Praise for Meredith Webber:

‘Medical Romance™ favourite Meredith Webber has penned a spellbinding and moving tale set under the hot desert sun!’

—CataRomance on

THE DESERT PRINCE’S CONVENIENT BRIDE

‘Meredith Webber has written an outstanding romantic tale that I devoured in a single sitting—moving, engrossing, romantic and absolutely unputdownable! Ms Webber peppers her story with plenty of drama, emotion and passion, and she will keep her readers entranced until the final page.’

—CataRomance on

A PREGNANT NURSE’S CHRISTMAS WISH

Dear Reader

Books come together in many ways—a little bit here and a little bit there. One of the ‘bits’ this time has now become legend in my family. Some forty years ago my mother-in-law went to see a woman who read cards to tell the future, and this woman told her that if she went away on a trip with her widowed son and his two teenage daughters she’d never have to worry about him again.

That night the son in question phoned her from interstate, where he lived, to ask her to go to India with him and the girls. She agreed—here was the trip the cards had foretold! I joined their flight in far-off Western Australia as the tour leader, and that’s how I met my husband and the two teenagers who have become my very loved daughters.

It still gives me shivers up the spine when I realise just how little we know of the part fate must play in our lives. I do hope fate is kind to you.

Meredith Webber

MEREDITH WEBBER says of herself, ‘Once I read an article which suggested that Mills & Boon® were looking for new Medical Romance™ authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’

The
Sheikh Doctor’s
Bride
Meredith Webber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Meredith Webber

About the Author

Dear Reader

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

PROLOGUE

FAREED IBN JADYM IBN MUSTAFFAH FARUKE eyed the green country through which he travelled with distaste. Not that he didn’t appreciate green. The shiny, almost luminous green of date-palm fronds around an oasis was always a welcome sight, and contrasted brilliantly with the red desert sand through which one had to travel to see them.

But green everywhere, everything green, apart from white paint splashed haphazardly on the fence posts lining the drive down which they now travelled.

Why, in the name of all that was holy, was his uncle coming to this run-down establishment, stuck out in a swathe of green, miles from the city in which they’d been staying?

So his uncle wanted to buy a horse—wanted him, Fareed, to see the horse before the purchase—but could not the horse have come to them? Ibrahim wasn’t one to go out of his way for anything or anyone, however much he loved his horses.

But Fareed’s apprehension about what was going on with his uncle went beyond this trip to a horse stud. Something was brewing in his uncle’s devious mind, and Fareed had a disturbing suspicion that the ‘something’ was to do with him.

Why else would his uncle insist he take leave from the hospital to accompany him on this trip to Australia?

To buy a horse!

And why had Thalia, an old crone who lived somewhere in the palace compound and was said to read the future from marks in the sand, or oil poured on a cup of water, been spending so much time with his uncle prior to this trip? Thalia claimed she was a kahin, from a line of female fortune-tellers that went back into ancient times.

Surely his uncle, English educated, graduate of Oxford and with a further business degree from Harvard, didn’t still believe in the words of a soothsayer?

Fareed shook his head, sorry he was in the lead of the four cars and couldn’t ask his uncle these questions. Then something flashed past the window and soothsayers and his uncle’s devious plans were forgotten.

The horse was a dark caramel in colour, its mane nearly white. It was pounding up the slight slope of a track on the other side of the fence, and on its back, her face alight with the joy of speed, sat a slim woman, taller than most jockeys but riding with her legs tucked up, her body bent along the horse’s neck, flame-coloured hair flying out behind her—a woman at one with the animal.

A painting of the image might be called Freedom, and though Fareed yearned for freedom, duty was a stronger master. Oh, for a while he was okay, working in the hospital, doing what he enjoyed, feeling needed and appreciated, and although, when he did succeed his uncle to the Sultanate, he hoped to continue his medical career at least part-time, he knew his duty was to his people, and to helping them come to terms with the changing world in which they now lived.

But the beauty of the horse and its rider had eased some of Fareed’s apprehension about this trip. Perhaps he should, as Ibrahim kept insisting, simply relax and enjoy the last few days of this break away from work. And, really, was green all that bad a colour?

The man Kate’s mother was hoping would save the family’s stables arrived in a fleet of long black limousines—if four exceedingly large vehicles could be called a fleet.

According to her mum, he was some kind of Eastern potentate—she read a lot, her mum!

The arrival of the sleek vehicles suggested he might be a very wealthy potentate, though no doubt a con man would have made an equally impressive arrival, Kate told herself.

Cynical?

Kate?

No more so than any other thirty-two-year-old woman who’d grown up with a dearly loved father who had always had a fortune waiting for him just around the next corner; no more so than any other woman who had recently been dumped by a long-term lover who couldn’t believe she would go home to be with her mother after said father’s death, instead of staying with him on the other side of the world.

She turned Marac and headed back to the stables. Mum would offer the potentate some tea so she, Kate, would have time to give the horse a good rub-down and settle him in his stall before the inspection party arrived.

Cantering back down the hill, watching the cars wending their way down the drive, she wondered about the future. If the potentate saved the stables, would she go back to the US, to Mark? Could she go back to a man with so little empathy?

She’d been home two months now, time enough to see the man she’d thought she loved through clearer eyes. No, going back to Mark was not an option.

But, then, if this potentate didn’t buy Tippy, she wouldn’t have to think about options.

Kate tried to see her home through the visitors’ eyes: the lush paddocks shaded by wide spreading gum trees and filled with spectacular horses; the green fields; the placid stream running through the valley; the old stone and bleached-wood stables; and, by the stream, the house, built from stones hauled from the creek over a hundred years ago …

Her mother’s—no, in fact, it was Billy’s heritage …

CHAPTER ONE

THE IMAGE OF the girl on the horse was still vivid in Fareed’s mind as the vehicles rolled to a stop in a big paved area outside the stone-built house. A middle-aged woman had been waiting at the gate and she stepped forward as the entourage began to emerge from the vehicles.

And Fareed wondered again about his uncle’s insistence on travelling everywhere with this entourage. Surely Ibrahim and the stud manager, with Fareed tagging along, could manage to buy a horse. But, no, a fleet of vehicles seemed to accompany them everywhere, with dour-faced palace guards, who probably hated green as much as he did, hovering protectively around his uncle at all times.

Preventing an attack from a rabid kangaroo?

The driver was already opening the door for Ibrahim, while the men in their unaccustomed garb of dark suits alighted from the other cars and stood erect, in a kind of deferential arc around where Ibrahim would appear.

Did he do it to impress people?

Fareed doubted that, for Ibrahim was the most modest of men, and rarely made a show of his position. No, there was definitely some hidden agenda in this trip to Australia, and he, Fareed, was completely in the dark about it. He stood beside his uncle as the woman approached, wishing he could read what was going on behind the bland but still charming smile.

‘I’m Sally Walker. Welcome to Dancing Waters Stud. The river runs over rounded granite stones on the bend below the house and the waters seem to dance, which is where it got its name.’

She sounded nervous and her arm shook slightly as she offered her hand to Ibrahim. To Fareed’s surprise, his uncle not only took it but raised it to his lips for a swift courtly kiss.

Sally Walker blushed a fiery red and Fareed felt a momentary pang of pity for her.

