The Sheik's Command (11 page)

Zakir explained the sudden episodes of blurred vision and blindness. Tariq asked several questions, then fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, Zakir’s heart sank at his brother’s tone.

“Once there have been several episodes of this nature and duration,” said Tariq, “things could happen fast. Much faster than we at first anticipated. You will find vision in your left eye will go completely, first. This will be followed by decreasing central vision in the right eye, and then the optic nerves will fail completely in that one, as well.”

“How fast?” Zakir said very quietly.

Tariq cleared his throat, “Perhaps within a few months the blindness will be permanent in both eyes.”

Zakir clenched the phone. “A few months?” he whispered.

“It could even be weeks, or days.” His brother was silent for a beat. “I am sorry, Zakir. You will need to marry soon, brother.”

Zakir inhaled deeply, fist tensing around the phone. “I’ll call my emissary in Europe right away, make it clear that I need to marry before the month is out.”

“In the meantime, you can perhaps delay onset of blindness by taking medication to reduce blood pressure. You need to stay calm, Zakir. Stress will hasten vision loss.”

Zakir laughed drily. Calm was not possible—not with the tasks that awaited him. But Tariq was right—the only way to safeguard the throne was to find himself a queen and to be officially crowned. Then he would quickly change the constitution so he could govern blind.

Al Arif Corporation lawyers in Paris had already drafted the contract that Zakir and his potential bride would sign. The candidate of his choosing would agree to a finite term, along
with hefty financial compensation, during which she would appear on Zakir’s arm as his queen. She would also try to bear him a child. After the term was up, and once Zakir’s rule was secure, the marriage would be annulled by royal decree, unless both parties mutually agreed to extend the terms and remain married for an additional period of time.

“Shokrun ya akhi,”
he said crisply. Thank you, my brother.

He killed the call and sat on his bed, feeling the weight of the future on his shoulders. And suddenly Zakir wanted nothing to do with the women of his past—the kind who’d eagerly agree to marry and sleep with him for hefty monetary gain. The ones for whom he’d never hold any real affection.

He wanted Nikki.

Which was ludicrous. She was not the type to enter into a marriage arrangement for money. Besides, he barely knew anything about her. She’d have to be properly vetted. He’d have to hire an investigator to comb through her past in America.

Zakir lay back on his bed, hooking one arm behind his head while he kept the other on the hilt of his weapon. He would not sleep. Not until his bodyguards arrived. But as he lay there, the idea of possibly entering into a business arrangement with Nikki began to entice him on more levels than Zakir cared to admit.

Irrespective of his growing attraction to her, Nikki
was
potentially an ideal candidate. She spoke the language of his people, she loved his desert, she was bold and she seemed to be skilled at diplomacy. And as much as Zakir hated to think about it, he knew Nikki would be able to handle his blindness. He’d witnessed her capacity for tenderness in the way she cared for the children.

Malaak er-ruhmuh.

That’s what the Rahm Berbers had called her. An angel.

It irritated him that he even wanted this kind of tenderness
from a woman. Then he thought of the sensation of her mouth, soft and warm under his, and desire stirred in his groin.

Would she even think of doing it? Could he persuade her to enter into an official engagement with him while he secretly had her investigated?

Anticipation sparked through his chest—the old thrill of the hunt. And the more Zakir thought about it, the more sense it made. If she agreed, then he could immediately put her name before the King’s Council as his potential wife. It would be a solid first step to securing his reign. It would send the right message to his enemies. Meanwhile, he’d continue to run his search for a wife in Europe. If Nikki’s background check fell through for some reason, he’d still have an acceptable backup waiting in the wings, ready and vetted. And in the interim he’d have enjoyed the security—and the intimacy—of a betrothal.

I can get to know her better. I can touch her. Taste her.

But the clock was ticking. Could he do it? Could he manipulate Nikki into a betrothal of convenience—and seduce her into his bed—before he went blind?

D
awn was harsh, the sky clear as Nikki went to the well for yet another pitcher of water. Samira had taken a bad turn during the night and was running a higher fever. Nikki was doing her best to keep her cool and hydrated.

But as she reached for the pump handle, she glanced up, saw two of Zakir’s red-turbaned guards rounding the corner, kukri knives bumping against their thighs as they strode quickly toward the king’s hut.

Fear shot up her spine. Quickly, she filled the clay pitcher and hurried back to the hut. She
had
to get Samira and the others out of here. She had to get away from Zakir and his men, this country. It was not her battle.

She elbowed the reed curtain aside, ducked into the hut and gasped, almost dropping the pitcher.

Tenzing Gelu.

Sitting on the edge of Samira’s bed.

Nikki began to shake. “What are you doing in here?”

He stood, his mouth twisting into a crooked smile, his eyes
inscrutable behind mirrored shades. “I am merely checking that the village remains secure for the king.”

“There’s nothing in here. Get out, now!”

Samira’s eyes widened into round, dark circles at Nikki’s tone. The other children stilled, picking up on her fear.

