Stolen by the Sheikh

by Trish Morey

  Just like back then it felt that someone had grated the skin off his body—every part of him felt exposed and raw and weeping.

  Her heart was breaking, her anger now tempered with sympathy. It was clear what his parents’ deaths had cost him. The young prince had lost his youth, had lost his chance to become his own person before being thrust prematurely into the leadership of the sheikhdom of Jebbai against the backdrop of tragedy.

  No wonder he’d focused so much on the circumstances that led to his parents’ deaths. No wonder he’d dwelt so much on how he could seek retribution. Paolo was the obvious target.

  But his words and the depth of his feeling were shocking. ‘Khaled,’ she said, ‘your parents died in tragic circumstances. But don’t let that spoil your whole life. Don’t let hate consume you. Don’t you think your parents would want you to get on with your life and not dwell on the circumstances of their deaths?’

  ‘You do not understand.’

  ‘I understand that it was fate that took your parents from you, and had it not been that day it might well have been another. What if the wedding had gone on as planned and they were killed in a motorway accident on their way to the wedding—who would you have blamed then, the bride for agreeing to marry you?’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Neither does pursuing someone to the ends of the earth for something they had no control over.’ He opened his mouth to protest and she launched straight into the next sentence without giving ground. ‘Yes, he spoilt your wedding plans, but don’t you see, he didn’t send your parents to the mountains? It was their choice, you said, to go there. They chose to be on that mountain, not Paolo. You can’t blame him for what happened next.’

  ‘And you don’t blame your mother for what’s happened between you and your sisters?’

  His words took her by surprise and she reeled back. ‘That’s hardly the same thing…’

  ‘Isn’t it? She comes back from the dead and now you have competition for your sisters’ affections and you don’t like it. You actually resent her for being alive. Ironic, isn’t it, that I would have given anything for my mother to live and you would be quite happy if your mother had remained safely “dead”.’

  ‘Khaled! What a horrible thing to say.’

  It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Sure, she wanted things to be the way they’d always been before, but that was hardly the same thing.

  He took a deep breath and dropped his head back. He felt weary and sick. Heartsick. Was that the word for how it felt when your insides ached as though they’d been pulped?

  There was nothing for it now. He had no other means of convincing her to stay, no other words he could say. She’d taken his declaration of love as a lie and why should she suddenly change her mind and believe him now? Attacking her just now would have been the last straw.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should never have said that.’ He sighed, long and loud, with the aching tiredness of someone who had hated for far too long. ‘I think it’s best that I take you to the airport right away. Do you need help packing?’

  She looked at him, all wide-eyed and pale, barely moving.

  ‘You have no need to fear. I will not stop you leaving tonight. I’ll arrange for the jet and crew to be on standby and send someone to pick up your bags in, say, half an hour?’

  This time she nodded, her murmured assent the barest whisper. And then he let himself out of her rooms, letting his eyes drink in until the last click of the door the sight of her in the crumpled gown, committing her sweet lines to memory, knowing that he had forever lost the battle to make her his bride.

  They were silent on the way to the airport and for that she was grateful. She doubted she could have spoken anyway, her throat chokingly tight, her chest feeling as if someone had squeezed all the air from it, so there would have been precious little anyway to give sound to her words.

  Khaled sat brooding one seat’s width and yet an entire world away. He had given up and for that she should be happy. No more lies, no more promises or entreaties. No more declarations of love. She’d thought he might try to convince her that at least that much had been true, that he’d fallen in love with her and that there was still a chance for them, still a future together. She’d been expecting it. She’d evenhoped that much was true.

  But there had been nothing and the emptiness inside her grew as did her certainty that that, too, had been a lie.

  At least he was letting her go. Now she could return to Milan; now she would be free.

  She looked at the land surrounding the airport road, out over the sandy plains and stunted trees, and her heart ached with the impending separation. So much for being free. Part of her would always belong here, in this desert kingdom with the tall, golden-skinned sheikh named Khaled. With the man she could never now tell she loved.

  They passed through airport security, markedly tightened since her arrival, the presence of guards a disturbing but necessary reaction to their earlier troubles. Then they were through the gates and onto the tarmac, where the driver pulled alongside the jet, its engines already warming up. And then her door was being pulled open and before she knew it she was standing at the foot of the steps, Khaled’s hands surrounding her own, and the moment had finally come to say goodbye.

  She looked up at his face, his jaw set, his dark eyes tortured, and she wanted to kiss his eyes then to kiss away the pain. ‘Promise me something,’ she said.

  His jaw eased up enough for him to speak. ‘Promise what?’

  ‘Forget about Paolo. Forget about what happened so long ago. Think about your future, as your parents would want you to do. Can you do that?’

  ‘I’ll see,’ he said with some effort.

