Desert Justice

by Valerie Parv

  Chapter 16

  A lot had happened in the month since they’d returned to the palace at Raisa, Simone reflected. As soon as the squad and their rebel prisoners had reached the royal lodge, Markaz had ordered the household back to the city. The motorcade had been a grim one. At his command, Simone had traveled with Markaz, but he had spoken little on the journey, and she’d had no idea how to reach him.

  Norah had traveled in her own car as a captive this time, then had been confined to her apartment at her palace. After her confession at the rebel camp, she’d refused to say any more outside a courtroom.

  Expressing her disbelief that Norah was involved with the rebels, Amal had hardly been able to stop talking about the news. “Few of us really liked Norah, but she’s the last person we suspected of being a traitor,” she’d observed.

  Simone had agreed. “Sozar must have been using her to get even for what she’d done to him.”

  “Do you think Natalie had also uncovered Norah’s link with Sozar?” Amal had asked.

  “It’s possible, although Norah denies being involved in the murder. According to her, Sozar’s group wanted peaceful change. She seems to be in denial about everything to do with him.”

  Amal had nodded. “At least you know why Sozar was after you. He must have known you’d seen him speak to Norah in the parking lot at Al-Qasr.”

  “I didn’t know who she was then. When she entertained me at lunch, I felt as if I’d seen her somewhere before, but couldn’t place where. I wish I’d made the connection sooner.” If she had, less blood might have been spilled.

  Now Simone and Amal were drinking mint tea together for possibly the last time while Norah’s trial was underway in the hall of justice not far away.

  As a key witness, Simone had remained in the country, and had accepted the sheikh’s invitation to continue living at the palace. She hadn’t been able to look at Markaz when she identified Norah as the woman she’d seen talking to Sozar at Al-Qasr.

  Unbalanced by the deaths of her husband and son, Norah had seen Sozar’s return as a miracle, her oldest son restored to her after years of believing she’d killed him in that medical clinic.

  “How horrible to live with such guilt for so long,” Simone commented. “She must be unbalanced to believe that Sozar’s plans were peaceful. She said she didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  Amal snorted. “What did she think the rebels were doing in that training camp? As a hostage, you must have been terrified, wondering what would happen to you.”

  “I never stopped believing I would escape, or that Markaz’s men would find me.”

  “You didn’t expect him to turn up in person? You must mean a lot to him.”

  Bitterness gripped Simone. “Enough that he’s putting me on his private plane back to Australia now that the trial is almost concluded.” The verdict was due to be handed down later today, so she would be leaving tomorrow. She should finish packing, but couldn’t summon the will.

  Markaz had disqualified himself from presiding over his mother’s trial, but had sat through every moment of the evidence. The news that he was sending Simone home had been delivered during a recess. Except for that brief exchange, she hadn’t seen him alone since they’d been back at the palace.

  Simone couldn’t decide which hurt worse: his decision or the matter-of-fact way he’d told her. For all the emotion he showed, the scene in the secret room at the desert lodge might never have taken place. Yet she couldn’t erase the memory from her mind. No matter what happened to her in future, she would never forget the paradise she’d found in his arms. Or stop longing for more.

  Amal looked shocked. “Markaz can’t mean to let you go after all that’s happened.”

  “He thinks it’s for my own good. After his experience with Natalie and now with Norah, he’s convinced I’m better off returning to Australia.”

  “What do you think?”

  “He could be right.”

  “How can you say that? You love him, don’t you?”

  Miserably, Simone nodded. “With all my heart.” If his lovemaking hadn’t been enough, fighting at his side in the desert had convinced her beyond any doubt.

  “Have you told him how you feel?”

  “With the trial, there hasn’t been the chance.”

  “You mean you haven’t made the chance. You’ve managed to keep your business going, haven’t you?”

  Simone couldn’t deny that. Too heartsick to do anything else, she’d turned to work for comfort. According to Drew, introducing the range of Nazaari designs had tripled the orders and led to an unexpected invitation from a cable TV show to do a story about Simone’s travels.

  If she told them everything, it would be quite a scoop, she thought. She hadn’t even shared the whole story with her mother, although they’d spoken on the phone every day since Simone returned to Raisa.

  Hearing that Yusef had died saving the sheikh’s life had been a turning point for Sara. According to her caregiver, Sara’s depression had started to lift soon after she learned of his fate from Simone.

  At least some good had come of the adventure, Simone consoled herself. “I needed to occupy my time,” she told Amal. “As for Markaz, fate has other plans for me.”

  “Never mind fate. What about your plans for you?”

  “I’m going to come back to the Middle East and expand our range of designs from the region.”

  Amal made a sound of frustration. “Not your business plans, your life. You can’t give up on Markaz now.”

  “He’s the one giving up on me.”

  “Then you must change his mind. Do you think my fiancé knew straight away that we were meant to be together? I had to work hard to convince him.”

  In spite of her aching heart, Simone laughed. “I’m starting to wonder if Nazaari women need the law changing to let you share in running this country. You seem to be doing well enough in your own way already.”

  Her friend preened as if at a compliment. “When you don’t have a legal voice in public affairs, you find ways to influence matters behind the scenes.”

