The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride (20 page)

Àh, yes,’ said Rafiq coolly, once more interrupting his cousin. À

transfer of power. And how much more convincing it would be if I were alive and apparently willing to participate.’

Selim smiled then, with all the charm of an alligator watching its next meal. He obviously liked the sound of his own voice, Belle decided, as he held the floor again. And that self-satisfied smirk sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine. It looked just as lethal as the weapons his henchmen brandished.

Wretchedly she wondered how long it would be before the help Rafiq had promised would arrive. Each second dragged with excruciating slowness. It seemed a lifetime since this group had burst in on them, but common sense told her it couldn’t be more than a couple of minutes.

Play for time. That was what Rafiq had said. That must be why he was encouraging his cousin to talk.

But unfortunately Selim was no fool. The realization had no sooner surfaced in her mind than he was gesturing to his followers that it was time to go. One of them left the tent and the other two stepped forward, one towards Rafiq and the other, the hulking brute whose bruise she’d worn for so long, coming for her, his eyes alight with sadistic satisfaction. Involuntarily she caught her breath, and pressed closer to Rafiq.

He shifted his weight, half turning so that he faced the giant who was reaching for her. He said something in his native tongue with a soft deadliness that brought her kidnap-per to a startled halt. Then she saw the speculation in the other man’s eyes, and a glitter of excitement that made her heart sink.

`We will go with you,’ Rafiq added in English. `But no one touches my wife.’

For an instant the tableau held. Over Rafiq’s rigid shoulder she saw the three men frozen in place, an automatic reaction to the commanding hauteur of his words. Then Selim spat out something short and vulgar enough to make his bully-boys snigger, and the big one reached out a long arm towards her.

There was a sudden swift movement. Rafiq stepped forward to meet him, and the next thing she knew the other man was on his knees, clutching his midriff.

There was a hiss of comment from his comrade, who lifted his handgun to point it directly at Rafiq, and Belle shouted out a hoarse warning.

`Quiet, bitch,’ Selim snarled in accented English. Òne scream from you and you’ll see your precious husband die before your eyes.’

Belle had no doubt he meant it. Nausea welled in her throat as her gaze flicked from his ruthless expression to the gun pointed at Rafiq. There was nothing she could do. Nothing but wait and watch this drama play out, praying that they’d both survive.

The tall man rose to his feet with a lurch and a grunt, and suddenly she knew just how unlikely it was that they’d survive. There was murder in his eyes as he looked at her husband. Selim snapped out an order, but the other man didn’t react.

Instead he drew himself up to his full, enormous height and lifted the curved knife in his hand.

`Rafiq!’ Her anguished whisper was drowned by Selim, as he barked another command to his sidekick. But it was too late. The big man was circling, one hand gripping his dagger as he focused on Rafiq.

Dread welled in her. There was only one way this could end.

Strong and powerful as Rafiq was, he’d be no match for a man built like the side of a house. A man, moreover, armed with a wicked blade, when Rafiq had no weapon and no shield.

The seconds ticked by in agonising slowness as the two men faced off. Then, without warning, there was a flurry of movement. They closed together and she saw the blade arc down with deadly intent.

She couldn’t prevent a gasp of sheer horror as she watched the point aim for Rafiq’s heart. But once more he somehow shifted his weight at the right moment, toppling his adversary and falling with him to the floor. For a moment Rafiq was on top, his whole body straining against the power of the man below him. Then, abruptly, their situations were reversed, and it was Selim’s crony using his full weight to subdue Rafiq.

Frantic, Belle swung round, surveying the tent for something she could use as a weapon. But the icebox was too heavy, and she could hardly batter the goon with a cushion.

There was a loud thump, followed by a hiss of indrawn breath, and she spun back to see them tumbling together, rolling across the floor. As they moved she saw, barely visible against the stained glass colors of the carpets, a trail of bright blood.

The two men, locked in a merciless embrace, heaved together near her feet. She heard a dreadful cracking, as if of bone on bone, and remembered, sickeningly, the way this brutal attacker had broken Duncan’s leg. She’d never felt more helpless, more utterly useless than now, as she watched the man she loved battle against unwiNnable odds for his life.

