by Penny Jordan
CHAPTER THREE
IT HAD stopped snowing when they left Ingledean. The evening air was crisp and cold and Erin shivered in the cream linen skirt and jacket that she had changed into for the journey. Zahir had warned her that it would be hot in Qubbah and she only hoped he was right.
At least she no longer looked like a ‘menial domestic’, she thought, recalling his scathing description of her when he had first learned that she was Faisal’s widow. Stung by his remarks, she had taken time with her appearance and had teamed her suit with a pale blue silk blouse, swept her unruly curls into a knot on top of her head and even added a touch of make-up—just a soft taupe shadow on her eyelids and pink gloss on her lips.
She had felt supremely self-conscious when she’d walked down the stairs to where he’s been waiting in the hall with Kazim, and the flare of sexual heat in his eyes had caused her heart to jerk painfully beneath her ribs.
Her doubts about taking Kazim to visit his family in Qubbah were intensifying by the minute, but she seemed to have little choice. Zahir had swept into their lives with the force of a tornado and she was still reeling from his impact.
She and Kazim would be back at Ingledean soon, she reassured herself as the car swung out of the drive, and she turned her head for one last glimpse of the house that was the only real home she had ever known. She loved Ingledean. The wild beauty of the surrounding moors was a stark contrast to the soulless concrete tower block where she had grown up.
If Zahir’s father was as ill as he’d described, then surely he would not want them to make a prolonged visit? She would stay in Qubbah long enough for Kazim to meet his grandfather and other relatives, and then she would bring him home to Yorkshire.
Kazim chattered non-stop on the drive to the airport, and his excitement grew as they boarded Zahir’s private plane. Erin felt as though she had stepped into another world when she glanced around the luxurious cabin. Instead of rows of tightly packed seats there were large cream leather sofas and a plush velvet carpet. The discreet lighting created an ambience of refined luxury, and the cabin crew—two impossibly beautiful stewardesses—were charmingly attentive. Particularly towards Zahir, she noted sourly. It was little wonder that he was so arrogant when everyone he came into contact with seemed to hang on his every word. But perhaps being surrounded by yes-men—and women—was one of the perks of being incredibly wealthy.
She’d known that Faisal was well off, but he had lived simply and she had never given a thought to his fortune. Now she was forced to acknowledge that Kazim’s family were millionaires—probably billionaires, she amended, as she debated the likelihood of the fitments in the bathroom being solid gold. She felt a churning sensation in the pit of her stomach. Money and power went hand in hand, and she could not forget Zahir’s threat that he would hire the best lawyers and fight for custody of his nephew. But surely he wouldn’t do so now that she had agreed to bring Kazim to Qubbah?
Once they were in the air Kazim quickly became bored and fretful, despite Erin’s attempts to entertain him. He was over-tired, and she was relieved when one of the stewardesses escorted them to a bedroom at the rear of the plane, where he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. She had assumed that Zahir would continue working on his laptop, as he had done since they had taken off, but to her consternation he was waiting for her when she returned to the main cabin, and indicated that she should join him on the sofa.
‘Champagne?’
He handed her a glass without waiting for her to reply and settled next to her, stretching his long legs out in front of him and tucking his arms behind his head so that she was acutely conscious of his lean, powerful body. She could make out the hard ridges of his abdominal muscles beneath the silk shirt, and guessed that the dark hairs revealed where he had discarded his tie and unfastened the top couple of buttons covered his broad chest. The subtle tang of his cologne teased her senses…
In a desperate attempt to hide the effect he was having on her she took a gulp of champagne—and choked as the bubbles hit the back of her throat.
Zahir was watching her. He appeared relaxed as he sipped his own champagne, but his eyes were hooded, so that she had no idea what he was thinking. His next words threw her completely.
‘Tell me, Erin, why exactly did you marry my brother?’
‘What do you mean?’ She set her glass down on the onyx table-top with an unsteady hand. It was an innocuous-sounding question, but she remembered the solicitor Gordon Straker’s warning to be on her guard.
