Captive for the Sheikh's Pleasure, page 8
‘A select few.’
They lay on their sides facing each other, absolutely together yet their lives were worlds apart.
He had her heart. Even if she had never had feelings like this before, already Maggie knew it.
She also knew that Ilyas had no heart to give.
‘What happens when you marry?’ she asked.
‘My harem gets disbanded.’
‘Your harem?’
‘Of course.’
Ilyas took care of his harem and certainly they only took care of him. The uncomfortable thought of her with his brother resurfaced then. There was a feeling unknown, that burnt at his very core, but it was a feeling he could not name.
For he had never been jealous in his lifetime.
Ilyas had never been driven by the need to possess, for, in general, whatever he wanted he claimed with ease.
Except for the title of king.
But it was not jealousy he felt there, it was more anger about his father’s ways.
He looked at Maggie and tried to explain how his life ran, when he had never cared to explain it before.
‘I must be faithful to my wife.’
‘Must?’ Maggie frowned. ‘You make it sound like a chore.’
‘A future king should not marry for love,’ Ilyas said. ‘In fact, it is frowned upon.’
And as Maggie lay there, bristling with indignation, she recalled the tales told around the fire as Ilyas explained further.
‘We are taught that to marry for love creates a weakness. If you and I were to...’ Again he hesitated, for that was not the example he wanted to give; it revealed that there were feelings. Even as he reluctantly acknowledged their existence, out loud he corrected himself. ‘If there is love, what if that person was taken?’
Maggie stared as he spoke.
‘What might a king relinquish in order to secure her return?’ He waited, but Maggie did not answer. ‘Marriage is a means to provide an heir.’
‘Charming.’
‘I didn’t make the rules,’ Ilyas said. ‘Your friend Suzanne does not understand who she deals with. My father would cut Hazin off rather than pay her a single cent.’
‘She’s not my friend,’ Maggie said, and rolled onto her back and stared up at the billowing ceiling.
She loathed his cold world.
But not him.
‘What about Hazin?’ Maggie asked, thinking back to the time she had spent with his brother and what he had told her. ‘Are the rules the same for him?’
‘He was not born to be king,’ Ilyas answered. ‘And he knows and abuses that fact with appalling regularity.’
‘You do love your brother.’ Maggie smiled for though he spoke with derision she could hear the veiled affection. ‘After all, you are fighting to cover for him.’
‘Leave it,’ Ilyas warned.
The harem he could speak about, but the subject of his brother he closed. Ilyas pulled her back to his arms and they lay looking up at the ceiling that wasn’t so billowing now, and both could hear that the winds were starting to die down.
‘Is it morning?’ Maggie asked.
‘Not yet,’ he told her. ‘But it will be soon—sunrise is almost here.’
‘This time tomorrow I’ll be getting ready to go to the airport,’ Maggie said. ‘Assuming you let me leave.’
‘I shall inform the palace to send a helicopter at midday and you can return to your hostel.’
She would make her flight, Maggie realised, only now she wasn’t so sure that she wanted to. Instead, she wanted the simoom to pick up again, to be lost in his world for just a little while longer, for it was bliss to lie here, being held in his arms.
‘How do you feel about going home?’
And unlike when Suzanne or others had asked the inevitable question, he waited for her to gather her thoughts before responding.
‘Tired,’ Maggie admitted. ‘I feel wonderful after such an extended holiday and I’m all relaxed, but when I think about going home...’ She thought some more. ‘As much as I’m looking forward to seeing everyone, I’m tired at the thought of starting over again.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, I’ll stay on Flo’s sofa while I find somewhere to live. She has a tiny flat so it will only be temporary. I’d love my own place but I can’t see that ever happening so it will mean finding a flat-share and then getting to know new flatmates...’
‘Like when you are travelling?’
Maggie thought about it for a moment and then nodded. ‘It actually feels a lot like that, but without the fun of a holiday.’
‘Who raised you after your mother died?’
‘I had a lot of temporary carers. Some were for longer than others. It’s harder to place older children,’ she explained. ‘I was with a couple of families for long-term placements but they didn’t work out.’
‘Why didn’t they work out?’
Maggie stretched and went to get up—she really didn’t like to dwell on those days—but he pulled her back in so she rested on his chest and he asked the question again.
Usually he asked no questions in the bedroom, but for some reason he was curious about Maggie.
‘The first was a year or so after my mother died. I was there for a few months, but then the marriage broke up and they...’ She gave a tense shrug. ‘I doubt, with their marriage crumbling, that access to me was high on their priorities.’
‘And the other home?’
Maggie never spoke of it and she wasn’t sure that she was ready to now.
Even Flo didn’t know, and they discussed most things. Maggie tended to gloss over that time.
It simply hurt too much to go into detail, even in her own thoughts.
His arm was holding her, though; her head was on his chest and he was stroking her hair. There was patience in the air and she wondered if now she could share it.
‘I had just started high school. I lived in a care home and was doing okay when I was told that there was a possible family interested in a long-term placement, possibly adoption.’
‘When you say “doing okay”, what do you mean?’