  “All the same, wouldn’t you rather express your opinions openly?”

  “We shall, as soon as Markaz’s final reforms are put to a vote.”

  The sheikh had decreed that would happen as soon as his committee of advisors had framed the legislation they’d been working on during the preceding year. Having had enough of bloodshed from a minority opposed to change, he’d announced he was holding the first referendum in Nazaari history to give his people a say in the kind of future they wanted. He had promised to abide by the results of the vote.

  The people would support him, Simone believed. Since the destruction of the rebel stronghold, there had been no more signs of revolt against the throne. The people seemed happy to have any opposition aired in council, rather than at gunpoint.

  Not even fighting alongside him had convinced Markaz she belonged with him. If anything, it had made him more determined to send her back where he believed she belonged. The only conclusion she could reach was that he didn’t return her love.

  She got to her feet. “The verdict is due this afternoon. I’d better go and pack.”

  Amal stood up. “Then I’ll help you, against my better judgment.”

  Against her own, too, Simone thought. It came to her that she was reliving in part her parents’ departure from Nazaar, without the threat of danger. Was longing for a place they couldn’t have part of her inheritance?

  Not a place, a man. Her feelings weren’t for Markaz as monarch of a country, or even to the country itself. If he were an ordinary man in an ordinary place, she would still love him more than she knew how to express.

  “You don’t have to subject yourself to every minute of the trial,” Fayed told the sheikh. The judges, members of Markaz’s advisory council, were in recess to consider their verdict. Fayed had followed Markaz into the antechamber he used when presiding over the majlis. From his friend’s worried expression, Ma
rkaz guessed he must look as haggard as he felt.

  “What else can I do? The defendant is my mother,” he said.

  Fayed frowned. “I should have guessed Princess Norah was up to something. All those long walks she took outside the palace, insisting she needed to be alone, were really to meet with Sozar.”

  “Hard to believe we were brothers.” Or how different his life could have turned out if Norah had kept her firstborn son. Sozar would have become the sheikh.

  And Markaz would be free to follow his heart.

  He drove the thought away. The sheikh was never free of duty, and his was to marry a woman of his own kind who would give the country an heir. He’d married for love once, and look what happened.

  His reality didn’t…couldn’t include Simone. However much he loved her, he had to send her away for her sake and the good of his country.

  The pain in his heart was almost more than he could stand.

  Simone straightened, the galabia Amal had pressed upon her as a gift, drifting out of her hands. “I can’t do this. I can’t leave Nazaar. Markaz may not want me, but he can’t make me go. I’ve done nothing to deserve being thrown out of the country.” Except fall in love with the sheikh, she thought. Foolish in the extreme, but hardly a crime.

  Amal smiled. “Now you’re talking. When will you tell Markaz?”

  “Right now.” Before her courage deserted her, Simone decided. The verdict in Norah’s trial was about to be announced. Markaz would need someone with him when he received the news. She could be his friend, if not his lover, Simone told herself. If her heart threatened to beat out of her chest at the prospect of being with him, unable to touch him or feel his mouth on hers ever again, that was her problem.

  When she reached the hall of justice, the majlis was in recess. Markaz was in his private antechamber adjoining the hall, Fayed told her. As usual, the bodyguard was keeping an eye on everything, the sheikh’s rock of reliability. Since she’d helped to destroy the rebel camp, Fayed had treated her like a daughter. In turn, her affection for the big man had also grown.

  “Can I see him?”

  Fayed’s dark brows came together. “He has not asked to see you.” His rumbling tone was gentle.

  “If I wait until then, the Lost Quarter will have frozen over. He needs me, Fayed. At least until the trial is over.”

  “You would go to him as a friend, no matter the cost to yourself?”

  He understood, she thought, the pressure around her heart almost intolerable. “I can’t be anything more.”

  Fayed nodded. “A friend will do.”

  He escorted her down the long hall, past a table brimming with gifts sent by the people to their sheikh as an outpouring of their support. Baskets of their most perfect fruit, ceramic flagons of juice from their own presses and handwoven cloth were all carefully labeled with the sender’s name.

  The sheikh swiveled from a console littered with papers, his mouth tightening when he saw her. While she hadn’t expected a welcome, he had no cause to be angry with her.

  This room was a far cry from the austere room off the hall of justice at Karama. Thick Persian carpets padded the marble floor, the furnishings were Arabian antiques and there was no blank wall leading to a secret love nest.

  The sheikh saw her eyes go to where the door was in the other chamber. If his thoughts also flashed back to what they had shared in the secret room, he gave no outward sign. Nor did he seem to notice that she was unveiled. He had recently decreed that none of the women were required to wear veils now. None too soon for Simone. “Is there a problem with your flight?” he asked.

  “No problem. I asked your pilot to delay the flight until after the verdict is announced.”

  “Then let me save you any more delay. My mother will be found guilty of consorting with the rebels and sentenced to exile in America. She still has American citizenship and family there, so she will not be without resources. But she will not be permitted to return to Nazaar.”

  Simone had meant to be supportive, but couldn’t help resentment spilling over. “You can’t wait for me to leave, too, can you? Do you blame me for your mother’s downfall?”

