In the Sheikh's Service

by Susan Stephens

  ‘But you missed the cottage,’ he pressed when she became silent.

  ‘Nothing could match that,’ Isla admitted. ‘I was born in the cottage, and I lived there all my life. It never once occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to always call the cottage home.’

  ‘That’s how it should have been,’ Shazim insisted. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t have a right to tenancy after living in the cottage for so many years?’

  ‘We couldn’t have afforded it, and Lady Anconner explained quite clearly to me that the cottage went with the job.’

  ‘When did she tell you this?’

  ‘Lady Anconner visited us after my mother’s first hospital admission. I was so thrilled for my mother when her ladyship knocked on the door, but I was puzzled too—Lady Anconner wasn’t exactly noted for her kindness, though I knew my mother would appreciate the gesture.’

  ‘And did she?’ he quizzed.

  ‘My mother was so excited to be remembered by the people from the big house that she wouldn’t hear a word against her ladyship—even when Lady Anconner explained that if my mother could no longer cook for them, then we would have to leave the cottage so they could hire someone else, and that someone else would live there instead of us.’

  He was appalled. ‘She threw you out, knowing your mother was so ill?’

  ‘It was pure economics—at least, that’s what Lady Anconner said, and my mother agreed with her. She said that was how things had always been at the castle.’

  ‘And this so-called lady couldn’t change the status quo for someone who was desperately ill, and who had lived in the cottage all her working life?’

  ‘Lady Anconner didn’t want to—she couldn’t, really. All those colourful stories you’ve heard about the Anconner parties were true. How could they host them without staff to wait on their guests?’

  They could have tidied up one of the unused attic rooms for a new member of staff to use, and left a dying woman in the only home she’d ever known. That was what he thought, but he kept his feelings to himself. High passion was too little too late, and it wouldn’t help Isla.

  ‘I hear the Anconners are bankrupt now,’ he said instead.

  Isla eased her shoulder in a hesitant shrug before answering, and then she said, ‘I haven’t really had time to follow their story.’

  He doubted that was true, but he let it go. There was too much hurt in Isla’s voice, and that hurt was as fresh as the day Lady Anconner had shattered her mother’s dreams. How anyone could be so cold-hearted was beyond him. However aristocratic this Lady Anconner might think herself, in his view she had no claim to the title ‘lady’.

  ‘You grew up in a royal nursery,’ Isla reminded him, jolting him out of his preoccupation with her past. ‘That couldn’t have been easy for you—being distanced from your parents?’

  ‘I had siblings,’ he said thinking back. ‘And my elder brother was like a father to us.’

  ‘And now?’ she prompted softly as if she knew she was treading on hallowed ground.

  He ignored the question, and turned instead to a subject of his choosing. Looking around at the crowds gathering in the tented city, he commented, ‘Mixing with my people was always a joy to me.’

  ‘Have you been spending too much time in your ivory tower, Shazim?’

  He laughed, and shook his head at Isla’s disrespect. ‘Too much time looking at schedules, balance sheets, and architects’ drawings,’ he admitted.

  ‘Someone has to do it.’

  ‘Are you making excuses for me, Ms Sinclair?’ He leaned forward to murmur this in her ear, and felt her quiver with awareness. The connection between them pleased him. He’d never experienced it with anyone before, and was grateful to Isla for bringing him down to earth and reminding him that he was in danger of forgetting where he came from, and who he was.

  ‘Shazim?’ she prompted when he fell silent.

  ‘Tell me more about your life,’ he insisted, keen to swerve the spotlight from himself.

  She didn’t want to talk about her past, and closed her eyes to shut it out. She didn’t want to remember the humiliation of a little girl, forbidden entrance to the castle where her mother was working, or being shooed away like an untrustworthy urchin, who wasn’t even good enough to enter by the back door. And though the two things weren’t connected, she certainly didn’t want to remember what had made her so wary of men.

