I would give anything not to be King.
Was that what Karim had meant? In the throes of near orgasm had he admitted his dark truth? That he would give away his own flesh and blood rather than be King?
Was this the man she had thought she loved?
‘You’ll lend me the money?’ Felicity could hardly believe the strength in her voice or the plans that were being laid. ‘You hardly know me.’
‘I believe you, though,’ Helen said. ‘And your situation is impossible otherwise.’ She gave her friend a pale smile. ‘Try to talk to him tonight—try one last time to find out his plans. But don’t get too upset. If he gets any indication you are planning to flee, then he’ll be watching you like a hawk. And if you can’t talk, if you can’t work things out…’ Helen gave her a quick hug. ‘I’ll see you in the UK.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THERE wasn’t any time to talk.
When she returned to the royal wing Jamal and Hassan had left, and even though she felt as if she had been gone ages her absence did not seem to have been noticed.
Karim came out from speaking with the surgeon, and then they were driven back to the palace, where Ibrahim had just arrived.
He was far friendlier than the rest—more western in his ways—but the brothers all headed off to discuss their father and their country as the women sat and chatted, mainly in Arabic. On the rare occasion they did translate, it only upset Felicity more—because they all spoke beautiful English.
Really she might as well not be there. So she removed herself.
She lay in Karim’s bed in the palace and pondered her future—wondered if she had so spectacularly misread him. Her hand moved down to her belly—it was definitely starting to swell now, and she truly loved it.
She loved her baby with a passion she had never anticipated.
Oh, all mothers loved their babies—even reluctant ones often wept with relief when they held their infant after birth. But now Felicity understood how a woman could lift a car if their child was trapped. She lay in awe at the surge of maternal instinct to save, to protect her child, that flooded her body.
When Karim came to bed he refused to talk. He had argued with his brothers, Karim said. There had been enough talk for today.
He removed her nightdress.
And she let him.
She let him make fast, urgent love to her. Still he moved her, still as he slid over her and deep inside her she could not believe Helen’s words were true. That the man who was groaning her name, holding her so closely, begging her to come with him, could ever do that to their child.
Her orgasm was intense. She clung to him in the most intimate way possible—because she needed to believe he was real. And afterwards she lay beside him, tried to keep the fear from her voice, tried to make tender post-coital conversation, asking a question surely any mother-to-be would.
‘What do you hope, Karim?’ Felicity asked against his chest as he held her. ‘What do you hope for our child?’
‘Everything,’ Karim answered. ‘For our child, I hope for everything.’
His words brought no comfort—no comfort at all.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KARIM needed to think.
His prayers were for his father this morning, that he might live. And not for selfish reasons either.
He wanted his father to have time—to amend the past, to meet again with the woman who had loved him even when she had strayed. Deeper into prayer he went, round and round in circles in his mind. He asked that he might forgive, that he might trust even if the answer wasn’t the one he craved.
And for a surgeon that was hard. For a reluctant king it was harder.
He sat on the terrace and looked over to the desert, handing over the control that he had always lived by.
She was pale, sipping on her tea, her eyes downcast and shy. How he wanted to confide in her—and yet he didn’t want to cause her pain.
He did not want this, the greatest honour that could be bestowed upon him, and what Karim was now contemplating made him feel sick at the chaos it would create. Last night he had broached his plan to Hassan and a shouting match had ensued.
He stared out to the desert and felt its call. His last visit there had been dishonest. He must return and take counsel from the land, let it guide him to the right decision. Not just for himself, not just for his country. His eyes went to Felicity, to one woman versus a whole nation’s hopes, and he was angry. He was angry because without her there would be no decision to make.
Without her, duty would be done so much more easily.
‘Karim…’ Her hand was shaking as she placed the tiny jewelled cup down. ‘What you said last night…’
‘Felicity,’ he interrupted, ‘today my father undergoes surgery…’
‘What happens then?’ she pleaded—because she had to be sure. Her last chance to leave was today, and she wanted his assurance, wanted the man who made love to her at night to return by day. She was too scared to trust him. ‘Are we to have our wedding celebration? Am I to be announced to the people?’
‘There is no time for discussion now,’ Karim snapped. No one argued with him. No one except her. At every turn she challenged not just his words but his mind. ‘Can we just get through today? And then…’ He closed his eyes, made himself say it, forced the words out. ‘I will tell you tonight.’
‘Tell me what?’
He opened his eyes and she was still there. Time was running out, and whether his father lived or died he had to tell her the truth. ‘I will tell you everything.’
But she needed everything now—and there wasn’t time. That much she understood.
A maid came in and announced that his brothers were ready to go to the hospital. Karim dismissed her before addressing his wife again. ‘We will talk tonight. But I must leave now. Today I must show the country our family is strong. You will wait here.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ Felicity said. ‘I want to be with you.’
He paused; he had always thought that he would have to face this day alone. This life, this pain was so much easier with her beside him.
‘Very well.’
