The Sheikh's Forbidden Virgin (11 page)

‘It is hardly something I can keep from him. I am not a liar.’

‘I know. I’m not…’ Kalila licked her lips. ‘Could I tell him instead?’

Aarif stiffened. ‘It is my duty—’

‘Forget your damned duty!’ she cried, her throat hurting from the force of the words, the feeling. ‘Nothing is more important to you than that, I
know
, but can you think about what is best for Zakari, for me, for our marriage?’ Her voice broke on the word—marriage. ‘Instead of using this overblown sense of duty as a salve for your conscience?’ she added, knowing she’d said it just to wound, and seeing with savage satisfaction Aarif blink in surprised hurt.

‘If you would prefer to tell him,’ he said stiffly, ‘you may do so.’

Kalila let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. ‘Thank you.’

Aarif nodded, and they were both silent, a silence that ached with sorrow and loss. Kalila wondered why Aarif did not walk away; he simply stood there, staring, as she was, and she wondered what was going through his head, what, apart from his duty, he really wanted.

Did he want her, want more than a stolen kiss in the darkness? Had that night in the desert been a thing apart,
born of the storm and the frightful clutch of a nightmare? Had it been no more than a dream?

It had been more. For her, it had been more. Kalila took a breath. ‘If you were able to tell me the truth,’ she said, ‘then I will tell you the truth also. That night in the desert—when I held you in my arms—that was not simply because I was lonely and afraid. It was more than that to me, Aarif. It was real. I didn’t love you, because I didn’t know you enough, but when you touched me I felt like I
could
love you, and I’ve never felt that before.’ Aarif was silent, and from behind a haze of tears Kalila saw a muscle jerk in his jaw.

She took a step towards him, and then another, until she was close enough to touch him, which she did. She ran one fingertip along the livid line of his scar, traced it as she had that night before cupping his cheek. ‘I don’t know what haunts you, Aarif,’ she whispered. ‘What drives you to this sense of duty and despair. Is it guilt? Shame?’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I wish I could take it from you. I wish I could bear it for you.’ His face was still and unyielding under her fingers yet she saw with a little shock that his eyes were closed, as if in pain or anguish, and she felt the connection between them like a current, conducted by her hand on his cheek. ‘I wish you would let me,’ she added quietly. ‘But instead I fear I’ve only added to it, and of all the reasons to regret what happened between us, that is the greatest of all.’

Underneath her hand she felt Aarif shake his head, and then for the briefest of moments his fingers touched hers, pressed her hand against his cheek before he released her, stepping back.

Kalila swallowed past the lump of misery crowding her throat. ‘Goodnight,’ she whispered, and then turned and stumbled down the path back to safety. Solitude.

Loneliness.

K
ALILA
awoke from a dreamless yet discontented sleep as Juhanah bustled in with her breakfast tray. After thanking her nurse, she stared dispiritedly at the coffee and
labneh
, her appetite utterly vanished.

Pushing her breakfast away, Kalila clambered out of bed and went to the window. The sun was rising above the sea, sending long golden rays across the gardens. Kalila took a deep breath of the still-cool, dry air and turned to Juhanah.

‘I’m not going to stay in the palace today. I’ll go crazy if I wait in here all week. I want to go out.’

‘We went out yesterday,’ Juhanah objected mildly. ‘There are the gardens and the pool, Kalila. You could pass the day quite pleasantly.’

An image of Aarif, wet and bare from his swim, rippled across Kalila’s mind and she pushed it away. For riding on the heels of that image was another, that of his voice, flat and terrible, as he spoke to her.

Whatever I could feel for you, if I let myself, is nothing
, nothing
compared to that
.

Kalila swallowed and shook her head. ‘No, I need to do something. Go somewhere—’ Her gaze fell on a cluster of buildings in the distance, part of the palace compound, and she smiled. Stables. ‘I’m going to ride,’ she said resolutely. ‘I want to ride.’

