by Kay Thorpe
Closing his eyes for a moment, Kahlil raised his face to the sky in thankfulness, and at that moment Edward woke. Instead of bursting into tears, as Lucy had fully expected, he smiled up at Kahlil with complete confidence. And then he even tried to grab hold of the guard’s beard as his father took him away.
A stab of anguish pierced Lucy’s heart as she hurried after them. She could see how happy father and son were to be reunited. And Kahlil was so tender with Edward she couldn’t help but feel threatened. To her surprise, Kahlil stopped and, waving the servants away, waited for her to catch up.
‘Just a word,’ he said, dipping his head to speak to her discreetly. ‘We have a chance here to discuss all the implications of our situation before it becomes general knowledge.’
‘It is called Edward,’ Lucy said, bridling at the authoritative tone. ‘And do we always have to argue like this in front of him?’
‘Maybe if things had been different—’
‘Maybe if you’d allowed them to be, Kahlil—or is it Kahl?’ Lucy shot back angrily.
‘Do you think I’ve forgotten?’ Kahlil asked her in a low, impassioned voice. ‘And do you think I’ve forgotten a single detail I’ve learned about Edward since I discovered he was my son?’
‘He’s my son too!’ Lucy retorted in a furious whisper. ‘He doesn’t even know you!’
‘Haven’t you done enough damage? Kahlil demanded, catching hold of Lucy’s arm to bring her alongside him as he took off towards the entrance of the nearest pavilion. ‘Don’t try and put me in the wrong, Lucy. It was you who put Edward’s life in danger with this foolhardy expedition—and you who tried to deny me my son!’
His staccato accusations rained down on her like bullets. Lucy accepted that everything Kahlil said was true, but there would have been no need for subterfuge had he remained with her long enough for them to exchange personal details twenty-one months ago. And no need for her flight from the palace if she had not been isolated there with an imagination that filled in every blank with dread.
They were both to blame. But all that mattered now, Lucy realised, gazing at their son, who was watching them both intently, was that Edward was safe. She smiled at him reassuringly, and Edward smiled back. But as Kahlil led them into the pavilion it was his shoulder into which Edward nestled his head.
Setting Edward down on a bank of cushions, Kahlil lowered the heavy curtain across the entrance to keep out the wind and sand. As he turned up the flame on an old oil lamp Lucy noticed the brazier glowing brightly in one corner. The tent was really cosy, she realised with surprise. The chill of the desert night seemed far away here. But still the modern world intruded, when Kahlil spoke into his mobile phone.
Once again his expression was hard and fierce. She guessed the call was to confirm the stand-down of his troops now that she had been found. But when the call ended and he turned to look at Edward she saw his face change completely. Now he was warm, and wry, and full of humour, and he made Edward laugh. Then he glanced her way and he changed again; his eyes were cold and steady, as if he was warning her to expect nothing from him in the way of forgiveness.
Kahlil would fight for his son. Lucy was more certain of that than ever. And when Edward was old enough to understand he would fight for the right to see his father. She was on the outside already, just where Kahlil wanted her.
The same guard who had greeted them on arrival slipped through the curtain and made a swift bow of obeisance to Kahlil. The two men smiled, and even Lucy smiled when she saw Edward reaching up as if he wanted to tug the soldier’s beard again. She didn’t need to know the language to hear the pride in Kahlil’s voice. She guessed the guard must have praised Edward’s courage, and she was proud of her son too, but ice trickled through her veins as she watched him interacting with his father. It seemed to her that Edward was already part of another world…
‘I am sending Edward to sleep in one of the women’s tents,’ Kahlil said, turning to her at last, ‘so that he can get some rest. They will see to him,’ he insisted, when Lucy began to protest. ‘And you can see him as soon as he wakes up. We will bathe now, and then we will talk.’
Kahlil had assumed control of the whole situation—of her life, Lucy realised. Normally she would have stood her ground, but right now she was exhausted, both mentally and physically. And how could she subject Edward to any more conflict between his parents?
