Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (14 page)

I know I’ve surprised Kadar when I see him frown. “Why not?”

My embarrassment at drawing unwanted attention to my features makes my voice grow shrill. “Just look at me!”

Tilting his head to one side, Kadar does as I suggest, and then exchanges a look with his brother. He shakes his head as if he can’t understand.

His nonchalant attitude makes me angry. Giving an exasperated sigh, I continue, almost shouting, “Why would Sheikh Nijad even consider marrying me?” I raise my eyes to the tall, imposing sheikh.

Still standing, but looking down, examining me intently, Kadar seems to be choosing his words. Then he tells me, “Sheikh Nijad has no more choice in this matter than you do. It is his duty. The emir has spoken.” He looks down at his brother, but Jasim only shrugs and stays silent. They seem to be communicating without words. I’m starting to think there’s something they aren’t telling me, something about Nijad, something important. Why would their brother, a prince, third in line to the throne, be forced to marry a commoner from another country?

Kadar takes his seat so he can address me face to face. “Our brother lives in the southern desert. He hasn’t left the desert for three years and is unlikely to, so you will join him there. The tribespeople will be monitoring the marriage very carefully; you need to understand that.” Again he glances at Jasim, looking for encouragement. “You must satisfy Nijad as his bride. You will not bring shame upon him or his name, and you will not disrespect him.”

He wasn’t saying it, but there was an unspoken consequence in there, I was certain. I want it clarified. “Or else?” I whisper.

“Sheikh Nijad holds your life in his hands.”

Jasim is watching us and his cough draws my attention back to him. “It won’t be a life sentence, Cara.” His voice is as comforting as it can be in the circumstances. “You will sign a contract that specifies the length of your marriage. It’s probable that the conditions can be accomplished within five years. At that point, you would be free to return to your old life.” His words do slightly soften the blow.

Still reeling from the idea that my proposed husband will have the power of life or death over me, I try to process what Kadar was saying. A relatively short marriage? For five years only? Does that make a difference, knowing it isn’t for ever? Perhaps we would have a business-type arrangement; I could cope with that. Perhaps Nijad is gay, and needs a wife to keep up appearances?

But the swift rise in my hopes are immediately dashed as Kadar continues, “Our ruler has decided it’s time Nijad has an heir. And for that, he needs a wife.”

I recoil. Any thoughts I had of a platonic marriage just went flying out of the window.

“An heir? He will want children?” Everything had been sprung on me so quickly this morning that I hadn’t thought things through. Children meant sex. Agreeing to this marriage would be agreeing to be intimate with a man I have never met, and know absolutely nothing about! But as soon as Kadar continues speaking in that deep solemn voice, I realise he is deadly serious.

“Yes. A son. You will remain married for five years, or until the terms of the marriage contract have been satisfied.”

“The contract will call for me to have a child?” I’m stunned. I’ve never even had a boyfriend, and now I am to get pregnant? Pregnant by a man I don’t even know. “This is beyond crazy!”

Ignoring my whispered statement, he just answers my question. “The contract calls for you to provide Nijad with a son, yes,” he repeats.

“But what if I can’t … what if I can’t have children? What if any children are girls?” I’m reeling at the thought of having a child, any child – and, in particular, the unimaginable actions that are necessary for it to come about.

Kadar shrugs. “If there is no child at all, or only females, after the period of five years has passed Nijad will be able to discuss his options with the emir.”

I don’t think I want to hear what those options might include. And, on the other hand, “What if I do have a child? What happens after five years?” My voice grows sharp. I really can’t believe I’m having this discussion.

“At the end of five years, you will be able to return to your old life. You will be provided for, with more than sufficient for your needs.”

Marriage, sex, having a baby … All things I never thought I’d experience. But wait: Kadar’s expression tells me I haven’t been told everything yet and, as the elder prince clears his throat, I soon found I was right.

