Читать книгу The Tarnished Jewel of Jazaar - Susanna Carr - Страница 7

DARKNESS descended on the desert as the black SUV came to a halt in front of the village’s inn, a large but plain building. The arches and columns that guarded the courtyard were decorated with flower garlands. Strands of lights were wrapped around thick palm trees. Sheikh Nadir ibn Shihab heard the native music beyond the columns. In the distance, fireworks shot off and sprayed into the night sky, announcing his arrival.

It was time to meet his bride.

Nadir felt no excitement. There was no curiosity and no dread. Having a wife was a means to an end. It was not an emotional choice but a civilized arrangement. An arrangement he was making because of one rash, emotional reaction two years ago.

He pushed his thoughts aside. He wasn’t going to think about the injustice now. With this marriage he would repair his reputation and no one would question his commitment to the traditional way of life in the kingdom of Jazaar.

Nadir stepped out of the car and his dishdasha was plastered against his muscular body as his black cloak whipped in the strong wind. The white headdress billowed behind him. Nadir found the traditional clothes confining, but today he wore them out of respect to custom.

He saw his younger brother approach. Nadir smiled at the unusual sight of Rashid wearing traditional garb. They greeted each other with an embrace.

“You are very late for your wedding,” Rashid said in a low and confidential tone.

“It doesn’t start until I arrive,” Nadir replied as he pulled back.

Rashid shook his head at his brother’s arrogance. “I mean it, Nadir. This is not the way to make amends with the tribe.”

“I’m aware of it. I got here as quickly as I could.” He had spent most of his wedding day negotiating with two warring tribes over a sacred spot of land. It was more important than a wedding feast. Even if it was his own wedding.

“That’s not good enough for the elders,” Rashid said as they walked toward the hotel. “In their eyes you showed them the ultimate disrespect two years ago. They won’t forgive your tardiness.”

Nadir was not in the mood to be lectured by his younger brother. “I’m marrying the woman of their choice, aren’t I?”

The marriage was a political alliance with an influential tribe who both respected and feared him. Nadir had heard that his nickname in this part of the desert was The Beast. And, like mere mortals who knew they had angered a demon god, the elders were willing to sacrifice a young virgin as his bride.

Nadir approached the row of elders, who were dressed in their finest. Glimpsing the solemn faces of the older men, Nadir knew Rashid was right. They were not happy with him. If this tribe wasn’t so important for his plans to modernize the country, Nadir would ignore their existence.

“My humblest apologies.” Nadir greeted the elders, bowing low and offering his deepest regrets for his tardiness. He didn’t care if these men felt slighted by his delay, but he went through the motions.

He had no use for the prolonged greeting ritual, but he had to be diplomatic. He was already battling political retribution from the elders, and had countered it by showing a willingness to marry a woman from their tribe. That maneuver should have improved relations with the tribal leaders, but Nadir sensed they were anything but honored.

The elders politely ushered him into the courtyard as the ancient chant accompanied by drums pulsed in the air. It tugged at something deep in Nadir, but he wasn’t going to join in. While the guests were happy that the Sheikh was marrying one of their own, he wasn’t pleased about the turn of events.

“Do you know anything about the bride?” Rashid whispered into Nadir’s ear. “What if she’s unsuitable?”

“It’s not important,” Nadir quietly informed his brother. “I have no plans to live as husband and wife. I will marry her and take her to bed, but once the wedding ceremonies are over she will live in the harem at the Sultan’s palace. She will have everything she needs and I’ll have my freedom. If all goes well we will never set eyes on each other again.”

Nadir surveyed the crowd. Men were on one side of the aisle, dressed in white, chanting and clapping as they provoked the women on the other side to dance faster. The women’s side was a riot of color liberally streaked with gold. The women silently taunted the men, their hips undulating to the edge of propriety. Their loose-fitting garments stretched and strained over voluptuous curves.

