Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (33 page)

I hold her hand a little too long to help her out of the helicopter and then, becoming aware of what I’m doing, drop it. There will be no more intimacy between us, no more shared moments. Although I’m desperately trying to avoid making eye contact, I accidentally look into her face and see that it’s streaked with drying tears, her skin red and blotchy, and her eyes swollen. She is not a pretty crier. I realise I’ve never seen her upset before, and the sight twists something inside me.

She catches my gaze. “I love you,” she whispers.

I can’t answer, can’t trust myself. Abruptly I turn away, unable to cope with those fucking words, which are probably just one more lie. They’ve come too late.

I leave it to Jasim to indicate that she is to accompany us, I can’t bring myself to have anything to do with her. Walking between us, she’s escorted to the palace. She stumbles as we march her inside, but I force myself to ignore her difficulty in keeping up the pace. It’s Jasim who puts his hand on her back, encouraging her along. I have to resist punching him for touching my woman. My submissive. Then I have to tell myself she’s that no more.

“Wait!” I call our small procession to a halt. I extract the key from my pocket and pull her around roughly so her back is towards me. Lifting up her hair, I put the key in the keyhole and turn it. The silver necklace falls free. I toss it down on to the gravel path, uncaring where it lands. I’ve uncollared her. From her reaction, if I’d put my fist in her face, I couldn’t have hurt her more. She staggers and looks like she’ll fall but, remarkably, she seems to get the strength from somewhere to pull herself together. I dig deep to conquer my fucking desire to pick the silver chain back up and fasten the collar on her again. The actions I’m taking today are destroying me.

Jasim watches, his eyebrows raised, but as I turn to continue the way we are heading, he again takes it upon himself to make sure Cara is keeping up. Entering the main building, we march her through the long corridors of the Palace of Amahad. I know she’ll be expecting to be taken somewhere for interrogation, but there’s nothing she can say that I want to listen to. She’ll offer lies and excuses which I have no desire to hear. She’s not the uncomplicated woman I thought I’d married. No, there’s much more to her than that. She’s as corrupt as her father was.

The corridors seem to go on for ever. I just want to reach our destination. I’m hanging on to my fucking temper by a mere thread, and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to trust myself. As we walk onwards, slowly the decor is changing. There are no longer tapestries or paintings on the walls. Instead bare stone is exposed in places, and even the warmth of the desert sun can’t seem to permeate through to this region. I see her shiver, her fear apparent when she halts, refusing to go further.

“Where are you taking me?”

Her voice has a tremble to it. The strong, confident woman I’ve become used to seeing has disappeared. I’ve taken that from her, and I hate it, even though she’s brought it on herself.

Jasim looks at me, waiting for my lead, and takes a steer from me when I remain silent. She’ll find out soon enough. She has to accept that her fate is in our hands. In
my
hands. I have the power of life or death over her. It’s written in the fucking marriage contract.

“Just come with us.” Jasim’s voice holds no sympathy.

“I need to talk; I need to explain. I need a laptop …”

I growl. “You need nothing! I’m done with your lies and your deception!”

The force of my anger makes her step back, bringing her up against Jasim, but her eyes remain firmly fixed on me.

“I’ve never lied to you!” she says to defend herself, her desperation showing.

I feel nothing but disgust. “Perhaps so, but you didn’t tell me the truth, either.” I’ve had enough of this. Before she can grasp what is about to happen, I grab hold of her and, hauling her up into a fireman’s lift, sling her over my shoulder. Jasim doesn’t bother following us; he’s abandoned her to me, to her husband. I can almost smell her fear as she feels the tension within me, and the fact that I, the Savage Sheikh, am very, very angry.

