Bundle of Brides

by Kay Thorpe

  ‘Perhaps later,’ he consoled the determined child. ‘Your mother is waiting for you now.’

  Seeing Lucy’s face, Kahlil felt something close to pity. She looked so fearful, so tense and anxious. He brushed the emotion aside, remembering that she had kept him from a child he was increasingly sure now was his son. Fate had stepped in for him; fate had brought them together in spite of her deception. He had nothing to thank Lucy Benson for. Still…

  ‘Edward will not be touched without your consent,’ he told her. ‘But a DNA test will be necessary. Accept it.’

  Lowering Edward to the ground, Kahlil supported him as he took a few bold steps towards his pushchair. ‘Soon you’ll be walking by yourself,’ he commented, hunkering down so his face was on a level with Edward’s.

  White-faced, Lucy moved between them, and secured Edward back in the stroller herself.

  Let her have this victory, Kahlil told himself, waving his bodyguards away. Lucy’s breach of etiquette meant that men who remained otherwise invisible, mingling with the crowds, instantly surrounded him. They were always alert for danger, but he would not allow them to restrain Lucy now, or at any other time. Whatever she had done to deceive him, she was still the mother of his son.

  The mother of his son! Kahlil felt as if his heart would burst with pride. Edward: his son. He ran the child’s name over in his mind, loving the sound of it. Lucy might not have admitted as much as yet, but she would not be allowed to leave Abadan until he had formally established the truth of Edward’s parentage.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THIS would be her third full day in Abadan, and instead of improving things for Edward she had thrown his future into confusion, Lucy reflected, tossing restlessly on the bed.

  And now it was time to get up, she saw, checking the clock on the bedside table.

  She groaned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, and stayed slumped with her head almost touching her knees, her long golden hair tickling her calves. She had checked on Edward so many times during the night she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. The belief that Kahlil would never snatch him from her was no consolation. She couldn’t escape the thought that one day Edward would choose Abadan, and Kahlil, over her, and it frightened her.

  Sensibly, the only thing she could do was get him away from Kahlil and out of the country as fast as possible. Once she was home she could arrange with a lawyer to see that Edward shared his time between them—but even that wouldn’t be right, Lucy thought, lifting her head to stare blindly into the future. Even that would not be enough for a man like Sheikh Kahlil ben Saeed Al-Sharif of Abadan.

  She had to get away. It was all that was left to her now. She knew what she had to do, but she had to find the right opportunity to put her plan into action.

  Hurrying into the nursery, Lucy smiled down at her son, waiting impatiently, arms raised, to be freed from his cot. If they remained in Abadan it meant complying with every restriction Kahlil cared to throw at them—and she was never going to let that happen.

  ‘Never, my darling,’ she assured Edward, swinging him into the air.

  There was deep tension inside the robing room of the Sheikh of Abadan.

  ‘Leave us,’ Kahlil’s father commanded his courtiers imperiously.

  Age might have imposed certain restrictions upon him, most onerous of which was the indignity of the stout ebony stick he was now forced to use, but Kahlil thrilled to hear his father’s voice still firm and as commanding as ever. He watched the bowing courtiers back out of the opulent chamber, and waited until the door had closed behind them before turning to speak to the ruler of Abadan.

  ‘I wanted to be the one to tell you before any gossip reached your ears,’ he said, after explaining about Edward.

  ‘If you have the slightest suspicion regarding the child’s parentage he must be brought here at once,’ his father said, his black eyes sharp as a hawk’s above his aquiline nose. ‘For his own safety, Kahlil, if nothing else. If this should get out—’

  ‘I am confident that no one else knows about this as yet.’

  ‘As yet,’ his father observed. ‘You say the likeness between you is uncanny? In your heart I believe you already know the truth.’

  ‘I cannot be certain—’

  ‘Until the test is done,’ his father pointed out.

  ‘You must allow me to handle this,’ Kahlil said firmly. ‘Lucy would never agree to a test being carried out here in Abadan. She does not trust us.’