  She smiled. It was something at least. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What are your plans?’ he asked. ‘Will you stay in Milan?’

  She exhaled a long breath. ‘I don’t know. I think I have to go back to Australia first. I need to visit my family. You were right, you know; I’ve blamed my mother too much for what’s happened between my sisters and me. And you’ve made me realise how lucky I am to have her. I’m going to visit and really get to know her and try to put things right between us.’

  He smiled himself then. ‘I’m glad. But your work?’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s time I went out on my own. Gianfranco has been a wonderful teacher, but I’d love to have my own business somewhere…’

  She left it there. She didn’t need to tell him what kind of shop it would be. Neither of them needed to remember right now what had brought her here or to be reminded of the dress that now lay crushed and tear-stained on her bed.

  ‘I hope you get it,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  An officer stepped forward and whispered something in Khaled’s ear. He nodded and sighed as the officer stepped back.

  ‘It’s time to go, then,’ she said, feeling a lump in her throat growing larger and larger.

  He nodded. ‘It’s time.’

  ‘Well, then. Goodbye.’

  He looked into her eyes and she saw the swirling emotions that were going on in his and his mouth moved, as if he was on the brink of saying something. And just for a moment she got the impression that he was going to tell her again—tell her that he loved her—and she knew that if he did, then she would tell him too. But then he pressed his lips together and when he did speak it was only to say, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He squeezed her hands, bringing her just close enough that he could press his lips to her cheek, lingering there momentarily so she felt for the last time his intake of breath against her skin, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow and the warm sensuality of his lips.

  And then he took his mouth away and without looking back at her disappeared into the car.

  She shivered. Liquid nitrogen would feel warmer than his cold dismissal. Stiffly she turned and cled up the stairs, pressing back tears behind a wall of resolve that threatened to tumble at any moment. T
hrough a haze of moisture she was shown to her seat. She tried to smile at the attendant but she didn’t know if her face was working. She couldn’t feel anything. She was totally numb.

  Her eyes searched the windows, looking to catch sight of his car, hoping for a last glimpse of Khaled, but already it was moving towards the security gates, the glass too darkly tinted to see through. He wasn’t even waiting for her plane to take off. He’d probably already forgotten her.

  The plane’s engines whined, doors pulled closed, and gradually, smoothly, it started its taxi to the runway, the security gates slowly disappearing from view as the plane angled away. She craned her head around but it was no good. The gates and the car were gone. She slumped back in her seat, paying scant attention now to the changing view of the airport as a sense of loss like she’d never known weighed down upon her.

  What was it worth to be free, when you were leaving your heart behind? What was the point of freedom, when you had lost the one you loved?

  That was when she saw it coming. Low and flat, just skimming the roofline over the airport hangars flew the helicopter—perilously close, she thought. But then, it was an airport after all and it could have been coming in to land.

  She lost interest momentarily, until her brain registered the danger. It wasn’t landing. It was aiming right for them and there was someone hanging on the edge of the door. Something protruding.

  A gun!

  She gasped as the helicopter drew nearer.

  The pilot’s voice crackled urgently over the intercom—‘Everyone down!’

  She didn’t have enough time to be scared, it all happened too fast. Barely had she unbuckled her belt when she was ripped from her seat and thrown bodily to the floor, covered almost completely by the large body of a guard. She was winded but it didn’t matter as gunfire battered the side of the aircraft, punching holes through the fuselage and thwacking into the upholstery and fittings around her. Something glass shattered, sending a spray of shards over them both, the guard taking the brunt of the debris.

  The engines were still whining, one sounding choppy although the plane had now stopped, and someone was yelling in Arabic. ‘What’s going on?’ she gasped.

  The guard above her muttered to her in rough English, ‘Stay low; the helicopter is pulling away.’ And then suddenly she could breathe again as his weight lifted free.

  And all her thought congealed to one certain prospect. Unless the helicopter had decided to melt back into the direction it had come, then it must have found a far more attractive target…

  ‘Khaled!’ she screamed, jumping to her feet, knowing that his car would be an easy target from the air, able to be picked out easily on the long, lonely road between the airport and the city.

  Then smoke began to fill the cabin, dark and acrid and thick. She was aware of doors opening behind her, of escape chutes being deployed and the wail of sirens as rescue vehicles screamed across the tarmac towards them. Escape was at hand but all she wanted to do was get a quick glimpse to see where the helicopter had gone.

  But even as she made for a window someone grabbed her hand, the man who’d covered her earlier, quite possibly saving her life, and pulled her back towards the escape route. Blood trickled from under his hairline and from his hands—the shattered glass—but if he felt his wounds, he gave no indication as he bade her to pull off her low-heeled shoes and quickly mimed the escape routine.

