Captured by the Sheikh

This was, he knew, the closest thing he’d had to family in twenty-nine years.

Dimah was family, of course, and he was incredibly thankful for what she’d done for him. She had, quite literally, saved him: provided for him, supported him, believed in him.

Yes, he owed Dimah a great deal. But she’d never understood what drove him, how much he needed to reclaim his inheritance, his very self. These men did.

Shaking off such thoughts, he strode towards Elena’s tent, waving the guards aside as he drew back the flaps, only to come up short.

Elena was in the bath.

The intimacy of the moment struck him like a fist to the heart: the endless darkness outside, the candlelight flickering over the golden skin of her back, the only sound the slosh of the water against the sides of the deep copper tub as Elena washed herself—and then the hiss of his sudden, indrawn breath as a wave of lust crashed over him with the force of a tsunami.

She stiffened, the sponge dropping from her hand, and turned her head so their gazes met. Clashed. She didn’t speak, didn’t even move, and neither did Khalil. The moment spun out between them, a moment taut with expectation and yet beautiful in its simplicity.

She was beautiful, the elegant shape of her back reminding him of the sinuous curves of a cello. A single tendril of dark hair lay against the nape of her neck; the rest was piled on top of her head.

As if from a great distance Khalil registered her shuddering breath and knew she was frightened. Shame scorched him and he spun on his heel.

‘I beg your pardon. I did not realise you were bathing. I’ll wait outside.’ He pushed outside the tent, the guards coming quickly to flank him, but he just shook his head and brushed them off. Lust still pulsed insistently inside him, an ache in his groin. He folded his arms across his chest and willed his body’s traitorous reaction to recede. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he could not banish the image of Elena’s golden perfection from his mind.

After a few endless minutes he heard a rustling behind him and Elena appeared, dressed in a white towelling robe that thankfully covered her from neck to toe.

‘You may come in.’ Her voice was husky, her cheeks flushed—although whether from the heat of the bath or their unexpected encounter he didn’t know.

Khalil stepped inside the tent. Elena had already retreated to the far side, the copper tub between them like a barrier, her slight body swallowed up by the robe.

‘I’m sorry,’ Khalil said. ‘I didn’t know you were in the bath.’

‘So you said.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘Why should I believe anything you say?’ she retorted. ‘You haven’t exactly been acting in an honourable fashion.’

Khalil drew himself up, any traces of desire evaporating in the face of her obvious scorn. ‘And it would be honourable to allow my country to be ruled by a pretender?’

‘A pretender?’ She shook her head in derisive disbelief, causing a few more tendrils of hair to fall against her cheek. Khalil’s hand twitched with the sudden, absurd urge to touch her, to brush those strands away from her face. He clenched his hand into a fist instead.

‘Aziz is not the rightful heir to the throne.’

‘I don’t care!’ she cried, her voice ringing out harsh and desperate. Khalil felt any soft longings in him harden, crystallise into determination. Of course she didn’t care.

‘I realise that, Your Highness,’ he answered shortly. ‘Although why you wish to marry Aziz is not clear to me. Power, perhaps.’ He let her hear the contempt in his voice but she didn’t respond to it, except to give one weary laugh.

‘Power? I suppose you could say that.’ She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them he was surprised to see so much bleak despair reflected in their grey-gold depths. ‘All I meant was, none of it really matters to me, being here. I understand this—this conflict is very important to you. But keeping me here won’t accomplish your goal.’

‘You don’t think so?’

‘No.’ Her mouth twisted in something like a smile. ‘Aziz will just marry someone else. He still has four days.’

‘I’m aware of the time that is left.’ He regarded her thoughtfully, the bleakness still apparent in her eyes, the set of her shoulders and mouth both determined and courageous. He felt another flicker of admiration as well as a surge of curiosity. Why had she agreed to marry Aziz? What could such a marriage possibly give her?

‘So why keep me here?’ she pressed. ‘If he can fulfil the terms of his father’s will with another woman?’

‘Because he won’t.’

‘But he will. We barely know each other. We’ve only met once before.’

‘I know.’

‘Then why do you think he would be loyal to me?’ she asked and he felt a sudden flash of compassion as well as understanding, because he’d asked that question so many times himself. Why would anyone be loyal to him? Why should he trust anyone?

