Читать книгу The Sheikh's Hidden Heir: Secret Sheikh, Secret Baby / The Sheikh's Claim / The Return of the Sheikh - Carol Marinelli, Carol Marinelli - Страница 18

SHE’D told him.

Whatever his response, Felicity felt a certain relief that she had done the right thing—had given him the opportunity to be a part of his child’s life and he’d declined it.

Maybe it was better this way, she thought, choking back tears as Helen came to see her early the next morning.

‘Your things were packed last night…’ There were tears in Helen’s eyes as she spoke, but she was trying to smile. ‘I grabbed a change of clothes for you. I figured you wouldn’t want to sit on the flight in your nurse’s uniform.’ And then she was serious. ‘You should have told me,’ she said. ‘I could have helped.’

‘You know?’ Felicity blinked.

‘Well, most people don’t faint and then leave rapidly in the first few weeks unless they have good reason. It is lucky that Karim dealt with you—he’s spent enough time in London not to judge.’

Helen gave her a final cuddle, and it dawned on Felicity that it would never enter Helen’s head there had been anything between herself and Karim.

‘Here—I got these from the safe on the ward.’ She handed over Felicity’s paperwork. ‘You wouldn’t have got far without them.’

Another nurse wheeled her to the lavish hospital entrance, and to the limousine waiting to take her to the airport.

Her things had, as Helen said, all been packed for her. The driver told her they were in the rear of the limousine as she stepped out of the wheelchair the hospital had insisted on and climbed into the cool air-conditioned vehicle. She craned her neck for a last glimpse of the hospital, realising that in a few hours she would be gone from Zaraq.

But at least she would be on her way home.

Just another single mother-to-be, another father who didn’t want to know. She hadn’t been here for very long—no one would miss her.

Especially not Karim.

Zaraqua really was stunning, and Felicity watched it speed by for the last time through tear-filled eyes. Vast freeways sliced through the edge of the desert. How she would have loved her year here, Felicity thought, wondering about the sights she would now never see. She stared at the deep blue sky, the harsh landscape. This was her child’s home. She tried to imprint it on her mind, so that one day she could tell her child about its origins—because its father clearly wouldn’t.

She hadn’t remembered the journey from the airport taking this long, and it was twenty minutes later that concern started to register.

The road signs were in Arabic, but there were pictures of planes to indicate the way. The driver seemed to have ignored them, turning off the main road and heading towards the glittering ocean.

Perhaps this was a quicker way? Felicity told herself. But, no, there was another sign for the airport indicating left. The driver was going straight ahead.

‘The airport,’ Felicity said, unsure if he could hear her through the glass partition. ‘How far is it to the airport?’

On he drove. Felicity caught him looking at her in the rearview mirror, and suddenly she was nervous. She banged on the glass, demanding his attention, but still he drove on, and somehow, even before the white building loomed into view, even before they swept into a vast drive with the blue ocean glittering in the distance, Felicity knew where he was taking her.

Zaraq Palace.

She had seen it in the brochures, on the tourist film, from her bedroom window, but nothing could have prepared her for the imposing grandeur of it as they neared.

What did Karim want?

Her hand moved to her stomach. The tiny life inside her was the answer.

How foolish to think she could tell him and just leave.

How foolish to think it might be that easy.

As a midwife, Felicity chose to expect things to go smoothly, but she prided herself on being prepared for when things might not go well. It was important to smile and stay unruffled even when you were concerned.

She could see the driver’s eyes on her in his rearview mirror, and knew he was waiting for her to react—she refused to.

She had nowhere to go—all her things had been packed and loaded and were in the car, and her documents were in her bag. Her passport was in there too, and apart from the life inside her it was the most precious thing she possessed right now. No one knew she had it. Everyone assumed that she only had the copies, not the originals, and instinct told her it must stay that way.

It was the one thing she clung to quietly as the gates slid open. The limousine glided past armed guards at checkpoints, and Felicity sat, her forehead beading with sweat, trying to wonder what Karim would have to say. Maybe he wanted to say goodbye, she told herself as the door opened and the driver came round to let her out.

A woman who introduced herself as Jamal greeted her, smiling warmly, but Felicity was unable to return it.

‘Come.’ Jamal led a shaking Felicity into the palace. The cool marble, the height of the ceilings—everything was daunting. ‘We will have some refreshments…’

Tea was poured, mint tea that was refreshing, and Felicity didn’t waste her breath asking about the purpose of the detour, knowing it would be in vain.

A man in a suit came then, and spoke for a minute in Arabic to Jamal who briefly translated.