‘Sultan Ibrahim ibn—’ His uncle broke off the recitation of his name and smiled at her. ‘You do not need to know the rest. We call ourselves son of our father—that is the “ibn”—then “ibn” again because he was the son of his father, and I could go on until next week just saying my name. You must call me Ibrahim.’

Hmm! Ibrahim at his most charming!

Fareed’s suspicions grew.

‘You would like tea or coffee, or a cool drink?’ their hostess offered.

‘Perhaps later, my dear,’ Ibrahim said. ‘But first the horses.’

The woman led the way to the stables, explaining as she went.

‘The property was developed by my great-grandparents, and while their main interest was in breeding, my grandfather decided to try his hand at training and did very well. Not many horses, because the breeding side of the business was still important, but he found a special thrill in training his own horses, and that must have passed down in the blood to my father and myself.’

They reached the door of the long, low building, redolent of horse and hay and tack and polish. Some trick of the sun’s position sent a beam of light into the dark shadows at the end, catching a slim, lithe woman bending and straightening as she brushed down the palomino Fareed had seen earlier. Caught in the ray of light, the pair took on a shining luminosity—something from a painting by an old master, Titian perhaps, given the colour of her hair coming alive in the light.

Fareed paused, riveted by the sight, while beside him Ibrahim seemed to suck in his breath. The girl straightened up and Fareed noticed Ibrahim nod to himself, as if satisfied about something—very satisfied …

The mystery of this trip to Australia deepened.

Damn, they were here before she’d finished. Never mind, she’d give Marac another rub this afternoon.

Kate straightened up, aware she’d have wisps of straw in her hair and smudges on her face and would smell of horse, but knowing she needed to be by her mother’s side through this fraught process.

She led Marac into a stall, checked he had food and water, half shut his door, then rubbed her handkerchief over her face and hands and went to meet the visitors.

There was a phalanx of dark, swarthy men around a slightly shorter man. All wore immaculately tailored suits and stern expressions. Except for one, taller than the others—tall, dark and handsome personified, in fact—whose expression was more one of disdain. And his suit was better cut, though he didn’t owe those broad shoulders to his tailor. She checked his face again and saw a classic profile—long, straight nose, broad forehead and a firm chin.

You missed the lips, a voice inside her head whispered, but she hadn’t missed the lips, not in any way. In fact, it had been the lips that had drawn her attention …

He was still looking disdainful, she reminded herself.

Perhaps he felt visiting a small horse breeder’s property was beneath him?

‘This is my daughter, Kate,’ Sally said. ‘Kate, this is Sultan Ibrahim and a lot of other names he says we needn’t bother with.’

Kate approached the group and held out her hand to the sultan—didn’t sultans wear golden turbans?—then remembered where she’d been and withdrew her hand.

‘Sorry, I smell of horse. I really thought I’d be done earlier and cleaned up before you came, but Marac needed the extra run and it was such a beautiful morning, I couldn’t resist.’

She smiled hopefully at the sultan, who not only returned her smile but didn’t back away from her eau de horse.

‘Well, don’t let me keep you from your tour of inspection. I’ll tag along behind in case Mum needs anything.’

She slid past the men, telling herself not to look at faces, but how could she not just sneak a peek now she was closer to Mr Handsome—fine-cut features, a long aquiline nose, cheekbones as sharp as razors, lips—best she didn’t check out the lips …

She couldn’t help glancing up as she passed him, drawn by something more than his expression. Drawn by something she didn’t really understand, though it felt vaguely like attraction. Think about the disdain, she told herself, although perhaps it was disgust, not disdain, probably because of the pervading odour of horse that hung around her?

Could she dash up to the house and shower? So she wouldn’t smell like horse if she was close to the man again? Was she mad? Attracted to a man like that? And, anyway, she couldn’t leave the party now.

Not really, not if Mum might need her.

Or Billy.

Where was Billy?

The ache that rarely went away, tucked into a corner of her heart—the ache that was Billy, gentle, sensitive, slow-to-develop Billy—reminded her of the problems that lay ahead.

Face troubles when they come, girl, she remembered her father telling her, and although he always took the words a little too literally, she felt somehow comforted.

Ibrahim had paused by a half-open door and was talking quietly to the inquisitive gelding who’d poked his head out of his stall. As far as Kate could tell, the visitor wasn’t speaking English but the horse seemed to understand him anyway and was nodding and holding his head sideways for a hard rub.

‘Shamus is Tippy’s—Dancing Tiptoes’s—older brother—full brother, doing well in local two-year-olds’ races.’

The young horse shifted his attention to Kate’s mother and nuzzled her neck as she explained.

‘You’ve tried him in the city?’ asked one of the entourage—the taller one who’d failed to hide his disdain.

Sally Andrews shook her head.

‘Since …’

She faltered and Kate, who knew exactly how huge a strain this meeting was on her mother, stepped in.

‘Since my father died two months ago, my mother hasn’t wanted to travel far,’ she said, speaking directly to the man who’d asked the question, meeting the challenge in his eyes that seemed to peer right into her soul. ‘And logistically it’s difficult. One of our stable hands was killed in the same accident, so we’re short-handed even with me here.’

The questioner’s eyes, dark as obsidian, studied her intently.

Suspiciously?

She shook off the tremor of unease his look had caused and concentrated on the main man—Ibrahim.

‘So, should I purchase Dancing Tiptoes and wish him to run in the best races, I will have to find another trainer?’ Ibrahim asked.

He was standing so close to Sally he must have seen her reaction, and noticed Kate reach out to steady her mother.

Obsidian Eyes certainly had; he missed nothing.

Which might explain, Kate decided, why he, of all the entourage, made her feel so uncomfortable.

‘Come and meet him,’ she said, determined to ignore the stranger. ‘There’s no point in discussing training arrangements if you don’t like the look of him.’

But who wouldn’t? she thought, and her gut clenched as the ramifications of losing Tippy spun in her head.

It was inevitable that Billy would be down in the paddock with Tippy, running alongside him as if they were a pair of the same species.

‘My son, Billy,’ Sally said, and Ibrahim nodded.

Kate, whose eyes had gone to Ibrahim’s face as soon as she saw Billy in the paddock, realised that the man had seen and understood a difference in Billy—seen, understood and accepted! An empathetic man!

Bother the man who was making her uncomfortable, Ibrahim was the boss. It was he who’d decide.

Sally’s whistle had brought Tippy to the fence, Billy following more slowly, his natural caution with strangers holding him back.

Or did he understand more about Tippy’s future than Kate and Sally realised?

Sally had thrust her hand into the capacious pockets of her trousers, but Ibrahim was faster, producing from the pocket in his immaculate pinstriped suit a small, rosy apple.

‘I may?’ he said to Sally, who nodded and tucked the sugar lumps back into her pocket.

Tippy studied the stranger almost as warily as Billy had, then threw his head back and snorted before lowering it to lip the apple delicately off the man’s hand.

‘He likes apples best of all.’ Billy had come gradually closer and now stood beside the horse, his too-thin face radiating the love he felt for the animal.

‘I do, too,’ Ibrahim said. ‘Where I live it is hard to grow apples, so when I come to your country I eat as many as possible.’

