Читать книгу Working With Cinderella - Линн Грэхем, Lynne Graham - Страница 15

‘LA,’ Emir scolded, frowning as Nakia spat out the fruit he’d tried to feed her. ‘I mean no!’ He was fast realising that the twins mainly understood English. ‘She copies her sister.’

Amy couldn’t help but laugh. They were deep in the desert, sitting by the oasis, feeding the children fresh fruit that they had collected from the lush trees—or they were trying to feed the children, because a moment ago Clemira had done the same thing, spitting out the fruit and screwing up her face.

‘Clemira is the leader.’ Amy watched his jaw tighten. It would seem she had said yet another thing of which he did not approve.

Their time at the oasis was not exactly turning out to be a stunning success. As soon as Emir had put her down Clemira had promptly tried to eat the sand, and Nakia had copied and got some in her eyes.

These were two thoroughly modern princesses, thanks to Amy. They were more used to bopping around to a DVD she’d had sent from home, or swimming in the impressive palace pool, than sitting by an oasis waiting for some elder from the Bedouins to come and offer wisdom for the life journey ahead of them.

‘They know nothing of our ways,’ Emir said, and though Amy was tempted to murmur that she wondered why that was, she bit her tongue. ‘Hannah was worried about this. She didn’t like the idea of them fasting.’

‘It’s not fasting.’ Amy was practical; she understood now why he had put this off. ‘If they’re hungry, they’ll eat. They have finally started to drink water.’

‘They are spoilt,’ Emir said as Clemira again spat out the fruit he offered.

‘I know,’ Amy admitted. ‘And it’s completely my fault—I can’t help it.’

To her utter surprise, he laughed. She hadn’t heard him laugh in a very long while. Even though the twins were being naughty, since they had arrived at the oasis Emir had been different. He seemed more relaxed—like a father to the twins, even—and then she looked up and saw he was watching her. She blushed a little as she looked back, for he was still looking at her.

She had no idea she was being seduced, no idea that the man lounging beside her, relaxed and calm, nurtured serious intentions.

‘I was not criticising you,’ Emir said. ‘I am glad that you spoil them. You are right—I should have given you more notice. Perhaps you could have prepared them.’

‘Now I’ve thought about it, I don’t know how I could have,’ Amy admitted. ‘They’re going to be terrified when the Bedouin take them.’

‘They are kind people,’ Emir said. ‘They will do them no harm.’

But his heart wasn’t in it. He tasted again the fear he had felt when he was a child—could remember his screams as the wizened old man took him. He hated the rules that bound him.

Hated Rakhal.

It was kinder to his soul to look at Amy, to visit another possible option.

‘What happens tomorrow when we get back to the palace?’ Amy asked, unnerved by his scrutiny and desperately trying to think of something to say. ‘Will it be very grand?’

‘There will be a party. My brother Hassan, the second in line, should attend.’

‘Should?’

‘He has a great interest in horses too …’ Emir gave a wry smile. ‘They take up a lot of his time.’

She had heard about Prince Hassan and his wild ways, though she had never met him, just heard the whispers. Of course some things were never discussed, so she stayed silent.

She was surprised when Emir said more. ‘Though his interest in horses is something I do not condone.’

She gave a small shocked laugh at his admission.

‘He needs to grow up,’ Emir said.

‘Maybe he’s happier not.’

‘Perhaps,’ he admitted, and thought perhaps now he understood his brother a little.

He had confronted him many times, to no avail. Emir did not get the thrill his brother found in winning—did not understand why Hassan would roam the globe from casino to casino. Hassan had everything and more a man needed right here in Alzan. Riches aplenty, and any woman of his choosing.

He looked over to Amy. One of her hands was idly patting the sand into a mound. For the first time with a woman Emir was not certain of the outcome, but he glimpsed the thrill of the chase, the anticipation before victory.

He understood Hassan a little better now.

‘King Rakhal will also be attending.’

‘With his wife?’ Amy checked. She had briefly met Natasha, but she remembered who she was speaking about. ‘I meant will Queen Natasha be attending?’

‘No.’ Emir shook his head. ‘She is due to give birth soon, so it is safer that she does not travel. She seems very happy here,’ he pushed gently. ‘At first I am sure it was daunting, but she seems to have taken well to her new role.’

‘Can I ask something?’ Emir was still looking at her, still inviting conversation.

