My heart is still trying to get back to a normal rhythm after the intensity of the last few minutes, and although I hear him speak it takes a moment to process his harsh, uncaring words. I’ve been used. My temper rises fast. Pulling myself to my knees, I start to punch his chest with my hands.
“Like fuck you will! You can’t do this to me!” I shout at him. “You can’t keep me here!”
He grabs both my hands and easily holds me away from him. “You prefer prison?” he asks harshly.
“I prefer that you fucking listen to me and let me explain!” I cry out, trying to wrest my hands from his tight grip.
His look is callous as he answers in a deceptively quiet voice. “You had your chance. You could have told me everything. I would have protected you.” He pauses, and then continues ruthlessly, “You didn’t trust me. It’s too late now; I won’t listen to anything you have to say. I can’t believe you. You’ve got exactly what you deserve. You’ll serve the term of the contract here in the harem.”
When he drops his hands I fly at him again, my nails raking down his chest. I don’t care that I break the skin, leaving beaded drops of red blood behind. I’ll do anything to get him to hear me out. “Goddammit! Listen to me, Nijad! It’s not what you think!”
With a violent shove, he pushes me back down on to the bed.
“Stay!” he thunders, his voice blasting through the harem. I shrink back. For the first time since I met him I’m think he might hurt me. He takes a deep breath, runs his hand through his hair as he looks at me one last time. Then, without a word, he turns and leaves.
I crumble, curling myself into a ball, and weep. ‘Five years’. Does he mean I’m to stay here for five years? Desolation rolls over me, unable to reconcile the cruel man who’s just fucked me with the man I married and have come to love.
Chapter 23
Cara
Like every one of the past seven nights since Nijad came to me, I toss and turn, seeming only to fall into a fitful doze shortly before dawn. I feel I’ve only just fallen asleep when I’m woken up, confused and disorientated, not sure what has disturbed me. When I hear a commotion outside my cubicle, it takes me a moment to realise that the golden doors are open. With nothing other than the bed sheet to wrap around me and a sense of déjà vu that I’ve been in this position before, I rush out of my cubicle to find Maysa shooing a new guard away from the entrance to the harem. I don’t understand a word they are speaking. I just stand and stare as they argue back and forth. Maysa doesn’t seem happy with what he is saying to her but, at last, with a loud ‘Humph!’ she closes the doors and comes to me.
“You dress then go.” She drops a pile of clothes she is carrying and points at me. “Quick.”
Go? Go outside the harem? Are they, at last, going to give me a chance to explain? I make a fast but necessary trip to the bathroom and then dress at the speed of light. Maysa glares at me, but opens the heavy doors and ushers me out, giving me into the care of the guard waiting outside. He tells me in broken English to follow him. I waste no time in doing so.
It’s a strange feeling to be taken out of the harem for the first time in weeks. But should I be excited or should I be afraid? That’s a puzzle my tired mind can’t seem to solve. So I follow the man blindly, not caring where he’s taking me, thinking over the possibilities as though they were happening to someone else. Has Nijad decided to end this, once and for all? Did I not satisfy him that night? I bite my lip. Despite the savagery of our last meeting, and my fears, I know I’ll never be able to bring myself to hate him.
My chest heaves as I follow the guard, not from exertion, but as a result of feeling almost agoraphobic after being cooped up in one place for so long. I stay close behind as I’m led along the palace corridors, through the ancient stone passages and then the maze of the later additions to the palace, until we arrive at a modern-looking conference room. As the door is opened my eyes search for the one person I wish to see, but in vain. Only once I ascertain Nijad is nowhere to be seen do I take in exactly who I’ve been brought to meet. Sheikhs Kadar and Jasim have risen to their feet and when I step inside each gives a polite nod of acknowledgement which conveys no warmth or friendship.
