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

“Your father couldn’t have been pleased.” Jayne guessed that was an understatement. The Emir would’ve been enraged. Why hadn’t he demanded that Tariq divorce her?

Immediately.

“No, he wasn’t.” Tariq’s reply held a certain wryness. “But at least it appeared to put a stop to his quest to find me a second wife although certain…complications…were caused by his enthusiastic matchmaking.”

“Serves him right! He never approved of our marriage. So don’t expect me to be a hypocrite and stay for the funeral after he—” she swallowed “—dies.”

“Why would I want you to stay for my father’s funeral?” Tariq looked away from the road ahead. The eyes that met hers were full of turmoil. “You’re not—”

The ring of a cell phone rent the air, interrupting what he’d been about to say. He hit the button where the phone rested in its housing on the dashboard. “Yes?” Tariq demanded tersely.

Jayne was relieved. There had been something in his eyes…

She suspected she wasn’t ready to hear what he’d wanted to say. Not here stuck out in the middle of this inhospitable terrain with nowhere to run.

When he ended the call, he said, “There is concern about the weather. We will stop at a Bedu camp not far from here to take shelter from the cloudburst that the meteorologists are predicting.”

Five

As they approached the Bedouin camp, Jayne stared with interest at the tents that nestled at the base of a rocky rise.

“These are Bedu tribal lands,” Tariq told her as he headed the SUV for a huddle of tents. “You can’t see it clearly from here, but on the other side of the ridge there is a village with a school and a clinic, and in the surrounding area efforts are being made at de-desertification.”

“What do you mean?” Jayne turned to look at him and couldn’t help noticing how he speeded up his speech, how his eyes sparkled as he spoke. He loved the desert and its people as much as she hated it.

“There are olive groves planted in the desert.”

“But who looks after them?” She stared at their surroundings. “Aren’t the Bedu nomads, always on the move?”

“In the past, yes, but things change…although some still follow the old ways, others are setting down roots.”

Jayne gestured to the array of tents. “Some of those tents are huge. But are you saying there are brick-and-mortar dwellings?”

“Yes, over the rise.”

“I think I prefer the idea of tents. I always wanted to stay in a Bedouin camp,” she said a little dreamily.

“I remember.” He gave a laugh.

“But we didn’t find a Bedouin tent that time…although I did get to ride into the desert on a camel and camp in the tent you put up.” Jayne thought back to that disastrous trip.

Seconds later Tariq pulled up to where a group of men sat outside in the thin shade of a tamarisk tree playing cards. They looked up. All play stopped.

One of the men jumped to his feet and came to shake Tariq’s hand. “Excellency, we did not know you were visiting. We welcome you.”

Tariq flung an arm to the overcast sky. “The weather has forced us on you, and we would be grateful for your hospitality for a night.”

“Only a pleasure, Excellency. You are welcome for more than one miserable night. My residence is not far from here. It is new and you will not lack for luxury.”

A smile played around Tariq’s mouth. “I thank you for your offer. But the sheikhah has a fancy to stay in a tent—if that is not too much for us to ask.”

The headman, whom Tariq introduced as Ghayth, looked at Jayne as if she were touched by the moon, then glanced at the sky. “But, Excellency, if the rain comes, the area outside the tent will be a mudbath.”

Tariq raised an eyebrow at Jayne. “The tents themselves won’t leak, they’re constructed to withstand the elements, sun, wind, sandstorms. But are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay under a solid roof?”

“As long as it’s not going to cause problems for our hosts or uncomfortable flooding for you if the rains come, I’d rather stay in a Bedouin tent. It sounds like an experience of a lifetime.” She was touched that he was trying to accommodate her quirky dreams, rather than practicalities. She gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Tariq.”

The tent to which they were led was far larger than she had expected—and far more luxurious than the shelters on the outskirts of the encampment. Inside it was divided with drapes into two separate areas.

“This is the meeting area,” Tariq said, waving to the large space around them furnished with several squat square stools covered with woven fabric and a long divan covered with similar material. In the corner stood a round table with four chairs set around it, and the walls and floors were covered with beautifully woven rugs. “Traditionally the curtained-off area is where the women prepare food in the day and where the family sleeps at night. But this tent is more ornate, probably kept for visiting dignitaries, that’s why there are no cooking arrangements. The de-desertification program has been attracting a lot of interest—even from the UN.”

“Oh.” Jayne took in the rugs, the drapes that hung from the roof. “It’s certainly not quite as modest as I expected.”

Tariq pulled back the drapes to reveal a couple of broad low divans draped with rugs. The sleeping quarters. Instantly a subtle tension invaded the room.

“I think I need a wash,” Jayne said, suddenly eager to get out of the tent she’d been so keen to experience. She had a feeling that she was going to be very pleased that the tent was a lot more spacious than she’d anticipated. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to have accepted the offer of a stay in Ghayth’s house…at least she would’ve had her own bedroom.

“You can bathe later,” Tariq said, “after dinner. For now, use the water in the pitcher on the table to freshen up. Our hosts will be here shortly with our bags. Then we need to see that Noor has been fed and bedded down.”

An hour later the clouds, while still ominous, seemed to have lifted a little. They no longer sagged with moisture overhead. Ghayth, the headman, met Jayne and Tariq as they headed back from feeding Noor, with an offer to show Jayne the nearby village.

Within minutes they’d piled into their host’s very battered four-wheel drive, with the two salukis in the back, and roared down the dirt road that cut across the stony terrain. Tariq sat up front beside Ghayth, and Jayne sat beside his senior wife, Matra, whose name meant “pot that catches the rain,” Jayne discovered as they drove past the olive groves surrounded by desert sand that Tariq had told her about.

From the pointing and the rapid questions he fired at their host, Jayne realised that Tariq was a lot more involved in the program than she’d suspected.

A little way on they turned down a track and the village came into view. A group of children were huddled around a bicycle that leaned against a scrawny tree and they all turned to stare curiously at the approaching vehicle.

Once they had stopped, Jayne descended from the vehicle and followed the men. Carpets in shades of ruby, garnet and topaz were spread out in the patchy sunlight, and a dozen or more women sat around weaving. Jayne caught her breath at vivid designs and colours. “They are beautiful.”

One of the women gave her a gentle smile.

“How long does it take you to make such a rug?” Jayne asked, bending down to touch the design.

The woman looked at the men, a frown pleating her forehead.

“She does not speak any English,” Tariq said, and rattled off in Arabic. The woman nodded and said something. “She says it depends on how many women are working on the design,” Tariq translated.