Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: May 2018 Books 5 - 8 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

OLIVIA WATCHED AS Zayed’s eyes flared with both impatience and irritation and knew he would consider no such thing. She was a liability, a burden, in every possible way. He despised her, it seemed, for having given in to him...just as she despised herself.

And yet she didn’t want to be abandoned. Who knew when Zayed would come back? He might leave her here to languish; conveniently forget about her while he pursed his political destiny. And, more importantly, she wanted to do something, to feel useful, rather than sit and wait and worry. If she went with Zayed, she could help.

‘Take me with you,’ she said again, her voice stronger now. ‘I have training in first aid, and I can help if any women or children have been hurt.’ She pulled the towel around her more tightly, conscious of the other man’s carefully averted gaze. ‘I can be of use; I know it.’

Zayed’s lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. ‘But you don’t speak Arabic.’

‘I speak enough.’ Olivia lifted her chin, willing him to agree. She was afraid to be left here, alone with strangers. Zayed might hate her at the moment, but at least he knew her. He knew her all too well.

Zayed glanced at the other man, who was keeping a deliberately neutral expression. Then he gave a terse nod. ‘Very well. Suma will see you have the appropriate clothes. Jahmal will fetch you in five minutes.’

He strode away from the oasis, followed by Jahmal, and Olivia’s breath came out in a whoosh of both relief and trepidation. What had she just got herself into? Yet anything was better than staying here and waiting, wondering. The future seemed like so much fog, impossible to know...and yet terrifying at the same time.

Back at the tent Suma brought her some more clothes—desert boots and a headscarf to keep out the sand. Olivia finished dressing quickly, her fingers shaking as she did up the laces on her boots.

Zayed’s horrid accusation ricocheted through her brain, filling her with both shame and fury. How could he think she’d somehow planned this? But what was he supposed to think, when she’d fallen into bed with him so willingly, so instantly? Olivia didn’t know what was worse—Zayed thinking she was a scheming gold-digger or a wanton woman.

Exactly five minutes later Jahmal entered the tent and Olivia followed him out, her heart thudding in her chest.

Prince Zayed was waiting in front of a desert camouflage Jeep parked outside the camp, looking both fierce and royal in combat boots, loose trousers and a camouflage shirt that clung to the muscles of his chest and arms. His agate gaze swept over her, giving nothing away. With one brief nod he indicated she should get into the back of the Jeep, so Olivia did. Zayed climbed into the driver’s seat and Jahmal slid in next to him.

The sky was a hard, bright blue, the unforgiving sunlight illuminating the barren desert landscape Olivia had been unable to see last night. She’d glimpsed a bit of it on the way to the oasis but now, as the Jeep started away from the camp, she grasped something of the utter isolation of their location.

Undulating sand dunes swept to the horizon, interspersed with large, jagged-looking boulders. She felt as if they were a million miles from anywhere.

The Jeep jostled over the sand and Olivia leaned back, fatigue crashing over her now that the initial adrenalin burst of her confrontation with Zayed had gone.

What was he going to do with her? He’d mentioned sending an envoy to the palace and her writing a letter. But what on earth could she write? Would Sultan Hassan even employ her after hearing that she’d slept with his daughter’s fiancé? The thought of being out of a job, potentially without a reference, filled her with fear.

Even worse was the prospect of being without a home, which filled her with a worse grief. For years she’d called the palace on the outskirts of Abkar’s capital city home. She’d loved Sultan Hassan’s little daughters, had played with them and plaited their hair, taught them English and teased them about their future husbands. She’d felt part of a family for the first time in her life, even if it had been in a small way, as an employee. She would lose it all, she feared, when Hassan heard about what she’d done. Never mind that Zayed had abducted her; Olivia knew how these things played out in this culture. A woman would not be forgiven.

And now, in the hard, bright light of day, she wondered yet again how she had succumbed so easily. He’d been a stranger, a threat, yet when he’d touched her she hadn’t cared. She’d only wanted to feel more, to experience the wonder of desiring and being desired. It was as if her common sense, usually in such abundance, had abandoned her completely. She supposed she wasn’t the first woman to be in such a position, but it still smote her sorely.

Still, Zayed would annul the marriage on some obscure grounds, or else simply divorce her. They wouldn’t stay married and she would hopefully be able to find another position. The thought made her feel mixed up inside, a jumble of emotions she couldn’t let herself untangle quite yet.

She’d felt too much already, from the electric tingle of Zayed’s touch to the churning fear when she’d first been taken, and then the overwhelming shock, like a tidal wave of numbness, when she’d realised the colossal mistake they’d both made.

