Swinging away from me, he walks back into the sitting room of my suite. He should have left before today, but his ingrained sense of chivalry towards me meant he’d delayed his departure. But I don’t need him to look after me any more. I go to him and put my hand on his face. “I’ll be fine, Hunter.”
He stares at me carefully, looking into my eyes; he’s trying to read me. What he sees eventually convinces him of my sincerity and, I presume, my new-found confidence. In the end, he nods and says with a rueful smile, “Of course you will.”
****
Tahirah informs me of the invitation to meet the emir while I’m eating my breakfast the next day. I was tucking into a mouth-watering piece of baklava but now I push the uneaten part away, losing my appetite altogether. The fact I’ve been summoned to a meeting with the absolute monarch, knowing Kadar and Jasim will be in attendance as well, worries me. I’m not thinking about myself, or my position here in Amahad; all my concern is for Nijad, and whether I’m getting any closer to being able to see him again. A week’s gone by since Jasim told him of my innocence, but he still hasn’t made contact with me. Has anything happened to him?
It’s my first meeting with the monarch, so when I enter the room I’m not too sure of the correct behaviour. My eyes flick around, taking in my surroundings, sending my mind back to the day they brought me to the palace, the day I was told about the inevitability of my marriage, unable to believe everything that’s happened since then. Is the emir going to order me to give up and go home?
The office is fitted out to intimidate. Stern portraits of past rulers stare down from the walls, all looking judgemental and uncompromising. The desk is large, unmistakably an antique. On the worn green leather inlay, there is no computer or any other modern device. Apparently the emir is old-fashioned and prefers to work with paper; a thick pile of files covering one side of the desk bears testimony to the fact. The only thing which can be considered a personal item is a photograph and I can see it’s of a woman, a very attractive one at that, her headdress revealing large eyes, her mouth broadened into a wide and happy smile. I wonder if it’s a photo of his late wife. Glancing around further, I see he has a conference table set up, this time in front of the windows, large enough to seat about thirty people.
At a pointed cough, I turn and give my attention to the owner of the office, wondering whether I should curtsey. Like his sons, the emir is tall. His greying hair helps age him at around sixty to sixty-five. He has the same stern features as his heir apparent, but whether he was born that way or became like it due to the rigours of his office, it’s impossible to say. He’s giving me a long, hard look so I remember my manners, deciding not to curtsey, and instead settle on a low bow as I’d seen others doing. His reputation and presence unsettle me, and I’m thrown back into the past, ashamed of my scars and the way I look. But then I remember I’m his son’s wife, and even in his absence I want to make Nijad proud of me. So I pull myself up straight, holding my head high. The emir nods as I do so, but I get no real sense of approval. After all, I was not chosen as a wife because I’m royal material.
But then he surprises me, reaching out his hand to shake mine briefly.
“Sheikha Cara, I am pleased to meet you at last.” He stands tall, clasping his hands behind him, still regarding me intently. “I will not apologise for the way you have been treated, but I have to express my gratitude because you appear to have done Amahad a great service. Come, sit. We have much to discuss.”
He waves at the conference table. Hmm – no apology but, at least, no threat of execution. I suspect the emir rarely shows warmth, and I wonder what it would have been like for his sons, growing up with such a man without the benefit of a mother to counteract his coldness. I file my thoughts away; they could provide a useful insight explaining Nijad’s behaviour.
Before I have time to take my seat at the table, the emir’s two elder sons come in. Greetings are exchanged quickly. Coffee and pastries are laid out, and we take a few moments filling cups and plates. I stick with the coffee, not feeling able to eat in such exalted company.
The emir watches impatiently. He makes it apparent with his opening words that he wants to get straight down to business. With no introduction he taps his fingers on a paper file in front of him, to draw our attention to it.
“And it all checks out?” He questions his sons, and one hand rises to stroke his long grey beard.
“Everything. Obviously we need more exploratory wells to verify the estimate of the amount of oil there, but it looks good so far. And we’ll need to start talks with Alair,” Kadar assures him. “We’ve made real progress in the past week in beginning to get a team together.”