‘Where is it that you can’t grow apples?’

‘A place called Amberach, far across the sea. A very small place compared to Australia.’

‘Did you come here in a plane?’

Kate was aware of her mother’s tension returning. Once involved in a conversation, Billy could talk for hours. Should they cut him off?

She glanced at Ibrahim, who showed no sign of impatience—no sign of anything except, she rather thought, simple kindness.

‘Yes, I came on a plane.’

‘Next to horses I like planes best. Dad always said one day I could go on a plane with the horses, but Dad died, you know.’

‘Yes, I did know that,’ Ibrahim said gently, while Kate held her breath.

Please, don’t offer him a plane ride, especially if you don’t mean it.

But Ibrahim’s attention was back on the horse—or was he diverting Billy?

‘Would you run him again for me?’ Ibrahim asked, and Billy whistled to Tippy and the pair took off, Billy understanding what was needed and circling in the middle while Tippy raced around the paddock, his delight in movement lending wings to his feet.

‘A truly beautiful sight,’ Ibrahim murmured. He turned to one of his men—not the tall, disdainful one. ‘He is everything you said he was.’

The man nodded.

‘Would you like a cool drink or a cup of tea or coffee?’ Kate offered, trying to hide the excitement she was feeling, although she knew her mother would be more apprehensive than excited.

Selling Tippy was one thing—the money from the sale would save the stables—but keeping him to train—her mother’s long-held dream—was quite another.

‘First we might walk around a little, see the other horses, the training track and the hill run I’ve heard about. Dancing Tiptoes was bred here—the mare is here?’ Ibrahim replied.

‘In foal again, and with the other mares,’ Sally told him. ‘When they’re pregnant they seem to like the company. We’ll walk this way.’

She led the party, Ibrahim close behind her, Kate and the entourage bringing up the rear.

‘You’d already seen the horse?’ she said to the man beside her—the one to whom Ibrahim had turned earlier.

‘I was at your father’s funeral, then came back here with others,’ he said quietly. ‘I know it is late to be offering condolences but I am sorry for your loss.’

Kate thanked him and lagged behind, caught off guard by his sudden kindness. She remembered little of that terrible day beyond a blur of cars and people and a need to be strong for both her mother and Billy, yet being uselessly emotional all day.

In fact, it had been Billy who’d been strong for her, and for their mother.

Maybe he would understand more than they thought if Tippy was sold and moved to another trainer. Maybe he’d transfer his love to a new foal—

‘Ka-a-a-a-te!’

Her mother’s anguished cry brought her out of her reverie. Looking up, she realised the entourage was now some way ahead of her. But instinct had her running down towards the brood mares’ paddock, pushing through the phalanx of minders, seeing the taller man, eyes nearly swollen shut, red welts appearing on his face, pulling at his tie, his collar, trying to say something that sounded like ‘knife’.

‘He wants a knife,’ one of the men said, while Kate grabbed the man, trying to ease him to the ground, issuing orders as she did it.

‘Call an ambulance—emergency number is triple zero here—and you …’ she pointed to the closest ‘… run up to the stables and get the first-aid box. One of the stable hands will find it for you.’

The stricken man was still struggling to talk, pointing at his throat and making gargling noises.

‘What’s his name?’ she asked Ibrahim, who was looking so pale Kate feared she’d have two patients.

‘Fareed,’ Ibrahim whispered.

‘Don’t worry, he’ll be all right,’ Kate assured the older man, before turning back to her patient.

‘Okay, Fareed, I need you to relax. Lie right back, you’ll be all right.’

She’d fallen to her knees beside him as she spoke, straightening him out on the ground as best she could when he was still struggling, pushing at her and trying to talk.

‘Lie still, you big lunk,’ she yelled, and apparently shocked him into immobility. Seizing her chance, she tilted back his head in case CPR became necessary, automatically feeling for a pulse, counting his breaths, more gasps than breaths.

‘He was waving his hands then started gasping,’ Sally was explaining, but Kate had already found the tiny sting the bee had left behind, barely visible on the lobe of the man’s right ear.

‘It’s anaphylactic shock,’ she said as she pulled the sting out and felt in the man’s pockets for a pen. ‘Did any of you know he had allergies? That he was allergic to bee stings?’

The men looked blankly at her but there was no time to explain.

Tilting the patient’s head farther back, she leaned forward, refusing to even consider the lips she was about to touch as anything other than an anonymous patient’s. Although as she closed her mouth over his, breathing air into his lungs, trying to force it in through a passage she knew would be closing more and more, a shiver of something she couldn’t understand ran down her spine.

Between breaths she reassured her patient, who was nearly comatose but still struggling, though feebly, against her.

It was Billy who brought the first-aid kit, and Kate, knowing an ambulance would take at least another twenty minutes to reach the property, didn’t hesitate.

Opening the big case, she searched for the epinephrine injection she’d told her father to keep there. Either he hadn’t bothered or it had been used, emptied and not replaced. She found a scalpel, still in its sterile wrapping, and a small roll of plastic tubing—heaven only knew its real use. Using scissors, she cut a small piece then pulled on gloves.

The skin on the man’s neck was smooth and tanned, and her hand hesitated for a fraction of a second but she knew what had to be done.

She’d drawn the scalpel from its sheath and moved her hand towards that smooth, tanned skin, when one of the entourage stepped forward and, to her astonishment, pulled out a gun.

A small gun, but no less deadly than a big one would be, of that she was sure.

He muttered something at her in his own language and Kate turned to Ibrahim.

‘His throat has swollen and he can’t breathe—I need to make a hole and breathe into it for him until he can manage on his own. I am a doctor, I can do this.’

Ibrahim nodded and apparently translated but the gun didn’t disappear back to wherever it had come from.

So if I do this wrong, he shoots me? Kate wondered in the distant part of her brain not focused on the job.

Feeling carefully, she found the space between his thyroid cartilage and the cricoid cartilage. The scalpel blade bit cleanly, a cut barely half an inch deep, and she slipped her finger into it to open it, before sliding the tube into place.

Ignoring the muttering going on around her and the distant yowling of an ambulance, she bent low and breathed into the tube. Two quick breaths, pause, another breath, pause …

The man’s chest was rising so she’d got the tube in successfully, but he needed treatment—epinephrine to combat the shock, hospitalisation for at least twenty-four hours, and minor surgery to repair the gash she’d made in his throat.

Somehow she didn’t think she’d have to worry about Billy missing Tippy. These people would want nothing more to do with the Andrews family.

The ambos, once they’d given the patient an epinephrine injection in his thigh, were audibly impressed by her efforts.

‘Learnt about it, of course,’ one said, ‘but never had to do it.’

‘I’m an ER doctor,’ Kate explained, as they expertly attached monitors to their patient, then lifted him onto the stretcher. ‘Though I’ve only had to do it once before so I was a bit shaky.’

‘ER doc?’ the second man said, when he’d strapped Fareed onto the stretcher. ‘Don’t suppose you’d come with us—sit with him just in case.’

‘I think that would be an excellent idea,’ Ibrahim said, and to emphasise the point he actually nodded towards the man who’d held the gun.

Or maybe that was her imagination running riot after the little bit of drama!