Zayed glanced back at her, his expression closed, his eyes hard. ‘Are you holding up?’ he asked brusquely, and Olivia nodded, knowing she shouldn’t be touched by such a small, simple question, yet feeling it all the same. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back fiercely. The last thing she wanted to do now was cry. She didn’t even know what she’d be crying for—for what she was about to lose, or what she’d already lost?

They rode in silence, bumping over dunes for two hours, until they came to a huddle of Bedouin tents by a small oasis fringed with palms. Even before the Jeep came to a stop outside the circle of tents Olivia could feel the sense of desolation and despair. It hung like a mist over the camp, a darkness despite the sun that glinted diamond-bright off rock and boulders in the distance.

Zayed leapt out of the Jeep in one graceful movement and then, to Olivia’s surprise, he reached behind and held out his hand for her. Olivia took it, the feel of his rough, callused palm on hers reminding her of how he’d touched her earlier, and how she’d responded to it.

It seemed incredible that she could be affected by him even now, with confusion all around them, but her body felt as if it were supernaturally attuned to his. Or was she just naïve because no man had ever paid her any attention before? Either way, she had to ignore the fizzing sensation in her stomach, the electric excitement that pulsed through her as his hand brushed hers.

‘Come.’ Zayed dropped her hand once she’d exited the Jeep and Olivia followed him into the camp. Men, women and children milled about in states of sadness and anxiety; after speaking to some of the leaders, Zayed told Olivia that Malouf’s men had raided the camp and stolen their goats and camels, roughed up a few of their men. A few of the women and children were hurt, collateral damage, but fortunately no one had been too badly injured.

‘It could have been worse,’ Zayed said grimly, his expression making Olivia think that he had seen worse before, more than once.

‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘Where are the women and children who have been hurt?’

Zayed nodded towards the tranquil pool of water the camp had been built around. ‘They are washing in the oasis.’

Nodding, Olivia started towards the group of women she saw huddled by the pool. She didn’t know exactly what she could do to help, only that she wanted to be of some use. Her heart ached for these people, the confusion they felt at having their home so needlessly destroyed.

The women turned as she approached, eyes narrowing with curiosity, and Olivia wondered how on earth she could explain who she was. But then, for better or worse, it turned out there was no explanation needed.

‘I...help,’ she said haltingly, and a child ran towards her, tackling her around the knees. Relief poured through her. Until that moment she hadn’t quite realised how much she needed to feel useful. To be needed.

She spent the next few hours bandaging cuts and cleaning scrapes, communicating in a mixture of halting Arabic and miming that made the children chortle with glee.

Olivia soon realised that the way she could be the most useful was simply by listening and chatting to the women and children, distracting them from their worries. And, goodness knew, she could use some distraction as well.

When all the injuries had been seen to, they retired to one of the women’s tents, drank apricot juice and nibbled on pitta bread with fresh hummus.

Before long she had a chubby baby on her hip and a toddler clinging to her legs as the women began firing questions at her, only half of which Olivia could understand, and none of which she could answer.

Who was she? Was she Zayed’s bride? Had he married in secret? Were they in love? When Olivia blushed, the woman crowed with laughter, delighted by her response. Even when she said nothing, it seemed she gave something away. And, with dread curdling in her stomach, she had a feeling Zayed would be furious.

But perhaps he would be furious with her, no matter what. He seemed determined to be, just as he was determined to regain what he’d lost. She would just be collateral damage, so much jetsam to be thrown away. The thought made her throat close. It hurt to be so disregarded, even though part of her understood it. Really, what else could she expect? Prince Zayed had a country to think of. She was just one woman, an unimportant palace servant he needed to get rid of.

‘Come.’ One of the women smiled at her and plucked her sleeve. ‘You are tired. You rest.’

She was tired, every muscle and sinew pulsing with exhaustion. With a smile of relieved gratitude, Olivia followed the woman to another tent where she could sleep...and perhaps forget, for a little while, the mess she was still hopelessly embroiled in.

* * *

It had been a strange, surreal kind of day. Zayed had been immersed in meetings with the tribal leaders, listening to their complaints, assuring them he would have vengeance on Malouf’s men. He’d already sent one of his own patrols out after the raiders, in the hope of recapturing the tribe’s valuable livestock. He saw the hope and, far more damning, the faith in the eyes of his people when he spoke to them and guilt cramped his stomach. How could they trust him as their leader, when he’d made such an enormous mistake? When he’d married the wrong woman and put his country’s most valuable alliance at terrible risk?