The maids slipped her abaya over her head, and as they were driven to the hospital Felicity’s mind was in turmoil. Last night’s assurances were so much sketchier by day. Still she had no idea of the fate that awaited her. He had promised they would talk tonight—but what was it he wanted to tell her?
She had a voice, Felicity assured herself—with Karim, she had a voice.
Helen had surely got things wrong.
‘Karim?’
He didn’t even turn his head, just stared out of the window, completely immersed in his own thoughts. And of course she was ignored as they walked through the hospital and sat in the lavish lounge as the King was prepared for surgery. Hassan didn’t look up as they entered and Jamal it seemed deliberately wasn’t looking at her. The tension in the room was unbearable as the hour approached. Felicity was sure it wasn’t just to do with the King. None of the brothers spoke or acknowledged each other. Even Ibrahim sat with his head in his hands.
It was an appalling, oppressive place to be, and Felicity was tempted to stand, to go for a walk—anything that would break the stifling silence. But then she felt something so strange, so unfamiliar and unexpected, it made her breath catch in her throat.
Karim’s hand was in hers.
This strong man was holding on to her. And all Felicity knew was that today she couldn’t go—couldn’t add to his pain, to his grief. She knew that somehow she had to trust that beneath it all the Karim she loved was still there, and he would do the right thing. Her fingers gripped his. This display of affection was so out of place in this country, with this man, and it moved her.
‘The King would like to speak with his sons.’
Hassan stood, looked over to Karim and spoke in Arabic. There was challenge in Hassan’s voice as he spoke, but Karim didn’t rise, just sat in stony silence.
Hass
an went in first, and his face was like chalk when he came out.
And then it was Karim’s turn. There was no emotion to be seen. When he returned his face was a mask, his back so straight. Felicity took his hand again. He needed her.
And then in went Ibrahim. He was there for a long time, and his eyes shot daggers at Karim when he came out. Karim didn’t look up, just stared fixedly ahead, only jolting when Khan spoke again to his wife.
‘The King wishes to speak with you, Sheikha Felicity.’
She felt his hand grip hers. Her eyes flew to his.
‘I will come with you,’ said Karim.
‘He wishes to speak with the Sheikha alone.’
‘I will come with her.’ Karim stood up, but Khan shook his head. The King had given his orders. ‘He insists on speaking to the Sheikha alone.’
Khan had told her how she must greet the King, saying that she must tell him she would pray for him and that he would be cured.
‘Thank you.’
He was so much older than the images she had seen of him. Feeble and pale, he lay on the bed. The attentive nurses and his aide disappeared. His speech slurred slightly as he greeted her, and his eyes struggled to focus. No doubt, Felicity realised, from his pre-op medication.
‘You are a good woman,’ the King said. ‘I can see that. Karim has told me that.’
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’
‘You carry a great gift; you must take care of the baby.’
He knew! Her eyes whipped to his, to eyes as black as his son’s, and she was touched that Karim had confided in his father. It was right he should die knowing of his grandchild’s existence.
‘I hope for a son.’
Felicity smiled. He did not mean to offend. She understood that much of their ways, at least.
‘Our people need a son, an heir…’ He was closing his eyes, then forcing them open, and Felicity felt the first prickles of confusion. ‘They need to know that there will always be the King to guide them after I am gone. Hassan was raised to be King.’ He smiled at her pale face. ‘Karim would never say his first duty is not to his people—he would never say it. But I know he does not want to be King. This way, because of your gift, our people will get an heir and Karim can have the life he wants. I know Hassan will be a fine father to your infant.’
‘Hassan?’ She wanted to be sick. It was true! It was true and it had all been decided.
‘When I close my eyes as they put me under I will pray for our future King…’ He gave in to the drugs then, and Felicity just stood there. She wanted to shake the old man awake, demand to know what the hell he meant. Except she knew already. Full realisation was hitting her with devastating force.
This was not her baby to them. This was a solution.
This was what Karim was going to tell her tonight.
She stood frozen as the truth dawned bitterly. Karim had told her that he didn’t want to be King. He hadn’t been relenting, as she had thought. The results of the DNA test didn’t matter—the baby she was carrying was a mere solution to them.
This was not a living, breathing child, but an heir to the throne—at whatever cost.
So this was what Karim had been planning: to hide her away until she gave birth. This was what he was going to tell her tonight.
This was the man she had thought she loved.
It was imperative that she leave—essential that she act completely normal as she walked out and joined Karim in the lounge.
‘What did he say?’ His question was low, but urgent. She saw the dart of worry in his eyes and knew he was worried what his father had said. Never had she been more grateful for the abaya. She only had to lie with her eyes. But still that was hard.
‘To take care of you.’
‘He said that?’ Karim sounded surprised. ‘What else?’
‘Nothing…’ She lowered her gaze. ‘He fell asleep…the drugs…’ She couldn’t maintain normality, but for her child she had to—for the sake of her child she had to leave.
