Читать книгу Captive For The Sheikh's Pleasure - Carol Marinelli - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

MAGGIE DIDN’T WANT to admit it.

Even to herself.

But, after all the effort to get here, the much-awaited star-gazing trip wasn’t all she had hoped it would be.

Unlike everything else she had experienced here in Zayrinia, the trip to the desert had proved more than a little touristy.

In truth, the journey deep into the desert had taken less than an hour and that allowed for all the time it had taken to mount and dismount from their camels.

‘At the wishes of the Bedouins,’ one of the guides explained, ‘we are forbidden from going any further.’

A couple complained rather loudly but the guide explained that there was nothing that could be done.

Yet.

‘We have put in several formal requests for the law to be changed,’ he said. ‘The final decision rests with the king.’

Having lined up and been served dinner, the group had sat on rugs by a huge fire and watched belly dancers as the sun had started to set.

But as the sun dimmed, so too did the hopes of a night of stargazing. The sky was overcast and the visibility was low due to the gathering sandstorm in the east.

It was still rather spectacular, though.

The sand and dust carried by the wind turned the tiny new moon pale crimson and Maggie watched, awestruck, as it drifted behind and then peeked out of the huge rolling clouds.

The tales around the campfire were interesting too, and the guide used his hands as he told expressive tales.

‘Beneath the palace there is a river where, to this day, the water runs red. It marks the spot where a young prince was denied marriage to his lover and died of a broken heart.’ Maggie was wide-eyed.

‘Since then,’ the guide told them, ‘the crown prince does not court. Love is for lesser mortals. A king must think only with his head.’

‘Does the water really run red?’ asked a woman to the side of Maggie, but the guide had moved on to another tale.

‘The palace is built on the ruins of what once was a harem,’ he explained. ‘The concubines feasted and rested until summoned by a bell. There were many wild and decadent times but it was considered far safer than allowing a virile prince loose in the land with his heart. It is said that the winds that are heard at night are, in fact, the sounds of debauchery carrying across time...’

And the winds were starting to gather.

The campfire tales were halted and the guides gathered in a confab. Maggie guessed they were deciding if the trip should simply be cancelled. But then the annoying couple loudly pointed out that in the event of adverse weather conditions a full refund would be given.

The tour would go ahead!

People were soon being guided to their designated sleeping areas but Maggie continued to stand by the fire. Beyond it was a huge canyon and atop that the outline of the palace. She thought of days long gone and the stories of long-dead royals who were given everything except for love.

Even without stars, Zayrinia, Maggie decided, was beautiful beyond words.

‘Suzanne!’

Maggie only turned when the name was called for a third time and only because of the impatient tone, but then she realised the summons was aimed at her.

Ah, yes, for tonight, she was Suzanne.

The organiser waved her over and gestured to the area that would be Maggie’s home until sunrise.

It was a small, tented area, with a simple mattress where she could either lie and continue to view the night sky or, as was strongly suggested, she could pull the canopy over.

Maggie nodded and thanked him. Refusing to give in just yet, she kept the canopy open, and kicking off her shoes bedded down for what remained of the night.

There appeared not a single star in the sky.

To her left, the couple who had argued about everything were now complaining about the hard mattress and there was a man snoring to her right.

Of all the many highlights of her year, Zayrinia had become her favourite. She had instantly felt somehow drawn to the land.

That in itself was rare for Maggie.

She had learnt not to get attached to people, let alone locations, yet there was something about Zayrinia that entranced her.

It really did, Maggie thought as she gazed up at the dark, heavy sky.

While there wasn’t a star to be seen, the clouds billowed and raced so swiftly it was as if the sky had been placed on fast forward, and soon the sounds of her fellow tourists were drowned out by the cries of the wind whistling through distant canyons.

It really had been the most amazing year. One that Maggie would never have embarked on had it not been for her mother.

It wasn’t the lack of stars that had tears pool in her eyes, or the knowledge that her trip was drawing to a close.

The threat of tears was reserved for the very reason she was here.

Maggie missed her mother so much.

Erin Delaney had fallen pregnant when she was just seventeen and Maggie had never known her father.

Even though she had been a single, teenage mum, Erin had given her daughter a very happy childhood.

Still now, when Maggie felt alone or scared, thoughts of innocent, happy times would come to mind.

Maggie lay there remembering a time they had come from the baker’s and had got caught in the rain. They had ducked under the awnings of a shop that had, though Maggie hadn’t really understood then, been a travel agent.

‘You need to see the world, Maggie,’ her mother had said as they’d looked at a huge map in the window.