His presence was suddenly felt. He felt the ripple of awareness through the crowd. The music ended abruptly as everyone froze, staring at him. He felt like an unwelcome guest at his own wedding.

Nadir was used to seeing wariness in the eyes of everyone from statesmen to servants. International businesses accused him of being as devious as a jackal when he thwarted their attempts to steal Jazaar’s resources. Journalists declared that he enforced the Sultan’s law with the ruthless sting of a scorpion’s tail. He had even been compared to a viper when he’d protected Jazaar with unwavering aggression from bloodthirsty rebels. His countrymen might be afraid to look him in the eye, but they knew he would take care of them by any means necessary.

Nadir strode down the aisle with Rashid one step behind him. The guests slowly regained their festive spirits, singing loudly as they showered him with rose petals. They seemed indecently relieved that his three-day marriage ceremony had commenced. He frowned at the men’s wide smiles and the women’s high-pitched trills. It was as if they believed they had appeased The Beast’s hunger.

He kept his gaze straight ahead on the end of the courtyard. A dais sat in the center. A couple of divans flanked two golden throne-like chairs. His bride sat in one, waiting for him with her head tucked low and her hands in her lap.

Nadir slowed down when he saw that his bride wore an ethnic wedding dress in deep crimson. A heavy veil concealed her hair and framed her face before cascading down her shoulders and arms. Her fitted bodice was encrusted with gold beads, hinting at the small breasts and slender waist underneath. Her delicate hands, decorated with an ornate henna design, lay against the voluminous brocade skirt.

He frowned as he studied the woman. There was something different, something wrong about the bride. He halted in the middle of the aisle as the realization hit him like a clap of thunder.

“Nadir!” Rashid whispered harshly.

“I see.” His tone was low and fierce as the shock reverberated inside him.

The woman before him was no Jazaari bride, fit for a sheikh.

She was an outcast. A woman no man would marry.

The tribal leaders had tricked him. Nadir stood very still as his anger flared. He had agreed to marry a woman of the tribe’s choosing in a gesture of good faith. In return they had given him the American orphaned niece of one of their families.

It was an insult, he thought grimly as he ruthlessly reined in his emotions. It was also a message. The tribe thought that Nadir was too Western and modern to appreciate a traditional Jazaari bride.

“How dare they?” Rashid said in growl. “We’re leaving now. Once the Sultan hears about this we will formally shun this tribe and—”

“No.” Nadir’s decision was swift and certain. He didn’t like it, but all his instincts told him it was for the greater good. “I accepted their choice.”

“Nadir, you don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

The tribe expected him to refuse this woman as his bride. They wanted him to defy tradition and prove that he didn’t appreciate the Jazaari way of life.

He couldn’t do that. Not again.

And the elders knew it.

Nadir’s eyes narrowed into slits. He would accept this unworthy woman as his bride. And once the wedding was over he would destroy the elders in this tribe one by one.

“I must protest,” Rashid said. “A sheikh does not marry an outcast.”

“I agree, but I need a bride, and any woman from this tribe will do. One woman is just as much trouble as the next.”

“But …”

“Don’t worry, Rashid. I am changing my plans. I won’t let her live in the Sultan’s palace. I will send her into seclusion at the palace in the mountains.” He would hide this woman—and any evidence that he had been shamed by this tribe. No one would ever know how he had paid a huge dowry for such an inferior bride.

Nadir forced his feet to move, his white-hot anger turning to ice as he approached his bride. He noticed that the woman’s face was pale against her dark red lips and kohled eyes. A thick rope of rubies and diamonds edged along her hairline. She had a tangle of necklaces around her throat and a long column of gold bangles on both arms.

She was dressed like a Jazaari bride, but it was obvious that she wasn’t the real thing. Her downcast eyes and prim posture couldn’t hide her bold nature. There was a defiant tilt to her head and a brash energy about her.