Her question was not the one he was hoping for: it did not appear as if she was envisaging herself for a moment as Queen.

‘Why, if their baby is a girl, can she rule?’

‘Their laws are different,’ Emir said. ‘Do you know that Alzan and Alzirz were once the same country?’

‘Alzanirz?’ Amy nodded.

‘There have always been twins in our royal lineage,’ Emir explained. ‘Many generations ago a ruler of the time had twin sons. They were unexpected, and were not branded, so the people were unsure who the rightful heir was. It was a troubled time for the country and the King sought a solution. It was decided that the land would be divided, that each son would rule his own kingdom. The predictors of the time said that one day they would reunite … but we were both given separate rules. As soon as one rule is broken the country must become one again, the ruler being of the lineage which survived.’

‘It doesn’t seem fair.’ She looked to his dark eyes and blinked, for they were not stern, and instead of chastising her he nodded for her to go on. ‘If a princess can rule there, why not here?’

‘They have another rule that they must abide by,’ Emir explained. ‘In Alzirz the ruler can marry only once. Rakhal’s mother died in childbirth and he was not expected to survive—the prophecy was almost fulfilled.’

‘But he survived?’

Emir nodded. ‘Here …’ He was silent for a moment before continuing. ‘Here the law states that if the ruler’s partner dies he can marry again.’ Still he looked into her eyes. ‘As must I.’

‘Must?’

‘The people are unsettled—especially with an impending birth in Alzirz.’

‘But if you are not ready …’ Amy bit her tongue, knew that to discuss would be pointless.

‘Ready?’ He frowned, for who was she to question him? But then he remembered she came from a land that relied on the fickle formula of attraction. The glimmer of his idea glowed brighter still. The answer to his dilemma sat beside him now, and her voice, Emir noticed, was just a little breathy when she spoke to him.

‘Perhaps a year is too soon to expect …’ She licked dry lips, wished she could suddenly be busy with the twins, for this conversation was far too intimate, but the girls were sitting playing with each other. ‘Marriage is a huge step.’

‘And a step I must take seriously. Though …’ He must not rush her, Emir was aware of that. ‘I am not thinking of marriage today.’

‘Oh …’

Sometimes he made her dizzy. Sometimes when he looked at her with those black eyes it was all she could do to return his gaze. Sometimes she was terrified he would see the lust that burnt inside her.

Not all the time.

But at times.

And this was one of them.

Sometimes, and this was also one of them, she held the impossible thought that he might kiss her—that the noble head might lower a fraction to hers. The sun must be making her crazy because she could almost taste his mouth … The conversation was too intimate.

His next words made her burn.

‘You are worried about tonight?’ Emir said. ‘About what might happen?’ He saw the dart of her eyes, saw her top teeth move to her lower lip. He could kiss her mouth now, could feel her want, was almost certain of it. He would confirm it now. ‘They will be fine.’

‘They?’

Her eyes narrowed as his words confused her and he knew then that in her mind she had been alone in the tent with him. Emir suppressed a triumphant smile.

‘They will be looked after,’ he assured her. And so too, Emir decided, would she.

Embarrassed, she turned away, looked to the oasis, to the clear cool water. She wished she could jump in, for her cheeks were on fire now and she was honest enough with herself to know why. Perhaps it was she who was not ready for the presence of a new sheikha queen?

How foolish had she been to think he might have been about to kiss her? That Emir might even see her in that way?

‘I have thought about what you said—about the girls needing someone …’ He should be patient and yet he could not. ‘You love my daughters.’

He said it as a fact.

It was a fact.

She stared deeper into the water, wondered if she was crazy with the thoughts she was entertaining—that Emir might be considering her as his lover, a mistress, a proxy mother for his girls. Then she felt his hand on her cheek and she could not breathe. She felt his finger trace down to her throat and caress the piece of flesh she truly loathed.

‘What is this from?’ His strong fingers were surprisingly gentle, his skin cool against her warm throat, and his questions, his touch, were both gentle and probing.

‘Please, Emir …’

The Bedouin caravan was travelling towards them, the moment they were both dreading nearing. A kiss would have to wait. He stood and watched them approach—a line of camels and their riders. He listened to his daughters laughing, knowing in a short while there would be the sound of tears, and he wanted to bury his head in Amy’s hair. He wanted the escape of her mouth. And yet now there was duty.

