Master of the Desert (7 page)

Like what? In a few words he had made her feel ashamed. What did he mean about the way she was dressed? She was dressed like someone who had escaped a pirate attack—the same way she had been dressed all the time they had been together. Had Saif even looked at her? Had he even realised what he’d said? He made her feel like a piece of flotsam that had washed up on his deck and now had to be swept away. She
had
hosed herself down with the fresh water, and she
had
tied her hair back. She’d done everything possible to make herself look respectable.

What Saif was actually saying, Antonia realised, was that she must never refer to what had happened on their desert island again. What they had shared had been great, but as far as Saif was concerned it was over now, and she was a potential embarrassment to him. ‘I’ll cover what I’m wearing with a blanket,’ she offered. ‘No one will expect me to be smartly dressed.’ She was willing to show her respect for tradition in Sinnebar, but had no intention of making a bigger fool of herself than necessary by stumbling over some over-large robe when she disembarked.

Saif acknowledged this briefly. ‘An ambulance will be waiting at the dock to take you straight to the Al Maktabi
clinic for a check up,’ he informed her, swooping by to complete some other task.

‘Thank you,’ she called to his disappearing back. ‘I appreciate your concern,’ she told the empty space.

It was a marvel to discover she could hold in tears for so long. But who knew what she could do? Antonia mused as she leaned over the prow while the yacht came in to dock. She had a feeling she was going to have to dig a lot deeper yet.

She was on her way down the companionway to get the blanket when Saif asked if she would do him a favour. ‘Anything,’ she called back, knowing this was no more than the truth.

‘Take this down with you when you go, will you?’ He’d lashed the wheel, and, peeling off his top, tossed it to her. She was determined to keep her gaze firmly averted from the body she loved—the body that had loved her so expertly.

‘You’ll find a cream robe hanging in what to you would be the front of the boat,’ he told her.

‘And you want me to bring it to you?’ she asked. She caught the still-warm top he tossed to her, resisting the impulse to bring it to her face and drag in his scent.

‘If you wouldn’t mind?’

Then, like a spotlight on the star of a production, the sun caught him full on the chest and her mind went numb. She stared at Saif’s tattoo. It occurred to her then that she hadn’t seen him stripped to the waist in daylight—something that certainly put her moral code in question.

But right now her moral code wasn’t uppermost in her mind. She had done her homework before setting out for Sinnebar, and knew what the tattoo over Saif’s heart represented.
The snarling lion with the sapphire tightly grasped between its paws was the ruling sheikh’s insignia. Anyone could see the symbol online, where it was emblazoned on everything from the royal standard to the coin of His Imperial Majesty’s realm. It was said that Sheikh Ra’id al Maktabi of Sinnebar—acknowledged as the most powerful ruler in the Gulf—had chosen the lion as his personal symbol to reflect the power he wielded. It was also rumoured in the wider world that the clarity of the cold, blue sapphire reflected Ra’id al Maktabi’s calculating mind and his love-proof heart. So now it seemed that the man she had dreamed of falling in love with, the man she had had so brief an affair with, either had serious connections with or was closely related to a royal family reputed to have no finer feelings beyond the call of duty, which they took very seriously indeed.

Or…

Antonia didn’t even dare to contemplate this last possibility.

‘Are you feeling ill?’ Saif demanded when she groaned.

She stared at him, wondering why she hadn’t seen it before—the regal poise, the air of command, the confidence of kings. ‘A little dizzy,’ she confessed, turning her back on him before she gave herself away. ‘Maybe I’m suffering from delayed sea-sickness.’ It was a lie, and a weak one at that, but it was all she had.

‘Well, take care as you go down the steps,’ Saif advised. ‘Sit down for a while. Put your head between your knees and take some deep breaths.’

It would take more than a few deep breaths to blank out what she’d seen.

But Saif couldn’t be the ruling sheikh, Antonia decided. Where were his bodyguards, his attendants, his warships off the coast? It was time to stop panicking and start thinking clearly. With that tattoo, he must have some connection with the court, so that was good news. She might have a chance to ask him about her mother before she disembarked.

Nursing this little bud of hope, she went below. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t excited by the chance to root around while Saif was busy up on deck. Who knew what she might find?

