The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride (9 page)

The anxiety she’d felt for him hadn’t eased. As the sun rose high in the sky, then dipped to the horizon she told herself he was safe.

There was no danger. He was head of state, and the Q’aroumis wouldn’t take chances with the life of their beloved prince.

But she remembered how he’d deliberately endangered himself in order to save her. And the adamantine set of his shoulders, the uncompromising angle of his jaw when he’d left this morning.

Instantly the rushing swoop of fear began again, churning her stomach and drying her throat.

She had to find something to distract her from this sickening tension.

She’d already rung home. Spent an hour on the line talking to her mum, reassuring her again that there was no need for a trip to Q’

aroum now she was safe. She’d spoken to Rosalie too, her heavily pregnant sister. Rose had sounded better than she had in months, as if she’d come to terms with her impending single parenthood.

Belle promised herself that soon, after the birth, she’d organize some time off from the expedition so she could visit her family.

She paced the room, too wound up to settle with a book or magazine. Her eye lit on an ornately carved rosewood screen at one wall. Sure enough, it slid aside to reveal a huge plasma screen television. She was flicking through the array of international cable channels when an image caught her eye and she stopped, transfixed.

It was a local news item. She didn’t understand the reporter’s excited Arabic, but she did understand the English subtitle. Shaq’

ara. Where Rafiq had gone so many hours ago.

Her mouth dried as she stared at a huge crater in a wide street.

Debris lay all around, the mangled wrecks of vehicles, the shattered remains of a shop front. Then images of ambulances speeding along a road, sirens blaring.

An icy shiver of horror rippled through her. The images were all too familiar these days. A bomb blast. That was all it could be.

But in Q’aroum? She shook her head in disbelief. The country was renowned for its stability.

The scene changed abruptly to a close up of two men. One old and bearded, his head swathed in an elaborate turban. He reached out to another man who clasped his arm.

Rafiq! For a moment she hadn’t recognized him, wearing long, traditional Q’aroumi robes and with his head covered in a simple white headdress. But she couldn’t mistake that commanding profile or the assertive jaw. Even on film Rafiq made her stomach clench and her pulse stutter.

In front of the two men a crowd of people had gathered, arms raised in applause, chanting something. She thought she heard Rafiq’s name repeated several times.

Frustrated, Belle switched off the television and resumed her pacing. Whatever had happened in Shaq’ ara, the main town on the nation’s second most populous island, Rafiq was needed there to support and comfort his people.

Anxiety bit harder now. He’d deliberately walked into a dangerous and volatile situation. There could be no guarantees of his safety.

Of course that wouldn’t have mattered to him. She understood him enough to realize he had an ingrained sense of duty he wouldn’t think twice about his safety if others were at risk. As hers had been four days ago. Not for him the option of command from a distance.

That should have impressed her. Yet she felt nothing but churning apprehension. Would he come back alive?

Belle had all but worn a track in the luxurious antique carpets when, around eleven o’clock, she heard a swift, sure stride she recognized. Her heart thumped in her throat and she swung round towards the door.

He paused in the doorway, filling her vision. He was dressed as she’d seen him on the television, in long pale robes over boots and trousers, with a heavily embroidered vest that made him look exotic and utterly romantic. The headdress was gone and his dark hair was pulled back, accentuating the bold inter play of bone and muscle that made up his aristocratic face.

He looked spectacular.

`Rafiq!’ Her voice was a hoarse croak. Àre you all right?’

Òf course I’m all right, Belle. Why aren’t you in bed? Is something wrong?’ His gaze sharpened, laser bright, and she felt it graze her skin.

`No, nothing’s wrong.’ She paused to catch her breath. Her breathing was short and shallow, as if she’d been sprinting. Her skin prickled. `No one seemed to know when you’d be back. I was…worried.’

Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze, then gasped and surged forward, her hand outstretched. `You’re injured.’ She pointed to the splash of blood on one wide sleeve.

Rafiq held up his arm and looked at the stain, frowning, then shook his head. `Not me, little one. I’ve been visiting people in hospital.’

`The bomb blast,’ she whispered, and his eyes met hers, dark now, like the chill depths of an abyss.