The person he’d loved most in the world had betrayed and rejected him utterly.

‘To be frank,’ he told her, ‘I don’t think loyalty is the issue. Politics are.’

‘Exactly. So he’ll just marry someone else.’

‘And alienate his people even more? They love the idea of this wedding. They love it more than they do Aziz. And if he were to discard one woman for another...’ As our father did. No, he had no wish to divulge that information to Elena just yet. He took a quick breath. ‘It would not be popular. It would destabilise his rule even more.’

‘But if he’s going to lose his crown anyway...’

‘But he won’t, not necessarily. Did he not tell you?’ Uncertainty flashed across her features and Khalil curved his mouth in a grim smile. ‘The will states that, if Aziz does not marry within six weeks, he must call a national referendum. The people will then choose the new sheikh.’

She stared at him, her eyes widening. ‘And you think that will be you?’

He let out a hard laugh. ‘Don’t sound so sceptical.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I told you, the next ruler of Kadar.’ Her gaze moved over his face searchingly, and he saw despair creep back into her eyes.

‘But Aziz could still go ahead and marry someone else while I’m stuck here in the desert. What happens then?’

‘If he does that, it might lead to a civil war. I don’t think he wishes for that to happen. Admittedly, Your Highness, I am taking a risk. You are right in saying that Aziz could marry someone else. But I don’t think he will.’

‘Why not just meet him and ask him to call the referendum?’

He shook his head. ‘Because he knows he won’t win it.’

‘And if it comes to war? Are you prepared?’

‘I will do what I must to secure my country’s rule. Make no mistake about that, Queen Elena.’ She flinched slightly at his implacable tone and something in Khalil softened just a little. None of this was Elena’s fault. She was a casualty of a conflict that didn’t involve her. In any other circumstance, he would have applauded her courage and determination.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said after a pause. ‘I realise your plans to marry Aziz have been upset. But, considering how they were made so recently, I’m sure you’ll recover.’ He didn’t mean to sound quite so cutting, but he knew he did, and he saw her flinch again.

She looked away, her gaze turning distant. ‘You think so?’ she said, not really a question, and again he heard the bleak despair and wondered at its source.

‘I know so, Your Highness. I don’t know why you decided to marry Aziz, but since it wasn’t for love your heart is hardly broken.’

‘And you know about broken hearts?’ she answered with another weary laugh. ‘You don’t even seem to have one.’

‘Perhaps I don’t. But you didn’t love him?’ That was a question, of a sort. He was curious, even if he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to know more about Elena, to wonder about her motives or her heart.

And yet still he asked.

‘No,’ she said after a moment. ‘Of course I didn’t—don’t—love him. I barely know him. We met twice, for a couple of hours.’ She shook her head, let out a long, defeated sigh, and then seemed to come to herself, straightening again, her eyes flashing once more. ‘But I have your word you will release me after four days?’

‘Yes. You have my word.’ She relaxed slightly then, even as he stiffened. ‘You don’t think I’d hurt you?’

‘Why shouldn’t I? Kidnappers are usually capable of other crimes.’

‘As I explained, this was a necessary evil, Your Highness, nothing more.’

‘And what else will be a necessary evil, Khalil?’ she answered back. He didn’t like the hopelessness he saw in her eyes; it was as if the spark that had lit her from within had died out. He missed it. ‘When you justify one thing, it becomes all too easy to justify another.’

‘You sound as if you speak from experience.’

‘I do.’

‘Your own.’

A pause and her mouth firmed and tightened. ‘Of sorts.’

He opened his mouth to ask another question, but then closed it abruptly. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t need to understand this woman; he simply needed her to stay put for a handful of days. He was sorry, more or less, for her disappointment. But that was all it was, a disappointment. An inconvenience, really. Her future, her very life, was not riding on a marriage to a stranger.

Not like his was.

‘I promise I will not hurt you. And in four days you will be free.’ She simply stared at him and, with one terse nod, he dismissed her, leaving the tent without another word.

CHAPTER THREE

ELENA WOKE SLOWLY, blinking in the bright sunlight that filtered through the small gap in the tent’s flaps. Her body ached with tiredness; her mind had spun and seethed all night and she hadn’t fallen asleep until some time near dawn.

