Chosen as the Sheikh's Wife

CHAPTER FOUR

'Princess! Oh, please…'

'The daughter of a sheikha is a sheikha. As a direct descendant of Fatima, the title is yours by right.'

She shook her head emphatically. 'No.'

'It's the truth, and I am inviting you to see for yourself where you come from, to learn your history. To return the Blood of Tariq and place it where it belongs, in the hand of my grandfather.' He glanced at her neighbour, then back at Violet. 'In Ras al Kawi I can offer protection from those who would stop at nothing to use you.'

Use her? How? She was nobody…

'I…I can't,' she said. 'I can't just up sticks and go to Ras al…'

'Kawi. Ras al Kawi.'

'Ras al Kawi.' She repeated the name as if it echoed, like some precious tribal memory, deep in her heart.

'If you are not here, they cannot use you. Or threaten your friends to get what they want.'

'They wouldn't!' she exclaimed. Then realised that they already had. 'What do they want?'

'Power,' he said.

'What about you, Sheikh Fayad?' she asked, apparently unimpressed. 'I don't know you. Are you using me?'

She looked at him as if she could see right through him. Remembering the way he'd spoken to his cousin about her, his utter disregard for her own wishes, his only concern with what was expedient for his country, that was not a comfortable thought.

It was, nonetheless, essential to convince her of his sincerity. But while some people were easily won round with smiles and charm, he sensed that this was not the way with Violet Hamilton. Some inner sense warned him that she would mistrust them.

'I understand your hesitation, Princess. No sensible woman would fly into the unknown with a stranger. What can I do to satisfy you that I mean you no harm? Whose word would you trust? The Mayor of London?' he suggested. 'I'm having lunch with him. Or maybe you'd prefer to have my character from the Foreign Secretary?'

'Go for the Prime Minister,' Sarah urged. 'If you can get him down here I'd really like a word with him about local schools.'

Violet simply regarded him with reproachful eyes, and he understood instantly that it had been a mistake to offer such people to vouch for his honour. As heir to a country with whom they wanted to do business, she knew they wouldn't hesitate to put his needs before that of some ordinary girl.

'Maybe you'd have more trust in the Englishwoman who was my son's nanny?' he offered.

'Why his nanny? Why not his mother?' she asked.

Inwardly, he flinched at the directness of her question. Outwardly, he allowed nothing to show.

'My son and his mother both died when he was no higher than my knee,' he replied.

Behind him, her friend caught her breath, and for a moment he thought he had Violet, too. It gave him no satisfaction. On the contrary, it felt like a tacky play for sympathy, something he neither deserved nor wanted, when all he wanted was her trust.

He was a diplomat, well used to dealing with awkward situations, using words to make things happen, and yet, confronted by this young woman wearing nothing but a shabby bathrobe, he appeared to have lost control of the situation. Of his thoughts. Of something more. Something that he didn't want to think about…

'I'm sorry,' she said. Her eyes were soft with genuine sympathy but her gaze was direct and, standing straight and tall, steel in her backbone, she said it again. 'I'm sorry, Sheikh Fayad al Kuwani. Take the Blood of Tariq to your grandfather, but I must stay here. I have to pack up the house. Clear everything…'

Without warning the steel buckled, and for the second time she grabbed for a chair as if, suddenly, the shock of what had just happened, the realisation of what was ahead, had drained the fight from her.

He caught her, lowered her into it, filled a glass with water and held it while she took a sip. Held it until her long, slender fingers stopped shaking sufficiently for her to take it safely.

'Stupid… Stupid…' she said.

'Don't be so hard on yourself. Your friend is not the only one who has had a shock, Princess.'

'Don't…' She shook her head. 'Don't call me that. It isn't right.'

'It is not only right, it is your heritage,' he said. And it was true. She did not need silk, jewels. It was in her manner, her bearing, some edge to her character…' Come to Ras al Kawi and you will see for yourself,' he urged.

'I can't. Truly. There's just too much to do here'

'Her grandmother used a dodgy equity release-scheme to raise some money on the house years ago,' Sarah explained. 'Before they were properly regulated. Now she's dead it's all theirs. Lock, stock and rotting floorboard. They want her out by the end of the month.'

So, it was as he'd been told. Violet Hamilton was without fortune, homeless, and yet she did not ask for money for the khanjar, nor grab at an invitation to be feted as a princess.

'Where will you go?' he asked.

'It depends how much she gets for the khanjar' Sarah replied, meaningfully.

'Stop it, Sarah. It's not mine to sell.' Then, gathering herself, 'If you'll excuse me, Sheikh Fayad, I have things to do.'