Gelu placed one hand on the hilt of his knife and held the other out toward the door. “After you, Ms. Hunt.”

She swallowed, her gaze flicking around the room. “Solomon, come, take this jug. Use the water to keep damp cloths on Samira’s forehead.”

“Where are you going, Miss Nikki?” Solomon watched Gelu as he spoke, his little fists balled tightly at his sides.

“I’m just going outside for a minute.”

Worry etched into the small boy’s features. “I’ll be fine, Solomon. Here, take the jug.”

“Yes, Miss Nikki.” He solemnly took the water pitcher from her.

Nikki stepped out into the blazing sun, heart hammering. Gelu followed, motioning with a quick flick of his head for her to step behind the wall. He stood in front of her, one hand against the wall above her shoulder, his other resting threateningly on the hilt of his weapon. “What have you got for me, Ms. Hunt?”

“Don’t you
ever
come near those children again,” she growled at him.

He bent his head lower toward hers, dropping his voice. “If you cooperate, there will be no need.”

Her gaze flicked around, desperate. But Gelu had chosen a spot where no one could see them. “I…I won’t do this,” she hissed. “I will
not
spy on Sheik Zakir.”

“Then little Samira—” He smiled slowly at her surprise. “Yes, she told me her name. A very sweet girl. But she’ll be dead by nightfall.” His voice was cool. It held no intonation, no emotion. It made his threat all the more deadly.

Nikki felt blood drain from her face. She’d met men like him—the rebels in Mauritania. Sam. You didn’t mess with a man like Gelu.

She had to buy time.

She had to give him something, anything. Preferably information he’d easily learn himself anyway. Information that would not hurt Zakir. “Sheik Zakir met with the chief of the Berber village and his council last night,” she said quietly.

“What did they discuss?” Still no intonation.

A pearl of sweat slid down from her temple. “The Berbers will support him. There were other leaders from surrounding mountain villages there, too. Sheik Zakir will have their support as well.”

“What else?”

“That’s…all. I…I didn’t understand the dialect very well.”

He studied her for several long beats. “You need to do better than this.”

She swallowed the ball of dry fear swelling in her throat. “He… The Berbers said they were pleased to hear that Sheik Zakir would be following in his father’s footsteps and that he would begin a transition to democracy.” She inhaled shakily. “The tribesmen are very keen to have representation at the government level.”

Something darkened in him.

“You will continue to inform me as long as you remain close to the king. That is, if you truly wish to keep your children safe.” Gelu swiveled abruptly and ducked around the side of the wall.

Nikki stood there, shaking.

She had to get out of this country. But she couldn’t risk moving Samira now. She needed a plan. Wiping sweat from her brow, Nikki decided she would continue to feed Gelu
superficial information about Zakir until Samira was safe to travel.

She had no other choice.

And once she was out of Al Na’Jar, she’d find a way to let Zakir know that he had a traitor in his midst.

Zakir strode with renewed vigor toward Nikki’s hut. He was going to propose a betrothal arrangement, and defeat was not in his lexicon.

But as he neared he saw Nikki carrying a clay urn from the pump at the well. A determined urgency bit into her stride, her skirt swishing across her sandaled feet. “Nikki!”

She swung around, eyes flashing. Disquiet furrowed into Zakir as he caught her expression. He clicked his fingers, distracting his hounds from sniffing something at a hut. “Is everything all right?”

She inhaled deeply. “It’s Samira. The other children are fine to travel today, and I wanted to leave right away, but…” She looked crestfallen, broken suddenly in spirit. “Samira’s fever is much higher, and because of it her cramps are increasing. She could go into labor soon, Zakir, and I haven’t been able to turn the baby. She needs a hospital.”

Energy coursed through him at this news. He placed his hand on her shoulder, hating himself for being thrilled at the excellent opportunity this afforded him. He knew Nikki cared more about her orphans than herself. They were a tool he could use to manipulate her into a betrothal.

“Nikki…” He infused his voice with the kind of calm authority he employed to sway high-powered but jittery investors around a boardroom table. “The hospitals in my country are in terrible shape at the moment—short on staff, devoid of equipment. I have a far, far better alternative for Samira and the other children. And for you.”

And me.

“As I mentioned, I have further negotiations planned for the tribes to the north, closer to the Moroccan border,” he said. “In order to make this easier, I will be staying at the Summer Palace in the north mountains. It is an ideal base for this operation. A fortress, well guarded, and the castle also has every facility, including a physician’s surgery room. Bring your children there, and I will fly in the doctors and equipment you need.”

“It’s not possible, Zakir. Samira won’t make a trip down the mountain on camel. I cannot move her.”

“One of my Black Hawks will be landing here within the next hour. I summoned it earlier today. We can fly her at once. In fact, I will call Tariq right now and ask him to recommend and send a top obstetrician from the States.”

Her lids flickered fast, her cheeks heating. She glanced quickly to the hills, as if suddenly seeking escape.

