Bought by The Sheikh

by Clare Connelly

  Julia had never been hit before. The sensation of a hard, cold metal reverberating against her skull was eclipsed only by the sight of blood dripping onto her expensive cream suit. She felt like she was going to faint but she couldn’t. Not until the child was safe. She glared at the man as she wrapped her arms around the little child, and she felt her heart go out to this frail little body.

  The two men from her detail were only seconds behind her, and while they set about detaining the man who had hurt the new princess of Naman, the aide who had been speaking to Julia moments earlier tried to disentangle the urchin from her arms.

  “No.” Julia hissed from beneath her teeth. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”

  The aide, Marina, tried to reason with the Shiekh’s bride, but it was useless. “You are hurt, though, Your Highness. I need to get you to a doctor.”

  “Look at this girl!” Julia said, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to stand and she had to press her hand against the wall behind her for support. “She is skin and bone. She is terrified. I am not leaving her. Bring her home with me, and have a doctor come to her.”

  Marina pulled her satellite phone from her belt and began to dial. With a sinking heart, she could just imagine what the Sheikh would say when he saw the state of his wife.

  “Please, ma’am, I promise, I’ll keep her safe. But you must sit down.”

  The little girl lifted a finger and pressed it to Julia’s head. Julia smile at her reassuringly, but the action hurt her cheeks. She refused to give in to the wave of nausea that was clinging to her. But she knew that she wasn’t in a good way, and she silently uttered a prayer for help to come quickly.

  And it did. The Al-melara name was all-powerful, and it was only a matter of minutes before an ambulance was screaming through the narrow markets. Julia was loaded into the back with great care, but she shot Marina one look that spoke volumes, and the aide hastily ushered the little girl into the van with her.

  “Will you translate for me?” Julia asked Marina. And it was a matter of great importance now, for Julia suspected that if she didn’t keep speaking, she might fall into a faint. A medic was checking her vitals, and another inspecting her head, but Marina nodded, manoeuvring herself so that she could see the princess.

  “What is her name?”

  Marina said something to the young girl. Her voice, when it emerged, was dry and husky. “Maysan,” Marina relayed automatically to Julia, though Julia had heard it for herself.

  “Why was that man about to beat her?”

  Marina and the young girl had an exchange that ended with Marina looking disapprovingly at the girl. “She stole from him.”

  Julia winced as the paramedic applied an ointment to her head. “Ask her what she stole.”

  And after a few more minutes of the strange and beautiful language, Marina responded, “Fruit.”

  Julia smiled reassuringly at the child, though the pain was now too much to bear.

  The paramedic interrupted, speaking directly to Marina. The aide leaned forwards. “He says you must stop talking.”

  “I’m almost done,” Julia responded, inserting as much authority into her voice as possible. “Ask her why she did it.”

  The young girl listened to Marina’s question and then responded with a short admission. “She was hungry.”

  Julia closed her eyes, the sadness of this child’s life making her ache. “Her parents?”

  A few moments later, “They’re dead.”

  As the ambulance squealed around a corner and then stopped, Julia knew she had to speak to Zayn. But everything was becoming jumbled, and her head was aching in a horrifying way. The doors were ripped open and four people in white hospital suits appeared to slide her bed out of the van and take her into the building.

  “Maysan,” she said, reaching a hand out and taking the little girl’s in her own. “She stays with you, until I come for her,” she ordered Marina.

  And there was no way Marina was going to say no.

  Zayn waited in the foyer of the hospital, his heart hammering hard against his rib cage. Two ambulances had arrived since he’d got the call – one housed a pregnant woman clearly in the last stages of labor, and the second a man who looked to have broken his leg in several places.

  The third contained his wife, and he went from feeling like he was about to shout at her for having gone out without him, to feeling like his whole world had tilted strangely on its edge, when he saw the way blood was splattered down her clothes, and the way her face was drained of any color.

  He swore as he ran towards her, being wheeled through the hospital. “Julia,” he said, pushing aside a doctor, and taking her hand in his. “What happened?”

  “I’m so sorry about my outfit. It was so beautiful and now it’s ruined,” she blurted out as soon as she saw him. And then frowned, because it wasn’t what she’d meant to say at all. But her head was thick with confusion. “Zayn,” she mumbled slowly, “Zayn, Maysan needs help. Please feed her. And call Adina. She will know what to do.”

  He lifted his eyes to the tiny little figure huddling beside one of his longest-standing members of staff. “Of course, Julia.”

  “Sir, we must work,” one of the doctors said to him in his own tongue, and reluctantly he released her hand.

  “Why Adina?” He asked impatiently, following the bed as she was wheeled along the linoleum covered hallway.

  “Just call her,” Julia said weakly, so he nodded, then turned back to the doctor.

  In Arabic, he commanded, “If you do not save her, you will feel my wrath.”

  The doctor would have smiled at this newlywed’s concern if it weren’t for the fact that he was one of the most powerful men in the country, if not the world, and he was obviously prepared to do whatever it took to ensure his wife’s comfort. And so the doctor simply nodded and said with a placating tone, “I don’t believe it is serious, but we must see to her immediately.”

