by Lynne Graham
On the way out of the building she checked her pigeonhole and found a magazine. Brand-new, and still sealed in its wrapper, it was the same publication that Shahir had found her reading on the hill. She did not know how, but she was immediately convinced that he was responsible for the anonymous gift.
Just as quickly she found that she was able to see their recent encounter in another light. He had been worried about her. She might not have appreciated the way he chose to express his opinion, but the very existence of his concern touched her. Her anger evaporated. Suddenly the world no longer seemed such a cold and hostile place. His indifference would have wounded her intolerably. But the mysterious arrival of the magazine allied to his attempt to protect her felt comforting. In that lighter mood, she headed home.
She knew something was wrong the instant she entered the kitchen. Her father was seated alone at the table, his weathered face set like granite. ‘You’re late. What have you been doing?’
‘I was held up at work.’ Uneasily conscious of the older man’s accusing stare, Kirsten struggled to behave normally. ‘That’s all.’
‘Don’t lie to me!’ Angus Ross slammed a clenched fist down on the worn table and made her jump. ‘That man Judd was here!’
Wholly unprepared for that announcement, Kirsten stared at her father in bewilderment. ‘Mr Judd came…here?’
‘Thanks to you, he brought his dirty suggestions into my home.’ Kirsten flinched back a hasty step as the older man reared upright and came towards her. ‘What have you to say about that?’
‘I had nothing to do with him coming here,’ she protested in a nervous rush, appalled by the news that the photographer had been foolish enough to approach her father in the hope of winning his support. ‘I have no idea why he would have done such a thing—’
‘He thought he could fool me into letting you go down to London with him!’ the older man snarled. ‘He showed me pictures of shameless half-naked women. He defiled a God-fearing household with his filth.’
‘I’m sorry he upset you, but he’s just a pushy man with silly ideas. He doesn’t know anything about me.’
‘You’re lying, girl. He knew where you lived. You told him you’d need my permission to leave home. You put him up to it, didn’t you?’
‘No, I didn’t. He must have asked someone where I lived. I told him I wasn’t interested in being photographed. I’m sure he didn’t mean to insult you—’
‘It’s you who’s insulted me! You must’ve encouraged him!’ His rage was unabated by her efforts to calm him down.
‘But I didn’t!’
‘You’re lying to me and I won’t stand for it!’
With that roared declaration, Angus Ross raised a fist the size of a sledgehammer and thumped her.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE next morning Kirsten would have avoided going into work if she could have done. Her cheekbone was bruised and swollen, and she knew that someone was sure to ask what had happened. She also knew that unless she was prepared to report her father to the police she would have to lie.
Had she not turned her head, so that the main force of the blow was deflected, her nose might easily have been broken. She was equally conscious that, having hit her once, her father might just as easily hit her again. Her tummy flipped when she recalled the older man’s intractable fury. He hadn’t cared that he had hurt her, and he hadn’t been ashamed either.
Hearing Kirsten cry out, Mabel had rushed downstairs, and had seemed very much shocked by what she found there. Yet within an hour of that distressing episode Mabel had been laying the blame for Bruno Judd’s visit and her husband’s violence at Kirsten’s door.
Her eyes were hot and scratchy from the silent tears that had seeped under her eyelids the night before. Her father had never been a soft man, but he had not been a brutal one either. In fact he had once been reasonably well-respected in the community and she was deeply ashamed that he had struck her.
Evidently Jeanie had been right to be cynical about the prospects of Kirsten managing to leave home with her father’s approval. But the need for her to move out was now a matter of greater urgency, and it was obvious that she would have to plan a secret departure. Unfortunately her cash reserves were still pitifully low. She decided that she would put her name down to work extra hours whenever possible.
‘My word…what happened to your face?’ Pamela Anstruther asked in a hushed tone of enquiry within minutes of Kirsten’s arrival.
‘I tripped and hit myself on the edge of a table…I was lucky not to break anything,’ Kirsten stated with an uneasy shrug.