The woman also had an earthy sexiness, he decided. A proper bride would be shy and modest. She looked like a mysterious and exotic maiden who should be dancing barefoot by a bonfire on a dark desert night.

His bride cautiously glanced from beneath her lashes and he captured her startled gaze. Nadir felt the impact as their eyes clashed and held.

Zoe Martin’s blood raced painfully through her veins as she stared into dark, hypnotic eyes. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t look away. The eyes darkened. She felt as if she was caught in a swirling storm.

Please don’t let this be the man I am marrying! She needed to trick and manipulate her husband throughout their honeymoon, but she could tell immediately this man was too dangerous for her plans.

Sheikh Nadir ibn Shihab wasn’t handsome. His features were too hard, too primitive. His face was all lines and angles, from his Bedouin nose to the forceful thrust of his jaw. His cheekbones slashed down his face and a cleft scored his chin. There was a hint of softness in his full lips, but the cynical curl at the edge of his mouth warned of his impatience. She had no doubt that everyone kept a distance from him or suffered the brunt of his venomous barbs.

The pearl-white of the Sheikh’s dishdasha contrasted with his golden-brown skin and it couldn’t conceal his long, tapered body. Every move he made drew her attention to his lean and compact muscles. Zoe decided that his elegant appearance was deceiving. She had no doubt that he had been brought up in a world of wealth and privilege, but this man belonged to the harsh and unforgiving desert. He had the desert’s stark beauty and its cruelty.

The Sheikh showed no expression, no emotion, but she felt a biting hot energy slamming against her. Zoe flinched, her skin stinging from his bold gaze. She wanted to rub her arms and wrap them protectively around her. She felt the inexplicable need to slough off his claim.

Claim? A flash of fear gripped Zoe as her chest tightened. Why did it feel like that? The Sheikh hadn’t touched her yet.

She had the sudden overwhelming need to turn and run as fast as she could to escape. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breath rasped in her constricted throat, and although every self-preservation instinct told her to flee, she couldn’t move.

“As-Salamu Alaykum,” Nadir greeted as he sat down next to her.

Zoe shivered at the rough, masculine sound. His voice was soft, but the commanding tone coiled around her body, tugging at something dark and unknown inside her. The muscles low in her abdomen tingled with awareness.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said with cool politeness.

Zoe gave a start, her excess of gold jewelry chiming from her sudden move. He’d spoken to her in English. It had been so long since she’d heard her mother tongue. Unshed tears suddenly stung her eyes and she struggled to regain her composure.

She shouldn’t have been surprised that the Sheikh spoke English. He’d been educated in the United States, traveled frequently, and knew several languages as well as all the dialects spoken in Jazaar. His need to travel internationally was one of the reasons why she had agreed to marry him.

But curiosity got the better of her. She couldn’t imagine this man doing something thoughtful without getting something in return. Her voice wavered as she asked, “Why are you speaking to me in English?”

“You are American. It’s your language.”

She gave a curt nod and kept her head down, her gaze focused on her clenched hands. It had been her language once. Until her uncle had forbidden it. “It isn’t spoken here,” she whispered.

“That’s why I’m using it,” Nadir said in an uninterested tone as he surveyed the courtyard. “English will be just our language and no one will know what we’re saying.”

Ah, now she understood. He wanted to create an immediate bond between them. Or at least the illusion of one. It was a clever strategy, but she wasn’t going to fall for it.

“I’m not supposed to talk during the ceremony,” she reminded him.

She sensed his attention back on her. The energy crackling between them grew sharper. “But I want you to talk.”

Right. Was this some sort of test to see if she was a good Jazaari bride? “My aunts gave me strict orders to keep my head down and my mouth shut.”

“Whose opinions are more important to you?” She heard the arrogance in his voice. “Your aunts’ or your husband’s?”

Neither, she wanted to say. It was tempting, but she knew she had to play the game. “I will do as you wish.” She nearly choked on the words.

