Gloomily, I undress and get ready to go to bed, consoling myself yet again, as I pull my long hair back into a braid, that it is still early days and tomorrow is, as they say, another day. Perhaps I’ll sleep tonight, after all the nights I’ve spent just tossing and turning. Sliding under the covers, I rest my tired head on the pillow – only to be disturbed almost immediately by a loud knocking on the outer door of my suite. I switch on the bedside light and call out permission to enter. A tall figure appears in the doorway to my bedroom. It’s Jasim! I start to push back the covers.
“No, Sheikha, sister,” he says, laughing. “Stay where you are. My brother would probably kill me just for being in your bedroom, but if you leap out of bed and I see you in your nightgown, he’d torture me first.”
He’s light-hearted? Joking?
“Jasim, what have you found?” I demand. I stay put as he instructs, but fidget with impatience.
He comes over to the bed and perches on the edge, reaching over to take my hand in his, and gives it a squeeze. “Short answer? You were right.”
Gasping, I don’t dare let myself believe it. Forgetting what he said I sit up, luckily still sufficiently covered by my silk nightgown.
“Are you saying he’s innocent?” I can barely get the words out I’m so excited.
“Yes. Wait, Cara…” Again I start getting out of bed, but he pushes me back. “There is nothing you can do now. I’ve already told the emir and Kadar. Kadar is flying to Z̧almā first thing in the morning to give the details to Nijad first-hand. This information is too important for a phone call. It will be a lot for him to take in. He didn’t even know I was going to Paris as we didn’t want to get his hopes up. Kadar is going to bring him back with him.” He laughs, “And he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“So I’ll see him?”
He nods. “Hopefully tomorrow. He’s convalescing still, of course, so it depends if any special arrangements need to be made for him travel. And it’s going to be a lot for him to process. He’s got to rewrite three years of his life.”
Jasim grows serious with concern for his brother. I lie back, closing my eyes, thinking this is the best news I’ve received in my life. I want to know more details. “Jasim, what happened? Tell me everything, please.”
“Are you not tired, Cara? In need of rest? You should think of the baby.”
“How the hell do you expect me to be able to sleep tonight?”
He brushes his hair back off his forehead. His usually tidy beard hasn’t been trimmed and I realise he probably hasn’t rested himself in his rush to bring the truth back to the palace. Suddenly I feel shame for my impatience hits me.
“I’m sorry, Jasim. You need your sleep too.”
Laughing softly, he tells me, “I’d rather stay if I may. I’m too wired about everything to rest. Lie back and I’ll tell you what happened. I could do with a drink. You?”
There’s a minibar in the room that’s kept stocked. I don’t drink alcohol now, of course, but I could use a fruit juice. He goes over and brings back a soft drink for me, and is carrying two of the small whisky bottles, the sort you get on an aeroplane, for himself. He opens one, pours it into a glass and takes a long drink.
“Better?” I ask him.
“Better,” he confirms with a smile. “I managed to get hold of Jon Tharpe. You met him in the desert city; he helped me install, er, certain equipment in the palace.” He chuckles at my embarrassed grin, as I nod to confirm that I remember him. “He had his doubts that Nijad was innocent; having been there at the time and everything had pointed to his guilt. But he agreed if there was any way to clear him, he wanted to help. He got his colleagues in Grade A Security involved, and contacted a couple of their operatives already stationed in Paris. With men on the ground and the company using its analysts in London we found the woman, Chantelle, pretty quickly. To say she was down on her luck is an understatement – and the truth!” He allows himself a small grimace before continuing.