She meant it, he realised. Was immovable.

He wasn't used to being refused anything, wasn't prepared to accept defeat now, but continuing to press the matter would only intensify her resistance.

'Very well. If you insist on staying, I have no choice but to accept your decision.' He took a pen from his pocket. 'Give me the card.'

For a moment she looked as if she might resist, but then fished it out of her pocket.

He wrote a number on the back and returned it to her. 'I have to go now, but I will arrange for your door to be repaired. Someone will come before the end of the day. And if you should change your mind about coming to Ras al Kawi, you can reach me on that number day or night.' He handed it to her. Looked directly into her eyes. 'While I have a breath in my body my family will be at your command, Violet Hamilton. All you have to do is call.' Then he picked up the khanjar, bowed, slightly, and said, 'Princess… Sarah…'before turning and walking out through the still wide open front door.

Curious neighbours had gathered, but, looking neither to left nor right, he stepped into his car and, as it sped away from the kerb, began to make a series of phone calls.

'He might at least have said thank you,' Violet said, as the front door closed behind him. 'He just walked away, didn't look back.'

'They don't. It's their way. But they never forget a debt. And that "breath in my body" pledge is not meaningless. You will be paid one way or another.'

'I don't want to be paid,' she said, shaking her head. 'I'm just glad to be rid of the thing. Then, unable to help herself, she asked, 'What's it like, Sarah? Have you been there? Ras al Kawi?'

'We were next door in Ras al Hajar. The ruler there has an English wife. Did you know that? She used to

be a foreign correspondent.' She sighed. 'Terrific place to live.' Then, 'Ras al Kawi is less developed, and the old Emir is a bit of a recluse. I always wanted to go there. It's mountainous, and has the most fabulous coastline.'

'It sounds lovely.'

'You're wishing you hadn't been so quick to turn him down now?'

'No. No, of course not.'

Sarah laughed, clearly not believing her. 'Violet, sweetheart, you remember me saying that you should be careful not to get swept off your feet by the first good-looking man that came your way?'

'I remember.' Not that she'd needed telling. With a father like hers, trust in the male did not come easily. Then, managing a grin, 'Did I do good?'

'Oh, you were faultless. You had the heir to a sheikhdom wanting to treat you like a princess and you were ice.' She shook her head as she got to her feet. 'No need to worry about you losing your head. If you can resist such a killer combination of cheekbones and tragedy you'll probably die an old maid.'

Sarah was joking. If only she knew… 'Are you saying I should have gone with him? Just like that?'

'You said you wanted a life.'

'I did. I do. But I was thinking of starting on the nursery slopes and working up to dangerous. Going with Sheikh Fayad would be like taking a ski-run down Mount Everest.' Then, because she might be regretting it just a little bit, and would rather not think about quite how much, 'That guy at the library keeps asking me out.'

'Really? Not so much nursery slopes as totally flat, then. You do know that he never goes anywhere without his mother?'

'I had heard she was a touch…possessive,' Violet replied, laughing despite everything. 'But just think how safe I'd be.'

'Oh, please. I didn't expect you to take me that literally. Life doesn't start small and build up in carefully managed steps to exciting. Exciting is so rare that you have to grab it when you get the chance. You've got a lot of catching up to do, and even if you did live to regret it at least you would have lived.'

'You've changed your tune!' Then, with those dangerously attractive blade-edged cheekbones of Sheikh Fayad, his thick dark hair, broad shoulders still a vivid memory, Violet said, 'So, to recap. Your advice is now to forget safe, go for excitement. Got it.' Then, 'So shall I pick up Molly from playgroup for you? Since you have to wait in for the doctor.'

Sarah laughed. 'Okay, I'll stop nagging. But you can't leave the house. In case you hadn't noticed, your back door is hanging off its hinges.'

'There's nothing to steal,' Violet pointed out, and propped it back in place. 'There. From the outside it'll look solid enough.'

Sarah went home to wait for the doctor. Violet dressed, then swiftly gathered up the scattered contents of the Gladstone bag, stuffing everything back inside, before returning it into the wardrobe.

Violet picked up Molly, stayed to have a sandwich with Sarah, then walked round the back, squeezing

through the gap in the hedge. She thought she'd wedged the door firmly in its frame, but a gust of wind must have caught it, because it had fallen in.

Then she stepped inside.

Her kitchen was wrecked. Drawers pulled out, plates smashed. Photographs and china from the dresser trampled underfoot

And, in the middle of the kitchen, the fridge was lying on its side. If it hadn't been beyond repair before, it was now.