His chuckle was rough and masculine. “Keep saying that and we’ll get along just fine.”

Zoe clenched her teeth, preventing herself from giving a sharp reply. She swallowed her retort just in time as the first elder came onto the dais. As she’d expected, the older man ignored her and spoke only to the Sheikh.

She stared at her hands in her lap and slowly squeezed her fingers together. The bite of pain didn’t distract her from her troubled thoughts. She was never going to pull off the demure look. It was just a matter of time before she messed up. Her family knew it, too. The disapproving glares from her aunts were hot enough to burn a sizzling hole in her veil.

Zoe knew her appearance and manners didn’t meet family expectations. They never had. Her face was much too pale and she lacked refinement and feminine charm. It didn’t matter if the veil concealed her features, or if her bent head hid her big, bold eyes. They knew she wasn’t a proper young woman. She talked louder than a whisper, walked faster than she should, and no matter how often she was told she never knew her place.

She was too American. Too much trouble. Simply too much.

Her relatives thought she should be timid and subservient, and they had tried to transform her using every barbaric punishment they knew. Starvation. Sleep deprivation. Beatings. Nothing had worked. It had only made Zoe more rebellious and determined to get out of this hell. If only she had a better escape plan. If only her freedom didn’t rely on pretending to be the perfect woman.

As the last elder left the dais, Zoe felt the Sheikh’s intent gaze on her. She tensed but kept her focus on her hands. Did he find her lacking or did she pass inspection?

“What is your name?” the Sheikh asked her.

Zoe’s eyes widened. Seriously? This was not something a woman wanted to hear from her husband on her wedding day. Zoe held back the urge to give him a false name. A stripper name, she thought with a sly smile. If only she could. But it wouldn’t be worth the punishment.

“Zoe Martin,” she answered.

“And how old are you?”

Old enough. She bit the tip of her tongue before she blurted out that reply. “I’m twenty-one years old.”

How was it possible the Sheikh didn’t know anything about her? Wasn’t he curious about the woman he married? Didn’t he care?

“Do I detect a Texan accent?” he asked.

Zoe bit her bottom lip as a memory of her home in Texas bloomed. The last time she had felt as if she belonged to a family. Once she had been loved and protected; now she was chattel for her uncle.

“You have a very good ear,” she answered huskily. “I thought I had lost the twang.” Along with everything else.

“Texas is a long way from here.”

No kidding. But she knew what he was really asking. How the hell had she wound up in Jazaar? She’d wondered that many times herself. “My father was a doctor for a humanitarian medical organization and he met my mother when he visited Jazaar. Didn’t anyone tell you about me?”

“I was told everything I needed to know.”

That made her curious. What had been said about her? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. “Such as?” she asked as she watched the servants bringing plates of food to the dais.

He shrugged. “You are part of this tribe and you are of marriageable age.”

She waited a beat. “Anything else?”

“What else do I need to know?”

Her eyes widened. His indifference took her breath away, but she knew she should be grateful for it. It was better that he had not asked any questions or dug for information. He would have discovered what kind of woman he was marrying.

Zoe barely ate anything from the wedding feast. She usually had a healthy appetite—some felt too robust—but tonight the aromas and spices were overwhelming. Immediately after the meal a procession of guests approached the dais to congratulate the happy couple. She was glad that no one expected her to speak. She barely listened to what was said, too aware of the man sitting next to her.

“You will have your hands full with this one, Your Highness. She’s nothing but trouble.”

Zoe glanced up when she heard those words. She knew she should keep her head down, but she was surprised that someone would warn the Sheikh. Weren’t they trying to get rid of her by marrying her off?

Yet she had never got along with the wife of the wealthy storekeeper. The older woman had forbidden Zoe from entering the store. But Zoe was used to being excluded and had frequently managed to make her purchases through strategy and stealth.

“She’s an incredibly slow learner,” the older woman continued. “It doesn’t matter how hard her uncle slaps her, Zoe keeps talking back.”

