Desert King, Doctor Daddy

by Meredith Webber

  Was he reading too much into the rescue mission?

  To her sleeping by his side?

  He tried to puzzle it out, but his brain was still foggy and now it appeared they were going to move him and he’d have to wake her. He moved his hand and her head came up immediately, so he was looking straight into her eyes, her own bleary with sleep, but worried still.

  ‘You’re awake? Do you remember what happened? Do you know you’ve had an operation? You were right, it was your pelvis. They’ve pinned it.’

  She was still holding tightly to his hand so he lifted it, and hers as well, and pressed their fingers, joined, to his lips.

  ‘Hush,’ he said. ‘I remember what happened but you are not to concern yourself about that. I’m being moved now, but I don’t want you exhausting yourself by staying at the hospital. I am doing well, although I imagine when the drugs wear off there will be pain, but I can get through that. You must rest, look after yourself.’

  He was sending her away. Even through the fog of unrestful sleep Gemma knew that, but something deep inside her rebelled.

  ‘I can rest here while you sleep,’ she told him. ‘You don’t think I’m going to fly a rescue mission in one of those little sardine cans and then give up on my patient just because he’s in hospital, do you?’

  ‘And if I ask you to leave?’ he said, and she straightened up and smiled at him.

  ‘You’d have to do better than that, Your Highness,’ she announced. ‘You’d have to order me to leave.’

  Then she clasped his hand again, and leaned forward to kiss him on the lips.

  ‘I know you don’t want my love, Yusef—you didn’t ask for it—but you’ve got it. I don’t know how it happened, but I fell in love with you, and, loving you, I’m staying with you until you’re over the worst of the operation and out of the worst of your pain. I won’t neglect my job, and Yanne will keep working on the project, but I’m staying here with you.’

  ‘You love me?’

  Yusef’s voice was weak. Exhaustion or repudiation? But before Gemma could work it out he’d drifted back to sleep, leaving her sitting by his side, a red flush of embarrassment colouring her cheeks for not only had the nurse heard her declaration of love but the anaesthetist had returned in time to catch the gist of it.

  The private room was palatial in its dimensions and its fittings. No hospital white here, the walls a rich crimson, the curtains gold, views out to the mountains from one window and to the sea from the other. Abed came shortly after Yusef had been moved, but his brother was asleep.

  ‘Here,’ he said, leading Gemma to a door and opening it to reveal another smaller room, and beyond it a bathroom. ‘Family always come to hospitals with the patients,’ he explained, ‘so we have these suites where they can stay. I will get Miryam to pack some things for you and bring them here. Would you like her to stay as well?’

  Gemma shook her head, still coming to terms with a hospital suite as lavish as this one.

  ‘This,’ Abed continued, ‘is the button that you press to order meals, although once Yusef is ordering his own meals he can order for you.’

  Yusef?

  Gemma sighed.

  ‘He told me not to stay,’ she admitted, suddenly feeling not as brave as she had earlier. ‘I argued but if it’s going to upset him, having me here, maybe I shouldn’t stay.’

  ‘In your heart you must know what’s best,’ Abed told her, and Gemma sighed again.

  ‘I know what’s right in my heart,’ she said crossly. ‘It’s what’s in his heart that’s the mystery.’

  ‘Ah,’ Abed said, ‘who knows what is in another person’s heart?’

  And with that less than comforting comment he departed, leaving Gemma with the magazines she couldn’t read and a man she loved sleeping off a major operation.

  And she still hadn’t asked Abed what had happened…

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FOR two nights she stayed, talking to Yusef when he was awake, listening to his tales of his childhood, of falconry, and camel racing, and camping in the desert, even a little about his schooling in that strange cold land called England.

  ‘It was to fit us for the new way of the world we were sent there,’ he explained. ‘To make us more able to fit into international politics, but people forget that one’s own country must come first. If one can govern it with fairness and compassion then one will find one’s place in the wider world.’

