Desert Orchid: The Desert Princes: Book 1 (18 page)

Heart pounding in her chest, she did as she was told.

Dark eyes burned into hers with an intensity that made her lick her dry lips.

Her eyes stung.

"Did my uncle do that to... ?"

Horrified he should even consider such a thing, she shook her head.

"No," she whispered.

Those eyes never left hers. "Your father? Don't look so surprised. I've been hearing plenty about that son-of-a-bitch." Now he took her hand to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss on her fingers. "Why on earth didn't you tell me what had happened to you?"

Not prepared to go there with him, not yet, she shook her head.

Another fat tear escaped and ran into her hairline.

He pressed another kiss to her fingertips.

"Okay. You need to sleep. But, Charisse, we have a lot to talk about."

Ten days later, Charisse lay on a fat cushioned daybed made of white wicker.

The bed was set in the shade of a tree in the stunning rose garden of the royal palace in Dhuma.

She was dressed in a light kimono of silk the colour of fresh butter and buttoned to the neck, fitted matching pants, and gold ballet slippers. With drowsy eyes she watched honey bees buzz lazily from flower to flower. The air, warm and scented, was having a soporific affect on her senses, leaving her more relaxed than she had been for months.

Arabella was now seconded to Prince Sarif’s personal staff. And she was co-ordinating the search for Omar. The man had disappeared. The theory was that someone was hiding him. And Khalid feared a conspiracy.

Sheik Abbas had arrived to see for himself that Charisse was in fact alive and healing. He'd offered his support to help root out the source of growing dissent against Khalid in Onuur. Sheik Abbas had also managed to receive an undertaking from the King Abdullah and his sons that once Omar was found, he would be handed over to him to receive the just punishment for his crimes. Apparently, one of the Sheik's young nephews had been Omar's target in the white palace. For once Khalid and Charisse were in agreement, perfectly happy to let the tribes deal with the man.

There had been a tricky moment when Khalid had made it crystal clear to the Sheik that his future wife would no longer be meeting him in the middle of the night in the desert. Things had been tense between two proud men before they'd come to an
understanding
, as Arabella called it.

The stitches in Charisse's wound had been removed.

And although she was still in a little discomfort, she was healing very nicely and had cut back on painkillers. The doctors were more than happy with her progress.

Arrangements for her delayed wedding to Khalid were also well underway.

They were to be married in a low-key ceremony in two days at the royal palace in Dhuma, followed by two weeks alone at Sarif's ocean-front hideaway.

Khalid still hadn't had his
little talk
with Charisse. And her nerves were in shreds every time she thought about digging up a past she preferred to keep buried nice and deep in her psyche. She believed in living in the moment and thinking about the next day, not time travelling into the past or the future.

Now she turned to the woman who was making herself comfortable in the chair next to her.

Queen Janaan was slim and tall. Dressed in a sheath of navy blue silk, she was a stunning brunette with delicate features and an amazing bone structure that she'd handed down to her sons. Although in her late fifties, she looked a decade younger. Her smooth skin was unlined. Now Janaan poured mint tea into a fragile cup and handed it to her.

Charisse smiled. "Thank you."

Over the past days she'd found Khalid's mother to be a lovely, warm woman. A woman who cared deeply for her family and her country. Her name before she'd taken the honorary name of Janaan, which meant the soul of the people, had been Catherine.

Pale grey eyes, just like her son's, twinkled now as she smiled.

"You're welcome," she responded, her voice friendly with a lovely soft Texan drawl that always made Charisse smile. "Charisse is a special name. Did you know it means beauty, grace and kindness? It suits you."

The beautiful woman wrinkled her nose and shook her head, which made Janaan's eyes dance. "You don't like compliments?"

A quizzical look entered those grey eyes when Charisse puffed out her cheeks, deciding that was a no-win question.

"I've never found my appearance to be a blessing, Highness. More of a curse." And that was putting it mildly.

Janaan's eyes went cool. "What happened to you after your mother died was the work of a monster, not a man."

Refusing to let the sly slide of fear take root in her gut, Charisse gave a jerky shrug of a narrow shoulder.

"It is what it is, Highness."

Charisse didn't want to be rude, but neither did she want to talk about her past. God knew she'd done enough of that with the psychologists Amir insisted she'd talked to. As far as Charisse was concerned she was all talked out. She accepted that nothing that had happened to her had been her fault. That she'd done nothing to provoke her father's behaviour towards her. That she could have done nothing to stop her mother taking her life. She'd accepted all of it, and more.

"When it is just the two of us talking like this, please call me Janaan.
Highness
becomes wearing after a while, don't you agree?"

Charisse grinned in response to the twinkle dancing in the Queen's eyes.

Now Janaan's eyes went wide. "I can see why Khalid is madly in love with you," she said.

Sincerely shocked, Charisse simply stared. "He doesn't know me. It's only been weeks since we met." Alarm and something like excitement skittered up her spine. "Surely you are mistaken?"

Janaan's dark brows winged into her hairline. "I know my son. He understands women very well." Now her lips thinned in annoyed disapproval. "Of course, he's had plenty of practice... of a certain type... of woman. You, I imagine, are a unique experience for him."

Charisse was still feeling the after effects of the general anaesthetic, a sluggish thought process. But her pulse kicked as the words sank into her brain.

"I am not altogether sure I want to be a unique experience for him. There's nothing special about me."

Janaan blinked.

Then her grey eyes went sharp and cool in a way that made Charisse wonder what on earth she'd done to offend her.

"You do not strike me as a stupid woman, Charisse," she said briskly.

The verbal slap on the wrist was a shock.

Stung, Charisse lifted her chin.