“Is that so?” the Sheikh drawled. “Perhaps her uncle is the slow learner and should try a new approach?”

Zoe jerked in surprise and immediately ducked her head so no one could see her expression. Was he questioning Uncle Tareef’s methods? She thought men sided with one another.

“Nothing works with Zoe,” the storekeeper’s wife informed the Sheikh. “Once she burned the dinner. Of course she was punished. You’d think she’d learn her lesson, but the next day she poured an entire pot of hot pepper in the dinner. Her uncle had blisters inside his mouth for weeks.”

“It wasn’t my fault he kept trying to eat it,” Zoe said as she glared at the woman. “And at least it wasn’t burnt.”

Zoe cringed inwardly when she recognized her mistake and immediately bent her head as if nothing happened. There was a long, silent pause and Zoe felt the Sheikh’s gaze on her. She instinctively hunched her shoulders, as if that would make her smaller. Invisible.

“I hope your cooking has improved,” he said.

Zoe nodded cautiously. It was a lie, but he would never find out. She was grateful that he’d ignored her outburst, surprised that he didn’t comment on it.

He was probably saving it all up for later, she decided, as the tension vibrated inside her. She was going to face one monstrous lecture after the ceremony.

“When all else failed,” the older woman valiantly continued, “Zoe was forced to treat the sick until she learned how to behave. She has taken care of the poor women for years.”

Zoe knew that the task of treating the ill was reserved for servants in the tribe, but she didn’t care. It was what she wanted to do. The science of nursing and the art of folk remedies fascinated her.

“Zoe,” Nadir said, “you no longer have to treat the sick.”

Zoe frowned, not sure how to answer. “That’s not necessary. I’m not afraid of hard work and I’m very good at it.”

“Zoe!” the storekeeper’s wife said in a scandalized tone, her eyes dancing with delight. “A Jazaari woman must be humble.”

Nadir rose from his seat and Zoe couldn’t help noticing how tall and commanding he was. He motioned for the most exalted elder to approach the dais. Zoe’s stomach twisted sharply and she tasted hot, bitter fear in her mouth. What was the Sheikh doing? She had displeased him. Somehow she would be punished for it.

The older woman smiled victoriously and walked away with a spring in her step as the elder approached. Zoe was angry at herself for letting the old bat rile her.

The Sheikh placed his palm against his heart and told the chief elder, “You have honored me with Zoe as my bride.”

The elder couldn’t hide his surprise and the nearby guests started to whisper excitedly behind their hands and veils. Zoe didn’t feel any relief. Instead, she battled the trickle of suspicion. Honored? He didn’t know the first thing about her.

“I gladly accept the duty to protect her and provide for her,” the Sheikh continued, his voice strong and clear. “She will want for nothing.”

Her suspicions deepened as the buzz of conversation swelled. What was this man up to? She had learned firsthand that when a man made those kinds of promises it was very likely he would do the opposite. Like when Uncle Tareef had promised to take her in and look after her. Instead he’d stolen her inheritance and she’d become an unpaid servant in his household.

“And as your Sheikha,” Nadir announced, “she will spend her days and nights tending to me.”

Zoe lowered her head as the guests cheered. Anger swirled inside her chest. The tribe was thrilled that she pleased the Sheikh. He wasn’t going to let her leave his side and she wouldn’t have time to nurse the sick because she had the honor of being at his beck and call.

The man had no idea how important it was for her to work. Before her parents died Zoe had volunteered at the local hospital with her mother. It had been exciting and she’d known then she wanted to have a medical career like her father’s.

Her dreams of practicing medicine with her father had been shattered when her parents died in a car accident and suddenly she had found herself living in a foreign place with people she didn’t know. She had suffered through the language barrier, strange food and an unwelcoming tribe. But when she’d watched the healer treat the sick, Zoe had felt she was back in familiar territory.