‘I like it here.’

‘I know you do, but there’s a whole world outside London. I was going to go travelling and see it for myself...’

‘But you had me instead.’

‘You’re the best mistake I ever made!’ Erin smiled. ‘But seriously, Maggie, you make sure you see the world. I’m saving up hard and next year we’re going to Paris.’

They hadn’t got there, though.

After a short, hard-fought battle with cancer, Erin had passed away. She’d had little money but she had left a small sum for Maggie to inherit when she turned twenty-one and it had been accompanied by a letter. In it Erin had told her daughter that she had been and still was deeply loved. Erin had said that she hoped Maggie would consider spreading her wings and taking in this wonderful world in a way that she had not.

The money had been enough to cover the airfare, but it had taken Maggie two years to save up enough to take the trip.

She had taken the train first to Paris and from there Maggie had travelled through Europe before heading to America and then Asia and Australia and home via the Middle East.

And now on the final leg of her journey, Zayrinia had won her heart.

On Monday she would be on her way back to London and a week after that she would be back working at the café.

Maggie fought to keep her eyes open, for she wanted to savour every last moment. But the day had started early and an awful lot of it had been spent in the sun. Maggie’s eyes were soon closing.

At first she thought the rustle of the tent was just the wind but then Maggie felt a hand on her shoulder. For a brief second she thought it must be the guide telling her to wake up, but then the hand gripped her tighter, roughly, and even before Maggie thought to scream, she felt a hand clamp over her mouth.

It all happened so quickly—one moment Maggie was sleeping, the next she was being dragged under the canvas and through the sand.

She fought and kicked but there was more than one person and the wind was her enemy now, for it drowned the sounds of the struggle she made. She smelt body odour and felt the rough fabric of their clothes against her cheeks. But their grip on her arms and thighs only tightened as she twisted to free herself.

All to no avail.

It took less than a minute to be bundled into a vehicle and Maggie fought each second of it even as she was driven away.

‘What do you want?’ she asked as the hand was removed from her mouth, but there was no answer.

The vehicle came to a halt and she was dragged out. Maggie thought she had already tasted fear, but that was nothing compared to how the sand stung as it whipped at her cheeks and the wind took her breath away as she cried out at the lights from a helicopter.

‘Yalla! Yalla!’ a man urged loudly, and Maggie knew they were being told to hurry.

‘Please...’ she begged, not just because she was being kidnapped, but because surely it was way too windy to fly. Nothing she said or did made a difference; Maggie knew she was outnumbered and knew somehow that it was better to save her energy than to fight.

And still she refused to cry.

Careful what you wish for!

Just a few hours ago, Maggie had silently bemoaned the fact she was not deeper in the desert, and now she watched as it spread like a never-ending ocean beneath them.

It was not the first time Maggie had been wrenched from her bed.

Memories were stirring and she tried to stuff them down, but as they grew stronger she gave in, for there was strange comfort to be had in remembering those days.

As she looked through childhood memories with adult eyes, she found she could make sense of things. Time had given her perspective; what had happened to her made far more sense now than it ever had when she had been living through it.

The memories came thick and fast now. The drenching light and her bedroom full of strangers had, in fact, been the first responders when her mother had taken a serious turn for the worse.

Erin had called for an ambulance and, Maggie realised now, she must have told them she had a child sleeping in the flat.

It had felt like an invasion at the time—being lifted from her bed and carried to an ambulance.

She had held her mother’s hand throughout the journey and told her she loved her over and over. At the hospital she had been led to a small room to wait and it had been there she had been told that her mother was dead.

That was fear, Maggie told herself as she stared out into the dark night.

She could deal with this.

And there had to be a logical explanation.

She remembered being driven through the night some time after her mother had died.

Again, she had been awoken, seemingly in the middle of the night.

Now, though, she recalled arriving at yet another new temporary accommodation. A couple had been eating their dinner. It had been the middle of winter and dark, but perhaps not the middle of the night as she had thought then.

There had been a more logical explanation then and there had to be one now.

Maggie simply could not fathom what it was.

‘What do you want from me?’ she asked one of the men, but either he did not understand or simply chose not to answer.

The helicopter was circling and she could feel them hover and then be lifted by a gust of wind. She could see the tension on the features of the men as the pilot fought to land them in the storm.

There was a complex beneath, the white of a large tent with a collection of smaller ones dotted around the main one, like surf on the ocean. And the sand moved in waves beneath them, not unlike the sea itself. Finally they landed and Maggie breathed a sigh of relief.