Whatever! Someone would have to sit with him to hold the plastic tube in place and it might as well be her. She climbed into the back of the ambulance beside Fareed, who was breathing, somewhat raspily, through the hole in his neck. His eyes opened, the drug taking almost immediate effect, and his hand lifted to feel his neck.

Kate caught the hand before he could dislodge the tube, and held it in hers so it could do no harm. It was a strong hand, with long, lean fingers that fought against her hold—a manly hand …

She put the distraction down to her own shock—and disappointment.

‘You’ve suffered anaphylactic shock. You’ve got a tube in your throat so you can breathe and you’ve had an injection of epinephrine, which will combat the shock. Now you know you’re allergic to bee stings, you should carry a pen with the drug in it wherever you go.’

The disdain she’d read in his eyes earlier returned, so blatant she wanted to turn away.

And let him get away with it?

‘Not that I expect gratitude or anything for saving your life, but a smile wouldn’t hurt! ’

Fortunately, before she could let off any more steam, which she knew was nothing more than a release of her own tension, they drew up at the hospital.

A woman was beside him—a woman in big glasses and flaming red hair she hid in a plait, but nice skin—creamy skin, skin you’d like to touch but preferably when she wasn’t going on and on at him. Fareed closed his eyes and tried to clear his head.

She was holding his hand.

He must know her.

She looked angry, but, then, he knew any number of angry women, though none he could remember with plaited hair. Her glasses magnified pale green eyes. Beautiful eyes, he rather thought—even angry, they were special. But the glasses were appalling, although the frames were the same colour as the little freckles sprinkled over her nose.

He was reasonably sure he didn’t know any woman with freckles on her nose—well, not freckles that she left on show for everyone to see.

Men’s voices and a door opening somewhere near his feet brought memory of what had happened rushing back. He tried again to feel his throat but the woman stopped him.

‘You’re at the hospital now. You’ll be okay, you’ll be fine. They’ll want to keep you overnight, to check you haven’t had a reaction to the drug, and they’ll stitch up the hole I made in your neck, and—’

He freed his hand and put it up to touch her lips, to quiet her, then he smiled to show her he’d understood.

She looked so surprised—by his smile?—his next smile became a genuine one.

After all, she had saved his life!

Kate alighted from the ambulance, shaken by what was nothing more than a stranger’s casual finger touching her lips. Before she could analyse the reaction, she realised that Ibrahim and his entourage were already there. The older man was watching anxiously as the ambulance men rolled the stretcher out, set it on its legs and began to wheel it away.

He walked beside it, talking to Fareed, obviously concerned about his health, asking questions of the nurse who appeared, giving orders to his men—a caring man.

A sultan?

The word was redolent of fairy stories from Kate’s youth—men with golden turbans and casks of glowing jewellery. Did the world still have sultans?

Although it wasn’t stature but money that had everyone running around after him, she decided less than an hour later when a specialist ear, nose and throat surgeon arrived from Sydney, helicoptered in to the helipad behind the hospital.

‘I’m under orders to stay until the tube comes out and I’m sure he’s breathing safely without it—which is now—and then to fix the hole you made,’ the man said to Kate after he’d seen the patient. ‘My mother could have fixed the hole with one of her embroidery needles. Who is this bloke?’

Kate shrugged.

‘He came with Sultan Ibrahim to see one of my mother’s horses, that’s all I know. They must have got on to someone at their consulate and arranged to have you flown here.’

She hesitated, not sure whether to tell the surgeon about the gun. Decided not to. He’d see it for himself if he displeased the entourage in any way.

‘Well, now you’re here I’ll leave him in your expert hands and go home,’ she said, then smiled. ‘A top ENT man sitting in a country hospital watching a patient recover from anaphylactic shock—that must be a change for you!’

He smiled back.

‘Actually, it’s all in a good cause. They bribed me with the offer of a very handsome donation to my favourite research programme.’

‘Fair enough,’ Kate said, aware the man had expected her to ask what it was and to stay for a chat, but she was suddenly overwhelmingly tired and had yet to work out how she was going to get home.

One of the sultan’s men sorted that problem, emerging from one of the limos as she came down the hospital steps and opening the rear door for her to get in.

He’s either going to kidnap me or take me home, and right now I’m too tired to care, she thought as she climbed into the luxury vehicle and sank back into the soft leather seat.

‘Thank you,’ she said, as the limo pulled away from the hospital, then the build-up of stress she’d been feeling all day—apprehension about the important man’s visit, worry over Billy should Tippy be sold, the medical drama and the strangely attractive disdainful man—seeped silently out of her body, and she rested her head back and closed her eyes.

CHAPTER TWO

KATE AND BILLY were clearing fallen branches from the top paddocks when the fleet of cars rolled back down the drive the next morning—three limos this time, not four.

Wet and filthy, Kate pushed her straggling hair back off her face and scowled as they passed.

‘Mum’s down in the bottom paddock,’ Billy said, and Kate’s scowl deepened.

Filthy or not, she’d have to greet the visitors.

Leaving Billy to finish the work, she climbed the fence and hurried down the drive behind the cars, arriving as Ibrahim’s guard, as she thought of them now, formed around him.

‘Sorry I’m such a mess—we had quite a storm last night—and Mum’s down in the bottom paddock,’ she said, aware she didn’t sound the least bit sorry. ‘If you want to wait inside I’ll get her for you.’

Ibrahim waved away her apology and her offer.

‘It is you I have come to see.’ He spoke so formally Kate felt a whisper of apprehension slither down her spine. Studying him more closely, it seemed he’d aged since the previous day—grown weaker in some way. Shock over the bee-sting incident, or was the man not well? Could she enquire about his health, or would that be breaking some protocol she didn’t understand?

‘Let’s sit on the deck,’ she suggested, deciding to keep an eye on him as they spoke. Maybe an opening would arise when she could ask him if he was all right.

Having decided this, she led him around the side of the house to the wide, paved deck that looked down towards the river. ‘These chairs are used to work clothes.’

To Kate’s surprise, only Ibrahim followed her; the other men remained by the cars, although the one who’d attended her father’s funeral had peeled off from the group and was heading for the stables.

‘Why—?’ she began.

‘He will find your mother and talk with her,’ Ibrahim said, his smile allaying a little of her tension. ‘You must not be alarmed.’

Kate found herself smiling right back. There was something about this man—the mix of old-world charm and courtly manners—that made her feel safe.

Safe from what?

She had no idea.

She led him up onto the terrace and waved him into a chair, then wondered about the propriety of offering a wet chair to a sultan.

‘I think they’re all dry but you’d better check,’ she said. ‘Sometimes a storm blows rain in under the roof.’

Ibrahim obediently felt his chair before sitting down, but now, seated herself, the safe feeling had gone and Kate was feeling more than a whisper of apprehension.

Had he decided it was easier to tell her rather than her mother that he wasn’t buying Tippy?

What else could it be?

She was about to offer tea or coffee so she could get away for a few minutes and calm herself when he spoke.

‘Firstly, I wish to thank you for what you did. Dr McLean tells me you saved Fareed’s life and I am grateful, as would be my family and all my people for he is greatly loved. So here is where we are. I will buy your mother’s horse, not out of gratitude but because I agree with my stud master that Dancing Tiptoe is a magnificent animal and will hopefully become a great racehorse.’

