His Runaway Royal Bride

by Tanu Jain

  But though he fulfilled his duties as the head and put up with the never-ending demands on his time, he maintained a frosty distance from people. His childhood had conditioned him to be independent and alone. His bitter experiences after his father’s demise had made him wary and distrustful and snuffed out his capacity for emotion and deep feelings. He preferred being alone and keeping his guard up at all times. Everyone looked up to him and idolised him but their respect was tinged with trepidation and fear.

  But this chit of a girl had merrily walked all over his pride and trampled it beneath her treacherous feet.

  His mouth tightened and he sat down to wait.

  Meethi opened her eyes, feeling disorientated. She found herself lying on a bed, and as her eyes ran through her surroundings they alighted on the grim-faced man sitting in the chair. She sat up with a jerk.

  Memory came crashing back. Terror and misery, which were eerily familiar, inundated her. He had found her. He would take her back.

  Controlling the sob that swelled in her throat and almost left her mouth, she valiantly tried to silence her anguish.

  Veer stood up, dark and menacing. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked grimly.

  Meethi lowered her eyes and, her voice a mere husk, replied, ‘I am all right.’

  He came towards the bed and held out his hand, adding brusquely, ‘Let us go then.’

  Meethi baulked. ‘Where are we going? I don’t want to…’

  Veer didn’t bother to reply and gripped her arm to help her stand up. She looked at his implacable face in desperation.

  The touch of his hand on her arm sent tremors running through her, and she tried to shake it off, but he tightened his grip and propelled her outside.

  Meethi tried to ignore the weakness spreading through her limbs and protested, ‘Please, I don’t want to go anywhere. I… I want to go back to my house.’

  Veer said forbiddingly, ‘We certainly are going, but we’ll go to our house.’

  She replied tremulously, ‘I won’t go!’

  The next instant, he lifted her up effortlessly and strode out of the room, down the corridor and outside, where a car stood waiting, his bodyguard holding the door open.

  Meethi tried to struggle but his arms were inflexibly clasped around her body, crushing her to his strong chest. Her breathing became shallow in such close proximity to his body and her heart began beating rapidly. She tried not to notice his lean jaw and the slight stubble which covered it or his aquiline nose, slightly indented in the middle as a result of a childhood brawl. A feeling of dizziness engulfed her as she felt long-buried embers of passion begin to sputter.

  She felt light-headed with relief when he placed her inside the car. It had been torture being held so close. She moved to the far end of the seat and tried to still her beating heart.

  Veer got in silently.

  Meethi wanted to say something but the words died in her throat at Veer’s coldly ferocious look.

  She felt cold and scared inside. And tired. Very tired. The relentless pressure of being on the run had taken its toll. She hadn’t had a peaceful night’s sleep since she had fled. Had forgotten what it was to slumber dreamlessly.

  She hung her head and tried to control her shaking hands, afraid he would see her weakness. And he would be quick to pounce on it and turn it to his advantage.

  Suddenly, the car stopped. Meethi sat stiffly, unsure what to expect.

  The chauffeur opened her door, and she stepped out fearfully. They were on a helipad. A helicopter stood waiting. He was taking her back to Samogpur.

  Cold dread filled her, and her legs threatened to collapse. She swayed and would have fallen, but Veer scooped her up again and sprinted to the helicopter, which took off with a whirring of blades.

  Images from her tormented past rose, mocking her cruelly, choking her breath in despair. But there was no way out.

  Veer wouldn’t let her escape now. He would fling her back into the prison his home had been. She sat there, defeated and spent, huddled into a miserable heap.

  What did he want? How had he found out that she was alive? Why had he traced her? He should’ve been happy at being rid of her, surely? He could have married a suitable girl this time around.

  Veer looked at her downbent head and a sense of satisfaction filled him. She was in his clutches now. He would make her pay for her betrayal.

  He saw her chew her lower lip and lust shot through him with devastating speed. He had loved kissing her luscious mouth, teasing her lower lip with his tongue, biting it playfully. Even her treachery hadn’t dulled his physical response to her beauty.

