by YoBro
"Do you call the prince that to his face? Do you address him as 'my master'?"
"I address him as what he is," Jamal said coldly. "The king of our people. I am his sworn protection against those who would harm him. You are an outsider."
Laurel forced herself not to respond. She didn't Jamal and he didn't like her, but she knew he was suffering.
"All right. I'll go for coffee—but I won't be gone long."
"You will be gone long enough so that the man from the embassy does not see you," Jamal said. "Do you understand?"
"Be careful how you speak to me," she said softly. "I am not the kind of woman you are accustomed to dealing with."
Jamal's black eyes seemed to harden.
"No," he said, "you most assuredly are not."
She stared at the man who represented a way of life that was beyond her comprehension. Clearly, Jamal was the old Altara; Khan was the new.
She had to remember that.
Besides, all she wanted was Khan's recovery.
Nothing else mattered.
*********
She bought a cup of tepid coffee from a vending machine and sat sipping it in a small alcove near the elevators.
A tall, thin man in a black suit, carrying a black leather briefcase, emerged from one of the cars. Two smaller men scurried along in his wake.
They went into Khan's room.
Ten minutes later, they came out of it. The little procession retraced its route to the elevator, the tall man sailing along in front of the others.
Laurel stood up, dumped the remaining coffee into the trash, and went back to Khan.
Jamal greeted her with a scowl.
"Surprised to see me?" she said pleasantly.
He turned on his heel and walked out. She took the chair beside the bed, clasped her lover's hand in hers…
And felt his fingers twitch.
Her heartbeat quickened.
"Khan? Sweetheart, can you hear me?"
He grimaced; she could see movement under his eyelids. She waited, hardly breathing, for something more to happen. Nothing did and, after a while, she dozed off, still holding Khan's hand.
********
Something woke her. A footstep. A noise. A sound…
The sound of a man, struggling in terror.
Laurel sat bolt upright, blinked the sleep from her eyes—and saw her lover, making desperate grabs for the ventilator tube that snaked down his throat.
"No," she said quickly.
His eyes swept to hers. He tried to speak but the tube wouldn't permit it.
"You're on a ventilator," she said. "They wanted to be sure you could breathe on your own."
Khan made a slicing motion across the tube.
"Yes. I understand. I'll get the nurse and she'll take it out. Just don't rip at it. Do you promise?"
His eyes flashed a warning. She knew that look. It meant he wasn’t in the mood to be docile… as if he ever had been!
She felt her lips curve in a smile.
His eyes narrowed.
He was angry, and wasn't that wonderful? She laughed. She hadn't meant to, but joy absolutely filled her heart.
Khan's eyes became slits of dark green. She leaned down, kissed his forehead, then ran out the door to the nursing station, arriving there slightly breathless. Khan's private duty nurse looked up from the notes she'd been entering in his chart.
"Is there a problem, Ms. Cruz?"
"The prince is awake. And he wants that tube out of his throat."
It took a few minutes to find a doctor, another minute until she approved taking Khan off the ventilator.
He winced as the tube was withdrawn. Laurel stood at the foot of the bed, gripping her hands together so tightly that her knuckles whitened.
"Well?" the doctor said. "Prince Khan? How do you feel?"
Khan coughed, took a shuddering breath. The doctor watched him closely.
"Sir? Are you all right?"
There was what seemed an endless silence before Khan spoke. When he did, his voice was rusty. .
"I am fine, considering that you subjected me to medieval torture.""
The doctor smiled. Laurel laughed but her laughter quickly turned to sobs. Khan's gaze went to her, and softened.
"My shalal," he said gently, "I promise you, I truly am fine."
He held out his arms, lines, needles and all, and she flew into them. He stroked her hair, her back, whispered words in his own language that she knew were soft and sweet even though she couldn't understand them.
She listened to the steady beat of his heart, inhaled his scent, soaked his ugly hospital gown with her tears, and the answer to the question she'd asked herself hours and hours ago rang like a bell in her head and in her heart.
This—Khan's arms, Khan's embrace, Khan himself—this was home.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The detectives handling the case had good news.
The woman who'd shot Khan had been remanded to a mental health facility for observation.
The doctors had good news, too.
Khan would make a full recovery.
He was, they pointed out, young and strong, and in excellent condition. He just had to take his meds, not overdo, and take it easy for a little while.
Within twenty-four hours, he'd announced he didn't need painkillers, he didn't need Jamal and his men hovering over him, and he was absolutely going to lose his sanity if he didn't get the hell out of the hospital.
How could anyone expect a man to make any sort of recovery in a place like this? The food was terrible. The noise was horrific. And if you managed to fall asleep, they woke you—even in the middle of the night—to ask how you were feeling.
Not that he could get much sleep in a bed with a mattress filled with stones, a pillow made of lead…
A bed where he lay without Laurel in his arms.
And then, there was the media.
