Captive for the Sheikh's Pleasure, page 9
‘Enough!’ Ilyas shouted.
He had demanded that she tell him, insisted upon the truth, but now that she came close to revealing all, suddenly he did not want to hear it.
‘Get ready,’ he told her, ‘the chopper will soon be here.’
But Maggie was no longer silent and as he went to stride off she caught at his robe.
‘He told me that he got it,’ she said, and Ilyas turned.
She watched as his features turned to granite, as the swarthy skin paled to milk as she voiced what others, even Ilyas, could not speak of.
‘Hazin told me about his wife!’
CHAPTER NINE
THE FACT THAT Hazin had spoken to Maggie about his late wife stunned Ilyas.
‘I don’t...’ His voice trailed off, when it was rare he wavered.
Ilyas had been about to say that he didn’t believe Maggie, but he didn’t finish his sentence.
It was clear she was speaking the truth, yet it truly confused him for the brother he knew never spoke about feelings and certainly not about his wife.
Ever.
Petra’s death had been the tragedy that had befallen the palace all those years ago but it had been rarely spoken of since.
And while Ilyas was fighting to keep his brother from being disinherited, from what Maggie had just said, Hazin was actively fighting to lose his title.
‘He spoke to you about Petra?’
Maggie nodded.
‘What did he say?’
‘He told me that she died nearly ten years ago.’ She cast her mind back to the conversation. ‘He said there is a new wing at the hospital, due to be opened in her name, and he’s supposed to deliver a speech. He doesn’t want to...’
‘What else?’
‘Ilyas.’ Maggie shook her head. ‘I’m not going to relay everything that we discussed.’
‘I’m asking you to.’
‘No!’ Maggie shook her head. ‘We’re not partners, you’ve made that abundantly clear, yet you expect me to open up to you completely and to betray Hazin’s trust.’
‘Your conversation with my brother was clearly an intimate one.’
‘Yes, but it didn’t take place on a pillow.’
She wanted that with him instead.
And Ilyas wanted the same.
‘We’re lovers,’ he said. ‘You can tell me.’
‘We were lovers,’ Maggie corrected. ‘Once.’
‘Come on, Maggie.’ His voice showed a rare glimpse of the disquiet he felt on that matter. ‘We both know it felt like more than a one-night stand.’
It was cruel of him to play that card, Maggie thought. Cruel of him to push for whispers and private conversations to take place now when, by his own rules, it could be nothing more than sex, no matter what he said about how it had felt.
‘If being lovers for one night gives you carte blanche access to me, then I deserve the same from you. So tell me, Ilyas, why, if it felt like more than a one-night stand, would you let me simply walk away?’
He looked at her and for one dangerous moment considered telling Maggie the real reason they could never be.
The real reason that he chose not to pursue a relationship or marry.
But he didn’t.
Ilyas had learned long ago to tell no one of the plans he had made.
Not the elders or his trusted advisors. Not even his brother, who was next in line to the throne.
It was safer that way.
Certainly he would not be telling a woman he had met just a short while ago.
A woman who could be involved in a threat to the monarchy.
It was easier to believe she might still be responsible, better to think that she might be a threat, because it meant he could more readily keep her at arm’s length.
‘But I’m not letting you walk away,’ he told Maggie. ‘You shall return to the palace with me. I want to speak with Mahmoud and Hazin before I set you free.’
His words doused her like ice. ‘You just did.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘You just did set me free, Ilyas. For a little while there I forgot that I was your prisoner, but thanks for reminding me of that fact.’
Making love with him and then lying in bed and talking like lovers while being held in his arms, Maggie had managed to push from her mind the method by which she had arrived there.
Not anymore.
‘I shan’t be forgetting again.’
* * *
Regardless of the means by which she had arrived, it was still hard for her to leave.
Maggie took one last look at the bedded area where she had spent those first, frightening hours and remembered him forcing her to take a drink.
She stepped out to the living area where they had made love.
Now, though, there was anger in the air and it hurt to leave this way.
‘We have to go now.’
Ilyas strode past her and out to the waiting area. Maggie remembered the maidens’ attempts at kindness so she went and thanked them, though Maggie wasn’t sure that they understood in the least what she said.
She and Ilyas sat in silence on the flight back to the palace.
Maggie stared out of the window and wished the desert would never end, but of course it did. The sparse trees became more frequent and then a building appeared and she could see the horses in their fields.
Then another building, and another.
She looked over at Ilyas and wished he would order the helicopter to turn around. Instead, their eyes met and he stared back at her.
He tried to fathom her. She was, quite simply, the most complex woman he had met. The most complex person.
She spoke with both maidens and grieving princes. She danced when she could not. She laughed but never cried, despite the weight of sadness on her shoulders. There was that one tear he had tasted... He couldn’t help remembering the bliss of that time.
Ilyas had never craved closeness. But he had found himself telling Maggie things he usually would not consider revealing.
And for Ilyas that was the most troublesome part of it all.
He had plans in place that not another soul knew, and yet here he sat considering sharing them with her.
No!