‘Is that wise, Princess,’ Juhanah murmured, ‘considering—?’

‘I’m not running away,’ Kalila cut her off. ‘It’s too late for that. Anyway, Juhanah, this is an island.’ She managed to smile wryly. ‘There’s nowhere really I can go.’

‘We could ask Prince Aarif, I suppose…’

‘No.’ She didn’t want another confrontation with Aarif, not when his judgment was still ringing in her ears. ‘We don’t need to bother the prince with such a matter,’ she said, not quite looking at her nurse. ‘He is not my jailor.’

‘He is concerned for your welfare—’

‘I’ve been on a horse since I was five. I think I can take care of myself.’ Kalila knew she sounded petulant, but she couldn’t bear the thought of going to Aarif to seek his permission, seeing him hesitate, perhaps even refuse her request. ‘I’m sure there is someone at the palace besides Aarif who can arrange a mount for me,’ she said. She’d made arrangements for her own mare, As Sabr, to be transported to Calista, but she knew she would not arrive for some days or weeks.

‘I’ll see what can be done,’ Juhanah said quietly and left the room.

It took over an hour to finally track down a servant who had access to the stables, and then to find and saddle a suitable mount. Kalila was afraid Aarif would round a corner, coldly furious that she would even think of riding out considering what she’d done the last time she’d been on a horse. But he did not appear, and with the sun shining in a dazzling, hard blue sky, she left the palace compound for the flat, open stretch of the desert, undulating endlessly to the horizon.

It felt good to be out beneath the sun and sky, the wind stinging her cheeks, the air fresh in her lungs as she drew breath after deep, cleansing breath. It felt good to be free.

Aarif stared mindlessly at the contract he held in his hand before he shoved it away with an impatient sigh. He had not been able to work this morning; he felt hardly able to think.
He was restless and anxious and a little bit angry, and he knew the reason why.

Kalila. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. He’d enjoyed their day in Serapolis too much, had felt something lightening and loosening inside him, something that had been held so tightly he’d forgotten how it felt to be free. To smile, to enjoy life.

His mind drifted to last night, that stolen kiss—it had been so tempting, so sweet, and if he’d let himself he would have made it into more. He’d wanted to drag her down to the wet tiles by the pool and have her right there, bury himself inside her warmth and
forget
…forget for a few moments everything that had made him who he was.

Yet even more wrenching than the memory of the kiss was that of the open, vulnerable honesty in her eyes, the tremulous smile on her face, the tear glistening on her cheek in the moonlight. The way her fingers, cool and smooth, had felt on his face, caressing his scar.

His scar. As a matter of habit and instinct, Aarif’s own hand went up to his cheek to trace that grim reminder of his failure. He had never told Kalila about that day, there was no way she could know, and yet somehow she did.

I wish I could bear it for you.
It was a testimony to her kindness, her generosity of spirit, that she would wish such a thing. If only she could! Aarif smiled grimly. No one could bear his burden, because it was his guilt, his shame, just as she’d said. And no matter how many times he tried to throw it off, it always came back to settle heavily on his soul.

Aarif…help me…

It was a cry that had been seared into his mind, his heart. A cry he would—could—never forget, and that desperate plea haunted him every day of his life.

Aarif…save me…

And he hadn’t.

Aarif pushed away from his desk and stalked out of his
office, still restless. He passed a palace servant and barked, ‘Do you know where the Princess Kalila is?’ He didn’t even know why he was asking; he wasn’t going to see her, he wasn’t—

The servant stiffened and turned. ‘She has gone riding, Your Highness.’

‘Riding?’ Aarif repeated, the word one of disbelief and then dawning fury. ‘She has gone riding and no one thought to tell me?’

Fear flickered faintly across the man’s features. ‘I thought—it was acceptable—’

Aarif jerked his head in a nod, realising how controlling he must sound. Of course it was acceptable. Kalila could do what she liked. She was a princess, soon to be a queen. No one here knew about her attempted escape, and Aarif doubted she would try such a thing again. Where could she go?