I barely feel her weight as I carry her through into the most ancient part of the palace. My rage is building steadily. I can’t remember ever feeling this furious in all my life, even in Paris. I felt closer to this woman than I ever have to anyone else in my whole life, and I feel the lack of trust like a fucking betrayal. I’ve been hurt in battle before, taken a sniper’s bullet, been cut by the blade of a scimitar, and even blasted by shrapnel from an IED that I’d got too close to, but I have never felt pain like I am feeling now. I don’t trust myself to speak. Wisely, she is keeping silent, apart from the sobs that she seems powerless to prevent, wracking through the slender frame I’m carrying over my shoulder. I harden my heart, ignoring her tears.

Eventually, I come to the impressive and mighty golden doors, tarnished now with neglect, showing only a glimpse of their former glory. Holding her with one arm, I lift the heavy bolt and push them open. I slide her off my shoulder and push her inside, just roughly enough so she stumbles a few steps forwards, out of the way of the doors.

“Welcome to your new home,” I say sardonically, and then immediately shut the doors behind her, the sound of them banging closed reverberating around the empty hallway and the clank of the bolt shooting home echoing like a death knell. Outside the doors, I sink to the floor on my knees and put my head in my hands.
How the fuck has it come to this?

My face wet with falling tears, I think about this morning’s events. Jasim had rung me early, his shattering news sweeping in with the dawn. If he hadn’t warned me before arriving in person, my brother would have risked serious injury. As it is, even now, a few hours on in which to digest the information, I’m only just holding myself together, hanging on to my control by a thread. That the woman I’d married could have so deceived me, the woman I’m only just admitting I’ve fallen in love with. As the news and the depth of her deceit had sunk in and I’d grasped the truth about who she really is, I’d felt myself losing my grip, and I’d had no other option but to get her away from me. How could she have kept this from me? I thought I knew her, understood her, and know now she’s been hiding her real self. The news infuriates me to such an extent that for the first time in my life I know what it’s like to be scared. I can’t risk losing control. It could be fucking Paris all over again. And this time, it would be the woman I love who I’ll hurt. I can’t risk it.

So here I am, on one side of the goddamn golden doors, and she will stay on the other. It will be her sentence, her penance. Brushing my hand across my eyes, I know I need to stand up, to pull myself together. I need to find the strength to go to a meeting that’s already been arranged with the emir and my brothers, the discussion to decide how to sort this mess out. But for a long moment, I’m unable to move from the doors holding her prisoner, as if subconsciously I’m trying to retain some contact with the woman who brought such warmth and life to my cold, dead heart. The woman I now have to leave here, all alone.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, that I sat here. I’ve lost all sense of time. Eventually, I realise how futile just waiting here is; nothing is going to change. So, after taking a deep breath to compose myself, I rise to my feet and drag myself away. It is time to meet the ruler.

Taking the long route through the palace I use the time to compose myself. My unusual attire attracts attention from the servants and guards I pass, but I ignore them; I make no apology for leaving my traditional robes behind today. By the time I reach my destination my body and mind feel completely numb. She’s lost to me now.

The emir’s throne room is the most opulent chamber in the palace, built and decorated to impress as well as to cause trepidation in those brought before the absolute monarch. The throne itself is sited on a raised dais, surrounded by low stools for the princes. Supplicants would stand or kneel, depending on their status or reasons for attendance. It is not the usual place for the emir and his sons to meet; the fact we are meeting here today acknowledges the seriousness of the situation. Surprisingly, I attract no censure for my tardy arrival as I enter and take my seat alongside my brothers and in front of the emir, which indicates the level of empathy they have for my feelings.

Sheikh Rushdi looks down at me from his elevated position. The last time I was in this room was when I received my sentence of banishment to the desert. Today I come before him a whole different person, my head bowed, my heart aching. My father reaches forwards and lays his hand on my head. I glance up; I can’t remember receiving such an intimate gesture before. I see in his eyes a level of compassion I have never seen and, in that instant, I remember the love he shared with my mother, her loss making him the stern, cold man he is today. Could it be he understands the depth of my feelings for Cara? When he speaks, it’s clear he’s forgiven me.