So far, he'd been lucky. The hospital authorities, the influential Wildes and the senator had all done an outstanding job of keeping his name and the incident out of the news, but he knew that bubble of privacy wouldn't last.
It was time to take charge of his life again and he did that on the day the last needles and lines had finally been removed..
In late morning, while Laurel happed in the bed that had been brought in for her, Khan began making plans.
Embassy officials had visited with him again yesterday; his Secretary of State had called. Once they'd all been assured that he would make a rapid and full return to good health, they'd also pointed out, though most diplomatically, that there was work waiting for him at home.
The report on estimated oil reserves he had commissioned needed his approval. There were decisions to make about one of the new pipe lines, and had he reached a decision regarding which company would do the primary drilling?
He had.
And, yes, it was time to go home. A few more days in the hospital, just to satisfy the doctors and Laurel, another few at The House from Hell, and he would be well enough to make the long flight.
He would stay in Altara the week or two necessary to conclude the business that awaited him. Then he'd fly back to Dallas, and to Laurel.
It was a fine plan—but it changed with the ringing of the phone. Khan's iPhone, not the outdated instrument the hospital provided.
His Secretary of State was on the line again.
"Yes, yes," Khan said, impatiently, "I know. It is time for me to return—"
'"Sir. Lord Khan…"
The man's voice quavered. He had, he said, just become aware of a problem.
Khan's eyes narrowed. That the man would call at this hour—it was very late in Altara—that he would call with a problem when he know Khan was in a hospital, could not be good.
He motioned the nurse out of the room. Laurel was still sleeping. Carefully, he rose from the bed. He still had some difficulty walking unaided, and it took him a couple of frustrating minutes to get to the bathroom and shut the door.
"What problem?"
One of his ministers had done something—something the sheikh would not like.
Khan's jaw tightened. "Tell me what it is," he said in a low voice. "And do it fast."
"Sir. I beg you… You must understand, when this terrible tragedy struck… We have discussed with you, several times in the past, the matter of a successor to the throne…"
"Dammit, man, spit it out!"
The secretary cleared his throat.
"Minister Bakal took it upon himself to—to start a quiet inquiry into—into finding you a suitable wife."
"What?"
"I said—"
"I heard what you said! How could that happen? I did not authorize such an endeavor!"
"Yes, my lord. I know. But—"
"Forget the 'buts," Khan roared. "Tell Bakal that he is to cease all such efforts. Is that clear?"
"Clear—but, most unfortunately, not quite so simple, my lord Khan."
"Dammit, I am not in the mood for riddles! What does that mean?"
"It means—it means the Shaleen family has been—has been made aware of your—your interest and—"
"My interest?" Khan said. "My interest?"
"No, sir. Certainly not, sir—"
Khan let out a string of curses.
"Make them unaware! And do so at once. Do you understand?"
"We cannot, sir. We tried. I tried. And—and the Shaleens reacted as one might expect. They saw my efforts as a grave insult." He paused. "There is no solution but for you to deal with the situation personally. That is the tra—"
"Tradition," Khan snarled.
"Yes, sir.
Khan slammed the phone to silence..
Bloody hell! What a mess.
His minister was correct. There was no way to handle this except to do it himself. The old guard in his cabinet had to be dealt with. So did this insane marriage plan. He had to fly home as soon as possible, and he had to be prepared to stay in Altara as long as necessary.
He didn't know how long that would be. He only knew that he could no longer count on being separated from Laurel for only a few days.
And that he had to protect her from the mess back home until he'd dealt with it.
********
A cafeteria aide brought two trays of grey meat, grey potatoes, and grey vegetables that the hospital euphemistically called 'lunch'. Khan and Laurel poked at it and then Khan pushed his tray aside. He had to talk privately with Jamal, and he'd come up with an excuse for getting Laurel out of the way.
"I have a favor to ask," he said.
"Just tell me what you want and I'll take care of it."
He took her hand.
"One of my men will drive you to the House from Hell so you can pack some clothes for me."
"You don't need clothing. You're not going anywhere."
He was, and that was another reason he wanted her out of the way. She'd only argue and try to stop him.
"I thought you said you'd do whatever I wanted."
"I lied," she said blithely.
He smiled. How could he not? Even now, she could make him forget his worries—if only for a minute.
"Be kind, sweetheart. How much longer can I wear blue and yellow polka dots?"
He could see her trying not to laugh.
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "That outfit has a certain charm."
"Are you arguing with me, woman? Have you forgotten that I am a king?"
"You are a man recovering from a life-threatening trauma."
"True. I almost forgot that. In fact…"
He slapped his hand to his heart. Big mistake, because the dramatic gesture actually did make him wince and brought Laurel rushing to the bed.
"Sweetheart?" she said, and the word, tumbling from her lips, filled him with joy.
"Lord Sweetheart to you," he said, and she shrieked as he grabbed her wrist, tumbled her onto the bed next to him, and kissed her until she sighed. "Say it again," he whispered.
She smiled. "Say what?"