She was hauled from the helicopter and a large hand pushed her head down as she was dragged through the sands.

The air was cold, the sand stung her cheeks, and then she was pushed, or did she simply stumble?

Maggie pulled herself up to her knees, anticipating being hauled back to her feet and determined to do it herself.

It took a moment to fathom she was now alone.

The sound of the chopper combined with the shrieking wind was deafening and she put her hands over her ears, battling with too many thoughts and sensations to attempt to think clearly.

The flashing lights were lifting, the helicopter was taking off again, and Maggie covered her eyes as she realised she had been left there alone in the shifting sand.

The sharp grains blasted her cheeks and stung her eyes as she tried to gauge her surroundings. Squinting, she could just make out the white of a tent in the distance.

It was huge.

Bigger than the circus tent she had been to as a child.

And in the midst of terror, as so often happened, a happier memory flashed to mind—sitting with her mother, eating a sticky treat, laughing and laughing...

She hadn’t known then just how precious that time was; it had seemed so natural to be content then. Now, though, she was a fighter and, if Maggie wanted to survive, then there was little choice but to make her way to the tent for protection.

Or perhaps not?

Briefly she turned from the tent and considered simply walking away and forcing them to come and get her.

Whoever they were.

Two steps into her journey away from the tent she gave up on the idea. There was no way she could last out here on her own.

The winds shrieked around her as Maggie reluctantly headed towards the tent, for it was like walking through molasses.

She reached the entrance and pulled a heavy drape aside, dreading what she might find—more henchmen? More captives? Her imagination was working overtime, but not for a second had she considered that she might step into luxurious beauty.

The inside of the tent was softly lit and the sound of screeching winds was mercifully muted as the drape closed behind her. She caught strains of music and the scent of incense, and felt an irresistible pull to follow the length of the corridor ahead.

Thick carpet had replaced the sand and was soft on her bare feet; the walls were lined with a stream of tiny bells that made a soft tinkling sound as she ran her hands along them.

No one came to find her.

She walked further and came to an entrance covered by a veil of sheer fabric and she thought she must be at the centre.

Still, nothing made sense, for she had never seen such beauty before in her life. The floor was spread with rugs and was scattered with cushions. Gorgeous tapestries hung on the walls and light from many lamps danced along them. In the centre was an enclosed fire with a flue that led to the high roof of the tent. The only indication of the stark weather conditions outside was the gentle billowing of the roof as she looked up.

Maggie walked over to a low table that was laden with fruits and delicacies. There were ornate jugs that were filled to the brim and beside them were jewelled goblets, but though thirsty she did not take her fill.

‘Help yourself.’

A deep voice jolted her. Maggie did not move and neither did she look around. The voice was so rich that it seemed to come from all sides and she was not certain of its direction.

‘No, thank you,’ Maggie said, and was both surprised and pleased that her voice did not waver.

‘Turn around,’ he told her. ‘Or do you not have the courage to repeat your demands to my face?’

‘Demands?’ Now she spun and immediately wished she hadn’t, for Maggie had been braced to face a monster. Instead, what she saw was a man more beautiful than any she had ever seen.

And Maggie did not want him to be.

Absolutely she did not want that to be her first thought as she faced her captor.

And she knew that this man was her captor.

Not the henchmen who had dragged her sleeping from her bed and brought her here; she knew now that they had followed his orders.

Maggie was certain that he gave orders, for it was crystal clear to her that he was a leader.

He was taller than most and wore dark layered robes; on his head was a black kafeyah tied with a braided rope. His clothes were immaculate, as if not so much as a grain of sand would dare to sully him.

Though unshaven, he was far from dishevelled; in fact, he was impeccably groomed. His face was chiselled, and though his eyes were an intense hazel, it was his mouth that drew her eyes.

‘I assume you know why you are here?’ he said and his English surprised her—or rather the clipped, well-schooled accent did.

She looked from his mouth to his eyes that flashed irritation at her lack of response, but she stared back without blinking.

Maggie refused to show fear.

And she refused to answer him.

She would say nothing until it was clear why she was here, Maggie had decided.

‘Did you really think that there would be no repercussions, Suzanne?’

And then she reversed her decision not to speak.

Of course it might be far safer to say nothing, but there was one thing this man just had to understand because Maggie was finally starting to—it really was all a mix-up. Perhaps a less than simple mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. Here was the rational explanation she had been searching for earlier.

And once he knew that, she would be free.

So she cleared her throat and stated her case.

‘I’m not Suzanne.’