Marrying the Scarred Sheikh Page 2

  It would end up as it ended up. She tried to keep to that philosophy so she didn’t angst over every piece.

  Once the bowl was in the oven, she went back to her kitchen, prepared a light meal and carried it to the small terrace on the shady side of the house. The air was cooling down, but it was still almost uncomfortably warm. She nibbled her fruit as she gazed at the flowers that grew so profusely. Where else in the world would she be so comfortable while working on her art? This house was truly a refuge for her. The one place she felt safe and comfortable and almost happy. She’d made it a home for one.

  Thinking about the flat she’d given up after Alexander’s death, she knew she had traded their happy home for her own. It had taken her a while to realize it, but now she felt a part of the estate. She knew every flower in the garden, every hidden nook that offered shade in the day. And she could walk the paths at night without a light. It was as if the cottage and estate had welcomed her with comforting arms and drawn her in.

  So not like the home of her childhood, that was for sure. She shied away from thinking about the last months there. She would focus on the present—or even the future, but not the past.

  Taking a deep breath, she held it for a moment, listening. Was that a car? She wasn’t expecting any friends. No one else knew where she was. Who would be coming to the empty estate? The gardener’s day was later in the week. For a moment she didn’t move. The car sounded as if it were going away. Soon the sound faded completely. Only then did Ella relax.

  After she ate, she rose and walked around the cottage. Nothing seemed disturbed. How odd that the car sounded so near. Had the sound been amplified from the road, or had it been in the drive for some reason?

  The late-afternoon sun was hot. She debated taking a quick swim, but reconsidered. She wanted to walk along the beach tonight to see if the stranger returned. For the first time in over a year, she was curious about something—someone. Not many people shared her love of the night. Did he? Or had last night been only an aberration because of his long trip? Where in the desert had he been? She’d like to visit an oasis or drive a few hours into the desert, lose sight of any signs of man and just relish the solitude and stark beauty that would surround her.

  She needed a car for that. Sighing softly, she considered renting a vehicle for such an expedition. Maybe one day in the fall.

  Ella could scarcely wait until midnight. Very unusual, her impatience to see if the man was there again. For a year she’d felt like she was wrapped in plastic, seeing, but not really connected with the rest of the world. Yet a chance encounter in the dark had ignited her curiosity. She knew nothing about him, except he liked the sea and wasn’t afraid to swim after dark. Was he old or young? Did he live nearby or was he sneaking through the estates to gain access to the private beach?

  Would he be there tonight?

  Promptly at the stroke of twelve, Ella left her home to walk quickly through the path to the beach. Quickly scanning from left to right, she felt a bump of disappointment. He was not there. Sighing softly for her foolishness, she walked to the water’s edge and turned to retrace last night’s steps.

  “I wondered if you would appear,” the familiar voice said behind her. She turned and saw him walking swiftly toward her. His longer legs cut the distance in a short time. No robes tonight, just dark trousers and a white shirt.

  “I often walk at midnight,” she said, not wishing him to suspect she’d come tonight especially to see if he were here.

  “As do I, but mainly due to the heat of the day.”

  “And because you don’t sleep?” she asked.

  He fell into step with her.

  “That can be a problem,” he said. “For you, too?”

  “Sometimes.” Now that he was here, she felt awkward and shy. Her heart beat a bit faster and she wondered at the exhilaration that swept through her. “Did you catch up on your sleep after your trip?”

  “Got a few hours in.”

  “Holidays are meant for sleeping in late and lazing around,” she said, trying to figure out exactly how to ask questions that wouldn’t sound as if she were prying.

  “If I were on holiday, which I’m not, I still require little sleep.”

  “Oh, from what you said…” She closed her mouth.

  “I did come off a job at an oil field west of here. But I’m here on business. Personal business, I guess you’d say.”

  “Oh.” What kind of business? How long would it take? Would she see him again after tonight? Not that she could see him exactly. But it was nice to share the walk with someone, if only for one night.

  “I have some thinking to do and a decision to make,” he added a moment later.

  “Mmm.” She splashed through the water. There was a slight breeze tonight from the sea which made the air seem cooler than normal. It felt refreshing after the heat of her workshop.

  “You speak Arabic, but you’re not from here, are you?” he asked.

  She looked up and shook her head. Not that he could likely see the gesture. “I’ve studied for years, I can understand it well. Do I not speak it well?”

  “Yes, but there is still a slight accent. Where are you from?”

  “Italy. But not for a while. I live here now.”

  “With family?”

  She hesitated. Once again safety concerns reared up. “Do you think I need a chaperone?” she asked, shying away from his question.

  “I have no idea. How old are you?”

  “Old enough.” She stopped and turned, looking up at him, wishing she could see him clearly. “I am a widow. I am long past the stage of needing someone to watch out for me.”

  “You don’t sound old enough to be a widow.”

  “Sometimes I feel a hundred years old.” No one should lose her husband when only twenty-eight. But, as she had been told before, life was not always fair.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said softly.