  ‘Thanks to my mother I had the best of childhoods,’ she insisted, glossing over the more unpalatable facts. ‘We got through just fine.’ That was a lie too, but how would it help her mother now, if Isla dwelled on all the comforts she hadn’t been able to give her mother?

  ‘The castle is up for sale, I hear,’ Shazim prompted.

  He said this without expression, but she was wary. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of buying it. It was such an unhappy place.’

  ‘If I do, I’ll raze it to the ground,’ he promised harshly. ‘My world is here in Q’Aqabi, with my people, and my projects.’ He paused for a moment, and then said, ‘You’ve done really well in achieving what you have, Isla.’

  ‘As have you,’ she said with her usual forthrightness.

  ‘We do share some similarities,’ he conceded on a laugh. ‘Trust you to point them out to me.’

  ‘I just follow my heart,’ she admitted.

  ‘And has your heart never led you astray?’

  Isla fell silent. She didn’t speak again until they arrived in the village.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE VILLAGERS CLUSTERED around Shazim’s stallion. News of the Sheikh of Q’Aqabi’s arrival had quickly spread, and a great crowd followed them into the village. What they made of the woman seated in front of the Lion of the Desert remained to be seen. Shazim didn’t appear to be remotely concerned, but Isla was. Her only experience of wealth and privilege had not been a good one, and this event, thrilling though it was, was a stark reminder of the power Shazim wielded. Coupled with his immense wealth, it left her at an extreme disadvantage. She had almost relaxed with him during their ride through the desert, but now she was growing tense again.

  He had become acutely conscious of Isla’s smallest reaction while they were pressed up close on the horse. He would have had to be asleep not to register every nuance in her body language, and he had felt Isla shrink defensively into herself as people stared at them. He guessed that this was partly because he had prompted her to talk about her unhappy childhood, when she had been belittled and humiliated by people who should have known better. She had certainly felt awkward riding into the village in front of him, and probably thought his people would be critical of her, when he knew they would welcome her as a guest of their Sheikh. His people would have been more surprised if he’d kept such a beautiful woman away from them. Isla was different, special, he reflected, scanning her slender shoulders and the tumble of hair that had escaped her scarf, and they would see that, as he did.

  Would bedding Isla ease her tension? Maybe, but he wanted more of her than a single night, and could he risk indulging himself and potentially losing a valuable member of his team? Isla might be newly qualified, but she had an outstanding record at the university, and he would be risking all she was on the altar of lust.

  Those were his virtuous thoughts, but another part of him wanted to take Isla’s softly yielding body and awaken her to pleasure.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ she said.

  ‘I was enjoying the silence,’ he commented drily.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said, responding to his mocking tone. ‘You should maybe have left me behind if you wanted silence.’

  He hummed in agreement. He needed a distraction fast. Isla was soft and pliant against him, and her hair was fragrant against his lips. Her wildflower scent was intoxicating—there was just one problem. He had never ridden a horse with such a painful erection before.

  The crowd followed them to a recently erected pavilion reserved for their King. It soon became evident that in honour of his visit t
he vast tent had been sited directly over the new water source in the shadow of a towering cliff. The pavilion was quite private. Clustering palms and the discretion of the villagers would make sure of it.

  Isla was impressed. If this wasn’t quite the billowing Bedouin tent of her fantasies, it was close. Maybe it was even a little better than her fantasy with the Sheikh’s personal pennant flying from the topmost point. The flag, with its ground of cerulean blue, bore a lion rampant in gold with crimson claws. A shiver tracked down her spine as she stared at the rearing lion, towering over its helpless prey.

  Yes. Well. She wasn’t exactly helpless, and she wasn’t about to become anyone’s prey.

  Shazim’s royal house...his royal privilege...his castle...

  She had to close her eyes and close her mind to the feelings from the past that threatened to intrude now and spoil everything.

  ‘The pavilion is yours to use as you wish,’ Shazim said, distracting her as he reined in his stallion.

  ‘Mine?’ she queried with surprise.

