Taken by the Sheikh (11 page)

“You’ll be compensated.” His voice was flat and unemotional. “It’s far too dangerous for you to stay in Al Sounam. Your face has been on our top TV channel’s main news bulletin. People will remember you. It was quite a performance you gave—you were no meek little captive. You spat like a hellcat, and you were wonderfully photogenic.”

“I was terribly annoyed.”

He collapsed into laughter and pulled her against his chest, turning her head so it lay just under his chin.  He tugged gently at her pony-tail.

“Terribly annoyed,” he repeated. His hands smoothed down over her back, stroking and soothing her. “Laurel, I have seen other people in the same situation. They are petrified, and silent, and shocked—and they try to be co-operative and conciliatory. You fought us with no thought for your safety. You were magnificently angry.”

“I suppose I was very silly.”

“I suppose you were too...but you made great TV. And that’s one of the reasons why you must leave my country. You’re too identifiable. You’re now a target for the insurgents. They hope you’re dead, but if you’re seen, and heaven forbid, captured again—they’ll make you talk.”

“No!”

“Yes. Easily. And that will lead them to me and to our other under-cover operatives. We’ve put nearly two years of work into this particular cell. Long, slow, careful work. We’re so close. If your freedom has to be curtailed for a few weeks and you get deported to the other side of the world afterwards, that’s a very small price to pay.”

She glanced up at him, her vivid blue eyes intent on his for long seconds.

“Are you in danger too?”

“That’s my choice, and I’m trained for it.”

“So how much longer will you do this awful work?”

“It’s not awful, little one—it’s vitally important to my country. And I shall probably do it until I’m dead, or until
they
are.”

“The Nazims and the Fayezes and all their friends?”

“They kill and they maim and they destroy order. Car-bombs...land-mines...you have no idea in your peaceful homeland how bad it can be in this part of the world. We don’t want them hiding in Al Sounam while they regroup to do more evil in the neighboring lands.”

Suddenly he twisted his head back to stare at the sky, and listened, alert as a wild animal.

“They’re looking for you,” he said, tugging her in through the gate and under the dark Casuarina tree again.

Seconds later she sensed it too—the faint beat of helicopter rotors in the distance.

“Have you heard this before?” he demanded. His fingers gripped her arms hard enough to bruise them.

She shook her head, trying not to flinch. Surely he was exaggerating? But as they listened, the engine note changed as though the machine had altered direction.

“You’re sure, Laurel?”

“Absolutely sure. Of course I’m sure—I would have thought it was you coming back here. I’d have noticed that.”

“Stay right here. Out of sight.” He released her and made a dive towards the vehicle again. She watched as he pushed the bags down between the seats and threw a travel rug over them.

“They’ll never see those,” she scoffed. “And what if they do?”

He strode the few steps back to her and pulled her against him again. She could feel the steady thumping of his heart through the hard wall of his chest and the thin fabric of his shirt.

“You know the power of military binoculars do you Laurel? Their magnification and range? Yasmina’s no fashion plate—those boutique bags are a total giveaway there’s a guest at the lodge—a woman needing clothes. If they come nearer, those bags have to be out of sight.”

He stared up through the feathery foliage, angling his head to hear more clearly. Again it seemed there was a change in the faraway sound.

“One machine. Grid-search. Not going to be close for a few minutes. Let’s get you and those bags inside. Then you can see all the pretty things I’ve bought you.”

“How do you know they’re going to fit?” she demanded, wriggling out of his arms, pulling the car door open and dragging several of the shiny bags into the sunshine. He gathered up the rest and shepherded her inside the lodge and through to her bedroom.

“I phoned Yasmina to find out the sizes on your clothes.”

He watched her eyes as if waiting for the explosion.

“You said there was no phone! No reception!”

“I lied. Forgive me.” He looked so amused that no forgiveness was anywhere in sight. “Excuse me for just one moment Laurel.” 

She stood watching as he keyed a code into his rapidly-produced phone and began a short intense conversation in melodious Sounamese. From his alert expression and no-nonsense manner she concluded he was sending orders or requesting instant action on something.

