Sheikh's Pregnant Princess

by Sophia Lynn

  Chapter One

  Irene took a deep breath, and then another one. No matter how many times she did it, no matter how many times she tried to visualize a pure white light or count deliberately and carefully to ten, she couldn’t make her heart beat more slowly or her pulse stop fluttering.

  Instead, all she could do was plant her feet squarely on the airport floor, hang on to her bag even more tightly, and reflect on what had happened two days ago.

  Two days ago, she had been just another graduate student at the University of Khanour, going to class, texting her friends, and enjoying her time researching in a foreign university. Khanour, one of the wealthy but isolated members of the UAE, was a treasure trove of material for her thesis on pre-Islamic art, and she knew that she would leave the country well-prepared to finish her thesis.

  Two days ago, she had been thinking about the symbolism of water in certain ancient portraits, when suddenly, two large men had appeared on either side of her. They were dressed plainly, but there was something menacing about them, something deeply frightening about the way they watched her.

  “Are you Irene Bellingham?” one asked.

  Before she could think to lie, she nodded, and they came even closer. A quick look up and down the street revealed that she was quite alone, and it occurred to her the men knew that was the case before they had approached her.

  “All right, you need to come with us,” the other said, and he moved his jacket aside just enough so she could see the butt of the gun he carried hidden in a shoulder holster.

  Irene had frozen. There was no choice here, nothing that she could do. Instead, she allowed herself to be pushed into the waiting car, wondering what in the world was going to become of her. She had heard of girls getting kidnapped in other parts of the world, but Khanour was known for being quite safe. They had asked for her by name—what was this supposed to mean?

  She got her answer half an hour later when the men escorted her to a small house in what looked like quite a nice suburb. The men seemed courteous enough, but they would brook no nonsense. They led her to a small office with a single high window and pointed to a chair.

  She waited for almost fifteen minutes before a short man with just a small fringe of hair around his head appeared. He looked for all the world like a harried accountant, but there was something about him that made her prickle with fear.

  “What am I doing here?” she asked.

  The man frowned petulantly at her. Instead of answering, he gestured to one of the men standing behind her. Before Irene could react, the man’s hand shot out, latching on to the tip of Irene’s ear and twisting viciously. She cried out in shock and pain, clutching the smarting ear when he let go. It was hot to the touch, and she looked at the small man on the other side of the desk, her eyes wide and filled with tears.

  “That was meant to teach you a lesson,” the man said mildly. “But perhaps it can serve as an introduction as well. We are people who know very well how to hurt you, but we also know how to do it so that no one ever sees. I could have let my associate there all but yank that ear off, and it would hurt as if he had, but it would never be visible.

  “Now, I am going to talk, and you are going to listen, yes?”

  Irene’s breath came quick and fast. She knew that she had to get out of here as soon as she could. That meant agreeing with her captors, and so she nodded fearfully.

  The man’s face broke into a smile, something that felt far more terrifying in some ways than his scowl had been.

  “Good. Now to business. We are a business concerned with a need, and it is best if you help us. Ideally you will help us, and then you will never see us again. Wouldn’t that be a pleasant thing?”

  She swallowed hard. There had to be more to the story than just what she was hearing. Why had they rolled up to find her at the university? How had they known her name?

  “Of course, if you help us with what we need, we can be very kind and very friendly,” the man said, his voice still unnervingly calm. “After all, a friend of yours is a friend of ours. We do not hurt our friends.”

  For a moment, the man confused her by fiddling with his phone. Then, obviously finding what it was he wanted, he turned it to face her.

  There was a video cued up, and with a tentative finger, she pressed the Play arrow.

  The camera zoomed in on what looked like a white cement room with a man bound to a chair in the center of it. The cameraperson zoomed in a little closer, and Irene gasped when she realized that she recognized the man in the chair.

  Her twin brother, with whom she shared the same wavy hair, pale skin, and blue eyes, looked up at her, smiling tiredly.

  “Hey, Irene,” he said, speaking to the camera. “As you can see, I’ve gotten myself into a bit of trouble. These people are not to be trifled with, sis. Do what they want. However, though they are dangerous, they are also reasonable. Once you clear us both, we can walk away free and easy…”

  Peter tried to smile at her, but that seemed to break something inside him.

  “Please, Irene. Help me. Please. I need your help…”

  The video cut off, and the man behind the desk shook his head sadly.

  “It is a terrible thing when family goes astray,” he said with every indication of regret. “He says that you are twins, but surely one of you must be the older…”

  “That would be me,” she said, her mouth dry. She wanted to reach for the phone again, to play the video one more time, allowing her to verify that her brother was alive.

  “Ah, of course. Then the younger brother is your responsibility,” the man said, nodding with understanding. “You are well used to this.”

  She could have told him that he was precisely right. She had been bailing Peter out throughout their lives together, whether it was hiding evidence that would have gotten him into trouble or simply outright taking the blame whenever he had erred. However, those incidents had involved stolen pie and broken windows, not whatever was happening here.