‘Karim will see you now—Khan will take you.’

She was guided through corridors with pictures of ancient ancestors hanging on the walls.

He rose from a low sofa as she entered a room, and he was wearing traditional black robes and a black and white chequered kiffaya. Tall, imposing and grim, he looked nothing like the man who had once held her—nothing like the man she had seen laughing and chatting—and Felicity knew she was meeting Sheikh Prince Karim Zaraq of Zaraq and it unnerved her.

His black eyes loathed her, as they had yesterday, and his brief smile was a fake one, of that Felicity was sure.

‘Have a seat.’

He dismissed the man in a suit, then halted him. ‘Would you like tea? I can ask Khan…’

‘I’ve had tea,’ Felicity said quickly. She just wanted to know was going on.

As Khan left, Karim turned and faced her.

‘You say this is my baby?’

‘It is,’ Felicity said, glad of the chance to talk, to end things on more even terms. ‘Look, I understand it’s difficult and I don’t expect—’

‘Then we will marry,’ Karim interrupted, and her eyes widened. ‘Today, in an hour, we will be married.’

‘We don’t have to marry!’ Felicity was flustered. It was the twenty-first century, for heaven’s sake, they had been together for one night. He didn’t have to do this. ‘I just need help to get home. Maybe we can work out—’

‘If this is my son, then you are pregnant with a royal prince. Of course we must marry.’

‘No…’ Felicity shook her head, ruing her own stupidity. She had frowned at Liam for not doing his research, for not knowing Zaraq’s rules, and now she had in turn gone and done the same. She should have told Karim from England, Felicity realised, her panic growing. The palace was huge, but it seemed to shrink then, as she recognised the prison she had just walked into.

‘If this is my child then there is no question that we marry—and the sooner the better. We will just have to hope that the baby comes a little late.’ He flashed a very black smile. ‘My guess, however, is that this baby is going to come early. Still, we will know where we stand in a few weeks.’

‘A few weeks?’

‘You will have an amnio, of course, and a DNA match will be performed.’

‘No.’ She stood up. ‘Absolutely not.’ She said it again. ‘No.’

But Karim just shrugged. ‘Come—the papers have been drawn up. You will be prepared for marriage now. Hassan and his wife, Jamal, will be witnesses.’

‘Karim, no!’

‘Felicity!’ He snapped the word—an impatient snap that silenced her. Then the room fell silent and he spoke again. ‘You do not argue with me. I do not discuss things with you. But, given you are new to our ways, I will explain things to make you feel better. I will look after your family.’ Karim stared coolly at her. ‘There are merits to our ways, and looking after the extended family is one of them. Our marriage will bring peace to my father in his final days. In return, whatever the test results, I will secure your mother and sister’s finances—yours too.’

‘There won’t be a test.’ She wasn’t going to take a test simply to satisfy his curiosity. ‘This is your child, Karim.’

‘Then,’ he said patiently, ‘there is no question that you can leave.’

It was like talking to a stranger. The beautiful, rational, sensitive man who had held her, to whom she had entrusted her body, must surely be there beneath the surface. But all Felicity could see was a strange clone of him.

‘You come to this country, you live by our rules. We will marry today. When questions are asked, we will say this is a honeymoon baby. And if it is not mine…’ Karim did not continue. Now was not the best time, perhaps, to tell her of his intentions for her bastard infant!

‘Won’t your people expect a big wedding? How are you going to explain?’

‘My country is holding its breath for the King. It would be crass to hold a party now. For now we will be discreet, and in a few weeks we can arrange DNA testing.’

‘No.’ Her eyes shone with tears. On this she would not bend. ‘No—it could be dangerous to the baby.’

‘It is a routine procedure. We will then both know where we stand.’

‘No.’ She knew the more she resisted, the more Karim thought she was lying about him being the father—but there was no way Felicity would allow him to risk her child, their child, just so that he might believe her.

‘Felicity…’ He was bored with explaining now. ‘You say that you are having my child—you demand that I believe you—and then you resist my proposal of marriage.’ Karim truly didn’t understand. He accepted he had been less than enamoured with the news she had delivered, but now that he had proposed, now that he was offering a commoner marriage, he could not fathom her resistance.

He was right. Slowly it dawned on her—she was having his child, was pregnant by a prince. There wasn’t much she could dispute.