“Any child of the marriage will naturally remain in Amahad.”

So that’s it. The suggestion is for me to be a breeding machine. It’s barbaric! Things like that don’t happen in this century, and certainly don’t happen to me!
Me!
Plain, boring, ugly Cara. Marriage! A consummated marriage, no less. It’s ludicrous. I’ve never considered having children. Who would want to have them with me? But if I did have a child, could I bear to part with it? My head is swimming. Abruptly, I pull myself together. The whole thing was insane, unthinkable. I would refuse.

“No,” I tell them, my voice as firm as I can make it. “You cannot do this. Kidnapping and forced marriage, it’s not legal …”

Kadar interrupts. “It is our ruler’s wish. And the emir is the law. There is no way out, Cara. Not if you want to live.” He touches his forehead, his hand wiping his brow before coming down to cup his chin. It suddenly hits me that, underneath his autocratic exterior, he is trying to hide his sympathy for me, and struggling not to show it. But whether or not he feels compassion, as he continues speaking I realise nothing is going to deter him from this decided course of action. It is too important to their country, even if their solution is unacceptable to me.

“We
have
to avoid warring among the tribes, and there is no other way to achieve that aim.”

Feeling as if I’m sinking fast into a quagmire, I make a request. “I need time to get my head round all of this. And I’d like to call someone …” I’m thinking of Hunter, or if he’s not available, I’ll try and get through to Grade A. Oh my God, Hunter, had been so right to warn me about Amahad.

“No phone calls,” Jasim answers quickly.

“But at the very least I’ll have to tie up my work commitments. There’s my house, my account with the bank …” My mind fills with inconsequential practicalities.

“You’ll give us the power of attorney. We’ll sort out all the details for you.”

I stand, surprised that my legs support me. “I need time to think about this.”

This time, both men shake their heads in unison. They glance at each other, and Kadar nods as if confirming he is taking the lead. “The lawyers are waiting in the next room with the paperwork. You’ll sign the marriage contract now. You’ll be taken by helicopter to Nijad’s desert camp this afternoon.”

“No!” I’m truly starting to panic. I begin walking back and forth across the room, as if the movement can help get my thoughts in order. “I’m not ready.” I shoot a look of appeal to Jasim, who I think has the most empathy with my plight, but he merely lifts his shoulders up in a shrug and stares back with a sad look on his face.

“You sign the contract, or you will be taken to prison to await execution.” In a cold voice Kadar reminds me of the unpalatable alternative.

Panic increasing, I come out with the only thing I can. “I need to see the contract before I sign it. I don’t sign anything I haven’t read,” I say desperately. Anything to buy myself some time.

I can see the crown prince considering my request, and his capitulation when he nods slowly. “No problem with that. Wait here.” His long robes swishing around him, he leaves the room. But my reprieve is brief; he returns almost immediately. He holds an official-looking document, which he places in my hands.

I take as much time as I can to peruse it, anxious to take in every word and to try to understand the implications. It’s relatively short and to the point, and covers the facts they’ve already told me. As far as I can see there’s nothing else hidden there. But even so the contents are sinister, outlining a marriage to Prince Nijad, which will last for at least a period of five years, or until I produce a male heir. At the end of five years, should no child or male child have been produced, the emir has the discretion to agree to a divorce, or ‘other alternatives as the ruler sees fit’. Any child of either sex is to remain in Amahad. There is a section for a settlement after the divorce that seems to be a more than generous six-figure sum per annum, but I can’t possibly think that far ahead. The money seems excessive, but doesn’t attract me. What use do I have for that kind of money? I don’t spend half
of what I currently earn. I read through the contract thoroughly twice, making sure I take it all in, trying to find a way to escape this cruel fate, but I can see no way out. But while I’m reading, a kernel of a thought comes to me.

Kadar, looking regal like the ruler he will one day be, has not retaken his seat, so I am forced to look up at him. “I’d like to add a clause. Can I write it on here?”