Now she stretched and stared up at the rippling canvas of the tent, wondering what this day would bring.

She’d spent hours last night considering her options. She’d wondered if she could steal someone’s mobile phone, make contact. Yet who would she call—the operator, to connect her to the Kadaran palace? Her Head of Council, who would probably be delighted by the news of her capture? In any case, she most likely couldn’t get a signal out here.

Then she’d wondered if she could make a friend of one of the guards, get him to help her. That seemed even less likely; both of the guards she’d met had appeared utterly unmoved by her predicament.

Could she cause a fire, so its smoke might be caught by a satellite, a passing helicopter or plane?

Each possibility seemed more ludicrous than the last, and yet she refused to admit defeat. Giving in would mean losing her crown.

But the longer she stayed here, the more likely it was Aziz would marry someone else, no matter what Khalil said or thought. Or, even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t marry her. Maybe he would call this referendum and win the vote. He wouldn’t need her at all.

But she still needed him, needed someone to marry her in the next month as she’d promised her Council, someone she was willing to marry, to father her children...

The thought caused her stomach to churn and her heart to sink. Her plan to marry Aziz had been desperate; finding another groom was outlandish. What was she going to do?

Sighing, she rose from the bed. A female voice sounded outside her tent, and a second later a woman entered, smiling and bearing a pitcher of fresh water.

‘Good morning, Your Highness,’ she said, ducking a quick curtsey, and Elena murmured back her own greeting, wondering if this woman might be the ally she was looking for.

The sight of the water in the woman’s hands reminded her of her bath last night—and Khalil seeing her in it. Even now she felt her insides clench with a nameless emotion at the memory of his arrested look. The heat in his eyes had burned her with both pleasure and pain. To be desired, it was a fearsome thing—exciting, yes, but terrifying too, especially from a man like Khalil.

It had been foolish, she supposed, to take a bath, but when the two surly, silent guards had brought in the huge copper tub and filled it with steaming water, Elena had been unable to resist.

She’d been tired and sandy, every muscle aching with physical as well as emotional fatigue, and the thought of slipping into the rose-scented water, petals floating on top, had been incredibly appealing. A good wash would clear her head as well as clean her body and Khalil, she’d assumed, would not see her again that night.

And yet he’d seen her... Oh, how he’d seen her. She blushed to remember it, even though logically she knew he couldn’t have seen much. The high sides of the tub would have kept her body from his sight, and in any case her back had been to him.

Even so she remembered the feel of his stilled gaze on her, the heat and intensity of it and, more alarmingly, her own answering response, everything inside her tightening and tautening, waiting...

‘Is there anything else you need, Your Highness?’ the woman asked, her voice pleasantly accented.

Yes, Elena thought, my freedom. She forced a smile. She needed this woman to be her friend. ‘This is lovely, thank you. Were you the one who arranged the bath last night?’

The woman ducked her head. ‘Yes, I thought you would like a wash.’

‘It was wonderful, thank you.’ Elena’s mind raced. ‘Where do you get the water? Is there an oasis here?’

‘Yes, just beyond the rocks.’

‘Is it very private? I’d love to have a swim some time, if I could.’

The woman smiled. ‘If Sheikh Khalil approves, then I’m sure you could. It is lovely for swimming.’

‘Thank you.’ Elena didn’t know if the oasis might provide her with an opportunity either to escape or attempt some kind of distraction to alert anyone who might be looking for her, but at least it was an option, a chance. Now she just had to get Khalil to agree to let her have a swim.

‘When you are ready, you may break your fast outside,’ the woman said. ‘Sheikh Khalil is waiting.’

That was the second time the woman had called Khalil ‘sheikh’. Was he a sheikh in his own right, Elena wondered, or did she already consider him as having the throne of Kadar? She wanted to ask Khalil just what made him feel so sure of his position, but she knew she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to know more about this man or, heaven forbid, find some sympathy for him. Her physical awareness of him was alarming enough.

A few minutes later, dressed in a pair of khakis and a plain button-down shirt that had been provided for her, her hair neatly plaited, Elena stepped out of her tent.