But also standing is someone so out of place I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I sway on my feet, scrunching up my eyes. No, he can’t be here; he doesn’t know where I am. My addled brain must be playing tricks; it’s trying to tell me that Hunter’s here and that he’s coming across the room towards me. I shake my head, attempting to rid myself of the hallucination. But as strong arms surround me and I breathe in the familiar scent of him I realise he’s real, he’s here. Allowing myself to fall into his embrace, I’m unable to stop tears of relief coursing down my cheeks. I hug him close as if I’m never going to let him go, my fingers tangling in his shirt, holding him as tightly as I can. Someone coughs loudly and, although I can feel his reluctance, Hunter releases me, having to prise my fingers open to remove my hands. He maintains contact by keeping his arm around me.
The interruption has come from Kadar, who’s watching me through narrowed eyes, suspicious of my familiarity with my old friend.
“Sit, please, Miss Carson.”
I glance up at Hunter, who gives a reassuring nod, and then leads me to a chair. After I take my seat, he takes his place beside me, dropping his arm to hold my hand, letting me know he’s on my side. I grip him tightly, as if he’ll disappear if I let go of him. It’s only now I notice the small, solemn-looking man sitting beside him and I quickly throw him a quizzical look, wondering who he is, but it’s Hunter who’s commanding all my attention. I need to hear his voice in case my eyes are deceiving me.
“Hunter, how are you here? Why? How the hell did you find me?” The questions tumble out one after the other.
“That’s exactly what we want to know,” Kadar growls. “But Mr Wright has refused to tell us anything until we had you brought to us. Mr Wright, could you please introduce your companion to the wife of my brother?” I start slightly at the way he claims the relationship between us.
Hunter smiles at me gently, but his face frowns when he indicates the man sitting at his side. “This is Mr Foss, Cara. He’s with the British embassy here, and is authorised to speak on behalf of the British government.” His face hardens. “I think what he has to say will be of great interest to Amahad as a country, and to you, Cara, on a very personal level.” He nods at Kadar, glaring. “I’ve given him my word that no harm will come to him as a messenger.”
“Of course not!” Kadar sounds affronted. “We are well aware of Mr Foss. We respect the British government and all of their representatives in this country.”
“Respect? Huh!” Hunter looks incredulous. “You think a full and intimate strip search is respectful?”
With a shrug, Kadar doesn’t seem overly concerned about Hunter’s complaint.
“You arrived unannounced and demanded to see Sheikha Cara or, if she was unavailable, a member of the royal family. We have a right to be cautious when we don’t know who we’re dealing with …”
“Ahem!” A cough from the diplomat stops him in his tracks.
“Perhaps the guards were a bit overzealous on this occasion, Mr Foss. I accept you are a regular visitor to the palace and should have been permitted admittance without hindrance. But your companion …”
“Please,” I interrupt, getting fed up with the to-ings and fro-ings between the men, thinking they could keep throwing this particular ball around for ages. I rub my forehead, trying to unscramble my brain. “Can someone tell me what’s going on?”
Hunter and Mr Foss exchange glances. When Foss waves his hand Hunter takes the floor and my old friend reaches down to pull some paperwork out of his briefcase. He puts some folders in front of him but doesn’t open them. He throws me a cursory look.
“I’m well aware of what’s happened to you, Cara. This sham of a marriage to Sheikh Nijad. But don’t worry, you’ll soon be out of here.”
Kadar frowns
at Hunter. “The sheikha is married to my brother. Whether she stays or leaves is not a matter for you.”
Mr Foss clears his throat. “The British government is keen to see her return to Britain, Your Highness. If you want to maintain your relationship with the UK, I suggest you release her immediately.”
Kadar draws himself up, looking regal. “Are you threatening me?”
“Let’s all calm down a moment,” Hunter butts in, in his American drawl. “There are facts here that you are unaware of, Your Highnesses. Facts which I believe you will be very interested in, and which will put everything in an entirely different light.”
As Foss shrugs, leaving Kadar to come to any assumption he chooses, I put my head in my hands, and then look up, brushing my long hair back from my face. I look at the men, trying to absorb the conversation. It doesn’t compute, and I’m used to hashing around facts and data. Weeks without stimuli have apparently turned my brain to pulp.
