by Ella Brooke
Sure. Some doctor who lives in Manhattan and who only takes the children of royalty and politicians and actors, I'm sure he does...
Instead, she only shook her head. When she answered, her voice was slightly ragged.
"I promise, Marissa, the doctors are doing everything they can to help you feel better. Fixing people isn't always easy, though, so you have to be patient."
"So... my job is to be patient?" Marissa asked, frowning. It was, admittedly, not a skill she was profoundly good at.
"Yes," said Annabel with relief. "It is. It's the doctors' jobs to find a way to make you feel better. It is my job to take care of you and to talk to them as they do so, and it is your job to be patient and to tell me how you are doing."
She grinned.
"Even if it's you telling me for thirty whole seconds how bored you are. Wanna do that?"
Marissa grinned, and took a deep breath as Annabel made it a point of checking her watch. On her signal, Marissa complained about how bored she was of staying inside, how dull everything on television was, how much she wanted to go to the park, and how much she missed playing with her friends. She finished at the twenty second mark, and though she was more breathless than she should have been, she looked pleased with herself.
"Feel better?"
"Yup!"
The mood was a little lighter then, at any rate, and mother and daughter sat back down at the table. Then the shouting started under their window, and Annabel froze.
"Marissa, go right to your room, right now, and close the door."
"Mama..."
"Right now!"
She waited just long enough to make sure that Marissa had done as she said, and then she dashed to the window. She had been living in what were politely called developing neighborhoods long enough to recognize angry voices very well, and she could see two men menacing a third. She flung the window open.
"Hey!" she shouted, "Hey, get out of here, or I'll call the cops!"
The men payed absolutely no attention to her, and muttering a few words that she had not allowed herself to use since Marissa was born, she raced down the stairs, grabbing up the snow shovel that Mr. DuPleiss kept by the door. The cold air hit her like a brick once she was out, but by then there was so much adrenaline in her veins that she didn't care.
She charged into the fray with her snow-shovel, landing a heavy blow on first one attacker before jabbing the other with the stick end. The two men who had been attacking the third apparently felt evened odds were out of the question, and after some curses, they slipped away. She didn't bother to see which way they had gone. Instead, she turned attention to the man who hunched against the building wall.
"Are you all right? Did they get you?... Good lord, I know you!"
She blurted out the words in surprise, and the man, even as he was panting with exhaustion, managed a sly smile as he looked up at her.
"So we meet again. It is nice to see that you have a figure underneath that awful coat from before."
"This is a terrible, terrible time for you to try whatever you are trying," she said sternly. "Are you hurt?"
To her shock, he turned and she could see the red blood that was staining his fingers where he covered his heart. For a moment, Annabel felt herself go faint, and then she forbade herself from fainting.
Do not faint. Do not faint. You are not some silly teen. You are a grown woman, and there was more blood involved when you had Marissa.
"All right, I'm calling an ambulance..."
She yelped as his clean hand shot out and wrapped tightly around hers. Despite the slight smirk that still lingered on his face, his hand shook, and she wondered if underneath all of that, he was frightened.
"Talk to me," he whispered, and as they waited for the ambulance, she did. Annabel was never able to figure out what she had said later. It was mostly unimportant things, things about her life and what she was doing. It was just a stream of words as they occurred to her, and then the ambulance was there, as well as some police. She didn't even see when the man was whisked away, and then she was giving a statement.
It seemed like it had all taken forever, but when she got back up stairs, she saw that it had been less than half an hour. When she knocked on Marissa's door, her daughter threw it open and threw her arms around her mother.
"Are you all right?" Marissa asked anxiously, and Annabel nodded.
"Of course I am sweetie," she said with a big smile. "I would never do anything too scary."
Marissa was satisfied with that at least, and by now, after all of the excitement of the day, she was actually ready for bed. Annabel shepherded her through the process of brushing her teeth and bathing before bed, but though they both loved Marissa's goodnight ritual, her mind was a little distracted.
She could still picture the man holding his hand over his chest, blood leaking around the edges. Who was he? Did he have anyone to be concerned that he was stabbed? She told herself that she was wasn't really worried, not at all, but by the time she lay down in bed, she knew that was a lie.
For the first time in what felt like a long time, Annabel closed her eyes and prayed.
Please, I don't know him, and I don't know what he's going through right now, but please, don't let him be too badly hurt.
Chapter Three
Someone smart had turned off Adil's phone. By the time he was discharged, it was four AM. His driver looked as serious and alert as he always did, and he didn't bat an eye as Adil listened to his messages and started to swear.
They were from the usual cast: his personal assistant, his head of security and his minister of affairs. One and all, they had been alerted to what had happened to him thanks in no small part to someone at the hospital leaking his identity to the press, and they were frantic. They had contained the story, because it was their jobs, but now they wanted him back in Sakhi as soon as possible.
In a way, Adil knew that they were right. Having a royal at large who got himself injured was a nightmare for a number of reasons. He was in some ways very lucky they had not sent a helicopter for him.
