Desert Orchid: The Desert Princes: Book 1 (30 page)

"I’m pregnant."

"So, you and Arabella? How did that happen?"

Khalid stretched out long legs and kicked back in his ergonomically designed chair. They were in his study enjoying tiny cups of a thick aromatic coffee.

Sarif was dressed in tight jodhpurs, his riding boots dusty. His skin, golden under a loose white robe, was glistening with sweat.

His cropped hair shone as black as a raven's wing. And his response to the perfectly legitimate question was a glower as he sipped his coffee.

"Arabella is very upset with me because I announced our engagement. I do not understand her," he admitted in low growl filled to the brim with deep frustration.

Khalid couldn't help but grin.

Oh, man. His brother had it bad. And it appeared that things were not all kissy-kissy and lovey-dovey in Sarif land.

"What did you do?" Khalid wanted to know.

"I didn't inform her that we would marry until after I told the council."

Khalid's brows winged into his hairline.

"Whoa. Arabella has major ninja skills, bro. Like catching a bullet in her teeth."

His brother didn't dignify that statement with a response, instead he stared into the liquid in his cup as if it contained the answer he needed.

"She has no choice, she must marry me."

Intrigued, Khalid studied his brother's face and realised that Sarif was not a happy man.

"Do you love her?"

His brother's eyes flicked to his. "What's love got to do with it?"

Khalid bit his bottom lip, hard.

"According to Tina Turner, a lot."

Sarif's cup clattered on the table and he stood. "You are not taking this seriously."

"For God's sake, sit down, Sarif. What is the problem?"

Sarif sat.

He slumped back in the fat leather club chair and frowned in a way that made his hawk like features look lethal.

"She refused my proposal. But now it is a matter of honour. I have told her she does not have a choice."

Khalid knew that in many ways Sarif was a traditionalist at heart, especially when it came to females.

"You can't force her, bro. Arabella is a twenty-first century woman. A ball-breaking warrior. You should have seen how she dealt with that bitch of a nurse and got her to talk. She was amazing."

Now Sarif showed his teeth. "She will make a good queen."

Khalid nodded in agreement.

"I must admit I was taken by surprise when you made your grand announcement. But once I thought about it, I think you're right. She'll be a good partner for you. Plus, she'll fit right into the family. Charisse adores her."

Now Sarif smiled, a real one this time.

"As long as Charisse is happy, you are happy?"

Khalid grinned. "You've got me there. I'm pussy-whipped."

"She loves you. You are a very lucky man, brother."

"I know. Who'd have thought things would end up like this. When you appeared in London out of the blue, I could have murdered you."

"Trust me, the feeling was mutual," Sarif said in a silky voice that made Khalid's mouth twitch.

"You can't force Arabella to marry you," he repeated.

The heat that rose up over his brother's neck and fired his cheeks made Khalid frown, there was a lot more to this than met the eye.

Sarif never blushed.

"She was chaste. I took something that did not belong to me."

Khalid blinked. "You forced her?"

"No. As usual we were arguing, it became heated and then we kissed and then... When she cried out in pain, I realised I had breached a part of her that I had no right to."

Remembering how hard it had been for Charisse to tell him she was a virgin, Khalid took a deep breath. Arabella was at least three years older than his wife, and he found it very hard to believe that a woman with her background was sexually inexperienced.

"She participated but didn't tell you she was a virgin?"

"Things got out of hand very quickly," his brother admitted and again heat scorched his skin. "It is a matter of honour that I make her my wife."

Khalid gave him a bland look.

"I think you'll find that this is the twenty-first century and things have changed, bro. Arabella is not from our culture and if she doesn't want to marry you, you cannot force her."

The atmosphere in the room changed, became tense.

"It is possible she carries my child."

Khalid's eyes went wide.

"You didn't use protection?" The glittering look he received from his brother confirmed the query. "Oh man, you are in deep shit. When will you know?"

"Within days," the response was clipped. "If she is carrying my child then we will marry as soon as possible."

"And if she's not?"

"Then the decision to be my wife will rest with her. As you say, I cannot force her."

"Whatever happens, you know I am here for you," Khalid said. And the shock in Sarif's eyes humbled him. He'd pushed his brother away for too many years. And he realised it was more than time to mend this particular bridge. "You never gave up on me."

Not used to public shows of affection, as one the brother's stood and gave each other a man hug.

"Many times I wanted to kick your ass," Sarif admitted.

Khalid's nose twitched.

His brother smelled of horse and desert.

"You need a shower. If Arabella gets a whiff of you in this state she'll head for the hills. I wish you well, brother."

Sarif grabbed his head and smacked a hard kiss on each cheek.

"It is in God's hands."

Storms in the desert tended to be spectacular things.

And this storm was coming fast.

From a high curved balcony in the palace, Charisse turned to the west and watched the silver fork of lightning streak across a sky as black as pitch. Thunder bellowed sending a pounding drumbeat vibrating through the mountains.

An answering shudder rolled through her system, not of excitement, but of dread.

Just two hours earlier she'd helped Arabella leave the white palace. And the place was in an uproar as Sarif interviewed servants and guards, demanding to know how his fiancée had left the palace unnoticed.

Another silver flash had her wince as the air thickened with ozone and the primitive roar of thunder matched the pounding of her blood through her system.

