Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (39 page)

“Now enjoying the hospitality of the city prison, awaiting trial. Charged with treason as well as theft.” The distaste in Kadar’s voice is clear. “Seems he thought he should be closer to the throne than he was, and having access to greater funds.”

“He needed money? He must have had one of the highest salaries we pay.” Rushdi’s brow furrows in amazement as he struggles to understand.

“And a very expensive lifestyle,” Jasim reminds him. “It all came out in the investigation we conducted.” There is silence as they seem to reflect on the betrayal that has been hard to accept.

“Hmm. What’s the latest from the lawyers?”

Kadar taps his pen against his teeth. “Although, as it turns out,” he points his pen at me, “Cara was brought here under false pretences, the marriage contract stands. But due to the clause that she added, technically, if she pays the money back, the contract could be null and void within a very short period. With our growing investments and the potential oil revenue, while Cara hasn’t personally got the funds, she’s located sufficient and more monies to do so. I think we all can accept that she is free to leave and go back to her old life if she so wishes.” He then looks straight at me. “You know, Cara, I would prefer you to stay here and work with us.”

“I don’t want to pay off the contract,” I tell them, emphatically.

As I stress my position, the emir again strokes his beard, an unconscious action that seems to help him gather his thoughts. After a few moments, he speaks. “You took money, but from a thief and with good intentions, and not for personal gain. You made an error of judgement by not telling us immediately about Basheer. But apart from that, you are an intelligent woman. I would prefer Cara working for Amahad, not against us.” He directs his final sentence at Kadar.

“I’ve already offered her the finance minister’s post.” Kadar grins widely.

“Did she accept?”

Kadar glances at me, but I’m content to let him speak for me. “Not the actual position as such, but she’s already started working for us. And I’m very pleased with the progress she’s made already.”

“And this Hunter Wright?”

“Cara’s explained to him she’s not here against her will. I’d like to think we might be able to entice her to stay even if the marriage fails.” He throws a smile at me, which I return. I’ve had a few talks with Kadar and have come to like him.

“Hmm.” The emir looks deep in contemplation. “And what of your errant brother?”

“I managed to speak to him a couple of days ago,” Jasim starts. “Their comms had been knocked out for a while. I told him everything. He had very little to say, and I’m not sure how to read him. He didn’t immediately offer to rush back to the palace.”

Jasim had told me about the phone call. I slump in my seat, my heart dropping as it hits me again on much store I’d set on his coming back and forgiving me immediately, once he knew the truth. But it had been explained to him, and he still hadn’t returned. Am I wrong to stay here, hanging on to my foolish dreams? A tear slips from my eye and, embarrassed, I wipe it away hoping no one has noticed.

As sorrow hits me, I don’t immediately realise the emir is watching me, a softer expression on his face than I’d seen before. He’s allowing me time to cope with my misery, so he talks as though he’s ignoring my presence in the room.

“Shame. I thought there was a spark between them.”

“Nijad has been burned before.”

“Nevertheless.” Again the emir rubs his beard. “Summon him to the palace, Kadar, a command from his ruler. Do not allow this to fester. He must come at once.” With this parting shot, he gets up to leave, signifying the formal meeting is over.

“Jasim!” I call my brother-in-law back before he has a chance to leave the room; there must have been more said in the phone call with Nijad that he hasn’t already shared. “Tell me.” My eyes blaze at him. “Tell me everything Nijad said when you spoke to him.”

“Oh, Cara.” Jasim takes my arm and pulls me to him. “I know how hard this all is for you. He didn’t say anything at all. He’s hurting, just like you are. My brother is a fool. He’s frightened and angry with himself, not with you.” He takes a deep breath and glances at Kadar, who slowly nods. “Nijad had a girlfriend in Paris who betrayed him, who kept part of her life secret. He took the betrayal, the fact she kept secrets from him, very hard. It’s so, so difficult for him to trust again. For him to trust anyone, even himself.” He squeezes my arms; a gesture meant to comfort. “Give him time, Cara. He’ll have to return to the palace in answer to our father’s summons. You’ll be able to talk to him then.”

