‘I have never denied that!’ he flared back. ‘It’s a pity that more people don’t stop neurotically asking themselves whether or not they are “happy”—and just get out there and do something instead!’
‘Like you’ve just done, you mean?’ she challenged. ‘What, did you think to yourself? “Now, how can I punish the princess for running off? I know—I’ll seduce her!”’
For a moment there was nothing other than the sound of them struggling to control their breathing and Suleiman felt the cold coil of anger twisting at his gut as he looked at her.
He swallowed but the action did little to ease the burning sensation which scorched his throat. The acrid taste of guilt couldn’t be washed away so easily, he thought bitterly.
He had just seduced the woman who was to marry the Sultan.
He had just committed the ultimate betrayal against his sovereign—and wasn’t treason punishable by death?
Had she used him to facilitate her escape? Had she? Had this been a trap into which he had all-too-willingly fallen?
‘How many men have you had?’ he demanded suddenly.
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Have you heard a word I’ve just been saying? How many women have you had?’
‘That’s irrelevant!’ he snapped. ‘So I shall ask you again, Sara—and this time I want an answer. How many?’
‘Oh, hundreds,’ she retorted, but the expression on his face made her backtrack and even though she despised herself for wanting to salvage her reputation—it didn’t stop her from doing it. ‘If you must know—I’ve had one experience before you. One—and it was awful. An ill-judged foray into the sexual arena with a man I’d convinced myself could mean something to me, but I was wrong.’ Just as she’d been wrong about so many things at the time.
‘Who was he?’
‘You think I’m crazy enough to tell you his name?’ She shook her head, not wanting to reveal any more than she had to. She didn’t want Suleiman to know that at the time she’d been on a mission—trying to convince herself that there were men other than him. That she’d wanted another man to make her feel the way he did. But she had been hoping in vain because no man had even come close. He affected her in a way she had no control over. Even now, with this terrible atmosphere which had descended upon them, he was still making her feel stuff, wasn’t he? He still made her feel totally alive whenever she was near him.
‘I was experimenting,’ she said. ‘Trying to experience the same things as other women my age, but it didn’t work.’
‘So you conveniently forgot about your planned marriage?’
‘You didn’t seem to have much difficulty forgetting it, did you? And surely that’s the most glaring hypocrisy of all. It wasn’t just me who broke the rules. It took two of us to make love just now, and you were one very willing partner. I’m wondering how that registers on your particular scale of loyalty?’
Something in the atmosphere shifted and changed and his face tightened as he nodded.
‘You are right, of course. Thank you for reminding me that my own behaviour certainly doesn’t give me the right to censure yours. But before we go, just answer me one thing. Did you set out to seduce me, knowing that having sex with me would put an end to your betrothal?’
She hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘No,’ she said and then, because it felt like a heavy burden, she told him the truth. ‘I planned to do something like that, but in the end I couldn’t go through with it.’
‘Why not?’
She shrugged and suddenly the threat of tears seemed very real as she thought of the boy who had been sold by his mother. ‘Because of what you told me about how you and Murat met. How he’d saved your life and how close you’d been when you were growing up. I realised what a big deal your friendship was and how much it meant to you. That’s why I ran away.’
‘Only I came after you,’ he said slowly. ‘And seduced you anyway.’
‘Yes.’ She kept swallowing—the way they told you to do in aircraft, to stop your ears from popping. But this was to stop the welling tears from falling down over her face. Because tears wouldn’t help anyone, would they? They made a woman look weak and a man take control. And she wasn’t going to be that woman. ‘Yes, you did.’
‘I appreciate your honesty,’ he said. ‘And at least you’ve concentrated my mind on what needs to happen next.’
She heard the finality in his tone and guessed what was coming next. ‘You mean you’ll take me to the airfield?’
‘So that you can run away again? I don’t think so. Isn’t it time that you stopped running and faced up to the consequences of your actions? Maybe it’s time we both did.’ He gave a grim smile and stood up, magnificent and unashamed in his nakedness. ‘My brief was to deliver you to the Sultan and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
She stared at him in bewilderment and then in fear as his body blocked out the fierce light of the sun. All she could see was the powerful shape of his silhouette and suddenly he seemed more than a little intimidating. ‘You’re still planning to take me to the Sultan?’
‘I am.’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘Just watch me.’
She licked her lips. ‘He’ll kill me.’
‘He’ll have to kill me first. Don’t be absurd, Sara.’ He flicked her a glance. ‘And don’t move. At least, not yet.’
She didn’t know what he meant until he walked over to his horse and took a bottle from his saddle-bag, dousing his headdress with a generous slug of water before coming back to her. His face was grave as he crouched down to wipe her belly clean and Sara felt her cheeks flame, because the peculiar intimacy of having Suleiman removing his dried seed from her skin was curiously poignant.
‘Removing all traces of yourself?’ she questioned.