“When I banished you to the desert, Nijad, I had low expectations of how you would take to your task. But I’ve heard good things of you how you have performed your role. The borders are better protected than they have ever been. And the tribes are united. Your marriage satisfied them and your wife impressed them. You have done well, my son.”

I bow my head in silent acknowledgement of the unusual praise, more used to receiving disapproval from the man who sired me. The reference to Cara, though, cuts through me.

I’m even more surprised when he adds, “You now have my blessing to leave the desert if you so wish.” I look up again. He is looking at me with sad, tired eyes that seem to mirror my distress. An unexpected wave of paternal feeling must be sweeping through him.

“Thank you, Father,” I say after a moment’s consideration of his offer. “But I think I will return.”

“While your marriage ensures peace in the desert, we now have to decide how to proceed in light of this revelation.” The emir puts his head to the side, as if ready to listen.

A short silence follows.

“I’m sorry, brother.” Kadar, next in line to the throne, speaks softly. “But there is no doubt of her guilt. Basheer brought me the evidence last night.”

I think back to what I had been doing when my brother had been examining the damning documents. I’d had my wife bound in front of me, intent on bringing her pleasure before taking my own. Fuck it, I have to stop thinking about her. There is no reason to doubt Basheer; he is a fully trusted employee as well as our father’s cousin and, therefore, a member of the royal family. He’s worked for us all his life, working his way up to the post of minister in charge of Amahad’s finances over a decade ago. I’ve seen the proof, too. She is guilty, I have no option other than to believe him. Basheer has nothing to gain by lying.

“We need to discuss the marriage contract.” The emir starts and pauses until I nod slowly in response. “It’s a legal document, and there is no exit clause that caters for a situation like this.”

“So I remain married to her for five years?” I’m not sure I can stand it. “Can you not annul the marriage?” I don’t voice the other option: that I use the total ownership of her life clause included in the contract. But whatever she’s done, she doesn’t deserve to die. And it couldn’t be by my hand. I wait for someone else to bring up that suggestion, and let out a deep breath when no one mentions it.

The emir shakes his head sadly. “The marriage cannot be annulled because it was obviously consummated. I doubt there’s anyone in the land who doesn’t know that.”

I close my eyes in pain. Fuck Lamis and her gossip about those damn bloody sheets. I should have ensured her silence.

“You could take another wife,” Jasim chimes in. “It’s not been done in the royal family recently, but there is a precedent. One of our great-uncles did that, as I recall.”

“I don’t want another wife!” I slap the small table beside me. What a damned fucked-up situation this is. I put my head in my hands, trying to think through the cotton wool that seems to be stuffed in my brain, limiting my thought processes. They give me time, and when I raise my head, I have a plan.

“She’s in the ancient harem now, and there she can stay. She can fulfil the terms of the contract there.”

Glancing round I see them all regarding me with surprised expressions. “Well, that was what the harem was used for,” I tell them with a mirthless laugh.

“She should be in prison!” Kadar commands.

“She might just as well be,” Jasim counters. “Incarceration in the harem considering the state it’s in, would probably not be very much of an improvement.”

I’m surprised when the emir nods slowly, seeing the merit in the proposal.

“Technically the harem and any women in it belong to the emir and no other man may step inside. I’ll decree that the harem is for the sole use of Sheikh Nijad.” He thinks for a moment, and then gives a cruel smile. “I’ll assign Maysa to look after her.”

I grimace, and then my mouth cruelly twists as I recall the elderly and crotchety, but surprisingly still active, woman who is probably old enough to remember concubines in the harem before it was closed down some sixty years ago. “I can’t think of a better warder.”

“And we tell the tribespeople what exactly?” Kadar wants to know.

“That the terms of the contract are being fulfilled under the watchful eye of the Crown.”

One by one we incline our heads in agreement. It was true: nothing had changed except for the fact she was no longer living with me: no longer would I sleep with her warm body curled up by my side. Fuck, I need to get her out of my mind.