  ‘You…’ Gemma hesitated over the word but in the end settled for the rather pathetic ‘discussed’. ‘You discussed this with Hassim when you were out with the birds?’

  Yusef grinned at her.

  ‘Polite way of putting it but, yes, we did, and I thought it had been settled to the satisfaction of both of us.’ He hesitated, then took Gemma’s hand as if he needed support before he could say more. ‘I had underestimated Makka’s devotion to my brother. I had told them I would wait to see the sunset and he returned with three henchmen, to teach me not to steal from my brother—seeing my succession not as the gift of our eldest brother but as the theft of Hassim’s birthright.’

  ‘And now?’ Gemma asked, and Yusef shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I do not know what is happening beyond these walls for Abed keeps it from me, but neither do I care—well, not enough to keep me awake at night. Yes, I would like to continue to rule my country because I believe I have its best interests at heart, but I have made an even more important decision. I will no longer hide my feelings for you.’

  He cupped his hand around her cheek.

  ‘I love you, Gemma Murray, love you and want to marry you, and if that causes political upheaval then so be it, because no crown is worth the sacrifice of losing you.’

  Gemma stared at him, unable to believe what she’d heard. Then she thought of all the ideas he had for developing his country, all the dreams he’d shared with her.

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ she snapped. ‘Shakespeare might have gone on about all being well lost for love, but you can’t give up your country on a whim.’

  ‘It is not a whim,’ he said, and drew her closer so he could press a kiss against her lips. Then he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. ‘Will you marry me?’

  Would she?

  She saw the love he spoke of in his face and felt it in the way his fingers trailed along her cheek, but to say yes, to deny this man his birthright just to satisfy her own longings to be with him? Was that right?

  Now the fingers trailing down her cheek touched her lips.

  ‘You don’t have to answer straight away. Go back to the compound, have a proper sleep, walk in the rose garden, play with Fajella, think about it.’

  She opened her lips to protest that she wanted to stay, but he closed them with another kiss.

  ‘Go,’ he said, and she heard the order in the word and remembered thinking—oh, so long ago—that he had the same cold authoritarian demeanour as her grandfather.

  How wrong she’d been!

  Her grandfather had given orders because he had been one hundred per cent certain his way was always right, while Yusef’s orders, when he gave them, were for the good of the recipients.

  Like now!

  She left, her heart torn between love and duty. And if marrying her meant Yusef would lose his crown, then her duty was to refuse his offer—to head back to Australia just as soon as she could get on a flight.

  Her body shuddered at the thought, but she knew she’d find the strength to do it.

  Back at the compound, she was slipping into the guest house when the older woman, the woman Yusef spoke of as his father’s senior wife, called to her from the loggia of the women’s house.

  ‘He is recovering well?’ she asked, as Gemma came towards her and sank down on the top step.

  Gemma nodded, uncertain how much of what had happened this woman would know. All of it, she suspected. Hadn’t Yusef once said the women ran the households?

  ‘Hassim is deeply troubled by what has ha
ppened,’ the older woman said, and although she was about to nod, Gemma remembered Yusef’s words back in the desert.

  ‘He was not to blame,’ she said, but the older woman shook her head.

  ‘He is responsible for Makka’s actions, he knows that, but also he knows that Yusef will make a better ruler because he has the ability to bring people together. As long as Hassim can do the business side of things, he is happy to let Yusef run the country. It was a—’ she hesitated and Gemma realised this was the most English she’d ever heard the older woman use ‘—misconception on Makka’s part that led to Yusef’s injuries. Makka has left the country, you should know that, and leaving Hassim, that will hurt him more than any legal punishment.’

  Gemma let the information sink in, then wondered why she was being told all this. To reassure her Yusef was safe, or perhaps to tell her Yusef’s rule was assured and she, Gemma, shouldn’t rock the boat.

  She looked at the older woman, seeing the dark kohl-rimmed eyes studying her carefully.

  ‘And where do I fit in?’ Gemma asked.

