The Sheikh’s Heir

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Hassan, I feel weird.’

  ‘What kind of weird?’

  She swallowed. ‘I think I’m going to have the baby.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me I’m silly!’ she flared back. ‘How the hell would you know? You’ve suddenly gained a qualification in obstetrics, have you?’

  ‘You’ve got another four weeks to go.’

  ‘I know exactly how long I’ve got to go and I don’t care! This baby’s coming now!’ Staggering to her feet, she felt the unexpected warm rush of liquid cascading down her leg and she stared down in numb horror as realisation began to dawn on her. ‘Hassan!’ she gasped, raising her head to meet the disbelief in his eyes. ‘My waters have just broken!’

  Hassan froze. He thought of the clean, bright interior of the labour ward at the hospital in Samaltyn, of the fully trained teams of doctors and nurses who could be summoned at a moment’s notice, and denial washed over him. ‘They can’t have done!’

  ‘They have! Look! Look!’ Reaching out, she caught hold of his hand, her nails digging roughly into his flesh. ‘Hassan, that was a definitely a contraction!’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure! Oh, heavens! The baby’s coming and we’re stuck out in the middle of the bloody desert!’

  One glance at her was enough to convince him that she was speaking the truth and his instinct was to panic like never before. Desperately, his thoughts whirled as he thought about the options which lay open to them. Was there time to get her back to Samaltyn? He heard her gasp and clutch at her stomach with her free hand and he knew there was not. Sweet flower of the desert, why ever had he brought her out here at such a time?

  But her blue eyes were dark with fear and Hassan knew he had to quash his own spiralling terror and get a grip. He had to be there for her. He had let her down so many ways in the past but this time she was relying on him like never before.

  Carefully, he laid her back down on the cushions, barely noticing the nails which were digging into his hands so hard he could feel them drawing blood. His heart was pounding frantically as he leaned over her and squeezed her hand. ‘Stay here!’ he commanded.

  ‘What else do you think I’m going to do?’ She clung onto his hand as she felt him pulling away. ‘Hassan! Where are you going?’

  He cursed as he stared down at the flat line on his cellphone. ‘I’ll have to go outside, to ring the hospital. There’s no damned signal in here!’

  ‘Don’t leave me!’ she whispered.

  ‘Sweetheart. I’ll be right back.’

  Ella felt as if this was all happening to someone else and the unfamiliar sweetheart only compounded it. As if the woman lying back against a pile of cushions, gasping with pain, was someone she’d once met but didn’t really know. Dimly, she could hear Hassan outside the tent barking out a series of instructions in his native tongue. Hurry up, she thought faintly. Just hurry up!

  She had never been so glad to see anyone as when he came running back into the tent and crouched down beside her. But then another contraction rocked right through her and she clung to him, panting for breath.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, closing his eyes briefly against her damp hair as he held her. ‘The hospital is sending a helicopter with a full obstetric crew on board. They say that you’ve probably got plenty of time before you deliver, especially as this is a first baby.’

  She shook her head as another contraction racked through her body, feeling as if someone had sent a red-hot poker slicing up inside her. ‘No!’ she croaked.

  Helplessly, his gaze raked over her ashen face. No, what? ‘Just hang on in there,’ he urged from between gritted teeth. ‘They’ll be here soon.’

  ‘Hassan,’ she gasped, sweat breaking out on her brow as another contraction came. Her nails dug into him even more. ‘They’re wrong.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘The hospital. I—’ She gasped as the pain made speech momentarily impossible. ‘I think this baby’s coming now!’

  His heart pounded. ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘Yes, it can.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘I just am!’

  Desperately, he looked out into the starkness of the empty desert which could be seen through the flaps of the tent. How long would the helicopter take, he wondered distractedly, and would it be able to pinpoint their position? ‘I’ll go outside and get a signal. Speak to the doctor—’

  ‘Hassan, there isn’t time!’ She gripped even tighter as another contraction tightened its vice-like grip around her. ‘Just stay!’ she gasped. ‘Hassan, I need you here with me. I need you. Please.’

