Jane Porter – The Sheikh's Disobedient Bride (страница 8)

“Your parents—they’re still alive?” he asked.

She nodded, neck stiff, body rigid. She really didn’t know where he was going with this and didn’t want to find out.

“They don’t worry about you?” he persisted.

“No.” She caught his eye, flushed. “Maybe a little. But they’re used to my lifestyle now. They know this is who I am, what I do. Besides, they have other kids who supply them with grandchildren and the like.”

Tair refilled his cup of tea from the small glazed pot. “I shall find you a husband.”

“What?”

He nodded matter of factly before sipping his tea. “You need a husband. It is the way it should be. I shall find you one. You will be glad.”

“No.” Her head spun, little spots danced before her eyes. He wrong, absolutely wrong and she couldn’t even get the protest out. Instead she sucked in one desperate breath after another.

“Women are like fruit,” he said picking up a date, gently squeezing it. “Women need husbands and children or they dry up.”

Dry up? He didn’t just say that. He didn’t say that while squeezing a little date, did he? My God. This was a nightmare. This was worse than anything she could have ever imagined, and she’d imagined some pretty awful endings. Kidnapped, her photos stripped from her and now what? Married to a desert barbarian? “Let me go home. Please correct this before it turns out badly.”

“I will make sure you have the right husband. Do not worry.” His lips curved and she saw teeth, straight white teeth and thought this must be his idea of a smile. “Now eat. Berber men like women with meat on their bones. Curves. Not stringy like you.”

Tally went hot and cold. She felt wild, panicked. She couldn’t be here, couldn’t stay here. This was all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Tair sighed, frowned. “You must at least drink the tea. You’re dehydrated. I can see it in your eyes and skin.”

Tally wasn’t a crier but she was close to tears now. How was she going to do this? Would she escape?

“You don’t like tea?” he persisted, the strain on his patience showing. “Would you prefer water?”

“Is it bottled water?”

His black brows tugged together. “It’s well water.”

“But not processed?” She’d only just gotten off of weeks of wretched antibiotics, antibiotics that were proved to be just as hard on her stomach as the parasite and food poisoning. Just remembering the forty-eight hours in the Atiq hospital made her stomach cramp. “You see I can’t drink water that isn’t purified. I’ve had problems—”

“You are without a doubt the most delicate, finicky female I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not finicky and not overly delicate—”

“Asthma, heat stroke, stomach ailments, dehydration—”

“I didn’t ask to be kidnapped! This was your idea not mine. If you don’t like that I’m so delicate, next time do more research before you kidnap a woman!”

He shook his head, expression grim. “You are not going to make it easy for me to find you a husband. Men do not like mulish wives.”

Mulish. Mulish, was she? Tally nearly laughed. That was rich, coming from him. “You know, you have a very good vocabulary for a desert bandit.”

“I like to read between making raids on towns.” He snapped his fingers. “Now drink. None of my men will marry a woman if she’s nearly dead.”

“I don’t want your men.”

“How you love to argue.”

“I have my own opinions and point of view, and contrary to what you might think, I’m not normally difficult. You just happen to bring out the worst in me.” She glared at him. “Until yesterday, I hadn’t had an asthma attack in years. The attack was thanks to you nearly suffocating me in that horrible bag of yours. I can’t believe you did that. It was terrible. Awful. I couldn’t breathe.”

“So I noticed.” His brow lowered, his expression dark. “But you were quiet at least.”

She covered her face with her hands, breathing in carefully, deliberately, doing her best to block out the smell of the mint tea, the peculiar sandalwood scent and smoke of Tair’s skin, and the intense heat already shimmering all around them. She couldn’t do another day in the desert. Not like this. Not with this man.

She was near tears and cracking. “Can you please go? Can you please just leave me alone?”

He didn’t answer. He was so quiet that after a minute Tally was certain he’d gone but when she lifted her head she saw him there, still seated across from her. He didn’t look the least bit sympathetic, either. If anything, his jaw jutted harder, his mouth pursed in a now familiar look of judgment and condescension.

