The Sheikh's Tempted Prisoner

by Holly Rayner

  “Old Abraham was out of work and out of capital,” Peterson gloated. “This close to a job washing floors, until I made him an offer.”

  “I had no choice, Vanessa,” Abraham said, shoulders heavy with regret. “I had nothing left. I just wanted to find what I’ve spent my whole life looking for. If I can just see Amanirenas’s tomb once, I don’t care what it’s called in the history books.”

  “A noble sentiment,” Peterson said facetiously. “And he’s really been surprisingly useful. He found the map, after all. And when we couldn’t translate it, he was the one who suggested sending it to you. We would never have found the site without that.”

  Vanessa’s eyes widened as she remembered Peterson, standing over her work, slipping his phone into his pocket as she walked in. He wasn’t just stealing her expedition, he was stealing her work directly. And Abraham had helped him do it.

  “Come now, Miss Hawkins,” Peterson said. “We should get you back to civilization.”

  He began moving towards the jeep, and Vanessa, crushed, stood to follow him. She didn’t know what to say to Abraham. She could only stare at him, her eyes wrought with disappointment. The professor had no answer for her either, except to look away, ashamed.

  Vanessa turned her back on him, following Peterson to the jeep. He climbed into the back, Taggert in the driver’s seat, and she climbed in beside him, stiff and shaking with impotent fury. What could she do? They’d taken everything. Peterson would find the tomb before her and declare it whatever he wanted it to be with no regard for the actual contents. He probably wasn’t above fabricating evidence if he needed to.

  Even if Vanessa went to every authority she could about the theft, Peterson’s father would cover it up. It would take a decade of work to convince even the archeological community that Peterson’s work was a sham, and nothing would ever change the popular conception, especially if Peterson really found a way to tie it back to Noah himself.

  The jeep rolled across the sand in silence, Vanessa’s stomach rolling with distress. Everything she’d worked for was gone. And Professor Van Rees, a man who’d been like a father to her all her academic career…

  They’d been driving for a while before Peterson gestured to Taggert to stop the jeep.

  “I really do have to thank you,” Peterson said as the jeep slowed to a stop at the top of a dune. “We would have been quite stuck without your help on that map. Renée is excellent, but she can’t hold a candle to your obsession, I’m afraid.”

  “Why have we stopped?” Vanessa asked, tired of his posturing. “You’ve won. I just want to go home.”

  “Most of all,” Peterson continued without acknowledgment as Taggert climbed out of the car, coming around to her door and pulling it open. “I have to thank you for stumbling into my camp tonight. It really wouldn’t have been complete without getting to do this.”

  Vanessa started to ask what he was talking about, but Taggert grabbed her by her shirt and dragged her out of the car, throwing her down into the sand.

  “When I find Cush and then Noah,” Peterson preened, “no one will ever be able to accuse me of riding my father’s coattails again. I’m going to be in every history book from here to judgment day, and you—well, ideally you’ll never even make it out of this desert. Goodnight, Miss Hawkins.”

  Vanessa stared, shocked beyond all reaction, as Taggert climbed back into the driver’s seat. By the time she was on her feet, they were already pulling away, and though she ran after them she had no hope of catching up. As she fell to her knees, giving up, a cold night wind swept over the sand, erasing even the tracks of the tires.

  People underestimate just how cold the desert gets at night. The sand holds no heat, and once the sun disappears, temperatures drop below zero with shocking speed. Vanessa went from overheated and sunburned to shaking with cold.

  She stumbled on, following roughly the direction the jeep had gone in. She tried at first to keep an eye on the stars to ensure her direction by them, but she’d already spent half the day walking and overheated, and now she was freezing and more tired than she’d felt in her life. She soon lost focus and could only blindly walk forward, hoping she’d find the road eventually.

  Part of her almost didn’t care; perhaps she should just lie down in the sand and give up. What options would she have if she did make it out of this desert? Give up the work she’d been ready to spend her whole life on? Keep at it, knowing it likely wouldn’t be vindicated until she was Abraham’s age, if ever? Pick some other lost cause Peterson could just as easily snatch from under her?

