Desert Orchid: The Desert Princes: Book 1 (17 page)

King Abdullah took a breath and continued,

"Three months after the tragedy her mother committed suicide. And her father... well, her father is evil. He owed too much money to the wrong people and sold Charisse to the highest bidder." He winced as his wife cried out, her hands covering her mouth as her horrified gaze never left his face. And his sons were looking at him as if he was speaking in tongues. "Asim always felt that it was grief that made Pascal Chanteluelle do such a heinous thing. But I am not so sure, and after the attempt on that girl's life, I am certain of it."

Trying to get his head around what he was hearing, Khalid's legs went like jelly as he sank to the edge of a chair, and scrubbed his face with his hands.

He stared at his father and leaned forward.

Needing to be absolutely certain he understood exactly what his father was saying, he articulated each word very carefully.

"Are you telling me her own father
sold
her?"

The King nodded.

And the words Khalid had spoken to Charisse when he'd asked her if his uncle had bought her and her reaction to them now made so much sense. As did the dark shadow that lay at the back of those big blue eyes.

His father's eyes went hard now as he spoke, "Her mother was a famous beauty. Mia was the more outgoing of the twins, and apparently the man adored her, doted on her. With her colouring, her long limbs, her hair and blue eyes, Charisse would command a large price in the market for white slaves."

Khalid had a perfectly healthy imagination and had no trouble at all picturing a young and terrified Charisse in the clutches of a relentless evil.

His hands fisted as another fist, one of utter horror, squeezed his heart. "Slavery?"

"This is true," said Sarif. "Although these days the girls tend to come from Eastern Europe. Only the very wealthy can afford to buy a child or a young woman taken from the United States or Europe."

Khalid looked at his brother as if he’d never seen him before. "You talk as if stealing children, young women, is an everyday event," he said, his voice now a throaty growl threatening impending violence.

Sarif gave a single nod. "Slaveholding has been a trade for centuries. And don’t take that tone with me, brother. You can rest assured that we do everything we can to put a stop to human trafficking. Unfortunately, not all countries stand by the agreement to outlaw the practice."

King Abdullah continued, "We are talking of Charisse, are we not? Her father has always had connections to unsavoury elements. Asim was told of the sale of a beautiful young girl and who was behind it. He informed me and together we ensured Charisse was taken to safety. Indirectly, we were responsible for her situation."

Silence.

Bile rose like acid into Khalid’s throat.

"You mean
I
was responsible for her situation." He stared at his family. "How am I going to tell her that I am the man who killed her sister? The man who destroyed her life? She will never, ever, forgive me."

"She already knows," his father said.

For the second time in as many minutes Khalid felt as if he’d been hit by a truck. It was impossible for his mind to grasp that Charisse was prepared to have a life with him after learning the truth that
he
was the one who had killed her sister. He simply could not compute that fact. "I don’t understand."

His father leaned forward in his chair. "Thanks to Amir, Charisse realises that no one person was responsible for a freak accident. She does not blame you, Khalid."

"Only because she does not know the whole truth!" he yelled.

After burying his head in his hands, he scrubbed his face.

Then he raised his head and simply stared at his family. Was there such a thing as mass delusion? Their refusal to apportion blame where it belonged, firmly with him, was something he'd never been able to understand.

What the hell was
wrong
with these people?

Queen Janaan took a shaky breath and looked at her youngest son with eyes filled to the brim with sadness and grief. "We hold no one to blame for a tragic accident, Khalid."

He did not, could not, believe them. They’d been over the same ground so many times and he’d heard it all before. But nothing, nothing would change what had happened on that day or that he was responsible. Then he remembered that Charisse’s life was all about duty to her people and her country. And he knew she was the type of person to fulfil her obligations, even if that meant marrying and living with the man who had brought her nothing but suffering.

However, what was happening now was not about him, it was about Charisse.

"So this is why her father wants her dead?"

The king shook his head.

"He wants her dead because Pascal Chanteluelle is the former French foreign minister and head of the Global Finance Fund and tipped to be the next head of the European Union. While she was married to Asim and kept out of the public eye he couldn’t touch her. However, she’s about to be married to a man with a too high public profile in the gutter press. Questions will be asked. When she disappeared her father stated she’d run away. Now Asim is dead and greedy eyes are turned towards Onuur and to us. The region is more unstable by the day and this might be an opportunity for a man like Chanteluelle to work with others to destabilise our countries, grab the wealth, and get rid of his daughter while he’s at it. Once Charisse is your wife she will fall under our protection again. We can only hope he will leave her in peace."

Khalid rose to pace as he tried to wrap his head around everything he’d learned.

Now he turned to his father.

"By your tone you don’t believe he will leave her alone?"

His father shrugged.

"I am not without influence. I have friends in the American and British governments who will not tolerate a man like Chanteluelle behaving like a modern day Genghis Khan. He is already under investigation for his part in the European financial crisis. He is a man who thrives among the chaos he creates. I have sent a clear message that another attempt on her life will not be tolerated and we will expose him for what he is. But he has grown powerful. He fears her. And when an animal is in fear for its life, it attacks."

Sarif spoke, "We found the rifle, which is being run through testing. Arabella's team found shoe prints that match the weight and size of Omar in the spot the shot was taken. I don’t believe in coincidences. There is the distinct probability that Omar
is
the assassin. Although, I don’t suppose his disappearance is much of a surprise since his proclivities have been revealed."

