“This is not cruelty,” he shouted, unable to get control of himself. “Cruelty is being thrown in a dungeon and beaten because I allowed my friend to defile my sister.”
“Cruelty,” she calmly responded, “is destroying a man and an entire town because you were beaten. Cruelty,” she said, her voice rising in pitch, “is destroying a woman who cares about you, a woman who carries your child even as we speak.” Her voice cracked, the first true sign of emotion since his words had wounded her earlier. She put her hand on her heart. “Cruelty is being given the gift of love, of a child, and doing everything within your power to destroy those gifts.”
He would not be moved by her sorrow. “Mac betrayed me!”
“No, Rafe. No.” She shook her head and regained her composure. “The only person who has betrayed you is you. Well,” she added in a casual tone, as if she had not just swung a hammer of words at his stone heart and broken it to small bits, “you and our father. But then, he betrayed us all, did he not?”
Rafe stared at her, unable to form words in his mind and equally unable to get his tongue to say them.
“Fareed is worried about you,” she went on in a quiet voice. “We all are. We had hoped that, with Father’s death, you would have been able to find peace. You have a chance for that, Rafe. Do not be the man Father demanded you to be. Be the man you want to be.”
She moved a chair out of the way and walked toward him. No, not toward him—toward the door. When she reached him, she said, “Please forgive me for my part in your pain. It was never my intention to see you hurt. But believe me when I say this—I will fight to protect your child from you, if it comes to that. The choice is yours.”
She stepped around him. He heard the door open and then shut. He knew, at least on some level, that he was alone.
But he was not. Ghosts of the past—and the present—cluttered his vision. He saw Nasira in bed, looking shocked to have been discovered. But now he remembered that she had disappeared from their group only a few minutes before that—thirty, at most. Not nearly enough time to have slept with Mac in his bed.
And Rafe remembered Mac’s shock at coming into the room and finding all of them there like that—Nasira in his bed, Rafe standing next to it, Hassad raging at both of them. At the time, Rafe had taken that shock as confirmation that Mac had not expected Hassad to find him with his lover but...
Was it possible he had been just as shocked about seeing Nasira in his bed?
And then it had all happened so fast. Within hours, they were on the family jet, flying back to Al Qunfudhah.
“Tell me you have not failed me,” Hassad had said in that dank dungeon, in between blows. And Rafe had known there was no hope. He could not defend himself, for his father would call him a liar and beat him more. And he could not admit defeat because his father would beat him for being a coward.
And Fareed—he was there, as well, sneaking down to the dungeon with extra food or wine, with medicines that took the edge off the pain or a blanket to make the stone floor more comfortable or books to read so that Rafe did not go out of his mind. “I will convince him,” Fareed had promised. “This is not your fate.”
And Rafe had been so beaten down that he had not bothered to correct his brother. This was his fate. He took his father’s anger so Hassad did not treat his other children this way. That had always been Rafe’s fate, ever since he was a child and had defended Nasira, his closest sibling, from Fareed’s teasings and had gotten slapped across the face for daring to speak against the future sheikh of Al Qunfudhah.
Rafe had not gotten to see Nasira get married to Sebastian, a man who did not beat her and did not use her poorly. He had not gotten the chance to meet the man for years.
And Nolan Dane—his ghost was here, as well, looking at Rafe with distrust and something verging on horror.
Then there was Violet—his beautiful, mysterious V, his tough, quick cowgirl. She was carrying his child. She had been haunting his every thought for months. Did he honestly expect that he would return to Al Qunfudhah and not see her everywhere he went?
And woven in with all of these visions were past versions of himself. Of the boy who took the beatings so his siblings would not have to. Of the young man who attended to his tutors closely and dreamed of leaving Al Qunfudhah behind. Of the man who was ripped from his studies and his friends. Of the scarred man who refused to cower in the face of the abuses heaped upon him by the one person who was supposed to have defended him. Of the determined man who watched and waited and schemed.
Of the man who’d seen a beautiful woman who had sparked something in his chest, something that had not been there before. Something that made his heart cry out for pleasure, for something more.
Something more. That was what Violet was to him. More than just revenge. More than the stone wall he hid his heart behind. More than what his father expected and demanded.
With a cry of pain, he realized what he had become. Mac, Nolan and Violet—most especially Violet—they had opened their arms to Rafe, embraced him as friend and family. He had never been a sheikh’s second son, not to them. He had always been Rafe and, for the first and only time in his life, just being Rafe was enough. More than enough.
Rafe would never be enough for Hassad bin Saleed. He could keep trying and trying and trying but the old man was dead and gone, and just as Nasira had said, Rafe was glad of it.
But he had been wrong. He thought that with Hassad’s death, he had been freed of the old man. But he saw now that he had still carried Hassad with him, allowing his father’s perverse sense of honor to warp Rafe’s thoughts and actions.
Mac had been blameless. And in the name of a dead man’s honor, Rafe had bought almost half an American county’s worth of land to ruin his old friend.