Kate’s heart sank.

Stupid, really, when the sale meant her mother’s breeding business would survive, and no doubt prosper, once word got around. But it was the training that her mother loved and to lose a horse with Tippy’s potential …

Was she thinking this to stop herself thinking about Billy?

About what losing Tippy would do to Billy’s fragile health?

His happiness?

Tippy was his life!

Ibrahim was still talking—she had to listen. Later she’d worry about Billy. He was saying …

Saying he’d leave the horse with her mother?

‘You’d let her train him? Not take him away? Oh, thank you, Ibrahim, you have no idea how much that would mean to her.’

‘And to your brother?’

Kate nodded.

‘Yes, Billy and Tippy have been inseparable since Tippy was a foal. Billy has some kind of special bond with all the horses, but with Tippy it is so much more—as if he’s found a soul mate.’

‘I guessed as much,’ Ibrahim said quietly, ‘but, as I said earlier, there is a bargain attached. We love bargaining, we of ancient desert blood.’

Ah, the catch, Kate thought, tension building within her as she waited for the axe to drop on this dream result.

‘I know our ways are different but they have proved successful over thousands of years. For a long time now I have been looking for a wife for my nephew, and in you I believe I have found a person of strength and character who would be a perfect match for him.’

‘I’m sorry? You want me to marry a total stranger because you think we’d be a perfect match? Ibrahim, I don’t want to be rude, but that’s ridiculous!’

Far from being offended, Ibrahim smiled calmly and continued as if she’d never spoken.

‘I would not hold you to the marriage if, after a certain time, you both felt it was untenable, but I would like you to give it time, say a year. I realise this must seem strange to you—’

‘Strange? It’s beyond strange. Bizarre might come near but—’

She wasn’t allowed to finish—not that she could think past the ‘but’.

‘To us it is a normal arrangement,’ her guest said. ‘You will have much in common, for you are both doctors and I believe your recent work has been in Emergency, which is where my nephew works in a new hospital purpose-built for such things. So you could work together, although, of course, you would not have to work unless you wished to.’

He had it all planned out, and he spoke as if this was a rational, reasonable conversation.

Which, of course, it wasn’t! Not rational or reasonable at all! Totally unreasonable. Ridiculous, in fact! Although somewhere in the chaos in her head she remembered where this conversation had begun.

It was a bargain.

If she did this, he would not only buy Tippy but would allow her mother to train him.

Here, at the stud …

With Billy …

‘And your nephew, what does he have to say to this?’ she asked, squelching the questions that she really wanted answers to—why couldn’t he find his own wife? Was he a five-foot-two moron with bad skin and a stutter?

Not that a five-foot-two moron with bad skin and a stutter couldn’t be a wonderful man and a great husband, but—

‘Fareed will accept I am acting in his best interests.’

‘Fareed?’ The name came out in a disbelieving squeak. ‘The man whose throat I cut? That’s the man you want me to marry?’

Settle down, Kate, breathe—but before she could obey this sensible order, another thought struck her.

‘This isn’t like some old Chinese proverb where, if you save a person’s life you’re responsible for them for ever, is it? I’m a doctor, it’s my job—and think of all the doctors in the world who’d be burdened down with all those responsibilities. No, Ibrahim, it’s impossible.’

Ibrahim regarded her, his face grave.

‘I would not put responsibility for a life on anyone,’ he said. ‘In my position, I am only too aware of the burden of responsibility. I understand, as a doctor, you did what you had to do and as a result Fareed is alive. But this is a separate issue.’

He paused, looking out over the home paddock to the river, his face troubled by thoughts Kate couldn’t guess at.

Not that she wanted to guess at anything—she was too busy trying to order her own thoughts.

Marry a man to save her family?

It was medieval!

But if she did it …

Ibrahim was talking again, and she forced herself to listen.

‘I have been seeking a suitable wife for him for some time,’ he said. ‘He is thirty-seven and it is time he was married. It struck me yesterday that you would be a perfect match for him. You are strong, and resourceful, and caring of your family—this last is important to me because family is who we are.’

‘But that’s just it—family! My family!’ Kate pointed out. ‘I’ve come home to help Mum here at the stud, I can’t go off and leave her now. She’ll have more work than ever.’

Besides which she’d kill me if she thought I’d agree to such a stupid bargain for her sake.

Or Billy’s …?

Ibrahim was talking again and Kate tried to concentrate, although the confusion in her mind was making it near impossible.

‘I will provide the best available help for your mother,’ he said firmly. ‘An overseer, stable hands, new vehicles, whatever she will need.’

No confusion now! Kate closed her eyes and saw exactly how the stables could be—the way her mother had always dreamed they’d be, although somehow her father had always managed to lose whatever money they’d had before the dream could be realised.

Her mother would be in heaven.

And Billy would have Tippy.

But her mother would be horrified at the ‘bargain’.

Not if she didn’t know …

That last sneaky thought hit Kate like a sharp slap.

Was she actually considering Ibrahim’s mad idea? Could she really deceive her mother?

She looked at the man who sat quietly beside her, gazing out at the green fields and river gums. Not the courtly gentleman she’d met the day before but someone older, more tired, somehow.

She dragged her mind back from the man to the question.

‘But surely your nephew should marry someone from your own country. Someone who would know how—well, how to behave,’ she offered desperately.

Ibrahim shook his head, but now he smiled.

‘I have thought hard on it, and you would be my choice. Fareed is the son of my older brother so he is also my heir, and although he will be a wise and just ruler, he has ghosts in his life, ghosts I fear will stop him reaching his full potential.’

‘So I’m not only supposed to marry this man but banish his demons, as well?’ Kate demanded. ‘Shouldn’t you be calling an exorcist?’

She knew she was being flippant, but right now flippant was all she could manage. The turmoil inside her—the feeling of being torn in two—was just too much!

Ibrahim offered her a slight smile but obviously wasn’t diverted from his course.

‘I would not put such a burden on you, although I believe you could be the person to help him out of the past. It is why I have chosen you. And, as I said, I would not hold you to the marriage—divorce is simple in my country and should that happen, provided I believe you have behaved honourably, I will honour my agreement with your mother. That would be our bargain.’

Bargain!

The word brought her right back to where this bizarre conversation had started. Ibrahim would buy Tippy, have her mother train him, provide an overseer and stable help and the stables would not only survive but would undoubtedly thrive.

As would Billy!

And all she, Kate, had to do, was …

Marry the man with the disdainful yet seductively attractive face?

The words roared in her head, while a tremor of what she hoped was fear and not desire stirred inside her.

She tried desperately to pull herself together—to come up with some sensible, solid, irrefutable reasoning against this ridiculous idea.

All she came up with was a question.

‘I can work while I’m there?’

‘Of course,’ Ibrahim replied. ‘We would really appreciate it if you did.’

‘So you need doctors—or a doctor?’

He shook his head.

‘Doctors we can buy.’

‘And you can’t buy wives?’ The words were out before she’d thought them through, and as soon as they were hanging there, in the bright morning air, she realised her mistake.

‘But, of course, that’s what you’re doing.’

Ibrahim studied her for a moment.