  “Of course.” Zayn watched her go, and then, with a strange emotion coursing through him, he approached Marina.

  “What happened?” He asked in English, so that the small child would not understand their conversation.

  Marina took his cue and told the whole story to him in English, and when she was finished, Zayn wasn’t sure if he was proud or furious. His wife should not have put her life in jeopardy like that. And yet, this tiny little creature was so pitiable; how could anyone have intended to hurt her? He crouched down on his haunches and switched to his native language.

  “My wife tells me you are hungry. Would you let me organize some food for you?”

  A solitary tear ran down the little girl’s face as she nodded at the prospect of a hot meal. He turned his attention to Marina. “Have something brought, immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” She spun on her heel to leave and Zayn wondered what to say to this little person.

  “Your wife is very brave, your highness,” Maysan said quietly. “I think he might have killed me if she hadn’t been there.”

  “This man will be punished for his actions, Maysan, but you shouldn’t have stolen.”

  The words rung accusingly in his ears. Because he had stolen too. He’d stolen his wife, right out of her life. And who would punish him?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Explain that to me again,” Zayn commanded wearily, rubbing his hand across his forehead. Through the glass panel door, he could see Julia, lying prone in the hospital bed. She simply looked to be asleep. The head wound had been covered with a gauze tape. She looked so peaceful. And very young. Guilt was rapidly becoming his constant companion, and he felt its familiar grip now.

  “Your wife’s memory has been affected by the attack. The mind is a little understood machine, and it’s simply not possible to predict how permanent the memory loss will be.”

  “What sort of things will she forget?”

  The doctor grimaced apologetically. “Again, I excuse my uncertainty, but it’s impossible to say. Gene
rally, with injuries such as Her Highness’s, we tend to see the more recent past is most at risk. In most cases, the memories return, with the exception of a few fragments. Think of it as a bruise to the brain, if you’d like. Her brain, particularly her memories, are all scrambled. I am optimistic that, as her physical injury repairs itself, her memories will return.”

  “But you cannot say that with any real certainty?” Zayn grilled him intently.

  The doctor shook his head. “She is still your wife. All of what she was remains. There will just be some gaps in her knowledge.”

  Zayn nodded mutely, but his whole body was charged with a fierce regret. Why hadn’t he simply agreed to take her into the city? He had been stupid and stubborn, for none of his work was so urgent that it couldn’t have waited a day.

  “With regards to how to speak to her,” a different doctor interjected, “we suggest that you resist filling in too many gaps for patients with this type of condition. Of course, there will be some unavoidable pieces of information you will need to impart, but for the most part, the brain recovers best if it’s left to feel its own way.”

  “Thank you,” Zayn said without looking away from Julia. It was a curt dismissal and the two medical professionals took it as such. The first, and more experienced of the two, paused for a moment to press a business card into Zayn’s palm.

  “If you have any questions, this card contains my private telephone number and email address. You are welcome to contact me any time.”

  Zayn looked at the card and nodded. Once the well-meaning doctor had left, Zayn pushed against the door and walked into his wife’s hospital room.

  “Julia,” he said on a quiet groan. “What have you done?”

  He sat beside her for at least two hours, and in that whole time, only the slight rise and fall of her chest gave any indication that she was still alive. Her face was perfectly still, her arms not even twitching. At some point in his vigil, a nurse called him from the room so that she could undertake some observations. Zayn waited just outside the room, staring at the linoleum floor, trying to make sense of his life.

  “Zayn!” He looked up straight into Adina’s beautiful eyes.

  “Adina,” he said with an anguished expression that made her heart squeeze in sympathy for her brother in law.

  “How is she?”

  “Good.” He swallowed to moisten his throat. How long had it been since he’d eaten or drunk anything? “They expect some temporary memory loss. Other than that, no long term damage.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Adina expelled an angry sigh. “What of the man who did this?”

  “A stall holder.” He grunted. “He claims it was an accident. He was about to beat a small child – a five year old orphan who had shoplifted some fruit from his stall – and Julia stepped right into the middle of it. He was already delivering the blow.”

  “Pig of a man,” Adina said angrily.

  “Adina, I don’t know why Julia asked me to contact you, but I think it has something to do with the girl. Maysan is her name. Why would Julia think you would care?”

  Adina arched her brows in an expressive manner. “Apart from the fact I am a decent, compassionate human being?”

  Zayn winced. “Obviously.”

  “I can’t be certain, but if I had to guess, I would say she is thinking of us adopting the child.” Adina lifted her gaze to stare at her brother in law. “I told her of Amal and my difficulties, and our desire to adopt a child when the time is right. I daresay she thinks she’s found a perfect candidate.” Her smile was tinged with sadness. “The timing is not right, though. It could never be. Not now.”

  Zayn agreed whole heartedly. But something about the way his wife’s pleading eyes had sought his help prompted him to say, “I understand. Would you sit with her though, Adina, until I’m finished here? I don’t know what I’ll do with her. I don’t think Julia is going to be happy if I send her to an orphanage.”

  Adina’s pallor visibly changed at his statement, but she tried her best not to otherwise react. “Of course I’ll sit with her while you’re occupied with Julia. Where is she?”