“I’ll take care of Alair. I’ll invite the ruling Sheikh Asad to talks. With the problems escalating between both our countries and Ezirad, a united front is essential. I do not see a problem with our two countries working together; there has been precedent set with other projects. And there is always Aiza.”
Jasim starts, almost choking on his pastry. Swallowing quickly, his mouth falls open.
“Father, you cannot be serious. Don’t you think we’ve had enough trouble with arranged marriages?” he nods towards me, while directing his question to his father.
“Your sister will do what she is told to do. And if a closer relationship with Alair would benefit us she will do have to do her duty.” The emir looks unrepentant. “I will discuss it with Sheikh Asad. He has three sons, I recall.”
My eyes widen as I realise he has just casually suggested marrying his daughter off to the son of a neighbouring ruler, apparently to consolidate oil rights. It’s an eye-opener and explains why they so readily accepted the solution of my arranged marriage. Who was I to complain about that? I bring myself back to the conversation in hand.
The emir makes an abrupt change of subject, his tone changing from contemplation to anger. “But what about Basheer? I still can’t believe it of the man.”
“Now enjoying the hospitality of the city prison, awaiting trial. Charged with treason as well as theft.” The distaste in Kadar’s voice is clear. “Seems he thought he should be closer to the throne than he was, and having access to greater funds.”
“He needed money? He must have had one of the highest salaries we pay.” Rushdi’s brow furrows in amazement as he struggles to understand.
“And a very expensive lifestyle,” Jasim reminds him. “It all came out in the investigation we conducted.” There is silence as they seem to reflect on the betrayal that has been hard to accept.
“Hmm. What’s the latest from the lawyers?”
Kadar taps his pen against his teeth. “Although, as it turns out,” he points his pen at me, “Cara was brought here under false pretences, the marriage contract stands. But due to the clause that she added, technically, if she pays the money back, the contract could be null and void within a very short period. With our growing investments and the potential oil revenue, while Cara hasn’t personally got the funds, she’s located sufficient and more monies to do so. I think we all can accept that she is free to leave and go back to her old life if she so wishes.” He then looks straight at me. “You know, Cara, I would prefer you to stay here and work with us.”
“I don’t want to pay off the contract,” I tell them, emphatically.
As I stress my position, the emir again strokes his beard, an unconscious action that seems to help him gather his thoughts. After a few moments, he speaks. “You took money, but from a thief and with good intentions, and not for personal gain. You made an error of judgement by not telling us immediately about Basheer. But apart from that, you are an intelligent woman. I would prefer Cara working for Amahad, not against us.” He directs his final sentence at Kadar.
“I’ve already offered her the finance minister’s post.” Kadar grins widely.
“Did she accept?”
Kadar glances at me, but I’m content to let him speak for me. “Not the actual position as such, but she’s already started
working for us. And I’m very pleased with the progress she’s made already.”
“And this Hunter Wright?”
“Cara’s explained to him she’s not here against her will. I’d like to think we might be able to entice her to stay even if the marriage fails.” He throws a smile at me, which I return. I’ve had a few talks with Kadar and have come to like him.
“Hmm.” The emir looks deep in contemplation. “And what of your errant brother?”
“I managed to speak to him a couple of days ago,” Jasim starts. “Their comms had been knocked out for a while. I told him everything. He had very little to say, and I’m not sure how to read him. He didn’t immediately offer to rush back to the palace.”
Jasim had told me about the phone call. I slump in my seat, my heart dropping as it hits me again on much store I’d set on his coming back and forgiving me immediately, once he knew the truth. But it had been explained to him, and he still hadn’t returned. Am I wrong to stay here, hanging on to my foolish dreams? A tear slips from my eye and, embarrassed, I wipe it away hoping no one has noticed.
As sorrow hits me, I don’t immediately realise the emir is watching me, a softer expression on his face than I’d seen before. He’s allowing me time to cope with my misery, so he talks as though he’s ignoring my presence in the room.
“Shame. I thought there was a spark between them.”
“Nijad has been burned before.”