‘We are traders back as far as our people go. Trade is give and take. It is bartering and making bargains, that is how we do things. You talk of buying as if it is a bribe, but if you could see it our way, maybe it would not look so ugly to you.’

‘And Fareed? What does he think of this?’

Ibrahim’s smile turned him back into the man she’d first met—the charming man her mother had introduced in the stables.

‘He has no need to know who—it is enough that he knows he is to marry a woman I have chosen. He will meet you on his wedding night.’

‘Wedding night?’

Kate’s voice was back to squeaky—squeaky with disbelief.

‘Our weddings are different. You will be married with the woman supporting you, and he with the men, so you will not meet until after the ceremony and feasting is over.’

It isn’t that part of the ‘wedding night’ phrase that worries me , Kate wanted to say, but somehow it didn’t seem appropriate.

Not that any of this conversation had been particularly appropriate …

CHAPTER THREE

FAREED WAS PUZZLED when the limousine sent to collect him from the hospital didn’t contain his uncle, and even more surprised when the driver announced they were going straight to the airport.

‘The sultan is staying on for a few days but knows you wish to get back to work,’ the driver informed him. ‘His plane will take you home and return for him.’

Fareed wasn’t entirely surprised. After his uncle had dropped his bombshell at the hospital, the evening after his allergic reaction to the bee, Ibrahim had avoided opportunities for further conversation—opportunities he couldn’t have escaped if they’d flown home together.

That conversation had been startling, to say the least—shocking, in fact. He had known for some time that his days as a bachelor were numbered. Knew also that his uncle would be choosing his bride. After all, as Ibrahim had pointed out, he’d had plenty of time to find one for himself. And it was in keeping with the tradition of the family, and their people, so there was little point in arguing about it.

But the last thing Fareed had expected his uncle to announce on his hospital visit was a date for his wedding—a date within a fortnight of their return to Amberach.

Even more disturbing was his uncle’s refusal to tell him the name of his bride-to-be. It would almost certainly be some distant cousin, someone Ibrahim had been secretly grooming—or having groomed—for the job. Because that’s what it was—a job, a duty, preordained almost …

No, it was perfectly understandable that Ibrahim would be avoiding him!

Had she actually agreed?

That was Kate’s first thought when, three days after Ibrahim’s morning visit, Isaac, the man who’d first seen Tippy, arrived at the house, bringing with him a young stableboy, several mounds of luggage and an elegant leather folder, embossed in gold, with what must be the crest of Amberach and Kate’s name.

It contained not only details of the flight she would take to Amberach with the sultan in two days’ time but also coloured brochures about the country, its people and history right up to recent times, where a picture showed the sultan, in a long white robe and gold-edged headscarf, cutting the ribbon in front of the new emergency hospital.

A tall, distinguished-looking man, similarly dressed except for black edging on his headscarf, stood beside Ibrahim.

Fareed!

Kate peered at the photo—hoping to read something positive in the shadowed features?

He was as good looking as she’d first thought him, but good looks were usually way down on her list of important manly attributes.

Manly attributes?

What was she thinking?

‘I do wish you hadn’t made such a quick decision about going over there to work,’ her mother said when she saw the documents, and Kate knew her mother suspected something.

Not a marriage something, that was for sure, but she knew something had gone on between Ibrahim and Kate.

‘Mum, it’s a brand-new hospital—look—and I’m only going for a year. It’s not as if I haven’t been away before, and think how exciting it will be. Look at the brochures Ibrahim has sent. What’s more, you’ll be so busy with training and getting the new staff into order, you won’t even notice I’m gone.’

Sally smiled.

‘It is good for us all, isn’t it? Like a gift from heaven, to be able to keep Tippy here for Billy—’

‘And for you to train him, Mum, to show what you can do with a really good horse! It’s time to stop dreaming and get working.’

Sally hugged her hard and Kate swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.

This is all for Mum and Billy, she reminded herself, and for the future of this family—my family.

Twelve months of her life was a small price to pay for the happiness she was bringing these two people, whom she loved with all her heart.

And there was no way she could think beyond that—except perhaps, from a purely selfish motive, it would offer a chance to put her life back together after Mark …

‘Snow-capped mountains?’

Ibrahim smiled at the disbelief in Kate’s voice.

‘You did not expect them?’

‘I saw the pictures in the brochures, but it still seems strange to see snow in a desert.’

Her host had spent most of the flight tucked away in what he called his mobile office, catching up on business and resting when he could. Perhaps he wasn’t well, the kindly Ibrahim—could this be why he was so anxious to marry off his nephew?

You don’t know enough about any of it, Kate told herself. Just be glad you had a good sleep so you can face whatever lies ahead. She felt fresh and rested, having lazed and slept in first-class luxury until a steward had brought breakfast and opened the blind for her to see Amberach for the first time.

Ibrahim had slid into the seat beside her as she’d blurted out her surprise.

‘Amberach has everything,’ he explained. ‘It is winter now so there is more snow, but on the highest peaks a little snow remains all year round. It is the snow melt that makes the land around the base of the mountains fertile, and has provided a good living for our farmers throughout the ages. But the fertile plain is narrow and on two sides of my country the great desert has encroached more and more—right to the coast, where many of my people have lived on fishing and pearl diving for generations.’

‘Do you still have a pearling industry?’ Kate asked.

‘I am trying to revive it, if only as an added incentive for tourists to visit my country,’ Ibrahim said, as the plane swooped lower, over dark blue sea and yellow-gold sand. ‘Once cultured pearls came on the market, our pearling fleets went out of business. Most turned to fishing, but the fisherman must go farther and farther from shore to get a good catch.’

Kate nodded, remembering the things she’d read, but the plane was coming in to land and a mixture of excitement and apprehension at what lay ahead held her silent.

The plane landed but no one moved and to Kate’s surprise it was then towed into a huge hangar, sumptuously decorated in deep reds and purple and gold.

‘The women of the family prefer to alight in privacy,’ Ibrahim explained, ‘although these days many of them, especially the younger ones, frequent the shopping malls and go with friends to the theatre.’

They disembarked, Ibrahim ushering Kate into yet another sleek black vehicle—into the front seat this time.

‘I have asked Fareed to meet us here. He will take you for a short drive along the esplanade and past the old fort on the way to the palace. It will be an opportunity for the two of you to talk a little but remember, he knows nothing of the wedding plans. It is not necessary for him to know until the wedding night.’

Kate frowned at the man she’d discovered was so devious and felt her stomach knot at the thought of the deception she would have to play.

Or was it deception if Fareed didn’t know?

She heard voices and looked up to see him striding into the hangar.

‘Is this really necessary, Uncle?’ he demanded. ‘Do you not have enough lackeys that one couldn’t be found to show Dr Andrews around this morning? I’m barely back at work and you call me away.’

His face might be a mask, but his eyes glittered with fury.

Kate tried to blend into the car, to pretend she wasn’t there at all, but Ibrahim was unrelenting.

‘It is a small thing I ask of you,’ he was saying to Fareed. ‘Dr Andrews is our guest and all I would wish of you is to show her a little hospitality. Perhaps as a mark of your gratitude …’

‘In that great hulking limousine? If you want me to play tour guide she can ride with me in my car.’