‘The minute he wakes up, they’ll call me?’ she said, looking for reassurance in that staggeringly handsome face made of stone.
‘They’ll call you,’ Kahlil said.
There was already a new slant to Edward’s life, Lucy realised as he went willingly with the guard. Sitting confidently on the man’s shoulders, he gave her a wave, and she gave him a wave back, and a smile. But she couldn’t help feeling Kahlil had set a new regime in place for Edward: one that was harsh and demanding, perfectly suited to a fledgling desert prince.
She flared a look of anguish at Kahlil. How could he know anything about Edward’s needs? Their son was still a baby.
‘What’s that in Edward’s hand?’ she said, stepping forward with alarm just as the heavy curtain was about to fall back into place.
‘My gauntlet,’ Kahlil said without concern.
‘Of course—you hunt with falcons,’ she murmured, realising Edward must have found it amongst the cushions.
And when he was old enough Sheikh Kahlil ben Saeed Al-Sharif would give his son a hawk, and teach him to ride bareback, and to shoot straight, like a true Abadanese—all the things she could never hope to teach him.
How could she deny Edward the other half of his heritage? Taking him from Abadan would deny him his birthright. When he grew up he would blame her for the loss. And when that happened she would lose him for ever. She had to search for a compromise. It had to be possible. Yes, Kahlil could teach Edward how to be a leader of men, but she could teach him how to care.
‘Your bath has been run for you,’ Kahlil said, gesturing carelessly to another opening in the pavilion Lucy gathered must lead to a second room. ‘I will return shortly, and then we will talk.’
Lucy resisted the impulse to salute. If the situation hadn’t been so serious she might have done. She was dead on her feet, but thankfully she hadn’t lost her sense of humour, she reflected ruefully. And that had saved many a captive before her. She turned at a discreet cough to see two serving women smiling as they beckoned to her from the entrance to the second room.
Was she to be prepared for the Sheikh? Lucy wondered cynically as she viewed the deep bath. The surface was completely covered with rose petals, and the scent was sublime. But the women were still waiting for her to make some response, and showed no sign of leaving her as they stood smiling with stacks of fluffy white towels balanced on their outstretched arms.
Lucy bowed and smiled, and managed a few words of Abadanese which she could see were appreciated. She was delighted at the prospect of washing off all the sand and grit she had collected during the long night, but she had no intention of bathing with an audience. Taking some towels, she thanked them again and then walked to the entrance and stood beside it, so that there could be no misunderstanding. Exchanging swift glances, they pointed to a robe in ice-blue silk and then, bowing their way out, they left.
It was a relief to know she wouldn’t have to wear her grimy clothes any more, and this was ecstasy…bliss, Lucy thought, sinking a little deeper into the warm, fragrant water. And it was all the better for being so unexpected in the middle of the desert. A bath made for two—that thankfully she was enjoying by herself.
Her thoughts turned immediately to Kahlil. He had come to rescue the heir of Abadan; she knew that. But it was hard to shut out the image of his strong hands controlling the wheel as she sat next to him. And then it was a very small step to recall how those hands had also controlled her, bringing her pleasure beyond anything she could ever have imagined…But Lucy knew that was one thought-robbing indulgence she could not afford.
She sat up so abruptly the water crashed over the edge of the bath. She had a crisis on her hands; this was not the time to be diverted by fantasies that belonged to the past.
‘Are you still in there?’
She tensed at the sound of Kahlil’s voice, realising she was aroused, and that now she was feeling guilt and shock in equal measure. ‘Just a minute,’ she called out, ‘I’ll be right there.’
Water splashed everywhere as Lucy leapt out of the bath and grabbed the towels. She wrapped herself in them quickly, as if at any minute Kahlil might come striding in and find her pink and flushed naked body stirred by thoughts of him.
Drying herself quickly, she towelled her wet hair as best she could and contained it in a towel turban on top of her head. The silk robe felt wonderful next to her skin—but she would have to do without underwear, she realised, frowning. It couldn’t be helped. Kahlil was waiting, and she wanted to get their discussion over with as quickly as possible. Bracing herself, she went out to face him.