“It was exactly as you suggested. To get her drugs from her dealer she gave him everything he wanted, including her body and the key to our apartment. I suspect a robbery was planned as well. Dealer man didn’t take kindly to being shoved out of the front door and returned to confront Nijad but, coward that he is, he was reluctant to take him on in a fair fight. So once he entered, he took advantage of Nijad’s distraction with Chantelle and put him out of commission immediately by hitting him with the lamp. My brother was lucky he wasn’t killed. The plan was hatched quickly, while Nijad was unconscious. Nijad’s knuckles were bleeding. His blood was already on her face and, conveniently, on some of her clothes. The Kassis family, they were certain, would pay anything to keep one of their own out of gaol. Chantelle agreed to let it look like it had been Nijad who attacked her, and that’s the story she gave to the police, and to Jon.” Jasim pauses and looks grave. “She admitted she got more than she bargained for and ended up afraid for her life. After the vicious beating, her dealer friend smeared her blood on Nijad and left the apartment. At that point she was more afraid of Henri returning to finish the job if she changed her story, which is how she was able to make her version so credible. When she was released from the hospital the dealer, Henri, made contact with her again, virtually taking her prisoner, and laid claim to her compensation money as payment for the drugs she continued to consume. I reckon the more drugs she took, the less attractive she became. To cut a long story short, before the year was up Chantelle was out on the streets, penniless and selling her body to keep alive. She’s in a pretty poor state now, a shadow of her former self.”
“She’ll tell the police?”
“No, she won’t change her statement. Not unless we pay her off again.”
“Are you going to?”
Leaning his head back as if to remove a kink, he then rolls his neck from side to side. I feel compassion for him; he must have been on the go most of the last two days.
“I’ve discussed it with the emir. As it stands, Nijad lost his reputation but has no criminal record. The truth as she’s now told it will be made known throughout Amahad, and that’s the only thing of real concern to us. And, more importantly, Nijad has been given back his life, his integrity. His international reputation isn’t as important and, in truth, his part in the affair was forgotten as soon as another salacious story hit the press. We’ll give her no money; we won’t allow her to blackmail us, but we will pay for her to go to rehab. It’s up to her what she does with her life after that.”
“What about the man? Did she tell you anything about him?”
“Only that his name is Henri Bellerose. Jon’s staying on to try to track him down. He’s not going to get away with it.” Jasim covers his mouth in an attempt to suppress a loud yawn but is not particularly successful.
“You should get some rest.”
“Soon.”
He yawns again; he can hardly keep his eyes open. He looks fit to drop. I slide over in the bed and gently pull his hand towards me. Almost asleep where he sits he flops down, and then lies, fully clothed, on top of the covers on one side of my large bed. Within minutes, I hear him gently snoring. I grin to myself, thinking it’s probably for the best Nijad never gets to know I slept with his brother.
****
Why I’m running full pelt through the palace, I don’t know. My feet are pounding the floor purely on instinct; I’ve no idea where I’m going, no destination in mind. I just need to run. Guards and servants try to stop me, but I rush past, not caring they must think I’m a mad woman. One even steps out drawing his gun, checking behind me, thinking I must have someone pursuing me.
One minute I’d been sitting in the throne room, discussing the events in Paris calmly; accepting the thanks which the emir and his sons seemed to think my due for instigating the investigation and awaiting Nijad’s arrival from the desert. Then I’d heard the helicopter coming in to land, and that was it. Dizziness came over me. I thought I was going to pass out, and then the only thing I knew was I had to ge
t out of there. It seemed there was no air in the room and I felt like I was going to suffocate. As each breath inhaled became more and more of a struggle, I knew I had to leave. Excusing myself on the pretext of needing a bathroom, I managed to make a reasonably graceful exit, leaving them expecting my prompt return. But instead, once out of the royal apartments, I started to run.
I don’t think my heart can take it if Nijad rejects me in front of his father and brothers. For him, it is to be a welcome celebration, and I expect they all have some grovelling to do too, they too, having believed the worst. But I’m so terrified of seeing him again there’s no way I can greet him in a formal session. All my hopes, dreams, even my life, rest in his hands, and with just a few words he can destroy me. Why would he want me now? The contract was drawn up based on a false premise. There never was a savage sheikh.
Through corridors and corridors I run, passing into the older, unpopulated parts of the palace. I’ve no idea where I am running to, but as large golden doors appear in front of me I just know I’ve reached my destination. I don’t even pause before I push open the heavy doors and step inside, sinking to the ground shaking and panting, out of breath and out of hope, but feeling safe. No one will think of coming to look for me here.
