by Kate Hewitt
Olivia’s cheeks went pink and she looked away. Zayed felt a stab of pity for her. He’d taken her innocence. She’d given it willingly enough, but still. It was a hard burden for a woman to bear, especially in this culture. And, he realised, she was not acting as if she expected to benefit from it. Surely she should be insisting he honour his vows rather than suggesting he seek an annulment? Unless she was playing a long game.
‘Are you promised to someone else?’ he asked, and she looked up in surprise.
‘Promised?’ She let out a short laugh. ‘No. There’s no one like that. There never has been. Obviously.’ She looked away. ‘You could set me aside, of course,’ she said in a low voice. ‘A divorce. It’s done often enough by men of power.’
And would bring her even more shame. Zayed shook his head. ‘I am a man of honour.’ Besides, he could not instigate a divorce without first knowing where he stood with Sultan Hassan.
‘Are you?’ Olivia challenged him shakily. ‘Because a man of honour would not, it seems to me, abduct a woman and then take her virtue.’
Again he felt this guilt, along with a cleaner, stronger anger. ‘I thought,’ Zayed bit out, ‘you were my bride.’
‘And I suppose you think that makes it acceptable? I would say even less so, then.’
‘I was intending to consummate a marriage that has been planned for nearly twenty years,’ Zayed snapped. ‘I admit, taking Princess Halina from her palace bedroom might seem like a drastic action, but I assure you, it was necessary.’
‘Necessary? Why?’
He didn’t really want to go into all the reasons behind the politics, not now when he was still reeling, his mind spinning, seeking answers when he feared there were none. He was married, and he’d made sure it was done in a way that was legal, binding and permanent. The trouble was, he’d married the wrong woman.
How could he have been so stupid? So rash? The events of the evening blurred in his mind; he’d been fuelled by both determination and desperation, needing to get it done, and quickly. So he had.
In one abrupt movement Zayed strode to the table and poured himself a healthy measure of arak. From behind him Olivia laughed softly.
‘That’s what got us into this trouble in the first place.’
‘What do you mean?’ He tossed it down in one burning swallow and then turned around. ‘Are you saying you wouldn’t have slept with me if you hadn’t been drunk?’ Another reason to be appalled by his own behaviour.
‘I wasn’t drunk.’ Olivia glanced down. ‘But my inhibitions were loosened, I suppose.’
Zayed thought of the way she’d arched and writhed beneath him, drawing him into her body, begging him to continue. Yes, they certainly had been loosened. And so had his. For a little while he’d lost sight of himself, and all he needed to achieve, when he’d been in Olivia’s arms. When he’d felt the sweet purity of her response. It had pierced him like an arrow, it had shattered his defences, but thankfully he’d been quick to build them back up again.
And now he needed to think. He poured himself another measure of arak and sat down to drink it slowly, his mind starting to click into gear. ‘Why were you in Princess Halina’s bedroom, as a matter of interest?’
Olivia looked at him warily, as if suspecting a trap. Perhaps there was one. He had to know if she was hiding something. Had she known of the plot—had she positioned herself to be taken? Perhaps she’d been acting on Halina’s behalf; Zayed had heard that his bride was less than enthused about their nuptials. Or maybe Olivia had seen a chance to better her seemingly small prospects and become Queen. The truth was, he knew nothing about her, and he had every reason to suspect her motives and actions. What gently reared woman fell into bed with a stranger without even asking his name or telling him her own? And not a just a stranger but a man who had kidnapped her, for heaven’s sake. Olivia’s actions bordered on incredible in the truest sense of the word.
‘I was putting her clothes away,’ she said after a pause.
‘You said you were a governess, not a maid.’
Olivia shrugged, her robe sliding off her shoulder. ‘Lina and I were friends in school. That’s how I got the position. I was in her sitting room, talking with her after she’d returned from dinner, and tidying up as I did it. Nothing unusual, really.’
‘Where was Halina?’
‘Sitting on the sofa. She was in the next room when you came in through the window. I could hear her humming.’ Olivia shook her head slowly, her eyes wide. ‘This all feels so completely surreal.’