She found the cashmere blanket and not much else of interest. Saif’s personal quarters were bare to the point of austerity. She found the robe exactly where he had said it would be, but, far from being some fabulous luxury garment that a ruling sheikh might wear, it was a simple cream linen
dishdash
of the type that could be purchased on any market stall.

That imagination of hers would get her into trouble one day, Antonia warned herself, collecting up a pair of traditional thonged sandals. There wasn’t so much as a headdress, or a golden
agal
to hold that headdress in place, let alone a fancy robe. Saif was simply a patriot who chose to wear his leader’s insignia over his heart. The fearsome ruling sheikh of Sinnebar, known to the world as the Sword of Vengeance, he was most definitely not.

A
NTONIA
was standing at Saif’s side as he edged the giant yacht into its mooring at the marina in Sinnebar. She was covered from head to toe in the blanket. Her choice; her last defiant act. The ache in her chest at the thought of leaving him was so severe she felt physically sick. She hadn’t expected parting from him to hurt like this, though neither of them had ever been under any illusion that their time together was anything more than a fantasy that would end the moment they docked. So she only had herself to blame for feeling this way, Antonia reflected as Saif called to the men on the shore to catch the ropes. Saif was her fantasy; she had never been his.

Grow up
, Antonia told herself fiercely, biting back tears. Was this the girl who had set out from Rome with such determination? So, dealing with life outside the cocoon was sometimes tricky and often tough—get over it. She had that one day to remember, didn’t she? And one day with Saif had turned out to be the best day of her life.

To avoid breaking down, she focused her mind on the stunning panorama beyond the harbour. Everything about Sinnebar gripped her. It was Saif’s homeland, and a place
where her mother had lived. So many impressions hit her at once: perhaps most significantly of all, the desert—stretching vast and silent beyond this billionaires’ marina, as far as the eye could see.

The desert…

She felt a frisson of expectation just thinking about the desert. It had always been her dream to go beyond the silken veil and uncover the secrets there.

Well, she had the longed-for chance now, though it hardly seemed possible that she was staring up at jagged purple mountains, or the unfathomable desert. In the opposite direction were the gleaming white spires of an internationally renowned capital city. Immediately in front were low-lying white buildings. They lined the pristine dock, and all the paved areas were equally well maintained. Even the road was newly surfaced. There were colourful gardens and water displays, which she took to be a sure sign of wealth in the desert, and guessed that each entry point to Sinnebar would have similarly high standards so that the visitor’s first impression could only be good.

She was a little surprised to see the number of security guards on duty, but then reasoned that it must be quite an event when one of the multi-million-dollar yachts came home to roost. If you had never seen a man like Saif climbing the yard arm to secure a sail, you would definitely want to add that to your scrapbook of memories. Saif had not yet put on his robe, and was balancing on what looked to Antonia like a narrow pole suspended at a dizzying height above the deck. She worried about him; she couldn’t help herself. But he wasn’t hers to worry about, she reminded herself, and some other woman would share his life.

She turned her face away so Saif couldn’t see the distress in her eyes when he sprang down onto the deck. By the time he had taken the robe she was holding out for him and slipped it over his head, she was under control again. She wouldn’t break down now, not now, not so close to the end of this journey. She turned her attention instead to the waiting ambulance, and noticed there was a lowslung limousine parked next to it. She guessed that was waiting for Saif.

Impressive.

So he was a wealthy man who drove around with blackedout windows—so what? He could have been the lowliest member of the crew and she wouldn’t have felt any different about him. Both vehicles were surrounded by security guards, but she’d be an important witness in the piracy trial, Antonia reasoned, so there would have to be precautions taken for her safety. She looked at Saif, who was greeting the paramedic. To her eyes Saif couldn’t have looked more magnificent if he had been wearing the silken robes of her imagination. Even in plain linen he had the bearing of a king. It wasn’t just that he was tall and imposing, or incredibly good-looking. He had such an easy manner—with everyone except her, she realised ruefully. She was apparently invisible now. In spite of everything she had so forcefully told herself, she yearned for a sign from Saif that said she meant something to him.

She would wait a long time for that, Antonia concluded as Saif brought the paramedic over to meet her. ‘Take good care of the patient,’ he said. ‘She’s had a rough time.’