“Nevertheless.” Again the emir rubs his beard. “Summon him to the palace, Kadar, a command from his ruler. Do not allow this to fester. He must come at once.” With this parting shot, he gets up to leave, signifying the formal meeting is over.
“Jasim!” I call my brother-in-law back before he has a chance to leave the room; there must have been more said in the phone call with Nijad that he hasn’t already shared. “Tell me.” My eyes blaze at him. “Tell me everything Nijad said when you spoke to him.”
“Oh, Cara.” Jasim takes my arm and pulls me to him. “I know how hard this all is for you. He didn’t say anything at all. He’s hurting, just like you are. My brother is a fool. He’s frightened and angry with himself, not with you.” He takes a deep breath and glances at Kadar, who slowly nods. “Nijad had a girlfriend in Paris who betrayed him, who kept part of her life secret. He took the betrayal, the fact she kept secrets from him, very hard. It’s so, so difficult for him to trust again. For him to trust anyone, even himself.” He squeezes my arms; a gesture meant to comfort. “Give him time, Cara. He’ll have to return to the palace in answer to our father’s summons. You’ll be able to talk to him then.”
I have a feeling that I’ve been told only part of the story. I narrow my eyes in a frown, but Jasim is obviously not going to say any more, and Kadar’s face is stern, uncompromising. It’s not the first time I wonder exactly what Nijad did that resulted in his banishment to the desert. Or why my marriage to him went so far to appease the tribes.
Chapter 25
Nijad
“Do you want anything else, Your Excellency?”
Startled, I look up, lost so deeply in my thoughts it takes me a second to place where I am and who’s talking to me. Quickly returning to the here and now, I shake my head to dismiss the manservant who’s taking the remains of my meal away. Yes, in fact, I do want something else. A bottle of brandy, whisky, vodka, any or even perhaps all of them so I can drink myself into fucking oblivion, but there’s no hope of that here in the desert city. As the servant leaves me alone I get to my feet with a burning desire to throw something. Fucking Jasim! Why did he have to call? I was happier thinking she was a fucking thief. Now she’s a bloody hero, the saviour of Amahad. How the fuck can I deal with that? From wanting her dead, the tribespeople are now proclaiming her as though she discovered the oil by her fucking self! The first call from Jasim shook me to the core. I’d imprisoned and all but raped an innocent woman: savage sheikh, indeed! For that reason alone I couldn’t go back and face her, not without remembering how much she’d begged me to let her explain, and I’d ignored her. Can I hurt this woman any more than I’ve done already? Fuck, she doesn’t deserve this, and certainly doesn’t deserve me.
She didn’t trust me. There’s that voice I can’t silence in my head. She lied to me. It doesn’t matter what her reasons were; I can’t forgive her. I can’t stop loving her either. Fuck! I lift my arm in frustration and sweep a valuable antique vase from the table, uncaring that it smashes into smithereens around my feet. The voices in my head keep on talking and I can’t stop them. I’ll hurt her. I’ll never hurt her. And the truth of the matter: I don’t fucking know what I’m capable of.
And now the emir has summoned me, and I won’t be able to avoid her. I’ll have to talk to her, to make her see sense! And how do I do that without telling her exactly who I am? Fuck! I’m accusing her of keeping secrets when I’m keeping the biggest of them all. Jasim’s told me she doesn’t want to null the fucking contract. She wants to stay married to me. That leaves me with no option but to bare my soul and tell her the sordid truth about why I’m her husband, and why she needs to get as far as possible away from me. Why the fuck can’t she just go? Go back to England where she belongs, get out of my life. Get out of my fucking mind. And then my gut twists at the thought of never seeing her again, never holding her again. Another man will take her in his arms, see her sweet smile, feel her caress, and sink his cock into her hot, tight body. I draw in a deep breath and my whole body tenses as I hold it. She’s mine! But I can’t fucking have her!
Shit, I can’t go on like this. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I pick up the phone. With alcohol out of the question, I need something else to stop these thoughts chasing each other round my brain. When the call’s answered, I bark out my instruction: “Hassan. Meet me in the gym. Now.”
