by Kate Hewitt
Olivia soon realised that the way she could be the most useful was simply by listening and chatting to the women and children, distracting them from their worries. And, goodness knew, she could use some distraction as well.
When all the injuries had been seen to, they retired to one of the women’s tents, drank apricot juice and nibbled on pitta bread with fresh hummus.
Before long she had a chubby baby on her hip and a toddler clinging to her legs as the women began firing questions at her, only half of which Olivia could understand, and none of which she could answer.
Who was she? Was she Zayed’s bride? Had he married in secret? Were they in love? When Olivia blushed, the woman crowed with laughter, delighted by her response. Even when she said nothing, it seemed she gave something away. And, with dread curdling in her stomach, she had a feeling Zayed would be furious.
But perhaps he would be furious with her, no matter what. He seemed determined to be, just as he was determined to regain what he’d lost. She would just be collateral damage, so much jetsam to be thrown away. The thought made her throat close. It hurt to be so disregarded, even though part of her understood it. Really, what else could she expect? Prince Zayed had a country to think of. She was just one woman, an unimportant palace servant he needed to get rid of.
‘Come.’ One of the women smiled at her and plucked her sleeve. ‘You are tired. You rest.’
She was tired, every muscle and sinew pulsing with exhaustion. With a smile of relieved gratitude, Olivia followed the woman to another tent where she could sleep...and perhaps forget, for a little while, the mess she was still hopelessly embroiled in.
* * *
It had been a strange, surreal kind of day. Zayed had been immersed in meetings with the tribal leaders, listening to their complaints, assuring them he would have vengeance on Malouf’s men. He’d already sent one of his own patrols out after the raiders, in the hope of recapturing the tribe’s valuable livestock. He saw the hope and, far more damning, the faith in the eyes of his people when he spoke to them and guilt cramped his stomach. How could they trust him as their leader, when he’d made such an enormous mistake? When he’d married the wrong woman and put his country’s most valuable alliance at terrible risk?
Even though he barely saw her, Zayed was conscious of Olivia throughout the day. He saw her down at the oasis, washing and bandaging the children’s scrapes with meticulous care. Later, when all the injuries had been seen to, he saw her laughing and playing in the water, kids crawling over her. The women seemed to have accepted her into their fold without question, which made Zayed wonder if they assumed she was his bride. Did they know she wasn’t the woman he’d meant to have? He had no idea if Olivia’s rudimentary Arabic was up to the task of disabusing them of any of their assumptions...or if she even would. Perhaps she was simply making herself useful so he would see what an asset she could be to him.
He shouldn’t have brought her, he supposed, so he could have stemmed any questions or curiosity, but he hadn’t thought the news of his bride would have spread to such a remote place. And he hadn’t wanted to let Olivia out of his sight, not until he knew what he was going to do with her.
In late afternoon, as the shadows started drawing in, Zayed met with Jahmal.
‘We’ll stay the night,’ he informed his aide. ‘And leave in the morning for Rubyhan.’
Jahmal raised his eyebrows. ‘Rubyhan? Is that wise?’
Zayed took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I need to retrench and decide what I am going to do about Olivia.’ Rubyhan, the summer palace of the royal family of Kalidar, had thankfully remained in his possession throughout Malouf’s reign. He used it as the seat of his provisional government and the place to which he went when he needed to regroup. And he certainly needed to regroup now.
A headache flickered at his temples and Zayed closed his eyes, fighting the pain. The last thing he needed was one of the crippling migraines he’d suffered from since receiving a head injury eight years ago in one of the battles against Malouf’s men.
‘My Prince?’ Jahmal sounded cautious. ‘Surely you can simply set her aside? She is only a servant.’
Irritation prickled his scalp and tightened his gut at the suggestion, although it was no more than what he’d already thought himself. Yet somehow he didn’t like his aide saying it.
‘It is not so simple,’ he said tightly. ‘Sultan Hassan will have realised I kidnapped his servant and, moreover, that I intended to kidnap his daughter. Our negotiations will be thrown into total disarray.’ If not broken off completely. ‘I need to mend things with Hassan. When I have an answer from him, I can decide what to do about Olivia.’