  She began walking again, not wanting to remember. She tried to concentrate on each foot stepping on the wet sand. Listen to the sea to her right which kissed the shore with wavelets. Feel the energy radiating from the man beside her. So now he’d think she was an older woman, widowed and alone. How old was he? She had no idea, but he sounded like a dynamic man in his prime.

  “Thank you.” She never knew how to respond to the comment. He hadn’t known her husband. He hadn’t loved him as she had. No one would ever feel the loss as she did. Still, it was nice he made the comment. Had he ever lost a loved one?

  They walked in silence for a few moments. Then she asked, “So what did you do at the oil field?”

  “I consult on the pumps and rigs. My company has a retainer with Bashiri Oil among others to assist when new fields are discovered. And to put out fires when they erupt.”

  “You put out oil fires?” She was astonished. She had seen the pictures of oil wells burning. Flames shot a hundred feet or more in the air. The intense heat melted and twisted metal even yards from the fire. She found it hard to work with the heat in her own studio with appropriate protective gear. How could anyone extinguish an oil well fire? “Is there any job more dangerous on earth?”

  He laughed softly. “I imagine there are. It’s tricky sometimes, but someone has to do it.”

  “And how did you get interested in putting out conflagrations? Wasn’t being a regular fireman enough?”

  “I’m fascinated by the entire process of oil extraction. From discovering reserves, to drilling and capping. And part of the entire scenario is the possibility of fire. Most are accidents. Some are deliberately set. But the important thing is to get them extinguished as quickly as possible. That’s why we do consultation work with new sites and review existing sites for safety measures. Anything to keep a well from catching fire is a good thing. It’s an interest I’ve always had. And since I could choose my profession, I chose this one.”

  “I just can’t imagine. Isn’t it hot? Actually it must be exceedingly hot. Is there a word beyond
hot?”

  He laughed again. She liked the sound of it. She smiled in reaction, not at all miffed that he was laughing at her questions.

  “Oh, it’s hot. Even with the special suits we wear.”

  He explained briefly how they dealt with fire.

  Ella listened, fascinated in a horrified way. “You could get killed doing that,” she exclaimed at one point.

  “Haven’t yet,” he said.

  She detected the subtle difference in his voice. He was no longer laughing. Had someone been injured or killed fighting one of those fires? Probably. The entire process sounded extremely dangerous.

  “They don’t erupt often,” he said.

  “I hope there is never another oil fire in the world,” she said fervently. “No wonder you wanted to go swimming last night. I’d want to live in the sea if I ever survived one of those.”

  “That is an appeal. But I’d get restless staying here all the time. Something always draws me back to the oil fields. A need to keep the rigs safe. And a sense of need to return burning wells to productivity. Duty, passion. I’m not totally sure myself.”

  “So it’s the kind of thing you’d do even if you didn’t need to work?”

  He laughed again. “Exactly.”

  She stopped. “This is as far as I usually go,” she said.

  “Ben al Saliqi lives here, or he used to,” Khalid said, turning slowly to see the house from the beach. Only the peaks of the roof were visible above the trees that lined the estate, a soft glow from the lamps in the windows illuminating the garden.

  “How do you know that?” she asked. There was hardly any identifying features in the dark.

  He turned back to her. “I spent many summers here. At my grandmother’s house,” he said. “I know every family on the beach—except yours.”

  “Ohmygod, you’re one of the al Harum men, aren’t you? I’m your tenant, Ella Ponti.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “MY TENANT?” Khalid said.

  “I rent the guesthouse on your grandmother’s estate. She was my patron—or something. I miss her so much. I’m so sorry she died.”

  “She rented out the guesthouse? I had no idea.”

  “I have a lease. You can check it. She insisted on drawing one up. Said it would be better for us both to get the business part out of the way and enjoy each other’s company. She was wonderful. I’m so sorry she died when she did. I miss her.”

  “I miss her, as well. I didn’t know about this,” Khalid said.

  “Well, I don’t know why you don’t. Haven’t you been running the estate? I mean, the gardener comes every week, the maids at the house keep it clean and ready.”

  “This is the first I’ve visited since her death. The servants know how to do their job. They don’t need an overseer on site.”

  “It’s the first visit in a long while. You didn’t visit her the last few months she lived here. She talked about her grandsons. Which are you, Rashid or Khalid?”

  “Khalid.”

  “Ah, the restless one.”

  “Restless?”

  “She said you hadn’t found your place yet. You were seeking, traveling to the interior, along the coast, everywhere, looking for your place.”

  “Indeed. And Rashid?”

  “He’s the consumed one—trying to improve the business beyond what his father and uncles did. She worried about you both. Afraid—” Ella stopped suddenly. She was not going to tell him all his grandmother had said. It was not her business if neither man ever married and had children. Or her place to tell him of the longing the older woman had had to hold a new generation. Which never happened and now never would.

