by H. M. Irwing
The door to the study clicked shut behind them, secluding them away from prying eyes and ears. Lucy glared about at the stark décor of the study, which was in fact an office. Probably where Richard or the manager of the farm sat day in day out ensuring the place ran effectively. She turned to scowl at the man with the bloody nose. Sadly, it was not broken. Lucy frowned, vastly disappointed. But it was only at that point that she took in his reaction to her assault. He was not a happy camper.
“Lucy,” said Richard, with an ominous ring to his tone that raised Lucy’s hair on the back of her neck. “I would like you to meet Emir Sadiq Al Fayyad, a prince from Saudi Arabia. The Emir has been invited here as my guest.” He said pointedly, effectively implying Lucy was Jace’s guest.
Lucy narrowed her eyes at him.
“He has graciously agreed to finance our bid to keep D’Neils fashion house afloat. We are expanding you know. Going global with the brand,” said Richard, only mildly amused at Lucy’s gaping reaction before he continued, “Emir Al Fayad, this is Lucy Little. I believe you have been intimately acquainted with her underaged sister, Catherine Little.”
“Lucy Little?” questioned the Emir, somewhat amused. Lucy only glared up at him as he continued to mop up the dripping blood.
“You have a mean left hook, Lucy.” The Emir stated frankly in a tone that was not at all complimentary. The imperceptible narrowing of his eyes had her involuntarily gulping. It was not that she was afraid. She would do it over if she had the chance. But knowing that he was no ordinary person, but a prince, made it all that much more daunting.
Trust Cat to pick someone not only out of the ordinary but exceptionally extraordinary. Lucy now understood what it was about him that neither of them could put a word to—it was his regal bearing. The one that turned scruffy hair and jeans into something fit for a king. He even mopped up his dripping nose with polished perfection.
What had Cat been thinking when she lost her head and bedded this one? Now that Lucy knew what to look for it was there in his every move, in his very blood—effing royalty.
“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Jace asked finally, done with being bewildered by all that had happened.
“The Emir slept with Lucy’s underaged sister,” stated Richard, matter-of-factly.
“Emily?” questioned Jace, fisting his hand in rage.
“No, Cat.” Lucy replied feeling suddenly drained.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh jolted her draining adrenaline back into action. She launched forward without a thought and leaped into the fray, only to land on the two wrestling men on the floor. But Lucy was no novice when it came to wrestling; she’d spent the better part of her childhood doing just that with Jace, and with Jace now in league with her, Lucy was able to synchronise her efforts to attain maximum impact. She managed to land an elbow to a gut.
It just wasn’t clear whose gut it was, but either way she was beyond caring. At that moment all she craved was blood, just not her own. Lucy yelped as a flailing hand swept her clear off the wrestling men to land plump on her ass. She felt her breath leave her lungs in a silent whoosh.
“Had enough?” Richard smirked down at her before reaching down to offer a hand to haul Lucy back onto her feet. She swayed a little dizzily where she stood, seeing spots of black dashing across her vision.
“You may have to sit out the horse riding session later this afternoon if your backside is still sore,” suggested Richard almost conversationally, before adding salaciously. “Unless you want me to rub it better?”
It was clear he was getting a kick out of this. It was evident in the darkening intent of his gaze, the swirling pools of ebony that reached out to sweep her in. She gasped, feeling even more disoriented by all she read in their depths before her trusty temper rose back to save her from doing something even more foolish.
Lucy almost launched herself at him just then. It was sheer luck on grinning-Richard’s side that spared him the agony of her attack, for Jace had wrapped an arm about her waist to haul her back against him.
“Babe? Are you alright? I saw you fall. Baby, talk to me,” Jace rained adoring kisses across her face while the two men looked on. One without expression and the other with a clear tightening about the eyes.
Awkward!
Lucy shoved him away.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Cat?” Jace asked then, looking hurt. Lucy groaned out loud.
“There was never the right time for it,” she muttered, shrugging her shoulders.
“But you told Richard,” Jace reminded her.
“He was in the right place at the right time,” she replied mutinously. It was not as if she’d intentionally told Richard anything. He manipulated it out of her with his… his… ugh… did it matter?
“Can we thrash this out later?” Richard’s voice of reason was immediately resented.
“I didn’t know Cat was underaged,” murmured the Emir in cultured tones. His words drawing all their attention back to him.
“That’s what happens when you do not even take the time to get to know the girl first before you get into her pants,” Lucy rounded on him angrily.
“I think I love her,” said the bemused Emir, seemingly unperturbed by all the thrashing he had gotten from them. It was only then that Lucy really studied him and what she saw had her gulping. Muscles bulked beneath his t-shirt and the fighting stance he now stood in said clearly, he was highly trained.
The sardonic amusement about his cat-like eyes said he had been too amused by their attempts to take them seriously. And Lucy, for the life of her, was suddenly immensely grateful for that fact. Her reckless temper was going to get her killed one of these days. She wouldn’t at all be surprised if she one day woke up six-feet-under because of it.
“Love her? You didn’t even know her name!” Lucy spat out recklessly, not yet willing to cede completely to reason.
The Emir shrugged. “I would very much like to meet her again.”