For a moment they stared at each other from either end of the tented pavilion. Kahlil had changed too, into a black silk robe that hinted provocatively at the magnificent form beneath. His head was uncovered, his thick black hair was still damp from bathing, and there was a slight flush to his high cheekbones, as if his bath had taken the form of a rigorous workout in the limpid oasis.
Lucy felt her body respond to him, melting beneath his stare. It was as if his black glittering gaze had the power to undress her—not that it took much imagination to see her nipples erect beneath the gossamer fabric. Instinctively she raised her arms to cover her chest.
‘Don’t,’ he murmured, continuing to stare at her.
‘We have to talk,’ Lucy said huskily. ‘And I want to go to Edward.’
‘He is being well cared for,’ Kahlil assured her. ‘He was still awake when I left him.’
The same flood of frustration, of resentment at Kahlil’s interference must have shown clearly on her face.
‘He at least enjoyed the adventure,’ Kahlil said soothingly, holding out his hand to her.
Lucy stared at him like a fool. Was she supposed to take his hand now, as if they were lovers, and allow him to take her wherever he chose?
‘Don’t you want to see him?’
‘Of course I do,’ Lucy exclaimed, coming to with a start. Her bare feet made no sound as she padded rapidly across priceless rugs, hurrying towards the curtained entrance.
‘Wait,’ Kahlil said as she drew level with him. ‘You will need to cover yourself first, and put on some sandals.’
He slipped a cotton robe over her head himself and, removing the towelling turban, replaced it with a beautifully jewelled scarf in a deeper shade of blue.
‘To keep out the sand now your hair is clean again,’ he murmured, anticipating her refusal. ‘And now these,’ he said, dipping down to retrieve a pair of simple sandals that had been left for her—nothing more than a strip of leather to fit between her toes on a cork sole. ‘Now you are dressed for the desert,’ he said with approval.
And this time he stood aside to let her pass, Lucy noticed with interest. When all she had anticipated was his anger he showed respect. Kahlil was really a very confusing and complex man. But as he showed her into another vast tent Lucy remembered Kahlil’s heritage was part Eastern, part Western—the perfect mix in a man, maybe, but dangerous for her, when everything hinged on keeping her wits about her for the sake of Edward’s safe return home.
‘Safia will take care of Edward for you,’ Kahlil said. ‘She speaks very good English.’
Jolted from her reverie, Lucy smiled at the older woman. Edward had fallen asleep at last, clearly exhausted by his adventures. And as she gazed down at his pink cheeks she was relieved that her worries about him had been removed for now.
‘You must be exhausted too,’ Kahlil observed, standing at the other side of the cot. ‘Would you rather sleep before we talk?’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Lucy said honestly.
‘Then why don’t we leave Safia and Edward here?’ he suggested. ‘My tent is close by.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
Lucy knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she had found out how Kahlil intended to proceed. Once she knew that she could decide upon her own actions. But she felt a little reassured. Kahlil seemed more reasonable here. The desert seemed to have a soothing effect on him. Maybe now they could have a balanced discussion about Edward’s future…
‘When the sun rises,’ Kahlil murmured, pausing beside the crib to gaze down at his sleeping son, ‘you will see the mountains that mark the borders of your kingdom from this window.’
Lucy felt as if she had been slapped in the face—brought round from her romantic daydreams with a blow. She had been such a fool to think Kahlil would soften. He was just as tyrannical, just as hard and uncaring as he had ever been. She had mistaken his confidence in the outcome of their discussions for compromise, his easy manner for forgiveness. But as far as Sheikh Kahlil ben Saeed Al-Sharif was concerned his son’s future was already cast in stone.
CHAPTER TEN
KAHLIL had tea brought to them in his luxurious quarters. Hot and sweet for her shock, Lucy gathered, as the liquid burned her tongue.
‘Patience,’ Kahlil counselled, removing the small vaselike glass container from her hands. They were shaking, Lucy noticed as he poured some iced water for her from a gold pitcher studded with jewels.