  But then his glance alighted on her ashen face and a host of emotions gripped him. An unwanted anxiety pulsed through him. She didn’t look well. The head injury must be paining her. He would have the family doctor look at her when they reached home.

  Dusk was falling when the helicopter touched down and Veer stood up and held out his hand to help her.

  Meethi couldn’t stand. All strength seemed to have deserted her. She remained collapsed in the seat. Veer bent his big powerful body and lifted her slight form effortlessly. She was too drained to react; a fog of misery had enveloped her.

  Veer looked at Meethi, perplexed. She was behaving strangely.

  Eyes shut, she lay listlessly in his arms, seeming terrified. The Meethi he knew would have been struggling and protesting at being carried in such a manner.

  She opened her eyes when he reached the stone steps that led to their palace, and he felt her stiffen.

  ‘Where…? What…?’ Her voice tapered off.

  ‘This is where I live now,’ Veer said inflexibly.

  He had moved out of the huge Rajmahal that had been the ancestral home and had begun living in the smaller Jal Mahal that had traditionally belonged to the younger son. Chacha Saheb, his father’s youngest brother, had sold it off to settle his debts, and Veer had bought it for his personal use.

  Meethi froze, paralysed with shock, looking at him in disbelief.

  He had moved out of the palace of his illustrious ancestors! He had broken the royal tradition. She had begged him once to live in a smaller bungalow because she had hated the lack of privacy and the overpowering presence of servants, but Veer had always been a stickler for tradition and propriety and had categorically refused. So why now had he taken such a step?

  And what about her mother-in-law, Maaji Saheb? She also must be here then. She would never leave her beloved son alone.

  Her stomach hollowed out with dread at the prospect of meeting Maaji Saheb again. She was the one who… but she wouldn’t think about her.

  Forcing her thoughts back to the present, Meethi looked towards the phalanx of retainers lining the entrance, their heads bowed respectfully, dreading seeing familiar faces—faces displaying thinly veiled contempt. But they all looked new and unfamiliar. Her breath escaped in relief, and she struggled to be put down.

  Veer lowered her watchfully, keeping a vice-like grip on her arm.

  They entered the Jal Mahal.

  Meethi had been here earlier in her marriage to Veer and had always liked it better than the palace they had lived in. The Rajmahal was flamboyant and ornate and had always seemed cold and forbidding; this one was smaller, airy and elegantly built.

  Meethi felt the eyes of the retainers on her and mortification filled her.

  They must be looking down their noses, wondering why their Maharaj Saheb had married her. She wanted to run away but knew she could not; Veer wouldn’t let her. The throbbing in her head intensified.

  One look at her pasty complexion and with a muttered imprecation, Veer picked her up and strode off again, his long legs moving purposefully. Entering his suite of rooms, he put her down on the huge four-poster bed in the master bedroom.

  Meethi sank down on the bed, trying to ignore Veer’s searing gaze. He told the hovering maid to fetch a glass of water.

  ‘Have this medicine,’ he said, his tone expecting instant compliance
.

  Meethi wanted to ignore his grim command but the throbbing in her head made her do as he requested.

  She sat up straight. What would he do now? She didn’t want to answer the numerous questions she knew he would throw at her.

  Veer looked at her, sitting stiffly, and the tension of her posture screamed out at him. She was apprehensive. Good. She had betrayed him. He wanted her to feel worried and tense.

  ‘Now, start answering some questions! Why did you run away? You didn’t for a moment think how we would all feel,’ he thundered.

  Meethi almost let out a hysterical laugh. She knew how everyone would have felt—relieved at getting rid of her.

  She had always been a source of embarrassment to the venerated royal family, and they must have rejoiced. Maaji Saheb would have begun making a list of suitable brides for her beloved son, she thought bitterly. But she didn’t voice her thoughts. Veer refused to hear anything against his family and she didn’t want to get into one of those fruitless arguments again.