  ‘I take it you are referring to the mother?’ The old Sheikh shook his head, seeing the irony of the situation. But he also saw his son’s unbending will clearly reflected in his eyes. And there was more—enough to arouse his suspicion that emotion was involved. Emotion clouded judgement. He would act on his son’s behalf if he had to. ‘There is something about this situation you are not telling me,’ he observed shrewdly.

  ‘There is nothing more,’ Kahlil said dismissively.

  But some internal pain as real as any wound flickered behind Kahlil’s eyes, and his father knew at once what he must do.

  Back in his own rooms, before meeting later that morning with Lucy, Kahlil sat with his chin on his hand, staring fiercely into the future. He had the look about him of a man who truly believed he could bend it to his will.

  Adopting Edward as his heir would not be a simple matter, as his father seemed to imagine. The ruling Sheikh had lived through an age when women could be swept up and cast down again as required—though Kahlil had to smile, remembering his own mother. She had not been swept up, or cast down. If anything, his father had been the one to lose his heart, as well as his stubborn adherence to tradition, when they met.

  And now there was Lucy Benson. She was hardly doormat material either. She was the very antithesis of a willing woman—in all ways but one, Kahlil remembered, feeling his senses stir. She was headstrong, unpredictable, and outrageously provocative. But did he want a woman who gave herself to a man within the first minutes of their meeting? Not to sit beside him on the throne of Abadan one day, that was for sure. Lucy Benson was not good wife material, and certainly inconceivable as consort to the eventual ruler of Abadan—but there was nothing to stop him taking her as his mistress.

  A pact, Kahlil concluded finally, standing and stretching to his full height so that his shadow cast a menacing shade across the wall. There would have to be an accommodation between them. Edward would stay in Abadan, while the best minds in the land would examine the law to see if his son could be named as his legitimate heir without marriage to his mother. In the fullness of time he would select someone more suited to sit beside him on the throne.

  Kahlil’s lips turned down at the thought. He knew it couldn’t be one of the relentlessly acquiescent women whom his father paraded before him in the hopes that eventually he might bite. They were all glassy-eyed at the thought of his power and wealth. Not one of them had been able to tempt him beyond the bedroom. As far as he was concerned they were despicable creatures—toys to be used and discarded, as they would have used him.

  His expression darkened as he strode towards the door. He had better things to think about. Edward and Lucy had been placed under a discreet protection programme from the first moment his suspicions had been roused. That would have to be stepped up now, but the child would stay with his mother for the time being.

  This meeting had been the best so far, Lucy thought with relief as she hurried back to the nursery. Whether she felt so good because without Kahlil there had been no tension, or whether it was just the fact that things were going so well, either way her confidence was high. For the first time she really believed she could handle the situation—

  Lucy’s breath caught in her throat as she reached the end of the corridor. She could feel the change even before her eyes had registered anything. Instinctively she began to run, but someone leapt out of the shadows and barred her way.

  With a yelp of fright, she stopped abruptly. A tall man in dark clothes loomed over her—a
nd he was carrying what looked like a gun.

  ‘Edward!’

  The guttural scream leapt from Lucy’s throat as she tried to shoulder past him. But the man, having caught hold of her, wouldn’t let go.

  ‘The Sheikh of Abadan,’ Lucy panted, almost beside herself with fright. ‘I demand to see the Sheikh!’ Whether or not it was something in her voice that shook him, she had no idea, but he released her. And then she saw Leila, peering anxiously round the partially open nursery door. ‘Leila, thank God! Where’s Edward?’

  ‘He’s in here,’ Leila said quickly, drawing her inside. ‘Edward is safe.’

  Lucy slammed the door behind her, leaning against it as she fought to catch her breath, and saw Edward safe inside his playpen, playing unconcerned. Shutting her eyes, she gave a soft cry of relief. ‘Who ordered this?’ she said, hurrying over to him.

  ‘Sheikh Kahlil,’ Leila said unhappily.

  Lucy’s mouth formed a firm white line. ‘And where is Sheikh Kahlil now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the girl admitted.

  ‘Then we must ask his guard,’ Lucy declared fiercely. Swinging the door open again, she called him in.