  ‘I’m going to greet my people, and then I’m going for a swim before the festivities begin,’ Shazim announced as he sprang down to the ground.

  ‘But I thought you were sleeping here?’ she said as he reached up to her.

  ‘I’ll find somewhere else. Take it,’ he said impatiently. ‘It’s yours for the night.’

  Scientist or not, she couldn’t help but feel rejected, with her fantasies lying flat on the ground. ‘If you’re sure?’ she said, dismounting carefully so she wouldn’t join them.

  ‘I’m sure,’ Shazim insisted, holding the big horse steady as she got off.

  It had looked so easy when Shazim sprang down that she launched herself into thin air with every confidence that she would land safely on her feet. Unfortunately, that didn’t go too well, and as the stallion pawed the ground with the same impatience as his master she was thrown off balance. She would have landed on her face if Shazim hadn’t reached out to catch hold of her. He steadied her, but now her muscles protested after so much unaccustomed horseback riding, and she stumbled, almost falling to her knees, forcing him to catch hold of her again.

  ‘You’ll get used to it.’ His black eyes were burning with amusement.

  ‘Will I?’ She gave him a hard stare, which failed to counteract the feelings flooding through her as Shazim held her safe in his arms.

  ‘I guarantee it,’ he murmured. ‘Meanwhile, I suggest a massage.’

  ‘What I need is a hot bath.’ She flared up as all her old fears regarding men came back to haunt her. Then, realising what she’d said, and how insensitive it must have sounded when water was such a precious commodity in the desert, even more valuable than oil, she added, shame-faced, ‘Forgive me. I do know how thoughtless that must have sounded.’

  ‘You can take as many baths as you want.’ Shazim shrugged. ‘This new water supply makes everything possible. In fact, I’ll order water to be drawn for your bath right away.’

  ‘Please—no. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself. I don’t want anyone going to any trouble on my behalf.’ Though she did need Shazim to let her go right away before her senses went into permanent meltdown.

  ‘Whatever you want,’ he said with his face so close to hers, her cheeks tingled.

  A pulse of something warm and seductive throbbed inside her. It was definitely time for her to make her move—out of his arms. ‘Thanks for the save,’ she said matter-of-factly.

  Testing her legs only proved that she wasn’t ready to let go of him, and hanging onto Shazim was dynamite to her senses.

  ‘Are you sure you can do without me?’ he mocked her softly.

  ‘Of course I can.’ Letting go, she set off again, and this time managed to stagger a few steps. Shazim’s expression as he watched her was both intimate and sexy. It warmed her. He warmed her, and in all sorts of dangerous ways.

  They were employer and employee, Isla told herself sternly. She’d had a few flings with boys at school and university, but the Sheikh of Q’Aqabi was definitely not a boy. There had been no time for romance in her life while she was caring for her mother, and then she’d been too busy studying to get back into college as she’d promised her mother she would. After the near attack, she was grateful for the excuse to avoid relationships. She was an innocent throwing herself to the lion, while everything about Shazim suggested his experience of things like sex was beyond her comprehension.

  ‘I think you’d better get that massage,’ he suggested as she yelped and stumbled again. Before she could say no, he swung her into his arms. And, pausing only to free the fastening on the tent flap so that it fell into place behind them, he carried her to a bed of silken cushions and laid her down. Straightening up, he turned to go. Pausing briefly by the entrance, he recommended, ‘Take a bath and work those muscles.’

  She’d been dumped—literally, like a sack of potatoes. Perversely, though, she hadn’t wanted him to stay; Shazim being in such a hurry to leave had left her feeling plain and undesirable.

  She’d got everything she deserved. She wasn’t living out a fantasy. This was real life, with real aching legs. It would take time to work those muscles, and that was what she should do. She was no use to anyone until she could get about.

  And it wouldn’t help to imagine Shazim carrying out the massage...starting at her calves and working up. The faster she returned to full working order—and that meant her brain too—the sooner she could explore the village and see if there was anything in the veterinary line she could help out with.