Even though he barely saw her, Zayed was conscious of Olivia throughout the day. He saw her down at the oasis, washing and bandaging the children’s scrapes with meticulous care. Later, when all the injuries had been seen to, he saw her laughing and playing in the water, kids crawling over her. The women seemed to have accepted her into their fold without question, which made Zayed wonder if they assumed she was his bride. Did they know she wasn’t the woman he’d meant to have? He had no idea if Olivia’s rudimentary Arabic was up to the task of disabusing them of any of their assumptions...or if she even would. Perhaps she was simply making herself useful so he would see what an asset she could be to him.

He shouldn’t have brought her, he supposed, so he could have stemmed any questions or curiosity, but he hadn’t thought the news of his bride would have spread to such a remote place. And he hadn’t wanted to let Olivia out of his sight, not until he knew what he was going to do with her.

In late afternoon, as the shadows started drawing in, Zayed met with Jahmal.

‘We’ll stay the night,’ he informed his aide. ‘And leave in the morning for Rubyhan.’

Jahmal raised his eyebrows. ‘Rubyhan? Is that wise?’

Zayed took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I need to retrench and decide what I am going to do about Olivia.’ Rubyhan, the summer palace of the royal family of Kalidar, had thankfully remained in his possession throughout Malouf’s reign. He used it as the seat of his provisional government and the place to which he went when he needed to regroup. And he certainly needed to regroup now.

A headache flickered at his temples and Zayed closed his eyes, fighting the pain. The last thing he needed was one of the crippling migraines he’d suffered from since receiving a head injury eight years ago in one of the battles against Malouf’s men.

‘My Prince?’ Jahmal sounded cautious. ‘Surely you can simply set her aside? She is only a servant.’

Irritation prickled his scalp and tightened his gut at the suggestion, although it was no more than what he’d already thought himself. Yet somehow he didn’t like his aide saying it.

‘It is not so simple,’ he said tightly. ‘Sultan Hassan will have realised I kidnapped his servant and, moreover, that I intended to kidnap his daughter. Our negotiations will be thrown into total disarray.’ If not broken off completely. ‘I need to mend things with Hassan. When I have an answer from him, I can decide what to do about Olivia.’

‘Still,’ Jahmal persisted. ‘It can be managed. If she is only a servant...’

Only a servant.

It was true, of course. Olivia was, to all intents and purposes, expendable. So why did that thought bother him right now? It shouldn’t, Zayed realised with sudden, crystalline clarity. He was letting sentiment cloud his vision, soften his determination. Despite his suspicions, he felt guilty for the way he’d treated her last night, so he was resisting the prospect of setting her aside and what it would mean for her. But he couldn’t let last night change things. He couldn’t let Olivia matter at all.

‘I do not wish to discuss it now,’ he said in a clipped voice. ‘I am going to wash and then we will eat with the tribal leaders.’

‘Very good, My Prince.’

Later, after he’d washed and eaten, he went in search of Olivia. He hadn’t seen her for several hours, and the realisation made unease deepen within his chest, although he couldn’t say why.

One of the women informed him she’d been given her own tent, which confirmed his suspicions that the tribe knew she was a woman of importance, perhaps even his bride. He really shouldn’t have brought her. His judgement was being clouded again and again, it seemed. The sooner this woman was out of his life, the better.

He bent to enter her tent, the flap falling closed behind him. He straightened, glancing around at the rough furnishings, a far cry from the sumptuous luxury she’d had back at his own camp. She was sitting on a pallet covered with sheepskin, her slender fingers flying as they plaited her damp hair. Her eyes widened as she saw him come in but she said nothing, just watched him warily.

Zayed’s gaze flicked over her. She wore the same nondescript tunic and trousers she’d been in earlier, hardly clothes to inflame a man, yet even now he felt that inexorable pull to her. What was it about this woman? She wasn’t anything special. Yes, her eyes were lovely, and her figure was appealing, but she was just a woman. One among many, although he hadn’t had a woman for a long time before Olivia. Perhaps that was it. He’d denied himself carnal pleasures for too long, in pursuit of his inheritance. His kingdom.

‘Tomorrow we are travelling to Rubyhan.’

‘Rubyhan?’

‘The summer palace of the royal family and the seat of my government.’

She nodded slowly, finishing her plait before resting her hands in her lap. ‘And then?’

‘Then I will contact Sultan Hassan, and you will write the letter.’

‘And when I do? What are you hoping will happen?’