  She rounded on the man the moment he entered the room, demanding fiercely, ‘Sheikh Kahlil? Where is he? You’d better tell me.’

  But the man only shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I have a few words of Abadanese. Do you mind if I try?’ Leila offered.

  ‘No, please—go right ahead,’ Lucy urged.

  After a few minutes had passed Leila was able to tell her that Kahlil had gone to his stud farm as soon as he was satisfied that additional security was in place at the nursery.

  The noose was tightening, Lucy realised. Soon everyone would know about Edward. Even without a parentage test Kahlil wasn’t taking any chances, and the people around him weren’t fools. It made the need for her to get away from Abadan with Edward all the more pressing. But before she could formulate a plan she had to know exactly what she was up against.

  ‘I must speak to someone about this,’ she said, careful not to arouse Leila’s suspicions. ‘I have to explain that this level of security is unnecessary. Perhaps as Sheikh Kahlil isn’t available to talk to me I might have an audience with his father? Can you ask the guard about it?’ she said to Leila.

  Leila was already shaking her head. ‘He’s not like his son.’ She frowned. ‘He comes from a different age, a different world—I don’t even know if he would agree to see you.’

  ‘Please—do this for me,’ Lucy insisted. ‘This is outrageous,’ she pointed out, flaring a look at the armed guard. ‘I have to speak to someone—it must be possible!’

  Lucy took time choosing what she would wear for her audience with the ruling Sheikh of Abadan. Despite her bravado she could hardly believe he had agreed to see her. She had rehearsed what she would say, and how she would say it, over and over, to make sure there would be no hesitation on her part—and no mistakes. She should get it right; she’d had enough time to practise her lines, she thought, glancing at her wristwatch for the umpteenth time. She had been kept waiting in the antechamber to Kahlil’s father’s rooms for hours. It was now early evening.

  ‘Miss Benson?’

  Lucy looked up to see the Sheikh’s aide-de-camp had returned at last. He was beckoning to her from an open doorway.

  ‘Thank you,’ Lucy said, getting to her feet and quickly walking past him before he had a chance to change his mind. Perhaps she had been kept waiting in order to take the wind of righteous indignation out of her sails before the interview. Well, if that was so, it hadn’t worked.

  Kahlil’s father was seated on a chair at the far end of the ornately decorated room. Sitting stiffly upright, he was as gnarled as the branches of the olive trees in the courtyard outside her bedroom window, and must be at least eighty, she guessed, as she bowed low in front of him in deference to his age.

  ‘Come closer, so that I can see you in the light,’ he instructed.

  She saw now that his chair was more of a carved and gilded throne, made comfortable by a mound of velvet cushions. There was a fringed canopy of rich purple velvet above his head, and he looked every bit the old warrior king of Abadan.

  Compromise was the way forward, not confrontation, Lucy decided. She could not take on the whole of Abadan and its ruler. She had to play by Abadanese rules—at least while she was in the country. And despite his reputation, and his fierce appearance, there was something courteous about the old gentleman that demanded she respond in kind.

  She took a step forward so that she was standing directly beneath a surprisingly old-fashioned standard lamp positioned to one side of him. It cast a soft pool of light on the ruby-red rug beneath her feet, and was completed by a faded fabric shade in a colour that might once have been peach. It looked as if it must have come from some Western department store specialising in luxury goods many years before, and was certainly incongruous in such an exotic setting.

  ‘I see you are interested in my lamp,’ the elderly Sheikh commented benignly, his voice firm, if a little hoarse.

  He missed nothing, Lucy realised. She would have to proceed with great caution.

  ‘My wife was from the West—why, Miss Benson, you look surprised.’

  ‘No,’ Lucy fudged, laughing tensely, though of course she was. But by the time she had absorbed that piece of information she felt a little calmer because she knew he was trying to make her feel at ease.

  ‘You are surprised,’ Kahlil’s father said with a high-pitched cackle of delight. ‘My son has failed to tell you that he straddles the divide between East and West?’