Frowning at her reaction to Tariq’s name, Zakir continued. “You and your children can rest at the palace, Nikki, with the best care. Under my guard, your orphans will have an opportunity to just be children for a while, as you said you wished they could be. You can travel again once Samira’s baby is born, once you are all ready.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes, surprising him.

She remained silent for a long while, and he realized that her hands, still holding the heavy jug of water, were trembling.

“Forgive me,” he said, reaching to take the clay pitcher from her. She angrily swiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, struggling with something. “Nikki?”

She inhaled deeply, looked away again. Then suddenly she steeled herself, and her eyes met his. “Thank you, Zakir. We will all be deeply grateful for your hospitality.” She reached to take the jug of precious water back from him.
But something had shuttered in her, closing him off in some subliminal way.

Zakir was disturbed by how viscerally her rejection—even as she accepted his invitation—affected him.

No woman ever shunned him. This was a gauntlet thrown down, a challenge, and it stirred the hunter in him. It also sparked something else, a reminder to be careful. He still knew very little about her.

“There is one condition, Nikki,” he said quietly.

Her shoulders flexed. “What?”

“It’s a minor thing, a mere matter of appearances, but it could have severe consequences for my monarchy and my people. If you do choose to come to the Al Na’Jar Summer Palace, you must do so under the pretext that we are officially betrothed.”

“Excuse me?”

“My country has laws, Nikki. I can change them by unilateral decree after my official coronation. But until then, I myself must adhere to them. One of those laws states that if an unmarried regent wishes to openly consort with a woman she
must
be betrothed to him, and her name must be officially put before the King’s Council in this capacity so that they can vet her.”

Her brow lowered. “So…you’re technically a regent?”

“For want of a better term. Under Al Na’Jar law I am not the supreme monarch until I take an official oath and am officially crowned.”

“Why haven’t you taken this oath already?”

“You’ve seen the mess my country is in, Nikki. I simply haven’t had the time.” He omitted the part about first needing to find a wife.

“What exactly would the council vet me for?”

He pursed his lips, shrugged nonchalantly. “Technically
the council will want to be sure you are suited for the role of queen.”

Her jaw dropped.
“Queen?”

He raised his hand, halting her thought. “It’s merely protocol, Nikki. A formality so that you can accompany me in public and in private. That is all.”

She stared at him, clearly confused.

Solomon called from the door of the hut, “Miss Nikki, come!”

Attention suddenly rent in two, she shot a glance at the hut. “I… Samira needs me.”

“Miss Nikki!”

“Can you accept this?”

She looked horrified. “
No.
I can’t accept this.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You either accept this deal, Nikki, or I can no longer help you.”

“Miss Nikki! Come quick!”

“I…I have to go.” She spun around, spilling precious water from the urn as she hurried into the hut.

“I leave within two hours!” he called after her. “I’ll need your decision by then.”

Zakir realized his heart was hammering, his palms damp. Frustrated, he spun around and marched toward the Gurkhas waiting near his hut. “Prepare to leave for the Summer Palace,” he barked. “The chopper will be here soon. And bring me my laptop,” Zakir commanded as he ducked into his hut. One of his guards came running with a military computer equipped with satellite communication. At a folding table, Zakir began to draft strategy for his meetings with more rural clan leaders. He kept one eye on the time, growing increasingly edgy as he waited for Nikki’s word.

Within an hour Gelu appeared at his door, indicating Nikki had come to see him.

Zakir nodded, returning his attention to his work as she
quietly entered his temporary dwelling. His plan was to play cool now, to wait and see where she placed her chess piece.

“We’re ready to go with you,” she said.

He glanced up, and compassion knifed him. Her face was pale, tight. Her gaze kept flicking nervously to his guards. Something had definitely switched in her—as if her road to freedom had suddenly been cut, and with it some spirit. Why would she feel this way when she should be grateful for his help?

“I am pleased to hear it,” he said, rising to his feet.

She remained stiff near the hut door. “We should move Samira as soon as possible,” she added.

He flicked out his wrist, checked his watch. “The helicopter should be here any minute now. So you are comfortable with my condition?”

“No, I’m not,” she said. “But I’ll do what I have to. For the children.” But she wavered. “How will the council’s vetting process be any different from the background check you’ve already run on me? Wasn’t that enough?”

“It’s essentially the same. Really, Nikki, this is just a formality.” He paused, a little icicle of unease forming in his gut. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Her gaze sliced into his. Aquamarine. Direct. “Of course not,” she said, voice clipped. And she stepped out into the searing midmorning sun.

Zakir watched the reed curtain fall into place behind her, the icicle in his gut chilling his pleasure at winning the first move.

Maybe he hadn’t won at all.

He thought again of how she’d just appeared at his palace and how quickly she’d worked her way into his life.

Maybe he was inviting an enemy right into his home—and
potentially into his bed. He didn’t think so. In his heart, he felt she was true.

But would he be able to withstand the consequences if he was wrong?