Khalid took a shaky breath wondering what other shocks this day might bring.

"I had no idea he was a molester of young boys. And you believe he might be the assassin?"

Sarif shook his head.

"We have no proof. However, the temptation of ten million dollars to such a man might be too good an opportunity to miss."

Utter fury blasted through Khalid.

"What was Arabella Faulkner thinking taking Charisse out into the desert in the middle of the damned night?"

"Charisse was meeting Sheik Abbas."

Khalid stared at his father in amazement as his temper spiked.

"Why the
hell
was I not told of this? I’m only going to be her
fucking
husband," he roared. Quite forgetting that he’d been immersed in his art and had left explicit instructions that he was not to be disturbed for any reason.

"Khalid!" His mother's tone told him he was sailing very close to the wind.

His father's fierce glare held his. "If we had told you of her identity, you would have refused to marry her. My brother and I took the decision that once Charisse began to trust you, to know you, we were sure she would tell you everything about her past." Without taking his eyes from his son, the king leaned forward. "And I am asking myself why she did not."

His youngest son gave a low groan as he held his head in hands.

"Have you any idea of the things I said to her? We found the debit in my uncle’s accounts for three and a half million Euros and I assumed she'd whored herself. And then we found the deposits Asim had left for her in banks in Switzerland..."

"Oh, Khalid." His mother's shocked whisper only made the sharp blade of guilt sink deeper into his heart.

"And she did nothing, said nothing, to defend herself?" Sarif wanted to know.

Khalid lifted his head, stared at his brother. He could hardly tell his family that he'd hauled her into his arms and almost ravished her on the spot, could he?

"I didn't give her much of a chance," he admitted.

The person he needed to talk to was Charisse.

A need to protect her, strong and powerful, rose up into his chest. And Khalid swore then and there that he would never, ever leave her side. If anyone thought they were going to hurt a single hair on that beautiful head of hers then they'd need to go through him.

And if he ever came face to face with her snake of a father, and his bastard of a bodyguard
,
he'd kill them with his bare hands.

Charisse awoke in a sunny bedroom.

By the smell she realised it was a hospital bedroom.

All was quiet.

She had a drip connected to a vein in her left arm. Her other hand was being held by Khalid. His dark head resting on her bed. He was sound asleep. Deep lines of exhaustion ran down either side of his beautiful mouth. And there were dark bruises under his eyes.

A young woman wearing a nurses’ uniform popped her head in the door and padded to her bedside.

She smiled at Charisse. "Would you like to suck on some ice?"

Charisse nodded as Khalid's head jerked up.

His dark eyes flew to hers. "Hey, honey. How're you feeling?"

The nurse slipped a sliver of ice in her mouth and the liquid melted in her parched throat. She gave her another as Charisse became aware of a dull ache near her left hip.

"What?" she croaked.

"What happened?" Khalid finished the question for her and she gave a nod. "You were shot." His eyes stayed on hers as a black brow rose. "And when you're feeling better, we are going to have a little chat about your late night jaunts into the desert."

"Diablo?" she whispered.

And she saw the sad truth in his eyes and in the way his fingers squeezed hers. Her mouth trembled. Asim had given her Diablo as a colt. She'd even helped to train him. Her eyes closed tight as the pain of loss battered her heart.

Then her eyes flew open.

"The dogs?"

Hot tears ran from her eyes, into her hairline, to seep into her pillow.

"They are fine," he said in a brusque voice.

Her eyes met his and she read the fury.

Who could blame him?

She'd left the palace without his permission.

Now she realised he must know about her meeting with Sheik Abbas, about Omar, and he'd want to know exactly why she hadn't told him. It now hit Charisse hard that she'd behaved very badly. In fact, by leaving the palace without proper protection she'd been incredibly stupid. On the day of their marriage Khalid would become the ruler of Onuur. She hadn't given him his place, or the proper respect.

The ache in her side reminded her of why she was here, and why she was lying on her back in a hospital bed. Pushing down the blanket, she lifted her hospital gown to investigate the wound. And winced when she saw a livid bruise the size of a man's fist glowing red and angry under a white dressing taped to her side.

"A little nick," Khalid told her in a drawl that did nothing to hide his annoyance.

Her face burned as his hand reached over to slide her gown over the wound and pull up the sheet.

Before she could apologise a doctor entered.

As the medic gently examined her wound, Charisse expected Khalid to leave the room but he didn't budge. Her doctor made it clear she'd had a lucky escape. She was expected to make a full and quick recovery.

But when the nurse turned her over to lie partially on her tummy, her face burned. The soft moan that escaped from her throat was not just of pain, but of mortification, too.

Oh no.

Khalid's shocked inhale of breath told her all she needed to know.

He'd be horrified and appalled. Any normal man would be by the livid scars that marred the flesh of her lower back, her buttocks.

The nurse rolled her over, returning her to rest on her back, and Charisse closed her eyes. She couldn't look at the nurse, or the doctor. And certainly not Khalid who now held her hand as if he'd never let it go.

The sound of the door closing had her open her eyes to find the doctor and nurse had left.

"Look at me." His tone informed her it was an order, not a request.