‘I was happy enough,’ Maggie said. ‘I liked my new school and the carers were nice and, since I’d lost my mother, it was probably the most stable time I’d known. Anyway, this family seemed nice. They had three sons and I used to go there some weekends and then for longer on holidays.’ Maggie thought back. ‘It felt like I was on trial. Diane wanted a daughter and that was going to be me. She wanted someone who was going to go and get her nails done with her and go clothes shopping and things. Well, we went shopping and she said she couldn’t wait till the holidays and we’d go to the movies...’
Maggie fell silent as she gathered her thoughts and she liked it that he didn’t push her to speak.
‘I’ve never liked the movies.’ She admitted what she hadn’t been able to tell Diane at the time. ‘But I went. And she made all the big promises...’
‘Like?’
‘Like, when I moved in I could decorate my bedroom how I wanted to and that we’d get a puppy.’
‘Did she follow through?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Maggie nodded. ‘I moved in and we did up the bedroom and then we went and chose him. A little Scottie dog and we called him Patch. I started my new school...’
‘Another new school?’ he checked, and Maggie nodded.
‘How was life then?’
Ilyas could not guess or know, yet he wanted to hear it exactly.
‘Hard,’ Maggie said, and there was a note of anguish as she re-examined that time. ‘It was a new school, new family, new everything, and I was trying to fit in with them all. She started me at ballet...’
‘And we both know you can’t dance!’
He made her smile.
In the midst of the hardest part, he made her smile just a bit, but even the little joke was telling. He already knew her better than Diane ever had.
‘Apparently I wasn’t grateful enough. And I wasn’t happy enough for her liking. She was upset that I didn’t call her Mum, but as I said to the case-worker, even if she was dead, I already had one. Maybe I should have just called her what she wanted, maybe in time I would have, but Diane decided I was too much trouble.’
It was actually right to examine that time, Maggie realised. For years it had been too hard to, but lying in Ilyas’s arms made it doable.
‘I wasn’t trouble,’ she told Ilyas. ‘Believe me, I’ve seen trouble, and I was nowhere near that. I like my own space, I like to read, but Diane wanted entertainment on demand and a playmate...’
‘She wanted a living doll?’ Ilyas offered, and Maggie hesitated.
She had never thought of it like that, but it had felt exactly that.
‘Yes!’ She nodded, so glad that he understood—that he had voiced what she hadn’t been able to articulate, even to herself. ‘But I wasn’t the daughter she’d envisaged and so she labelled me as trouble. I came home from school one day and there was a social worker waiting and I was told that things hadn’t worked out.’
‘You were taken back to the care home?’
‘No, they were full,’ Maggie said. ‘So I was placed in another.’
It had been time to start over again.
‘What about the dog?’ he asked. ‘Patch?’
And she gave a thin smile because it was a little odd to hear him ask fondly about something like that.
But then her smile died. ‘She got rid of him too,’ Maggie said bitterly. ‘No doubt he was also too much trouble.’
She peeled herself from his embrace and sat up and he watched as she picked at the fur rug. He noted that she didn’t cry and he wondered if she had at the time.
But, then, who would have comforted her?
It was disconcerting the emotion that swept through him as he lay there, because usually he did not allow for such things.
A tender heart was not a part of his job description, yet he sat up and put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her in, and Maggie let herself be held.
‘I hate her so much,’ Maggie admitted. ‘I know it’s not healthy to, but I hate what she did.’
‘So do I,’ Ilyas agreed.
‘Your brother’s lucky to have you,’ Maggie said. ‘I was jealous before when I said you were wrong to be so protective of him... I always wanted that, someone who loved me enough to look out for me. The carers were good and everything but it’s not the same as family...’
‘When did you leave the home?’
‘I had weekend work with Paul at the café. When I was sixteen and I went into semi-independent lodgings he took me on full time. I’ve been there since...’
‘Eating chocolate.’
She was grateful that he sensed she was through talking about it and ended it for her with a smile.
‘Yes.’
It was close to sunrise.
He heard the bells as the maid approached and they both lay silent as she placed refreshments by the bed.
‘I have to get up,’ he told her.
Maggie loathed this morning.
He climbed out of bed and took a drink, and Maggie watched as he pulled on a robe and belted it. She said nothing.
Neither did Ilyas.
He walked through the corridors and stepped outside the desert abode.
The wind had dropped, but there was the chaos it had left in its wake and he looked over to where some of the smaller tents had collapsed; one of the workers was rounding up some horses that had run loose. Ilyas could only imagine the chaos back in the city.
He wanted to return to bed—for the first time in his life, he wanted to turn his back on the many things that needed to be done. But he had been raised with duty as his priority. First he prayed, and then he made contact with the palace to find out how his people had fared during the nights he had been gone.
‘You are needed back here,’ Mahmoud informed him. ‘There is a lot of damage and there are people missing.’
And that could not wait for midday.
He spoke with Mahmoud for several moments about all that was going on and then he asked another question.
‘Have you spoken with Hazin about the threats?’ Ilyas asked. He believed now that nothing had gone on.