Zahir’s dark eyes were coolly assessing as he said, ‘I mean, did you know Faisal was dying before you became his wife?’
If only she knew where this was leading! ‘I knew he was ill. He was undergoing tests.’ That much was true; she saw no reason to explain that Faisal had been pessimistic about his prognosis right from the beginning. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I’m curious to understand your motives. While you were packing I took a look around Ingledean House, and I saw that the master bedroom—which still contains many of Faisal’s belongings—is on the third floor, but that you occupy a room next to the nursery. It’s customary for a married couple to sleep together—so why didn’t you and Faisal share a room?’
The silence stretched between them before Erin replied icily, ‘I really don’t think that’s any of your business.’
‘Oh, I think it is,’ Zahir argued, in a dangerously soft tone that sent a shiver down Erin’s spine. ‘The cook intimated to me that your marriage to my brother was not “normal”. She also revealed that there had been gossip in the village about your motives for marrying a wealthy man who was obviously seriously ill.’
He waited for Erin to absorb his words, noting how the colour had drained from her face. She looked very young, and that air of innocence was very convincing. It was easy to see how she had fooled Faisal three years ago, when he had been a grieving widower with a baby son. Hell, she had almost fooled him, Zahir mused grimly. But the information his personal assistant had emailed him after running a data check revealed things about her that he was sure his brother had known nothing about. Things like a criminal record for shoplifting, and details of a life that had been spiralling out of control—until she had been fostered by an elderly couple who had taken her to their home in the caretaker’s cottage in the grounds of Ingledean House.
There she had managed to catch up on her education, and had trained as a nanny, but more controversy had followed with her first job, looking after the children of a respected barrister and land-owner at his country estate on the outskirts of York. Omran had unearthed talk of an affair between Erin and Giles Fitzroy. It was rumoured that she had pursued her wealthy employer in the hope that he would leave his wife for her, but that eventually Fitzroy had come to his senses and dismissed her. Soon after that Faisal had bought Ingledean and taken Erin on as Kazim’s nanny.
His brother must have seemed like a gift from the gods, Zahir thought darkly—a rich man without the complication of a wife. Erin had no doubt seized the opportunity to ingratiate herself with Faisal and his motherless son.
‘Shall I tell you what I think?’ he queried silkily, when Erin did not reply. ‘I suspect that your marriage to Faisal was not a conventional one, and the fact that you occupied separate bedrooms reinforces that belief. I also think it’s possible that you deliberately coerced my brother into marrying you.’ He paused, his eyes as dark and cold as bottomless pools.
‘Faisal was estranged from his family and he was desperate to ensure that Kazim would be well cared for after his death. I’m convinced that when you learned of Faisal’s illness you played on the vulnerable emotions of a dying man and persuaded him to marry you by promising to care for Kazim. What my brother did not realise,’ Zahir continued harshly, ‘was that you were prepared to go to almost any lengths to gain Ingledean House and a substantial fortune—including being saddled with a small child. But if I can prove that your motives for adopting my nephew were not as altruistic as Fai
sal believed, I’m certain that a judge will look favourably on my custody claim of Kazim.’
‘But you’re wrong,’ Erin gasped, so shocked by his accusations that she could barely utter the denial. ‘The only reason I adopted Kazim is because I adore him. Ingledean had nothing to do with it—’
She broke off, feeling sick with fear at Zahir’s threat to fight for Kazim. Alice had known, of course, that her marriage to Faisal had been in name only and that she had married him for Kazim’s sake. But if Alice unwittingly revealed news to Zahir, could it strengthen his case in a court battle over Kazim? And would a judge question her motives for marrying a wealthy, dying man and decide that it would be better for Kazim to be brought up by his uncle? That was something she simply could not risk.
‘I married your brother for love,’ she stated fiercely, but the open derision in Zahir’s expression prompted her to lie to him. ‘Alice was mistaken. I assure you our marriage was completely “normal” in every sense.’
And let him prove otherwise, she thought shakily, turning away from his penetrating gaze. At least her statement that she had married for love was the truth. But it had been her love for Kazim, whom Faisal had led her to believe would be all alone in the world, which had made her agree to his proposal.