In a matter of months she had become the healer’s assistant. It was supposed to be a punishment, but she had wanted to learn. When Zoe noticed that the poor women were reluctant to seek medical help from a male healer, she gradually took on the female patients. It was her way of continuing her family’s legacy, and practicing medicine had become her lifeline.

She had finally found a way to stay away from Uncle Tareef’s house and focus on something other than her difficult situation. And when she handled a medical emergency she felt the same excitement she had when she’d been back home in the local hospital. Taking care of women in need had let her find a sense of purpose. It was the one thing that kept her going.

And now the Sheikh wanted to take that away from her? Zoe closed her eyes and tried desperately to control her temper. She had to give up the one thing that interested her, the one thing she was good at, because Nadir didn’t like it? It wasn’t fair. She wanted to argue right here and now.

What was she upset about? Zoe slowly opened her eyes. What Nadir wanted didn’t affect her life. She wasn’t going to stay married long enough for him to take her interests away from her.

“I must say you surprised me.”

Zoe looked at the tall and slender woman who was now sitting next to her—her cousin Fatimah. Zoe clenched her teeth as she braced herself for what she was sure would be a few unpleasant moments.

Fatimah wore a shimmering green gown. Heavy gold jewelry dripped from her ears, throat and wrists. She always made a glamorous and dramatic impact wherever she went.

“I didn’t think you would do it,” Fatimah told Zoe in a breezy, chatty tone. “I know how you Americans believe in love matches.”

Zoe didn’t respond. She had never liked her cousin, and they weren’t friends. Fatimah would not form an alliance with an outcast like Zoe. Instead, she preferred to feel powerful by preying on the defenseless, and Zoe had seen her in all her destructive glory. Now she noted the dark look in her cousin’s eyes. Fatimah was on the prowl for trouble and had found her target.

Her cousin bestowed a tight smile upon her. “I can’t wait to tell Musad.”

Zoe did her best not to flinch. “Please do.”

She hoped she was getting better at not reacting to his name. Musad had once represented a fragile yet blossoming love in a world of quicksand filled with hate and indifference. Now his name reminded her that no man could be trusted.

“What should I tell our old friend?” Fatimah asked as she studied Zoe’s face closely. “Shall I send him your love?”

Zoe shrugged, refusing to let the word “love” pierce her wrung-out heart. Musad had ceased to matter a year ago, when he’d moved to America without a backward glance. She had filed him under “lesson learned.”

Zoe leaned back in her chair as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Tell him what you want.”

Fatimah rested her hand on Zoe’s arm and leaned forward to whisper, “How can you say that, considering how close you were?”

Zoe felt the blood leaving her face as icy fear seeped in her veins. Fatimah knew. She saw it in the malicious glow of the woman’s eyes. Somehow Fatimah knew about her forbidden liaison with Musad. She was the one who’d started the rumors that were beginning to percolate in village gossip.

Zoe had to get away. She had to silence Fatimah. If she breathed a word of this to her family … to the Sheikh …

“Zoe?”

Zoe looked up to see her aunts and other female cousins. They were smiling. Real smiles. It was unlikely that they had heard Fatimah’s accusation. Zoe wanted to sag with relief.

“Come, Zoe.” One of her cousins unceremoniously pulled her from her chair and her female relatives surrounded her. “It’s time to prepare you for your wedding night.”

Her wedding night. Her stomach twisted sharply and she battled back nausea. Her aunts smiled and giggled as they swept her out of the courtyard and up to the honeymoon suite. She hunched her shoulders as corroding fear, thick and searing hot, bled through her body. It pooled under her skin, pressing harder and harder, threatening to burst through.

It suddenly sank into her. She belonged to the Sheikh. A man they called The Beast. She was married to him. Married.

Her married cousins were offering words of advice, telling her how to please her husband, but Zoe didn’t hear a word of it. There was a desperate energy among the women. Their laughter was a little shrill, their advice raw and uncoated.