  Zayn led her to the staff section that had been set aside for his private use whilst Julia was in the hospital. It didn’t take an expert to see that Adina’s heart was softening to the young girl with every word they exchanged. Adina was right; the timing was all wrong. And yet, sometimes things happened that were against the plan, and they ended up being for the best.

  When he walked back into Julia’s room, he saw, with a rush of relief, that his wife was awake. Quietly, he observed her from beneath shuttered lashes. She was toying with the large engagement ring he’d given her, wrapping it around her finger and staring at it broodingly.

  Zayn cleared his throat and her eyes flew wide, straight to him. And like a tiny little firework exploding in her brain, realization and memory flooded her face. “Zayn,” she exclaimed, pushing her feet over the side of the bed and easing herself to standing. Even in the standard issue hospital gown, she was stunning, he thought with a small flicker of appreciation. “I hoped it wasn’t just a dream.” She crossed the room on legs that weren’t at all steady, so that when she reached him, she had to lean gently against him for support.

  “That what wasn’t a dream, habibte?” He asked cautiously. After all, the state of her memory was yet to be determined.

  “Our marriage. I remember the wedding so clearly, but everything else is a blur, so I started to wonder if perhaps I’d got the wedding wrong, too.” Her face erupted into a huge smile. “I’m so glad it’s true.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course!” She thumped him playfully on the chest and then wrapped her arms around his waist. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved. I woke up in this hospital bed and thought for a terrifying moment I might find myself married to someone else!”

  His heart actually seemed to skip several beats as he stared down at Julia; this Julia was the one he had first fallen in love with. Exuberant, playful, artless. Zayn was pretty sure it wasn’t the most moralistic decision he’d ever made, but in that moment, the fantasy of pretending their marriage was real, in the sense of being two people who loved one another openly and honestly, was too seductive to resist.

  He lifted a hand a cupped her cheek gently. “How do you feel?”

  She bit down on her lip. “I have a terrible head ache. As though someone’s let off a grenade behind my eye. And my body feels all weak and wobbly. But strangely enough, right now, most of what I feel is pleasurable.”

  His eyes flared as her meaning became clear. “I would be the worst kind of husband if I seduced you here, in hospital, after you’d sustained a brain injury.”

  “Or the best,” she teased, slipping her hands beneath his shirt and running them over his chest. He inhaled unevenly as her nails connected with the hair surrounding his nipples.

  He growled low in his throat. “I promise to ravage you at the first opportunity that is not in this public space,” he whispered into her ear. The sensation of his breath fanning the sensitive skin on her neck made Julia’s arms break out in goose bumps.

  “I’ll hold you to that.” She smiled up at him again, in that beautiful, sparkling way of hers, and Zayn knew he would never be able to tell her the truth. A small part of him almost hoped she wouldn’t remember that their marriage had only come about because he’d forced her into it.

  The hospital was cautious, and they insisted on keeping Julia in overnight for observation. “Go home, my love,” she’d ordered Zayn when the doctor had come to discuss her treatment plan. “Go and get a good night’s sleep. You’re going to have to wait on me hand and foot for the next week or so, and I intend on being very, exceptionally demanding,” she promised with a simpering pout.

  After he’d left, Julia had pushed her head back into the pillow and tried desperately to grab at the floating strands of memory that were moving just beyond her vision. She knew there were gaping holes in her life, particula
rly her marriage to Zayn. He’d explained that they’d only been married a little over a week, and the doctor had added that the most recent memories were always most at risk in accidents like hers. But she had loved Zayn for a long time. How come she couldn’t remember anything of their reunion?

  When she’d found out about the other women in his life, she’d been spitting chips mad. That she remembered. The fury was so real she felt it as though it was far fresher. And yet, at some point in the intervening years, he’d obviously come back into her life and made amends. So why couldn’t she pinpoint that?

  It was like a strange murky soup. She remembered her university degree, and everything about her course. She was confident she could sit down and write a three thousand word essay on Torts without difficulty, but everything else was muddy.

  Georgie would help her remember. She scrambled to reach a pen from the bedside table and wrote on the back of her hand, ‘Email Georgie’, so that she’d remember to do so the following morning. At this point, she wasn’t going to leave anything up to her natural abilities to recall detail.

  * * *

  “Anything?” Zayn asked with a confidence he was far from feeling, as Julia walked slowly around his house, running her hands over furniture and presumably trying to remember.

  She turned to face him and shrugged. “No. But I guess I wasn’t here long before the accident.”

  Accident. It was a safe euphemism they’d stuck to by silent consensus; so much less confronting than attack. The hospital staff had urged him not to reveal details to her, and Zayn was afraid that once he started giving her information, it would all unravel around him. And he simply wasn’t ready to go back to the way things were before. She’d been so sad then, like a heartbroken version of herself. Now, he had what he really wanted; Julia in his life because she wanted to be there. Or believed she did, at least, a small voice warned him in his mind. After all, it couldn’t last forever. He just had to hope that he’d make enough ground up before she recalled all the gruesome facts of their relationship.