Читать книгу Captured by the Sheikh - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 9

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.

The guards let her pass and Leila directed her down a worn path that wound between two towering boulders.

‘“Threading the needle”, it’s called,’ Leila said, for the path between the rocks was incredibly narrow. ‘It is a beautiful spot. See for yourself.’

‘And you’re not worried I’ll make a run for it?’ Elena asked, trying to keep her voice light. Leila’s face softened in sympathy, causing another flash of guilt that she ruthlessly pushed away. These people were her captors, no matter how kind Leila was being. And she had to escape somehow.

‘I know this is difficult for you, Your Highness, but the Sheikh is a good man. He is protecting you from an unhappy marriage, whether you realise it or not.’

Now that was putting quite a spin on things. ‘I wasn’t aware that Khalil was concerned with the happiness of my marriage,’ Elena answered. ‘Only with being Sheikh.’

‘He is Sheikh already, of one of the desert tribes,’ Leila answered. ‘And he is the rightful heir to the throne of Kadar. A great injustice was done to him, and it is finally time to make it right.’

Again Elena felt that uncomfortable flicker of uncertainty. Leila sounded so sure...as sure as Khalil. ‘What injustice?’ she asked before she could think better of it. Leila shook her head.

‘It is not for me to say. But if you had married Aziz, Your Highness, you would have been marrying an impostor. Very few people outside of Siyad believe Aziz should be Sheikh.’

It was what Khalil had said, yet Elena could not accept it. ‘But why?’

Leila’s forehead creased in a troubled frown. ‘You must ask Sheikh Khalil—’

‘He’s not really Sheikh,’ Elena interjected, unable to keep herself from it. ‘Not of Kadar. Not yet.’

‘But he should be,’ Leila said quietly, and to Elena she sounded utterly certain. ‘Ask him,’ the older woman advised. ‘He will tell you the truth.’

But did she want to know the truth? Elena wondered as she walked between the towering rocks towards the oasis. If Khalil had a legitimate claim to the throne, what did it mean for her—and her marriage?

Would she still marry Aziz if he wasn’t the rightful Sheikh? Would her Council even want her to? The point, Elena reminded herself, was most likely moot—unless she got out of here.

After walking between the boulders she emerged onto a flat rock overlooking a small, shimmering pool shaded by palm trees. The sun sparkled on the water as if on a metal plate, the sky brilliant blue above. The air was hot, dry and still, perfect for a swim.

She glanced around, wondering if the guards had followed her, but she could see no one. Just in case, she made a show of putting down her bag, spreading her towel on the rock. She slathered herself with sunscreen before she stripped down to the plain black swimming costume Leila had provided.

She glanced around again; she was definitely alone. No one had followed her from the camp.

And why should anyone? She was but a five-minute walk from her tent, in the middle of the desert, the middle of nowhere. In every direction the desert stretched, endless sand and towering black rocks, both bleak and beautiful.

There was, Elena knew, nowhere to go, nothing to do but wait and hope that Aziz found her.

Or send a signal.

She reached for her bag and took out the slats she’d broken from the chair. A few weedy-looking plants grew by the oasis’s edge, and she took them and made a small, rather pathetic-looking pile. She wasn’t going to get much of a blaze from this, Elena realised disconsolately, but it would have to do. It was her only chance. If someone saw the smoke from her fire, they might investigate, might look for her.

Resolutely, she started rubbing the sticks together.

Fifteen minutes later she had blisters on both hands and the sticks were a little warm. She hadn’t seen so much as a spark. Frustrated, she laid the sticks aside and rose from the rock. The air was hot and still and the shimmering waters of the oasis looked extremely inviting.

Balancing on her tiptoes, she executed a neat dive into the pool. The water closed around her, cool and refreshing, and she swam under water for a few metres before she surfaced, treading water, not knowing what was on the bottom and not particularly wishing to touch it with her bare feet.

Even if she managed to start a fire, she thought, what would distinguish it from any other camp fire? She’d have to get a really big blaze going for someone to take notice. She’d have to set the whole camp on fire.

Her plan, Elena realised, was ridiculous. The sense of purpose that had buoyed her all morning left her in a depressing rush. Yet even so she decided to try again. It wasn’t as if she had many, or any, other options.

She swam to the side of the oasis and hauled herself, dripping, onto the rock ledge. Drying herself off, she knelt before the sticks again and started to rub.

Five minutes later she saw the first tiny spark kindle between the sticks. Hope leapt in her chest and she rubbed harder; some of the dried plants and leaves she’d gathered caught the spark and the first small flame flickered. She let out a cry of triumph.

‘Don’t move.’

Everything in Elena stilled at the sound of that low, deadly voice. She looked up, her heart lurching against her ribs at the sight of Khalil standing just a few feet away. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth thinned, everything about him tense and still.

Her heart started to pound and then it seemed to stop completely as Khalil slowly, steadily, raised the pistol he’d been holding and pointed it straight at her.