‘You think it’s that easy? I wish.’ His bitter tone matched hers and she could see the angry gleam of his eyes. ‘Now get dressed, Sara—and we will ride together to the palace.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE SUN WAS low in the sky when Sara and Suleiman brought their horses to a dusty halt outside the gates of the Sultan’s summer residence. Before them, the vast palace towered majestically—its golden hues reflecting the endless desert sands which surrounded it. It was the first time Sara had ever seen the fabled building, and on any other occasion she might have taken time to admire the magnificent architecture with all its soaring turrets and domes. But today her heart was full of dread as she thought of what lay ahead.
What on earth was she going to say to the man she had now spurned in the most dramatic way possible? She had never loved the Sultan, nor wanted him—but never in a million years had she wanted it to turn out this way. She didn’t want to hurt him, or—which was much more likely—hurt his pride.
Would he want to punish her? Punish her brother and his kingdom?
The reality began to soak into her skin, which was still glowing after her passionate encounter with the man who had ridden by her side. No matter what happened next—she wasn’t going to regret what had just taken place. It might have been wrong, but the words she had whispered to Suleiman just before he had thrust into her had been true. It had felt so right.
She shot a glance at him as he brought his horse to a halt but his stony profile gave nothing away and she suspected that his body language was deliberately forbidding. He hadn’t spoken a word to her since that uncomfortable showdown after they’d made love. He had kept busy with the practicalities of preparing to return. And then he had turned on her and hissed that she was nothing but a temptation, silencing her protests with an angry wave of his hand before phoning ahead to let the Sultan’s staff know that they were on their way.
Sara looked up at the wide blue bowl of the desert sky as another band of fear gripped her. If ever she had thought she’d felt trap
ped before—she was quickly discovering a whole new meaning to the word. Here was one hostile man taking her to confront another—and she had no idea of what the outcome would be.
Her instinct was to turn and head in the opposite direction—but during the ride she had thought about what Suleiman had said.
You’ve spent your whole life running away?
Had she? It was weird seeing yourself through somebody else’s eyes. She’d always thought that she was an intrepid sort of person. That she had shown true backbone by setting up on her own in London, far away from her pampered life. It was disturbing to think that maybe there was a kernel of truth in Suleiman’s accusation.
Their approach had obviously been observed from within the palace complex, for the tall gates silently opened and they walked their horses through onto the gravelled forecourt. Sara became aware of the massed blooms of white flowers and their powerful scent which pervaded the air. A white-robed servant came towards them, briefly bowing to her before turning to Suleiman and speaking to him in Qurhahian.
‘The Sultan wishes to extend his warmest greeting, Suleiman Abd al-Aziz. He has instructed me to tell you that your chambers are fully prepared—and that you will both rest and recuperate before joining him for dinner later.’
‘No.’
Suleiman’s denial rang out so emphatically that Sara was startled, for she knew that the language of the desert was couched in much more formal—sometimes flowery—tones. She saw the look of surprise on the servant’s face.
‘The princess may wish to avail herself of the Sultan’s hospitality,’ said Suleiman. ‘But it is imperative that I speak to His Imperial Majesty without further delay. Please take me to him now.’
Sara could see the servant’s confusion but such was the force of Suleiman’s personality that the man merely nodded in bewildered consent. He led them through the huge carved doors, speaking rapidly into an incongruously modern walkie-talkie handset which he pulled from his white robes.
Once inside, where several female servants had gathered together in a small group, Suleiman turned to her, his features shadowed and unreadable. ‘You will go with these women and they will bathe you,’ he instructed.
‘But—’
‘No buts, Sara. I mean it. This is my territory, not yours. Let me deal with it.’
Sara opened her mouth, then shut it again as she felt a wave of relief wash over her. Was it cowardly of her to want to lean on Suleiman and him to take over? ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘For what?’ he questioned in English, his sudden switch of language seeming to emphasise the bitterness of his tone. ‘For taking what was never mine to take? Just go. Go.’
He stood perfectly still as she turned away, watching her retreat across the wide, marble entrance hall—his feelings in turmoil; his heart sick with dread. He found himself taking in the unruliness of her hair and the crumpled disorder of her robes. He swallowed. If the Sultan had seen her flushed face, then mightn’t he guess the cause of her untidy appearance?
He turned to follow the servant, his heart heavy.
How was he going to be able to tell Murat? How could he possibly admit what had been done? The worst betrayal in the world, from the two people who should have been most loyal to the sovereign.
He was ushered into one of the informal ante-rooms which he recognised from times past. He lifted his gaze to the high, arched ceiling with its intricate mosaic, before the Sultan swept in, alone—his black eyes inscrutable as he subjected his erstwhile emissary to a long, hard look.
‘So, Suleiman,’ he said. ‘This is indeed an unconventional meeting. I was disturbed from playing backgammon at a crucial point in the game, to be told that you wished to see me immediately. Is this true?’
His eyes were questioning and Suleiman felt a terrible wave of sadness wash over him. Once their relationship had been so close that he might have made a joke about his supposed insubordination. And the Sultan would have laughed softly and made a retort in the same vein. But this was no laughing matter.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ he said heavily.
‘And may I ask what has provoked this extraordinary break with protocol?’