As he spoke Saif didn’t even glance at her, though the paramedic, a much older man, gave her a kindly smile, which she returned before bracing herself to disembark.

‘
Kum shams ilha maghrib,’
Saif murmured as she passed within earshot.

‘I’m sorry?’ She didn’t understand and turned to look at him for an explanation.

‘Every sun has its sunset,’ Saif translated, and for the briefest moment she thought she saw regret in his eyes.

That was his gift to her. Saif wanted her to know it had been a special time for him. It was the only gift she could ever want from him, just as leaving him without making a fuss would be her gift to him. ‘You’re right,’ she said so that only Saif could hear. ‘All good things must come to an end.’

And then, conscious that the paramedic was waiting for her, she left the yacht with her head held high.

As the limousine swept up to the steps of the palace he felt the return to reality more keenly than usual, but it altered nothing. The moment he stepped out of the limousine, he was changed. That was how it had to be. This was work. This was duty. This was his life.

The palace was set like a rose-pink moonstone on the golden shores of an aquamarine Gulf. It was an elegant marble paradise, where every luxury man could devise awaited him, and a fleet of servants was devoted to his every whim. He had never troubled to count the bedrooms, and doubted anyone ever had. Soon he would be making a gift of this towering edifice to his people, but until that time he called it home.

He strode inside, greeting people by name as they bowed to him, lifting them to their feet when they knelt in front of him. He loathed the deference some of his fellow sheikhs actively courted, and lived austerely considering
his fabulous wealth. He valued all the treasures history had granted him, but he valued his people more.

He bathed and then clothed himself in the costume of power, adopting the shackles of responsibility with each new item. The heavy silk robe reminded him of the weight of duty, while the headdress spoke of the respect in which he held his country and its people. The golden
agal
holding that headdress in place was his badge of office, like the jewelled sash he wore at his waist. The sash carried his emblem, which he had personally designed as a representation of his pledge to Sinnebar. The rampant lion picked out in flashing jewels was a warning to anyone who threatened his land, and the cold, blue sapphire clutched in its claws was the heart he had given to his country and his people. On the day of his coronation, he had vowed that nothing would alter the pledge of that heart, or disturb the order he had returned to Sinnebar following his father’s chaotic rule. That history had come back to haunt him in the form of a woman long dead, his despised stepmother Helena, something he intended to deal with without delay.

While he was away it appeared a letter had been found in Helena’s room. Written before her death to an elderly maidservant, it contained a photograph of Helena holding a tiny baby girl in her arms. That was why they had called him back so urgently. Trusted advisors could be relied upon to keep this revelation under wraps, but not for long in a palace so heavily populated it was almost like a city in its own right.

The baby wasn’t even his father’s child, but the Italian Ruggiero’s, and should have had no entitlement to land in Sinnebar. But when Helena had died the land had passed
in equal part to her children. His father had paid her off, because Helena was the mother of his son. Razi ruled his own country and had returned the land to Sinnebar. Helena’s daughter had not. It enraged him beyond belief to think that a woman long dead, a woman who had brought so much grief to his family while she was alive, could reach out even now from the grave to threaten his land.

He shouldn’t be surprised to find his father had left him one last problem to overcome, Ra’id reflected grimly, checking his royal regalia before leaving the room. They had never seen eye to eye on matters of duty versus the heart.

He left the robing room with a purposeful stride, mentally preparing for the task ahead of him. The prospect of encountering anything connected to Helena was distasteful to him. It was an excursion into a world he had no wish to go to. Helena’s heir should be clearing out her belongings, but the identity of the baby in the photograph had not yet been established. He would read through the documents and see what he could glean. At least it should prove a distraction, he conceded grimly, for a man tormented by the memory of a dancing girl invoking the moon, as he listened in vain for the sound of her voice.

He would never forget his desert-island castaway, Ra’id realised as he paused to admire the elegance of one of the inner courtyards. With its mellow fountains and counterpoint of singing birds, it was possible to hope that there were enough distractions here in Sinnebar, so that in time her voice would fade and her face would slip out of focus, until one day she would be just The Girl—a memory consigned to history along with all the rest. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, breathing in the heavy perfumes of the
East, waiting for them to blank out the girl’s fresh, clean scent. When that didn’t happen, he frowned and turned away. The courtyard, with its fretwork screens and carved stone palisades, was made for the type of romance he had no time for. He didn’t even know why he’d stopped here.