"You know what. Say it."
She brushed her lips over his.
"Sweetheart," she whispered.
Khan cupped her face and kissed her.
"Okay," he said softly, "you get a choice. Take off your clothes and make love with me, or go to the house and find me something I can wear that doesn't leave my backside hanging out."
She smiled again, kissed him again, and left.
He waited a few seconds.
"It is safe to turn around now," he said for the benefit of his private nurse, who had carefully busied herself at the other end of the room.
She smiled. "Ms. Cruz is a very nice lady."
"She is a wonderful lady. As are you. But—"
"But, you're dismissing me?"
"I am, yes."
Her smile widened. "Actually, I'm not surprised. Wanting to get out of those awful hospital gowns and wanting to stop people from hovering over you are excellent signs."
"I'm happy to hear it."
"Do you want me to sign off at the end of my—"
"Sign off now, but, of course, you'll be paid for the rest of the week."
"You don’t have to do that, Prince Khan."
"Don't argue with me," Khan said, straight-faced. "I'm recovering from a life-threatening trauma."
Two down, he thought, as the door swung shut after her, and one to go.
Jamal, who had been relegated to disgruntled pacing in the adjoining room, responded to his call instantly, all but skidding through the door.
"My lord?"
What was the best way to do this? The little speech he'd made to the nurse had been effective; why not use it again?
"You have done an excellent job, Jamal."
His head of security beamed with pleasure. "Thank you."
"But I no longer require your services."
Jamal blinked. "You are dismissing me?"
"From your duties here. I am leaving the hospital. Take your men—and please, give them my compliments—and return to the house."
"Sir. I must object."
"I expected that you would. But I am weary of this place."
"The doctors—"
"I'll deal with the doctors."
"Perhaps you should remain here another few days."
"Not even for another few hours."
"But—"
"Have I not made myself clear? I am leaving."
"Sir. My lord. My sheikh…"
"Go home, Jamal," Khan said, more gently.
"Forgive me, my lord, but that house is not our home."
There it was. Another truth, this one unassailable. And he was definitely going to deal with it.
"Agreed. That is why I have decided to return to Altara three days from now."
"Three days? Is that enough time for you to heal?"
"Three days," Khan said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You will inform my pilot."
"Yes, sir." Jamal hesitated. "Does—does the woman know?"
Khan narrowed his eyes.
"Watch what you say," he said in a quiet voice. "Her name is Ms. Cruz. And she is very important to me."
"Yes, sir. And I am pledged to your welfare."
"I am grateful that you are. But my private life is my affair."
"Sir. Must I remind you that the police report states that it was not you that woman wished to kill, it was—"
""Enough!"
Khan's voice roared through the room. Jamal turned pale and fell to his knees beside the bed. The sheikh looked at him for a long minute. Then he cursed under his breath. "Dammit, get up!"
"I never meant to show disrespect, my lord. I care only for you, and for Altara."
"Did you hear me? Get up!" Khan drew a breath. "I understand your concern. Now you must understand this. Ms. Cruz has—she has a place in my life."
Jamal opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.
"Ms. Cruz will return to the house with me." Khan watched the other man's face closely
. "She will also go with us to Altara."
"What?"
"You heard me. I am taking her with me."
"Sir. Have you thought this through? Have you considered the ramifications? The reactions of—"
"Jamal." Khan's voice was silken-soft. "I have not asked for your opinion."
"But this is a huge decision, my lord. This woman—Ms. Cruz—"
"Collect your men. Return to the house. See to it a suite is readied for me and Ms. Cruz—I do not wish to return to the one where the shooting took place. Then speak with my pilot. Is all of that clear?"
Silence.
"Is it clear, Jamal?"
"Yes, Prince Khan. It is."
Jamal backed from the room.
Khan felt a muscle jump in his cheek.
His father would never have tolerated such insubordination but Khan knew the man had spoken out of his deep concern over his prince's welfare..
Or was it over his shock at his prince disregarding the old ways? To take a woman, an outsider, home to the kingdom…
Jamal wasn't a fool. Surely, he knew just how big a step this was.
Khan pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room spun a little but he ignored it. He was still weak, but he was getting stronger and stronger.
And it was, without question, time to move forward.
*********
Laurel was even more difficult to deal with.
She told him that leaving the hospital so quickly was crazy.
The doctors said so, too, though in more polite terms.
Khan, dressed like a human being again, stood in the center of the room, feet apart, arms folded over his chest.
"I am leaving," he said for what was surely the millionth time. "I am not seeking permission."
"You can't," Laurel insisted. "You're still sick!'
"I was never 'sick.' I had a hole in my chest."
"You had a hole in your lung. You almost died."
"And yet, here I am. In one piece. Healed and healthy."
She gave an unladylike snort that more than matched the glare in her eyes as well as the way she was standing, unconsciously mimicking him, feet apart, arms folded.
It made him want to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she melted against him but there would be plenty of time for that.