The Innocent Carrying His Legacy

by Jackie Ashenden

  She should probably sit down since she was feeling tired, but, with nothing to do but sit in silence, she didn’t like the thought of that. Her phone was in her bag, but since there was no Internet access out here there seemed little point in checking emails or texts.

  Moving over to the door, she pulled it open, a part of her mildly surprised to find that she wasn’t locked in. The hallway stretched out on either side, long and narrow and dark. Dimly she could hear the sounds of footsteps and voices and the low hum of machinery. The Sheikh had told her to stay put, but how could he expect her to do that when there was nothing to do? Perhaps she could go and find someone and ask them how long the Sheikh was going to be. That wouldn’t constitute ‘wandering around the fortress like a tourist’. That was going somewhere with purpose. And besides, how could she ‘rest’ when there wasn’t anywhere to rest except for the hard wooden chair?

  It’s not the chair that’s the issue.

  Ivy ignored the thought. She didn’t want to think about the apprehension that sat inside her, an apprehension that wasn’t really about the chair. Or about being on her own in a fortress full of men. Or even about their forbidding, aggravatingly autocratic Commander.

  It had far more to do with a presence smaller than any of those and yet far more powerfully affecting. A presence she’d been trying very hard to resist as it wove small tendrils around her heart. She might tell herself all she liked that this was Connie’s child and nothing to do with her, but Connie was gone and now this baby had no one but her to look after it. And she was afraid. Afraid she would let it down somehow. Afraid that she wouldn’t be the kind of mother the child deserved. Not that she wanted to be its mother. Connie should have been its mother.

  Connie is dead. There is only you.

  Ivy took a breath, her hand creeping unconsciously down over her stomach. This wasn’t about being contrary, no matter what the Sheikh had said. This was for Connie and for the baby. She had to find out what was happening and she wasn’t going to be able to sit down and rest until she did.

  Stepping out into the narrow, dark corridor, Ivy paused to listen a moment. Then she set off down it in the direction of the voices, her heartbeat thudding fast.

  ‘The library is not in that direction, Miss Dean,’ someone said from behind her.

  Ivy froze, her breath catching as the sound of the Sheikh’s deep, harsh voice tumbled over her like an avalanche of rock.

  Oh, Lord, where had he come from? She hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard him. He’d crept up on her like a ghost.

  Ignoring how her heart seemed to thud even harder, Ivy turned to find the narrow hallway behind her almost completely blocked by the Sheikh’s large, powerful figure. He was still in that black robe belted loosely around his lean hips, the bronze expanse of his bare chest visible between the edges of the fabric, and apparently her response to it in the guardhouse hadn’t been an aberration because she felt the same flood of heat wash through her cheeks as she had back then.

  How ridiculous. What on earth was wrong with her? She’d seen a few bare chests in her time, if not in real life then certainly on TV, and none of those had made her blush like this.

  She drew herself up as tall as she could, which wasn’t very tall and especially not compared to him. The sheer height and breadth of him made the corridor seem even narrower and darker than it already was, and just as impenetrable.

  An odd kind of claustrophobia gripped her, her breath stuttering in her throat. His eyes really were the most astonishing colour, caught on the cusp between blue and green, and framed by long, thick, silky-looking black lashes. They were so sharp and so cold, a searchlight sweeping the most private corners of her soul, exposing all her secrets...

  ‘I wasn’t going in the direction of the library,’ she said, her voice sounding a bit shaky despite her attempts to control it. ‘If you could even call that a library. I was trying to find you.’

  His expression was like granite. ‘You were ordered not to leave.’

  Ivy drew her own dusty robes more tightly around her, the sound of her heartbeat loud in her ears. ‘You said you didn’t want me wandering around like a tourist. Well, I’m not a tourist and I’m not wandering. I wanted to know what was happening.’

  ‘You disobeyed a direct order.’

  Temper gathered inside her, burning sullenly, fuelled by weariness and uncertainty and a fear that had been dogging her since Connie had died. Unable to stop herself, she snapped, ‘I’m not one of your soldiers, Mr Al Rasul, which means I don’t have to obey you.’

  If he was angry at her response he gave no sign, his expression remaining stony, and Ivy was seized with the sudden and extremely inappropriate urge to do something really awful, something that would make him angry, something that would make those turquoise eyes glitter with temper and disturb his expressionless mask somehow.

  And you used to wonder why no one ever adopted you...

  Oh, she knew why. That had become obvious as she’d grown older. She had a temper, a strong will, and hated being told what to do, all of which had been undesirable traits in a child. However, they were more useful as an adult and she’d learned how to harness them to her advantage, especially when it came to protecting the home and the kids she was responsible for.

  But unhelpful social workers and government employees were a whole different kettle of fish from granite-faced sheikhs, and if she hadn’t understood that fully in the guardhouse she understood it now as he lifted his gaze from hers, flicking a glance behind her.

  ‘Escort Miss Dean back to the library.’ His voice was as unyielding as iron. ‘Then lock the door.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ANGER AND WHAT could only be fear flickered across Ivy Dean’s delicate features. It was there in her eyes too, those little veins of gold burning in the copper. But he didn’t care.