The loud crack and smack was distinctively satisfying. Lucy almost groaned out loud in pleasure only this time it was Richard doing the honours. But as the Emir was still the recipient, Lucy was not overly concerned. He flexed his hands gingerly as he shook his head contemptuously down at the prince.
“I would appreciate it if you would stop hitting me,” said the Emir, getting up off the floor for the last time. Lucy could see the thinly veiled anger within his dusky green eyes. The amusements at their attempts was gone. The warning was now clear in his green gaze; another attempt and there would be no restraint on his part. Lucy could just imagine the bloody pulp he would leave everyone in. She took a step back closer to Jace and Richard took a step forward to get in front of her.
“I don’t think you have any rights to make such a demand,” said Jace contemptuously.
“Don’t you? And who are you to have any thoughts at all?” The Emir retorted snidely.
Jace moved forward to land in a left but this time the Emir was not standing idly in the way of his fists instead he caught his jab and twisted his arm behind his back to incapacitate him, drawing a hoarse cry of pain from poor Jace in the process.
“I know you hold me guilty by your laws, but I have diplomatic immunity here. I have also committed no crime by the rights of my own tribe, where I am the law. That aside, you stand dangerously close to losing my generosity in financing your flailing company. Do you really want to take this any further?” The Emir questioned both Richard and Jace, but Lucy knew without looking what their response would be.
A quick glance at each of them proved her right. She turned heel then, unable to stay without doing some serious damage to her fist and, as a consequence, to her face and seeing no more ally from the two she counted on, Lucy saw no reason to remain. She would pack and leave. She should never have come here to begin with.
Something of what Lucy was thinking must have been reflected on her face for Richard called out to her as she wrenched open the library door to hurry away.
“Running away, little girl?” Lucy turned to see Celine’s smug face peering down at her as she ran into her along the passageway. How Celine managed to remain on such high heels all day was beyond her. Lucy got sore feet from just looking at her.
“I only appear little because you’re in heels,” she muttered sarcastically.
Celine laughed at that. “You’re hilarious. I was referring to your ridiculous surname, Lucy Little.”
“Oh,” Lucy said. Not much she could say about that. It was what it was.
Lucy made to leave, dropping her a grimace she hoped would pass muster as a smile, not that she cared either way. But just then a deep voice she was only starting to recognise called out to her. Lucy saw Celine’s flustered face peering excitedly over Lucy’s shoulder and had her conclusion confirmed.
“Yes, your excellency,” Lucy said sarcastically. “What do you wish from me?”
“Tsk tsk,” he tutted at her, coming to a stop beside her. “I wish to only have a word with you. We can talk at the stables. My horse will be made ready for me and I will ride.”
Lucy stared at the Emir and couldn’t help noticing his completely unblemished nose. What happened to all the blood that had been dripping off its tip? The Emir smirked, correctly reading her chagrin.
“My nose is not broken, despite yours and your friends’ best efforts. But I do not mind this. I find that I like your defence of my Catherine Little.”
“She is not your anything,” Lucy rounded on him furiously, immediately ready to do battle.
“Ah, you see we have much to discuss,” the Emir replied, before grabbing her arm and hauling her after him.
Diplomatic her ass!
Lucy was marched off towards an obscure end of the stables. There, holding reign, was the most glorious Arabian stallion. She was sure every mare there envied her as she reached out to run a hand down his flank.
“His name is Emir. He is a prince among horses. Fitting no?” asked the Emir.
“You named him after yourself?” Lucy asked being deliberately obtuse.
“My given name is Sadiq. My friends call me Sadist,” he said, matter-of-factly, narrowing his green eyes warningly at her.
“For real?” Lucy asked intrigued.
“Well yes, it is but the truth,” Sadiq shrugged indifferently.
“And you call them your friends,” she muttered back, mockingly. Sadiq burst out laughing at that. Great! Making him happy was not what she was intending at all.
“Come, we will ride,” he said, just as a beautiful mare trotted up to them.
“What’s she called?” Lucy asked as she used the step-up situated nearby to climb up and seat herself across the saddle.
“She is called Anella. I have many horses here. Some I race in the Melbourne Cup, others I merely leave in Richard’s care for training,” he said, leaping effortlessly onto his horse. He sat his horse astride looking utterly at ease behind the reins. Man and horse were clearly one. Sadiq turned his horse to lead them out.
Lucy followed his lead. It had been ages since she last sat on a horse. But it was like riding a bicycle; she never forgot how. Her body instantly relaxed in the saddle and her movements conformed to that of Anella. Together, they moved in sync. Sadiq turned to view her progress. Satisfied, he increased his gait and then broke into a trot. Lucy kept up as best she could, the swift change in pace a little difficult to handle at first but then her natural rhythm took over and when Sadiq shifted the pace again to an all-out gallop, Lucy was able to adapt swiftly if not keep pace.
But it didn’t matter. Dashing across the plains at her more manageable pace, Lucy was able to take in the natural scenery and the dynamic picture that man and horse made tearing across it. They were power in motion. She felt a thrill of excitement mingle with unexpected fear, especially when he drew his horse to a screaming halt before rearing up and executing a sharp turn so he could pound his way back to her.