  Now was not the right time to admit she knew as little about Kahlil as he knew about her, Lucy realised, making a non-committal sound.

  ‘Won’t you be seated?’ his father invited, pointing to a similar mound of cushions, minus the throne, facing his own.

  Had the ruling Sheikh not told her about Kahlil’s heritage, Lucy would have been amazed by this suggestion that she should sit in his presence. ‘Thank you,’ she said. She sat, trying to judge the right moment to put her case. But Kahlil’s father forestalled her.

  ‘And how is my grandson this morning? I am eager to see him.’

  Lucy was so taken aback she couldn’t summon up a single word in reply.

  ‘You must be pleased that I acknowledge Edward,’ the Sheikh of Abadan continued. ‘Now you know about Kahlil’s heritage, you will understand how I am able to accept a child of Kahlil’s who dilutes the Abadanese bloodline.’

  Lucy felt like a brood mare, but she was equally sure the elderly Sheikh had not meant to offend her. ‘If I may speak—I beg your pardon, Majesty,’ she said quickly, ‘I did not mean to interrupt you, but I’m sure you can understand my concern for my son.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he agreed, inclining his head graciously. ‘And, equally, I am sure you can understand my concern for my grandson.’

  ‘Aren’t you being a little premature?’ Lucy parried.

  ‘Are you trying to tell me Edward is not Kahlil’s son?’

  Lucy reddened beneath the hawk-like stare.

  When she remained silent, the elderly Sheikh said, ‘You do not have to say anything Miss Benson; I already know the truth.’

  ‘How can you?’ Lucy said tensely.

  ‘Quite simply,’ he said. ‘DNA tests have been carried out—’

  ‘How dare he?’

  ‘Who are you talking about, Miss Benson?’

  ‘Kahlil, of course,’ Lucy said angrily, springing to her feet.

  ‘I can see you are upset, but, please, do sit down again.’

  ‘Upset?’ Lucy said her lips white with anger. ‘That doesn’t even begin to cover it! This amounts to an assault on my son as far as I am concerned. I am Edward’s mother; nothing should have been done without my consent.’

  ‘I disagree,’ the Sheikh told her. ‘The responsibility for Edward’s welfare has been taken out of your hands—on my command,’ he
added imperiously, when Lucy started to protest.

  Now she could only stare at the elderly man, nonplussed. The Sheikh of Abadan made it sound as if she should be relieved, even grateful to him for relieving her of such a burden! But it was Edward they were talking about—her son Edward!

  ‘As eventual heir to the throne of Abadan,’ he continued evenly, ‘only we can hope to give Edward all the security and the education he needs before he assumes the mantle of power.’

  ‘No! You cannot take my son away from me. I will not allow it!’

  ‘You have no alternative, Miss Benson. It is a fait accompli.’

  ‘You had no right to carry out tests without my permission—’

  ‘This is my country. I will do whatever I consider necessary to protect the boy I have just learned is second in line to my throne.’

  Edward, heir to the throne of Abadan! It struck Lucy so forcibly her throat dried. ‘You can’t—’

  ‘Oh, but I can,’ the Sheikh of Abadan told her. ‘Here, my word is law.’

  ‘Your word, and that of your son,’ Lucy said bitterly.

  ‘Correct, Miss Benson—or may I call you Lucy?’

  ‘I think it better that we confine ourselves to a formal style of address,’ Lucy said coldly, knowing that the next time they met was likely to be in court. The DNA testing might be a fait accompli, and Kahlil’s right to claim Edward as his son something she was forced to accept, but she would not be compromised where her son was concerned, nor allow either of them to be patronised by anyone. ‘If no one knows that Edward is Kahlil’s son, surely he’s not at risk,’ she reasoned out loud. ‘I will keep him safe.’ She turned her burning gaze on the Sheikh. ‘Let me have my son back. Let me go home with Edward.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not as clear cut as that,’ he told her patiently. ‘Please sit down again.’ He waited until she did as he asked. ‘Even walls have ears. Palace gossip flourishes. There are no secrets here. Even I would find it impossible to keep this type of information quiet for long.’