And yet, unfortunately for both of them, it wasn’t. He hadn’t even seen Halina. In truth, he’d only had eyes for Olivia. Even through the blur of binoculars he’d been arrested by her slender form, her movements of efficient grace. And yet...
‘You look like her.’
Olivia frowned. ‘You think I look like her? No.’ She shook her head. ‘Not really. A pale shadow, perhaps.’
A pale shadow? It was a revealing choice of words. ‘You have the same colouring,’ he continued. ‘Dark hair...’
‘Halina is much prettier than I am,’ Olivia insisted. ‘Her hair is darker and wavier and...’ She paused, biting her lip, and Zayed raised his eyebrows, curious now.
‘And?’
‘Her figure is...curvier.’ Olivia flushed. ‘Everyone thinks she is very beautiful.’ The implication seemed to be that they thought Olivia was not. Yet Zayed had enjoyed her curves, slight as they were, and her hair—a deep, rich brown—was dark enough for him. Although, now that he was studying her properly, not blinded by the wilful determination he’d felt earlier, he saw that Olivia was right. She resembled Halina only to a small degree. Her colouring was lighter, more European, and she was a bit taller as well as slenderer. Even he could see that, having only glimpsed Halina in blurry photos. So why hadn’t he realised it earlier? Because he’d been too focused. Too desperate.
‘You don’t speak Arabic,’ he recalled slowly. ‘And your name sounds English. Where were you raised?’
‘All over the world. My father was British, a diplomat. We moved every few years to a new posting and then I went to boarding school with Halina in England. My mother was Spanish.’
Was. ‘You are an orphan?’
Olivia nodded. ‘My mother died when I was small, my father five years ago when I was seventeen. Since I was a friend of Halina’s, Sultan Hassan took me under his protection. It was very kind of him.’ Zayed nodded slowly. Hassan had presumably taken Olivia on as a paid employee. It wasn’t quite the same, yet Olivia seemed grateful.
He took a sip of arak, needing his senses blunted even if he knew he couldn’t afford the luxury. His mind moved in circles, seeking a way out of this trap he’d unwittingly made for himself, but all he felt was it tightening inexorably.
‘So people know we’re married,’ Olivia said slowly. ‘Too many people, it seems. What...what will this mean for you? And for Kalidar?’
‘I don’t know.’ He glanced at her from beneath his lashes, suspicious all over again. She seemed too good to be true—innocent and helpful and eager to please, caring more for his situation than her own. Was she hoping to become the next Queen of Kalidar? Not that he could offer her that much yet. He had tents in the desert and a small cadre of loyal men. In ten years he had not left the barren desert of his country; he had not wanted to give Malouf an opportunity to seize even more power or let his men think he’d abandoned them. If Olivia was hoping for a life of luxury and ease, it would be a long time coming...but it would come. Was she banking on that? Or had she sacrificed herself for Halina’s sake?
What did she want?
‘I’m sorry,’ Olivia said after a moment, her voice soft and sad, and Zayed let out a harsh huff of laughter. Now he really was suspicious. She was laying it on a bit thick, her concern for him and his country, when he’d taken her innocence and ruined her reputation.
‘You’re sorry?’
She hunched one slender shoulder. ‘You have more to lose than I do.
That’s what you meant by “millions,” isn’t it? The people of Kalidar. This marriage—marriage to Halina—was important to you politically. Wasn’t it?’ She searched his face, her expression both guileless and compassionate. ‘I don’t know the details, of course.’
‘You don’t need to know them.’
‘But what will you do if you cannot marry Halina?’ Olivia’s eyes were round, her hair tousled, her lips parted. Even now she looked desirable, and Zayed wanted her all over again.
He suppressed that painful stab of inconvenient desire. Was this her ploy, to get him to admit that he had to stay married to her? Because he wouldn’t do it. He’d make her no promises. He’d made far too many already. ‘I don’t know what I will do,’ Zayed said shortly. ‘I have to think.’ He looked away, a muscle working in his throat, a pain lodging in his chest like a cold, hard stone. This marriage had been essential. Without it...without it...