Zoe didn’t resist as the women settled her in the center of the bed. She knelt on the mattress, her hands folded in front of her, her head bent down. She wanted to jump out of bed and run, but she knew these women would bring her back and guard the bedroom.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, jagged breath. She heard the women leaving the room, their laughter harsh as they tossed her more marital advice. She had always thought her wedding day would be different. In her daydreams it had been full of laughter and joy, not to mention love.

The reality was much bleaker. Zoe slowly opened her eyes. She was marrying because she was out of options and running out of luck. She was taking a leap of faith, believing she could use this marriage to her advantage. But she might have given up more than her freedom to a man who was a dangerous stranger.

What had she done?

Pure terror clamped her chest. She felt the room closing in on her as she tried to gulp in the hot air. Dark spots danced before her eyes.

“I can’t do this. I can’t sleep with him,” Zoe said aloud. She thought she was alone until Fatimah answered.

“He’s required to consummate the marriage,” her cousin said as she straightened Zoe’s skirt, making it a smooth circle on the bed. “Otherwise it’s not acknowledged.”

“Required?” Zoe’s stomach gave a sickening twist. That sounded so clinical. So unromantic.

Fatimah cast an annoyed look in her direction. “That’s why you have the last ceremony on the third day. It’s based on an ancient law to celebrate the consummation of the marriage.”

Zoe’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?”

“And if you aren’t to his liking,” Fatimah said, giving her a sidelong look, “he can throw you back.”

Zoe frowned. “Throw me back? You mean back to your family? No, he can’t. Nice try, Fatimah, but I’m not falling for another one of your lies.”

“I’m not lying,” Fatimah swore, flattening her hand against her chest. “The Sheikh did that to his first wife.”

First wife? Zoe drew back her head and stared at her cousin as surprise tingled down her spine. What first wife? “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Fatimah’s face brightened when she realized she would get to reveal all. “Two years ago the Sheikh was married to the daughter of one of the finest families in the tribe. Yusra. You remember her?”

“Barely.” Yusra had been drop-dead gorgeous, ultra feminine and the perfect Jazaari girl. Zoe had privately thought Yusra was a spoiled brat and a bit of snob. She had been glad when her family left the village.

“It was a fabulous ceremony. Unlike any I’ve ever seen. Don’t you remember it? It was better than yours.”

“I probably wasn’t invited.” She was an outcast. She was either ignored or bullied. Any member of the tribe could publicly humiliate her without consequence. They all knew her uncle wouldn’t protect her. They had all witnessed the treatment she’d received under his cruel hand and followed his lead.

“Well, the third day of the ceremony had barely started when he tossed Yusra back to her parents.” Fatimah gave a flick of her wrist, the jangle of gold bracelets loud to Zoe’s ears. “In front of the entire tribe. He said she was not to his liking.”

If he’d had a problem with his first choice of a wife, he was definitely not going to be pleased with her. “He had sex with her and then dumped her? Can he do that?”

“It caused a huge scandal. How is it you don’t know any of this? You were living here when it happened.”

Zoe probably had heard about it but thought it one of those “bonfire stories.” She had heard plenty of folk tales that were designed to scare boys and girls into behaving properly.

She was in so much trouble. Her knees wobbled as a wave of fear crashed over her. If she didn’t have sex with the Sheikh he would send her back to her family. If she did have sex with him she might well have had the same problem. “So basically this ancient law is a return policy?”

“It’s rarely used. A man has to have a very good reason to invoke it. Unless you’re a sheikh, of course. Then no one will question your actions.”

“But—”

One of Zoe’s aunts peeked inside the room. “Fatimah, what are you still doing here?” the woman said in a fierce whisper. “The Sheikh is coming.”

“Good luck, Zoe,” Fatimah said with a sly smile as she slipped out of the room. “I hope you can satisfy the Sheikh better than his last bride.”