Desert Jewels & Rising Stars

by Sharon Kendrick

  Being surrounded by priceless antiques didn’t faze her—and neither did the presence of the noiseless servants who seemed to haunt the palace rooms and corridors. She’d quickly become used to luxury and comfort and taking long walks in the manicured gardens during the hours of daylight, while Zahid went about his kingly tasks.

  And if she spent most of the day alone—she made up for it in the evenings, when Zahid would usually join her for dinner. Afterwards, they would sometimes sit playing cards—just as they’d done all those years ago. Only these days he no longer let her beat him. These days she had to really try in order to win. And that wasn’t terribly easy when sexual tension seemed to sizzle in the air around them.

  Sometimes, there were nights when Zahid needed to attend some glittering social function and then she would read up on the history of Khayarzah—curled up on an embroidered sofa in one of the less intimidating salons.

  ‘You don’t mind being left alone?’ he’d asked her one evening, appearing in the doorway in shimmering robes of muted silver.

  Of course she’d minded but, recognising that complaining wasn’t going to get her anywhere, she’d shaken her head. What choice did she have but to put up with it? It simply wouldn’t be done for him to turn up at a formal function with a foreign woman by his side. ‘Not at all. I’m used to my own company.’ And she had seen him nod his dark head with satisfaction, pleased with her reply.

  But by night it was a different story. When the moon was high in the star-spangled Khayarzahian sky, he would come to her room and silently ravish her in the warm, scented darkness. Heart hammering like a piston, she would lie awake waiting for him—naked and eager beneath Egyptian cotton sheets as she heard the soft whisper of his clothes sliding to the marble floor. And then he would join her on the bed, his hard, virile body hot and hungry, his kisses full of urgent passion. He would make love to her for most of the night until their bodies were exhausted—slipping away only when the milky light of dawn turned the sky a pale apricot colour.

  Leaving Frankie to drift off into a dazed sleep. So that sometimes when she opened her heavy eyes in the morning she would wonder whether perhaps she had dreamt the whole thing.

  The diaries helped. Having a legitimate reason to be in the palace gave her a sense of purpose and stopped her thinking about what she would do when the affair was over. Because the thought of leaving Zahid was too painful to contemplate. She couldn’t imagine it—didn’t want to imagine it. Much better to remember what it felt like when he made love to her, when his clever tongue licked all the way up her thigh and then … then …

  Frankie closed her eyes with erotic recall. Memories of his love-making always overwhelmed her, but she was aware of something else happening. Something dangerous, deep inside her heart. Because in tandem with the physical flowering of her body had come a new and unwanted emotion and somewhere along the way she had fallen in love with the hawk-faced king. The caring friendship she’d always felt had grown into something much bigger and infinitely more powerful.

  She loved him.

  Would he be horrified if he knew how she felt?

  Frankie stared down at the diary which lay open on the desk but none of the words registered. Of course he would! He’d be more than horrified. Love wasn’t on the agenda and it never had been. He’d told her that in no uncertain terms. This was all about sex—great sex, it was true—but nothing more than that.

  ‘I’m not paying you to sit there daydreaming, you know.’

  A mocking voice broke into her thoughts as Zahid walked into the library and Frankie looked at him, her heart melting as she stared into the black glitter of his eyes.

  ‘Sometimes I can’t help daydreaming,’ she defended softly.

  ‘Abo ut?’

  About the way you hold me when your body is deep inside mine. About the way you kiss me when it’s all over. About how much I’d love to stay here, by your side, for ever. But such words could never be uttered. They were forbidden—just as driving was forbidden and showing affection towards each other in public. And being found in bed together. So, with an effort, Frankie scrambled together her thoughts and gestured towards the open leather journal in front of her. ‘About your father’s diary—it’s a fascinating document.’

  ‘In terms of content, you mean—or just generally?’

  ‘Both. A diary is better than an autobiography, don’t you think? Much more personal.’

  Zahid nodded. ‘An intimate glimpse into someone’s life, you mean—as well as their thoughts?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ She could understand why nobody outside the family had ever seen them before—for they were almost painful in their intimacy. ‘Things I already knew, I now see differently. It makes me realise how difficult it must have been for you all, with the war and everything.’ She hesitated, wondering whether this was a forbidden subject, too. Perhaps it was, since they had never talked about it. ‘And then, when your mother became ill.’

  Zahid’s face tightened with a sense of inevitability. But maybe he should have realised that by giving her access to his father’s work, he would be opening up a part of himself which he had always kept locked away. For a man so fiercely self-contained, it was a disturbing thought that she was delving beneath the surface of his life and seeing into the hidden depths. But this was Francesca, he reminded himself—a woman who knew him almost better than anyone. He could say things to her that he wouldn’t for a moment contemplate saying to another.

  ‘It wasn’t easy—especially as my father found it difficult to juggle everything,’ he admitted. ‘As well as my mother’s illness, he was busy helping my uncle repair the country after so many years of war. And there was too much going on for him to devote much time to his two lively young sons. It was one of the reasons why Tariq and I spent some of our education in boarding school in England—something which gave us a taste of a very different life. It was far worse for Tariq of course, for he was younger and he … he never really got a chance to know our mother.’