“Of course we have a satellite phone,” he said after concluding his conversation. “And solar power for the lighting and hot water. We may be miles from civilization but we’re not in the dark ages.”

“And I suppose there was a car here last night too—Malik’s car? He could have driven me back to Kalal.”

“I chose that he did not.”

“Because it didn’t suit your war-games?”

“Hardly games, Laurel—as you can hear from that search going on. But yes, it didn’t suit me.”

“So you dragged me into bed with you.”

“I have never ‘dragged’ a woman into my bed.”

She stared at him for a few seconds. At his midnight eyes and proud bearing and undeniable aura of power. No—he would never need to drag them. They’d probably form an orderly queue...

She didn’t want to think too much about them, either. No doubt they were the exotic beauties from the capital, or further afield in the Middle East and Europe. He might spare her an occasional kiss or caress, but Laurel knew he was just softening her up to keep her obedient to his wishes. She had no illusions she was anything but a girl who’d ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She was a nanny, a foreigner, with no known family or impressive pedigree. Rafiq would never have looked twice at her if she’d not been mistaken for Maddie and he’d been forced to make the best of her for his filming charade.

He’d been aroused in bed the night before, but not interested enough to respond to her tentative invitation after setting her alight with his kisses.

She knew what men wanted, and they wanted it as often as they could get it, to judge by Gary Gorrige’s repulsive example. Rafiq could plainly pick and choose—and he hadn’t chosen her, even when she’d almost been willing and he’d very definitely been able.

She sighed, cast her eyes down and followed him into the lodge. Moments later she drew a tissue-wrapped nightdress from one of the glossy bags.

“I didn’t need this,” she exclaimed. She held it up by its tiny spaghetti-thin straps to reveal cinnamon-colored silk with swirls of matching lace at the hem.

“You looked so good in my shirt last night I thought I’d find you something the same shade.” His voice flowed warm and husky now—such a contrast to his recent phone-call. “You prefer to sleep naked?” He didn’t seem to be joking.

She shook her head, worried he’d picture her nude, doubly-worried about how much he seemed to have spent. Was money really of no importance to him? Surely money was always important, even if you had plenty. The nightdress danced in the slight breeze from the open window, mocking her concern. She folded it up again with reverence.

He reached for another of the bags and tipped the contents out onto the bed.

“Unpacking first, or coffee?”

For Laurel, who’d never shopped on this scale, it was no contest. “Unpacking please, extravagant Lord Rafiq.” She didn’t try to hide her cheeky smile as she gently mocked his title. And then, because she simply couldn’t help herself, she asked, “Did you really buy a whole new car?”

“You’re not thinking of trying to steal the keys, I hope?”

“Nooooo...” she murmured, thinking exactly that.

“I shall put them where you’ll never find them. And I have instructed Malik to do the same with his. So—unpack and tell me what you think.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. There seemed to be entirely too much clothing, but she felt thrilled to have something new, and relieved to have anything else to change into at all. What had he chosen for her—or had he handed that boring task to a saleswoman or a female friend? Not a
close
female friend, she hoped.

She was astonished when Rafiq sat on her bed, ankle over knee, as though expecting to enjoy a fashion parade.

“I’m not trying everything on for you,” she objected.

He waved a languid hand as if it was of no concern, and then surprised her by asking, “Do you swim in a bikini or a one-piece? I got both, not knowing.”

“Swim?” she queried. “Here?”

“The stream you followed is fed by underground springs which created a small private lake. It was the reason my grandfather chose this site for the lodge.”

She thought about slipping into clear cool water with Rafiq, imagining him wearing only swimming briefs while she was barely clad as well, and she turned away in pink confusion.

“Either,” she muttered. “Whatever fits.”

She’d expected perhaps another pair of jeans and some T-shirts and new trainers. When she opened the bags it was to find a profusion of flowing ankle-length skirts and wide-legged trousers and graceful eastern-style tunics. The exotic fabrics and colors were straight from top designer boutiques. She ran her fingers over the glowing garments with disbelief. This was all for her?