`You know about that?’

Ìt was on the television news.

He reached out and closed his hand around hers. His heat seeped into her skin, his hard strength supporting her. But she suspected it was he who needed the support, though he’d never admit it. It must have been a harrowing day.

It didn’t matter that he was the Sovereign Prince of Q’ aroum, fabulously wealthy and lord of all he surveyed. Right now he was simply Rafiq, the man who’d saved her, protected her, who needed solace. She ignored the inner voice that warned he’d become far too important to her in a few short days. That her relief at his arrival was out of all proportion to the circumstances.

She squeezed his fingers and drew him across the room to a wide sofa padded with embroidered silk cushions.

`You look exhausted,’ she said. It was a lie. He looked fit and invincible, but his eyes were shuttered. He let her lead him and then sat down, watching her as she settled at the other end of the sofa, facing him.

`Tell me about it,’ she said.

He shook his head. Ìt is not suitable for you to hear.: ‘Because I’m a woman?’

That made him smile, a crooked lifting of one side of his mouth in a twist of amusement that sparked a flare of heat deep inside her.

`How prickly you are, Belle. Why are you so ready to take offence? Don’t you know it’s the way of Q’aroumi men to protect their womenfolk?’

A forbidden thrill skated through her at the idea of Rafiq protecting her because she was his.

Absurd she was her own woman; she didn’t need a man to take care of her.

Yet the thrum of awareness vibrating through her body told another story.

Rafiq leaned back and watched the flicker of emotions across her face. He shouldn’t enjoy her company quite so much. If he had any sense he’d send her to bed with a quick apology for his late return.

But when he’d seen the unguarded emotion in her face, the concern and relief, and the yearning, he hadn’t been strong enough to deny himself this small pleasure.

`But I’m not a Q’aroumi woman,’ she said at last with the glimmer of a smile. Ì think I can bear to hear about your day.’ She paused and her gaze dropped. Ìf you want to talk about it.’

Rafiq watched her concentration as she plucked at the hem of her shirt. With her down bent head and restless hands she looked almost shy. What was going on in that beautiful head? Belle was many things, but not bashful.

`Someone detonated a bomb in the city of Shaq’ara. We were fortunate no one was killed. But several people are in hospital, badly wounded.’

She frowned, looking up to snare him with that stunning azure gaze. Once again he felt its impact deep in his gut. He should be used to that by now, but it always stopped his breath for an instant.

A fatal instant that inevitably made him wonder how it would feel if Belle did more than just look.

Ìt wasn’t a suicide bomber, then?’

He shook his head. `These people don’t have such strength of conviction. They call themselves fundamentalists, fighting for a return to traditional values, but they’re simply opportunists.

Criminals seeking power.’ His cousin Selim’s idea of a return to traditional ways was the abolition of democracy and the installation of himself as autocratic ruler. It would mean utter ruin for the country as Selim stripped it bare. The very idea left a bitter taste in Rafiq’s mouth.

Selim had to be stopped, and soon. No matter what the cost. The peace and the prosperity of Q’ aroum were at stake.

`Who was the old man you were with, in front of the huge crowd?’

Belle interrupted his turbulent thoughts.

He focused on her as she leaned close, concern etched on her lovely face. Her hair was pushed back behind her ears, but it glowed like gold in the lamplight. Her wide, cerulean eyes dazzled like jewels. But it was her mouth that drew him. She had the lips of a houri, voluptuous and tempting. The sort of lips that held untold promise for a man wearied by violence and suffering.

And suddenly the uncertainty that had plagued him for days vanished. A weight lifted off his shoulders as he shed the unaccustomed doubt. His way forward was obvious so simple it was extraordinary he’d prevaricated so long. He only had one option if he wanted to protect his people. And, as their sheikh, he must take it.

`The terrorists claim they’re committed to bringing back the old ways. They pretend they’re acting with the sanction of revered community elders, but that’s a lie. I met publicly today with several of the most respected community leaders in Shaq’ara, and they made it clear they would never support those who use violence.’