Suleiman swallowed. ‘I have come to tell you that the Princess Sara will not marry you,’ he said.
For a moment, the Sultan did not reply. His hawk-like features gave nothing away. ‘And should not the princess have told me this herself?’ he questioned softly.
Suleiman felt his heart clench as he realised that years of loyalty and friendship now lay threatened by his one stupid act of disloyalty and lust. He had accused Sara of being headstrong—but was not his own behaviour equally reprehensible?
‘Sire, I must tell you that I have—’
‘No!’ The word cracked from Murat’s mouth like the sound of a whip and he held up his palm for silence. ‘Hold your tongue, Suleiman. If you tell me something I should not hear, then I will have no option than to have you tried for treason.’
‘Then so be it!’ declared Suleiman, his heart pounding like a piston. ‘If that is to be my fate, then I will accept it like a man.’
The Sultan’s mouth hardened but he shook his head. ‘You think I would do that? You think that a woman—any woman—is worth destroying a rare friendship between two men? One which has endured the test of time and all the challenges of hierarchy?’
‘I will accept whatever punishment you see fit to bestow on me.’
‘You want to slug it out? Is that it?’
Suleiman stared at Murat and, for a moment, the years melted away. Suddenly they were no longer two powerful men with all the burdens and responsibilities which had come with age, but two eight-year-old boys squaring up to each other in the baked dust of the palace stables. It had been soon after Suleiman had been brought from Samahan and he had punched the young Sultan at the height of an argument which had long since been forgotten.
He remembered seeing the shock on Murat’s face. The realisation that here was someone who was prepared to take him on. Even to beat him. Murat had waved away the angry courtiers. But he had gone away and taken boxing lessons and, two weeks later, had fought again and soundly beaten Suleiman. After that, the fight victory rate had been spread out evenly.
Suleiman found himself wondering which of them would win, if they fought now. ‘No, I don’t want to fight you, Sire,’ he said. ‘But I am concerned about the fall-out, if this scheduled marriage doesn’t go ahead.’
‘As well you should be concerned!’ said Murat furiously. ‘For you know as well as I do that the union was intended as an alliance between the two countries.’
Suleiman nodded. ‘Couldn’t an alternative solution be offered instead? A new peace agreement drawn up between Qurhah and Dhi’ban—which could finally banish all the years of unrest. After all, a diplomatic solution is surely more modern and appropriate than an old-fashioned dynastic marriage.’
Murat gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, how I miss your skills of diplomacy, Suleiman. As well as your unerring ability to pick out the most beautiful women on our foreign tours.’ He gave a reminiscent sigh. ‘Some pretty unforgettable women, as I recall.’
But Suleiman’s head was too full of concern to be distracted by memories of the sexual shenanigans of the past. ‘Is this a feasible plan, do you think, Sire?’
Murat shrugged. ‘It’s feasible. It’s going to take a lot of backroom work and manoeuvring. But it’s doable, yes.’
The two men stared at one another and Suleiman clenched his teeth. ‘Now give me my punishment,’ he ground out.
There was a brief silence. ‘Oh, that’s easy. My punishment is for you to take her,’ said Murat silkily. ‘Take her away with you and do what you will with her. Because I know you—and I know how your mind operates. Countless times I have watched as you grow bored with the inevitable clinginess of the female of t
he species. She will drive you mad within the month, Suleiman—that much I can guarantee.’
Murat’s words were still ringing in Suleiman’s ears as he waited in the sunlit palace courtyard for Sara to emerge from her ablutions. And when she did, with her blonde hair still damp and tightly plaited, he could not prevent the instinctive kick of lust which was quickly followed by the equally potent feeling of regret.
Her face was pale and her eyes dark with anxiety as she looked up at him. ‘What did he say?’
‘He accepts the situation. The wedding is off.’
‘Just like that?’
Suleiman’s mouth hardened. What would she say if he told her the truth? That Murat had spoken of her as if she’d been a poisoned chalice he was passing to his former aide. That his punishment was to have her, not to lose her.
He suspected she would never speak to him again. And he wasn’t prepared for that to happen.
Not yet.
‘He has agreed to make way for a diplomatic solution instead.’
‘He has?’ Her eyes were filled with confusion as if she found something about his reaction difficult to understand. ‘But that’s good, isn’t it?’
‘It is an acceptable compromise, considering the circumstances,’ said Suleiman, holding up a jangling set of keys which sparked silver in the bright sunlight. ‘Now let’s go. We’re leaving the horses here and taking one of the Sultan’s cars.’
Sara tried to keep up with his long-legged stride as she followed him into the courtyard, but it wasn’t until they were sitting in the blessed cool of the air-conditioned car that she could pluck up enough courage to ask him.
‘Where are we going?’
He didn’t answer straight away. In fact, he didn’t answer for a good while. Not until they had left the palace far behind them and all that surrounded them was sand and emptiness. Pulling over onto the side of the wide and deserted road, he unfastened his seat belt before leaning over and undoing hers.
‘What...are you doing?’ she asked.
‘I want to kiss you.’
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