It isn’t that I don’t want to see Nijad; I do, as much as I want my next breath. But it hit me, there in the throne room, waiting for Nijad to arrive, that I might be the last person he’d want to see. He no longer has a reputation for violence, no longer has reason to be punished, and no longer has reason to be married to me. He can have any woman in the world. So why, for God’s sake, would he want me, a boring accountant with a talent for hacking and poor judgement about who to trust?
I’ve done the right thing. I’ve given Nijad the space to be welcomed back into his family on his own, without the encumbrance of a wife he never wanted or needed. At least I’ve spared him the embarrassment of that. He’s no longer the black sheep; his name and reputation are now untarnished. He’s facing a fresh start.
Hey, baby. I run my hand over my stomach, which only just shows the early signs of a baby bump. It’s just you and me now. We’ll be fine; we’ll have each other. A sob escapes me at the thought of a dark-haired boy or girl so resembling their father. But I’ll have something of him with me always. Though it’s not nearly enough; in a perfect world, I’d want it all. But wants are not the same as haves.
I glance at the surroundings which have become so familiar to me, the place I’d wanted so desperately to escape from, but the place where now, strangely, I feel safe. They’ll be missing me, might send people to search for me, but probably won’t come here. And the emir and his sons will have so much to discuss they really won’t give very much thought to my absence. They can get on and discuss Nijad’s future without the awkwardness of an unwanted wife in the room. No, they’ll be pleased I’m not there.
Now I’ve got time to sit, to get my breath back and to practise a poker face so I can keep it together when Nijad tells me there’s no longer any reason for our marriage, and he doesn’t want me as his wife. Much better just the two of us. I don’t want an audience for that.
But it seems I don’t have time to practise. Within minutes of my arrival at the harem, the great doors clang open, and heavy footsteps herald someone else’s arrival. I rise to my feet and turn slowly, unsure who would have come looking for me. With mixed emotions of delight and fear, I watch as Nijad takes a step further into the great room.
I didn’t believe he’d come looking for me. I’d no idea he’d have a clue where to find me. Hell, coming to the harem hadn’t even been a conscious decision for me. As he strides purposefully through the golden doors, I have the overwhelming feeling that this meeting, in this place, is inevitable.
A shuttered expression is on his face; it’s unreadable. He’s walking with a pronounced limp, the scars on his face healed, still red and angry-looking, but doing nothing to detract from his otherwise handsome features. How could I ever have imagined I could call this man ‘husband’. I tremble, dreading the words he’s going to use to let me down. I watch in silence as he comes closer, wincing as he visibly favours his left leg. But he seems to shrug off the pain as he walks across the room, shedding his robe, which falls to the ground, and throwing his headdress down on a nearby chair. Underneath he is wearing those tight-fitting black jeans which emphasise the width of his thighs and the tightness of his arse, sending shivers down my spine. His customary black T-shirt is tight around his torso, and his feet are still in his desert boots. Dominance rolls off him as he approaches.
He stares at me until I’m forced to lower my gaze. I can still feel his eyes burning into me. What is he seeing? The wife he wants to liberate himself from? He must be here to ask me to void the contract. I can’t look at him; I’m too scared of what I might see in his face. And I’m too afraid to talk to him, too afraid of what his words might be.
He breaks the silence first, barking out just one word. It’s an order.
“Strip!” His voice trembles.
I’d anticipated the conversation I’d been dreading. His words catch me unawares. What’s he asking me? My incomprehension must show on my face because he expands on his instruction, as though I’m a child.
“Take … Your … Clothes … Off.”
I glance up. His eyes remain fixed on mine, compelling me to obey, to submit to his will.