  She stumbled and nearly went down, raising her head with effort. There was a light in the distance, glimmering on the other side of the dunes. She hardened her jaw and straightened her back. No. She was going to take her work back. She would stop Peterson, one way or another.

  She headed towards the light, determination filling her anew. The light, as she drew closer, turned out to be a palace.

  Had it been daylight, she would have called it a mirage. It rose out of the sand like it had been scooped up from some richer place and dropped here. Palm trees and ferns grew green and lush over the high stone walls, and towers topped with onion domes stretched towards the starry skies. It glowed with golden light like something from a fairy tale.

  Vanessa stumbled towards it, a little dazed by the sight, only to be stopped abruptly by a gun.

  She stumbled backward, hands in the air, as a guard pushed his gun into her face, shouting at her in high-speed Arabic. Vanessa was much better at written Arabic than spoken, and scrambled to remember the words to say that she was harmless and lost.

  A second guard joined the first, both of them yelling over each other as they interrogated Vanessa, making their words all the more difficult to understand. She tried to blurt out an explanation as one of them grabbed her by the arm.

  “Vanessa!”

  The guards looked up at the shout from behind them as a familiar figure appeared in the palace gates. Sheikh Ramin hurried towards them, pushing the guards away to pull Vanessa into a tight embrace. Stunned, Vanessa just stood frozen in his arms until he let go.

  “How did you get here?” he asked, amazed. “We found your horse wandering in the desert. I was about to leave with a search party.”

  “It’s a long story,” Vanessa said with relief. “But how are you here? What is this place?”

  “Come inside,” Ramin said, guiding her towards the gates. “You need rest and water. I’ll explain everything. And you can tell me what happened after I lost you.”

  Vanessa didn’t argue, allowing the Sheikh to guide her inside, quietly glad that he wasn’t holding a grudge about how they’d separated. She felt more than a little stupid about all that now.

  “Uncle!” Ramin called as they entered the great marble hall of the palace. “Call off the search! We’ve found her.”

  A tall, older man—as handsome as Ramin despite being in his sixties—hurried down the stairs.

  “This can’t be Miss Hawkins!” the older man said, coming to stand beside Ramin. “Where was she?”

  “She just wandered up to the door,” Ramin said with an incredulous laugh. “Vanessa, this is my uncle, Sheikh Ansar. This is his home.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Ansar said, taking Vanessa’s hand to bow over it dramatically. “My nephew has spoken of nothing else since he arrived this afternoon.”

  “Well, I did think she was on her own in the desert,” Ramin said, a little embarrassed. “I assumed you would either camp out at the dig site or return to the city. We planned to find you in the morning. But then your horse turned up without you…”

  “There will be time for catching up later, Ramin,” Ansar scolded him. “The poor girl has been through a nightmare. Let us give her a chance to catch her breath.”

  Chapter Nine

  They led her to a comfortable sitting room and settled her on a plush couch with a blanket around her shoulders, then soon presented her with water and hot tea
and food. Once she had a little more energy back, Vanessa explained about losing her horse and the jeep ride into the desert from Peterson.

  “The deceitful devil,” Ansar blustered, red-faced with anger. “I don’t care who his father is; there will be repercussions!”

  “It’s a good thing he didn’t know Ansar’s palace is out here,” Ramin said in quiet gratitude. “My uncle prefers to avoid the bustle of the city, so he had this place built in the middle of nowhere.”

  “It may be remote,” Ansar said, shaking a finger at Ramin. “But it is still the sovereign territory of Ksatta-Galan and the Al-Zand family! We’ll see how well his blasted father’s money holds up to the ire of literal royalty.”

  “It won’t matter if he finds the tomb before we can stop him,” Vanessa said ruefully. “He’ll still win. Legal drama will only drive the press fervor around the discovery and ensure everyone remembers the tomb as that of Cush or Noah or whatever he decides it is. Academia may declare him wrong after the fact, but with an equally sensational media circus, it won’t matter.”