  He’d never been quite so forthcoming before and Frankie hesitated, afraid that more questions might make the familiar shutters come down. Yet her need to know overrode her natural caution. ‘It must have been a terrible shock for you, when your uncle died.’

  There was silence for a moment. Nobody had ever asked him that. His feelings had never been discussed—for his accession to the throne had been a given. And mightn’t the natural doubts he had experienced at the time have been interpreted as weakness if he had dared express them?

  ‘It was an utter shock,’ answered Zahid simply. ‘But the worse thing was that his son—the rightful heir—was with him at the time. They should never have been allowed to travel together—and normally they wouldn’t have done. But the light over the mountains was fading, there was only one available plane and the decision was made that they should go on the same flight.’ He paused. ‘And in that split second, their destiny was decided.’

  Zahid’s face hardened as he remembered the broken pieces of the aeroplane lying in pieces on the ground. His own father had not long died and then he had to cope with these two new deaths in quick succession—followed by a sombre crowning as he was made King.

  He had never wanted to be King and yet he could not have admitted that to anyone. And in time, he had grown into the role which he had at first resented. A role which still carried with it strict boundaries, which he must ensure he never forgot.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Frankie.

  He looked at her, her words breaking him from his reverie and bringing him back to the present. Reminding him with an unwelcome shock of just how very un-kinglike his current mode of behaviour was. He had taken his oldest friend as his lover and at times he had expressed concern about what he was doing to her reputation. But what of his?

  Wouldn’t his people be appalled if they realised that he was cavorting with a western woman within the palace walls? And could he really hold himself up as some kind of national moral guardian, when he was
rejecting all the values which the Khayarzahian people held so dear?

  His eyes were drawn to her face—to cheeks the colour of the palest rose and eyes which were bluer than the desert sky. He found himself remembering how sweetly her arms opened for him every night, and how eagerly her body welcomed him. All the pleasures of the body he had taught her, she had embraced with enthusiasm. How he would like this affair to continue—to carry on, just as they were.

  But he was not being fair—not to her, and not to his people. Unlike his brother Tariq, he was not a gambling man—but he knew enough about odds and probability to realise that if they continued being lovers, then eventually they would be found out. And then what?

  His mouth hardened. He needed to talk to her—and not in bed where the distractions of her delicious body might cause his resolve to waver. Nor here, where the unseen servants might read their body language even if they could not understand their words. Somewhere away from the palace—a place which she had previously talked about—he needed to say to Francesca the words she deserved to hear.

  He glanced at her from between narrowed eyes. ‘Today, my diary is almost empty and I had been intending to catch up on some paperwork. But instead, I shall order the kitchens to make us up a picnic and we will go out somewhere for lunch. Somewhere quiet. Would you like that, Francesca?’

  Startled by the unexpected and unfamiliar invitation, Frankie felt the leap of excitement. ‘I’d absolutely love it.’

  ‘Good. Then it shall be done. We shall be alone.’

  ‘You mean … your bodyguards won’t be there?’ she ventured, in surprise.

  ‘They will keep their distance,’ he said softly. ‘Now let me go and organise it.’

  They set off just before midday and Zahid drove the big Jeep through the stark terrain. But Frankie was too excited to concentrate on the journey—even when he said that they were heading for the foothills of the eastern mountains. Her father had once told her that it was one of the most beautiful places on earth—and that you could know true peace in a place like that. Yet peaceful was the last thing she felt as she glanced at the sheikh’s hard, hawklike profile and the faint shading of new growth at his jaw.

  She was aware of an undeniable feeling of excitement building and building inside her—and she couldn’t quite work out why. Was it because this was the first time they had done anything remotely normal—like a real couple? And did such an action mark a new openness in Zahid’s behaviour towards her?

  ‘See up there is the mighty Nouf mountain,’ Zahid said softly as they drove towards the massive peak which dominated the landscape. ‘Where the mountain’s shadow and the rare waters which trickle from the top make fertile the land beneath. Where the peaks look purple in the sunset and where falcons soar in the thermal winds.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s beautiful,’ she breathed.

  Her genuine awe made his heart ache as he realised that what he was about to do was not going to be easy. Zahid stopped the car and turned to her. ‘Come, we will take our food and our drink and sit in the shade of the rocks awhile—for you must be thirsty.’

  Her throat was dry, but the sweet, iced melon juice he poured into one of the silver cups which they unpacked from the picnic basket quickly refreshed her. Zahid drank deeply and then put his own cup down, removed hers from her suddenly nerveless fingers and took both her hands in his own.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said.

  Something in the tone of his voice unsettled her. ‘That sounds ominous,’ she joked, but a little shiver of apprehension began to whisper its way down her spine.

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She watched as his face became shuttered and her sense of trepidation mounted. ‘Why did you bring me here today, Zahid?’

  He traced a butterfly circle on her palm with the tip of his finger and then looked up at her. ‘We need to talk about the future.’

  She felt the flare of both hope and fear in the sudden leap of her heart as she stared into the dark gleam of his eyes. ‘D-do we? What about it?’