  He couldn’t have people disobeying his orders regardless of whether they were his soldiers or not, and definitely not in front of his men. Especially not her. Not now he’d decided what he was going to do about her and the child she carried.

  He didn’t have to speak—his guards knew what to do—and before the little fury could open her mouth to protest, he’d had them hustle her away down the corridor and back to the library.

  It wasn’t a comfortable place for her and he knew that. But he didn’t have very many places in this part of the fortress that were suitable as waiting rooms for pregnant women. She’d be shown to more suitable quarters soon and, besides, he’d had food and drink brought to her and she’d eaten them quickly enough—or so he’d been told by the soldier who’d been watching the library via a security camera.

  Just as he’d informed him when she’d opened the door and stepped into the corridor.

  That she wouldn’t do as she was told, he’d expected. She’d never be a biddable wife, but a biddable wife wasn’t what he wanted anyway. He’d never thought he’d have a wife at all, not until she’d arrived, announcing that she was pregnant with his child, and everything had changed.

  It hadn’t taken him long to make the decision.

  After he’d left the guardhouse, he’d gone to his private office, turning a few ideas over in his head, sorting through the options and implications while she’d been eating the cupcakes he’d had his chef make for her. Yet it had only been when she’d opened that door and stepped into the corridor, blatantly disobeying him, that he’d decided. It was a snap decision and snap decisions were to be viewed with mistrust in the normal scheme of things, but not this time.

  He couldn’t have her wandering around the fortress, nor could he have her wandering around Inaris. Once word got out—and it would—that she was expecting his child, his enemies would close in. Certainly the Sultan would have something to say about it and once he knew then the danger to both Ivy and the child would increase exponentially.

  Even in England they wouldn’t be sa
fe. They wouldn’t be safe anywhere except here, where he had an entire army to protect them.

  So, he couldn’t let her go. She and the child would have to stay here with him. And, in order to leave no loopholes by which his enemies could harm her, the child or him, he’d have to marry her.

  It wasn’t only to protect his child legally; there were other factors involved. Growing up as the product of his father’s affair with the Sultan’s wife hadn’t been easy. His connection to the Sultana had had to remain a secret so as not to risk exposing her to her husband’s wrath. The Sultan had been a cold, cruel man and Nazir hadn’t blamed his mother for seeking companionship in the arms of another. She’d managed to hide her pregnancy from the Sultan as it had progressed through artful clothing choices and aided by the fact that she didn’t show. Eventually she’d gone on a month long ‘holiday’ to have her baby in secret, accompanied by a trusted maid who was the only other person apart from his father who’d known what was going on. His birth had been a mistake though, and he’d felt the burden of that growing up.

  He was a living, breathing reminder of his mother’s infidelity, a constant threat to her position. It had been a pressure that he wouldn’t wish on any child, especially his own, and, even though the circumstances here were different, he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.

  This child would be acknowledged. And he or she would have both parents.

  The little fury might have something to say about it, naturally, but her personal feelings on the subject were irrelevant. She’d have to put them aside for the safety of the child, and given that she was also protective of said child—he hadn’t missed those little gestures with her hand—he was certain she’d see the logic of it.

  But several things had to be made ready first, before he informed her of his decision.

  Nazir strode back to his office and called an emergency meeting with several of his top aides as well as the manager of the fortress staff. Various orders were given. His second-in-command, an ex-Navy SEAL from California, raised an eyebrow at the announcement, but no one questioned him. No one would dare. This was a private matter and it concerned no one else but him.

  Once the necessary plans were put in place, Nazir ordered Ivy to be brought to his office. He’d debated on how best to tell her, but, since she wasn’t likely to be pleased no matter how he delivered the news, getting straight to the point was the easiest.

  She’d also need some time to come to terms with it, which he would give her, though he wouldn’t brook a refusal, not given what was at stake. Nor could he let her leave. That would no doubt be a problem for her, but he wasn’t changing his mind.

  This was necessary and the sooner she understood that, the better.

  Five minutes later, the door to his office opened and his guards came in with a very annoyed-looking Ivy. Her mouth was set in a grim line, her clear gaze glittering.

  Nazir looked her over, impersonal and assessing. The weariness was more apparent now, dark shadows like bruises beneath her eyes, and she was holding herself very rigid. This wasn’t the best timing for such an announcement, not when she needed rest, but, then again, the quicker he got this over with, the quicker she’d come to accept it.

  ‘Mr Al Rasul,’ she began furiously, not waiting for him to speak, her face flushed with annoyance. ‘You need to tell me what’s happening and you need to tell me now.’

  Nazir flicked a glance at his guards, who immediately left the room, closing the door firmly behind them.

  ‘Sit,’ he ordered, gesturing at the chair in front of his heavy wooden desk.

  Ivy folded her hands in front of her, her chin lifted. ‘Thank you, I’ll stand.’

  Stubborn woman.

  He rose to his feet and came around the side of the desk, noting how she stiffened even further the closer he got. It was clear she found his presence uncomfortable, which was interesting.