  “Afraid of what?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I have to go back now.” She began walking quickly toward home. How was she to know the mysterious stranger on the beach was her new landlord? She almost laughed. He might hold the lease, but he was nothing like a landlord. He hadn’t even visited the estate in more than a year. She knew, because she’d never seen him there and she’d live here for over a year and had heard from his grandmother how much she wished to see him beyond fleeting visits in the capital city.

  He easily caught up with her. Reaching out to take her arm, he stopped her and swung her around.

  “Tell me.”

  “Good grief, it’s not that big a deal. She was afraid neither of her grandsons would marry and have children. She was convinced both of you were too caught up in your own lives to look around for someone to marry. She wanted to hold a great-grandchild. Now she never can.”

  “She told you this? A stranger.”

  Ella nodded. “Yes. We became friends and had a lot of time to visit and talk. She came to the guest cottage often, interested in what I was doing.” And had been a rock to lean against when Ella was grieving the most. Her gentle wisdom had helped so much in those first few months. Her love had helped in healing. And the rental cottage had been a welcomed refuge. One guarded by the old money and security of the al Harum family. Ella had found a true home in the cottage and was forever grateful to Alia al Harum for providing the perfect spot for her.

  Sheikh Khalid al Harum came from that same old money. She hadn’t known exactly what he did but it certainly wasn’t for money. No wonder his grandmother had complained. It was a lucky thing he was still alive.

  “And what were you doing?” he asked, still holding her arm.

  “Working. You could call her a patron of the arts.”

  “You’re a painter?”

  “No, glassblower. Could you let me go?”

  Ella felt his hold ease. His hand dropped to his side. She stepped back and then headed for home. So much for the excitement of meeting the stranger. She could have just waited until she heard him at the main house and gone over to introduce herself.

  Now she wanted to get home and close the door. This was the grandson who was always roaming. Was he thinking of using the house when in the capital city?

  “Oh.” She stopped and turned. Khalid bumped into her. She hadn’t known he was right behind her. His hands caught her so she didn’t fall.

  “Are you planning to sell the estate?” she asked.

  “It’s something I’m considering.”

  “Your grandmother wanted you to have it. She’d be so hurt if you just sold it away.”

  “I’m not selling it away. It’s too big for one man. And I’m not in Alkaahdar often. When I am, I have a flat that suits me.”

  “Think of the future. You could marry and have a huge family someday. You’ll need a big house like that one. And the location is perfect—right on the Gulf.”

  “I’m not planning to ever marry. Obviously my grandmother didn’t tell you all about me or you’d know the thought of marriage is ludicrous. So why would I want a big house to rattle around in?”

  Ella tried to remember all her sponsor had said about her grandsons. Not betraying any confidences, not going into detail about their lives, she still had given Ella a good feel for the men’s personalities. And a strong sense that neither man was likely to make her a great-grandmother. The longing she’d experienced for the days passed when they’d been children and had loved to come to her home had touched Ella’s heart. Alia had hoped to recapture those happy times with their children.

  “Don’t make hasty decisions,” she said. Alia had died thinking this beloved grandson would live in her home. Ella hated the thought he could casually discard it when it had meant so much to the older woman.

  “My grandmother died last July. It’s now the end of May. I don’t consider that a hasty move.”

  Ella didn’t know what tack to use. If he wanted to sell, the house was his to do so with as he wanted. But she felt sad for the woman who had died thinking Khalid would find happiness in the house she’d loved.

  “Come, I’ll walk you back. You didn’t use the path last night that leads to the house or guesthouse,” he said.

  “I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t want to indicate where I lived
,” she said, walking back. The night seemed darker and colder. She wanted to be home. So much for looking forward to the evening walk. Now she wished she’d stayed in the cottage and gone to bed.

  “Wise. You don’t know who might be out on the beach so late at night.”

  “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I know this beach well.” She was withdrawing. There was something liberating about walking with a stranger, talking, sharing. But something else again once actually knowing the person. She’d be dealing with him in the near future. She didn’t know this man. And until she did, she was not giving out any personal information.

  A blip of panic settled in. If he sold the estate, where would she go? She had made a home here. Thought she’d be living in the cottage for years to come. She had to review the lease. Did it address the possibility of the estate being sold? She knew Madame al Harum had never considered that likelihood.

  As soon as she reached the path, she walked even faster. “Good night,” she said. She wasn’t even sure what to call him. Sheikh al Harum sounded right, or did she use his first name, as well, to differentiate him from his brother who also was a sheikh? She was not used to dealing with such lofty families.

  When she reached her house, she flipped on the lights and headed for the desk. Her expenses were minimum: food, electricity and her nominal rent. It wasn’t as if the al Harum family needed her money. But she had needed to pay her way. She was not a charity case. It wasn’t a question of money; it was a question of belonging. Of carrying out her dreams. Madame al Harum had understood. Ella doubted the sheikh would.

  She read the Arabic script, finding it harder to understand than newspapers. She could converse well, read newspapers comfortably. But this was proving more difficult than she expected. Why hadn’t she asked for a copy translated into Italian?