She could not bear to remain sitting with Zahir now that she knew he held such a disgusting opinion of her, and with a mumbled excuse that she wanted to check on Kazim she jumped to her feet and stumbled towards the bedroom.
The little boy was sleeping soundly, and she curled up on the sofa next to the bed and watched him, feeling the familiar surge of love flood through her. She studied him, angelic in sleep, with his mass of black hair and his long eyelashes that made dark crescents on his velvet-soft cheeks. He was hers. Faisal had entrusted him to her and she would never let him go, she vowed.
But she could not dismiss her terror that Zahir might win a custody battle, and she drifted into a fitful sleep where her dreams were haunted by him wrenching Kazim from her arms.
‘Look Erin—camels!’ Kazim cried several hours later as he peered out of the window of the luxury four-by-four that was speeding them across the desert. He pointed excitedly at the group of camels plodding over a distant sand dune, led by a group of tribesmen. ‘See them? Can we ride on camels, Zahir?’ he asked breathlessly.
‘Not those ones,’ Zahir replied in his deep, melodious voice that, to Erin’s chagrin, had the annoying effect of bringing her skin out in goosebumps. ‘But I promise that as soon as we reach my home I will arrange to take you for a ride on the friendliest camel I can find. Okay?’
Kazim nodded fervently and beamed at Zahir. Her son was suffering from a serious case of hero-worship, Erin acknowledged dismally, recalling how she had woken at dawn, as the plane began its descent, and discovered that Kazim was already awake, sitting on Zahir’s lap while they watched the sun rise over the desert. It was clear that a bond had already been forged between the little boy and his uncle, and Erin despised herself for feeling jealous. Kazim was her world, and she didn’t want to share him with anyone, but she could not deny him the chance to meet his family. This trip was turning into a nightmare and she couldn’t wait for it to be over.
She stared out at the endless expanse of golden sand and her spirits plummeted further. There was nothing on the horizon: no sign of a village or a house, not even a tree—just sand and sky, shimmering in the heat haze.
‘I can’t imagine why anyone would want to live in this baking wilderness,’ she muttered. She glanced at her watch and realised that it was half an hour since they had left the town and set off across the desert. ‘Are we anywhere near our destination?’
‘The desert is the most beautiful place in the world,’ Zahir snapped coldly, glowering at her. ‘Kazim will love it. You should be able to see the walls of the fortress in another ten minutes.’
‘The fort…? Just where are you taking us?’
Her feeling of unease had grown from the moment Zahir’s jet had landed in Qubbah and she’d seen the fleet of vehicles lined up on the runway, flags fluttering on their bonnets. Zahir had said that his family were influential in Qubbah, but she’d been startled when they had descended the plane’s steps and several Arab men, whom she’d guessed were members of his staff, had immediately leapt from the cars and bowed to him. Anyone would think he was royalty, the way people seemed to worship the ground he walked on.
With a heavy sigh she resumed her contemplation of the barren landscape, relief flooding through her when she spied the distant outline of walls and high towers. But her relief gave way to sheer astonishment ten minutes later, when they drove through the huge arched gateway of what was clearly an ancient fortress and then down a mile-long, sweeping driveway, lined on either side by palm trees, before halting outside the most amazing building she had ever seen.
She turned her shocked gaze on Zahir. ‘You’re not seriously telling me you live here?’ she croaked, staring, awestruck, at the countless marble steps gleaming beneath the brilliant glare of the sun, leading up to a vast white stone residence that resembled a fantasy Arabian palace, with gold-topped turrets and tall, graceful pillars lining the entrance.
Zahir had already released Kazim’s seat belt and lifted him from his child seat. He spared Erin a brief glance as someone opened the car door. ‘This is my home—welcome to the Palace of the Falcon,’ he murmured coolly. He stepped out of the car with Kazim in his arms, and a man wearing robes immediately bowed his head in greeting.
‘Your Highness.’
Erin scrambled to follow Zahir, and emerged from the car flushed and wild-eyed. What did the man mean—Your Highness? she wondered frantically.