He stood and picked up both daughters, looked into their eyes so dark and trusting. He could not stand to hand them over, for he remembered being ripped from his own parents’ arms, his own screams and pleas, and then the campfire and the strange faces and he remembered his own fear. Right now he hated the land that he ruled—hated the ways of old and the laws that could not be changed without both Kings’ agreement.

He had survived it, Emir told himself as the wizened old man approached. The twins shrieked in terror as he held out his arms to them.

Emir walked over and spoke with the man, though Amy could not understand what was said.

‘They are upset—you need to be kind with them,’ Emir explained.

‘It is your fear that scares them.’ The black eyes were young in his wizened old face. ‘You do not wish to come and speak with me?’

‘I have decisions I must make alone.’

‘Then make them!’ the old man said.

‘They are difficult ones.’

‘Difficult if made from the palace, perhaps,’ the old man said. ‘But here the only king is the desert—it always brings solutions if you ask for them.’

Emir walked back to Amy, who should be standing in silence as the old man prepared the sand. But of course she was not.

‘Who is he?’ Amy asked.

‘He’s an elder of the Bedouins,’ Emir explained. ‘He is supposed to be more than one hundred and twenty years old.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Not out here,’ Emir said, without looking over. ‘He gives wisdom to those who choose to ask for it.’

‘Do you?’ Amy asked, and then stammered an apology, for it was not her place to ask such things.

But Emir deigned a response. ‘I have consulted him a few times,’ he admitted, ‘but not lately.’ He gave a shrug. ‘His answers are never straightforward …’

The old man filled two small vials with the sand he had blessed and Emir knew what was to come.

Amy felt her heart squeezing as he took the sobbing babies, and her pain turned to horror as he walked with them towards the water.

‘What’s happening?’

‘They are to be immersed in the water and then they will be taken to the camp.’

‘Emir—no!’

‘You have rituals for your babies, do you not?’ Emir snapped. ‘Do babies in England not cry?’

He was right, but in that moment Amy felt as if she were bleeding, hearing their shrieks and not having the chance to kiss them goodbye. Listening to them sob as they were taken, she was not just upset; she was furious too—with herself for the part she was playing in this and with Emir.

‘Ummi!’ both twins screamed in the distance, and worse than her fear of his anger was resisting her urge to run to them. ‘Ummi!’

She heard the fading cry and then she heard her own ones—stood there and sobbed. She didn’t care if he was angry about what they called her. Right now she just ached for the babies.

And as he stood watching her weep for his children, as he heard them cry out for her, Emir knew his decision was the right one.

‘They will be okay,’ he tried to comfort her. ‘These are the rules.’

‘I thought kings made the rules,’ she retorted angrily.

‘This is the way of our land.’ He should be angry, should reprimand her, silence her, but instead he sought to comfort her. ‘They will be taken care of. They will be sung to and taught their history.’ His hand was on her cheek. ‘And each year that passes they will understand more …’

‘I can’t do this again.’ So upset was Amy she did not focus on his touch, just on the thought of next year and the next, of watching the babies she loved lost to strange laws. ‘I can’t do this, Emir,’ she was frantic. ‘I have to leave.’

‘No,’ Emir said, for he could not lose her now. ‘You can be here for them—comfort them and explain to them.’

She could. He knew that. The answer to his prayers was here and he bent his mouth and tasted her, tasted the salty tears on her cheeks, and then his lips moved to her mouth and her fear for the girls was replaced, but only with terror.

She was kissing a king. And she was kissing him. Her mouth was seeking an escape from her agony and for a moment she found it. She let her mind hush to the skill of his lips and his arms wrapped around her, drew her closer to him. His tongue did not prise open her lips because they opened readily, and she knew where this was leading—knew the plans he had in mind.

He wanted her to be here for his daughters—wanted to ensure she would stay. She pulled back, as her head told her to, because for Amy this was a dangerous game. With this kiss came her heart.

‘No.’ She wanted to get away, wanted this moment never to have happened. She could not be his lover—especially when soon he would take a bride. ‘We can’t …’

‘We can.’ He was insistent. His lips found hers again and her second taste was her downfall, for it made her suddenly weak.

His hands were on her hips and he pulled her firmly in, his mouth making clear his intent, and she had never felt more wanted, more feminine. His passion was her pleasure, his desire was what she had been missing, but she could not be his plaything, could not confuse things further.

‘Emir, no.’