‘Still,’ Jahmal persisted. ‘It can be managed. If she is only a servant...’
Only a servant.
It was true, of course. Olivia was, to all intents and purposes, expendable. So why did that thought bother him right now? It shouldn’t, Zayed realised with sudden, crystalline clarity. He was letting sentiment cloud his vision, soften his determination. Despite his suspicions, he felt guilty for the way he’d treated her last night, so he was resisting the prospect of setting her aside and what it would mean for her. But he couldn’t let last night change things. He couldn’t let Olivia matter at all.
‘I do not wish to discuss it now,’ he said in a clipped voice. ‘I am going to wash and then we will eat with the tribal leaders.’
‘Very good, My Prince.’
Later, after he’d washed and eaten, he went in search of Olivia. He hadn’t seen her for several hours, and the realisation made unease deepen within his chest, although he couldn’t say why.
One of the women informed him she’d been given her own tent, which confirmed his suspicions that the tribe knew she was a woman of importance, perhaps even his bride. He really shouldn’t have brought her. His judgement was being clouded again and again, it seemed. The sooner this woman was out of his life, the better.
He bent to enter her tent, the flap falling closed behind him. He straightened, glancing around at the rough furnishings, a far cry from the sumptuous luxury she’d had back at his own camp. She was sitting on a pallet covered with sheepskin, her slender fingers flying as they plaited her damp hair. Her eyes widened as she saw him come in but she said nothing, just watched him warily.
Zayed’s gaze flicked over her. She wore the same nondescript tunic and trousers she’d been in earlier, hardly clothes to inflame a man, yet even now he felt that inexorable pull to her. What was it about this woman? She wasn’t anything special. Yes, her eyes were lovely, and her figure was appealing, but she was just a woman. One among many, although he hadn’t had a woman for a long time before Olivia. Perhaps that was it. He’d denied himself carnal pleasures for too long, in pursuit of his inheritance. His kingdom.
‘Tomorrow we are travelling to Rubyhan.’
‘Rubyhan?’
‘The summer palace of the royal family and the seat of my government.’
She nodded slowly, finishing her plait before resting her hands in her lap. ‘And then?’
‘Then I will contact Sultan Hassan, and you will write the letter.’
‘And when I do? What are you hoping will happen?’
‘That he will understand the mistake I made and we will reopen marriage negotiations.’ Anything else was intolerable, impossible. He had to have Hassan’s support in fighting Malouf. For the last ten years various political leaders had tried to distance themselves from Kalidar’s civil war, waiting to see the outcome. On several occasions he had been on the precipice of victory; once he’d made it to the capital city of Arjah, only to have the palace gates closed against him.
With Hassan’s support, he could exert political pressure on Malouf and force him to resign. The man was old, with no heirs; his soldiers were starting to dissent, tired of the endless fighting against Zayed and his men, knowing him to be the rightful King. A bloodless coup would be the perfect victory and finally, finally, an end to all the war and lo
ss.
Olivia nodded slowly, her head bent, her gaze on her clasped hands. Zayed could see the nape of her neck, the tender skin, the pale, curling hairs, and the sight caused a nameless feeling to clench his insides in a way he didn’t like. ‘And what will happen to me, do you suppose?’ she asked after a moment.
‘Are you hoping for a settlement?’
She looked up, eyes flashing. ‘You sound so judgemental.’
‘I was merely asking a question.’
‘No, you weren’t.’ She took a quick, shuddering breath. ‘You have judged me again and again for falling into bed with you. I admit, it was a mistake. A colossal mistake. But I didn’t mean to do it. If I could undo it, I would. I have no desire to be your Queen. I have never been interested in power or money.’ Another quick breath tore at his senses. He had a bizarre urge to comfort her, even though he knew he couldn’t.
‘All I’ve wanted,’ Olivia continued more quietly, ‘is a place to belong. A sense of family. A job to do. I had all that with the royal family of Abkar.’
‘And so you will have it again.’