Dread flows through me as I look down at myself. I’m wearing traditional robes, out of courtesy to the emir and because it seems an appropriate way to welcome my desert prince. Has he decided that, as I’m no longer the wife he wants, I’m no longer fit to wear the clothing native to his land? My eyes fill with tears. The way he’s looking at me, the way he’s holding himself – he’s unapproachable. I can’t even bring myself to question why he’s asking me to do this. I’ll learn my fate soon enough; no need to rush it along. I’ll hold on to the dream just a little while longer.
Under his intimidating stare, my hands go to the fastenings on my thobe. Removing it, I let the tunic drop to the floor. Bowing my head, no longer able to meet his eyes, I loosen my silk trousers and let them fall. I’m standing in the fancy underwear I put on today, selected only for my husband to see.
After a period of silence, I glance up to see that he is not completely unaffected by my hesitant striptease. He indicates what he wants with his hand.
“And the rest.”
If I can spark his desire … maybe that might be my one chance to keep him. Only a few weeks ago I would have faltered, or even flat-out refused. I would have been ashamed to expose my body to him. But a quick glance shows a definite bulge in his jeans revealing that, although he may no longer want me as his wife, I still have the power to arouse him. The knowledge gives me confidence. Slowly, oh-so slowly, I put my hands round my back and unclasp my lacy fire-engine-red bra. I slide one strap off my shoulders and then make a show of slipping down the other. The bra falls at my feet; my breasts drop free. Pregnancy has already changed my body, and they are heavier than they’ve ever been. I pull back my shoulders.
His eyes darken with desire. Has his plan to dismiss me backfired? Another wave of his hand and I, more confidently, reach to my matching thong. With a sureness gifted by his expression of desire, I pull down the narrow strip of material, lifting one leg and then the other as gracefully as I can.
For a short time, he says and does nothing. I try to hold myself still, but it’s hard not to fidget under his intense scrutiny and I cross my arms over my chest, no longer wanting to be so exposed to him. I bow my head, wishing he would stop procrastinating. Haven’t I been punished enough? Does he still hold my crimes against me, even though everyone else has forgiven me? I wish he would get on with it and just tell me to get out of his life, if that’s what has to happen.
But a small kernel of hope flickers inside me as I see him clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides; he’s trying hard to stay in control. Perhaps he still wants me! My hopes begin to ris
e but, then, after what seems like an eternity, he moves forward, bringing his feet into range of my downcast eyes, and his next action plunges me into despair. I hear a tearing sound, and pieces of paper flutter down around me. I can’t fail to recognise the official document. He’s torn up our marriage contract. I expected it. I knew it would happen. But I’m still not prepared for the intense pain that slices through my heart, a wound from which I know I’ll never recover. The hurt wrenches a sob from me. It’s over. He isn’t going to forgive me.
“Sheikha.”
The rushing in my ears prevents me from hearing him as he starts to speak. He tries again, his voice soft as a caress, but loud enough to make sure he’s got my attention.
“Cara. You are the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. I wanted to nurture you, to protect you. To see the woman I knew was hiding inside break free of the chains that bound you. As you grew, so did my love for you. Put your arms at your sides.”
I can’t understand why he’s saying all this. Why can’t he just get it over and done with? And then I realise he’s given me another instruction and I comply, revealing myself once again.
“You are standing here, with nowhere to hide. I see all of you. You are hiding nothing from me. You are beautiful.”
His glorious melodic voice is washing over me, and I try hard to comprehend what he means. It is so far from what I had expected, but so close to my greatest hopes, I feel myself going weak. I start shaking.
“I don’t want to be bound to you because of a contract,” he continues. “I don’t want conditions or a time limit on our relationship. I want you, by my side, in my life for ever. I want to raise our child with you, and other children to come, whether we have sons or just a brood of daughters. Each will be valued, as they will be a result of our union. I want to return to you the same love, trust and commitment you’ve shown to me, every day of the rest of our lives, and beyond, into the after-life.” He starts to lower himself to the floor, a little awkwardly due to the stiffness in his left leg, but then he’s kneeling in front of me, taking my right hand in his. I look down at him on the floor by my feet, hardly daring to hope...
Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) Page 34