The Sheik Retold(79)

He smiled and laughed more frequently, sharing with me the happier moments of his boyhood. He taught me Arabic and explained with boundless patience the complexities of governing his extensive and nomadic tribe. I treasured the times when he talked of his men and his horses and all the incidents of his visits to the outlying camps.

And while all of this made me deliriously happy, I was painfully aware that he had made no further mention of the status of our relationship, a status I was coming secretly to resent. I might once have contented myself to remain his mistress, had he not thrown out the fleeting mention of something more. His manner toward me had become almost that of a husband to a cherished wife. Now I wished above all things to become that wife in truth.

Once more Ahmed had made me desperately desire what I once most despised.

Yes, I wanted fervently to be his wife and bear his children. Perhaps it meant nothing to him, but it meant the world to me—more than I ever could have believed. This feeling of insecurity and unrest surged within me, but I was at a loss as to how to address it. Almost two months had passed during which this growing discontent secretly blighted my happiness and I was becoming ever more resentful that he seemed to take no notice of it.

"Oran?" I sat up, clutching the sheet. "You have said nothing of this. Why do we go to Oran?" I was surprised and a bit alarmed that he had kept this from me.

"I have said nothing before because I awaited a response from several letters I sent out. Speaking of which, you have a dispatch as well."

He pulled an envelope from the folds of his waistcloth and handed it to me. I noted the London postmark and then the name of the family solicitor. I tore it open with a frown. I scanned the first few lines with a gasp.

"What is it, ma mie?" Ahmed asked with a look of concern.

"It's Aubrey. There has been an accident!"

"Has there indeed? And what manner of accident has brought about his demise?"

"The letter isn't clear," I replied. "He had gone sailing in Newport and never came back…" I looked up with a piercing realization. I had mentioned an accident but had not said Aubrey was dead until this moment. "How did you know?" I demanded. "How could you know Aubrey is dead?"

He brushed away some invisible lint. "I have made it my business to track his movements, ma chère."

"But why? Why would my brother even remotely interest you?"

"He was determined to kill you, my dove. In learning that you live, how could I know he would not make the attempt again? How else could I keep you safe?"

"My God! You are not saying—" I left the rest unsaid. Had Ahmed had a hand in Aubrey's demise? It was unthinkable!

"You would shed tears for the brother who would murder you?"

"No." I shook my head sadly. "No tears." I felt a twinge of guilt, but try as I might, I could summon no tears to mourn the brother who had raised me so cold-heartedly.

"Good," he responded with a quelling look. "Let us speak no more of Sir Aubrey Mayo."

"It's not so much about Aubrey," I said. "I suppose I'm just shocked by this. I never anticipated his death and never realized the repercussions of it—how it would affect me."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"This news…his death…it means the loss of my home."

"Your home?" His expression darkened.

"What I really mean to say is that the estate has been my only real tie to England all these years, but Aubrey was the last male Mayo and the estate was entailed. Now it will all pass to a stranger or maybe even revert to the Crown. This letter says he left a great deal of debt behind. I suppose that explains why he did what he did…"

"You make excuses for him!"

"No, never excuses." I sighed. "What he did was deplorable, but at least I comprehend his reasons. Money was probably also his main motive in going to the States to seek a wife. At least he didn't act out of pure malice. I just feel a bit numb knowing there is nothing left for me to return to."

"Are you saying you wish to return?" His former glower darkened his face as he gestured to the expansive tent. "Your home is here, is it not?"

"Is it, Ahmed?" I asked with growing insecurity. "For how long?"

"Forever, ma belle." His expression grew fiercer. "There is no changing your mind now, no turning back. I told you I can never let you go again."

I could see his temper rising fast. "You misunderstand me, my love. I don't ever wish to leave you, but what if something were to happen to you? What would become of me then?"

"And just what do you imagine might happen?" he asked.

"Any number of things. You live a dangerous life, my sheik. I would not have you any other way, but I also don't wish to be left alone in the world."

Ahmed thought nothing of danger to himself, and he was more often taken away from me. I worried on each occasion, wondering fretfully each time he rode out of sight if it would be the last time I saw him.

"If that is your fear, my dove, it seems there can be no better time for my news. When we go to Oran tomorrow, I shall lay all your insecurities to rest."

I shook my head in befuddlement. "You speak in riddles. What has Oran to do with any of this? "