  She followed his actions, escaping from the plane and reaching the ground, where already the emergency services were gathered to collect the escaping crew. She was hoisted out of the way and rushed to a vehicle as the cabin crew and security guards followed in rapid order from the smoking jet as sprays from a fire engine began to cover it with foam.

  That was when she heard it.

  The blast that could only mean an explosion—a mighty boom that came from the direction of the highway. She turned and saw the plume of smoke rising above the desert, black and thunderous and speaking of destruction and death, and something inside her burst open on a silent scream.

  Khaled’s car!

  Her gut clenched in revulsion and panic.

  But that would mean…

  Khaled—dead?

  It couldn’t be possible. It just couldn’t. Not when she’d never had the chance to tell him what he meant to her. Not when she’d never had the chance to tell him that she loved him.

  It didn’t matter now, what he’d thought of her. Whether he’d lied to her or not, whether he’d loved her or not, he’d had a right to know that she loved him. What he’d chosen to do with that knowledge should have been up to him, but at least he would have known.

  She should have told him that much at least.

  She let herself be led into an ambulance. Someone held something to her face and she pulled back but the dressing came away red and she looked at it strangely, wondering that the blood could be hers when she felt no pain but for what had happened to Khaled.

  Why were they even bothering with her? Why weren’t they looking after him? Hadn’t they heard it? Didn’t they know?

  The ambulance sped away from the plane. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, hoping desperately that one of them spoke English.

  She wasn’t disappointed. ‘Hebra,’ the one who’d held the dressing to her face said. ‘Hospital.’

  ‘But what about Khaled?’ she begged. ‘His car…’

  The men looked at each other, exchanging glances that shredded what was left of her heart. Did they know or were they just as scared as she was because they didn’t?

  They reached the perimeter security gates and stopped. She looked around, wondering about the delay—there was a car blocking their progress, trying to get in. A black car. A black car with two flat tyres, blistered paint and smashed windows.

  Khaled’s car!

  Even as she watched a door opened wide and Khaled jumped out, running to the ambulance as his driver backed the damaged car out of the way.

  ‘Zafeerah?’he shouted, half-demand, half-question, and one of the men nodded and pointed to the rear door. Before she had a chance to lift herself from the stretcher the back doors flew open and Khaled was inside, at her side, hauling her into his arms as the ambulance set off again, its siren screaming, as it sped its way to the city.

  Grime stained his golden skin, particles of shattered windscreen lodged in his dark hair, but he was alive—gloriously alive.

  ‘Sapphire,’ he said, looking at her, ‘I’m so relieved to see you.’ He touched his hand to her face. ‘But you are hurt.’

  She covered his hand with her own, relishing the touch of his strong fingers, feeling his heat replace her earlier chill. Feeling his strength renew her own. She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. Your guard saved my life. I don’t think I need to go to hospital.’

  ‘You’ve been through a great deal,’ he said. ‘You should be looked after properly.’

  She felt the tremors start then. Tremors from the shock. From the fear of losing Khaled. From the wave of relief on discovering he was alive. He held her tight, rocking her, soothing her fears.

  ‘I was so scared,’ he said. ‘When I heard the helicopter fire on the jet, I was so damned scared. But you are safe.’ He hugged her closer, burying his face into her hair. ‘I cannot believe it.’

  His lips brushed kisses over her forehead, down the line of her nose.

  ‘I heard the explosion,’ she said, her fingers clutching his shirt. ‘And I—’ She broke off, her voice cracking. ‘I was so afraid.’

  Something shifted in his eyes, peeling away a layer so that something below shone through, burnished like copper lights, alive with hope.

  ‘The helicopter. It came in close but by then it was already too late. A mortar from the airport guards brought it down. It crashed alongside the road.’

  She swallowed. It must have been close, for the car’s paint to be blistered with the heat, the tyres all but melted from the rims. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish those pi
ctures. They didn’t matter now. Not with Khaled alive, holding her.

  ‘I saw the pilot,’ he said. ‘I recognised her.’

  ‘Her? Who was it?’

  ‘Azizah.’

  She gasped, unable to grasp the concept of her meek servant being capable of committing acts of terrorism. ‘I can’t believe it. She was so sweet, so helpful.’

  He sighed deeply, shaking his head. ‘Saleem began to suspect something was not right and he tried to tell me to get rid of her because he was worried for your safety. But I didn’t listen. She came from a good family, with a long and loyal history with the palace. I could not believe she would betray us. By the time we had discovered the truth, she had fled.’

  Saleem had been concerned for her welfare? And yet she had been so suspicious of him, so afraid of the way he watched her and of his abrupt manner. It was Azizah—timid, shy Azizah—who’d been the real danger. How she had made a mess of everything.