Читать книгу The Sheikh's Collection - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 44

CHAPTER NINE

KHALIL AWAKENED TO sunlight streaming into their tent and Elena’s hair spread over his chest. He’d slept the whole night with his arms around her, his body entwined with hers, and it had felt good.

Unbearably good.

What on earth had possessed him to participate in her little game? Pretend to be in love? And, never mind the danger involved in that all too enjoyable charade, what about the fact that he’d slept with her at all? That he’d taken her virginity? No matter what she’d assured him about understanding the emotional risks, he knew it was dangerous. Dangerous for her, and even dangerous for him, because already he wanted her again—and not just in bed.

In his life.

And there was no place for Queen Elena of Thallia in his life.

The next few days and weeks were crucial to his campaign to retake the throne that was rightfully his. He couldn’t waste a moment’s energy or thought on anything but his goal, a goal he’d nourished and cherished since he’d been seven years old and had been dropped into the desert like a dog no one wanted. Treated like one too, kicked and beaten and abused.

And, in any case, he didn’t do love. He didn’t know how. Trusting another person with anything, much less his heart—dried-up, useless organ that it was—was next to impossible for him. He wanted to trust people, men like Assad who had sworn their loyalty to him, but he still always felt that prickle of wary suspicion between his shoulder blades. He was still, always, waiting for the sudden slap, the knife in the back. The betrayal.

When you lived your life like that, love had no place in it. Relationships had no place, save for expediency.

And as for Elena? He glanced down at her, her face softened in sleep, her dark, lush lashes feathering her cheeks. Her lips were slightly pursed, one hand flung up by her head. Despite his mental list of reasons to walk away right now, desire stirred insistently. He knew just how he could wake her up...

Swearing under his breath, Khalil extracted himself from Elena’s embrace and rolled from the bed. He heard her stir behind him, but he was already yanking on his clothes, his back determinedly to her.

A serving maid entered, blushing, with a pitcher of hot water and inwardly Khalil swore again. The news of their night together would spread throughout the whole tribe. They would know he had consummated a union that he intended to reject shortly.

And his plan to explain later why he’d been travelling alone with Elena would no longer work. He’d acted dishonourably and the tribe would know it. When they found out he and Elena weren’t married, they would feel both betrayed and angry, and how could he blame them?

It was a fiasco, and all because he’d wanted her so damn much. How could he have been so weak?

‘Khalil...?’

He turned to see her sitting up in bed, her dark hair tumbling wildly about her shoulders, her hooded grey eyes sleepy but with a wariness already stealing into them.

‘We need to get moving,’ he said brusquely. ‘Assad is coming with a vehicle this morning. He’ll take us to a new camp and then we’ll move onto Siyad. You’ll be back in Thallia this time tomorrow, I hope.’

She looked away, hiding her face, but he still felt the hurt he knew he’d caused her. Damn it, he’d warned her about this. He couldn’t blame Elena, though. He could only blame himself. He’d known she was a virgin, inexperienced and innocent. She was bound to read more into their night together, even if she’d said she wouldn’t.

Hell, he’d read more into it. Felt more than he was comfortable with.

And now he had no idea what to do, how to make things right: with Elena; with the tribe; with this country of his that teetered on the brink of civil war, made worse by his own foolish choices.

What an unholy mess.

* * *

After Khalil had left the tent Elena rose slowly from the bed and reached for the Bedouin-style dress he’d stripped from her body the night before.

Had it only been the night before? It felt like a lifetime ago. Felt like a different life, one where she’d known pleasure, joy and love.

It was only pretend, you idiot.

Sighing, she slipped on the chemise, only to see her Western clothes lying neatly folded by the pitcher of water. She took off the chemise and washed quickly, scrubbing the scent of Khalil from her body, before putting on the clothes she’d come here in.

Time to return to reality.

By the time she’d eaten breakfast—with the other women, Khalil not in sight—some of her equilibrium had been restored, along with her determination.

She’d had setbacks before, been hurt before. And this time she had no one to blame but herself. Khalil had been honest with her, unlike Paulo had been. He’d told her what she could and couldn’t expect, and he’d been true to his word. She could not fault him.