“Hold on a minute. If there’s anything of importance Nijad should be here.” I wake up suddenly. They’re talking about me leaving here, going home to England. Leaving Nijad. Is that what I want to do? Give up any chance that things could work out between us? “Please, where is he?”
Hunter throws me a strange look. “He’s your husband. Don’t you know?”
I don’t know what to say. I look up at Kadar for help as to how I should answer.
Kadar doesn’t hold back. Giving me a look full of disdain, he answers for me.
“Miss Carson is not living with Prince Nijad. She is staying in the harem of the palace. She is held there in detention. We have irrefutable evidence that she gained unauthorised access to our financial accounts and stole from us.”
Hunter wipes his fingers over his face. Then his hand lowers and he rubs his chin. He turns and all but snarls at me: “Damn, Cara, I warned you.” Shaking his head in denial, he disputes the accusation on my behalf, knowing my record for honesty.
“She wouldn’t steal. Cara, you’ve explained what you’ve been doing?” As the sheikhs seem to shift awkwardly in their seats, Hunter glances at me, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve had the opportunity to explain, haven’t you?” As I shake my head and lower my eyes to the table, his fingers gently take my face, turning me to face him. “How long have you been in the harem, Cara?”
I shrug. In truth, I’m not sure. “About three weeks.” I give the closest estimate I can.
As he realises the truth Hunter growls, “You haven’t asked her, have you? You haven’t given her a chance to have her say?” He stares at the princes, indignant on my behalf. Then, putting his elbows on the table, he lowers his head into his hands. After a moment’s silence, he raises his eyes again.
“You force a woman to marry under the terms of a contract which can only be described as barbaric, and then throw her into prison on the flimsiest of evidence.”
“How do you know about the contract?” Kadar shifts uncomfortably.
“I’ve spent time in the southern desert. The tribespeople see it as a cause for celebration. They seemed pleased with the bargain.
Kadar narrows his eyes. He looks at me while speaking to the others. “She signed the contract.”
“Under duress, I’m sure,” Hunter replies.
I bite my tongue, not sure anything I could say would add to the conversation. I want to put Hunter’s mind at rest, but don't know if I can. Shit, even my mind doesn’t rest easy. Sure, I signed that bloody contract with almost with a gun to my head, but it turned out to be the best document I’d put my signature to in my whole life; it’s only now things have gone down the pan. I don’t know where Nijad is, or whether he is even really my husband any more, except on paper. I let them talk it out, resting my head in my hands and staring down at the table.
Kadar shrugs, answering Hunter. He wouldn’t deny it.
“Nevertheless, it’s her signature. The contract is legally binding.”
Hunter shoots him a look of disgust. “I question the legality. The contract was drawn up on a false premise. The marriage was supposed to be a punishment imposed on a dead man for a fraud that had apparently been committed.”
“Apparently?” Jasim cuts in for the first time. “There was fraud. There’s no doubt of that.”
Slowly Hunter nods. “Yes, there was fraud. But Benting wasn’t responsible. In fact, he didn’t have any choice in the matter. He was blackmailed.”
There’s a stunned silence. No one had ever questioned Benting’s guilt before. If he wasn’t the one behind the con, did that mean the contract was no longer valid?
“Blackmailed? Who by? And how did you come by this information?” Kadar is the first to speak, interjecting with a growl. Lifting his chin, he considers Hunter carefully. “Who are you, Hunter Wright? I know you work for Grade A, but there’s something more, isn’t there?”
I’m interested as Hunter shrugs.
“I’m Ben Carter, the senior partner of Grade A’s liaison with the government on some cases.” That seems all he is going to admit.
Kadar doesn’t appear to want to let it drop. “You give the impression you’re more than a security consultant. SIS?”
Hunter waves his hand in dismissal, but it’s notable he doesn’t deny it verbally. I raise my head, intrigued that Kadar thought my friend was anything to do with the British Secret Intelligence Service. He couldn’t be a spy, could he? Although that might explain the unusual payments in his accounts. I look across at him thoughtfully, but see he isn’t going to admit to anything, and moves straight on to a different subject.
