Forbidden: The Sheikh's Virgin by Trish Morey

Author:Trish Morey
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2008-06-06T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘HOW did you do it?’ They’d not been long settled, or as settled as one could be, in the car that now rattled and lurched its way away from Marrash and down the mountainside, the sun slipping to the west on one side, its slanted rays colouring the cliffs an even more vibrant red. In the front seat one driver was offering the other his unappreciated advice from the passenger seat as to which set of ruts to follow, while Rafiq stared disbelievingly down at the paper in his lap—the paper Sera had provided him with after her meeting, and the paper that guaranteed him exclusive rights to the Marrash Collection, as the women’s council had decided to call it.

Of course the lawyers would have to convert the hastily written scrawl into something resembling a legal document, with all the ‘i’s dotted and ‘t’s crossed, and there would be signatures and counter-signatures required before it was all done and dusted, but the guts of it was done, the basic contract terms agreed.

But he still didn’t understand how. Three hours or so ago they’d entered the sweetly perfumed building that housed the women’s workshop to the whir and hum of a dozen sewing machines and the sound of the chatter and laughter of a score of women. Through it all had come the melodic tones of a lullaby, as a young woman soothed a baby in a corner of the room set up as a crèche. All had fallen silent at the arrival of the visitors, even the baby stopping its fussing as the room descended into an unexpected hush.

It hadn’t lasted. The women, initially shy but more than delighted to accept their prince’s compliments on their endeavours, had proudly showed him and Sera around their workshop, and then into the adjoining room, where another small group of women polished the tiny flakes of precious stone and transformed them into the shimmering beauties that would adorn fabrics or other souvenirs.

After the tour the women had apologised and begged Rafiq and Suleman to leave them with Sera while they deliberated. Suleman had done his best to distract the prince with a further walk through the village, relaying its long and ancient history and introducing citizens of interest along the way, but Rafiq had found it impossible to focus. Even knowing that there was little chance of any kind of agreement today, just knowing Sera was negotiating in his place was akin to having an iron chain knotted tight around his gut. What was the point of leaving someone else negotiating in his place? Especially when that woman was Sera.

It did not bode well.

‘How long will they take?’ Rafiq had asked, when they’d been an hour already, when already the wait had seemed interminable, but Suleman had merely smiled and shrugged his shoulders sympathetically.

‘We are talking about a council of women,’ he had replied, and Rafiq had taken his point even while the knotted chain around his gut had drawn tighter.

What was

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