And so she wouldn’t. She’d had her night, her fantasy, and she’d treasure it—but she wouldn’t let it consume or control her. Life had to go on and, with the end of her captivity looming ever nearer, she needed to think about her return to Thallia.

Just the thought made her feel as if she’d swallowed a stone.

After breakfast Khalil came for her, his thobe billowing out behind him, the set of his face exceptionally grim. Even scowling he was handsome, with the dark slashes of his eyebrows and those full, sculpted lips. His eyes seemed to glow fire.

‘Are you ready? We should leave as soon as possible.’

Elena rose from where she’d been sitting by the fire and brushed the crumbs from her lap. ‘I’m ready now.’

Nodding, Khalil turned away, and wordlessly Elena followed him. Assad was waiting by an SUV with blacked-out windows. Elena slid inside, fighting a weird sense of déjà vu. She’d been driven in a car like this when she’d first been captured. Now she was being driven to a freedom she wasn’t sure she wanted.

They rode through the unending desert, Assad driving while Khalil and Elena sat in the back, not speaking, not touching.

Despite the ache Khalil’s stony silence caused her, Elena forced herself to think practically. In two days she would, God willing, be back in Thallia. What would Andreas Markos have done in her absence? Would he have heard of her abduction, or would Aziz have managed to keep it secret?

She’d only been in the desert for a handful of days, even if it had felt like a lifetime. Perhaps Markos and the rest of her Council weren’t yet aware of what had happened.

‘Have you heard any news?’ she asked Khalil abruptly, and he turned, eyebrows raised. ‘Has Aziz admitted that I’m missing? Does my Council know?’

‘Aziz has admitted nothing. I doubt your Council is aware of events.’

‘But how has he explained—?’

‘He hasn’t. He hired someone to pretend to be you and it seems everyone, including your Council, has believed it.’

Shock left her speechless for a moment. ‘He did? But—’

‘They appeared on the palace balcony two days ago. From a distance the woman fooled the people, or so it would seem. That’s all I know.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘Your Council wasn’t expecting to hear from you, I presume?’

‘Not until I returned.’ She’d been meant to be on her honeymoon. ‘You should have told me,’ Elena said and Khalil eyed her coolly.

‘What purpose would it have served?’

‘It just would have been good to know.’ She stared out of the window, tried to sift through her tangled feelings. She wasn’t exactly surprised that Aziz had come up with an alternative plan; she’d suggested as much to Khalil. She wasn’t hurt by his actions either. But she felt...something and with a jolt she realised it was hurt—not for what Aziz had done, but for what Khalil hadn’t. Not telling her had been a tactical move, a way of treating her like a political pawn rather than a—what?

Just what was she to him now?

Nothing, obviously. She closed her eyes and thought of him covering her with kisses last night, both of them laughing. It was pretend. You knew that.

But it still hurt now.

‘I’ll be able to tell you more when we return to camp,’ Khalil said. He drummed his fingers against the window, clearly restless. ‘What will you do when you return to Thallia?’ he asked. Elena opened her eyes.

‘Do you really care?’

‘I’m asking the question.’

‘And the answer is, I don’t know. It depends what state my country is in. My government.’

‘Your Head of Council won’t have had time to call a vote to abolish the monarchy.’

‘No, but he will as soon as he can.’

‘You could marry someone else in the meantime.’

‘Suitable husbands are a little thin on the ground.’

‘Are they?’ He turned back to the window, frowning deeply. Elena had no idea what he was thinking. ‘Just what was your arrangement with Aziz?’ he asked, still staring out of the window.

‘I told you.’

‘I mean in practical terms.’

Bewildered, she almost asked him why he wanted to know. Why he cared. Then, with a mental shrug, she answered, ‘It was a matter of convenience for both of us. We’d split our time between Thallia and Kadar, rule independently.’

‘And that pleased your Council?’

‘My Council was not aware of all the terms of the marriage. They probably assumed I’d be more under Aziz’s influence.’

‘And they didn’t mind a stranger helping to rule their country?’

‘He’s royal in his own right, and as I explained they’re traditional. They want me under a man’s influence.’

Khalil nodded slowly, his forehead knitted in thought. ‘And what about heirs?’