  “What are you going to do with my brother?” she asked, her voice hollow. She was prepared for the man to pinch her ear again, but she had to know. Instead, the man behind the desk smiled beatifically, as if she had pleased him.

  “If you help us, we will do nothing to him. We will return him to his apartment and tell him that he should start a new and better life, thanking his elder sister every day for her part in helping him survive.”

  The man paused, and when he continued, it was with a frown, as if she had said it was a terrible idea and had asked for more options.

  “And if you do not help us, we will make sure that no one ever sees or hears from your brother again.”

  She made a small sound at that. She wanted nothing more than to return to the woman she had been a few hours ago, when there was nothing on her mind as pressing as the work that she had to do.

  Peter and this man had changed everything. She couldn’t go back. All she could do was go forward, and that was how she was going to proceed.

  She took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was level, even slightly aggressive.

  “What do I have to do?” she asked finally.

  The man beamed at her.

  “It is good to see family sticking together,” he said.

  Now, two days later, she was sitting in the Khanour airport, her small carry-on bag sitting innocuously on her lap. Inside were her clothes, a few souvenirs for family members whom did not strictly exist, and one tightly wrapped paper package.

  The man had assured her there were no drugs in the package. Instead, he said it was a piece of art that was destined for American hands. A small thing, nothing more than trifle, but Irene could read between the lines. She knew to be very afraid.

  There was a very hot trade in antiquities in the world right now. The man who had recently become sheikh of Khanour had put a stop to most of the illegal and even legal ways to acquire Khanour art, declaring that national treasures needed to stay in the country. Of course, that
had sent interest in the art of the country where she was staying sky-high. This man seemed to be interested in taking advantage of the trend, and he needed someone relatively unassuming and trustworthy to take the artifact to the United States.

  Now Irene started counting backward from one hundred for the eighth time. She had lost count each and every time she had started it before, but perhaps now it would be different.

  She was just giving it up as a bad job when she saw a handsome young Khanour man in a sharp Western-style blue suit watching her. She knew she had made a mistake as soon as he smiled slightly and approached her. She had been told not to attract attention, and now she wasn’t sure whether she should move seats or simply smile and send the man off as soon as she could.

  “Are you flying out soon?” the man asked, settling down in the seat next to hers.

  Irene smiled weakly at him. Despite the dire nature of her own situation, she couldn’t help but remark on how handsome this man was. Like many Khanour men, he had dark olive skin and jet-black hair, but instead of the brown eyes she had seen throughout her stay, his eyes were an arresting pale green. He was tall and moved with the grace of a natural athlete… or a natural predator. Something about the way he looked tugged at her mind, as if he was someone she had met before, but she shrugged it away.

  “I am,” she said. “My plane leaves in just under an hour.”

  Irene hoped that would be enough for him, but he nodded knowingly.

  “Ah, and where are you headed?”

  “The United States,” she offered, and when that still did not seem to be enough, she added, “I’m going home to Pennsylvania.”

  He smiled a little.

  “Home has a good ring to it, doesn’t it? I’ve just landed at home myself.”

  Despite herself, she glanced curiously at him. The men who had given her the package had told her that she was to act natural at all costs. Perhaps this was natural? Talking with someone who was simply not involved in this mess was at least a little calming.

  “If you’ve just landed at home, you don’t really seem to be in such a hurry to get there,” she observed. “Unless you live at the airport?”

  He chuckled ruefully, shaking his head.

  “Fortunately for me, I do not,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to live here. The lines for the falafel are simply too long.”

  She smiled a little at his joke.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a little shrug. “I’m sure it’s none of my business what you do or where you go…”

  “I don’t mind,” he said, and to her surprise, he seemed to be making himself comfortable in the seat next to her. “If you don’t mind my asking, you don’t seem so eager to get home yourself. Or am I reading this wrong and you are simply afraid of flying?”

  Irene knew she should have seized on the excuse. She had a fear of flying, and she needed to concentrate on calming herself down before they took off. Could he please leave? That was the natural thing to say, but instead, a strange version of the truth came out.

  “My brother’s in trouble,” she said, her voice soft and pitched only for his ears. “He’s… he’s my twin, and he’s always been the one that couldn’t stay out of trouble, and I guess he’s in it again. I need to fly back home and see if I can help.”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up, and he regarded her with renewed curiosity.

  “That sounds serious,” he observed.

  “It’s terribly serious,” she said, then spoke out loud her greatest fear. “And I’m afraid that even if I do all this, it still isn’t going to get him to a good place. He’s dug himself into some serious holes before, but this one feels different. It feels like this one is too deep by far, and I don’t know if I can help.”

  To Irene’s horror, she felt tears well up in her eyes. Whatever else tears might be, they were not subtle or inconspicuous, and she blinked them back rapidly.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know you didn’t come over her to comfort a woman who must seem insane.”

  He smiled at her, pulling out a crisp white handkerchief and handing it to her.

