painting-like quality.
Just to her left, a little away from the village, there was a spindly old tree. With its far-reaching branches and long, slim leaves, it reminded her a little of the gum trees of home.
Home.
She closed her eyes sadly on the very thought.
Where was home, really?
For she could never again return to Brisbane, with its humidity and tropical gardens. And she would never feel at home here. Would she?
A frown tugged at her lips as she moved down a small sand dune. The heat had already begun to lick the earth but there was still enough of the desert night’s chill to leave her comfortable. The sun was the real problem, with its unrelenting focus.
The truth was, and she was becoming brave enough to acknowledge it, this wondrous country was beginning to feel more and more familiar to her. Three weeks of travelling and meeting the people, of seeing the small communities that worked tirelessly to keep the country strong, and she had fallen in love.
“Madam?”
She turned at the sound of a servant’s voice, a bland expression of inquiry on her tired face. It hid a growing sense of impatience at her inability to ever be alone.
He seemed to hesitate though, and Evie took pity on him. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said softly. “I wanted to go for a walk before the rest of the camp stirs.”
“Of course, madam.” He bowed a little and Evie began to move again, conscious now that her serenity and contemplation had been snipped in two by her unwanted companion. It wasn’t his fault, she reasoned, turning towards the village with its colourful tents and strange, exotic smells. She was now a powerful woman and, despite the fact Ishala enjoyed political peace, she was also a target for threats, she supposed.
A young boy ran past as Evie rounded a corner, almost skittling her to the ground. The guard captured him by the shoulders and barked at him in their own language. Evie was slowly learning more and more of it, but it was spoken so loudly and quickly now that she caught only the gist.
“It’s okay,” she intervened, quickly walking back towards the guard so that she could disentangle his fingers from the child’s shoulders. She studied his grubby little face and a smile played on her lips. There was a mischief in his eyes, and a sweetness in his expression, that reminded her of Kalem. “I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she said.
The guard immediately stepped backwards, contrite. “Yes, madam.”
Evie crouched down, so that her eyes met the boy’s. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
He looked at her, confused, and lifted a finger to Evie’s cheek. He touched her fair skin, and the guard moved closer, ready to intervene should it be necessary.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “He’s just curious.”
The boy – he might have been seven years old – lifted his fingers higher, to her hair. She hadn’t brushed it that morning and it was a riot of auburn waves around her face. “Fash-lasiyati,” He said, his eyes enormous as he looked from Evie to the guard.
“What is this?” She smiled at the boy, waiting for the guard to translate.
The guard was grinning. “It is difficult to translate.”
She arched a brow and sent him a look of amusement. “Try?”
“It means Magical Temptress.” At the sound of Malakhi’s deep voice, Evie startled and the little boy looked as though he might pass out. He began to shiver on the spot and then he fell to the sand, throwing his face against it and spreading his arms forward.
And though Malakhi had done nothing wrong, Evie’s look was full of cold disapproval. “You’ve frightened him,” she said crossly, crouching down and putting a hand reassuringly on the boy’s back. “Tell him not to do that.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Evie that such displays of deference were normal amongst his people, particularly amongst the impoverished Bedouin tribes, but her demeanour forestalled the comment. Instead, he crouched beside her and spoke softly, as he might to a frightened stallion. “Please, stand back up,” he said in his language.
The boy immediately obeyed, but he remained terrified.
Evie stood, brushing her hands on her pants. She had enjoyed the little boy’s interest but with her husband’s arrival, an air of tension had wrapped around her heart. “Please tell him it was lovely to meet him.”
Malakhi, cast as her translator, fought a grimace before doing as she’d bid.
The little boy’s eyes moved to Evie’s face and he relaxed visibly. He leaned forward, pressing a hand to her wrist. Malakhi stiffened and the guard did likewise. Evie, however, reached down and wrapped her fingers around his little hand.
He said something in his beautiful foreign words and then skipped away.
Before she could ask, Malakhi said, “He believes you are a fairy creature. Too pretty to be a woman.”
Evie laughed and shook her head, watching him go. “What a sweetie.”
The guard took a respectful step backwards, enforcing their solitude. Evie cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the tent city. Though Malakhi hadn’t criticised her, she said defensively, “I wanted to have a walk before we move on.”
He suppressed a sigh for he knew she would take it as yet another insult. “It’s a nice morning,” he murmured.
“It’s hot.”
He took a step towards her and she startled, her eyes flicking to the guard.
“I’d like to go back now.”
“Of course.” He wouldn’t let his irritation show, though he felt it keenly.
Her mood didn’t improve for the next two days. By the time they arrived back at the palace, the tension between them was thick enough to sever with a sword.
Malakhi saw her safely deposited in their suite and then moved back to the door.
“I have work to catch up on.”
“Sure,” she said, not looking in his direction. Her fingers were busy with the tie of her robe. He watched as she pulled on it, her cheeks pink, her brow dotted with sweat.
“Do you need help?”
“No,” she snapped, and then, her blush deepening, she added, “Thank you.”
He gritted his teeth as he left. They had been married less than a month and they were barely speaking. What the hell did that mean for the rest of their lives?