“Cara is a hacker, one of the best,” he continues, making me sit up with a start. Shit, should he be telling them that? I listen carefully as he continues. “But she is no thief. Whatever she’s done to your finance systems would not have been to your detriment. And,” he holds up a hand to stop Kadar’s protest, “You’re going to have to eat humble pie as far as she’s concerned. The misuse of the skills, the reason you incarcerated her, have paid dividends for Amahad.”
Jasim exchanges a look of incomprehension with his brother. “Please explain.”
Pleased to have him on my side, I’m content to let Hunter do the talking. He seems happy to tell them.
“Cara hacked into her father’s systems after his death, found the fake oil surveys, and gave them to me. She also found, and gave me, the originals. I’ve been conducting surveys in the southern desert. I had a small team with me, and we’ve sunk some test wells.”
Kadar looks puzzled. “How did we not know this?”
“We were working alongside one of the archaeological groups. There were mutual benefits; they were interested in the geophysical surveys that we were undertaking. At any rate, of most interest to you, here are the results of the sample drilling that we did. I can tell you that there are significant oil reserves under the sands of Amahad. Benting found your oil.”
Hunter has most definitely caught Kadar’s attention. Leaning forward, the sheikh makes it clear he wants to hear more.
After a pause Hunter replies: “An oilfield with an estimated two hundred billion barrels, probably around three billion of those recoverable, goes along and under your western border. Roughly half is in Amahad, around forty per cent in Alair, and the remaining ten per cent in Ezirad.”
He’s stunned them. But from the looks the two princes exchange, they don’t seem completely overjoyed to hear the news, and I’m guessing they’re seeing implications of this information which, not knowing the background, I miss. I tilt my head to the side, asking Hunter a silent question. He sees, and shakes his head. Apparently I’m going to have to be patient and wait.
Questions go through my mind. Why did my father lie? If he’d found oil, why then did the report emerge as fake? It just doesn’t make sense.
Suddenly, Kadar spits out: “Ezirad.”
Hunter nods. “Exactly.”
“Tell us the rest.” Sitting upright, his face stern, his body completely still, Kadar looks every bit the future
monarch that he will eventually become.
“I’ll let Foss explain.”
The diplomat in his cheap-looking suit leans forward, appearing uncomfortable.
“I know Amahand and Alair are both relatively wealthy, with riches founded on diamond mines which are now running out, but with sufficient reserves to last for the next few decades. Ezirad, on the other hand, is economically unsound. While Alair and Amahad are forward-looking, progressive and multicultural, Ezirad gets support from other states which are more fundamentalist, and which only recognise the Islamic faith.”
Jasim puts his hand up. “Old news; we don’t need a geography lesson.”
Foss nods. “Just putting it into context.” He coughs to clear his throat. “Amahad and Alair are battling a constant war against jihadists. While they don’t come from Ezirad, they are given safe passage through, and accommodation within that country until they can establish bases. It’s just a short hop over the border to make trouble for you.” He coughs again, and is passed a glass of water by Hunter. “The government of Ezirad not only turns a blind eye but is also known to be corrupt itself, mostly due to desperation for income. It has little concern as to the source. Now, unfortunately, the test drilling done by Benting came to the attention of the jihadists, and one man in particular. Amir al Farhi.”
Kadar’s eyes gleam. “The bastard who’s behind the latest global terrorist attacks?”
Again Foss dips his head in agreement. “Yes. He’s a wanted man worldwide. He’s rumoured to be the mastermind of the recent atrocities in Europe and the United States. He’s a powerful man who shouldn’t be underestimated. We believe he had links to bin Laden.”
“So he stopped us finding out about the oil reserves?” Jasim jumps to the obvious conclusion.
“It appears Amir al Farhi intercepted the report and blackmailed Benting into amending his findings. There would have been another survey done, showing oil in Ezirad only. I believe they’re holding back on releasing that so it’s not seen to be a coincidence.”
Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) Page 27