She was trying to anticipate the next move of their writhing bodies, intending to throw herself on Rafiq’s attacker, when she saw the pair of them jerk, heard a low moan, and felt all the blood rush from her head as she knew the worst had happened.

Belle stared at the abruptly still tangle of bodies on the floor, and knew that when they separated everything would change for ever.

She tried to imagine a world without Rafiq filling her life. But her mind rebelled, refusing to accept such an impossible reality.

Numbly she stood, barely aware of the tremors that racked her body, waiting for the inevitable.

Endless seconds passed before there was any sign of life. Aghast, her mouth filled with the metallic taste of despair, she watched as the bodies heaved, limbs scrabbling. She squeezed her eyes shut, postponing the moment she dreaded.

He’s dead, she told herself. But still the words made no sense. Her brain refused to accept it.

She heard Selim burst into rapid speech. But she was so overcome it took her a moment to realize he sounded shocked, not satisfied.

`Belle: It was Rafiq’s soft whisper that snapped her eyes open.

He was on his knees, blood streaming from a wound at his side, his throat reddened with the imprint of large, encircling fingers. He swayed unsteadily as he staggered to his feet.

And on the floor beside him lay his attacker, sprawled on his stomach. A telltale pool of blood spread out from beneath him across the fine silk carpets.

`Rafiq!’ It was a strangled sob, her voice choked by the raw emotions that constricted her throat. She took a step towards him, her arms outstretched. And out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. It was Selim’s other henchman, raising his gun slowly, deliberately, to aim at Rafiq.

`No!’ Belle flung herself forward, knocking Rafiq off balance.

There was an explosion of deafening sound, and the world spun away into searing blackness.

Wearily Belle surveyed the familiar hospital room. What a coincidence that they’d put her in the same room.
Déjà-vu
. Only this time she wasn’t nearly so eager to leave.

Last time she’d wanted to escape the fussy hospital routine and get on with her life, eager to put the trauma of abduction behind her.

She’d been sure that immersing herself in work would be the perfect antidote to the stress she’d been through.

Her lips twisted in a sad smile. How differently things had worked out. Now she’d be leaving the quiet safety of her hospital bed not as a nine day wonder, a foreign marine archaeologist who’d been held to ransom, but as the wife of Sheikh Rafiq Kamil Ibn Makram al Akhtar, Sovereign Prince of Q’aroum.

Her destiny wasn’t her own any more. It was inextricably bound to Rafiq and to his country.

Somewhere deep inside her rose a tiny bubble of emotion. So deep she couldn’t identify it. She wondered if she should feel excited or pleased maybe even nervous about what the future held. But she felt nothing. Or almost nothing. It was as if she’d been sealed into a cocoon, separated from everyone else by an invisible barrier. One that somehow obliterated the stronger emotions that she knew she should be experiencing.

She supposed it was shock. Or maybe she’d just given up worrying about what she couldn’t control.

There’d been that flash of overwhelming relief right at the beginning, when she’d opened her eyes to see a white coated medical team and a doctor assuring her, each time she asked, that His Highness would live. The knife thrust had missed his ribs and vital organs. Rafiq was safe. She’d closed her eyes and drifted back into unconsciousness as the words sank in.

When she’d woken again she had felt as if she’d been run over by a truck, taped so tight she could barely breathe. But the miraculous news of Rafiq’s survival had overridden her discomfort. And, with the news that the gunshot wound to her shoulder would heal after careful treatment, she should have been on top of the world.

All the medical staff had told her how lucky she was. Dawud too, each time he’d visited, had referred to her courage and her good fortune. And, of course, her mum, being a nurse, had understood exactly what all the medical jargon meant, and had reiterated over the long distance line that Belle was luckier than she had any right to be after throwing herself in front of a bullet.

So why was it she felt nothing?

She sighed and let her gaze roam across the lavish collection of flowers adorning the long shelf beside the window. Her attention was drawn, as always, to the waxy beauty of the deep throated, exotic orchids that had been so reverentially placed by the nurse at the front. À gift from His Highness,’ she’d murmured.

Rafiq.