  The woman stood up, obviously preparing to walk away.

  ‘You must look in your heart for that answer,’ she said, and she slipped out of her sandals and disappeared through the always open door.

  What was in her heart? Gemma knew the answer to that one. Love! So much love that she ached with it. But was love enough?

  She returned to work, interviewing staff now, knowing that before long her time in Fajabal would be over.

  Unless she married Yusef!

  She thought of him, so high above her in the hospital, but stayed away, because being with him, seeing him, only strengthened her love and made her decision so much harder.

  Then a summons came through a young nurse who looked a trifle scared but bravely delivered the message she had learned by heart.

  ‘His Highness demands your presence,’ she said, and dropped a little curtsey.

  Gemma bit back an urge to tell the girl she could tell His Highness where to put his audience, and followed her along the corridors to the elevator foyer then up and up to the top floor.

  And all the time her temper rose, mostly, she knew, from guilt that she hadn’t been back to see him sooner, but also from fear because she knew he would demand an answer.

  ‘You didn’t have to send for me—I would have come,’ she said, as she marched through the door, then she stopped dead for the hospital room had been transformed. Okay, so it hadn’t looked that much like a hospital room to begin with, but now it was hung with draperies, rich silks and velvets, and Yusef’s bed had become a kind of ottoman, covered in rich satin in gold and scarlet stripes.

  And in the centre of it, he sat—well, maybe he was propped—clad in the snowy robes of his office but with a white cloak trimmed with gold over his gown, and a gold-trimmed cloth on his head, so utterly regal, so utterly magnificent, Gemma could only gape.

  Yusef dismissed the nurse with a wave of his hand, and smiled to himself at the look of wonder on Gemma’s face, but he hid the smile and kept what he hoped was a look of proper hauteur on his face.

  ‘It takes you so long to consider the proposal of a king?’ he demanded.

  Gemma switched her attention from the trappings to him, and studied him for a moment.

  ‘Will you still be a king?’ she asked, and he frowned at her, for he’d suspected that had been the problem.

  ‘Have I not told you that it doesn’t matter?’ he said. ‘That I love you and if you love me that is enough.’

  He heard her sigh and knew it had come from deep within her, then he chuckled and said, ‘Come here.’

  She drew close enough for him to grasp her hand, and once he had that, he could tug her near enough to kiss.

  ‘This might not look entirely like a nomad tent,’ he said, ‘but I have taken us back in time, my love, to when it was traditional for a man to take the wife he wanted, throw her up in front of him on his camel, and ride off with her into the desert. Returning one week later, they were considered married and both tribes, his and hers, although they might have been warring, would accept this, for it was the way.’

  She moved far enough from him to look into his face.

  ‘Are you saying your people will accept our marriage? That your reign will not be threatened if you throw me up in front of you on your camel?’

  He saw the hope in her eyes and heard it in her voice, and kissed her again, for the joy she brought to him was beyond words.

  ‘My people,’ he said, when she had been thoroughly kissed, ‘so my spies tell me, will not only accept our marriage but will be delighted, for they see you as a red-haired heroine, a woman of spirit and courage worthy to be their queen.’

  He watched the colour rise in her cheeks as it always did when she was embarrassed, and saw the golden freckles spark to life. But his spirited bride wasn’t ready to submit just yet.

  ‘You talk a lot of nonsense,’ she said, her voice severe for all her eyes were dancing. ‘And I haven’t said I’d marry you.’

  He smiled and tried another kiss.

  ‘But that’s the beauty of this way of doing things, you don’t have to agree. Here we are galloping across the desert on a fleet-footed camel, you either go along with it or leap off.’

  Gemma smiled at the image but she heard the note of strain in his voice and knew, although he was trying to keep things light, he was very, very anxious. But he’d put her through a lot of pain—mistress indeed!

  ‘I might hurt myself if I jumped off,’ she teased.

  ‘All the more reason to stay on,’ he said.