Nolan had offered Rafe friendship but the moment he got too close, Rafe had shut Nolan out and driven him into the arms of a woman who would love him.
And Violet... She was beyond blameless. Yet Rafe had used her poorly. Cruelly, even.
What had he done? Hassad was dead. Yet he still controlled Rafe. Perhaps that had always been the old man’s scheme, his plan to live from beyond the grave.
Well, no more.
Rafe had much work to do.
Twelve
Only one window at the McCallum house spilled light out into the night. It was not Violet’s window—of that, Rafe was certain. Did that mean Mac was the only one home?
It did not matter. Rafe was here to make things right and if that meant he had to go through Mac, then that was what must be done.
Rafe shut his vehicle off and got out. Before he even closed the car door behind him, the front door of the McCallum house burst open.
Ah. He would have to go through Mac. Fitting.
But as Mac came down off the porch, Rafe drew back in alarm. He had never seen Mac this visibly angry before. His hands were balled into fists and, for the first time, Rafe thought his old friend could physically harm him.
The question that remained unanswered was, would Mac pummel him for what he’d done to Mac—or to Violet? It did not matter much. Either way, Rafe was deserving of this fury.
Despite the rage that poured off Mac in waves, Rafe held his ground. Years of habit had trained Rafe not to fall back or seek cover. Instead, he awaited his fate.
“Give me one good reason,” Mac growled as he advanced in long strides, “why I shouldn’t shoot you where you stand.” Though he didn’t have a gun that Rafe could see, the threat hung heavy in the air between them.
Because if Mac had a gun and pulled the trigger, Rafe would not survive. But he would not fight back.
The family honor, his father’s voice whispered insidiously. No one uses a bin Saleed like that and gets away with it.
But this time, Rafe pushed the thought away. He did more than push
it away. No one uses a bin Saleed like you used me, he thought back. And I am not your instrument any longer.
Mac was staring at him, rage and confusion blending into one hard mask of hatred. Rafe had earned that. “Well?” Mac demanded.
“You always were a man of honor,” Rafe said, not bothering to hide a smile.
“Not like you, you dog. You and Violet? And the land? Why?”
Rafe took a breath. He suspected he had only one chance to get this right. “I have come to beg your forgiveness.”
“I’m not buying that load of bullshit.” Rafe did not flinch. That instinct had been beaten out of him years ago. “All this happened because you thought I slept with your sister. But I never even touched her, dammit.”
“So she has told me.”
The confusion in Mac’s eyes overtook the rage a bit. “What?”
“She is here. Well, in Holloway. My brother told her what I was doing. She came to make things right.” Odd, that after so many years of trying to protect his siblings, they were now the ones doing the protecting. Except that, instead of protecting Rafe from their father, they were trying to protect him from himself.
“I don’t understand.”
“She has explained to me what happened the day we found her in your bed,” Rafe went on, still trying to make sense of the day’s events. “And I have realized something.”
Mac fell back a step. “Yeah?”
“I came here for revenge.” There was no cushioning that truth with soft words. “But I did not come here to avenge her. I thought I had. I thought I was meting out justice for the shame you brought upon my family’s honor and our name. But that was a lie, I see now. A lie that justified my actions.”
Mac took another step back. “So why are you here? Why did you come?”
Rafe found himself looking up. The stars were clear and bright here. When his father had him trapped in the dungeon, he had hardly seen the night sky for years. Years. “I came here to avenge myself.”
“I didn’t do a damn thing to you,” Mac said. “And I’m not going to let you destroy Violet. I’d sooner rot in prison than see you ruin her.”
Rafe smiled at this. “A man of honor,” he repeated quietly. “I understand. For, you see, I did the same thing.”
“What?”
Rafe had that weird out-of-time sensation again, the same one he felt when he had gone riding with Violet and slept in her bed with her. “I think it was always supposed to be this way,” he told Mac.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He grinned. “I am in love with your sister.”
Before Rafe could protect himself, Mac stepped forward and punched him in the jaw. Rafe was knocked sideways as pain bloomed in his face, but he kept his feet underneath him. All told, he deserved that punch.
“You have one hell of a way of showing it. You hurt her, you ass. I’ve done everything I could to protect her and you waltz in here and...” His voice shook. “And you hurt her. She doesn’t deserve that.”
Rafe straightened. “No, she doesn’t. But you can’t get revenge for her.” He took a deep breath. This was right. This was peace. “You can only get revenge for yourself.”
“What?”
“I have hurt you, Mac. We were friends—I considered you to be a brother. Which makes the way my entire family acted toward you all the worse.” Rafe bowed his head before Mac. “Please accept my apologies on behalf of my sister, my father—and myself. You did not deserve to be used like you were.”
Mac stood there, his mouth open wide as he gaped at Rafe. “I—you—”
“I would like to speak to Violet now.” Rafe reached for the deed to the Wild Aces. “I want to give this to her and tell her I love her.”
But as he moved, Mac tensed and reached behind his back. Someone screamed.
And a gun went off.