He looks surprised, and I think he’s going to refuse, but just before I start to plead, he tells me: “I do not see what you might want to add that would have a bearing on the details of the marriage, but I will look at what you propose. So, yes, I’ll find you a pen.” He goes over to his desk and finds a piece of paper. Then, taking a pen from a holder, he comes back and holds it out to me, but when I reach out my hand to take it he brings it just too far away. “It is up to me whether I accept your amendment.”

Well, of course, it would be. He holds all the power here. Begrudgingly I nod, and he hands me the writing implements. I tap the pen against my teeth and then start writing. When I’ve written a few sentences, I put the top back on the pen and place it on top of the contract, which I then slide back across the table. Kadar picks it up and reads what I’ve written.

Clause X: If, in the period of the said five years, Miss Carson repays the amount of the bride price plus ten per cent interest per year then the marriage will be dissolved with immediate effect and the annual allowance (as noted in clause 19 below) will become payable. Any child of the marriage will remain with Miss Carson and there will be no restrictions on residence, whether within Amahad or elsewhere.

“But that will never happen!” He looks exasperated. “Why waste time adding anything like this? I don’t think you realise what living in the desert and being married means. You will not be able to work. Nijad won’t allow it.”

He passes the revision over to Jasim, who also looks incredulous. “Are you expecting a rich relative to die, or something?” he asks, presumably the only explanation he can think of.

I shake my head, sadly. “Unfortunately not; I have no relatives. But I’m an optimist.” I know I can’t explain, but it wasn’t completely beyond the realms of possibility that the plans I’d put in place would bear sufficient dividends. Of course, I won’t be there to manage my projects, but computers will keep ticking away following their original instructions if given no alternative course of action to follow. It crosses my mind to wonder whether coming clean now might save me from this marriage, but it’s a thought I quickly reject. If I was unable to prove my honest intent to their satisfaction, I have no doubt of the outcome. At least by signing this contract I’ll be staying alive – for the present, anyway.

Kadar picks up a pen and idly rubs the end against his mouth while he thinks. After a short while, he inclines his head towards his brother. “Take this to the lawyers and get the contract redrafted.” He turns to me. “You will sign the revised contract, and then Tahirah will come to look after you until it’s time to leave.”

****

The maidservant is no more communicable than she was earlier, but at least I’m left to await my fate in an ornately furnished sitting room, rather than being returned to my cell. I’m brought food for lunch, but I can’t consider eating. My guts are churning as I try to process everything that’s happened to me over the past twenty-four hours or so. I have no idea how I can evade what seems to be my destiny due to an accident of birth. There’s no phone in this room and the door, as I might have predicted, is locked. So I sit here, waiting, alone with my thoughts.

There’s a fluttering of butterflies in my stomach, and I’m ashamed to admit it’s in anticipation of something I never expected to experience: sex, intimacy. What man would want to touch me? What will it be like? I wonder what Sheikh Nijad will be like. Will I be able to fancy the man I’m being given to?
Christ! If I don’t like him, if he doesn’t turn me on, it would be rape, wouldn’t it? I pick up a cushion and hug it to me. One thing’s for certain: he’s going to be very disappointed in his new bride. A sob escapes me. It won’t matter whether I’m attracted to him or not. There’s not a chance that he’ll find me appealing in any sense. Shit! What a complete fuck-up.

They come for me long before I’m ready. Tahirah enters alone. The maid has apparently not warmed to me since this morning, but now I suspect I know the reason. I, in lieu of my dead father, seem to be the most hated person in Amahad. She’s not rude, just not friendly. When she offers me some kind of headscarf and veil in a matter-of-fact way, I’m strangely comforted and accept her help to put it on. I’m not surprised they’ve decided to cover my face; they certainly didn’t hit the jackpot with me as their future princess. Only my eyes are visible, and it’s something of a relief to be able to hide.