She was on edge as she waited for the storm to build and crash over the palace, filling it with an alien light. Her fingertips worried the beaded bracelet on her wrist.

This moody introspection had to stop. Depression and dark thoughts were Khalid's province, not hers.

But yet again, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd done the right thing?

She was having great difficulty getting her head around the news of her best friend's pregnancy. But Arabella had been desperate and Charisse knew all about desperation. Her friend needed her family. She needed time to work out what she wanted for her future. And to decide, without pressure being brought to bear, whether or not she wanted to be a mother. Arabella had, Charisse argued with herself, the right to choose. And who was she to deny her friend that right?

Arabella was like a sister to her. The woman had the basic human right to decide what was going to happen to her body, and her future.

However, she knew that Sarif El Haribe would never, ever forgive her for helping Arabella leave him. And if he ever discovered she'd known of a pregnancy, well, the entire family may shun her. Guilt slid up Charisse's spine to wind a tense knot between her shoulder blades. The family had been so kind and supportive to her. And she knew that by helping Arabella flee she was letting them down. But what choice had she?

Earlier Khalid had watched her with that dead-on stare of his, but had said nothing.

He knew something was wrong - she was unable to hide anything from him.

She also knew that Khalid trusted her to share such important news with him immediately. By keeping quiet she'd let him down. Plus, she was more than aware that not telling him would cause a rift between them that might never be healed. A baby in the El Haribe family was a monumental deal. In fact, she'd been wondering if she herself might be carrying a child. Her womanly cycle was a regular one. And it was three days late. Too soon to make an announcement, she decided. Khalid had freaked out over dealing with a few little children, heaven only knew what he'd do during nine months of prospective fatherhood. He'd be demented by the end of it. No, it was better to keep the news to herself, for now. After all it might be a false alarm.

Charisse was so involved with her dark thoughts and watching the fast approaching storm that she was totally unaware of Evil entering her rooms or its arrival at her back.

It all happened so fast.

She smelled him, an unwashed body, before she felt him.

A thick arm whipped around her throat, squeezed tight, cutting off her breath.

Instinctively she struggled, both hands clawing against rough fabric as she battled to drag air into her lungs to scream. Until the cold metal of a gun pressed hard against her temple made her go absolutely still.

"One sound." The voice was a high whisper in her ear. The heady scent of his bad breath made her gag. "And I'll blast your brains out of that pretty little head. Be very still and I might let your husband live."

Obediently, Charisse let her arms fall.

However, her mind was racing. Khalid... he wanted Khalid.

"Well done, Highness," Omar said, and the crush on her windpipe eased. "If you make a sound I will kill your husband, dear old Yasmin, and those hounds you're so fond of. You don't want that, do you?" She shook her head. "Excellent. Now..." He cursed and tightened his grip as Khalid opened the doors to her suite and called out for her.

"Charisse?"

"Not a word," Omar hissed the warning as he dragged her behind a fat sandstone pillar.

Charisse closed her eyes and sent up a swift prayer for deliverance.

Khalid shoved open double doors and entered her bedroom. She could hear him swearing under breath as she was dragged further back into a dark corner, and she knew the gun was aimed at Khalid's back. Her gut appeared to have been turned to solid ice as she stood there hardly daring to breath. She silently begged Khalid to turn away and leave. When he did and she heard him barrelling down the stairs she had the feeling she would never see him again. Tears hazed her vision, but she'd rather die before she let them fall in front of the monster who held her.

"Good. Now, you're going to come with me quietly. There is someone who wants to meet you."

The arm was still around her throat.

Again, the cold metal of the gun pressed above her ear.

"Who wants to see me?"

Charisse knew exactly who it was but still needed to hear it.

"A father who longs to see his daughter," Omar said. There was a small sigh of pleasure in a sly voice filled with malice.

"You will never get out of the palace alive," she told him.

And where were her dogs?

"You just leave that up to me."

As she opened her mouth to cry out the smell, the sweet taste on her tongue from the cloth around her nose and mouth, made her gag.

And then there was only darkness.

"Are they dead?"

Khalid and Sarif stood over the prone bodies of the wolfhounds slumped on the dirt floor. After an exhaustive search of the palace and the grounds for Charisse and Arabella, they'd searched the ancient tunnel network that ran through the mountain and found the dogs.

Thunder boomed, the vibration making the earth tremble beneath their feet.

Dressed in black army fatigues, Captain Bruce Monroe, ex-British Special Forces, patted Rufus on the rump and stood with the easy grace of a ballet dancer.

"Nope. Drugged. This proves the women have been taken. I wonder why they left the dogs alive?" he muttered as if to himself. The music of Scotland lilted in his deep voice.

"Probably didn't want to deal with blood. Knives are a messy business, a gun without a silencer makes too much noise." This came from his brother, Lieutenant Wallace Monroe. He was chewing gum as he thoughtfully studied the animals.

The men were tall, well over six foot. It was obvious they were brothers. They both had the lean boned features, the very blue eyes and coal black hair of the Celts. They were armed to the teeth. And Khalid decided they were a couple of mean bastards who could give 'The Rock' a run for his money. And he was very grateful that they'd arrived just this afternoon, because he for one was feeling totally out of his depth. He knew he was barely holding it together and was struggling to keep a lid on the crushing fear that something very bad had happened to his wife.