Kate thought she detected a quick smirk on Ibrahim’s face and wondered just how wide his manipulative streak might be.

‘Well, come along!’

Fareed this time, the order curt.

She longed to rebel, to tell the pair of them she wasn’t just a piece of meat to barter over, but she bit her tongue because, sadly, that was exactly what she was—Ibrahim’s pawn.

She forced herself to think of the rewards of the position—the continued success of the family business, her mother’s and Billy’s happiness …

Billy! In her head she saw the tiny scrap of humanity that had been her longed-for baby brother, born twelve weeks early and looking like the living doll she’d been imagining. All tied up with wires, his little eyes taped shut, tiny hands and feet and tubes everywhere.

Billy, who’d fought to live, then battled through one illness after another to survive.

Billy, who’d only really come fully alive when Tippy had been born and the two of them had formed some magical bond.

She shut away the memories and followed meekly behind the angry man who so obviously didn’t want to be stuck with her.

If he only knew …

Fareed’s vehicle was a high-set SUV, black like most of the vehicles she’d seen these people use.

‘Why are all the cars black?’ she asked, as she clambered in, unaided by her husband-to-be.

‘They aren’t,’ he replied—two crisp words cutting off any further conversation.

Kate studied his profile—more stern than arrogant—and shivered inside. Perhaps there was still time to pull out of this arrangement. She could speak to Ibrahim and ask if she could work for two years—even three—instead of marrying this man, but she knew she couldn’t risk the happiness of the two people she loved best in all the world.

And yet if she was going to marry Fareed, shouldn’t she at least attempt to get to know him?

‘I’m sorry you were pulled away from your work. If I had known Ibrahim was going to interrupt your work to take care of me, I could have asked him to call me a cab.’

Fareed’s reply was a derisive snort.

‘Call a cab when he has a dozen vehicles at his disposal and probably twice as many drivers? I’m to take you to the palace where, no doubt, he’ll be happy to organise a car and a driver to be put at your disposal for however long you are here.’

He turned to study her as the traffic slowed.

‘It seems you have bewitched him.’

How to respond?

‘Nonsense! He’s asked me here as thanks for the bee episode and so I could see your country and perhaps work here for a while. I imagine, once I start work, I can live in at the hospital.’

Another snort.

Kate sighed.

If the man was like this when he thought her just a visitor, how much more awkward and dismissive would he be when he discovered she was to become his wife?

She should tell him—let him work it out with Ibrahim—but she had given her word she’d tell no one of the agreement. To all intents and purposes, she was coming here to work, full stop.

And as for seeing sights, so far all they’d seen was traffic. Was this Fareed’s way of disobeying his uncle’s orders? She’d have been better off being shown around by one of the camels wandering across the streets—the cause of the traffic chaos.

‘Are they sacred animals that they are allowed right of way?’ she asked, and Fareed, though he looked momentarily shocked that she had asked a question, did, finally, reply.

‘No, just animals with minds of their own! But they have been essential to the survival of my people for thousands of years, so no one would harm one. We will be out of this traffic soon.’

Kate turned her attention back to her surroundings.

Rows of small shops and businesses gave way to signs of development, boarded lots, some with massive cranes rising behind the fences, and beyond them the outlying residential area of a sparkling new city.

‘How exciting it must be to be able to build a city from scratch,’ Kate said. ‘To try to get it right from the beginning.’

For a moment she thought Fareed wouldn’t answer, but after a swift glance her way, he relented.

‘This city is my uncle’s dream. He had so many plans he needed teams of architects and engineers and builders to implement them. He drew the best from all over the world, told them what he wanted, then made sure he got it. He might appear a charming cosmopolitan man but he has the core of steel all our leaders had to keep the tribes alive in inhospitable places for thousands of years.’

Kate heard the words but also the love this man must feel for Ibrahim. Could a man who loved his uncle be all bad?

The vehicle left the city, the built and unbuilt bits of it, and swung onto a wide road that ran along the shoreline.

‘Oh!’

Kate barely breathed the word, so astonished was she by the wide stretch of golden sound reaching out to the deep blue of a placid sea. Squat palm trees lined the landward side of the road and beyond them, green parklands stretched to the foothills of craggy red-grey mountains.

The road curved gently around the shallow bay, coming to a point where rugged cliffs met the sea, and perched atop the cliffs, like something formed from the land itself, there was a multi-towered building.

The old fort?

‘How do you get to it?’ Kate asked, staring up now at the sheer cliffs.

‘There is a way from the inland side,’ Fareed explained. ‘And a secret way from the sea. Once it was a place of refuge for the fishermen who lived along the shore, but now it is deserted, except for the caretakers and some artisans who are restoring parts that have deteriorated.’

As they rounded the corner, Kate turned back to look again, marvelling at the beauty of the structure and wondering how on earth it had been built on such an impossible site.

But they were passing the fishing village now, the colourful boats tied up along the shore, and beyond the village high mud brick walls—

‘Another fort?’

‘The palace,’ Fareed replied.

She was here!

In Amberach!

With her bridegroom?

CHAPTER FOUR

THE PLANS FOR the wedding were completely out of Kate’s hands, and there were brief moments when she allowed herself to relax and enjoy her new surroundings, but the strain of deceiving her mother lived with her night and day.

Too afraid her mother would hear the anxiety in her voice, or that even talking to her mother—lying the way she was—would make her break down, Kate had used the time difference between the countries as an excuse to communicate through emails.

The pain of the deception stayed with her as she settled in the palace, in her own suite of rooms in the enormous, rambling, maze of a place.

In reality she’d had little time for worry or self-pity, with various female members of Ibrahim’s family fluttering around her, helping her settle in, filling her so-called ‘dressing-room’ with garments and gowns she was sure she’d never wear, underwear so fine it looked as if it would fall apart if she breathed and nightgowns that made her blush.

In the bathroom she’d found perfumes, soaps, creams and various unguents she’d only sniffed at, filling an entire wall of shelves, while another cabinet carried an array of make-up from the top French cosmetic manufacturers.

The day before the wedding, she was escorted to a large reception area. It was magnificent, the floors covered in silk carpets woven in dazzling jewel colours, the walls carved with fanciful trees and flowers and painted, again in brilliant colour. Arched windows along one side of the room must look out into the big courtyard that Kate had been too timid to explore.

She only knew it was laid out in patterns similar to the carpets, with a fountain in the centre and trees and bushes cut into fantastic shapes. Not that she could see it now, for filmy silk curtains covered the windows, billowing slightly in the breeze.

Following her escorts, she was led to the far end of the room and seated on a low divan in the middle of a kind of dais, so she was raised above anyone coming into the room. Women began arriving—women she’d never met, although all of them appeared very excited to be meeting her. And all of them were beautifully dressed in designer fashions once they’d removed the black abayas that had covered their gowns.

They cooed and oohed and touched her clothes—a beautiful silk gown in palest lemon—and her hair—in its usual unruly plait down her back, and cooed and oohed again.

Several younger girls appeared, giggling and carrying pots of what looked like paste.

‘This is your henna party,’ one of them, who introduced herself as Farida, told her. ‘We are to be your attendants today and tomorrow. We are cousins of Fareed. This is Suley and this is Mai.’