"I'm not. However, neither am I delusional. Khalid craves excitement. He craves the next thrill. I've never known a man who jumps from one thing to another. He finishes nothing, except his paintings." With relief she saw Janaan relax and the warmth return to her grey eyes. Khalid's mother, she realised, was no pushover. "He will soon tire of me," Charisse added, believing every word.

Janaan shook her head.

"You have much to learn about men. However, I won't interfere." She smiled, took a sip of her tea. "It will be interesting to see how he copes with his feelings."

Charisse frowned as she took a sip of her own tea.

Didn't Janaan understand how damaged her youngest son was?

Placing her cup and saucer on the table between them, Charisse gazed at the older woman.

"Do you have any idea how greatly he suffers? That he never sleeps? He paints all day and all night."

Colour drained from Janaan's smooth skin, leaving her too pale. Her slim hands fisted on her lap, and Charisse's stomach clutched. Wondering if she was doing the right thing by talking to Khalid’s mother about him, she swung her legs down and moved carefully to sit next to her. She took the queen's hand before continuing,

"He never speaks of the accident. If I try to broach the subject of his past, he closes himself off. I believe he carries the burden of guilt. And it is a too heavy burden that is threatening to destroy him."

Janaan stared at Charisse in fear. A fear which turned to confusion and upset.

The queen rose, and began to pace back and forth.

She stopped and turned to look down at her future daughter-in-law.

The grey eyes were stormy now as they clashed with hers.

"None of us blame him. The other boat came out of nowhere and shot cross their path. There was nothing, nothing, Khalid could have done to avoid the collision..." The horror of that day poured into her mind. She placed a hand over her mouth, eyes huge and filled to the brim with swimming emotions. "Dear God, I know he's always held himself responsible, but I had no idea he..." She blinked back tears and sank to the edge of the couch. Her eyes were fixed on Charisse. "After the accident, we were so devastated to lose Jamila. And we feared we were going to lose Khalid, too. He was in a coma for many days. He recovered physically. But psychologically he's remained closed off to us. I have tried to reach him...

"And I know Sarif has fought a battle to bring him back to us, but his attempts have led to nothing but arguments and made Khalid distance himself even further from his family, and his country."

The whole family, Charisse realised now, had never come to terms with the loss of a beloved daughter and sister.

Something that had struck her quite forcibly when she'd arrived at the beautiful palace in Dhuma entered her mind. "I notice there are no photographs of Jamila."

Janaan flinched, as if from a hard slap. Charisse was famous for her tact and diplomacy. Now she wondered where the hell it had gone. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..." Horrified to have hurt a woman who'd been nothing but kind to her, she closed her eyes. "I have a big mouth..."

"No. No, child." Janaan lifted her purse of soft leather, plucked a tissue and dabbed her eyes. "You are quite right. There are no photographs of Jamila in the main reception areas. We've been selfish enough to keep her to ourselves in our private apartments. Please, Charisse, do not look so stricken. You have not offended me."

After an endless moment, during which Charisse silently berated herself for her crass stupidity and insensitivity, Janaan blew her nose heroically.

Their eyes locked as the queen shook her head.

"You were far too young to be married to Amir. If only I'd known about it. I'd have kept you with me. Amir was more than old enough to be your grandfather. And grandfather's, Charisse, do not make love to their granddaughters," Janaan said in a tightly disapproving voice.

Baffled, Charisse blinked.

Then her mouth made an O shape in shock.

Heat burned up her neck, into her face, and she shook her head.

Her voice was no more than a whisper, "Oh no. No. Our relationship was not a physical one."

With dismay growing by the moment, she read the patent disbelief in Janaan's sharp gaze.

When, Charisse wondered, would she learn to shut her mouth?

However, there was no way she would permit the queen to make wrong assumptions, or blame Amir, a man who had done nothing but care for her, for something he had not done.

With her heart hammering in her throat, Charisse realised that nothing but the truth would do. It didn't matter that just thinking about the circumstances that had brought her to Amir made her body tremble as a cold sweat trickled down her back. For years she'd blamed herself, her looks, for what had happened. Until Amir had brought in two therapists who specialised in helping victims of child abuse to help her understand, and to finally accept, that her father's behaviour was not her responsibility.

But she couldn't seem to help the sense of shame - a shame that went too deep in her psyche - for the fact that her own flesh and blood had used his fists, and worse, on a vulnerable, defenceless, child. A child who had already lost so much. Mortification incinerated her flesh from her toes to her scalp as Charisse bowed her head to fix her swimming gaze on the white knuckles of hands clenched too tightly in her lap.

Her voice was no more than a hoarse whisper, "My mother didn't have an easy or happy time of it in her marriage. My father was too controlling and demanding, obsessed with Mia, and not in a healthy way. Looking back, I think that was why my mother fought for my sister and I to attend boarding school in England. After Mia and my mother died, my father, I think, became unhinged. At least that's what Amir believed. My father tried to have..." Her whole body gave a convulsive shudder as she gave Janaan the edited version of events. "Intimate relations with me... I fought him... but he is big and strong and I couldn't... in the end he couldn't maintain an... he wasn't able to do it. So he used his fists, his feet, and a riding crop to beat me until I bled.

"By the time I came to Amir I was ill, and emotionally traumatised. For six months I couldn't utter a word. Amir looked after me, cared for me, educated me, and loved me as a father should love a daughter. He never once looked upon me as a sexual object of desire. I owe him my life."

"Bastard!" The way Janaan snarled the world viciously, brought Charisse's head up. Their eyes met and she read nothing but fury, along with an unstinting support, which lightened the heavy load Charisse carried deep within her heart. "I am referring to your father, child. Amir kept you in seclusion?"