In shock, she walked through the house to discover that every room had been given the same treatment. Even the precious treasures that had been stored through generations in the old leather bag had been tipped out, crushed beneath careless feet. Except for the envelopes. They were gone.

No one would call him while he was at a formal lunch, and normally Fayad would have switched off his cellphone. But he'd promised Violet Hamilton that he would be there if she needed him. And as the phone began to vibrate against his heart, he knew she needed him.

It could only be Violet, and with a brief apology to his host, he left the table.

'Princess?' He spoke without thinking. How easy it was to address her by that title. How right it felt.

'They came back…'

Her voice-little more than a tremor, barely audible-sent real fear coursing through his veins.

'Did they hurt you?' he asked, forcing himself to keep his voice low, when all he wanted to do was roar with fury. If they'd hurt her they'd pay for it.

He was already paying. He'd known the danger, had asked his aide to organise private security, but these things took time to put in place and his enemies hadn't waited.

The man who'd escaped had simply waited until he left, then called for reinforcements.

But an angry response wouldn't help Violet. She'd come through the first attack relatively unscathed, but now she was seriously frightened and she needed a calm response.

'Do you need medical help?' he asked, when she didn't reply.

'I wasn't here.' Then, on a sob, 'Please. Take me away…'

He uttered a prayer of thanks that she had been out of the house, that she'd chosen to call him, then said, 'I'll be with you in twenty minutes.'

He made it in fifteen and, ignoring the front door, went straight around the back. He took in the wreckage of the kitchen, the rest of the ground floor. Then sprinted up the stairs and found her, huddled against the head of a big, old-fashioned double bed, clutching an old leather bag to her chest.

The mess was indescribable. The wardrobe had been ransacked, its contents spilled on the floor. A lamp overturned and smashed.

Ignoring it, he climbed up beside her, put his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head as if she were a child. For a moment she reacted like a wild thing, fighting him, lashing out in her anger and pain, but he held on, murmuring the soft words of comfort that his mother had poured into his own ears as a child.

She wouldn't understand them, but it wasn't the words that mattered. There was a tone of voice, a universal comfort that transcended language.

For a moment she was deaf to him, but then a great shudder went through her and, as she leaned into him, hot tears soaked through his jacket to his skin, scalding him with her pain.

He held her close, stayed with her while his staff, summoned as he was driven to her aid, arrived to pack her things, take charge here.

And all the time he held her his heart was singing, because she hadn't called her friend who was just next door. She'd called him. Had wanted him. Had trusted him.

'Princess?' he prompted, when a nod from his aide assured him that everything had been done. That his plane would be waiting by the time they arrived at the airport so that they could board without delay.

'Violet?'

She lifted her head as if the weight of it was almost too much to bear. Her face was ashen, her eyes grey with misery, her lashes clumped together with tears. And still she was beautiful.

'It's time to go,' he said.

She didn't ask where he was taking her, just nodded, and he stood up, helping her up, keeping his arm about her as she found her feet. After a moment, she took an unsteady step back. He reached out to stop her from falling, but she straightened.

'Sarah,' she said. 'I have to tell Sarah I'm leaving or she'll worry.'

'She's here.'

'Violet? I saw the car.' Then, with a gasp as she saw the mess, 'Why didn't you call me?'

'She was protecting you,' Fayad told her. 'Protecting your family.'

'Who will protect her?'

'I will.'

For a moment Sarah challenged him with a look then, apparently satisfied that he meant what he said, she took Violet in her arms and hugged her.

'I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn't dragged you along to that wretched Trash or Treasure roadshow…'

'You didn't do this, Sarah,' Fayad said, handing her a card. 'You shouldn't have any more trouble. My people will be here, taking care of the house, and I've organised security, but if you're worried at any time, if you need anything, call this number. My cousin, Hamad al Kuwani, is the ambassador, and he knows who you are and will help in any way…'

'Thank you.' Then she turned to Violet and said, 'Call me. Every day.'

'She will,' he said, and, anxious to get her away, he supported her down the stairs, steering her through the wreckage of the hall until they reached the front door, not permitting her to stop, mourn.

'Don't look back,' he warned as she hesitated, momentarily dug in her heels. 'Always look ahead, keep your eyes on where you're going.'

'If only I knew where that was.'

She looked up at him, and then, because he wanted to reassure her, he bent and kissed her.

It had been an impulse. An attempt to distract her. Distract himself, maybe. But the softness of her lips, clinging to his, seemed to light a fire that had been smouldering within him since the moment he had first set eyes on her.

A recognition.

'Wherever it is,' he said, 'I will be with you. For as long as you need me.'