  ‘And what about our week in the desert?’ she persisted, poking him in the sternum. ‘Are you up to that?’

  He caught her to him once again, wincing as she fell against his bound ribs.

  ‘Witch!’ he murmured as he kissed her. ‘You know full well our week in the desert is a long way off, but it will come, my beautiful Gemma, or maybe a week on our island, just the twoofus.’

  He tipped her head back and framed her face with his hands.

  ‘Will you marry me?’

  She nodded, and he shook his head.

  ‘I need the words,’ he said, ‘need to hear them.’

  ‘I will marry you,’ Gemma told him, her heart hammering so loudly it was a wonder he could hear her.

  ‘Say it again,’ he ordered, and because some orders were worth obeying, she did.

  ‘And again.’

  She frowned at him.

  ‘Three times and it’s official,’ he said, smiling at her bemusement. ‘A very old custom, as old as the riding off on the camel one. Tell me three times and the marriage is sealed, although, my love, when I can walk again we’ll have another wedding, one that all the people can enjoy and join in our celebrations.

  Gemma sank down on the bed beside the man she loved, and now she took his face in her hands and looked deep into those dark eyes.

  ‘I will marry you,’ she said for the third time.

  EPILOGUE

  GEMMA was walking in the rose garden outside the women’s centre at the hospital, Fajella skipping on ahead of her then coming back, patting Gemma’s leg and asking ‘You good?’ every few minutes.

  Because Gemma wasn’t good, and lacked the stoicism of the Fajabalian women she’d seen give birth. Her labour pains, though still far apart, were harsh enough for her to know she’d probably scream and yell. Thank heavens she’d had the good sense to install a second birthing room in the women’s centre, one with a deep bath and a shower so she could have warm water to ease her pain.

  And one of the O and G specialists from the service was standing by, ready to assist, up to date with pain relief, even an epidural, should Gemma decide that’s what she’d need to bring another Fajabalian royal into the world.

  ‘Daddy come?’ Fajella asked, and Gemma smiled at the little girl, amazed as ever at the ease with which she switched between the two languages, even having two names for her father.

&nb
sp; ‘Not yet, precious,’ Gemma told her, for she knew just how anxious Yusef was about this birth and she didn’t want him knowing it was imminent until the last possible minute.

  She supposed his anxiety was natural, having already lost one wife in childbirth, but he was a doctor, he knew this time it would be straightforward, so his fussing and anxiety were hard to understand.

  ‘It’s because I love you,’ he said, only minutes later when he’d phoned her for the fourth time in three hours. ‘And you’re already two weeks overdue. You should have a Caesar, get the wretched child out of there. What’s it doing? Waiting for some propitious conjunction of the stars?’

  ‘Yusef,’ Gemma said, hoping her voice alone might soothe him, ‘everything will be all right.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ he muttered. ‘You’re not about to go into a meeting of the elders and argue for an increase in funding for education, and how can I concentrate on my arguments when I’m worrying about you the whole time?’

  ‘Stop worrying,’ she said, ‘or send Abed to the meeting and go out in the boat.’

  ‘And if you go into labour while I’m tacking against the wind, what kind of a husband would that make me?’

  ‘One that’s out of my hair,’ Gemma said, then she disconnected for the next pain had come and she didn’t want to be groaning into the phone.

  ‘Come with me!’ Yanne had appeared and she ushered Gemma in front of her, sending Fajella off with Anya, taking Gemma into the big bathroom of the clinic. ‘Now, use this, show me how it helps,’ she ordered, and Gemma smiled at the woman who had become her friend.

  She stripped off her clothes while Yanne filled the bath with hot water, then Gemma slipped into it and immediately felt better, as weightlessness eased the pressure on her back, which ceased to ache with quite such persistence.

  For another six hours she rode the pains, coming more frequently now. She walked with Yanne to support her when she could, seeking refuge now beneath the shower when the pains were strongest, rising with them to their peaks then feeling the relief as they eased.