She also discovered cobweb-fine lace underwear the like of which she’d never imagined owning, another silk nightgown, and several pairs of jeweled sandals. Then riding boots and a black-and-white polka-dotted bikini and a sleek blue swimsuit.

She turned to Rafiq in consternation as she held the swimsuit against herself.

“To match your eyes,” he said.

“You’ve bought far too much.”

He rose and crossed to the window, listening intently.

“They’re somewhere this side of Akajar by the sound of things. And getting closer.”

Laurel still felt far too overcome by the magnitude of his purchases to be worried about the helicopter.

“I thought you meant some new T-shirts,” she muttered. “Where am I supposed to wear all these things?”

“In the King’s house—where else? I’ll enjoy seeing you looking beautiful.”

She scuffed her foot against the floor and then angled her head up as the helicopter’s noise grew more distinct.

“You really expect they’re looking for me?”

He nodded grimly. “Someone has been sent to search for you. Think, Laurel. Have you left anything outside—anything that might indicate you’re here?”

“Magazines, maybe—but they’re under the tree.”

“Close these shutters to be safe. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He spun away from the window and strode from the room, calling for Yasmina.

Laurel did as he’d asked and started to stow her new clothes away, listening all the time to the distant thudding of the rotors as they thwacked through the burning air above the desert. It was all too easy to picture her body, sunburned and peeling, dead of dehydration, sprawled alone in the empty vastness.

The monotonous muttering continued in the background, changing note every minute or so. She imagined the machine sweeping backwards and forwards with the sun glinting and flashing off it as it turned, steadied, continuing its inexorable progress over the sand and rocks.

Rafiq’s rapid steps broke her train of thought.

“Come,” he invited, thrusting out his hand. It seemed she had no option but to follow—along the hall, around a bend, and up an unexpected staircase concealed by a heavy fringed curtain.

He urged her up the narrow steps, suddenly all business.

“Keep back from the glass,” he cautioned as she headed towards the view.

They’d reached a lookout tower—a round room big enough to contain several rattan chairs and a great many books. At least a dozen long windows pierced the thick walls, shielded by curtains sheer enough to admit soft light.

Stand here,” he added more gently, drawing her back against his chest and angling her so she could peek though the tiny opening beside the fabric. The desert stretched harsh and inhospitable to the horizon, pale under the baking sun. Below them, Yasmina hung out washing in the courtyard garden.

“Won’t they see her?” Laurel asked.

“If they get close enough to inspect the lodge in detail it would be entirely appropriate to see a servant at work; one who gazes upwards at their noise,” Rafiq murmured. “If she was not there, it would be much more suspicious.” He dropped a soft kiss onto Laurel’s hair. “Can you see it?” he whispered close against her ear.

She felt his warm breath on her skin, then his long fingers brushing her hair aside and his teeth nipping at the nape of her neck. An exquisite tremor of sensation washed the length of her body.

“Not if you keep doing that,” she objected—hearing the giveaway quaver in her voice.

He chuckled behind her, and drew the curtain fractionally further aside.

“There—low against the horizon.”

The sun flashed on the dancing helicopter as it changed direction in the shimmering air.

“I’ve arranged a little surprise for our trespassers,” Rafiq said. “One you might find exciting.”

His hands slid around her waist and his thighs pressed against the backs of hers.

“Trespassers?”

“They’re over private land.”

She was momentarily distracted from his body’s intimate pressure.

“But who would want it? It’s so bare and rubbishy. Nothing will ever grow on it.” The myriad lush greens of New Zealand swam through her brain like a mirage.

“
I
would want it, Laurel. It’s
my
land. Its riches lie underneath.”

“Oil?” How silly she’d not thought of something so obvious.

“As you say. The geological surveys are all done, but the Royal Estates will be the last areas of the Kingdom to be put into production.”

“How much land is yours?”

“How much land can you see?”

She closed her eyes and nodded slowly. No wonder a duplicate car and a few new clothes meant nothing.