They set down the pots they carried, and beckoned an older woman towards them.

‘Hayla is the best henna artist in the country. She will do a beautiful job. Your skin is so pale, the henna patterns will look stunning.’

Henna?

Artist?

Patterns?

Kate longed to ask for details but the girls were chattering excitedly amongst themselves and more and more women were arriving, introducing themselves and touching her, as if checking she was real.

The three handmaidens cleared everyone away, and the artist knelt in front of Kate, taking one of her feet in her hands and turning it this way and that.

She opened the lid on one of the pots and Kate realised what was happening. She’d seen pictures of women with their hands and feet decorated with the dark red-brown colour—henna.

Fascinated in spite of herself, she watched as a lacy pattern of vines and leaves began to show up on her foot. Thick heavy lines, although, as Farida explained, the thickness was there to dye the pattern into the skin and would later be washed away.

‘But you must be very still,’ Mai warned.

So Kate sat, looking out at the partying women, all eating now, maids circling the room with great platters of food.

And Fareed?

What would he be doing?

She pictured his face, trying to wipe off the disdain. He was certainly a handsome man, and well built—something she’d realised as she’d struggled to get him to relax after the bee sting.

But how the hell was he going to react when he realised who Ibrahim had chosen for his wife?

Fareed stalked through the hospital, his usual pleasure in the place he had created deadened by the dread of what was to occur tomorrow. The marrying part was all right—he’d known he had to marry, and soon—but he knew his uncle well enough to know the old man was plotting something—something Fareed guessed he would not enjoy.

He’d slept in his apartment at the palace the previous night, hoping to pick up some gossip about what lay ahead, but even his most devoted of servants were tightlipped. Either that, or they, too, had been kept in the dark. He might as well return to his apartment here at the hospital tonight—one last night of freedom.

How bad could it be? he asked himself as he continued his patrol of the reception area, glaring at anyone unfortunate enough to cross his tracks. Apart from sleeping with the woman from time to time in order to produce some heirs, he need have nothing to do with her. Once the wedding month—which was, in fact, forty days—was over, she’d have her own apartment in the women’s part of the palace and he need never see her, except in bed.

With the lights out!

He shuddered at the thought of having sex because it was his duty, not because he was attracted to a woman. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to perform?

He slammed a hand against his head and was glad when his pager called him to the emergency room, so he could concentrate on work to escape the wild imaginings running through his brain.

At least thinking about the wedding was distracting him from thinking about the woman who was supposed to be coming to work at the hospital—the woman with the flaming hair, at one with the horse she rode so expertly.

He knew she was staying at the palace, but as yet there’d been no mention of when she might deign to start work. He should probably have asked either her or Ibrahim but, as far as he was concerned, getting over the wedding was enough to be worrying about without having to consider a woman who, for reasons beyond his understanding, he found profoundly disturbing.

In fact, the longer she stayed away from the hospital, the happier he’d be.

Sitting still was hard, although Kate was fed tidbits by her new-found friends. Little morsels of delicious food, sips of brightly coloured fruit juices. And below her the party swirled, while beautiful women, tall and short, imperious looking or gently feminine, all clad in glorious gowns, came up onto the dais to check on the progress of the henna and to admire the patterns, most of them still touching her hair as they passed by.

‘Are redheads so rare in Amberach,’ she asked the girls, and they giggled behind their hands.

‘Yes, but they say your colouring reminds them of Fareed’s mother,’ Mai added. ‘Apparently, she, too, had red hair, though none of us ever saw her.’

Uh-oh! Kate thought as things began to click into place. Was this why Ibrahim had chosen her? Was Fareed’s mother one of the ghosts he carried in his head? And, if so, what was she, Kate, supposed to do about it?

Icy dread crept through her veins. The moment he realised just who his bride was, Fareed would know just how badly Ibrahim had treated him—had tricked him.

And her!

She needed to know more about Fareed’s family—his parents—and what had happened to them, but even after such a short stay in Amberach, she knew she couldn’t ask. Questions about families were taboo.

Although she could ask Ibrahim!

With two feet and one hand painted?

No, she couldn’t stop this process now, but she needed to speak to Ibrahim—to demand to know if he’d chosen her because she bore some curious resemblance to Fareed’s mother.

She’d tell him …

What?

That she couldn’t be part of a plan to deliberately hurt Fareed?

That she couldn’t go through with the wedding?

And tell her mother and Billy what, when she returned home and Tippy was sent to another trainer?

She breathed deeply, hoping to calm her racing thoughts, but the coldness remained in her body, although in her heart she felt a spark of pity for the man she was pledged to marry.

The morning of the wedding arrived. Kate woke and stared in fascination at the intricate patterns decorating her hands and feet. The henna paste had been put on thickly and allowed to stay there for many hours before being washed off to leave the delicate pattern behind it.

The women she couldn’t help thinking of as her handmaidens appeared in a welter of excitement, each bearing articles of clothing that appeared to be made out of spun gold. They shouted orders at the two servants, Mariam and Layla, who would appear from nowhere whenever Kate came to her room or woke from sleep.

‘Cloth of gold out of one of the treasure chests, no doubt,’ Kate muttered at Mariam, whom, she knew, spoke no English. Mariam was trying to remove Kate’s pyjamas—old favourites she’d brought from home and refused to be parted from.

Dodging the ministrations of her helper, she grabbed Layla, whom she knew did speak English, and told her she would dress herself.

‘But you must bathe, and be made up, and properly dressed from the skin out, for he will want to unwrap you like a precious parcel.’

The excitement in Layla’s voice suggested this was the most momentous moment in a woman’s life.

There’ll be no unwrapping of this parcel, Kate told herself, although this time silently because making a mockery of the wedding in front of these women would be unkind, and probably go against her part of the bargain.

She and Fareed would sort out what happened after the wedding, and whatever they decided would be their business. And in spite of her nerves, she was fairly certain she could reach some arrangement with him—after all, she was probably the last woman on earth he’d want to marry. This was not an affair of the heart but a business arrangement and she could—she would—make it work.

So she went along with being bathed in water with rose petals floating in it, in being massaged with cream that made her skin feel like silk and being dressed in golden knickers and a golden bra, a long golden underskirt and a huge, all-encompassing golden gown on top of it all.

As if this was not enough, a golden shawl was draped across her hair, and a fine gold veil drawn down across her face.

At least she thought it was her face, although it, too, had been painted, her eyes outlined in thick, dark kohl, her eyebrows extended, so from behind the veil all that could be seen were dark, mysterious eyes.

Behind her geeky spectacles that she’d deliberately chosen after losing so many smaller, fashionable pairs, or broken them by sitting on them, or mutilated them in a dozen different ways.

‘You cannot wear them,’ Farida decreed, seizing them from Kate’s hand and secreting them in a pocket in her gown. ‘It spoils the whole look.’

‘But I can’t see where I’m going without them,’ Kate protested.

The young women laughed.

‘We are to escort you to your throne and you won’t have to move from there until the party is over and the prince comes to claim his bride. Then he will guide you to the marriage chamber.’

‘Marriage chamber?’

Kate’s voice faltered over the words and the women laughed again, making jokes in their own language and dissolving into hilarity.

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