A blush touched her cheeks. ‘Why are we talking about this, exactly?’

‘I’m curious.’

‘And you want me to satisfy your curiosity?’ Her temper flared. ‘What for, Khalil? None of it is going to happen anyway, and in any case it has nothing to do with you.’

He turned to her with a granite stare. ‘Humour me.’

Her breath came out in a rush. ‘We planned for two children, an heir for each of our kingdoms.’

‘And where would these children have been raised?’

‘Initially they would stay with me, and when they were older they would split their time between the two countries.’ She looked away, uncomfortably aware of how cold and clinical it sounded. ‘I know it’s hardly an ideal solution, but we were both desperate.’

‘I realise that.’

‘Like I said, it doesn’t matter anyway.’

‘But you still feel you need a husband.’

She sighed and leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes once more. ‘I do, but maybe you’re right. Maybe I can face my Council on my own, convince them not to call the vote.’

‘It’s a risk.’

She opened her eyes. ‘You don’t sound nearly as encouraging as you did before.’

He shrugged. ‘You have to choose for yourself.’

‘Seeing as there’s nothing to choose, as I have no prospective husband, this whole conversation seems pointless.’

‘Maybe,’ Khalil allowed, and turned back to the window. ‘Maybe not.’

* * *

He could marry her. The thought made everything in him rear up in shocked panic. Marriage had never been on his agenda. Yet ever since he’d seen that serving girl this morning, and realised the repercussions of his night with Elena, the thought had been rattling around in his brain like a coin in a box.

He could marry her—marry the woman who was intended as the Sheikh of Kadar’s wife. It would help strengthen his claim, stabilise his throne, and it would give Elena what she wanted too.

Why not?

Because it’s dangerous. Because the emotional risks you warned her about apply to you too.

Because you care about her already.

Elena had spoken of a cold, convenient union, but would it be like that if he was her husband? Would he be able to keep himself from caring for, even loving, her?

Did he even want to?

His mind spun and seethed. He felt the clash of his own desires, the need to protect himself and the urge to be with her—care for her.

And did Elena even care for him? Just what kind of marriage would she want them to have?

* * *

Once back at the camp—which to Elena looked like just another huddle of tents, horses, cars and camels amidst the dunes and black rocks—Khalil strode away and Leila met Elena and brought her to her private tent.

‘A bath, perhaps,’ she murmured and Elena thanked her, nodding wearily. She felt overwhelmed by every aspect of life at the moment: the end of things here, her responsibilities in Thallia, her non-relationship with Khalil.

A quarter of an hour later she watched as two men filled the copper tub with steaming water. Leila scattered it with rose petals and brought a thick towel and some lovely smelling soap, and Elena’s throat suddenly went tight with emotion.

‘Thank you. This is so kind...’

‘It is nothing, Your Highness. You could use a little pampering, I think.’

The older woman’s sympathy was almost her undoing. Elena nodded, swallowing past the tightness in her throat as Leila quietly left.

As she soaked in the tub Elena’s thoughts returned relentlessly to Thallia and matters of state. She had no husband. She could explain why and, since it looked as if Khalil would become Sheikh, she thought her Council would accept it.

But in a few weeks’ time, if she were still single, Markos would call for the vote to abolish the monarchy. Somehow she had to convince him not to call it, or at least convince her Council not to vote against her.

Could she do it on her own? Did she dare risk her crown in such a way? Khalil believed in her, perhaps more than she believed in herself. Just remembering the warmth of his smile, the confidence she’d seen in his eyes, made her ache.

No, she couldn’t risk it. A royal wedding and a devoted husband were what had been going to save her, no matter what Khalil said about her being strong enough to face her Council alone. He didn’t know what she was up against. Didn’t understand what she’d been through.

Sighing, Elena leaned her head back against the tub. The only way to avoid such a disaster would be to prove Markos wrong—to return with a husband.

Too bad that was impossible.

Unless she married Khalil.

Elena smiled mirthlessly as she imagined Khalil’s horrified reaction to such an idea. He would never agree to marry her. He’d been appalled by the possibility that she might harbour any tender feelings for him. He’d sounded contemptuous of her arrangement with Aziz.

