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

      Tariq shrugged. “I’m sorry to say this, Father, but their trouble causing is not new.” And if Hadi had been acting as a go-between to broker a marriage between Tariq and Sheikh Karim’s half sister, then Hadi would have even more cause for concern.

      “But this time they have angered Karim, you need to placate him, we cannot afford to have an angry neighbouring ruler—especially not one as powerful as the sheikh of Bashir. What will happen to our oil interests in Bashir if we are in conflict with each other?”

      “I know. I have been in touch.” Sheikh Karim had laid the blame squarely at Ali and Mahood’s feet, saying they illicitly grazed herds of livestock over the border and had appropriated animals that did not belong to them. Karim had confiscated the whole herd the next time the animals had returned and impounded them.

      Tariq gave a sharp sigh. “I will go—” He broke off and closed his eyes. What if his father died while he was gone? What if he missed these precious last days because of the stupidity and stubbornness of Ali and Mahood?

      “When? You cannot wait.”

      Tormented, Tariq opened his eyes and looked into the dark orbs close to his own. Eyes that in the past had been filled with love…anger…disappointment…and now held only a stoic acceptance.

      No, he wanted to yell. Fight it. Don’t die.

      Don’t leave me.

      Alone.

      “You can’t wait, my son. You must go. Now.”

      Silently Tariq shook his head. His father’s hands were thin, the purple veins showing through the wrinkled skin. The skin that hung over his face showed a waxen cast…like a death mask, the eyes deeply sunken in the sockets.

      “I order you.” It was a command, gasped out by a man used to being obeyed.

      Tariq stiffened. He knew that his father would read his refusal in his eyes. He would not go. He could not leave his father. Not so near the end.

      “Please.”

      This time it was a plea. Tariq stared at the man who had never begged for anything in his life. The man that no one disobeyed.

      “What if…” Tariq swallowed the words, unable to finish the thought.

      But his father knew. “What if I die? Inshallah. It will not happen yet, I am feeling a lot better. But you cannot hover around waiting for that hour like a vulture in the noonday sky. You have a destiny…and Zayed needs you.”

      Tariq started to answer back.

      “Do not argue with your father. I am an old, sick man.” The bloodless lips curved into a ghost of a smile. “And by Allah, this will be the last task I ask of you, I promise that. Make peace with Karim and I will ask no more.”

      “He will expect an apology.”

      His father nodded.

      “I will have to put something in it for him…land or oil leases.”

      His father nodded again.

      “I will go tomorrow.”

      “Take your wife with you.”

      “What?” On his way to the door, Tariq stopped and stared at his father in disbelief. He’d already planned to take Jayne with him, in order to make it doubly clear to Karim that he was not in the market for a wife. Not even for Karim’s ever-so-suitable half sister. But he’d never expected his father to suggest the same. He’d thought his father wanted the…merger… with Karim. It would’ve been convenient for all concerned. And for the two oil-rich desert countries.

      “He needs to accept your wife…as I have. To know there will be no marriage between you and his sister.”

      There, it was out in the open.

      So the rumours were true. His father had tried to broker a new marriage for him. But hearing that Tariq could only take one wife—a wife he had not chosen to divorce—must have dissuaded him from meddling further.

      A gnarled hand reached out from the bed. “My son, do not repeat my mistakes with your own wife.”

      Crossing the room in one stride, Tariq closed his hands around the thin bones. “What do you mean, Father?”

      For a while the Emir did not answer. Finally he said. “I am tired. Never forget, I am proud of you, my son. Now I need the morphine.”

      Tariq’s hand went to the bell. The nurse arrived in a rush. The drug was administered, and his father’s eyes closed.

      Tariq lingered a few minutes, a deep sense of loss swarming through him. What had his father been about to reveal? Finally he leant over to kiss the wrinkled brow. In his heart he feared this was the last time he might see his father alive.

      The notion shook him to his soul.

      * * *

      Jayne was sitting at the stone table in the walled arbour beside the fountain, catching a little morning sun and writing out postcards to Samantha and Amy when the sound of Tariq’s footsteps clattered on the stone stairs.

      “I have been to see my father,” Tariq announced, his eyes unreadable.

      He dominated the comforting enclosed space of the arbour. His height, his presence, the scent of the citrusy cologne that clung to his skin all overwhelmed Jayne. She set her pen down. “You talked about your mother?”

      “No!” His answer was uncompromising. “You may have heard that there is trouble brewing between Ali and Mahood and Sheikh Karim al Bashir?”

      She nodded. It would’ve been difficult not to have heard the rumours that flew around the palace, or the speculation about how Tariq would react. The Emir was dying. Would he placate his father’s oldest friends? Or would he make amends to the furious Karim?

      “Zayed must avoid a war with Sheikh Karim at all costs.”

      Her brow creased, trying to remember what she’d heard. “He’s the ruler of a neighbouring sheikhdom, right?”

      “Yes. We have many alliances—particularly over oil. We can’t afford to antagonise him.”

      “Ali and Mahood are more trouble than they are worth,” she said daringly.

      “Mahood and Ali are my father’s closest friends. Like brothers to him. I have to respect that bond.”

      Jayne said nothing. His reply left no room for argument. He would put up with Mahood and Ali and all their guile for his love of his father.

      “The trip to the desert town of Aziz should take no longer than three days. I plan to travel swiftly.”

      He must fear that his father would die in his absence. Her heart squeezed at the sight of the pain etched into his features as he towered over her.

      “What about—” His father. She broke off, her heart going out to Tariq. What if his father did die while he was gone? What if he left to sort out Ali and Mahood’s skirmishes and never saw his father again? As much as she loathed Sheik Rashid, Tariq loved his father.

      “What about you? Or what about the divorce that you desire so highly?” His mouth curled into an unpleasant smile. “Your first thought is about yourself.”

      It was so unfair! But her heart sank at the derision in his eyes, and for the first time she felt relief that she would be staying in the palace. Being surrounded by hostile aides was better than accompanying Tariq in this mood. “I have to think about me,” she fired back. “No one else does. You’ve brought me all the way across the world to cool my heels and await your return and twiddle my thumbs. To waste my time. I have things I want to do.” Like start her new course…and have a date with Neil…and start a new life, out from under Tariq’s shadow. “What if there are delays and this all takes more than three days? Does that mean you will expect me to stay longer?”