All her clothes and her belongings had been brought to a vast bedroom. Her life was contained in one suitcase and the handbag a maid had placed in a large wardrobe. A scented bath had been run, and in minutes she had been relieved of her clothing. The handmaidens now chatted excitedly as they prepared the bride for their Prince. They oiled her body, and her scalp too, and then tied her hair so it hung in a long coil over one shoulder. They rouged her lips and cheeks, and kholled her eyes, then dressed her in her wedding costume—a white beaded hand-embroidered gown that looked heavy but, when slipped over her head, Felicity found was actually light. Her head was wrapped in a veil, and her feet were placed in beaded slippers.

She was ready to meet her groom.

She stood and sat as instructed.

She knew that in this she had no say—but her mind was working overtime.

Karim was her baby’s father.

Despite his harsh words yesterday, despite his cool demeanour today, somewhere within was the man she had fallen in love with. Somehow she knew she must reach him, and this was her only way.

It felt surreal as she walked into a large study. Jamal was smiling, greeting her, and a man who must be Hassan nodded. Karim merely gave a nod of approval as she entered.

It did nothing to soothe her nerves.

‘Karim…’ Her eyes met his as she made a request she was quite sure he would refuse. ‘Can I ring my family first?’

‘Of course.’ Again she had read him wrong. He even helped her dial, and she stood dressed in her finery, in a study looking out over the desert, her groom by her side, and heard her mother’s anxious, excited voice at her daughter’s unexpected call. Felicity closed her eyes and knew she couldn’t tell her. Knew that until she had sorted things out with Karim she couldn’t burden her family with all this.

In minutes she was married. The celebrations would take place later. She put her thumb print on a document and apparently she was his. And now, unless she wanted to jump out mid-flight, she had no choice but to sit as a helicopter whirred them deep into the desert towards the red setting sun and Karim’s vast tented kingdom.

Her first true glimpse of the desert was at dusk. Stepping out of the helicopter, she felt the sting of sand around her cheeks, the whistle of wind in her ears and the heat of the day that had been absorbed by the land. Then she felt his hand on her elbow as he guided her across the sand to a huge tent. As they reached it, they stepped into a small entrance and Karim instructed her to remove her slippers.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘Put these on.’ Her feet were slipped into another pair of jewelled slippers, which seemed rather pointless, but as he parted the drapes and she padded through she understood why. There was no sand inside—the desert floor was smothered in thick patterned rugs, the walls of the tent too. Lanterns cast light and shadows as Karim parted swathes of silk and led her deeper within his desert abode.

Somewhat shaken and stunned, she stood quietly as he introduced her to his staff: a woman called Bedra and her husband, Aarif. They seemed delighted by their arrival, and guided them further into the bowels of the tent, where a lavish feast awaited them.

They were seated on cushions, apart and opposite each other, and a heavy purple runner was laid between them as Bedra served food and drinks on a low tray.

Felicity was poured some tea, and Karim instructed her to drink the syrupy brew that tasted of mint and sugar. Each mouthful, Karim explained to her, was part of a necessary ritual.

The food was endless, all eaten with the hands: Bedouin bread with olives and camels’ milk cheese, pitta wrapped around richly spiced lamb. It was delicious, but she was too nervous to eat. Still she tried, because Karim was eating, and she was sure it would be rude to refuse. Yet the more she tried to eat the more Bedra served and the more Karim ate—until she was sure it would never end.

‘Karim.’ She gave a nervous swallow, not wanting to offend. ‘All of this is delicious, but…’ She couldn’t speak of the baby in front of Bedra, but she truly couldn’t eat another thing or she might offend him in a way that was unthinkable.

Karim, the haughty Prince who had rebutted her in the hospital, who had married her because he could, was now smiling. ‘You are full?’

‘Yes!’ she hissed in a loud whisper. ‘I can’t eat another thing. I don’t want to be rude…’ She shook her head as he pushed his plate away and summoned Bedra to clear the tray. ‘You carry on, though.’

‘I’m not hungry either. But you see…’ He was almost laughing, and that beautiful smile she had once been privy to dazzled her now again. ‘I must not rush you. Custom says I should eat till my bride or my guest is full. Only when you are finished…’

She was almost smiling too—well, not almost, she did smile. ‘You could have told me that before the camel milk cheese!’

And she glimpsed him again—glimpsed the Karim she had so quickly and heavily fallen in love with, the man who was the father of her child. And somehow, somewhere deep inside, Felicity knew this could work.

As Bedra approached, she took Felicity’s reluctant hands. ‘She is going now to paint you,’ Karim explained. ‘Henna for beauty and luck and health.’

Bedra painted Felicity’s hands, and her feet as well as an intricate coil of flowers that crept up her calves and forearms. Yet all she wanted was to be alone with Karim.