He had to get out of this marriage. He had to make it right with Sultan Hassan. Anything else would be failure, doom for his kingship, his country. Far too much was at stake for him to worry about the finer feelings of one forgettable woman.
Zayed rose from his seat while Olivia watched with wide eyes, apprehension visible in every taut line of her body. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Out,’ Zayed said brusquely. ‘I need to think.’
‘But what...what am I meant to do?’
He raked her with one deliberately dismissive glance, determined not to care about this woman to even the smallest degree. He still suspected her. How could he not? To have fallen into bed with him... Maybe he was being judgemental, but he had to be. Too much was at stake for him to trust her an inch.
‘You can do what you like,’ he informed her. ‘Get some sleep, stay in the tent or wander around. I wouldn’t go far, though. Outside this camp there is nothing but barren desert for a hundred miles in any direction. You wouldn’t last long, Miss Taylor.’
And, with that parting warning, he stalked out of the tent.
CHAPTER FIVE
OLIVIA CURLED UP on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend everything that had happened and, far worse, what it might mean. Married. Married.
She’d been an idiot for not realising, or at least not suspecting, something of what had been going on. It had been some kind of ceremony, she could see that now, and through her dazed confusion she’d managed to grasp snatches of words: commitment...responsibility...vow. She’d heard it, but she hadn’t put it all together to realise what was actually happening. How could she have? She hadn’t known her captor was Prince Zayed, or that he thought she was Princess Halina.
But even that was the pinnacle of stupidity, Olivia thought wretchedly. Why would a stranger kidnap her, the governess, a mere servant? Of course he’d thought she was someone else. Someone important.
And as for what had come afterward...as magical as it had been, she couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t wrap her mind around it...or what it might mean.
Through the tent flap Olivia could see a sliver of dawn sky, a pearly pink lighting up the world. Her body ached with fatigue, and her mind too. She needed to sleep, like Zayed had suggested. And after that... Olivia couldn’t even begin to think what the future held.
She stretched out on the bed, inhaling the already familiar musk of Zayed. The feather mattress still bore the indent of their entwined bodies. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. Her mind seethed with remembered sensations, and she felt herself tensing up despite her best efforts to relax. She was never going to get to sleep, yet she knew she needed the rest. Desperately.
Somehow, despite the tumbled thoughts in her mind, the tension in her body, she fell into a restless doze that at some point turned into a deep, dreamless slumber. When she awoke, for a few seconds she couldn’t remember what had happened, and she lay there, blinking up at the tent ceiling, her mind fuzzy and blank. Then it came back with a sickening rush, and she closed her eyes as her mind relentlessly played a montage of memories from the night before: the moment Zayed had come through the window, dark and fearsome, yet with those gentle eyes; then the dizzying fall from the window; the endless hours on horseback...and then...
Olivia let out a rush of breath. Even now she could feel Zayed’s mouth on hers, moving so persuasively, his hands caressing her, knowing exactly how to touch her and make her respond. And her own utter wantonness... She hadn’t even questioned herself, not really. She’d simply wanted...and taken. Or, rather, let herself be taken.
It had to be mid-morning now; the tent was baking hot, bright sunlight filtering through the entrance flap. The skimpy robe Olivia had put on last night now stuck to her body. She rolled into a sitting position, groaning as her head spun, no doubt from the alcohol she wasn’t used to, as well as being dehydrated. From outside the tent she could hear the sounds of activity: men talking in shouts and laughter; a horse nickering. What, she wondered as she held her head in her hands, happened now?
A few moments later Suma came in with a tray of food and drink. She smiled at Olivia, looking pleased.
‘You wear the robe,’ she said in more distinct Arabic. Zayed must have told her that Olivia had trouble understanding. What else had he said? How many people knew what had transpired in this tent? Olivia had a feeling it was just about everyone in the camp, and she blushed with the shame of it.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered in her own halting Arabic. Suma put the tray down on the table.
‘Come and eat,’ she instructed. ‘Drink.’