‘Yes.’ He could see it so clearly now—wondered why it had taken so long. ‘We go now to the tent and make love.’

Again he kissed her. His mind had been busy seeking a solution, but it stilled when he tasted her lips. The pleasure he had forgone was now remembered, except with a different slant—for he tasted not any woman, but Amy. And she was more than simply pleasing. He liked the stilling of her breath as his mouth shocked her, liked the fight for control beneath his hands. Her mouth was still but her body was succumbing; he felt her momentary pause and then her mouth gave in to him, and for Emir there was something unexpected—an emotion he had never tasted in a woman. All the anger she had held in check was delivered in her response. It was a savage kiss that met him now, a different kiss, and he was hard in response. The gentle lovemaking he had intended, the tender seduction he had pictured, changed as she kissed him back.

He was surprised by the intensity of her passion, by the bundle of emotion in his arms, for though she fought him still her mouth was kissing him.

It was Emir who withdrew. He looked down at her flushed, angry face.

‘Why the temper, Amy?’

‘Because I didn’t want you to know!’

‘Know?’ And he looked down and saw the lust she had kept hidden, felt the burn of her arousal beneath him. It consumed him, endeared her to him, told him his decision was the right one. ‘Why would you not want me to know?’

‘Because …’ His mouth was at her ear, his breath making her shiver. She turned her face away at the admission, but it did not stop his pursuit, more stealthy now, and more delicious. ‘It can come to nothing.’

‘It can …’ Emir said. She loathed her own weakness, but now she had tasted him she wanted him so.

‘Please …’ The word spilled from her lips; it sounded as if she was begging. ‘Take me back to the tent.’

Except he wanted her now. His hands were at the buttons of her robe, pulling it down over her shoulders. Their kisses were frantic, their want building. She grappled with his robe, felt the leather that held his sword and the power of the man who was about to make love to her. She was kissing a king and it terrified her, but still it was delicious, still it inflamed her as his words attempted to soothe her.

‘The people will come to accept it …’

He was kissing her neck now, moving down to her exposed breast. She ached for his mouth there, ached to give in to his mastery, but her mind struggled to understand his words. ‘The people …?’

‘When I take you as my bride.’

‘Bride!’ He might as well have pushed her into the water. She felt the plunge into confusion and struggled to come up for air, felt the horror as history repeated itself. It was happening again.

‘Emir—no!’

‘Yes.’ He thought she was overwhelmed by his offer—did not recognise she was dying in his arms, as his mouth moved back to take her again, to calm her. But when she spoke he froze.

‘I can’t have children.’

She watched the words paralyse him, saw his pupils constrict, and then watched him make an attempt to right his features. To his credit he did not drop her, but his arms stilled at her sides and then his forehead rested on hers as the enormity of her words set in.

‘I had a riding accident and it left me unable to have children.’ Somehow she managed to speak; somehow, before she broke down, she managed to find her voice.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘My fiancé was too.’

With a sob she turned from him, pulled her robe over her naked breasts and did up the buttons as she ran to where the horses were tethered. She didn’t possess any fear as she untied her mare and mounted it, because fear was nothing compared to grief. She kicked her into a canter and when that did not help she galloped. She could hear the sound of Emir’s beast rapidly gaining on her, could hear his shouts for her to halt, and finally she did, turning her pained eyes to him.

‘I lay for five days on a machine that made me breathe and I heard my fiancé speaking with his mother. That was how I found out I couldn’t have children. That was how I heard him say there really was no point marrying me …’ She was breathless from riding, from anger, yet still she shouted. ‘Of course that’s not what he told me when I came round—he said the accident had made him realise that, though he cared, he didn’t love me, that life was too short and he wasn’t ready for commitment.’ Emir said nothing. ‘But I knew the reason he really left.’

‘He’s a fool, then.’

‘So what does that make you?’

‘I am King,’ Emir answered, and it was the only answer he could give.

As soon as the tent was in sight, it was Emir who kicked his horse on, Emir who raced through the desert, and she was grateful to be left alone, to gallop, to sob, to think …

To remember.

The black hole of the accident was filling painfully—each stride from Layyinah was taking her back there again. She was a troubled bride-to-be, a young woman wondering if she wasn’t making the most appalling mistake. The sand and the dunes changed to countryside; she could hear hooves pounding mud and feel the cool of spring as she came to an appalling conclusion.

She had to call the wedding off.