The brilliance of the desert sun, the hard, bright blue of the sky and the perfect clarity of the air left her breathless for a moment. She was dazzled by the austere beauty of the desert, even though she didn’t want to be. She didn’t want to feel anything for any of it.

Khalil was eating by himself under an awning that had been set up above a raised wooden platform. He rose as she approached.

‘Please. Sit.’

‘Thank you.’ She perched on the edge of a chair and Khalil arched an amused eyebrow.

‘Courteous today, are we?’

Elena shrugged. ‘I choose my battles.’

‘I look forward to the next one.’ He poured her coffee from an ornate brass pot; it looked thick and dark and smelled of cardamom. ‘This is Kadaran coffee,’ he told her. ‘Have you ever tried it?’

She shook her head and took a tentative sip; the taste was strong but not unpleasant. Khalil nodded his approval. ‘Would you have taken on Kadaran ways, if you’d become Aziz’s bride?’

Elena stiffened. ‘I could still become his bride, you know. He might find me.’

The look Khalil gave her was arrogant and utterly assured. ‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Your Highness.’

‘Yours certainly seem high enough.’

He shrugged, one powerful shoulder lifting slightly, muscles rippling underneath the linen thobe he wore. ‘As I told you before, the people of Kadar do not support Aziz.’

Surely he was exaggerating? Elena thought. Aziz had mentioned some instability, but not that he was an unpopular ruler. ‘Outside of Siyad, you said,’ she recalled. ‘And why wouldn’t they support him? He’s the Sheikh’s only son, and the succession has always been dynastic.’

Khalil’s mouth tightened, his tawny eyes flashing fire before he shrugged again. ‘Maybe you should take my advice and brush up on your Kadaran history.’

‘And is there a book you suggest I read?’ She raised her eyebrows, tried to moderate her tone. She was not doing herself any favours, arguing with him. ‘Perhaps one I can take out of the library?’ she added, in a poor attempt at levity.

Khalil’s mouth twitched in a smile of what Elena suspected was genuine amusement. It lightened and softened him somehow, made him even more attractive than when he was cold and forbidding. ‘I have a small library of books with me. I’ll be happy to lend you one, although you won’t find the answers you’re looking for in a book.’

‘Where will I find them, then?’

He hesitated and for a moment Elena thought he was going to say something else, something important. Then he shook his head. ‘I don’t think any answers would satisfy you, Your Highness, not right now. But when you’re ready to listen, and consider there might be more to this story than what you’ve been told by Aziz, perhaps I’ll enlighten you.’

‘I should be so lucky,’ she retorted, but for the first time since meeting Khalil she felt a flicker of real uncertainty. He was so sure. What if his claim had some legitimacy?

But, no, he was an insurgent. An impostor. He had to be. Anything else was unthinkable.

To her surprise Khalil leaned forward, placed his hand over hers. Elena stiffened under that small touch and it seemed as if the solid warmth of his hand spread throughout her whole body. ‘You don’t want to be curious,’ he murmured. ‘But you are.’

‘Why should I be curious about a criminal?’ she snapped, and he just smiled and removed his hand.

‘Remember what I said. There is another side to the story.’ He turned to go and Elena stared at him in frustration; she’d completely missed her opportunity to ask him about the oasis.

‘And what am I meant to do for four days?’ she called. ‘Are you going to keep me imprisoned in my tent?’

‘Only if you are foolish enough to attempt to escape.’ Khalil turned to face her, his voice and face both hard once more.

‘And if I did?’

‘I would find you, hopefully before you were dead.’

‘Charming.’

‘The desert is a dangerous place. Regardless of the scorpions and snakes, a storm can arise in a matter of minutes and bury a tent, never mind a man, in seconds.’

‘I know that.’ She pressed her lips together and stared down at her plate; Khalil had served her some fresh fruit, dates, figs and succulent slices of melon. She picked up a fork and toyed with a bit of papaya.

‘So I may trust you won’t attempt an escape?’ Khalil asked.

‘Do you want me to promise?’

‘No,’ he answered after a moment. ‘I don’t trust promises. I just don’t want your death on my conscience.’

‘How thoughtful of you,’ Elena answered sardonically. ‘I’m touched.’

To her surprise he smiled again, revealing a surprising dimple in one cheek. ‘I thought you would be.’