One by one, he called in, told them in no uncertain terms he would be returning to Sakhi on his own terms, and ended the call. He tilted his head back in the car, closing his eyes briefly.
"You are very lucky," the doctor had said. "It is barely a graze, though the bruising around the wound likely makes it hurt more. Keep the wound clean, see your regular doctor about this, and you'll be fine."
Lucky...
By all estimations of the word, he was, even excepting what had happened last night. He was a rich man with the world at his fingertips. He had been the ruler of a prosperous country since he was a very young man, he had loved beautiful women all over the world and made his mark as a sheikh. He had just seen, however, how very quickly all of that could be taken away.
Adil pushed the thought away. The driver took him to his hotel, where he occupied the penthouse suite at the very top. If the doorman thought he looked peaked, he didn't say anything.
Adil collapsed into the feather-soft bed, his hand still held over the wound as if he could protect it. He was exhausted, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he started to doze off.
However, his last thoughts were not about his attackers or how close he had come to death. His last thoughts were of a protective Valkyrie coming to his rescue, swinging a shovel in the face of his enemies, and then of her small soft hand hanging on to his...
***
Annabel was both surprised and grateful about how normal everything felt the next morning. It was a beautiful day, with just a scatter of snow on the ground, the sun coming out to shine in a bright blue sky. Her office had grudgingly allowed her to work from home, causing Marissa to cheer at getting to keep her mother around.
"Doreen is nice, but she's no fun," she confided in a whisper, as if convinced their neighbor could hear her and take offense.
"Well, I'm really not going to be much fun either," Annabel confessed. "I have to work to
day, so it needs to be pretty quiet."
"That's still more fun," Marissa said stubbornly, and Annabel felt a surge of love for her brave and loyal daughter.
As a matter of fact, it was not Marissa who ended up making the noise. Just as Annabel had set herself to lunch, the doorbell buzzed, and she looked up with surprise.
"I guess the housewares I ordered on that sale came early?" she mused, buzzing the door below. She peeked out the peephole to see who it was, and then she blinked with surprise. She left the chain on but opened the door.
"You?"
It was the man from the night before. He looked perhaps a little pale and a little hollow in the eyes, but he did not look like a man who had been stabbed the night before.
"Mama, mama, who is it?" asked Marissa coming into the kitchen.
"Um, a man I met last night," Annabel said. "Why don't you go to your room and play with your blocks for a bit? I'll come in in a little bit and help."
She was relieved when Marissa went, and then she turned back to the man.
"What do you want?" she asked. "Shouldn't you be trying to get healthy in a hospital bed somewhere?"
He shook his head.
"It was not serious as these things go. I want to talk to you."
She narrowed her eyes.
"I have to assume that you have no idea how creepy it is when someone you met on the street comes and finds out where you live..."
He looked slightly abashed at that, but he didn't do what she might have preferred and leave.
Really? Is that what you prefer? Are you sure? mocked a quiet voice inside her, and she quashed it as quickly as she could.
"You rescued me," he said. "I am a man who pays my debts."
She made a face.
"No worries, just maybe do the same for the next person you see who's in trouble, I guess. Anyway, I'm on lunch so..."
"So you'll have some time to talk with me," he said with a charming look on his face. She was not really a woman who was prone to being charmed, but somehow here she was. "I really must insist."
"Fine..."
She undid the chain and came to stand outside, the door cracked behind her and an ear cocked towards her daughter.
"Make it quick."
He looked at her with an expression that was akin to marvel.
"You really have no idea who I am, do you?"
Annabel looked at him impatiently. She supposed he had told her his name, but it had slipped her mind.
"No. This is New York. It's full of famous people. Unless you're an actor on a handful of children's television programs, I really will not have any idea who you are."
"Ah, well then. My name is Adil ibn Ahmed al Mahsi, sheikh and lord high ruler of Sakhi."
She looked at him blankly.
"Sorry, I'm American. Do I clap?"
As he had the night before, he chuckled, shaking his head.
"I had thought you might respond like that, but I had to try. May I have your name?"
She looked at him suspiciously.
"Didn't you have it before? Otherwise, how did you find the right buzzer?"
He shrugged.
"I just pressed them all until I recognized your voice."
"Oh that's awful..." she shook her head. "Listen, Mr. Mahsi..."
"Sheikh Adil, is the proper address..."
"All right, Sheikh Adil..."
"Though we are, at this point, quite well acquainted, so you shall call me Adil."
Annabel shot him a frustrated look, which he seemed to be find hilarious.
"You are enjoying this a lot more than is proper," she growled. "All right. Adil. If you want to make friends in New York, do not buzz all the doors looking for one person. It makes stabbings a lot more common than they should be."
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wondered if she had spoken too soon. However, he only shook his head and rubbed his chest.
"Point taken. All right. Then now may I ask your name."
"It's Annabel. Annabel Lister."
"Ah, is that your maiden name or did you take your husband's?"