  “Well, then we will just have to find it before him,” Ramin said.

  “That’s easier said than done,” Vanessa warned him.

  “It’s a big desert,” Ramin said with a smile. “Don’t count us out just yet.”

  “We’ll see,” Vanessa said, unsure. “At any rate, thank you very much for your help, Sheikh Ansar. I think I would have been in real trouble without your palace here.”

  “As a friend of Ramin’s, you’re welcome here anytime,” Ansar said kindly. “God knows I need the company.”

  He chuckled in amusement, but Ramin looked uncomfortable.

  “You would not be so in need of company if you lived closer to the city,” Ramin pointed out. “You could live near the family.”

  “What a dutiful nephew he is,” Ansar said to Vanessa, still laughing. “He worries about me far too much.”

  “You’re getting older, Uncle,” Ramin pointed out. “It’s not good for you to be alone so much.”

  “Being alone is precisely what I like,” Ansar said with a sniff. “Certainly, I enjoy your visits, but I hardly need a pack of relatives rushing about underfoot, all noisy and demanding. Peace and quiet are the best things for a man my age.”

  Ramin shook his head, frustrated.

  “I’m going to go and find some more tea,” he said, standing. When Vanessa moved to stand, he gestured for her to remain seated. “Please, stay and rest. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t mind him,” Ansar said when his nephew had left. “He thinks because being alone is so frightening to him that it must be the same for everyone.”

  “Do you really not have any family here in this huge place?” Vanessa asked, curious.

  “Only myself,” Ansar replied. “I know it’s a bit wasteful for an old bachelor, but I do intend to leave it to Ramin when I’m gone. It’ll be full of children in no time, I’m certain.”

  “I’m not so sure…” Vanessa muttered into her glass of water.

  “You’ve been reading the tabloids, I assume?” Ansar asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Vanessa blushed, looking away.

  “The rumors are hard to avoid,” she admitted. “I’d barely met him before people were telling me that he’s, well, not the marrying type.”

  Ansar laughed a little, deep and rolling.

  “Is that what they say?” he asked. “The truth is quite the opposite, in my opinion. He’s trying, quite desperately I believe, to find someone. He’s terrified of being alone like me, you see. But, being a prince, he attracts a certain unsavory caliber of person in great numbers. And, since in his urgency to find someone he shows little discernment, he is rather frequently taken advantage of. I think he’s begun to expect it now, and at the faintest sign that a woman is pursuing him for his money or his title, he rejects them outright, and moves on to the next in line. It’s exhausting to watch, frankly.”

  Vanessa listened, not sure she believed it, but at the same time moved to sympathy. And she’d thrown that fit this afternoon, accusing him of using her…

  “I’m afraid he’s rather sabotaged himself,” Vanessa said sadly. “It seems like anyone who didn’t have an ulterior motive would avoid him just based on his reputation.”

  “Such is the difficulty of dating while royalty,” Ansar said, then shrugged and leaned back, pulling out an old-fashioned tobacco pipe. “Which is why I avoid it all entirely.”

  “You’re really content to be alone?” Vanessa asked. “I mean, have you never fallen in love?”

  Ansar lit his pipe and inhaled deeply. He was silent for a long moment, gazing into the smoke.

  “Once,” he admitted. “It’s not much of a story. Ramin’s father, the current Sheikh, is actually my younger brother. I was crown prince. But when it came time for my father to pass on his crown, I was unwed and without heirs and, in general, rather an unreliable person. I’d spent my life traveling and pursuing a dedicated philosophy of hedonism, you see. But my dutiful brother had stayed at home and ingrained himself in the local politics, and taken a wife. He already had young Ramin, only a little child then, and several daughters. I was advised to refuse the crown and allow it to pass to my brother instead, and I, more concerned with my own entertainment than my responsibility to my family, agreed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Vanessa said with a frown, unsure if it was the right sentiment.

  “Don’t be,” Ansar said, waving a hand. “I’d have been a terrible ruling sheikh, especially then. I didn’t know a damn thing, and even now I tend to be more concerned with indulging myself than anything else. My brother was a much better choice. I don’t regret it, save for one thing.”