‘They are our witnesses,’ Karim explained. ‘Soon we will be alone.’ Karim took her hand, slid on her finger a silver knotted ring that was studded with turquoise and agate and decorated with symbols. Karim’s voice was serious. ‘This symbolises not just two lives, but two families that are now intertwined.’

‘Meaning?’ Felicity asked. Perhaps not the most romantic response, but she wanted to know—wanted to know about his ways so that she might understand him better.

‘It means that your celebrations I applaud and your problems I help with.’ He stared into her eyes. ‘Your family is mine. There is no burden that is not shared. This is what it means to be loved.’

She must be drunk on mint tea, because calm invaded her. This was her love that greeted her. This was the father of her child. And, yes, he was different here, yes, tradition invaded, but as she was taken aside—as Bedra smeared her body in fragrant oils and slipped a flimsy white muslin gown over her head and then directed her to his sleeping chamber—she was barely nervous. Because finally they could be alone.

He watched her walk over, her hennaed feet and hands stunning on her pale skin, her blue eyes dazzling, and the thin nightgown revealing her feminine shape.

Every night she would be his.

The rules had been waived now that she carried a child, and it meant that every night he could have her.

He must be gentle, Karim reminded himself as she padded towards him. His needs did not matter when the kingdom was at stake. He must remember that she was with child.

And then she was at his bedside. Shy and nervous, but decorated for him and forever his.

He pulled her down beside him. As he kissed her he could smell the oil in her hair, could feel the body that had aroused him so, and for once duty was a pleasure.

For Felicity, any nerves had vanished when he held her—just as they had the first time they’d made love. He slid off her nightgown and kissed each waiting breast in turn. His lips moved up to her neck and then on, deliciously, to her waiting mouth. And finally he was kissing her—heavy, deep kisses that urged instant response. Her body leapt at the memory of him. Here in bed they could communicate. Here they could discover each other again and work out their differences.

As his fingers went to a place that was already moist, Felicity knew that this was the one thing they had in common. Her legs were parted by his knees and she let them relax. She was having his baby. He was her husband.

His hand reached over her head, and at first Felicity didn’t know what he was doing. As he opened a small drawer in the heavy wooden bedhead and produced a sheath she was confused.

‘It’s a bit late for that,’ she pointed out breathlessly.

‘It is not just for—’ He didn’t get to finish. She slapped her hand hard across his cheek.

‘How dare you?’ She spat, then recoiled on the bed at his expression. Felicity wondered, in fact, how dared she. But she would not be so insulted.

‘How do I know?’ he demanded of her. ‘Have you any idea the number of women who try this? Two weeks!’ He shook his head at the improbability of it. ‘I was using protection.’

‘Then why marry me?’ Felicity demanded—but Karim couldn’t answer.

She was covering herself with her nightgown, her face wounded and angry, tears in her eyes. He wanted to believe her, yet he could not allow himself—because if it was his child she carried then unbeknownst to her everything had already changed, would change again.

He had to believe the baby was going to be Hassan’s. Had to detach from the baby she grew inside. Because one day so must she.

He climbed out of bed, and when she saw he was holding a dagger, running his finger along the blade, there was a terror in her soul that she had never before experienced. Here in the desert, here amongst his people, who would respond to her scream? She watched. The blade was so sharp as he ran it along his finger that blood trickled, and then he looked over, saw her fear, and his face was as cold as granite as it registered.

‘You imagination runs too wild. You are not a prisoner. I would never force you,’ he sneered. And just as quickly as that he lay down the dagger, walked over to the bed and smeared the silk sheet with a trickle of his blood. ‘I cover for your lies.’

‘Why won’t you accept that this baby is yours?’

‘When I get the test results, then I will believe it.’

‘There will be no test.’

‘You do not argue with me.’

‘Oh, but I do, Karim,’ Felicity said. ‘You chose to marry me today. You chose me to be your wife, and now you have me. I will respect your ways and your traditions in public, but here in private I will always speak—this is me. There will be no threat to my baby’s safety just to satisfy you, and there will be no condoms just because you cannot trust that you have been the only one. So,’ Felicity concluded in a voice that was shaky but somehow assured, ‘it looks like there will be no consummation.’

‘You do not leave here till our marriage is consummated.’

‘Then we’ll die in the desert,’ Felicity replied.

Karim just shrugged. ‘I have told you how it will be,’ Karim said, and then he climbed into bed and turned his back to her. ‘When you’re ready, you will come to me.’