The Sheikh's Jewel. Melissa James
of expulsion, and the Internet was strictly patrolled.
She only wished she knew what to do …
More than that, she wished she knew him at all—that he could have taken an hour out of his busy schedule to get to know her.
In the end, she’d had the few months’ wait she’d asked for, but it hadn’t been for her sake, nor had they had any time to know each other better. The el-Shabbat family hadn’t reckoned with Harun’s swift action when they’d invaded the city. Handing the day-to-day work to his intended father-in-law, Harun had taken control of the army personally. Leading his men into battle using both the ancient and modern rules of warfare he’d learned since boyhood, Harun had gained the adoration of his people by being constantly in the thick of the fierce fighting, expecting and giving no quarter. The whispers in women’s rooms were that he bore new scars on his body: badges of the highest honour. He’d spent no more than a night in the hastily erected Army hospital. Every time he’d been injured, come morning he’d returned to the battle without a word.
Within eight weeks he’d completely quelled the rebellion. By forgiving the followers of the el-Shabbat family and letting them return to their homes with little if any punishment and no public embarrassment, he’d earned their loyalty, his new title—and Amber’s deep respect. By assuming control of the el-Shabbat fortune and yet caring for the women and children the dead enemy had left behind, he’d earned the love as well as the respect of his people.
If Alim was their beloved lion, Harun had become Habib Numara, their beloved tiger. ‘It’s a good omen for his marriage, with his bride coming from Araba Numara,’ the servants said, smiling at her. ‘It will be a fruitful union blessed by God.’
And in the weeks since then, as he’d put down the final shadows of the rebellion and with rare political skill brought together nation and people once more, Harun had had less time for her than Fadi had done. In fact he still barely spoke to her at all; but though he’d never said a word about his heroism on the field, he’d earned Amber’s deep, reluctant admiration. If she still harboured regrets over Alim’s disappearance, Harun’s name now had the power to make her heart beat faster. He’d proved his worthiness without a word of bragging. She was ready to endure what she must tonight, and become the mother of his children.
As the main door opened the maid rushed to leave the room.
Sick to her stomach with nerves, she turned to where he stood—and her breath caught. It was strange, but it was only on the day she’d seen him returning to Sar Abbas as a national hero that she’d truly taken in his deep resemblance to Alim. A quiet, serious version, perhaps, but as, in his army uniform, he smiled and waved to the people cheering him in the streets, she’d seen his face as if for the first time.
Now, she struggled not to stare at him. So handsome and strong in his groom’s finery, yet so dark and mysterious with those glittering forest-green eyes. She groped with one hand to the bedpost to gain balance suddenly lacking in her knees. He was the man who’d come home a hero. He was—magnificent. He was hers.
‘None of you will listen or stand nearby,’ he snapped at the walls, and she was filled with gratitude when she heard the shuffle of many feet moving away.
Lost in awe, she faltered in her traditional greeting, but bowed in the traditional show of deep respect. ‘M-my husband, I …’ She didn’t know how to go on, but surely he’d understand how she felt?
Without a change of expression from the serious, cool appraisal, he closed the door behind him, and offered her a brief smile. ‘Sit down, please, Amber.’
Grateful for his understanding, she dropped to the bed, wondering if he’d take it as a sign, or was she being too brazen? She only wished she knew how to go on.
He gave her a slow, thoughtful glance, taking in every inch of her, and she squirmed in embarrassment. Her heart beat like a bird trying to escape its cage as she waited for Harun to come to her, to kiss her or however it was this thing began. ‘Well?’ she demanded in a haughty tone, covering her rush of nerves with a show of pride, showing him she was worthy of him: a princess to the core. ‘Do I pass your inspection, Habib Numara?’
For a moment, she thought Harun might actually smile as he hadn’t done since the hero’s return. There was a telltale glimmer in his eyes she’d noticed when he was in a rare, relaxed moment. Then, just as she was about to smile back, it vanished. ‘You have to know you’re a beautiful woman, Amber. Exquisite, in fact.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, her voice losing its power. He thought her exquisite? Something inside her melted—
He turned from her, and, drawing out a thin wreath of papers from a fold of his robe, sat at her desk. ‘This should cover the necessary time. I forgot my pen, though. Do you happen to have one handy, my dear?’
Her mouth fell open as he began perusing whatever work he’d brought with him. He’d brought work to their wedding night? ‘In the second drawer,’ she responded, feeling incredibly stupid, but what else could she say?
‘Thank you,’ he replied, his tone absent. He pulled out one of her collection of pens and began reading, scrolling up and down the pages with his finger, and making notes in the margins.
She blinked, blinked again, unable to believe what she was seeing. ‘Harun …’ Then she faltered to a stop.
After at least ten seconds, he stopped writing. ‘Hmm …? Did you say something, Amber?’ His tone was the cold politeness of a man who didn’t want to be disturbed.
‘Yes, I did,’ she retorted, furious. At least five different things leaped to her mouth. What do you mean by covering the necessary time? What is it with the el-Kanar men? This is our wedding night!
Don’t you want me?
But at the thought of asking it, her confused outrage turned cold inside her, making her ache. Why should this brother want me when the other two didn’t?
What’s wrong with me?
But what came from her mouth, born of the stubborn pride that was her backbone in a world where she’d had beautiful clothes and surroundings but as much control over her destiny as a piece of furniture or a child’s doll, she stated coldly, ‘If there’s no blood on the sheet tomorrow, the servants will talk. It will be around both our countries in hours. People will blame me, or worse, assume I wasn’t a virgin. Will you shame me that way, when I’ve done nothing wrong?’
His back stiffened for a moment.
Amber felt the change in the air, words hovering on his lips. How she knew that about him, when they’d still barely spoken, she had no idea, but whatever he’d been about to say vanished in an instant.
‘I see,’ he said slowly, with only a very slight weariness in the inflection. ‘Of course they will.’
He stood and stripped off his kafta, revealing his nakedness, and Amber’s heart took wings again. Magnificent? Even with the scars across his back and stomach he was breathtaking, a battle-hardened warrior sheathed in darkest gold, masculinely beautiful and somehow terrifying. Involuntarily she shrank back on the bed, wishing she’d found another place to sit. I’m not ready for this … please, Harun, be gentle with me …
She couldn’t breathe, watching him come to her.
But he walked around the bed as if she weren’t there. He didn’t touch her, didn’t even look at her. At the other side of the bed, he put something down, and used both his hands to sweep all the rose petals from the coverlet. ‘I don’t like the smell. Cloying.’
‘I like it,’ she said, halfway between defiance and stupidity.
He shrugged and stopped brushing them away. ‘It’s your bed.’ Then he lifted the thing he’d put on the bed: a ceremonial knife, beautifully scrolled in gold and silver.
‘What’s that … Harun …?’ Her jaw dropped; she