“Your father and you have forgotten tradition, our roots, the very fabric that makes the Bedouin life.”
Every word, spoken in a soft yet steely tone, was true.
To assume that they would have harmed a hair on Lauren, on any woman, pregnant or otherwise, had been pure ignorance and blind prejudice.
The tribes were known for their hospitality, their generosity to even an enemy requesting shelter, legendary.
“We give our women protection, a respectable place in life. Not keep them as prisoners or mistresses.”
That statement lashed against his sense of honor.
Knowing the route to the oasis like the back of his hand, he chanced a glance at Lauren. Her head tilted back against the seat, and her eyes closed, he saw the resolute tilt of her chin, the long line of her throat, her fingers laced tightly in her lap.
Still, there was a knot in his chest, a leftover from his fear for her and the baby.
“This woman carrying your child is brave, kind, strong...” the chief had said. “Marry her, Zafir. Make her your sheikha and we will end this enmity between the tribes and the state. We will forget what your father did to one of our daughters.”
Bringing the tribes back into the fold would be the advantage he needed. Not even the High Council could fault his power, or his reign then. For he would be fixing a fracture in the very fabric of their nation.
Behraat would be strong and one again, after three decades of being torn apart by his father’s selfish and scandalous pursuit of a young, innocent woman from the tribes.
All he had to do was marry the woman carrying his child, the woman that set fire to his blood, the woman who...
Might hate to be used as a pawn in his game for power, his conscience piped up.
It is a gift, Zafir, some devil inside his head said. It’s the one gift you have received in your hard, betrayed, duty-bound, cursed life, it whispered.
Lauren and this child and the ability to finally unite Behraat and rule it, it was all a gift.
She had always wanted his commitment, a definition to their relationship, hadn’t she?
Here it was. The biggest commitment he had ever made, except to Behraat.
He couldn’t squander this gift.
Not if it would bring legitimacy to his child and his power.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY TRAVELED ON for what seemed like the better part of an hour. Lauren fidgeted in her seat, trying to work out a kink in her shoulder.
“Are you uncomfortable?” Came the instant question from Zafir.
“I’m fine.”
The track vanished halfway through, until it seemed as if they climbed hundreds of feet up a giant ocher sand mound that offered panoramic views of the desert floor and then suddenly evened out again.
Her eyes wide, Lauren took in the landscape as the jeep came to a halt.
Miles and miles of rippled, undulating dunes rose in all four directions, the harsh beauty of it stealing her breath. Against the backdrop of the desolate sands lay a lush encampment, eons away in scale and quality from the Dahab’s tents, a stark contrast to the stretching emptiness.
Tall palms behind the two curved tents formed a dense circular perimeter as far as she could see. The early evening sun streaked everything reddish orange.
It was breathtaking, tremendous, and it made her concerns seem so small.
She pulled out her cell phone. But remembered her battery had drained a few hours after she had arrived at the Dahab camp.
Hearing Zafir’s tread, she turned around. “Do you have your phone?”
He looked at her outstretched hand, beating a path up her arm, her neck and then settling on her face. Something shimmered in his eyes then. A possessive glint. A triumphant light that sent goose bumps over her skin even under the relentless heat. “It’s a little late to call for help.” But he pulled his phone out.
Grabbing the phone from his hand, she turned around to click a selfie with the dazzling encampment behind her. She knew she was acting a little juvenile and a lot irreverent tourist but after that glimpse of fire in his eyes and the absence of another soul around for as far as she could see, she wasn’t eager to go into the tent.
“Is there no one else here?”
Something gleamed in his eyes. “The servants are trained to be not seen or heard.”
Which didn’t help her any. “Could you take a pic for me?”
“A pic?” he repeated with quiet murder in his tone.
“Yes.” She placed her hands on her hips. “And no, I won’t sell pictures of the Sheikh of Behraat’s oasis hideaway in the desert even if I was paid a million dollars.” She swiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead. “As far as I can see, there’s no interrogation room here either, so come on.”
With a sudden movement that made her heart crawl to her throat, he grabbed the phone from her hand, and marched to the entrance and held the flap open.