A few moments later the King was being wheeled to Theatre, and the clock-watching began. If a doctor appeared too soon then they’d know the operation had been hopeless.
There was a sliver of hope as an hour passed—but not for Felicity.
She stared at the clock, watched it inch past eleven-thirty. This was her chance.
‘Karim…’ She blew out a breath. ‘I don’t feel well. I feel a bit sick.’
He frowned at her strained, breathless voice. Felicity wasn’t putting it on—her breathing was coming short and fast through fear, and she was so nauseous she felt she might really vomit. His concern was genuine, but Felicity realised it was for the baby rather than her. Karim told her he would summon a nurse, or a car would take her to the palace.
She shook her head. ‘It’s morning sickness. I might just have a walk in the gardens, like I did yesterday. It helped,’ Felicity said. ‘I want to be here to hear the news.’
‘It could be hours…’ Karim started, but Felicity halted him.
‘If I need to go back to the palace I will get a driver to take me. You just worry for your father.’ And he was distracted, Felicity thought as she walked away. Because usually she would be sent with an escort. Or perhaps after last night, he thought he had won her over…
He almost had.
Just as Helen had promised it would be, there was the case. Felicity opened it, grateful it was filled with clothes. It looked exactly as if someone had packed it in a hurry, and there too was a wad of cash.
Taking off her abaya, Felicity hung it on the back of the door. Picking up the case, she walked out.
She was just another relative, just a blonde woman who turned a couple of heads, but there was nothing unusual in that, even though there were cameras set up outside the hospital, giving the people updates as the country prayed for its King.
She climbed into a taxi and asked to be taken to the airport. The driver started the engine. He was listening to the news, which, from the teeny bit she could make out, was about King Zaraq.
It was the right time to flee; the airline staff were all watching the news too, barely listening as Felicity explained that her sister was ill and that she had to get the next flight home.
She held her breath, wondering if her name would set off alarm bells, if Security would suddenly grab her. But then there was a ticket in her hand, and she was going through.
Cold sweat drenched her as her passport was checked. At every stage she expected a hand to be placed on her shoulder.
There was Helen—their eyes met for a second, but Felicity quickly looked away. She sat tapping her foot, and faced the interminable wait for the flight to board.
If he rang, her heart would surely stop—because if she didn’t answer it would cause alarm. And if she did he might hear the background noise of the airport. Armed guards were everywhere. She felt as if everyone was looking—as if everyone must know.
She tried to walk nonchalantly to the restrooms, then locked herself in a cubicle and waited the hour out. She stared at her phone. If he was going to call then it was better it was now. He called.
‘Felicity?’ It was almost a relief to hear his voice. Then there was a terrible struggle to remember her place, to be the suitable bride, not to ask but to be told. Only that wasn’t her, and Karim would notice the change.
‘How is he?’ she asked—because that was what the old Felicity would have said. The old Felicity, who had cared.
‘It is three hours now since they started.’ She could hear the strain in his deep voice, but it didn’t move her. Her hand over her stomach, she remembered what really mattered. ‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Tired,’ Felicity said, staring at the wall in front of her and closing her eyes at the horror of it all. ‘Just tired.’
There was a pause, an interminable pause, and then he spoke. ‘Felicity, my—’
Whatever he was about to say was drowned by the flushing of the toilet in the next cubicle, which made Feli
city’s heart race. She tried to smother the phone. Instead of questions she got an apology—clearly he thought she was still feeling sick.
‘I will go. You need your space. Try to rest. If you need anything…’
And as she said goodbye, as she clicked off the phone, it was for all the world as if she had been speaking to a man who trusted in her.
But she was running away.
Even as the plane taxied down the runway, still she expected it to halt—for police or soldiers to flood the aircraft. Then they were in the sky; the seat belt sign was pinging off. Only then did it dawn on her.
She wasn’t safe.
She could never be safe.
She had taken away their King.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘ARE you okay?’
They were standing in the line for the plane’s toilets when Helen first spoke to her.
‘I feel sick,’ Felicity admitted. ‘I’m not sure if it’s nerves or morning sickness.’
‘You’ll be home soon,’ Helen said.
So would Karim. Maybe she was being paranoid, Felicity told herself as she locked herself in a cubicle. Maybe he would just accept that she had gone. After all, his mother had left…
And then her thought processes stopped. The red on her panties she had wished for in those early days was there now. And fear of Karim’s wrath was nothing compared to the fear mingled with grief that hit her as she felt a low, cramping pain in her abdomen.
She was losing her baby. The very thing she had fled to protect was slipping away, and there was nothing she could do.
Nothing.
Helen frowned as her friend came out of the bathroom.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She didn’t want to involve Helen.
‘Felicity, there’s something wrong; you’re as pale as anything.’
‘I’m bleeding.’
The staff were lovely. They moved her up to business class, where she could lie down, pulled curtains around her. But really there was nothing anybody could do. She stared out of the window as she slid through the sky, the cramp in her abdomen telling her nurse’s brain this was real.
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