‘Thank you.’ Olivia realised she was both thirsty and hungry. She’d had little to eat and drink last night besides the arak, a few grapes and a bit of cheese. Remembering how Zayed had fed her a grape made her blush all over again. How could she have allowed him such liberties? Why hadn’t she been thinking more sensibly?
‘It was a good night,’ Suma said with satisfaction. She beamed at Olivia as Olivia sat down at the table and began to serve herself some of the traditional Arabic dishes. There was labneh yogurt with lemon juice, fava beans with mint and fresh cucumber, as well as dates flavoured with cardamom. It all looked delicious. There was also a little brass carafe of coffee that smelled wonderful.
‘A bride needs to eat,’ Suma added, smiling widely. She looked homely and happy, and even through her embarrassment Olivia’s heart went out to her. Did Suma not realise she wasn’t the Princess? That this marriage was a complete disaster? ‘Especially if there is a nunu.’
For a second Olivia didn’t know what she meant; the phrase was colloquial and beyond her understanding. Then she saw Suma pat her stomach meaningfully and realisation rushed through Olivia. A baby. Especially if there was a baby. If Zayed had got her pregnant.
She stared at Suma in ill-disguised horror, but the older woman merely took it as maidenly surprise and chortled happily before leaving the tent. Olivia stared down at the plate piled high with various dishes, her mouth dry, her appetite vanished. What if she was pregnant?
It was perfectly possible, she realised with a sick feeling. Her cycle was regular and she was right in the middle of it. Even she in her virginal—or not—innocence knew that this was a peak time for fertility. She could very well be pregnant with Prince Zayed’s baby.
Recrimination tore through her, worse than before. She felt like screaming, stomping her feet or, worse, sobbing. How could she have been such a besotted fool? Twenty-two years of living quietly, staying safe, and she’d risked it all in a single night with a stranger. It was as if, last night, she’d become someone else entirely.
The trouble was, she couldn’t stay as that person. She wasn’t that person. And now she was back to being plain Olivia Taylor, except she was married to a prince and she very well might be expecting his child. She would have laughed at the sheer lunacy of it, if there hadn’t been a lump the size of a golf ball in her throat.
Somehow she managed to choke down some of the breakfast. She needed to eat and drin
k, nunu or not. She’d half finished her plate when Suma returned with fresh clothes, thankfully modest. Olivia took the loose tunic and trousers with murmured thanks.
‘You wish to wash?’ Suma asked, miming washing. ‘The oasis has a private area. You go?’
Olivia nodded. She’d like to see something other than this tent, even if she inwardly quailed at the thought of facing a camp full of strangers. With some miming and basic directions, Suma instructed her how to get to a private inlet of the oasis.
Smiling and murmuring her thanks, Olivia took a deep breath and then ducked out of the tent.
* * *
‘My Prince?’
Zayed started from his ill-humoured reverie to see Jahmal at the entrance to his private tent, a respectful but inquisitive look on his face. Did he know of his mistake? From the guarded curiosity on his aide’s face, Zayed doubted it, but Jahmal could sense something was wrong.
‘It...went well?’ he asked cautiously.
Zayed almost laughed, except there was nothing remotely funny about this situation. Nothing at all. He’d spent the last hour pacing his tent and trying to figure a way out of this mess of his own making. Because it was of his own making, no matter what Olivia Taylor was in it for. If he’d kidnapped the right woman, he would not be here, cursing his fate as well as his own idiocy.
‘It went,’ he said tersely. He scrubbed his face with his hands, exhaustion crashing through him. He hadn’t slept for over twenty-four hours and he didn’t foresee much sleep in his future. He still had no idea what to do to fix this situation. Send an envoy to Hassan? How the hell could he explain?
‘The Princess is...happy?’ Jahmal ventured, his forehead creasing as his dark eyes searched Zayed’s fierce expression.
This time Zayed did laugh, because what else could he do? There were no walls to punch, no way to let out the fury he felt, directed solely at himself. For ten years failure had not been an option—and yet after all the war, all the bloodshed, all the loss, grief and pain, he wondered if the last decade had been nothing but failure. And now this.