I don’t wait for his reply, just leave my apartment and descend to the lower level of the palace, which holds the well-equipped gymnasium. My head of the palace guard is already there, gathering up his fencing equipment. As he starts to cover his chest with his plastron, he nods at my entrance and raises his eyebrow. I answer his query with a muffled curse.
Hassan grins. “Like that, is it?”
I can tell by his tone that he’s already accepted our upcoming encounter will be fast and furious. And exactly what I need: a chance to let off steam against someone who’s almost my match. Although I’m dancing on the edge of insanity, I know neither of us can afford to be hurt tonight, not with the likelihood that we will have to fight off an invasion any time soon, and possibly tomorrow. But fencing is as much a mental as a physical sport and it’s what I need to try to clear my head. Without speaking, I collect my gear. As I pick up my sabre, I run my hand over the edge and suddenly the memory comes to me of another blade, another time. That fucking blunt knife she armed herself with on our wedding night. Fuck, she’s a brave woman. I shake my head to chase the image away and realise Hassan’s waiting for me. I nod to show I’m ready and then stand to face him, taking my place on the en-garde line. We put on our masks and salute each other, raising and lowering our sabres. There the etiquette ends.
Correctly reading my mood he lunges fast, hoping to catch me off guard, but I parry to block him then make my reposte, attacking him quickly with my own lunge. We continue our attacks in earnest, blades flashing faster than the eye can see. This is no formal competition fight; we are two warriors practising for battle, fighting dirty, each determined to win by any means, fair or foul. I start pushing him back across the floor; his parries block me time after time until, at last, I get a touch. He gives me no quarter as he becomes more indomitable, lunging and pushing me. She didn’t lie, not deliberately.
Now it’s his turn to get a touch, and then another; my distracted mind gives him openings and the thought I might lose enrages me. I up the pace and he matches it. Time after time we come together, the harsh noise of our clashing swords reverberating off the stone walls. He pushes me back and back until I’m nearly at the end of t
he piste. With a roar I double my attack, lunging and parrying until he’s retreating. Our bout has gone far over the allotted time in fencing rules, but we fight on, our weapons ringing loudly. At last we meet in the middle, both of us breathing heavily, sabres locked. The sudden silence is deafening. His eyes look into mine.
“Arrêt.” Then he adds, softly. “Enough now.”
My eyes flash. I’m far from finished. The bout hasn’t been nearly sufficient to satisfy the beast inside me, but as Hassan continues to hold my gaze I realise he’s right. I could fight a whole army and still not appease the beast. Slowly, I lower my sabre to the floor and, removing my mask, I nod at him.
He shakes his head, not needing the words, and salutes me with his weapon. “We have work to do tomorrow, Prince.”
“Hassan …”
“Fighting me will not banish your demons.”
I suspect he knows more than I think he does; gossip seems to spread between the two palaces like wildfire.
“You’ll be with us tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
Typically, the soldiers at the garrison would accompany me to the border, but the news of a concerted attempt to enter the country means we’ll take part of the highly trained palace guard as well. Hassan is a man I’m proud to have by my side.
With a small bow he turns to leave, but I call him back.
“Hassan, thank you.”
He waves my thanks away. “I’ll see you at first light.”
I’m alone again. Our fight might have taken some of my physical tension away, but it has done nothing to ease my mental pain. One more battle tomorrow, and then I’ll have to return to the capital and face my demons head-on.
A sleepless night, haunted by nightmares, perhaps not the best way to start a day when I’ll need all my wits about me to defend Amahad against the jihadists threatening our borders. Arising early, I leave the palace to go to the operations centre, greet my senior war staff briefly, and then move immediately to study the maps showing where we’ve had reports of the enemy grouping. As the sun comes over the horizon, we get news that the intelligence reports have been proven right. Today will see a serious attempt to overwhelm our borders. Working with my colonel, we direct groups of soldiers to various locations to try to block off entry points, and to get the drones and helicopters in flight. As the day dawns, I’m getting increasing restless. I don’t want to be here in the command centre; my place is out with my men. I draw the attention of my second-in- command to a point on the map.
Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) Page 29