‘So, if I’m not stupid enough to try and escape, may I go outside?’ she asked. ‘The woman who brought me water said there was an oasis here.’ She held her breath, tried to keep her face bland.

‘You mean Leila, Assad’s wife. And, yes, you may go to the oasis if you like. Watch out for snakes.’

She nodded, her heart thumping with both victory and relief. She had a plan. She could finally do something.

‘Are you going somewhere?’ she asked, her gaze sliding to the horses that were being saddled nearby. If Khalil was gone, all the better.

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘To meet with some of the Bedouin tribes in this area of the desert.’

‘Rallying support?’ she queried, an edge to her voice, and he lifted his eyebrows.

‘Remember what I said about arguing?’

‘How was that arguing? I’m not going to just give up, if that’s what you want. “Attack is the secret of defence”,’ she quoted recklessly. ‘“Defence is the planning of an attack”.’

Khalil nodded, a slight smile on his lips. ‘The Art of War by Sun Tzu,’ he said. ‘Impressive.’ She simply stared at him, chin jutted out, and he quoted back at her, ‘“He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot will be victorious”.’

‘Exactly.’

He laughed softly, shaking his head. ‘So you think you can win in this situation, Your Highness, despite all I’ve said?’

‘“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting”.’

He cocked his head, his gaze sweeping over her almost lazily. ‘And how do you intend to subdue me?’

Surely he hadn’t meant those words to have a sensual intent, a sexual innuendo, yet somehow they had. Elena felt it in the warmth that stole through her body, turning her bones liquid and her mind to mush.

Khalil held her gaze, his eyes glowing gold and she simply stared back, unable to reply or even think. Finally her brain sputtered back into gear and she forced out, ‘“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night”.’

‘Clearly you’ve studied him well. It makes me curious, since your country has been at peace for nearly a thousand years.’

‘There are different kinds of wars.’ And the war she fought was scarily subtle: a murmured word, a whispered rumour. She was constantly on the alert for an attack.

‘So there are. And I pray, Your Highness, that this war for the throne of Kadar might be fought without a single drop of blood being spilled.’

‘You don’t think Aziz will fight you?’

‘I hope he knows better. Now, enough. I must ride. I hope you enjoy your day.’

With that he strode towards the horses, his body dark and powerful against the brilliant blue sky, the blazing sun. When he had gone Elena felt, absurdly, as if something was missing that she’d both wanted and enjoyed.

* * *

After Khalil had left, riding off into the desert with several of his men, great clouds of dust and sand billowing behind them, Elena went back to her tent. To her surprise, she saw a book—The Making of Modern Kadar—had been placed on her bedside table. Was Khalil being thoughtful, she wondered, or mocking?

Curious, she flipped through the book. She already knew the basics of Kadar’s history: its many years of peace, isolated as it was on a remote peninsula, jutting out into the Arabian Sea. While war had passed it by, so had technology, and for centuries it had remained as it had always been, a cluster of tribal communities with little interest beyond their nomadic life of shepherding. Then, in the early 1800s, Sheikh Ahmad al Bakir, the great-great-grandfather of Hashem, had united the tribes and created a monarchy. He’d ruled Kadar for nearly fifty years, and since then there had only been peace and prosperity.

None of it told her why Khalil believed he was the rightful ruler and not Aziz, Hashem’s only son. The book didn’t even hint at any insurgency or civil unrest; if it was to be believed, nothing had caused so much as a flicker of unease in the peaceful, prosperous rule of the House of al Bakir.

She tossed the book aside, determined not to wonder any more about Khalil. She didn’t need to know whether his claim had any merit. She wasn’t going to care.

She just wanted to get out of here, however she could. Resolutely, she went in search of Leila. The guards outside her tent summoned her, and Leila was happy to show her the way to the oasis. She even brought Elena a swimming costume and a packed lunch. It was all so civilised, Elena almost felt guilty at her deception.

Almost.

Alone in her tent, she searched for what she needed. The legs of the table were too thick, but the chairs might do.

Kneeling on the floor of the tent, the sound muffled by a pillow, she managed to snap several slats from the back of a chair. She stuffed the slats in the bag with the picnic and with her head held high walked out of the tent.