  Her silence inflamed Veer and he burst out, ‘And to run away in such a manner! Pretending to have drowned in an accident! Not content with merely fleeing, you hatched a treacherous plot with callous disregard for those you left behind!’

  The world had tilted on its axis when he had learnt that the wife he had been mourning was actually alive and living happily. He remembered with cruel clarity how devastated he had felt at her heartless treachery. And then anger had filled him. Never before and never since had such anger consumed him. But that day an elemental fury had coursed through his veins, beating at his insides, and he had blindly picked up and smashed things in his study, trying to get rid of the demonic feelings plaguing him. After which he had mounted his horse and gone for a punishing ride till the rage inside him had dissipated a little.

  Meethi kept silent with a great effort of will. She had just wanted to disappear; hadn’t cared how. But wise counsel had prevailed and she had realised that, for the break to be final, she needed to have a convincing story. She couldn’t have just simply disappeared. Veer had married her and in his book that meant that he owned her. He wouldn’t have let her simply escape. He would have tracked her down and found her. As he seemingly had done….

  But she couldn’t say any of this. Ever since the miscarriage she had suffered, she had felt cut off from her surroundings, enclosed in a bubble of aloneness. She had given up on Veer and their marriage.

  Seeing her silence as an admission of guilt, Veer tore into her. ‘You played with our emotions in the worst possible manner! And you didn’t once think what would happen when you were found? I would be made a laughing stock when it became known that my wife had run away, pretending to be dead! You have tarnished our family’s name and honour and shamed your father’s memory! But all this wouldn’t matter to you, would it? You only know how to behave selfishly, to think about yourself, your feelings and your convenience.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’ she asked in a subdued voice, ignoring his diatribe.

  Veer looked at her in shock. She hadn’t uttered a word of explanation and neither did she seem a whit ashamed or regretful of what she had done. Far from apologising for her deception, she was skating over her wrongdoing, acting like a victim.

  ‘I want answers. Will you tell me why you ran away like this? You had everything a girl wants—a life of comfort, wealth, riches, jewellery, clothes and a titled family! But clearly this wasn’t enough for you—what else did you want?’ he rasped, feeling tightly wound up inside.

  Meethi was quiet. He would never understand her reasons. He never had and he never would. On the surface her life had been perfect but she had lived through it and knew how the undercurrents had trapped her and almost drowned her.

  ‘Why does it matter? I thought you would be relieved to be rid of me—an unwanted burden,’ she said miserably, the words forced out.

  ‘Did I ever make you feel unwanted or treat you like a burden?’ he demanded disbelievingly.

  ‘You left that day without speaking to me,’ Meethi whispered, her face white.

  Veer stiffened. That last day had been burnt into Veer’s memory. He recalled the events clearly.

  It had been two months after she had suffered the miscarriage. When six months pregnant, Meethi had tripped and fallen down the stairs, losing their baby. Two months of coping with gut-wrenching loss and seeing his vibrant wife turn pale and wraithlike, a shadow of herself.

  After the miscarriage, Meethi had totally withdrawn into herself and become completely unresponsive. He had been at his wits’ end as to how to cope and had gone to consult a renowned doctor.

  On his return he had found Meethi in the arms of his younger cousin, sobbing uncontrollably.

  The sight of her wet cheeks and his cousin’s consoling hug had maddened him and something had snapped within him.

  He had marched her to their suite of rooms and had turned on her, accusing her of behaving indecently, shunning all propriety and decorum.

  Meethi, in turn, had retaliated, accusing him of being insensitive and unfeeling and, before he knew it, he had her in his arms and had begun kissing her hungrily and the fire between them had blazed gloriously as Meethi had kissed him back passionately. After months of abstinence, the feel of her in his arms and her soft encouraging cries had made him lose all control and the doctor’s orders that sex was off-limits had been forgotten by both of them. Tumbling her down onto the bed and egged on by her passionate kisses, he had taken her quickly, furiously.