  As soon as she could she went exploring. She started with the pavilion, which was huge, and pleasantly shaded. It was faintly scented with some delicious spice, and packed full of craftsmanship. The colours were muted, and everything looked well loved, as if nothing was too much trouble for the people’s Sheikh. The tent was full of ethnic treasures, many of which bore the patina of age, and should probably be housed in a museum, Isla mused, running her fingertips across the intricately carved surface of an ancient chest. And Shazim had given all this up for her.

  The huge bed in the centre of the pavilion had been made ready for him. Dressed in white silk sheets, it was shaded by gossamer curtains. Alongside the bed there were low tables laden with jugs of juice, and bowls of fresh fruit—there was even a brass campaign bath, she saw now, full of warm, scented water. Hugging herself, she smiled as she glanced around. One option was stay here all night, and live the dream... The other was to go into the village to see if there was any work she could do.

  * * *

  ‘She’s doing what?’

  ‘Working, Your Majesty,’ one of his rangers assured him.

  Any pictures he might have conjured up of Isla waiting for him, soft and fragrant after her bath, could take a hike. Apparently, she had freshened up, and then taken a walk through the village to find the animal clinic. Having run a quick assessment of need, she had asked one of the rangers to show her where they kept their stock of medical supplies.

  Isla couldn’t be stopped. She was exceptional. But this wasn’t a work detail. On this occasion, she was his guest.

  A regular guest, or a special guest?

  Beneath her can-do ability, Isla was a green shoot waiting to be trampled. She deserved more than the cliché of a moonlit night with the desert Sheikh. Inevitably, she would be sidelined after serving his needs. He could offer her nothing. His duty was to his country. The debt he owed his late brother demanded nothing less of him. He wasn’t totally without heart. He would make Isla’s time in Q’Aqabi enjoyable—if she stopped working long enough for him to do so.

  A glint of amusement flared in his eyes when he found her. Brow pleated, lips firmed, she was intent on her work. The challenge of distracting her was something he looked forward to.

  ‘The celebrations?’ he reminded her.

  She glanced up. Her cheeks pinked and her eyes darkened as she stared at him. Betraying more than she cared to, he suspected.

  ‘Just a few
more minutes and I’ll be done,’ she said.

  He shrugged and pulled away from the door. They were both driven. He could accept that, but she should chill out. One of them needed to.

  * * *

  The last thing Isla had expected when she returned from the clinic was that the women of the village would want to thank her for treating their family pets alongside those on the Sheikh’s programme. Isla had thought nothing of offering her services, beyond the fact that all her patients were creatures in need, but now the women were offering to share their best clothes with her.

  Staring down at her travel-worn outfit, she had to agree that a change of clothes was in order. The safari suit she was wearing had been recommended by an outdoor clothing store in England, and was way too hot and heavy for the desert. It had far too many pockets bulking it out, for one thing, even for someone who customarily carried a wound-suturing kit alongside her lip balm.

  And she could do with another freshening up after her work in the clinic, Isla concluded as her new friends drizzled fragrant oil in the bath they had prepared for her. She only balked when they brought out coffers of family jewels for her to wear. She couldn’t do that, she explained with mimes and gestures, as they were far too precious.

  After bathing, they insisted on massaging scented oils into her skin, and then they dressed her in a delicately embroidered robe of floating silk chiffon in a soft peach shade. She had never worn anything quite so beautiful. Even the gown the maid had chosen for her at the palace hardly compared to this, for this was a lovingly preserved gown that had been passed down through the generations. She could see that in the tiny darns and repairs, which she believed made it more precious than the most expensive couture gown, for every stitch had been sewn with love.

  So this was her second time in a flowing gown, when she could count the number of times she had worn a dress on the fingers of one hand. She’d always been a tomboy, rather than a girly girl, but this dream of a dress, beaded in silver and hung with tiny bells that sang as she walked, was more than enough to convert her. She felt like Cinderella dressing up for the ball.