‘That he will understand the mistake I made and we will reopen marriage negotiations.’ Anything else was intolerable, impossible. He had to have Hassan’s support in fighting Malouf. For the last ten years various political leaders had tried to distance themselves from Kalidar’s civil war, waiting to see the outcome. On several occasions he had been on the precipice of victory; once he’d made it to the capital city of Arjah, only to have the palace gates closed against him.

With Hassan’s support, he could exert political pressure on Malouf and force him to resign. The man was old, with no heirs; his soldiers were starting to dissent, tired of the endless fighting against Zayed and his men, knowing him to be the rightful King. A bloodless coup would be the perfect victory and finally, finally, an end to all the war and loss.

Olivia nodded slowly, her head bent, her gaze on her clasped hands. Zayed could see the nape of her neck, the tender skin, the pale, curling hairs, and the sight caused a nameless feeling to clench his insides in a way he didn’t like. ‘And what will happen to me, do you suppose?’ she asked after a moment.

‘Are you hoping for a settlement?’

She looked up, eyes flashing. ‘You sound so judgemental.’

‘I was merely asking a question.’

‘No, you weren’t.’ She took a quick, shuddering breath. ‘You have judged me again and again for falling into bed with you. I admit, it was a mistake. A colossal mistake. But I didn’t mean to do it. If I could undo it, I would. I have no desire to be your Queen. I have never been interested in power or money.’ Another quick breath tore at his senses. He had a bizarre urge to comfort her, even though he knew he couldn’t.

‘All I’ve wanted,’ Olivia continued more quietly, ‘is a place to belong. A sense of family. A job to do. I had all that with the royal family of Abkar.’

‘And so you will have it again.’

She glanced at him, scorn clear on her face, surprising him. ‘Now you are the one who is naïve.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘No, tell me.’ Zayed took a step towards her. ‘What do you mean? What do you think will happen to you when you return to Abkar?’

‘Why do you care?’ Olivia challenged. ‘You have not been all that interested in my welfare, Prince Zayed.’

He stiffened with affront. ‘I told you, I am a man of honour.’

‘I have yet to see any evidence of that,’ Olivia said quietly. It was her tone that got to him. She wasn’t angry or accusing. No, she was merely stating a fact. And, with a rush of churning regret, he realised it was true.

‘You must understand why I have to be suspicious,’ he said after a pause. ‘So much is at stake. There is no one I can trust.’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘What do you think I am going to do? Perform some act of sabotage? I am not some spy for Malouf.’

His blood chilled to hear it so plainly. He would not put such a preposterous idea beyond the wily fiend...but he didn’t think Olivia was part of such a nefarious plan. Nor, he realised, did he think she was scheming to better her position. He’d seen too much despair and shock from her to believe that any longer, even if it would have made it easier to plot his own course with no consideration of the woman before him.

‘I know you are not a spy,’ he said gruffly. ‘But I must be careful.’

‘I understand.’ Now she simply sounded tired. ‘And tomorrow I will write your wretched letter and hopefully all of this will go away. Or at least I will.’ She glanced at him, her expression filled with weariness. ‘Now I’d like to go to bed, if you don’t mind.’

Zayed stared at her, wishing he’d got more answers. What would happen to her when she returned to Abkar? He could settle money on her, enough to make sure she would need nothing for a long time. Fortunately he’d been able to secure the royal family’s personal investments before Malouf had taken control, which were considerable. He didn’t want for money, and he could make sure Olivia didn’t either.

But was it enough? And why were such things bothering him now? He glanced at her, at the slight shoulders bowed under an invisible weight, that tender nape. Her lashes swept her cheeks in sooty fans as she lowered her gaze, waiting for him to go.

But he didn’t want to. Quite suddenly he could remember the exact feel and taste of her. He could recall how pliant she’d been in his arms, and how exquisite it had felt to be sheathed inside her. Inconvenient memories that made his body stir with insistent desire.

‘Please let me know if there is anything you need,’ he said finally, shifting to ease the ache in his groin. ‘I’m sorry your accommodation is not more comfortable.’

‘It’s fine, and more than I expected from somewhere so remote.’ She didn’t look at him, merely stretched out on the pallet, waiting for him leave, ready for sleep.

Zayed hesitated another second. This was his bride, whether he wanted her or not, whether he’d meant it or not. He might set her aside as soon as possible, but for now she was his responsibility, and he felt the weight of it with sudden, inexplicable fierceness.

Yet at the moment she wanted nothing from him. She refused even to look at him. And so, filled with a restless unease, Zayed bid her goodnight and left the tent.