  He saw the change in her and realised that she was speaking the truth. That their baby was about to be born. Here. Now. And that he was the only person who could help her. He was going to have to deliver the baby. His baby.

  He felt a brief roaring in his ears before his head cleared and he suddenly became calm. It was like being in battle, when the sounds of melee all around him suddenly blurred into silence and he could see nothing but the task which lay ahead.

  ‘I’m here,’ he said softly, injecting calm into his voice as he began to loosen her clothing. ‘I’m here for you and everything is going to be fine. Shh, Ella. Just take it easy. Breathe very slowly. That’s right. Very slowly. Nature knows what to do.’

  She looked up at him. ‘I’m scared.’

  So was he—more scared than he’d ever been. But Hassan had had a lifetime of experience in hiding the way he felt. Right now, he’d never been so glad of that. Gripping her hands tightly, he looked deep into her eyes. ‘Trust me, Ella,’ he said softly. ‘I am here for you, and believe me when I tell you that it’s going to be okay.’

  Ella nodded and, despite the pain and fear, her trust in him at that moment was total and complete.

  He found a soft blanket, remembering the first time he’d seen a foal being born and recalling what the stable boy had told him: that mares were like humans, that every birth was different and that most of what happened did so without the need for intervention. Please let that be the case this time, he prayed silently as he brushed her sweat-soaked hair away from her face.

  ‘Hassan!’

  ‘I’m here. Keep breathing. Go on, breathe.’

  The vice-like contractions were increasing in frequency and intensity. She began to anticipate the next one, wondering if it could possibly be as bad as the one before, only to discover that it was worse. Was this what every woman who’d ever given birth had experienced?

  ‘I can’t bear it!’ she cried.

  ‘Yes, you can. You can, Ella. You can do anything you want to do because you’re strong. The strongest woman I ever met.’

  At any other time such words would have moved her but now they were nudged onto the periphery of her mind as another great contraction racked through her. Ella bit hard down on her lip as something in her body changed and she looked up into Hassan’s black eyes, saw the question written in them and realised that something very powerful was happening. ‘I think the baby’s coming right now,’ she gritted out. ‘Oh, Hassan! Hassan, please help me!’

  He moved just in time to see the slick crown of a head appear. ‘You’re doing fine,’ he said unsteadily. ‘You’re amazing. You’re nearly there.’

  Dimly she remembered what she’d been taught: not to push until the need to push was unbearable. Guided by that and governed by an instinct as old as time itself, she held on to that thought. ‘Yes,’ she breathed, her face contorted with effort. ‘Yes.’

  He heard the keening sound she made and his heart began to race. Every sense intensified, he moved as if he was on some sort of autopilot. ‘That’s perfect,’ he said roughly. Suddenly, he was aware that he was looking down at the baby’s matted black hair and a great lump rose in his throat. ‘Just one more push, Ella. Do you think you can do that?’

  ‘Yes! No! I don’t know!’

  ‘Yes, you can. Ella, you can.
’

  The moan she made sounded as if it had been torn from some unimaginably deep place inside her and Hassan stretched out his palms to form a miniature cradle just as his baby was born into them.

  His baby.

  He felt the slippery unfamiliarity of new life in his hands and his heart clenched with terror as nothing else happened. The whole world seemed suspended in that moment of absolute silence before a lusty cry split the air.

  His eyes blurred with tears and he looked down to see the wriggling form of a tiny yet perfect human being in his hands, which he quickly wrapped in the soft blanket before laying the child gently on Ella’s stomach.

  Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. ‘Is … is everything okay?’

  ‘She’s perfect, my darling. Perfect. Just like you.’

  Ella’s hand was trembling as she reached out to touch her baby, amazement and relief compounded by the realisation that Hassan was crying. And that he had been there for her.