So certain was Ilyas that there were no tapes, the question was almost an afterthought.
‘I have,’ Mahmoud said.
‘And?’ Ilyas checked, anxious to get back to Maggie, and to spend together the little time alone that they had before the helicopter came.
‘He has asked that we submit to their demands.’
‘Hazin said that?’ Ilyas fought to keep his voice and breathing even, yet he could hear the blood pulsing in his ears at Mahmoud’s unexpected response—he had been certain, certain that there were no tapes. ‘What exactly did he say?’
But Mahmoud pointed out that it should not be discussed over the phone. ‘It would be better if we speak face to face.’
* * *
As Ilyas prayed, Maggie headed back to her own area to wash. She smiled at the maiden who was waiting for her when she came out.
There was a pale lilac robe on the bed and the maiden coiled and loosely tied Maggie’s hair.
‘Thank you,’ Maggie said, but as the maiden went to help her dress Maggie declined.
Once alone, though, Maggie struggled with the tiny buttons at the back, but finally she had it on and stood and looked at her reflection in the huge mirror. For such a sleepless night she looked well groomed. She tried to fathom all that had happened.
Not so much the sex, more all that she had told him.
All they had shared.
Maggie heard the sound of bells and knew from the footsteps that it was him.
She didn’t turn around; somehow she knew he bore bad news and she stood looking in the mirror as he came and stood behind her.
‘The helicopter is being sent for us now,’ he told her.
‘I thought we had the morning.’
‘There is a lot of damage from the simoom.’
She should feel guilty for being so shallow, Maggie thought, but her head was too full of them to allow room for other emotions.
Perhaps his ways were the right ways, Maggie pondered, because she could barely contemplate packing her clothes, let alone attempting to run a country when her mind was so mired by them.
‘I can’t imagine being back at the hostel,’ she admitted as she turned around and faced him.
‘You shan’t be going back there,’ Ilyas said, but his voice came out too harsh. ‘I am taking you back to the palace with me. But first we need to speak about what went on between you and Hazin.’
‘Are you saying you still don’t believe me?’ She frowned at his narrowed gaze. ‘Do you still think there’s a tape that might come out?’
‘You are to tell me what went on.’
‘Ilyas?’ She felt her temper building. ‘I didn’t sleep with your brother, or do you think it was fake blood on my thigh...?’
‘Clearly you didn’t sleep with him,’ Ilyas snapped, and then he reminded himself of his status. He was not about to let his judgement be clouded just because he had slept with her. ‘But that does not get you off the hook—there are other ways to give pleasure, and I would expect them to send a virgin to lure him...’
She went to slap him.
Maggie did not condone violence, not in any way, shape or form, but neither would she stand there while the man who had taken her virginity practically called her a whore.
He caught her hand.
‘I really wouldn’t recommend slapping the crown prince,’ he warned as his fingers tightened around her wrist and halted her hand’s angry progression.
So she slapped him with her free hand instead.
He didn’t even flinch. If anything, it was Maggie who flinched at the sound of her hand hitting his flesh.
‘You want to play that game?’ Ilyas checked.
‘No...’ she answered, suddenly nervous.
‘Then know this—if you ever slap me again, I shall put you straight over my knee and show you how it’s done properly! I shall return the favour so hard that you will be asking for an ice bucket to sit on for the flight home.’
His words hit home, for at the reminder she would be leaving her features moved from defiant to crestfallen, but he misinterpreted the change.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Ilyas said, and dropped her wrist. ‘Maggie, what happened in that cabin? What is it you cannot tell me?’
Hell, yes, it mattered.
Not just that she might have been sent there to lure his brother, and not even for what might have taken place.
It mattered now because Ilyas cared more than he should for Maggie, and he knew now that it was jealousy that tore up his chest.
‘We were talking,’ Maggie said, and gave an uncomfortable shrug. ‘About feelings.’
‘That cannot be right. Hazin doesn’t talk about such things...’
‘Perhaps not to an emotional desert like you!’ Maggie shouted.
He didn’t match her tone, but his voice was low and ominous in return. ‘What was he saying?’ Ilyas demanded, for he could not stand not knowing a second longer. ‘Maggie, game over, you are to tell me, so whatever it is, whatever has happened, I can best deal with it.’
‘I told him I was low about my mother. That it was the anniversary of her death and he opened up...’
‘Please.’ Ilyas shook his head, wondering even now if her story about her childhood was true. Perhaps she had been angling to get his brother to provide a shoulder to cry on as a way to seduce him? Ilyas knew for a fact it would never have worked and he told her why. ‘My brother does not bend to sob stories.’
‘No, he doesn’t!’ Maggie flared. ‘He’s rather refreshing, in fact. He told me I was better off without family.’ She was through covering for the al-Razims, or for anyone else for that matter. ‘He said he hopes his father does disinherit him...’
Ilyas fell silent as he suddenly realised why Hazin would not want the tapes to get out, but Maggie had not finished turning the knife.
‘And it wasn’t a sob story I gave him,’ she cried. ‘I was just saying that it was a hard day and he got it, he said that he loathed anniversaries...’