I have a feeling that I’ve been told only part of the story. I narrow my eyes in a frown, but Jasim is obviously not going to say any more, and Kadar’s face is stern, uncompromising. It’s not the first time I wonder exactly what Nijad did that resulted in his banishment to the desert. Or why my marriage to him went so far to appease the tribes.

Nijad

“Do you want anything else, Your Excellency?”

Startled, I look up, lost so deeply in my thoughts it takes me a second to place where I am and who’s talking to me. Quickly returning to the here and now, I shake my head to dismiss the manservant who’s taking the remains of my meal away. Yes, in fact, I do want something else. A bottle of brandy, whisky, vodka, any or even perhaps all of them so I can drink myself into fucking oblivion, but there’s no hope of that here in the desert city. As the servant leaves me alone I get to my feet with a burning desire to throw something. Fucking Jasim! Why did he have to call? I was happier thinking she was a fucking thief. Now she’s a bloody hero, the saviour of Amahad. How the fuck can I deal with that? From wanting her dead, the tribespeople are now proclaiming her as though she discovered the oil by her fucking self! The first call from Jasim shook me to the core. I’d imprisoned and all but raped an innocent woman: savage sheikh, indeed! For that reason alone I couldn’t go back and face her, not without remembering how much she’d begged me to let her explain, and I’d ignored her.
Can I hurt this woman any more than I’ve done already?
Fuck, she doesn’t deserve this, and certainly doesn’t deserve me.

She didn’t trust me.
There’s that voice I can’t silence in my head.
She lied to me.
It doesn’t matter what her reasons were; I can’t forgive her.
I can’t stop loving her either.
Fuck! I lift my arm in frustration and sweep a valuable antique vase from the table, uncaring that it smashes into smithereens around my feet. The voices in my head keep on talking and I can’t stop them.
I’ll hurt her. I’ll never hurt her.
And the truth of the matter:
I don’t fucking know what I’m capable of.

And now the emir has summoned me, and I won’t be able to avoid her. I’ll have to talk to her, to make her see sense! And how do I do that without telling her exactly who I am? Fuck! I’m accusing her of keeping secrets when I’m keeping the biggest of them all. Jasim’s told me she doesn’t want to null the fucking contract. She wants to stay married to me. That leaves me with no option but to bare my soul and tell her the sordid truth about why I’m her husband, and why she needs to get as far as possible away from me. Why the fuck can’t she just go? Go back to England where she belongs, get out of my life. Get out of my fucking mind. And then my gut twists at the thought of never seeing her again, never holding her again. Another man will take her in his arms, see her sweet smile, feel her caress, and sink his cock into her hot, tight body. I draw in a deep breath and my whole body tenses as I hold it.
She’s mine!
But I can’t fucking have her!

Shit, I can’t go on like this. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I pick up the phone. With alcohol out of the question, I need something else to stop these thoughts chasing each other round my brain. When the call’s answered, I bark out my instruction: “Hassan. Meet me in the gym. Now.”

I don’t wait for his reply, just leave my apartment and descend to the lower level of the palace, which holds the well-equipped gymnasium. My head of the palace guard is already there, gathering up his fencing equipment. As he starts to cover his chest with his plastron, he nods at my entrance and raises his eyebrow. I answer his query with a muffled curse.

Hassan grins. “Like that, is it?”