  He had been there for her when she most needed him. On every level he had delivered. He could be the man she wanted him to be: emotional and strong and equal.

  She gave a ragged breath as she heard helicopter propellers descending from out of the desert sky, and even while she was glad that help was arriving, she wanted to hold on to that private moment for ever. Just the three of them in their own little world. With none of the fears that once they stepped outside that tent, Hassan would go back to being the cool and distant man of the past.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HASSAN shut the door of the studio behind him and began to walk down the wide marble corridor towards the nursery suite. His heart was heavy but he knew he could not put off this moment any longer. It was time to accept and face up to the truth.

  He’d been waiting for the right moment. For Ella to properly recover from the birth. For the doctors to give both mother and daughter the thumbs-up. And for this terrible sense of remorse to leave him.

  Yet it wouldn’t leave him. It clung to him like glue. Deep down he knew there was only one thing which would make him feel better—ironically, the very thing which would bring his world crashing down about him.

  He found Ella standing by the window in the main salon, looking out onto one of the smaller fountains where a plume of water formed a graceful curve. Barefooted beneath her cream silk robe, her hair was hanging loose down her back and she turned round when she heard him enter. Her blue eyes were as bright as usual but he saw darkness in their depths, as if she, too, had recognised that the moment of truth was here.

  ‘Your father has been on the phone,’ he said heavily.

  ‘Oh? What did he say?’

  He saw the faint lines crisscrossing her pale brow and realised that she must have lived much of her life like this. On a kind of knife edge, never knowing what her father was going to do or say next. His mouth hardened. And hadn’t it been exactly the same when she’d met him? Hadn’t he brought that same element of uncertainty into her life? He wondered why he had never seen that before, but the answer came to him almost immediately. He’d never seen it because he’d never allowed himself to see it.

  ‘He wants to know whether we are planning to go to Alex and Allegra’s wedding.’

  She looked at him. ‘And what did you tell him?’

  ‘I said that we hadn’t decided. Because that’s the truth of it, isn’t it, Ella? We haven’t decided so many things, and I don’t think attending your sister’s wedding is top of the list of things we need to resolve.’

  Ella nodded, but his words made her heart plummet. She knew they couldn’t keep putting off the inevitable, yet she was afraid to face up to it. Afraid of what lay ahead—of a cold and empty future without her husband by her side.

  Hadn’t she hoped that they could just forget the past and move on? Capitalise on the love—yes, love—which had pulsed through the air between them after their baby had been born. That moment of pure and unfettered joy when their eyes had met and they had silently acknowledged the new life they had created.

  She looked at Hassan now, wondering whether they should postpone any decisions for a few days longer. He still looked slightly shell-shocked, even though it had been a week since they had returned from the desert. The longest seven days of her life, and easily the most eventful.

  They’d been dazed and disorientated as they had entered the celebrating city of Samaltyn, cradling their newborn daughter with pride. They’d called her Rihana because they both liked the name, and when Ella had discovered it meant ‘sweet herb,’ that had clinched it. Because hadn’t Hassan been making sweet, herbal tea when she’d gone into labour? For a while she’d been on such a high of hormones and emotion that it was all too easy to pretend they were like any normal couple who’d just had a baby.

  But now the intensely intimate memories of the birth had started to fade, leaving a couple who had resolved nothing. Who had begun to eye each other warily, as if each waiting for the other to make a move. She found herself wishing that she was back in that simple Bedouin tent again, where she had felt so incredibly close to Hassan. But she couldn’t keep getting herself into medical emergencies just to get him to show some feelings, could she?

  ‘You said you wanted to go home,’ Hassan said roughly, his words breaking into her thoughts and sounding almost like an accusation. ‘Have you thought any more about that?’