The brunette gave her a sympathetic look that was reassuringly empty of suspicion. ‘Poor old you. Look, I only need you for an hour this morning. You can tidy my bedroom and then go back to your usual duties when we’re done.’
Kirsten repressed a stab of disappointment and resentment. So this was to be yet another day when she did not get to help with the party arrangements. She had always liked to think of herself as ready and willing to turn her hand to most tasks. But the brunette had taught her that there were tasks…and tasks. Pamela always left her room like a rubbish tip, and Kirsten really disliked being used as her personal maid.
His handsome mouth compressed into a hard line, Shahir studied the letter he had received that morning from a cousin. And then, with a sudden bitter laugh, he crunched the item up and tossed it in the bin.
It seemed a fitting footnote to his non-relationship with Faria that he should have learned quite accidentally that the only woman he had ever cared about had just become the wife of another man. He had not even been aware that she was betrothed!
But, owing to the recent death of a relative, Faria’s wedding had been a small, quiet affair, staged at speed to facilitate the bridal couple’s departure for London, where the bridegroom had taken up a surgical post.
It had been inevitable that Faria would marry, Shahir acknowledged bleakly, and she was no more out of his reach now than she had ever been. He refused to allow himself to feel unsettled by the news of his foster-sister’s marriage. He was strong, not weak, he reminded himself with grim resolve.
An hour later Pamela Anstruther arrived, to collect the corrected guest list from him.
‘I think that Kirsten Ross has been up to no good,’ she remarked with a suggestive roll of her eyes.
Shahir elevated a cool ebony brow that would have silenced a less bold woman.
Predictably, Pamela continued to talk with animation. ‘You see, I did hear a rumour that Kirsten was sneaking out to meet the Polish builder working here. The life she leads, I certainly don’t blame her for trying to hide something like that. Unfortunately for her, though, it seems that her nasty old father has got wind of her promiscuous behaviour—’
‘I have a strong dislike of rumour and gossip,’ Shahir sliced in dryly.
Pamela gave him a sweet smile of apology. ‘I gathered that you felt sorry for the girl—that’s the only reason I mentioned it. You see, Kirsten isn’t looking quite as pretty today as she usually does.’
Shahir levelled unreadable dark eyes on the brunette. ‘Get to the point, Pamela.’
‘Well, the poor girl looks like somebody punched her in the face, and I suspect her gruesome old dad is responsible.’ Pamela watched Shahir and was disappointed by the fact that his lean strong face remained impassive.
‘Did she say so?’
‘Of course not…she trotted out the old “I tripped” chestnut. But I reckon that her daddy found out that she was doing what healthy farm girls do with a man when they get off the leash!’ Pamela vented an earthy laugh that had the subtlety of a brick hitting glass. ‘You disapprove of that kind of speculation, but it is the most likely explanation—and who could fault her for it? From what I understand she’s not allowed any freedom at all, and that’s not natural for a girl of her age.’
When the brunette had gone, Shahir released his breath in a measured hiss. He would have a member of his senior staff raise th
e matter of Kirsten’s welfare with the housekeeper. He would ensure that all possible advice and assistance was offered to her. What need was there for him to involve himself in any more direct way?
But was it true that Kirsten was involved with a man? That she had already acquired a name for being promiscuous? Distaste assailed Shahir. What did he really know about Kirsten Ross? Regard for her good name had prevented him from discussing her or her background with anyone. He had assumed that she was an innocent, and vulnerable. But now he was remembering her passion in his arms and wondering whether it had, in fact, been the response of a more experienced lover.
Could he have been mistaken? He could hardly tell the difference on the basis of one stolen kiss, he conceded abstractedly. And why the hell was he even thinking about such a thing? Virgin or wanton, she was still forbidden to him.
