Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (13 page)

What can I do? What can I say? I’ve no one to turn to, nowhere to run. I’m stunned, shocked, and frightened to ask, but I have to know. I draw in a shaky breath, and then ask, “What punishment?” I don’t think my voice could have been much quieter.

But Kadar hears me. He closes his eyes and then tells me. “The tribal leaders have demanded your death as the price of their vengeance. They wish to end the Benting bloodline. They have called for a public execution by beheading.”

I can’t process what he’s saying. I feel faint, and begin to slide off my chair. Jasim’s arm reaches out to steady me. Are they going to kill me for the crimes of a man I never even knew? I open my mouth to protest again, but nothing comes out except a muffled whimper.
This can’t be happening to me
.

“Kadar! Tell her the rest. Quickly!” Jasim’s entreaty sounds urgent. He’s still supporting me; without his hand holding me I’d have fallen to the floor.

“We have negotiated with the tribes and have agreed on a way to avoid the death sentence, Miss Benting.”

I’m not capable of understanding what he is telling me. I throw a glance of desperation towards Jasim; his face is taut as though he’s far from happy with the situation. He gently reinforces the words Kadar has spoken.

“Be calm, Cara. You will not suffer that sentence. You have another option.” For the first time, he has addressed me by name. “Listen to Kadar.” He glares at his brother.

Kadar shrugs and then continues. “The tribes cannot afford to lose the money that Benting stole from them, but neither will they accept anything that could be perceived as charity from the Crown. So the emir has generously offered a bride price which, coincidentally, totals the ten million pounds sterling that Benting conned out of Amahad.” He smiles at this, but the twist to his mouth makes it resemble more of a grimace. “The bride price will be paid to the tribes. They have agreed to accept this.”

“Bride price?” I realise I’m in danger of sounding like a parrot, but in my fear I’ve totally lost track of this conversation as a whole, and am only hearing key words that frankly scare the living daylights out of me. I look from one brother to another, my eyes open wide with fear, and a total lack of comprehension. They could have been speaking in a different language for all I can understand.

Kadar seems focused on a spot above my head; even he is avoiding looking at me at this juncture. “Yes, Miss Benting. A bride price. And
you
are the bride.” He stops briefly as his features transform into a mirthless grin. “You will be married to our brother, Sheikh Nijad, and your bride price will be used to write off the debt.”

It takes a moment for the words to compute in my brain, and even when I realise I did hear them in the right order, they still make no sense. I’m still trying to get over the fact that people in this country want me dead. And now they’re proposing to marry me off? My mouth falls open in disbelief. I’m speechless, and then relief makes me start to laugh, now certain I’m not going receive any penalty for hacking into their systems, and that I’ve been given a reprieve from execution. Instead, I’m going to be married! I laugh and laugh, tears streaming down my face, my laughter turning hysterical, and two things strike me at once. Firstly, that anyone thought I could be worth anything approaching the millions of pounds that Benting had stolen, and secondly that they were suggesting I’m going to marry a prince?
Me?

Cara

Marry? Me
marry a sheikh?
That anyone would want to marry me is a step beyond belief, but a sheikh and, more than that, a real live prince? I’m having difficulty pulling myself together as I realise how ludicrous and unbelievable the proposal is. I must be the butt of a very elaborate joke. Perhaps if I look around I’ll see hidden cameras?
Eventually I stop laughing, my mirth ending in a series of unladylike hiccups. I gaze incredulously at the two princes, who are giving me time to let their suggestion sink in. I shake my head, knowing Sheikh Kadar cannot be serious. When I’ve sufficiently got myself together to be able to speak, I start telling them how ridiculous they are being.