And yet his gut churned with anxiety at the thought of her out there alone. Stupid, when she was a capable horsewoman, a grown woman who could—must—make her own decisions. Her own choices. Still, he could not keep back the fear. Always, the fear.

He turned back to the servant who waited uneasily. ‘Make arrangements to saddle my horse,’ he said brusquely, and strode down the corridor.

The sun was hot on her bare head, the wind sending her hair streaming behind her in a dark curtain. Kalila urged her mount on, faster, needing the speed, the blur of motion and activity like a drug.

For a moment, she wanted to forget the cares that threatened to topple over, drag her under; for a moment she wanted to be like a child and race the wind.

A fallen palm tree, bleached to bone-whiteness, lay in her path, and, digging her heels into the horse’s flanks, she urged the mare onwards. It was a simple, easy jump, and the horse
cleared it without trouble. Then a little sand cat scuttled out from under the fallen palm, and the horse reared in surprise.

Kalila could have kept her seat—she almost thought she had—but she’d already cleared the log and had let herself relax. In that unguarded moment she felt herself sliding off, saw the ground rushing to meet her, yet everything seemed to be happening so slowly—then she felt the sharp, sudden pain of her head hitting a rock.

She lay there, dazed and breathless for a moment, thinking she was all right, blinking up at the blue sky. Then, like a dark curtain being drawn slowly across her mind, unconsciousness overtook her.

Later, in the hazy dream-state between sleep and wakefulness, she was aware of someone bending over her, gentle fingers smoothing her hair away from her forehead, a voice, low and sure, murmuring soothingly. She felt herself being lifted into capable arms, and then she slid mercifully back into darkness again.

Some point later, she was in a car, lying down on the back seat, and she felt the cool leather against her cheek. Then darkness again, yet before it drew her in once more she was conscious of one thought—one comfort—Aarif.

He was there. He had found her, and he had taken care of her.

‘You’re good at that, aren’t you?’ she half-mumbled, and heard him distantly ask her what she said. ‘You take care of people,’ she said, the words sounding slurred to her own ears. ‘You take care of me.’ Her eyes flickered open, and she saw Aarif’s face bent over her, his jaw working, a strange sheen in his eyes, but then she was lost again to the comforting darkness of sleep.

When she awoke, sunlight was streaming in a small, bare room from a window high on the wall and she lay in a bed, an unfamiliar bed with crisply starched sheets. A hospital bed.

Kalila tried to move her head, and winced at the pain that sliced through her skull. She tried again, and her gaze rested
on the man sitting in a chair by her bed, his head braced against one hand, his thick, luxuriant lashes fanning his cheeks. Aarif, his features softened into sleep, the stubble glinting on his jaw. Kalila wanted to reach out and touch him, but she couldn’t summon the energy so she satisfied herself instead with letting her gaze rove hungrily, unfettered, over his profile, the crisp dark hair, the harshly arched eyebrows, the aquiline nose.

Then his eyes fluttered open and captured her gaze with his own, so she was trapped, exposed in her shameless scrutiny of him. A sleepy smile curved Aarif’s mouth, and the gaze that stretched between them seemed to wrap Kalila in something warm and safe, like a cocoon.

Then awareness came with wakefulness, and Aarif sat up, running a hand through his hair. ‘You’re awake.’

Kalila smiled faintly. ‘So it would seem. What happened?’ Her voice sounded rusty, and she realised her mouth was as dry as dust.

‘Would you like some water?’

She nodded gratefully and Aarif poured a glass of water from the pitcher by her table, then held the straw to her lips, the simple gesture somehow tender and intimate. She drank thirstily for a moment before she leaned back against the pillow once more.

‘How did you find me?’

‘I rode out after you,’ Aarif replied, replacing the glass on the table, his face averted.