On the other hand, he was one hundred per cent weary of the nonsense attached to his expressing an honest and entirely proper concern for the wellbeing of an employee. Why should he have to act unseen, through intermediaries? Why should he have to tiptoe around the sensibilities of his staff? If Kirsten had been assaulted, why should he not check that shocking fact out for himself? In the palace where he had grown up he would not have hesitated to do so.
After all, his entire upbringing had been geared to the need for him to feel personally responsible, protective and compassionate towards more vulnerable human beings. He had picked up that lesson at a very young age. He had been taught that no person and no problem should ever be considered beneath his notice or too small to warrant his individual attention. An honourable man did what was right, regardless of appearances!
Without further ado, he accessed the housekeeping rota on the computer, to establish where in the castle Kirsten was likely to be. He did not allow it to occur to him that until very recently he had not even known such rotas existed, or where they could be found.
Kirsten was brushing the polished floorboards of the long gallery. For once she had little appreciation for the magnificence of her surroundings. The prospect of going home that afternoon was already filling her with a sense of dread that overshadowed her every thought. What sort of a mood would her father be in?
‘Kirsten…’
At the sound of her name she jumped, and the brush fell from her nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a noisy clatter. Her pale head flying up, she focused in surprise on Shahir, who had come to a halt about twenty feet away.
In one glance he saw the fear she could not hide and the purple discolouration that marred one side of her face. His outrage at what he saw slashed right through his cool reserve.
‘What has happened to you?’ he breathed, his long stride bringing him to her side within seconds. ‘Did your father do this to you?’
His candour thoroughly disconcerted her. All morning she had been horribly aware of the sidelong looks and whispered comments behind her back, but only Pamela Anstruther had dared to question her. ‘No—I don’t know where you got th-that idea,’ she stammered, nervously evading his frowning scrutiny. ‘I stumbled and fell against a table.’
Shahir lifted a lean brown hand and let a gentle forefinger brush the edge of the bruise that stood out in livid contrast to the porcelain perfection of her skin. It enraged him that she had been brutalised. Her home life was clearly appalling, and her predicament could not be ignored. Yet if she was allowed to enter staff accommodation at the castle would her father leave his daughter there in peace? Shahir doubted that it would be so simple. Such a man would not easily surrender control over his own flesh and blood.
‘I know that is nonsense,’ he asserted with quiet conviction. ‘You cannot look me in the eye and lie.’
At his touch, which felt like a delicious caress, Kirsten had stiffened in astonishment. Until that moment she had not known that a man could be so gentle. Her emotions felt like dynamite on a hair trigger. Keeping the lid on them demanded every ounce of her self-discipline. His attention, his very interest in her, was already having an intoxicating effect on her. He was so close that she could smell the faint and already surprisingly familiar scent of his skin. Soap? Some expensive shaving lotion? For an instant it was all she could concentrate on: the aromatic mystery of that clean, rich tangy preparation that somehow made her tingle inside her clothes and want to move closer still.
‘I’m not lying,’ she mumbled in belated response, feeling bereft because he had withdrawn his hand again.
‘You have been hurt, and that is not acceptable under any circumstances. No one has the right to inflict injury on you, not even a parent. I must know the truth,’ Shahir persisted steadily. ‘Without your trust, I cannot help you.’
‘You couldn’t help me anyway!’ The involuntary protest erupted from Kirsten, and stinging tears flooded her eyes and overflowed, her unhappiness unconcealed.
‘In that you are wrong.’ Years of rigorous royal training prevented Shahir from attempting to comfort her by closing his arms round her, but he had never been more tempted to break the rules. He recognised that it had been very unwise to tackle her on such an emotive matter in a public area of the castle. ‘But this is definitely not the place for us to talk about it.’
‘We can’t talk anywhere!’ Kirsten gasped.
In disagreement, Shahir curved a purposeful hand to her spine and guided her along to the door that lay at the foot of the gallery. Beyond that solid mahogany barrier lay his private quarters, maintained solely by his personal retinue, where nothing short of fire or flood would lead to an interruption. His bodyguards, who had been deeply unhappy when their royal charge moved out of their sight and hearing, greeted his reappearance with pronounced relief.