I can tell by his tone that he’s already accepted our upcoming encounter will be fast and furious. And exactly what I need: a chance to let off steam against someone who’s almost my match. Although I’m dancing on the edge of insanity, I know neither of us can afford to be hurt tonight, not with the likelihood that we will have to fight off an invasion any time soon, and possibly tomorrow. But fencing is as much a mental as a physical sport and it’s what I need to try to clear my head. Without speaking, I collect my gear. As I pick up my sabre, I run my hand over the edge and suddenly the memory comes to me of another blade, another time. That fucking blunt knife she armed herself with on our wedding night.
Fuck, she’s a brave woman
. I shake my head to chase the image away and realise Hassan’s waiting for me. I nod to show I’m ready and then stand to face him, taking my place on the
en-garde
line. We put on our masks and salute each other, raising and lowering our sabres. There the etiquette ends.

Correctly reading my mood he lunges fast, hoping to catch me off guard, but I parry to block him then make my
reposte
, attacking him quickly with my own lunge. We continue our attacks in earnest, blades flashing faster than the eye can see. This is no formal competition fight; we are two warriors practising for battle, fighting dirty, each determined to win by any means, fair or foul. I start pushing him back across the floor; his parries block me time after time until, at last, I get a touch. He gives me no quarter as he becomes more indomitable, lunging and pushing me.
She didn’t lie, not deliberately.

Now it’s his turn to get a touch, and then another; my distracted mind gives him openings and the thought I might lose enrages me. I up the pace and he matches it. Time after time we come together, the harsh noise of our clashing swords reverberating off the stone walls. He pushes me back and back until I’m nearly at the end of the piste. With a roar I double my attack, lunging and parrying until he’s retreating. Our bout has gone far over the allotted time in fencing rules, but we fight on, our weapons ringing loudly. At last we meet in the middle, both of us breathing heavily, sabres locked. The sudden silence is deafening. His eyes look into mine.

“
Arrêt
.” Then he adds, softly. “Enough now.”

My eyes flash. I’m far from finished. The bout hasn’t been nearly sufficient to satisfy the beast inside me, but as Hassan continues to hold my gaze I realise he’s right. I could fight a whole army and still not appease the beast. Slowly, I lower my sabre to the floor and, removing my mask, I nod at him.

He shakes his head, not needing the words, and salutes me with his weapon. “We have work to do tomorrow, Prince.”

“Hassan …”

“Fighting me will not banish your demons.”

I suspect he knows more than I think he does; gossip seems to spread between the two palaces like wildfire.

“You’ll be with us tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Typically, the soldiers at the garrison would accompany me to the border, but the news of a concerted attempt to enter the country means we’ll take part of the highly trained palace guard as well. Hassan is a man I’m proud to have by my side.

With a small bow he turns to leave, but I call him back.

“Hassan, thank you.”

He waves my thanks away. “I’ll see you at first light.”

I’m alone again. Our fight might have taken some of my physical tension away, but it has done nothing to ease my mental pain. One more battle tomorrow, and then I’ll have to return to the capital and face my demons head-on.

A sleepless night, haunted by nightmares, perhaps not the best way to start a day when I’ll need all my wits about me to defend Amahad against the jihadists threatening our borders. Arising early, I leave the palace to go to the operations centre, greet my senior war staff briefly, and then move immediately to study the maps showing where we’ve had reports of the enemy grouping. As the sun comes over the horizon, we get news that the intelligence reports have been proven right. Today will see a serious attempt to overwhelm our borders. Working with my colonel, we direct groups of soldiers to various locations to try to block off entry points, and to get the drones and helicopters in flight. As the day dawns, I’m getting increasing restless. I don’t want to be here in the command centre; my place is out with my men. I draw the attention of my second-in- command to a point on the map.

“I’ve got concerns here.” I show him the area I mean, where sandstone cliffs mean men can sometimes evade satellite surveillance.

“We got any spare drones?” he calls out. I know the answer he’ll get: we’ve had some shot down, and a couple out of commission. We’ve got too few, too few of everything.

“I’ll take a chopper up myself.”

He looks at me, shaking his head. “Sheikh Nijad, you should stay here.”

I dismiss him. “You’re more than capable of handling things here. I’m no tactician; I’ll only be in the way. I’m better off at the front.”