  ‘None of this has been as I planned it,’ he said suddenly. ‘I never planned—foolishly, as it happens—to take you as my lover. I told you back in England that I thought I could resist you—but now it seems that was an arrogant and unrealistic assessment of my own will power.’

  In spite of all the intimacies they had known in bed, she found herself blushing at his growled admission.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Of course, if you had told me that you were a virgin, then I would have resisted you.’ There was a heartbeat of a pause. ‘But you didn’t tell me, did you?’

  ‘No.’ Frankie bit her lip—because now she could definitely hear reprimand in his voice. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘And once I’d possessed you, it was too late,’ he added. ‘For by then I was ensnared.’

  She looked at him, unsure of how to respond. Was that supposed to be a compliment, or some kind of territorial boast? ‘Ensnared?’ she echoed.

  ‘You don’t like the word? Would captivated suit you better?’

  She nodded, still not certain where any of this was leading. ‘Maybe.’

  He gave a short laugh. How refreshingly honest she was. And how beautiful. All that sweet promise which could never be his. Soon, her delicious, scented body would no longer grace his sheets at night. With any other woman, it would have been a simple matter to dispatch her—but surely Francesca deserved the truth. ‘Maybe you want me to say that I love you?’ he questioned quietly. ‘As I think you love me.’

  She felt her stomach twist itself up into little knots because words of love weren’t usually accompanied by a heavy weariness of the voice. And there was something dark written on his face which was filling her with foreboding. ‘Not if it isn’t true.’

  ‘Because I do,’ he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘You see, I do love you, my anisah bahiya.’

  Her lips were trembling so much that her stammered response was barely audible. ‘You d-do?’

  Grimly, he nodded his dark head. ‘Yes. Unfortunately, I do. And it’s because I love you that I’m afraid I have to send you away from here.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THERE was a dense and heavy silence while Frankie’s emotions took a trip on some demented roller coaster, which rocked her to the core. ‘You say you love me, yet you’re sending me away?’ she whispered.

  Zahid nodded, determined that the sapphire swim of her eyes would not sway him. Didn’t she realise what such an admission of love had cost him? ‘I have to.’

  Perhaps pride should have stopped her from interrogating him—but what price pride when her whole future lay at stake? ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will if you think about it, Francesca. The longer you’re here—the more I risk compromising your reputation. You say you don’t care about such a thing, but I do. More than that, we both risk getting deeper and deeper into a relationship which has no future—not now and not ever. I must marry a woman from my own country,’ he said bitterly. ‘I told you that at the very beginning and nothing has changed.’ Except that he had behaved like an impetuous and thoughtless fool and they would now both pay the price for that behaviour. ‘I must take a wife—or two—maybe even three.’

  The bizarre conversation they were having now took on an even more surreal aspect. ‘Three?’ she echoed as she snatched her hand away from his. ‘Three wives?’

  He met the disbelieving blue blaze in her eyes. ‘I am allowed four by law, although I doubt whether I—’

  ‘Zahid, please!’ Frankie interrupted and her sorrow was replaced by an indignant kind of fury. ‘Please don’t stand there and make out that we have no future because you’re following some kind of moral code—and then add that you’re going to take what amounts to almost an entire football team of wives!’

  He guessed that now was not the time to point out that her numbers were out by about seven. He reached towards her again but she shook her head, stepping back from him as if
he were contaminated. ‘Francesca—’

  ‘Don’t touch me.’ She was aware that her eyes were swimming with tears but she didn’t care. ‘Why did you bring me here today—so far from the palace? Why didn’t you just tell me back there?’

  Because he had wanted to avoid someone overhearing exactly the kind of scene they were having now. The kind of scene he’d never had with a woman—because no woman had ever got this close to him before. And if he was being honest, hadn’t he thought that he might win her round with kisses and soft caresses? Hadn’t there been a stupid, unrealistic part of him which had hoped that she might agree to continue their affair back in England? With him visiting her as often as he could—showering her with gifts and luxuries as if that might in some way compensate for his absence?

  But he could not do that, he recognised. Not to Francesca. He could not offer her so little because that would devalue the kind of person she was. And it would sully what they had both shared.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply.

  ‘Don’t—don’t apologise,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m not some kind of victim, Zahid. So will you please take me back to the palace now? And then I’d like to return immediately to England.’

  Zahid tensed up, for he was unused to anyone laying down furious demands like this—yet even he could see that she had a right to be angry. But surely they needn’t part on terms of such bitterness. Couldn’t they end this affair the same way they’d started it—consumed and comforted by the act of love?

  ‘You can, of course, return to England,’ he said smoothly. ‘And my jet will take you there, but I’m afraid that we’ll have to go via Morocco.’

  Suspiciously, she stared at him. ‘Morocco?’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘I have a friend named Raffaele de Ferretti—we go back a long way. I’ve arranged to spend the weekend with him in Marrakech and he’s expecting us. We will leave tonight.’

  ‘Do I have any choice?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  Zahid began to pick up the picnic hamper. He had planned to surprise her with a trip to the exotic north African city. But that had been when he’d thought their affair could continue without consequence. Before he’d been forced to acknowledge that something between them had changed …