His robes rustled expensively as he strode away, the sound of them reminding him at all times of duty. When he reached his office he would read the letter again and study the land deeds. He would not tolerate part of Sinnebar being casually handed over to someone who cared nothing for the land of his birth and who didn’t even live in Sinnebar. He would soon put an end to this outrageous claim and bury Helena’s legacy of turmoil once and for all.

Before transferring Antonia to a luxury hotel, they had advised her to stay in a private clinic for several days, to check for concussion. She’d wanted to say she’d had a blow to the heart, not to the head, but the nurses and staff had been so friendly, and she had welcomed the chance to rest and regroup in such a clean and efficient place.

Her bills were covered, the staff had explained when she’d started to fret about expenses. She’d had no need to ask by whom, Antonia reflected, wandering out onto the balcony of the luxury hotel suite where she had just been transferred to. All of this had been paid for by Saif. It had to be Saif. Who else knew she was here?

Knowing Saif had paid for her care did nothing to ease Antonia’s heartache. The fact that he hadn’t tried to contact her once only rubbed salt in a wound she doubted would ever heal. How could it heal when there was no cure for her feelings for Saif?

The light of another day was fading, coating the city in a honeyed glow. The pink marble walls of the palace were tinted a deeper red as the sun drooped wearily towards the horizon. Leaning over the cool stone balustrade, Antonia pictured her mother catching sight of this same palace for the first time. Surely Helena must have seen the palace? It was impossible to miss the magnificent building on a visit to Sinnebar’s capital, where the palace dominated the cityscape.

Knowing so little about her mother, Antonia could only guess that she was following in Helena’s footsteps. She had to believe that whatever she found in Sinnebar would bring them closer in some small way. She wanted to understand her mother’s early life. She knew that Helena had been very young when she had come to the Gulf, so it was easy to work out that she had probably been a student, backpacking her way across the world. Having discovered this beautiful desert kingdom, she hadn’t found the will to leave. It would be easy to give your heart to a country where gilded cupolas and cream minarets stood proudly against a vivid electric-blue sky, Antonia mused. She thought the vista over the elegant city squares to the palace beyond was the most astonishing sight she had ever seen.

The second-most astonishing sight, Antonia amended, remembering the moment a sexy brigand had confronted her on board his yacht.

She must forget Saif, Antonia told herself firmly, staring at the palace again. She had work to do, and must devote herself to that. The hotel housekeeper had explained that the palace she could see was now called the Ra’id al Maktabi palace, after their new leader. The woman had excitedly gone on to confide that Ra’id al Maktabi’s stated
aim was to bring Sinnebar into the twenty-first century, which included equal rights for women for the first time in the country’s history.

Antonia hadn’t failed to notice how the woman’s face had lit up when she spoke of the ruling sheikh, and had gathered that the hopes of the people were invested in their new leader. No wonder Saif had been offended when she had teased him about his sheikh. She understood now that Ra’id al Maktabi was looked upon as the saviour of his country.

Before he could deal with the Helena problem, he wanted to make sure that arrangements for the girl’s safe passage home had been made. The sooner she went, the better. Reports on her progress were brought to him daily, which made it impossible to close that chapter until she was gone.

He rang his secretary to check that everything was in place, and, having been reassured that all the travel details were in order, he was reminded of an appointment that evening, a charity event he must attend. It was an event in the old style with no women present. He was in the process of putting an end to this segregation of the sexes, before any more good brains were wasted—a thought that immediately brought a flashback of a very determined young woman. What would Tuesday make of an event where she wouldn’t be allowed past the door?

There was a smile on his lips as he shook his head at the thought of her reaction, but the event was for charity, and had been organised during his father’s reign, so he would make time for it. Whatever his personal feelings, he could put up with one more evening of wall-to-wall men. When he returned from the event he would set about reclaiming
the land that had been stolen from his people, and would be relentless in his pursuit of the missing heir.