  “I’m the one who intruded on your thoughts, and for that I am sorry. I was watching you across the concourse, you see, and when I saw you, something stopped me in my tracks. There was a girl who seemed as if she should have everything going for her. Instead, she sits and looks as if her world has ended.”

  “My world hasn’t ended,” she said, a slight smile on her face. “At least, not yet.”

  “Yes, because you still have to fly to your brother’s rescue and play hero,” he said with a laugh.

  “I’m not a terrible superheroine,” she protested. “I can’t fly, but I can get on a plane, and I don’t have super strength, but I’m pretty darned stubborn.”

  He laughed at her, but there was a kindness to it. Despite her success in life, there had been remarkably little kindness, and a part of her bent toward him, like a sunflower turning toward the light.

  “I don’t doubt it,” he replied. “I have every faith that you will pull your brother out of whatever hole he has fallen into.”

  Somehow, the conversation was helping. The stranger was right; this was simply one more hole that Peter had fallen into. She had saved him many times in the past. She would save him again.

  “You said that I was a girl who should have everything going for me,” she said. “What did you mean?”

  “It seems shallow perhaps, to say it now, but I simply meant that you looked so lovely sitting here. You’re a beautiful woman, little heroine, all fair hair and pale skin, and those blue eyes of yours could stun a rampaging bull and drop him to his knees. What could a beautiful woman have to be upset by?”

  Irene shook her head at him, half-amused and half-frustrated.

  “Have you ever talked to women?” she retorted. “Women, whether they are good-looking or not, have plenty of problems.”

  “Name one,” he challenged her, and it was such an absurd argument that she simply said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Mostly, it begins and ends with men,” she said, and then to Irene’s surprise, they both burst out into laughter.

  “All right, all right, I deserve that,” he said. “At least, when I relay it to my female cousins and my aunts later on this week, that is what they will say. And when they ask, who shall I say imparted that particular pearl of wisdom upon me?”

  “Irene Bellingham,” she said with a slight smile. “From Kingston, Pennsylvania. And when I’m telling this story to my girlfriends, who did I embarrass myself in front of when I had too much coffee and too little sleep?”

  “You can call me Raheem,” he said, and he offered her his hand.

  She thought that he was going to shake her hand, but instead he turned it palm down and kissed the knuckles gently.

  Somehow, just that little touch sent shivers of electricity bolting through her. The sensation of his skin touching hers, his mouth brushing across her knuckles, was all it took to make her catch her breath.

  He pulled back, and the look on his face was just as startled as hers, though he quickly hid it.

  “It seems that we have quite a connection, Miss Bellingham. Do you think it is possible to explore that connection later on, when you return to my country?”

  For a moment, she wanted nothing more. There was something about this man who called himself Raheem. When she was with him, she didn’t feel afraid or preoccupied with worry about other matters. She hadn’t forgotten what her errand was all about, but somehow, for the last little while, she hadn’t thought about it.

  “I’m sorry,” Irene said with genuine regret. “I don’t think I’m going to be returning to Khanour after this.”

  Even as she said it, something about it broke her heart. This was a land she had spent more than six months researching, and the art, the culture, and the people called to her, embracing her as nothing ever had before. However, after she had run her dangerous errand, it was simply too likely that sh
e would have to stay in the United States, never to return.

  “Ah, a shame, then. Well, if I am ever in Kingston, Pennsylvania, I know that someone who I very much want to get to know better lives there.”

  She smiled and then flinched a little as the flight attendant announced her boarding.

  “I should go,” she said, standing up and fretting with her bag. “I… thank you for coming over to talk with me.”

  He grinned, and there was a little bit of regret and wistfulness there.

  “I am glad that I decided to come speak with you as well,” he said softly. “Time spent with someone so lovely is never wasted.”

  She smiled, even if it was a little wan.

  “Go home,” she said. “You’ve been putting it off long enough.”

  He laughed, and then he would have turned to disappear into the crowd if someone hadn’t snatched her bag.

  Irene was so startled that she could only shriek, but at the last moment, she managed to wrap her arm around the strap to hang on. The only thing she achieved was getting knocked to her side as the thief regained his footing and kept going.

  That’s it, she thought. They’re going to shoot us both, and it will be all my fault…

  Then, to her shock, Raheem sprang into action, racing after the thief and seizing the back of his jacket before he had even gone a dozen feet. A crowd gathered to cheer him on as he shook the weedy little thief hard.

  “Give it back,” he said, his voice carrying an iron-hard tone of command. “Come on, you little pissant…”

  The thief, sullen and furious at his capture, threw her bag to the ground, and to Irene’s horror, the tightly wrapped paper package rattled out to roll a short distance before catching up next to a railing. She started to reach for it, but Raheem, after handing the thief off to airport security, reached it first. He caught it up in his hand, but in the middle of handing it to her, he froze.

  In all of the ruckus, a corner of the paper had peeled away, revealing an unmistakable shine of pure yellow gold.

  Instead of handing it to her, he straightened up to his full height, ripping the paper away to reveal what was inside.