She glanced at him, scorn clear on her face, surprising him. ‘Now you are the one who is naïve.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘No, tell me.’ Zayed took a step towards her. ‘What do you mean? What do you think will happen to you when you return to Abkar?’
‘Why do you care?’ Olivia challenged. ‘You have not been all that interested in my welfare, Prince Zayed.’
He stiffened with affront. ‘I told you, I am a man of honour.’
‘I have yet to see any evidence of that,’ Olivia said quietly. It was her tone that got to him. She wasn’t angry or accusing. No, she was merely stating a fact. And, with a rush of churning regret, he realised it was true.
‘You must understand why I have to be suspicious,’ he said after a pause. ‘So much is at stake. There is no one I can trust.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘What do you think I am going to do? Perform some act of sabotage? I am not some spy for Malouf.’
His blood chilled to hear it so plainly. He would not put such a preposterous idea beyond the wily fiend...but he didn’t think Olivia was part of such a nefarious plan. Nor, he realised, did he think she was scheming to better her position. He’d seen too much despair and shock from her to believe that any longer, even if it would have made it easier to plot his own course with no consideration of the woman before him.
‘I know you are not a spy,’ he said gruffly. ‘But I must be careful.’
‘I understand.’ Now she simply sounded tired. ‘And tomorrow I will write your wretched letter and hopefully all of this will go away. Or at least I will.’ She glanced at him, her expression filled with weariness. ‘Now I’d like to go to bed, if you don’t mind.’
Zayed stared at her, wishing he’d got more answers. What would happen to her when she returned to Abkar? He could settle money on her, enough to make sure she would need nothing for a long time. Fortunately he’d been able to secure the royal family’s personal investments before Malouf had taken control, which were considerable. He didn’t want for money, and he could make sure Olivia didn’t either.
But was it enough? And why were such things bothering him now? He glanced at her, at the slight shoulders bowed under an invisible weight, that tender nape. Her lashes swept her cheeks in sooty fans as she lowered her gaze, waiting for him to go.
But he didn’t want to. Quite suddenly he could remember the exact feel and taste of her. He could recall how pliant she’d been in his arms, and how exquisite it had felt to be sheathed inside her. Inconvenient memories that made his body stir with insistent desire.
‘Please let me know if there is anything you need,’ he said finally, shifting to ease the ache in his groin. ‘I’m sorry your accommodation is not more comfortable.’
‘It’s fine, and more than I expected from somewhere so remote.’ She didn’t look at him, merely stretched out on the pallet, waiting for him leave, ready for sleep.
Zayed hesitated another second. This was his bride, whether he wanted her or not, whether he’d meant it or not. He might set her aside as soon as possible, but for now she was his responsibility, and he felt the weight of it with sudden, inexplicable fierceness.
Yet at the moment she wanted nothing from him. She refused even to look at him. And so, filled with a restless unease, Zayed bid her goodnight and left the tent.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY LEFT FOR Rubyhan early the next morning. The sky was a pale, luminescent pink as Olivia climbed into the Jeep, gazing around at the harsh desert landscape transformed momentarily into softness and light as dawn broke over the dunes.
She’d spent four years in Abkar, on the edge of the desert, but she’d rarely ventured into its barren heart. If she wasn’t at the palace, then she was accompanying the Princess on various holidays, mostly to Europe or the Caribbean, playgrounds of the rich and royal.
Prince Zayed was an entirely different kind of royal, she mused as she watched him swing up into the Jeep, his muscles rippling with the graceful movement. He reminded her of some ancient warrior, proud and defiant and definitely dangerous. He wasn’t like the pampered aristos she’d seen on some of her travels with the royal family, partying it up, whinging about whatever they could. No, she couldn’t see Prince Zayed at some Monte Carlo night club. He was too raw and primal for that, and even now she was drawn to him.
Yesterday, as she’d helped the women and children, her gaze had been drawn to him again and again. Drawn to his powerful form, and also the way he spoke and listened, the intense responsibility he felt for his people, his country. She’d had the sudden, crazy thought that, when Prince Zayed did love a woman, it would be with that same blazing focus. It just wouldn’t be her.
