The Desert Bride of Al Zayed / Best Man's Conquest: The Desert Bride of Al Zayed / Best Man's Conquest

There was a flatness to Tariq’s tone that had Jayne shooting him a questioning look. There must be pain about his mother’s desertion. Somewhere. Deep inside him. They’d been married, yet she’d never been aware of this suffering within him.

“There is no space in her life for me or my father,” he said, feeding Noor another sliver of meat. “Nor would my father want her back.”

“Perhaps it’s not a case of wanting her back. Perhaps it’s more about wanting to tie off the loose ends in his life before he dies.”

“You misheard. My father would never want my mother back in Zayed.” The finality in Tariq’s tone warned Jayne that the subject of his mother was better left alone.

Absently Jayne watched the bird preen, her beak stroking through her feathers, setting them right. “I’m sorry I mentioned it. I just thought you might know who your father confused me with.”

“It doesn’t surprise me that he confused you.” A hand touched her hair. Jayne’s gaze jerked upward. Emotion flared in his eyes. “You both have long, dark hair and pale ivory skin.”

“I’ve never seen a photo of your mother.” Jayne was sure his mother would be beautiful. Nothing like her. Ordinary. Plain Jayne.

“There are no pictures in the palace of my mother. As there are none of you. Both of you treacherous, two-timing—”

Jayne shifted abruptly. “I’m not listening to this. I was prepared to discuss this in the past. You wouldn’t listen then and I’m not getting caught up in it all over again.” He’d stonewalled her then, breaking her heart. “It’s water under the bridge.”

Water under the bridge.

The painful memories exploded inside her. She swung away from Tariq and made blindly for the exit to the mews, to where shafts of silver sunlight broke into the gloomy interior, lighting her escape. No footsteps followed. And she was glad.

She didn’t want to talk about the baby that she’d carried in her body. The baby she’d lost. It hurt too much. It was something she could never forget, something that stayed with her every day of her life.

But what choice had she had?

The day dragged past. Jayne had bought some magazines at the airport in Auckland to read on the plane and she flicked through them listlessly. She itched for a book to read, but Tariq’s library was a place she dared not go. It held too many unpleasant reminders of his distrust.

So she lay down on the bed and dozed, until every last wisp of jetlag had lifted. When the knock sounded on the door late in the afternoon, heralding Latifa’s entrance, Jayne was ready for a distraction.

“There are many people in the palace this evening. His Excellency has been kept busy all day.” Latifa’s young eyes were kind and wise beyond their years. “I am sure Sheikh Tariq is looking forward to seeing the sheikhah tonight. There has been much talking today.”

This was what had driven her mad the first time round. The long days with no sign of Tariq. The absence of anything to do, while the men closed themselves behind high carved wooden doors, wearing sombre expressions. And few of the women she’d met had spoken English, even though some had seemed nice enough. But apart from one or two invitations none had made any overtures of friendship to her.

In the past Tariq had told her to be patient. That she would make friends in time, that her loneliness would ease.

If only it had been so simple.

“Look, this came for you today.” Latifa produced the box with the air of a magician performing a wondrous trick that deserved squeals of delight. Jayne didn’t have the heart not to smile.

“What is it?”

“It is most beautiful.” Latifa opened the lid to reveal a caftan and sheer hijab in shades of emerald shot through with bronze thread. “There are shoes to match and pants.” She pulled out the high-heeled pumps like a rabbit from a hat. “And more clothes will arrive in the morning.”

“I don’t want clothes,” Jayne protested.

But once dressed, Jayne had to admit that the colour suited her. The green accentuated the raven highlights in her hair, and her skin was paler than ever. Mascara, and a hint of kajal around her eyes to emphasise the shape, and she was ready to go. Draping the hijab across her shoulders and leaving her hair uncovered, she made her way downstairs, through the labyrinth of palace corridors.

The long table in the stateroom was laid with cutlery that gleamed in the light of the heavy chandeliers overhead. Men from the large delegation that Latifa had alluded to were already arriving; some in dark suits with only the traditional headgear, while others wore traditional dress. A few women were scattered around. A quick glance revealed that Tariq was nowhere to be seen.