Looking at them scathingly I begin, “Look, this is crazy.” Remembering who I’m addressing, I realise I need to choose my words a bit more carefully. Insulting princes in their own land is probably not the brightest idea. “I don’t know why you brought me here; there’s obviously been a big mistake. What you are suggesting is ridiculous.” I pause and, noticing their expressions remain sober, try a different tack. “I appreciate Benting has caused trouble for your country, and I’m sorry to hear that. If there was any way I could help repay the money I’d do it. But you have to be joking to think that I could marry your brother. I’ve never met him, but he wouldn’t want to marry someone like me. And I’m certainly not worth the bride price you are suggesting! You’ve had your fun; you’ve succeeded in frightening me. Please just end this now, and let me go home.”

Two sets of grave eyes are on me now; two men looking at me with sympathy. They are not laughing. I go completely still, horror filling me at the prospect that they could actually be serious. “You
are
joking, aren’t you?” My voice sounds hoarse. Suddenly nothing would feel better than escaping back to what Hunter refers to as command central, and burying myself in familiar work. Perhaps I should pinch myself to prove this is a dream.

Kadar reaches behind him and rummages. Turning back, he hands me a tissue. I take it, and mop up the wetness that seeped from my eyes during my laughing fit; I hadn’t even been aware I had tears running down my cheeks. He waits, presumably for me to compose myself, and then starts to speak.

“In our culture arranged marriages are the norm, particularly for the royal family …”

“But it’s not
my
culture!” I interrupt, not caring if I'm rude. An arranged marriage? I can’t conceive of that. But their manner is making me realise that they are serious. They mean this. Oh shit! I start to hyperventilate as I begin to consider their proposal as a possibility. “I can’t marry a stranger.” I shudder. “I can’t …”

“I’m afraid you can and you will. You have no choice.” Kadar pronounces his statement as if he’s hammering nails into my coffin.

“Miss Benting.” Jasim addresses me now. “Let us try to explain. The tribes are angry.” He throws his brother a quick look when he pauses, and with a gesture shows he expects him to continue. But when Kadar just stares back, Jasim gives a frustrated sigh and starts to provide me with a fuller explanation. “The tribes want revenge. I appreciate you don’t understand our ways.” He takes a deep breath and then continues. “Amahad is a country of two parts. In the north we have industry and large towns. Al Qur’ah has a prime position on the coast and over the centuries has become an important port and gateway not only for our people, but also for neighbouring landlocked countries. Nowadays we attract significant tourism as well. The northern towns and cities are cosmopolitan as a result, with acceptance of different
cultures and religions. But a third of our population still live a traditional life in the southern desert. It’s a wild place; the people living there are predominantly of the Muslim faith, and there is a divide between the city and desert dwellers. The desert tribes play an important role, acting as a buffer against the less tolerant countries surrounding us.”

It’s a lot for me to take in, let alone try to understand. Jasim gives me a moment to digest his geography lesson before continuing.

“We need the tribal leaders to be united, or we are unable to protect the border. The tribes blame the Crown for losing their money and we cannot afford to have them rebel. Once they have a taste for blood, they will turn among themselves. Your marriage, the payment of the bride price, will appease them. We have their word on that.”

His explanation doesn’t help. Tremors are shuddering through my body as his unsmiling face shows his determination to achieve this outcome. How can I get out of this? I stare at him.

“But it’s got nothing to do with me. I don’t know anything about your country. Look, I don’t mean to sound uncaring, but your tribal disputes have nothing to do with me. There must be some other way to appease them?” I look round, as if for an escape route. I’m wildly clutching at straws. “I’m a forensic accountant! I’m British. You can’t treat me like this. I will not be a pawn in your political game.”

Kadar stands up so rapidly that his chair tips backwards. Automatically our eyes go to it, watching it rocking, waiting to see whether it will fall. Before it does, Kadar reaches out a hand to steady it. He doesn’t exactly shout, but his stern voice increases in volume.

“This is not a game! Your father stole from Amahad and you are his only kin. That debt must be repaid.”

“But I didn’t even know my father!” I continue to protest, vexed tears filling my eyes. They are not listening to me. “I want to go home.” I try to put some strength into my voice. “I insist you let me go back to England!” Thinking quickly I add, “I need to contact the British embassy!”