  But afterwards, as he looked at her lying spent in his arms, his shirt askew where she had tugged it off and her clothes torn when in his impatience he had ripped them, he had felt self-disgust overwhelm him.

  He had behaved like an animal, intent on slaking his carnal pleasures, not even caring for the well-being of his sick wife. He always lost control whenever she was around and it had happened again.

  Overwhelmed with guilt, he had left full of self-castigation for being so weak-willed where she was concerned. And that was the last time he had seen her.

  He looked at Meethi now and some of his guilt returned. His behaviour had been despicable.

  ‘You said that you were going mad and you seemed totally disgusted!’ she said softly, reminding him. Something had died inside her that day when she had seen the disgust on his face. She had never felt so unwanted and useless in her life. She knew then that she would have to leave.

  He froze in shock. Had she mistakenly thought that he was disgusted with her?

  ‘Was that why you ran away?’ he asked grimly.

  ‘You weren’t happy in our marriage,’ Meethi said, sadness colouring her voice.

  She was pretending to have left out of concern for him. Accusing him of being the unhappy one in their marriage. Her duplicity fuelled his anger.

  ‘So, you are shifting the blame on to me now? You claim to have run away because I was unhappy, but if you really wanted to spare my feelings then why the charade of your death? Did you think I would be happy to hear that my wife had drowned?’ Veer replied.

  ‘I thought it would be better in the long run…’ Meethi said weakly.

  ‘Better for whom? You and that old man of yours?’ he said crushingly through bloodless lips. He had had enough of her lies and deception.

  ‘What old man?’ she asked with a look of incomprehension.

  Meethi’s look served like a red rag to his anger. She was an actress beyond compare.

  ‘Stop acting the innocent! Did you think I wouldn’t come to know? You ran away because you didn’t want to stay married any more. You ran away to your teacher, didn’t you? I had always suspected you were infatuated with him and finally you decided to go to him!’ he said vehemently.

  Meethi looked at him, stupefied. Did he really believe that she could have betrayed him with her guru?

  As a child, Meethi had loved art and her work had caught the attention of Yogesh Hussein, a renowned artist who had begun tutoring her when she was t
en. He’d claimed she had ‘unusual artistic talent’, and Meethi had revered him, looking up to him as another father figure. She was aghast and stunned at Veer’s insinuations.

  ‘I didn’t run off to be with him!’ she said tightly.

  ‘Why do you persist in lying? You ran from here straight to him. Didn’t you?’ Veer thundered.

  His blood had boiled when the detective had reported that she had gone to Hussein’s house in Delhi and from there to his farmhouse, where she had stayed secretly for about three months before she had gone to Kolkata.

  ‘I went to him because there was no one else I could turn to,’ Meethi said heavily. Her baba had passed away and she had no other relatives she could go to.

  Guruji had been shocked but supportive, and she had stayed with him for the first three months but Meethi had been terrified that Veer would trace her and so she had begged him to send her away somewhere else.

  Veer felt as if she had slapped him. The unpalatable fact that his wife considered him ‘no one’ and had preferred to turn to another man and betray him stung his formidable pride.

  ‘So, even knowing that you had run away duplicitously, he abetted your perfidy? What sob story did you tell him? How did you justify your running away? Is this what he teaches his students? Or is it only you? Did he encourage you to run away?’ he said, words flying out of his mouth with ferocious precision.

  ‘He didn’t encourage me. In fact, he told me to talk to you but…’ Her voice tapered off.

  Guruji had tried to convince her to talk to Veer and iron out their problems. He had even offered to talk to Veer himself but she had been so hysterical in her refusal that he had relented.

  ‘But you didn’t think my reputation was anything to care about. Family honour, propriety, decorum—all these are foreign words to you. They don’t matter to you at all,’ Veer thundered bitterly.

  It had been difficult for him to accept that not only was Meethi alive but that she had meticulously planned her escape down to the smallest detail. She had wanted to leave him.

  And she would have been successful at staying hidden if he hadn’t come across her painting at the exhibition.