  Leaning back against the desk, he folded his arms. ‘You might find it preferable to sit.’

  ‘I’ve been sitting for the past couple of hours. I do not wish to sit any longer.’ Her jaw was tight, her shoulders tense, the agitation pouring off her like a wave.

  She needed some direction for all that energy. Whenever he had a soldier similarly agitated, a workout or intense weapons training was a good way for them to expend their nervous tension.

  Obviously, though, he couldn’t involve Ivy in either a workout or weapons training.

  There are other ways to expend nervous tension...

  And he would not be involving her in that either, no matter how interested his nether regions might be. He’d marry her, but only as a marriage of convenience. It was going to be hard enough to convince her that she couldn’t leave, let alone that she must marry him. Sleeping arrangements would likely be a bridge too far right now.

  Heat lingered inside him, though, reminding him of needs that he’d neglected for far too long. Well, he’d remedy that, but perhaps not right now.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ He gave her another critical scan. ‘You need more food and probably some more liquids, not to mention some rest.’

  ‘No. What I need, Mr Al Rasul, is to be told what’s going on.’ She enunciated each word as if it were made out of crystal and she didn’t want to shatter it.

  ‘I have made a decision about the child,’ he said. ‘That’s what’s going on.’

  She seemed to stiffen even further. ‘And? Spit it out, for God’s sake. I need to be back in Mahassa by tonight, because—’

  ‘You will not be going back to Mahassa. Not tonight, and not tomorrow either.’

  She blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You’re going to be staying here in the fortress. Where I can protect you and my child.’

  Her dark, straight brows arrowed down. ‘I’m sorry, what? What do you mean staying in the fortress? And protection? Protection from what?’

  ‘From whom. And as to what I mean about staying in the fortress, that is exactly what I meant. I’m afraid I cannot let you leave.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ There was an edge in her tone, the crystal becoming sharper and more cutting.

  Nazir studied her, measuring her agitation and the sparks in her gaze. Part of being a good leader was being able to judge the well-being of those he commanded and he’d learned how to read his men. How to tell when he could push them and how far, as well as when not to push. When they needed rest and when they were bored and needed to be challenged. When they were uncertain and needed more confidence, and when they were arrogant and needed to be reminded of their failings.

  Miss Ivy Dean was none of those things right now. What she was was tired and at the end of her tether. And perhaps this news would push her over the edge.

  He wasn’t a man who generally did delicacy or care well, not when he was a soldier at heart. But he could manage it when the situation called for it and clearly the situation called for it now.

  ‘I have many enemies, Miss Dean,’ he said. ‘And your presence here will have been noted. I do not get many women coming to my gates and certainly not pregnant ones, and so conclusions will be drawn. Correct conclusions, as it turns out.’

  She was still frowning. ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that if you return to Mahassa, you might be in danger from those wanting to use you and the child to get back at me.’

  Ivy blinked again. ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘There are many things you don’t understand about me,’ he said, because he had to and because she had no idea of what she’d innocently walked into. ‘But one of those things is that I am dangerous to very many powerful people. Many powerful governments. And if they find out that I have a child...’ He didn’t finish, but then, he didn’t need to.

  Comprehension flickered over her face. ‘But...why would they...?’ She stopped. ‘So you are a vicious warlord, Mr Al Ras
ul?’

  ‘That’s a conversation for another time. Right now, the most important thing for you to know is that by coming here, you’ve put yourself and the child in danger. And it’s imperative that you remain here in the fortress where I can protect you.’

  The angry flush began to drain from her face, making the shadows under her eyes look darker. ‘I didn’t mean to,’ she said, cracks in those crystal tones obvious now. ‘I was doing it for Connie’s sake. I would never...’

  Nazir straightened, beginning to frown himself now, because she was looking very pale indeed and he didn’t like it. It was one thing to be concerned for a soldier, but it was another thing again to be concerned for the woman carrying his child.

  ‘Sit down,’ he ordered. ‘Before you fall down.’

  ‘No.’ Her spine went ramrod straight, her gaze narrowing into a shard of copper-gold metal. ‘Tell me about this danger. How long do I have to stay here for? Because I have a life in England I need to get back to. And the baby. What about him? And my hotel room in Mahassa? My things are still there, my passport is in the safe. What about the consulate? Surely if I leave Inaris and return to England I’ll be safe.’

  He waited until she’d finished, conscious of a certain admiration at the sheer stubbornness of her will. She was likely exhausted and in shock and yet was still arguing with him.

  ‘You will not,’ he said implacably. ‘You will not be safe anywhere but in the fortress. As to the hotel and your things, I’ve sent someone to retrieve them. They’ll be brought back here.’

  Her hands moved, nervously smoothing the dusty robes she was still swathed in. ‘But how long for? I have leave for another week and then I have to be back in England.’

  Nazir stepped away from the desk, moving over to where she stood, still agitatedly pulling at her robes. Without a word, he gripped her upper arms and, with gentle insistence, moved her over to the chair in front of his desk and then pushed her down into it.