‘Did you think I was running away?’ Kalila asked, and though she’d meant the question to be a teasing one she heard the note of hurt that crept into her voice. Aarif heard it too, and he turned to her with a faint, wry smile.

‘No. But you are under my care, and I wanted to make sure no harm came to you.’

Kalila nodded. She could hardly chafe at that, when in fact he might have very well saved her life. Who knows what
might have happened if she’d been out in the desert heat, alone, unconscious?

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For once, I am glad of your sense of duty.’

Aarif’s smile deepened briefly before it died. ‘For once, so am I,’ he agreed.

Kalila lifted one hand to feel the bandage on her head, a thick pad of gauze that seemed to cover half her skull. ‘Am I badly hurt?’ she asked, and Aarif shook his head.

‘A concussion, and they wish to keep you here overnight for observation. But it is no more than that, and there should be, if any, a very little scar.’

She didn’t care how big a scar there was, and yet she wondered if Aarif thought she did. His face had reverted to its more usual, expressionless mask, and the sight saddened her.

For a moment, he’d seemed close. For a moment, it had seemed as if he felt for her what she felt—

But what did she feel? What could she feel for this man who was to be her husband’s brother? Fatigue and an overwhelming sense of hopelessness crashed over her in a wave, and Kalila turned her head away.

‘Thank you,’ she said again, stiffly. ‘You can go now. I am sure there is much you have to do, and I don’t need a nursemaid.’

She waited, half expecting Aarif to leave with a murmured farewell. Wanting him to leave, because it hurt to have him here, hurt to be near him when she couldn’t be with him as she wished, as she needed—

‘I don’t want to go,’ Aarif said in a low voice, and Kalila turned her head back to face him, wincing at the pain the sudden movement caused.

Aarif’s expression was one of both anguish and honesty, and it tore at her soul. He was admitting something both wonderful and terrible, and he knew it.

Smiling a little, the expression somehow sad, he reached
forward and brushed a tendril of hair away from her face, his fingers trailing gently along her cheek. ‘I don’t want to go,’ he said again, his voice no more than a whisper.

Silently she reached her hand out to clasp his, still on her cheek, pressing his fingers against her face as he had done to her only the night before.

He returned the clasp, his fingers tightening on hers, and they remained like that, silent and touching, for a long time, as the shadows lengthened in the room and the day turned to dusk.

She left the next day. Aarif had spent the night next to her in his chair, although they had not spoken beyond the trivialities. Yet something had shifted, Kalila knew. Something had loosened, and she wondered if it was a good or a bad thing.

It felt good, she knew that. It felt wonderful. Aarif did not speak or even act in a way so different from how he had before, yet it
felt
different. He had acknowledged to himself what he felt for her—or so Kalila hoped—and it broke down the barricade he had erected as a defence between them.

Yet still, she reminded herself bleakly, it changed nothing. Still, in a week she would marry Zakari. She pushed the thought away, desperate to cling to the hope that somehow something could change, that even at the eleventh hour rescue would come.

Her knight in shining armour, she thought wryly, and knew the only knight—the only man—she wanted was Aarif.

He drove her back to the palace that morning and she spent the days mostly resting, regaining her strength for the celebrations and events that lay ahead.

There had still been no word from Zakari, and in a moment of bitterness Kalila remarked to Juhanah that he was like a phantom prince, never to arrive.

‘A king,’ Juhanah corrected her with surprising grimness, ‘and when he arrives,
ya daanaya
, you will know it.’

Three days after her accident Kalila ventured out to the
pool. It was set amidst the luxuriant gardens, surrounded by tumbled rocks and a cascading waterfall so Kalila felt as if she’d stumbled on a bit of Eden, rather than a man-made enterprise. She stretched out on a chaise, fully intending to read the Agatha Christie Aarif had lent her, but it lay forgotten in her hand as she warmed her self and soul under the dry desert sun, lulled to a doze by the tinkling of the waterfall and the swaying of the palms above her.