"It's my name, I don't have a husband..." she said, and then she pressed her hand over her mouth as he gave her another look.
"So... there was no one you had waiting for you at home?"
She sighed, dropping her hand to her side.
"No, that wasn't a lie. As a matter of fact, my daughter was waiting for me. Her father... isn't in the picture."
Annabel was tensed for whatever Adil's reaction was going to be, but he only nodded.
"I see. It is no matter, I suppose. I am only here to offer you a reward."
"A... reward?"
"Yes. For your service last night."
Annabel watched in disbelief as he pulled open his wallet, which she noticed was made of buttery black leather. It was fat with cash, and when he pulled out a wad of bills, he didn't even look to see how much was in his hand.
"A small token for your trouble," he said with a slight smile. "Something that I hope will show you how grateful I am."
When she simply looked at him, he tilted his head slightly. Finally she took the cash, because she was no fool, and a mother besides, but she glared up at him.
"In the United States," she said. "We typically say thank you when someone has helped us. We don't pay them off as if they were the help."
He frowned at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. His English was impeccable, however, and there was no way he could play it off like some kind of mistake.
"I didn't do what I did for money," she said with anger. "I am a mother, do you know what that means? It means that the most important thing in my life has to be my daughter. It means that she comes first, long before any stranger who knocked my papers out of my hands should. I was being a bad mother when I ran down there. I know that. And though I'm going to take the money because as you can tell, we're really not in the sheikh class here, I want you to know that this is not something you can buy."
Everything she had gone through because of this man was suddenly worth it with the look of surprise and dismay on his face, and that was before she stepped back into the house and closed the door. She locked it firmly, and waited for a moment to see if he would knock on it again. When it was silent, she nodded, even if there was a slightly hollow feeling in her chest.
Annabel glanced down at the money in her hand. To her surprise, each bill that he handed her had been a hundred dollar bill, in crisp green United States currency. He had given her six hundred dollars all told, and she knew that that money might make a difference when it came to Marissa's health bills. She stashed them in her purse, and then in a fit of paranoia, she stashed the purse at the back of her closet.
She firmly believed in everything she had said, so why did she suddenly feel so badly? Why did something deep inside her want her to go down and follow him, to bring him back?
Annabel shook her head. She knew that she should do nothing of the sort. After all, it was her lunch hour, and she had a date with some blocks and the world's most adorable four year old.
Chapter Four
Two weeks later, the royal palace at Sakhi was on tenterhooks. The palace, dubbed The Gleaming Gem some centuries ago, had always been a place of intrigue and glamor, but for the servants who actually made it function, it was always meant to be a good place to work. That had changed ever since Sheikh Adil had returned from his sojourn to the United States.
Only a select senior staff members were clued into the fact that he had suffered an injury while he was away, but everyone who lived and worked in the palace was aware that there was a tension in the air. They wondered if they meant that there was some kind of change going on in the mind of Sheikh Adil, and they wondered what it would mean for them. The uncertainty made them nervous, and it was clear that the sheikh himself was not going to set their minds at ease.
He had always been a man who was much given to laughter and fun. He might suddenly demand a week-long gala o
n a month's notice, or he might invite an entire dance troupe to stay at the palace while they were in the capitol. One thing that no one would ever call Sheikh Adil was quiet, however, and that was what he had become.
One laundress spoke in shock of seeing him wandering the servants' hallways around 4 AM, when the only people around were the staff. One of the grooms spoke of finding him sleeping on a dusty cot at the back of the stables. When the groom had asked him in shock what he was doing, the sheikh only muttered something about wanting to be close to those loyal to him before turning over and snoring again.
The palace staff were tense, as if there was a storm coming, and no one knew when it was going to break.
For his own part, Adil could tell that the people around him were tense, and even if he was inclined to talk to them, he had no idea what he would tell them.
He had breathed a sigh of relief when his private jet ascended into the air a few days after his unfortunate visit with Annabel. At that point, he had felt that he was leaving behind his American misadventure with nothing more than a small scar to show for it. The doctor said that it would heal cleanly and that within a few years, it would be nearly invisible.
It was already well on its way to healing, but Adil found that he could not keep his hand from touching it at strange points. It didn't ache at all, and even the healing itch was well on its way to ending, but still he found that touching it triggered a memory. It was of a dark-haired woman standing on her step, looking at him with fury. Well, angry women were a thing that he had some experience with, but it was more than that. There was also a look in her eyes when he had handed her the money, when he had simply grabbed a wad of cash out his wallet and given it to her. He hadn't counted it; at first he had thought that the look on her face was because he had given her so little. Then he realized that it was because he had given it at all.
She had been disappointed in him.
When he had realized this, Adil's first thought had been one of anger. She was a frowsy, frowning woman of no account at all living in a rather shabby neighborhood in a country that he didn't know if he cared to visit again. It shouldn't have mattered in the least what she thought of him, and in all frankness he was well within his rights to be insulted that she had even had the thought of putting herself in a position of moral superiority.