“Drink your tea,” he said wearily. “This is the desert, and the heat is quite deceptive. You need to stay hydrated or you won’t live long enough to take another picture, much less visit Casablanca.” His dark eyes gleamed as he pushed a cup toward her face. “Which is overrated, if you ask me.”

Her eyebrows arched. Was that a joke? Was that flat tone and deadpan expression his idea of a joke? “I don’t trust the water,” she retorted, pushing the cup away. “And yes, I am thirsty, and I will drink. But it must be bottled water.”

“Bottled water?”

She ignored his incredulous tone. He didn’t understand the difficulties she’d had these past four weeks. She’d never had a cast iron stomach but it’d become particularly finicky lately ever since she picked up parasites from local water just outside Atiq. The parasites had her practically sleeping in the bathroom and she had no interest repeating that experience again. “Yes, bottled water. You sell it in the stores.”

A small muscle popped in his jaw as he gave her a ferocious look, one that revealed the depth of his irritation and aggravation. “And you see stores near by?”

“No, but there were stores back in El Saroush.”

“Are you suggesting I send someone back for bottled water?”

“I’m suggesting you send someone back with me.”

He sighed heavily and pressed two fingers to his temple. “You have the most tedious refrain.”

Her lips compressed. He might not realize it, but she was just as irritated and frustrated as he was. “I’ve only just begun.”

“I should just cut out your tongue.”

“You wouldn’t want to do that,” she flashed. “My new husband might not like it.”

“That’s true,” he answered. “He might miss it, and it could lower your bride price. So, keep your tongue and drink your tea. Or I shall pour it down your throat.”

The cup was pushed toward her face again and this time Tally took it. “If I drink the tea, you’ll leave?”

His dark gaze met hers and held. The corner of his mouth lifted, a faint wry acknowledgment of the battle between them. “Yes.”

And yet still she hesitated. “And if I die out here of dysentery, will you at least promise me a Christian burial?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I can’t promise that, but I will take your ashes to Casablanca.”

Tally wasn’t sure if she should be reassured or troubled by his faint smile. He wasn’t a particularly smiley-kind of guy. “Fine, I’ll drink it. But then you go.” Quickly she downed the now lukewarm tea, scrunching her nose and mouth at the bitter taste but at the same time grateful for the liquid. Her throat had been parched and one cup wasn’t going to be enough, but it was a start. “There. Done.”

He rose, but didn’t leave immediately. Instead he stood above her, gazing down at her. “By the way, we may be bedraggled barbarians and bandits, but all our water is boiled. Any water we cook with or drink is always boiled. You might get parasites in town, but you won’t get any parasites from me.”

And smiling—smiling!—Tair walked out. As he left the tent, Tally grabbed a pillow, pressed it to her face and screamed in vexation.

He couldn’t keep her here! He couldn’t. And he couldn’t be serious about finding a husband for her. My God. That was just the worst.

She gripped the pillow hard. But what if he never returned her to town? What if he just kept her here? What if he were serious about marrying her off?

She shuddered, appalled.

Her lack of communication with her world back in the States made her situation doubly frightening.

The fact was, there was no one who’d even think to worry if she disappeared from the face of the earth.

Raised in a tiny town at the base of the Cascade Mountains in Washington, Tally had lived at home far longer than she’d ever meant to stay but once she’d left North Bend, she’d gone far away.

Her mother sometimes joked that the only time she heard from Tally was the annual Christmas cards Tally sent documenting her travels. One Christmas card was a misty hand-tinted shot of ancient Machu Picchu high in the mountains of Peru. Another year it was the sun rising in Antarctica. Last year’s card was a child born with AIDS in sub-Sahara Africa.

Once Paolo was the one who would have cared. It was Paolo who taught her to rock climb and sail, Paolo who’d taught her to face her fears and not be afraid. But Paolo wasn’t around anymore and since losing him all those years ago Tally had never tried to replace him.

Love hadn’t ever come easily for Tally and one broken heart was more than enough. And not that she would have married Paolo, but if she’d wanted a husband—and that was a huge if—it would have been him. And only him. But with him gone, marriage was out of the question.