Elena sat up suddenly, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. Marrying her could potentially be beneficial for Khalil. She’d seen the approval of the Bedouin they’d been with, how they’d liked seeing him with his bride.

And since he’d already acted as if they were married...

Could it be possible? Did she even dare suggest a thing? The potential rejection and humiliation she faced made her flinch.

Then, in a sudden, painful rush of memory, Elena recalled her father throwing himself over her, saving her life from the explosions and gunfire around them. Sacrificing himself...for Thallia. For the monarchy.

How could she not do whatever it took to ensure her reign?

An hour later she was dressed in another outfit Leila had brought her, a simple dress of rose-coloured cotton. She twisted her hair up in a chignon and wished she had some make-up or jewellery to make her feel more prepared. She was going to talk to Khalil. Beard the lion in his den.

Taking a deep breath, Elena square her shoulders and exited the tent. Two guards immediately moved in front of her, blocking her way.

Fury surged through her, shocking her with its intensity. ‘Really?’ she asked them. ‘After everything, you still think I’m going to run off into the desert?’

They stared back at her blandly. ‘Do you want for something, Your Highness?’

A husband. She took another deep breath. ‘I would like to speak to Khalil.’

‘He is not—’

‘Available? Well, make him available. I need to speak to him, and it’s important.’

Leila came hurrying over, her face creased with concern. ‘Your Highness? Is something wrong?’

‘I’d like to speak to Khalil,’ Elena stated. Her voice wobbled and, furious with herself, she bit her lip. Hard. ‘Do you know where he is, Leila?’ she asked, and thankfully this time her voice was steady.

Leila gazed at her, a certain sorrowful knowledge in her eyes, and Elena had the sudden, awful suspicion that Leila knew she and Khalil had slept together.

‘Yes, I know where he is,’ she said quietly. She spoke in Arabic to the two guards, but her voice was too low for Elena to make anything out. Then she turned back to her and said, ‘Come with me.’

Elena went. Leila led her to a tent on the opposite side of the camp, pausing outside the entrance to turn back to her.

‘Khalil has been through much, Your Highness,’ she said quietly. ‘Whatever has happened between the two of you, please remember that.’

So Leila had definitely guessed, then. Elena forced the realisation away and met her gaze squarely. ‘I just want to talk to him, Leila.’

‘I know.’ The older woman smiled sadly. ‘But I can tell you are hurting, and I am sorry for it. Khalil is hurting too.’

Khalil hurting? I don’t think so. But Elena was still considering Leila’s words as she stepped into the tent and looked upon Khalil.

He was seated at a folding table, his dark head bent as he scrawled something on a piece of paper. He didn’t look up, just lifted one hand, signalling her to wait.

‘One moment, Assad, please.’

‘It’s not Assad.’

Khalil glanced up swiftly then, his gaze narrowing as it rested on Elena. She stared back, levelly, she hoped, but after a taut few seconds she knew she was glaring.

‘Elena.’

‘Khalil.’ She mimicked his even tone, slightly sneering it. Oops. Not the way she’d wanted to start this businesslike meeting, but then Leila was right. She was hurting, even if she didn’t want to be.

He sat back, resting his arms lightly on the sides of his chair. ‘Is there something you need?’

‘You had said you would look at the news,’ Elena reminded him. ‘Find out if people know what has happened.’

‘So I did. I haven’t seen anything so far. Aziz is keeping quiet.’

‘And how will you return me to Thallia?’ she asked coolly. ‘Royal jet? Economy class? Or will you roll me up in a carpet like Cleopatra and then unroll me in the throne room of the Thallian palace?’

‘An interesting possibility.’ His gaze rested on her, assessing, penetrating. ‘Why are you so angry, Elena?’

‘I’m not angry.’

‘You sound angry.’

‘I’m frustrated. There’s a difference.’

‘Very well, then. Why are you frustrated?’

‘Because I came to Kadar with a plan to save my throne and I no longer have one.’

‘You mean marriage.’

‘Yes.’

His gaze narrowed. ‘And what would you like me to do about it?’

‘I’m glad you asked.’ Elena took a deep breath, tried to smile as she met his narrowed gaze. ‘I’d like you to marry me.’