Shahir swept Kirsten past them into the vast sitting room. ‘I need you to calm down and tell me what happened to you yesterday.’
‘I can’t tell you…’ A stifled sob thickened Kirsten’s declaration.
Shahir reached for her hand to draw her to him when she would have turned away in an effort to conceal her distress. ‘Loyalty to one’s family is always a most admirable trait, but in this case your personal safety is more important. What happened yesterday could happen again, and you could be more seriously hurt.’
‘But it’s my own fault…I brought it on myself!’ Kirsten protested guiltily.
‘How could it be your fault?’
‘If I’d let you scare off Bruno Judd this wouldn’t have happened! But I was mad with you because you interfered, and I thought it was none of your business,’ Kirsten admitted shakily, her green eyes glimmering with tears of regret.
‘Hush….’ Murmuring soothing words in Arabic, Shahir sank down on the arm of a sofa and reached for her other hand in a reassuring gesture. ‘Don’t be upset. How is the photographer involved in this?’
‘That stupid man found out where I lived and called round to introduce himself to my father,’ Kirsten volunteered. ‘He must’ve thought that he could persuade Dad that there was no harm in his wanting to take photos of me.’
‘Judd visited your home?’ Shahir frowned, his lean, powerful face intent on her.
‘And showed Dad pictures of “shameless h-half-naked women”!’ Kirsten quoted, with a hysterical edge to her shaking voice. ‘Can you imagine anything more guaranteed to cause offence? My father was waiting for me to come home. He was in a real rage—’
‘No more…stop remembering.’ Shahir rested a forefinger in gentle reproach against her quivering lower lip while wondering how it was that the livid bruise should only seem to accentuate her fragile beauty. ‘He will not have the opportunity to hurt you again. I will not allow it.’
‘But there’s nothing you can do,’ she whispered unevenly, her breath feathering in her dry throat.
‘On my word of honour, I will protect you,’ Shahir swore with fierce resolve, but he knew even as he said it that the easiest way to protect her would be to take her away from Strathcraig.
But how would she survive removed from everything and everyone tha
t she knew?
Why should he not look after her? an insidious inner voice queried. Why should he not take her to his bed? What did she have here? What would he be taking her from? Poverty and misery. At the very least he would make her happy. In fact he was convinced he had the power to make her deliriously happy.
Suddenly madly aware of the silence surrounding them, and of his proximity, Kirsten muttered guiltily, ‘I shouldn’t be here with you.’
Brilliant dark golden eyes flared over her tear-streaked face and held her uncertain gaze with arrogant force of will. ‘But you want to be with me…’
It was a fatal statement, for the barrier she had attempted to raise crashed down again. She did want to be with him—and if even he knew that, why should she pretend otherwise? She was in the mood to rebel, and was already asking herself why she shouldn’t for once do as she wanted.
The heat of his appraisal sent hot little flames of anticipation twisting and curling through her slender length. The tension was excruciating. She felt as if her own heartbeat was thundering in her ears at a faster and faster pace, making her dizzy and breathless. In an almost infinitesimal movement she shifted closer to him.
Shahir picked up on that feminine encouragement with a hot-blooded masculine appreciation powered by the raw physical charge of his arousal. His mounting conviction that she was not quite the innocent he had believed readily put to flight any lingering thread of restraint. Spiky black lashes semi-cloaked his narrowed gleaming gaze as he focused on the luscious pink fullness of her lips. ‘I want you.’
‘Do you?’ Her breath was feathering in her throat. She was taut with anticipation. He sprang fluidly upright and reached for her with a strength and assurance that exhilarated her. Splaying his hand to the soft curve of her hip, he urged her up against his big powerful frame. Crushed to the hard, muscular heat of his strong body, she trembled. He bent his handsome dark head and captured her parted lips with devastating hunger.