  He looked surprised. “I blame no one but my mother herself. She set these events in motion when she deceived my father even after she married him. The rebellion may have happened anyway, but there’s no doubt her actions gave the rebels their leader.”

  He seemed to be waiting for her to go, but her feet felt glued to the floor. “Is the rebellion over now?” she asked, more for an excuse to remain than because she wanted to continue the discussion. She shouldn’t have come. Packing and leaving without seeing him again would have been the sensible thing to do. Being so close to him when he couldn’t wait to be rid of her was sheer torture.

  All she could think of was how much she ached to be in his arms. They were closed to her now, his demeanor remote. “The rebellion ended some time ago. Sozar kept the desert camp going with only a small group of recruits, believing more followers would join them in time. He couldn’t accept that he and his group were the last of a dying breed.” Markaz tapped a paper on the console. “A few diehards will have to be rooted out, like the madman behind this threat.”

  She took a few steps closer, ignoring the warning signs flashing in his eyes. “What threat?”

  He showed her a page made up of words cut from newspaper. “According to this, if my mother is found guilty, he’ll blow up the palace.”

  Her senses sharpened. “You’re taking the threat seriously, of course?”

  “The original letter is with the police for forensic examination. They believe they are close to tracking down the sender. Before today’s court convened, Hamal’s people searched the palace and grounds. They found nothing untoward.”

  “They didn’t suspect Norah, either.” Her voice felt strained. “Don’t go into the hall of justice to hear the verdict. Let Fayed bring word to you here.”

  He pushed to his feet. “No matter what my mother has done, I will not deny her my presence.”

  She tried to step in his way, but his hands clamped around her arms and she was moved aside effortlessly. “Markaz, please. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “The bad feeling you have is between us. Don’t mix it up with anything else.”

  “I don’t have a bad feeling about us,” she snapped. “How can I, when making love with you was the most amazing experience of my life?”

  She waited for him to argue, but his long lashes shuttered his eyes. When he looked up, there was only regal hardness. “Consider it a unique souvenir of your time in Nazaar.”

  Determined not to flinch, she kept her head up. “No I won’t, because I’m not leaving.”

  “Your departure is by my command. Have you forgotten who I am?”

  “Not for an instant. But even the sheikh can’t expel a citizen who’s done nothing wrong.”

  He dragged a hand down his face. “I can’t deny your right to citizenship through your parents. But what do you gain by staying?”

  “The chance to prove that you’re sending me away for the wrong reason.”

  She had his full attention now. “Go on.”

  “You were so badly burned by Natalie hating this country, and now by your mother turning traitor that you’re determined not to make the same mistake again. So I’m going to show you that I belong here.” With you, she thought but didn’t say.

  His eyes narrowed. “What about your mother?”

  “Since I told her that Yusef died a hero, she’s improved steadily. According to her caregiver, there’s a certain friend who has been visiting her every day. Reading to her, taking her for walks and spending time with her. Her progress has as much to do with him, as with knowing what happened to Yusef. If this goes where I think it will, she won’t need me holding her hand.”

  “Go home, Simone,” Markaz said tiredly.

  “I am home.” The sooner he realized that, the better for both of them.

  A discree
t knock was followed by Fayed’s appearance. “The judges are returning to the hall, Your Highness. They are ready to pronounce their verdict.”

  “Thank you.” When the door closed, Markaz turned to her. “I can’t stop you living here, but it doesn’t change anything. When this is over I shall take a Nazaari-born wife and provide the country with an heir as is my duty. You would do well to return to Australia and do yours.”

  “Don’t lecture me on duty,” she whispered but was talking to herself. The door to the antechamber swished shut as Markaz returned to the hall.

  Frustration burned through her. Snatching up a priceless ceramic flagon, she nearly pitched it at the closed door, stopping herself barely in time. The men in her life were good at knowing what was best for her. Until now she’d gone along, but not anymore. “I’m staying, get used to it,” she yelled, the sound swallowed by the thick walls and Persian carpets.

  Slowly she lowered the flagon then stared at it, her blood turning to ice. She knew. Oh God, she knew where the bomb was hidden.

  The flagon fell from her nerveless fingers as she launched herself at the door. The hall was filled with people. Most were men in traditional robes, but she saw a few of the royal woman, unveiled and looking subdued at witnessing the historic trial. Amal was among them and tried to get Simone’s attention, but she had eyes only for Markaz.

  He was conferring with the presiding judge, a high official from his council, she recalled. The two of them stood near the table of gifts. Norah was led past them under guard. Without looking at his mother, Markaz moved to his seat, and silence was called for.

  Simone tried to reach him through the throng, but a cordon of security barred her way. Terror lodged in her throat. If she screamed her suspicion, she would be dragged out before she could make herself understood. She had to stay calm. Ignore the pounding of fear in her head. “Hamal,” she called in an undertone.

  The security chief turned. “Be silent. The judge is about to speak.”

  Controlling her voice, she said, “This can’t wait. The sheikh’s life is in danger. The letter isn’t a hoax. While I was a hostage, I saw the rebels making olive oil flagons into bombs.”