Belle’s lips firmed and she turned away. She’d seen him twice since the shooting. The first time she’d woken he’d been there, though she hadn’t seen him immediately, as the medical staff crowded round. But as the doctor had assured her that the Sheikh would live, Rafiq himself had shouldered his way forward and grasped her hand. She remembered the intensity of his fathoms deep eyes, and the lingering warmth of his hold against her fingers as she’d fallen again into the swirling darkness.

And the second time had been just last night. He’d looked harsher than she’d ever seen him. His brows drawn in a straight dark line and his mouth bracketed by slashing grooves. For a moment, as he’d walked in the door, her heart had leapt; she’d felt heat rise in her cheeks and her pulse thud faster. But her joy had drained away as he’d looked at her with shuttered eyes. He hadn’t reached for her, but had stood back from the bed, hands clasped behind him.

He hadn’t even taken a seat, but had stood, his expression unreadable, just out of reach.

Not that she’d have stretched her arm out to touch him-not after that first instant of unguarded emotion. Not when he’d looked at her like a polite stranger arid spoken in neutral tones about her upcoming release from hospital and plans for her mother to fly over from Australia.

He’d spoken directly to her, yet somehow he’d managed to avoid meeting her eyes.

Something inside her had shriveled up and died as she’d watched him. She’d realized then at last, with a cool, clear logic that was irrefutable, just how foolish her dreams of shared love had been.

It had been an arranged marriage. She had never been Rafiq’s choice, just a necessary part of a political maneuver.

Listening to his cool, unemotional voice describe how the conspirators had been captured when the armed forces had stormed the oasis, and inform her that their trials had already been scheduled in the high court, Belle had realized just where she stood. The circumstances that had forced their marriage no longer existed.

He didn’t need her any more.

She’d spent the night sleepless, wondering about the Q’aroumi laws on divorce.

`Belle’. She started, horrified to discover that even through the bubble of her emotional vacuum his voice had the power to stir her.

She raised her eyes and there he was, just as breath-stealing handsome as ever. The traditional robes he wore emphasized his aura of power, and his aloofness. For an instant she let herself remember him, glossy hair spilling across his broad, bare shoulders, desire lighting the depths of his green eyes. Then she slammed the lid on such foolishness. It had been an aberration. A few hours that had meant everything to her, but nothing to him.

Now she had to put the memory of it behind her.

`Hello, Rafiq. Have you come to take me to the palace?’ Her voice was calm, lightly enquiring.

He paused in mid-step, his eyes boring into hers. Ì am your husband. Who else would escort you home?’

Of course. It was his duty. And Rafiq never shirked his duty. Not even if it meant sacrificing his future, and hers, to a loveless marriage.

She opened her mouth to say the palace wasn’t home. Not to her at least. Then closed her mouth. There was no point in being childish about it.

Àre you ready to leave?’ he asked, as he walked around to the back of her wheelchair.

Automatically her gaze strayed to the window shelf. `The flowers…’ Silly how it was his orchids she focused on, not the bright lilies sent by her mum and Rosalie, nor the massed bouquets from other well-wishers.

‘They’ll be sent on,’ he said from behind her. And then he pushed the chair towards the door.

A sudden, urgent pang of something like fear slashed through her at the thought of leaving this sanctuary to be alone with Rafiq. But that was stupid. She lifted her chin and managed a smile for the nurse who held open the door for them. And more smiles and thanks for the other staff who waited in the foyer to see them off.

Above her, Rafiq’s deep voice thanked them all for their care. And then they were heading out, under the port cochère, to the waiting limousine.

Belle had her feet on the ground, ready to stand, when Rafiq bent low and lifted her into his arms.

`Rafiq! You shouldn’t your injury.’

She caught the flare of something bright and compelling in his eyes as he looked down at her. The heat of his body penetrated the chill that encompassed her, and surreptitiously she inhaled his evocative scent. A nervous tremor raced through her.

Ì‘m fine, Belle. Well enough to carry my wife.’

His wife. It was as if he had to keep reminding himself of his duty.

She tightened her jaw and looked away, to the open car door and the chauffeur standing to attention there.