She nodded, her eyes meeting his. Rafiq felt the familiar thickening of his blood as their gazes meshed, the pooling of need low in his body. He faced the truth: he would enjoy doing his duty.

It was what he wanted, after all. That was why he’d rejected the idea initially because it so exactly concurred with his own, thoroughly selfish desires.

`They’re trying to destabilize the country through violence. We foiled a bomb attack on the markets only last week’ He shook his head. Ànd, to my shame, they’re led by a kinsman of mine. A distant cousin who’d become sheikh if he could, and rule Q’aroum as his own personal domain.’

Her brows furrowed. `But if he’s a distant cousin, how could he-?’

He spread his hands, palm up. `The title of sheikh is passed by direct inheritance, but very occasionally, in times of great need or bad leadership, the title can pass to another male of the al Akhtar family. It would be decided by a council of elders.’

Selim still had an immense way to go before he could hope to sway the council. Obviously he thought a campaign of terror might achieve what a personal approach could not. But how Q’aroum would suffer in the meantime.

`Your kidnap was part of Selim’s scheme. The abduction and death of two foreign nationals would put immense pressure on the government. And the ransom was a key part of his strategy.’

She frowned, obviously weighing up his words. Ì can understand that our kidnapping might trigger an international incident. But the government couldn’t be held to blame. And why that ransom? Why not ask for cash they could use to buy guns? Surely that would be easier to handle than an antique necklace?’

He nodded. `The Peacock’s Eye is much more than a necklace. It holds a special place in local folklore. It’s intimately associated with the al Akhtar dynasty and the belief that my family is destined to rule.’ He saw her eyes widen.

‘To you, Belle, such ideas may be quaint, but here they’re taken very seriously indeed. The loss of the Eye reflects on the prestige of the royal house. And on my fitness to lead.’ His voice deepened as he thought of his father, his grandfather, and their unstinting efforts to drag Q’aroum into the modern world.

He would not fail them.

`My country has only been a democracy for thirty years.’ He saw her nod, and hoped that meant she might understand. `Many still cling to the belief that the Sheikh is the natural leader, the born ruler. As a result we have a system whereby power is shared between parliament and the head of state. The stability of the nation depends on that system working seamlessly.’

Ànd if it’s disrupted?’ Her voice was a whisper.

`The possibility of chaos.’ He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to speak. Ì don’t believe it would come to that. The Q’aroumis are a peaceful people, despite their colorful history. And they can see the benefits of modern government. It would take far more than a bomb blast for Selim to achieve what he wants.’

Which was why Rafiq’s security experts were in such a flurry of concern about his personal safety. An assassination would solve so much for Selim.

`We’ve identified the conspirators and we’re tracking them down.

They won’t be at large for long.’ He shot her another look. `The danger is what damage they could wreak in the meantime. It’s of paramount importance that there’s no sign of weakness on the government’s part. Or on mine.’

There was silence as she absorbed his words.

`What are you going to do?’ she asked eventually.

His lips curved up in a smile. She really was perceptive. She knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t sit back and wait for events to unfold.

He reached out and took her hand in his, drawing her slowly, inexorably, along the sofa until the scented heat of her body warmed his. This was where she belonged, he decided. Here and nowhere else.

She swallowed, and he watched the convulsive movement of muscles in her slender neck. He wanted to reach out and touch her there, put his hand on the silken flesh he remembered from the night she’d lain beneath him. But for now he would content himself with her hand.

He turned it over so it rested palm up in his. He could feel the tiny tremors racing across her skin and knew that she recognized it too, the inevitable connection between them. Slowly, deliberately, he stroked his index finger across her palm and heard her breath escape in a hiss.

Yes, he would enjoy doing his duty. And she would enjoy it too.

He lifted his gaze, satisfied at the glazed eyes, the hooded lids that revealed exactly what she was feeling.

`You’re right,
habibti
. I must act.’ Again he stroked her palm, and was rewarded by her immediate shudder of sensual reaction.

`The people believe you are my woman that I gave up the Peacock’s Eye for love of you. They would view any other explanation as a sign of weakness, something not to be tolerated in their prince.’ He paused for the length of a heartbeat.