She watched fearfully as he slowed his pace to a trot before man and horse stopped all motion and stood stock still, staring down at the valley behind her. Her own horse closed the distance between them with nary a change in pace. But Lucy pulled up short, unwilling to draw any closer to him than was necessary.
He did not turn to acknowledge her presence. After a while, Lucy shifted uncomfortably.
“Get down,” he said, without turning.
“Why?” She asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Because I said so. Because I am a prince and you dared to hit me,” he said quietly, yet ominously. Lucy shook in her boots. He was a prince and she had hit him. The man had a nation behind him. A nation with its very own army. What did Lucy have? This was not looking good. She turned to look back, taking in the distance to the farm, only just realising how alone she was out there. She thought to make a run for it. To turn her horse around and dash hell-bent for leather out of there.
“Don’t even try it,” Sadiq warned imperceptibly. “Anella is docile enough but she is trained to obey me. She will stop and turn back at my whistle,” Sadiq explained, anticipating her headlong flight. Having blown her escape plans to smithereens, Lucy was forced to do nothing but comply.
She got off her horse unhappily and stood there facing him. It made her feel immediately small, having to look up the great distance between them to catch sight of the satisfied glint of his eyes. The man was a brute.
“I would have you know, that never have I been so insulted in my life. You and your friends have treated me… ill. It is not my way to lift a hand on a woman, therefore I cannot call you out to fight as I would a man. But I cannot allow this to simply be, either.” Prince Sadiq stared down at her, his stony expression impenetrable. The silence between them extended.
“What… what do you intend?” Lucy asked finally, afraid but needing to know all the same.
“Even though you are my Catherine’s sister, you must be punished. It is not your place to decide what is or isn’t right for her. I have made her mine. I and only I, have that right. It is the way of my people.”
Reminding herself of her already vulnerable position, Lucy successfully choked her words on that one.
“I am left with no choice but to draw on the wisdom my ancestors have used in the deserts in Arabia in dealing with unwanted nuisance,” he paused ominously, to consider his next words before uttering them. “I give you twenty minutes head start on foot and then I will hunt, you. Should I catch you? I will hold you to my judgement. If you manage to get away from me then you are free.”
Lucy stood there staring but not at all comprehending. “I don’t understand.”
“Run.” That was all he said.
Comprehension dawned. “You… you cannot… do this,” she started to stammer indignantly.
“I can, and I will,” he said. “If you escape me, I will grant you a wish.” He offered then magnanimously.
“You will leave Cat alone,” Lucy said immediately.
“Anything but that,” he replied, immovable on that score.
“You will not take retribution on Jace and Richard. They reacted only because I did. I was the instigator. There will be no physical or financial retribution taken on them,” Lucy modified her demand, all the while shaking inside. There was no way she could outrun this horse no matter the twenty minutes leeway.
He pondered it over a minute, before promising, “Agreed.”
The bargain sealed, Lucy had no option but to take off on foot the way they came. She broke into a run, cursing her own stupidity all the way.
Chapter 16
Her breath was burning up her chest with its fiery heat. Scalding her insides even as her inflamed temper fried her brain. Lucy gasped, trying to draw some air into her oxygen-starved lungs. She was lucky; she was Sporty Little. Emily would have caved in after that first slope. Why had she ridden that far? Why had she been that stupid?
There was a reason the peasants were unwilling to tangle with royalty, and that had more to do with their being a royal pa
in in the ass than anything else. It was because they were all bat-shit crazy thinking they owned the world and everything in it. How stupid was that?
Lucy vented along with each step she took. Regretting not wearing a hat. Regretting not wearing her sunnies. Already she felt faint. Soaked in sweat and weary. Drained from a late night with little rest and endless puking. But several things became as glaringly clear as the sun in her impromptu romp through the grasslands, and that was her future.
Her future would be devoid of men.
Her future would see her graduating as a lawyer.
Her future would see her hunting down the villains who had taken her brother and returning him to the bosom of family.
But, most importantly, her future would see her saving Cat’s stupid ass from the clutches of freaking royalty. In no way is the Sadist ever getting his talons on her again. Never. If she had to draw her last breath to make it happen then so be it. Lucy ran on sheer stubbornness alone. Her temper tossing reason to the wind and having her wallow in retribution of all things.
It was well past a couple of hours, but the ranch was finally in sight. She was closing in. Lucy panted hard, stopping to dash off the hay and grass stains that coated her from her many falls and stumbles along the way. With grass that tall, Lucy had made it a point to stumble over every unseen rock and dip in the landscape along the way. It was a wonder her ankles were still whole. And in a way, she was even thankful some of those stumbles worked in her favour tossing her down slopes in a more efficient, if somewhat dangerous, way.
Seeing the ranch hands working the fields nearby, Lucy hobbled over towards them, bent on asking for help. Spotting her ungainly descent down the side slope, a rider rode up to her, hollering, “What the hell are you doing out here without so much as a hat? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” The ranchman looked down at her as if she were crazy, no doubt thinking all Sheilas were naturally a bit off, but that the city slickers were the worst of the lot.