“Enough!” His voice was quieter now, but his tone made me automatically obey.

I shut my mouth.

“You will remain in Amahad. And you will be married.”

I’m not having this. The situation is beyond preposterous. They can’t force me to do anything. Surely any marriage needs my agreement? I stand up, and it’s my chair that actually falls over, and I couldn’t give a damn. “I demand you let me go home right now. You can’t coerce me like this. I refuse to consider this any further.” I’ve never been so angry in my life – or so scared.

“Then you will pay the ultimate price!” Kadar throws this back at me. “Sentence has been passed. The tribespeople will have your life.”

“What?” I start. The thought of this preposterous marriage put the earlier threat of the execution out of my head. I stop breathing in the stunned silence. A scraping sound tells me that Jasim has righted my chair. His hand comes to hold my arm as he gently guides me back into it.

Kadar’s cold eyes focus on mine. “Marriage or death. Those are your choices.”

Jasim gives my arm a gentle squeeze; a gesture of comfort, not support. I don’t take my eyes off his brother. The horror of his pronouncement shakes me to the core. Jasim glares at him and turns me to face him.

“The tribes wanted Benting’s daughter dead, Cara. As we have already explained, we managed to get them to accept an alternative: marriage to Sheikh Nijad.” Another squeeze of his hand, his actions at odds with the brutal finality of his words. “But if you don’t accept the marriage you will have to take the only other option.”

I turn my eyes to him; I read the compassion in his face and his distaste for the words he is saying. I find myself considering whether death is a better option than the impossible marriage they are planning for me. In truth, what have I got to live for? A lonely life hidden away from the world, my only interaction with other people consisting of delving into their digital lives.

Kadar seems to understand that I’m considering the ultimate option. “You would die by being beheaded, Miss Benting. A public execution.”

After staring at him and noting that, unlike his brother, his unyielding features show no sign of sympathy, I put my head in my hands and rub my forehead, pressing my fingers into my temples. What the fuck kind of nightmare have I got myself into? I feel sick to my stomach, and my headache is coming back with a vengeance.

Jasim sees my actions, interprets them correctly and places a glass of water in front of me. I stare at it for a moment, before picking it up and taking a few sips.

“If only you knew …” I whisper. The men are silent, giving me time to take in what they’ve told me, but my thoughts take a different turn. They weren’t taking revenge by insisting on this marriage. Joseph Benting would be over the moon to know he’d sold his daughter, and received such a large payment for her. It was what
he’d wanted all along. But then, he hadn’t dreamed my life had any value at all. To him, I’d been worthless.

I have no choice. Well, I do have a choice, but a deep innate survival instinct persuades me that losing my head isn’t a particularly attractive option. For the first time, I start to realise that this marriage could become a reality. I consider the princes in front of me, looking from one to the other. They are both handsome men: tall, well-muscled, fit-looking, intimidating, powerful men, neither of whom would have even glanced at someone like me if they’d passed me on the street. If my potential husband is cut from the same cloth, it will be a marriage made in hell. There’s no way he would want to be tied to me. I’m under no illusions as to what I look like: overweight and badly scarred from my childhood acne, not fit to be seen on the arm of any halfway decent-looking man, let alone a prince! If Nijad is anything like his brothers, why on earth would he agree to marry
me
? Surely the princes can see I’m not princess material?

My thoughts were tumbling through my head in no particular order. How would such a marriage be arranged? Was there an option to meet Nijad first to see if we might be compatible? If we did meet, I know he’d reject me on sight. What a preposterous idea that I was to get married, and even more than that, to a sheikh? Impossible! Surely they must see that.
Are they blind?

My voice comes out as a horrified gasp. “This is absurd! It’s nonsensical to think I could marry anyone at all. Certainly not a prince. Even as an arranged marriage, your brother wouldn’t want to marry me!”