After the cool interior of the air-conditioned car the heat hit her as though she had walked into a furnace, and while Zahir looked cool and urbane, in his pale grey designer suit, she knew that her skirt was badly creased and she did not look nearly so elegant.
‘Who are you?’ she breathed, desperately trying to keep up with him as he strode up the steps. But Zahir ignored her and swept through the magnificent arched doorway into a vast entrance hall. There, the white marble floor and huge pillars contrasted with the décor of red and gold, creating a look of such opulence that Erin stopped dead and stared open-mouthed before stumbling after him. ‘Zahir!’
‘You must walk behind the Prince.’ The man who had opened the car door was following close behind her, and as she made to run and catch up with Zahir he put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘And you are not permitted to address His Royal Highness. You must only speak if he addresses you.’
‘But…’ Erin shook her head, feeling as though she had landed on another planet. ‘What do you mean? Zahir isn’t a prince—is he?’ She faltered, flushing beneath the man’s curious stare.
‘He is most certainly a prince—the second son of our eminent ruler, His Royal Highness King Kahlid,’ the man informed her, his expression faintly scornful as he took in her pink cheeks and the vivid curls that had escaped the pins on top of her head and now clustered around her hot face. ‘My name is Omran. I am Prince Zahir’s personal assistant.’
‘Second son?’ Erin parroted. ‘You mean Faisal was a prince too?’
‘He was the King’s firstborn son, and heir to the Kingdom of Qubbah,’ Omran confirmed. ‘Under our ancient laws, when the King dies only his eldest son can rule Qubbah.’
‘But Faisal is dead,’ Erin said tremulously. She remembered Zahir’s words about his father being elderly. ‘What will happen when King Kahlid dies now that Faisal can’t take his place?’
‘The crown will pass to Prince Faisal’s eldest son,’ Omran said simply. ‘Prince Kazim will one day rule the kingdom. That is why Prince Zahir was dispatched to England to bring the child to Qubbah.’
They were walking along a seemingly endless corridor lined with yet more pillars, which seemed to Erin to loom up to the ceiling like the bars of a prison. She could feel her heart thudding painfully in her chest as Omran’s words
slowly sank in. ‘But Kazim is three years old—he’s little more than a baby. And he doesn’t belong here,’ she told Omran desperately. ‘His home is in England—with me.’
Omran frowned and shook his head. ‘The young Prince belongs here now. It is the King’s word,’ he said, with a finality that filled Erin with terror.
She could see Zahir striding on ahead, carrying Kazim away from her. With a cry she jerked her arm from Omran’s grasp and flew along the corridor, ignoring his terse warning that she was not permitted to chase after His Royal Highness. She tore up another flight of marble stairs, following the route Zahir had taken, and stumbled, panting and breathless, into a room that appeared at first sight to be an Aladdin’s Cave of toys.
Zahir had set Kazim down, and the toddler was now running around the room, his eyes huge with excitement as he climbed into a toy racing car and then sped over to a model train set that ran the full length of one wall.
‘I can make the trains work. See! When I push the button they go!’
‘That’s fantastic, darling. Aren’t you lucky to have so many toys to play with while we stay here?’
Erin forced a smile for the overawed little boy, but her eyes flashed with fury as she turned to face Zahir. She recalled how he had warned her at Ingledean that he would play dirty if necessary, and a mixture of fear and anger churned inside her.
‘What is this?’ She glanced around at the array of toys. ‘Your disgusting attempt to bribe a little boy?’ she demanded scornfully. Zahir’s personal assistant was hovering in the doorway, and her heart lurched as she remembered his astounding statement that Kazim was heir to the throne of Qubbah. ‘You lied to me,’ she accused Zahir furiously, ignoring the warning glint in his eyes. ‘I don’t care if you are a prince, you’re also the biggest louse ever to walk this earth—and I hope you don’t expect me to bow and scrape to you, because I won’t!’
From a corner of the room came an audible gasp, and she swung round to see a young woman dressed in traditional robes staring at her with a look of undisguised horror on her pretty face.