‘May I suggest we move outside to watch the sun rising?’ Kahlil suggested when she had drained her glass.
He was behaving so pleasantly, Lucy registered dimly, but she had to be cautious. She knew her normal wariness was cancelled out by exhaustion and shock. She followed him outside like an automaton, not sure she had the strength to battle with him, only knowing that with Edward’s future at stake she would.
‘I do this every time I come here,’ Kahlil said, turning to Lucy and leading her forward out onto the veranda of his pavilion, where a bank of silk cushions had been set for them.
Lucy breathed with astonishment as she took in everything properly for the first time. The desert was laid out before them like a gently undulating beach. It stretched away to the jagged black mountain peaks Kahlil had spoken of to Edward. The play of light on rock and sand was extraordinary. The mountains in the far distance were still shrouded in mist against the silver-pink sky, but their snowy peaks were just visible. And as they watched the fiery fingers of desert sun reaching above the horizon the mist peeled back, revealing the massive range in all its splendour.
Lucy turned to look at Kahlil, gazing out across his desert kingdom. How tall and proud he was. His black robe, caught by the wind, moulded his limbs and outlined his magnificent physique. She longed to reach him—she could only hope that maybe he would make an effort too.
‘I can see why you love it so much,’ she said impulsively.
Did she really understand? Kahlil wondered as he turned to look at Lucy. Could she grow to love this land as he did? He stopped himself. That was an irrelevance. Then he saw her shiver again, and, finishing the tea he had been nursing in a single gulp, he went back inside the pavilion to find something warm for her.
Lucy started as Kahlil bent over her to wrap a silky-soft hand-woven blanket around her shoulders.
‘You must be exhausted to still be shivering,’ he said, arranging it deftly. ‘It’s really quite warm now.’
His touch was electrifying. He barely brushed her with his hands, but that had no relation to the intensity of her response. ‘I am a little tired,’ Lucy said to explain her reaction
‘Blue is definitely your shade,’ he added, straightening up, ‘and I like the veil…very feminine.’
Tired as she was, Lucy lowered it from her head immediately, and flung it defiantly around her shoulders like a scarf.
Her hair was dry, and shimmered around her face like a golden nimbus, and he loved to see the challenge back in her eyes. Beautiful, Kahlil mused. Too bad the
re were so many complications…But he would have her, whatever difficulties would have to be overcome.
Lucy coloured as Kahlil looked at her. She knew she must keep the lines of communication open between them somehow. Outright defiance was no help to her cause. She had to use subtlety, and appear more malleable. ‘These colours are lovely,’ she said, admiring the lovely shawl he had brought her. And the almost weightless wrap was quite useful—to hide the evidence of her arousal, so intense, still so easily provoked by Kahlil.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’ he said, glancing down at the cushions where she was sitting.
Sheikh Kahlil asking permission for anything had to be a first, Lucy thought with surprise. And how could she object? It was his pavilion, his cushions, his desert kingdom. ‘Of course I don’t mind.’
This was not what she had expected, Lucy realised as Kahlil settled beside her. She was beginning to think her act was unnecessary, he seemed so reasonable. Recriminations, blame, anger, she had been prepared for. But this sudden ease between them made her hope they could talk, settle things amicably.
Confidence heightened her awareness of Kahlil’s powerful body reclining so near to her own. She hadn’t anticipated sitting so close to him, but she could have predicted her reaction. She was on fire. It was as if Kahlil had simply stepped across all the divisions between them to bathe her in desire.
They sat in silence, and very gradually Lucy became aware that her muscles were unknotting. Deep down she knew she should be tense, and alert, on her guard, but she was not. She should be demanding answers, looking for strategies to curb Kahlil’s will, but she couldn’t—not yet, anyway. Just for a little while she wanted to believe that everything would be all right. She wanted the beauty of the desert to wash over them, to let the peace of their surroundings heal the rift between them. All right, Lucy reflected dreamily, so it might be wishful thinking, but right now, reclining on silk cushions so close to Kahlil, anything seemed possible…