  Ella winced as his stark words brought reality crashing in. During the ecstatic days following Rihana’s birth, it had been all too easy to forget about her insecurities, but Hassan’s question brought it into such sharp focus that she could no longer ignore it. Her insecurity was all bound up in her marriage, she realised, in her relationship with him. And nothing had changed.

  Yes, during those heightened and unbelievable moments in the desert, she’d felt as close to him as she’d imagined it was possible for a man and woman to feel. When the helicopter had landed and the obstetricians had rushed in and taken over, before leaving the two—no, three—of them alone again for a few minutes, it had seemed a very precious time indeed.

  Their eyes had met over the dark head of the baby who had latched so eagerly onto her breast and she thought she’d read something other than dazed pride in Hassan’s expression. She’d clung to the hope that he might now want to forge a new and closer future. A future for all of them.

  But all those hopes had evaporated by the time they returned to the palace, where it seemed that normal procedure was to be renewed almost immediately. Hassan had done what he did best and occupied himself with the practicalities. Making sure that she had the best after-care. Issuing statements to the world media and declining to the give them the full and dramatic story of Rihana’s birth. Filling the nursery with a department-store quota of soft, fluffy toys.

  Yet the subsequently smooth transition from pregnant queen to new mother seemed to have left Ella feeling just as displaced as before. And nothing would ever change so long as she was with Hassan, she realised. Why would it, when he didn’t seem to want anything more than this?

  Now she focused on his words and realised that it was worse than she’d thought. That he actively wanted her to go.

  ‘I’d thought I’d wait—’

  ‘For what, Ella?’ he interrupted bitterly. ‘For me to bond even more with Rihana so that I’ll find it unbearable when you take her away from me?’

  ‘You want me to go,’ she stated dully.

  Hassan flinched. Was she determined to twist the knife, to make this even more painful than it already was? And could he really blame her, if that was the case, for surely he deserved everything she chose to heap upon his head?

  ‘I can’t see any alternative.’ His voice was harsh. ‘Surely you can’t wait to get away from a man who forced you to come here even though you wanted to stay in London. A man who doesn’t have a heart, nor any compassion. Because I now have looked at myself through your eyes, Ella, and I do not like what I see.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about
?’ she whispered.

  He shook his head as the memory swam into his mind, like dark, distorting smoke. ‘That portrait!’ he grated. ‘I have just been into the studio and seen the man that you have painted. A ravaged man—’

  ‘Hassan—’

  ‘Isn’t there some novel where the man agrees a trade-off with the devil for eternal youth?’ he demanded. ‘And meanwhile there’s a portrait in the attic which shows the growing darkness inside him?’

  ‘It’s called The Picture of Dorian Gray,’ she said automatically.

  ‘Well, the darkness is right there on that canvas you’ve done of me, only I haven’t even had the eternal youth in exchange,’ he said bitterly, until he realised that wasn’t quite true. Because in a way, every man who ever had a child was given the gift of eternal youth. Only he would never see the daily miracle of his daughter’s developing life. He would be resigned to meeting her on high days and holidays, their precious time eaten into by the initial adjustment of having to reacquaint themselves every time they met. He would grow older never really knowing his child, and he would have no one to blame but himself.

  Ella stared at him. ‘What are you trying to say, Hassan?’

  He knew that he had to tell her. Everything. Every damned thing. She had to know the terrible lengths to which he had been prepared to go—and that would be the end of their marriage, once and for all.

  ‘Do you want to know the real reason why I was so insistent you came out to Kashamak when I discovered you were pregnant?’ he demanded.

  She remembered the way he had expressed it at the time—as concern for her morning sickness and the need for someone to look after her. But she hadn’t been naive enough to think they were the real reasons. ‘It was about control, wasn’t it? About making sure that I conducted the pregnancy in a way you approved of.’

  ‘Yes, it was. But deep down, it was even more manipulative than that,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought you’d have trouble adjusting, you see. That motherhood would cramp your style.’

  ‘Cramp my style?’ she repeated blankly.