* * *
“That bastard is here.” Those had been Mac’s exact words as he’d grabbed his pistol, shoved it in the back of his waistband and run out the door before Violet could do anything else.
Rafe had come back? That man must have a death wish. If Mac didn’t get him, Violet would.
Lulu had called. She was sure sorry, but three million—well, she knew that Violet would never be able to come close to that. The money was too good. She’d signed the papers.
Tears silently streaming down her face, Violet had ended the call.
Gone. It was all gone. All because Rafe had his facts wrong.
Bastard wasn’t a strong enough term.
Still, she didn’t exactly want Mac to shoot Rafe. At the very least, he shouldn’t kill Rafe. A flesh wound might be okay.
No, that was just the anger talking because if Mac shot Rafe, Mac would wind up in prison and Rafe’s family would want to know why and there would be an international incident. And the very last thing Violet wanted right now was an international incident.
So she hurried out through the kitchen and crept along the side of the house, sticking to the shadows. When she could peek around the porch, she saw that Rafe and Mac were standing only a few feet away. Oddly, Mac wasn’t holding his gun. Odder still, the two men were talking.
* * *
“...And tell her I love her,” she heard Rafe say as he reached into his pocket.
Mac tensed and reached around his back—for his gun.
Oh, God—he was going to shoot Rafe. And Rafe had just said that he loved her? Hadn’t he?
One thing was clear. Mac couldn’t kill Rafe. He couldn’t even wound him.
But that wasn’t stopping Mac. He had the gun out of his waistband. She tried to shout a warning—but she couldn’t even get the words, “Don’t kill him!” out before a shot was fired into the darkness.
Violet screamed so loudly that the world went blue on the edge of her vision and then, just as it was going black, she saw both men turn in her direction.
Rafe was the last thing she thought about before she blacked out.
* * *
“Violet,” she heard a silky voice say. For some reason, it made her think of sunshine and honey, warm and sweet. “Are you well? Please open your eyes,” the voice pleaded. “Please be well.”
“Here,” another voice said. This one was gruff and tight. It was her brother, Mac.
“Ah,” said the liquid sunshine voice. Rafe. Rafe was here. Oh, thank God.
Then something wet splashed on her face and she startled. Her eyes flew open and she saw the night sky and Rafe’s face close to hers and Mac’s hovering behind him. “What happened?”
“Someone scared the hell out of me,” Mac said. He sounded mad, but she could see the worry lines on his face. “And I pulled the trigger.”
“I fear the car will never be the same,” Rafe said. He managed a small grin at her.
“You’re not dead? I’m not dead?”
“No one is dead,” he assured her. “You, however, fainted.”
“Dammit.” This was embarrassing.
“Yeah,” Mac replied. “She’s shooting her mouth off again. She’s fine. Help me get her up.”
“I have her,” Rafe said. He pulled Violet into his arms and cradled her against his chest. Then, as if she weighed nothing at all, he stood. “If you could be so kind as to find the paper I dropped...”
“Sure. What is it?”
“The deed to the Wild Aces.” He said it casually as he carried her into the house.
“What?” she gasped.
“The Wild Aces. It is yours.” He sat down on the couch, but he did not let her go. Instead—in the middle of the living room, in full view of her brother and anyone else who might wander through—he pulled her onto his lap. “Whatever you choose, I will accept. But the land—and the water—it is yours.”
“I would pay twice that if that was what it took to give you a beautiful home where you can raise our child. I want you to give him or her the kind of life that you have had, surrounded by family and love.”
“I don’t understand.” It came out confused and weak, and she didn’t want to be weak in front of him. She tried to shove herself off his lap, but his arms closed around her and there was no escaping him.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I beg your forgiveness, Violet.” He gave her an oddly crooked smile. “If my father could see me begging a woman for forgiveness...”
“Don’t,” she said. “I don’t want to ever hear his name again.”
“A sheikh of Al Qunfudhah does not ask for forgiveness. And begging is unthinkable. But that is what I am doing now, Violet. I treated you poorly and there is no excuse.”
There was something else going on here and it wasn’t just that he’d been crazy enough to tell an armed-and-dangerous older brother he was in love with her.
It was the same something else that Violet had seen in Nasira’s eyes when Nasira had said that their father had imprisoned Rafe. At the time, she had hoped that the other woman was speaking metaphorically or Violet had misunderstood because of the language and cultural differences between them, even though Nasira spoke perfect, if British, English.
What if...what if she hadn’t been speaking metaphorically?
Rafe bowed his head over her. “My father was...a difficult man.”
Violet waited. She had the feeling that he was getting to the truth of the matter and she could not rush him.
“He held me responsible for what had happened to Nasira. He washed his hands of her and she was able to move to London. In that, I had succeeded in protecting her. Her life has been much better for it. But as for my father, I had failed him. And he made me pay for that failure.”
“What do you mean, he made you pay? Nasira said...”
The sorrow on Rafe’s face made her eyes tear up. “He locked me in the dungeons.”
A Surprise for the Sheikh Page 15