An aide appeared and directed Jayne to where two vacant seats remained down the length of the table. Jayne kept her head down, aware of the speculative glances she was attracting. She was grateful for the welcoming smile from the woman seated to the left of her and they started to chat.

The woman introduced herself as Farrah Jirah in fluent English. It turned out that she was a doctor who practised in the maternity unit of the local hospital. Jayne found her charming, and she stopped worrying about where Tariq was.

When Tariq finally strode in, flanked by Ali and Mahood, Jayne could tell from the taut way he held himself that the latest round of meetings had not gone well.

Tariq’s gaze flashed to the top of the table, took in the empty place at the head. His brow drew into a frown as he scanned the surrounding seats. The tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly when he saw her.

Jayne turned back to talk to her friendly neighbour. A moment later she sensed someone beside her.

“Are you okay?”

It was Tariq. He looked tired, the lines around his mouth more deeply scored than they had been this morning, and his eyes held concern.

“I’m fine. You look tired.”

A ghost of a smile flitted over his harsh features. “It’s been a hard day.”

“I won’t even ask how whatever meetings you had went.” Ali and Mahood were trouble. Vipers. She’d known that since the first time she’d met them. And Ali’s daughter, Leila, was pure poison. Tariq was welcome to her.

Tariq sighed and said softly, “Ali is a powerful force in Zayed.”

Jayne nodded. Ali controlled a lot of the northern territory, making him an important player.

“He can’t be ignored,” Tariq continued. “But he is disruptive. And this latest skirmish Ali and Mahood have gotten into over grazing rights with Sheikh Karim al Bashir is going to cause headaches.”

“Are they fighting?”

“It hasn’t turned violent yet. But Ali claims that Sheikh Karim is threatening war.” Impatience showed in Tariq’s eyes. “The sooner I intervene, the better.”

Jayne felt a flutter of pity for him, for the predicament that Ali and his brother had put Tariq in. “But what about your father? You can’t leave him now.”

“My father wouldn’t want this disagreement to flare out of control. We can’t afford to be at war with Bashir. He will understand.”

“Why can’t Ali and Mahood understand that you’re needed here?”

He looked at her. “No one understands that. Only you. To every one else my duty to Zayed must come before all else—even my father. And now you must excuse me, nuur il-en, I must claim my seat at the head of the table before Ali usurps it.”

Ali was sitting in the vacant chair at the top of the table, his head close to the man on his right, conspiring no doubt. Jayne shifted her attention to Tariq, watched him rise from beside her, his traditional robes swirling around him, the white ghutra over his head secured by the doubled black cord that made him look more formidable than ever. She pitied Ali and Mahood if they unleashed his full ire.

She picked at her food until she sensed someone seating themselves in the place Tariq had vacated, and turned her head. The welcoming smile she’d prepared shrivelled as she met the frigid gaze of Sheikh Ali.

The dinner dragged on and Tariq found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation swirling around him. His attention was riveted on his wife. He watched as she said something to Ali. But the response caused her to sag. What had Ali said to make her skin grow so pale?

As the meal progressed his attention kept straying back. Most of the time Jayne spent chatting to the woman on her left, Dr. Farrah Jirah was a nice enough woman and he’d hoped she might befriend Jayne. He relaxed as he saw Jayne smile. But then stiffened again when he noted that the few times she attempted to talk to Ali her attempts were rebuffed. Ali was flouting the social norms of Zayedi politeness at a meal table. As host, Tariq was within his rights to request Ali to leave. Tariq’s frown grew more and more thunderous, until his dinner partners started to regard him with increasing wariness.

Ali said something to Jayne. She glanced down, and Tariq saw the wash of colour high on her ivory cheeks. He started to rise. But Jayne beat him to it. Pushing back her chair, she was on her feet before he could move. By the time he reached the elaborate carved doors flanked by two palace guards, she was already gone.

He charged into the corridor, saw her disappearing into the study he’d had an aide show her to earlier in the day. With long raking strides he set off after her.