  He was quiet for another moment, watching the smoke drift up from his pipe. Vanessa waited, curious.

  “A few years later, my wanderlust died down a bit,” he said. “And I met a woman. Fareeha. She was spectacular. My match in everything. Brilliant, wild…” He sighed longingly. “I told my family I intended to marry her. But I had not been paying attention to politics, as my brother had. There was a rising instability in the country. Some who wanted to overthrow the monarchy. And my abdication had caused a division. There were those who still thought I should be Sheikh. And if I married or had children, that division would only widen. I would become a threat to my brother’s claim to the throne, which might destroy Ksatta-Galan entirely. And so I didn’t. I ended my relationship with Fareeha. She married someone else, and I took my leave of society. I came out here, where I could do no harm to anyone.”

  “But that’s terrible,” Vanessa said, her heart breaking at the thought. “You should never have had to do that.”

  “I denied my responsibility to my family once,” Ansar said solemnly. “I could not do it twice. But please don’t pity me. I’m happy here, truly.”

  He sighed and stood up from his chair, pipe clenched in his teeth.

  “Well, since I don’t need to go searching the desert for a beautiful damsel tonight,” he said with a groan. “I think I’ll retire. I’ve had rooms prepared for you and Ramin. Just ask one of the staff to show you. In the morning, we’ll see what we can do about that Peterson character. Goodnight, Miss Hawkins.”

  Ansar headed for the stairs and, as he passed a hall door, added, “And goodnight, Nephew.”

  Ramin stepped out of the shadows reluctantly as his uncle departed.

  “How long were you listening?” Vanessa asked.

  “For most of it,” he admitted, his voice heavy.

  He crossed the room to set the tea tray he was still holding down on the coffee table.

  “I wanted to apologize for what I said at the oasis,” Vanessa said a little awkwardly. “I was being an idiot.”

  “I was foolish, too,” Ramin said, pouring them both tea. “I shouldn’t have come on so strong. Especially knowing the kinds of rumors that are out there about me.”

  “Perhaps we can try again,” Vanessa said, offering a hand to him. “I
’m Vanessa Hawkins, idiot archeologist.”

  He took her hand with a smile.

  “Ramin Al-Zand,” he said. “Insatiable playboy.”

  “It’s good to meet you,” Vanessa said, smiling back at him.

  He held her hand just a little too long, then they let go, both of them a little flustered. Vanessa cleared her throat.

  “So, Mr. Insatiable Playboy. Why do you date so many women?”

  “You’ve seen my uncle,” Ramin said, inclining his head in the direction the man had left. “I don’t want to end up like that, a hermit in a palace, ostracized for the good of the crown. It’s terrifying.”

  “So, you’ll take anyone?” Vanessa asked, frowning.

  “Of course not,” Ramin said, shaking his head. “That’s part of the problem. Whoever I marry has to be up to my family’s standards as well. Someone accomplished and intelligent who won’t embarrass the crown when she eventually becomes Sheikha. On top of that, I won’t be with someone who’s only interested in me for my money or my title.

  “After a handful of normal relationships that just didn’t work out, the tabloids started reporting on me as being some kind of philanderer. One of my exes gave this lurid interview, and after that, I couldn’t be seen with a woman without it becoming the talk of the town. Now, half the women who approach me are either after my money or the fifteen minutes of fame from having dated me. Any women who might be different see the same articles you did and run the other way.”

  “That sounds frustrating,” Vanessa said sympathetically. “Sometimes I feel the same way with my work. Except it’s funding or research approval instead of women, and rather than my money or title they’re either running from my research subject or my devotion to it above all else.”

  “That does sound frustrating,” Ramin chuckled. He looked up suddenly, then stood. “It’s too early for bed. Why don’t I give you a tour of the palace?”

  “That sounds great,” Vanessa agreed, standing to join him. “Lead the way.”

  She followed him out of the sitting room and through the long, marble-floored hallways.