Chosen as the Sheikh's Wife

'There's no time. You have to get ready to meet the Emir.'

They walked up marble steps into a vestibule spread with fine carpets. Leila kicked off her shoes and nodded approvingly when Violet followed her example.

'This is to be your house,' she said, hurrying her through a series of ornate reception rooms until they reached a private suite of sitting room, bedroom, bathroom. 'Make yourself comfortable, then I will prepare you for the Emir's majlis.'

'Majlis?'

'It is where he sits so that people can come and talk to him. Drink coffee. Appeal for his help. All the tribal leaders and heads of important families will be there today, to see the Blood of Tariq.'

Violet felt a sudden qualm. A surge of something rather more heavy-footed than butterflies stampeding through her stomach. A nervousness that was not eased when, having persisted in her determination to apply more make- up, Leila lifted a loose outer robe over her head and let it drop to the floor over her clothes.

It was cut from dark blue silk, embroidered in gold thread at hem and wrist, slit at the side. Ornate. Simple.

'This is a thaub. A traditional outer garment.'

'It's exquisite.'

'You will wear a scarf?' Without waiting for an answer, Leila loosely draped a long matching scarf over her head. It was woven from a silk so fine that it appeared to defy gravity, almost to float as the air was stirred by a slowly turning ceiling fan.

'Beautiful,' Leila said.

'It's lovely,' Violet agreed. She knew cloth, and understood that this was something rare, beyond anything she could ever afford.

'Not the scarf. You, Princess.' She fiddled with the tail of a comb until Violet's face was framed in a dark curve of hair. 'You are beautiful.'

'No…'

Unusual. Dramatic. That was the kindest thing anyone had ever said about her looks. Even her grandmother.

Her nose was too big, her brows too strong, and her eyes were the wrong colour… And yet made up this way, her hair shining like polished ebony, her face gently framed in the soft folds of the scarf, it seemed as if suddenly everything had fallen into place. Everything…fitted.

'Good. Hurry. The car is waiting…'

CHAPTER EIGHT

Fayad paced the small lobby, waiting for Violet to arrive. There would be so little time to explain. Then, as the door opened, he turned and caught his breath, felt his heart seize at the sight of her.

Again.

She kicked off her shoes as naturally as if she'd been doing it all her life, stepped inside and stood, her head on one side, waiting for him to speak.

Speech was not enough. He touched his fingers to his forehead, his heart, bowed to her beauty, her honour, her courage. 'You are, in every sense of the word, a princess, Violet Hamilton.' Then, 'Give me your hands.'

She held them out and he picked up the Blood of Tariq and placed it across her palms, held his own hands beneath them.

'By this act, Princess, you honour your family. They should be proud to call you daughter.'

'Should? That suggests they might not be best pleased that I'm surrendering this to you.'

He did not want to frighten her with the truth, but since she was not a fool he tilted his head, acknowledging that she might have a point.

'Will I meet them? Will they be here?'

'Ahmed al Sayyid, patriarch of his tribe-your tribe-is sitting at my grandfather's right hand.' And given the slightest opportunity, he thought, would seize the chance to move over and drag his country back into the Dark Ages. His sons would be there, too. And if he failed to surrender the Blood of Tariq, she would be doubtless given to one of those cousins as a wife. Without the option to say no… 'He will expect you to bow to him, acknowledge him.'

'But I shouldn't expect a hug and a Hi, kid, welcome home…?'

'I'm afraid not.' Then, because time was short, 'My grandfather is sitting at the far end of the majlis. You should walk straight down the room, looking neither to left nor right, holding out the khanjar so that everyone can see it. Bow to Ahmed first. Then bow to my grandfather and place the knife in his hands. I will be with you every step of the way,' he said, and the tension seemed to slip away from her a little. Then, 'Do you remember what I promised you, Princess?'

She looked up at him. 'I remember,' she said. Then, fear darkening her eyes, 'Something has happened. What is it?'

'There's no time to explain. Do you trust me to do exactly as I promised, Princess?'

Violet looked up at him, her extraordinary eyes searching his as if looking for something. Whatever it was, she must have found it, because she said, 'I am here. I have flown thousands of miles, placed myself

entirely in your hands, because you assured me that you would protect my friends.'

'And you, Princess. Protect you.' With every breath in his body. And he would, no matter what the cost. Honour-more-demanded it. 'After my grandfather thanks you in both Arabic and English, I will speak. When I turn to you I will ask you a question, you will answer nam. No matter what happens, you must do that. Do you understand?'

'Nam,' she repeated. 'What does it mean?'

'Yes.'

'I see. Am I allowed to ask what the question is?'

To his intense relief, the huge carved doors to the majlis swung open, making further explanations impossible.

'Three times,' he said urgently. 'I will ask and you will answer.' Letting go of her hands, he stepped back, then, as she moved forward, he took his place at her side.

Fayad walked beside Violet towards his grandfather, his heart pounding. On either side of them he was aware of a stirring as the tribal leaders, elders, people's representatives rose to honour the khanjar. Or was it Violet, the very image of a Sayyid, who sent audible Shockwaves through the reception room?

She faltered only once, catching her toe on the edge of one of the carpets that were laid over each other, and he reached out to steady her.

Beneath her sleeve, despite her stately progress, she was trembling, and he did not let go, keeping his hand possessively on her elbow. Staring down Ahmed al Sayyid who, as leader of the second most powerful tribe of his nation, was indeed at his grandfather's right hand.

Violet stopped in front of the two men, bowed her head to acknowledge Ahmed, then, taking Fayad by surprise, instead of bowing to his grandfather, she knelt before him, extending the khanjar, and, eyes cast down, placed it into his hands, saying simply, 'In the name of Fatima al Sayyid I return the Blood of Tariq to its rightful place.'

Ahmed al Sayyid was scowling furiously at her, but his grandfather smiled.

'Thank you, child. Welcome home.'

Ahmed rose to his feet, but before he could speak Fayad, following Violet's dramatic example, joined her on his knees and, reaching for her hand, took it and declared, 'I call upon you all to witness that I take Violet Hamilton al Sayyid as my wife.' Then he turned to her and said, 'Do you accept me as your husband?'