Now his grey-green gaze caught and snared hers and Olivia looked away, afraid her thoughts would be written on her face. Why on earth was she thinking about whom he might love? Their one night together had awakened a longing inside her she’d managed to suppress until now. And she had to keep suppressing it. The last thing she wanted to do was feel something—something more—for Zayed.
She’d thought they would be taking the Jeep to Rubyhan, but after an hour’s travel they reached a helipad on a flat plain, the horizon stretching out to nowhere in every direction.
‘We’re going by helicopter?’ Olivia asked, even though she supposed it was obvious.
Zayed nodded. ‘Rubyhan is unreachable by any other means. It will take an hour by helicopter.’ Anything else he said was cut off by the whirring of blades as a helicopter appeared on the horizon, coming closer. Olivia put her hands over her ears as the sand kicked up and the military helicopter landed.
Zayed opened the door and held out his hand to help her climb up. She took it, conscious of the strength of his grip as he hoisted her inside. She buckled herself into one of the seats, feeling the surrealness of the situation all over again. How could she be in a helicopter in the middle of the desert with a prince? And yet she was.
Zayed climbed in after her, settling into the seat next to her, then his aide who had told him about the attack. The door closed and the craft lifted into the air, the desert dropping away beneath them.
Olivia craned her neck to look out of the window as they sped towards the horizon. From above the desert looked tranquil, the undulating dunes smooth and graceful, belying how rugged and dangerous the landscape truly could be.
After a little while a mountain range rose up in front of them, jagged peaks piercing the blue sky. The helicopter began to descend, the pilot navigating his way through the ferocious-looking peaks, making Olivia press back in her seat. Out of the window she could see snow-covered mountains adorned with shreds of cloud, almost close enough to touch.
And then the palace was in front of them, like something out of a fairy tale, its walls emerging from the rock as if they had been hewn from it, each one topped with a bright
, domed minaret.
‘Wow.’ She breathed, and Zayed turned to her with a small smile.
‘It is impressive, is it not? Built six hundred years ago by my ancestor.’
‘I’ve never seen its equal.’
‘It is called the Palace of Clouds. Rubyhan is its formal name only.’
‘It is a palace of clouds,’ Olivia said with a little laugh. ‘I can’t believe how high we are. I saw snow.’
‘Yes, it will be far colder here,’ Zayed warned her.
‘How long will we be here?’
Zayed’s mouth thinned. ‘A few days only,’ he answered, and Olivia’s stomach did a little nervous flip. A few days...and then what?
After they landed Zayed escorted her into the palace; the interior was just as incredible as the outside: rooms with soaring windows and balconies that overlooked the stunning vista, the ground dropping away to nothing immediately beyond the walls.
‘You will stay in the former harem,’ he told her. ‘I think you will be very comfortable.’
The harem was a suite of rooms with every luxury to hand: a huge bedroom with a king-sized bed on its own dais; an en-suite bathroom with a sunken marble tub, an infinity shower and underfloor heating. A balcony extended from the bedroom, making Olivia feel as if she was walking on thin air. She could hardly believe all the luxuries found in such a remote place—it was even more sumptuous a palace than the one she knew in Abkar.
Zayed left her there, telling her to rest and relax, and after a few moments of uncertainty Olivia decided to take him at his word. It had been a harrowing few days, and she could certainly use the opportunity to relax, especially considering how rarely she did it.
Her days at the palace in Abkar were taken up with caring for the three young Princesses—teaching them English, keeping them in line, managing their lessons, their social calendars, their wardrobes. Olivia hardly took any holiday—she never needed to. Where would she go? Besides a godmother in Paris she saw every few years, she had no one in the world.
And if she lost her position in Abkar, which she was almost certain she would, she’d have nowhere to go. But she couldn’t think about that yet. She was going to take one day at a time, one hour if necessary, and right now she was going to revel in a lovely, long soak in the sunken tub, which was a far cry from the cool water of the oasis where she’d last washed, the bottom slimy with seaweed and mud.