He shifted his gaze to a safer place than the green pools of her eyes and looked down at a red line of canyons that indicated they were approaching the palace.
This spectacular air approach was lost to Maggie as she continued to stare at his profile. Those cheeks had once been next to hers while locked in bliss, that mouth she had caressed with her own was set now in a grim line and his features were stern.
‘Ilyas...’ she said.
He ignored her.
‘Ilyas?’
‘We’re here.’
He disembarked first and was greeted with a salute. He strode ahead fast and Maggie had to almost run to keep up with him.
The palace grounds were confusing and there wasn’t a moment to get her bearings, she just followed him onto an ornate bridge and at the other end a door was held open.
Ilyas looked around, impatient for staff to arrive, for he wanted Maggie safely out of sight.
Her desire for conversation was apparent and he dared not indulge her.
‘I need to get on,’ he told her. ‘Someone will be here to take care of you soon.’
‘You’re just going to leave me here?’
‘Do you expect to stand holding hands?’
‘I expect manners,’ Maggie said.
Damn you, impossible woman! Manners were the last thing on his mind.
He did not deal with emotion, yet it coursed through him now. He wanted to kiss that temper out of her, he wanted to take her this very moment to his bed.
But there was a country to run.
He turned to the sound of footsteps and Maggie watched as a tall woman approached. She wore her long dark hair up and looked terribly official.
And cross!
She said something in Arabic that Maggie guessed was a request to know who she was, for Ilyas answered the woman with her name.
‘Maggie Delaney,’ he responded, and then a rather lengthy conversation in Arabic ensued, or rather the woman spoke angrily for a couple of moments before Ilyas interrupted her.
‘Maggie is a guest of the palace.’
He spoke in English and must have asked her to do the same because she turned and looked down her nose at Maggie and then gave a shrug, though she did, albeit reluctantly, switch to English.
Perhaps it would have been better if she had not.
‘Well, your guest will just have to amuse herself,’ the woman said rudely, and then looked back at Ilyas. ‘You need to meet with the king. Now.’
The woman walked off and Maggie stood there.
‘Are all your staff so pleasant?’ Maggie enquired. Given she had been dragged from her bed by his henchmen, she felt her question was merited.
‘That was my mother, the queen.’
Oh, dear!
‘Your mother?’
Maggie had honestly thought it was an annoyed PA or an aggrieved assistant. She had spoken to her son with as much warmth as she had greeted Maggie.
And then Maggie looked at Ilyas and responded to the way she had been introduced by him.
‘I’m not a guest,’ she reminded him. ‘I believe I’m being held against my will.’
‘No,’ he said, and now, when finally their eyes met, the anger within him died on the spot. ‘You are my guest.’
‘So you believe that nothing happened between Hazin and me other than talking?’
He said nothing.
Yes, he believed her, but it actually didn’t matter what had taken place, Ilyas thought.
There was nothing Hazin had said or done that could prove a bigger threat to the monarchy than the woman who stood before him now.
His plans had been a lifetime in the making and she threatened them now merely by her presence.
He suddenly understood a little better his brother wanting to be disinherited, for at that very moment Ilyas could have gladly walked away from it all too.
But duty was ingrained in him so deeply that it would take more than a feeling to make him walk away.
‘I have to work,’ he told her.
Although they were speaking, Maggie wanted the luxury of time—time to hammer things out and then sulk for a suitable while.
And time to make up!
There was none, though.
‘I really do have to go,’ he said. ‘Apparently some tourists were trapped in the desert by the simoom. It has caused quite an international incident.’
‘Oh, no!’
‘Oh, yes, and it was actually your tour operator who ran into problems. The rest heeded advice and cancelled.’
‘Was anybody hurt?’
‘No, they were able to take shelter and ride it out. For now, they have all been transferred to a hotel where the press are gathered. It would seem they were without food and there was only limited water.’ He looked at her as they both remembered the morning Maggie had arrived in his desert abode and he had insisted that she drink. ‘You had rather a lucky escape after all...’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Maggie said, attempting indignation. But then she looked at the man she had spent the most memorable time of her life with, and that was coming off a year of adventure.
But their time was almost over.
And she was still cross at all he had insinuated.
So very cross.
Yet, overriding all that, Maggie was more daunted by the finality that was looming up on them.
‘Shall I see you again?’ she asked.
‘No.’
She looked at his cheek where she had slapped him, though of course there was no evidence of it.
She had left no mark.
Not even, she guessed, on his heart.
But then he relented.
‘I will come and say farewell in the morning,’ Ilyas said. ‘I am going to be very busy today. I shall be working until well after midnight.’
Then, as if to prove how busy he was, a very distinguished-looking gentleman approached. ‘Your Highness.’
He was far more polite than the queen had been, and when he saw Maggie he spoke in English. He introduced himself as Mahmoud, the king’s advisor, and then he turned to Ilyas and explained that the king was considering speaking with some leaders and diplomats about the tourists. ‘I really think it would be beneficial if you were the one to reach out...’
‘Of course,’ Ilyas responded. ‘Could you give me a moment, Mahmoud?’
The man bowed and then backed off.
‘You shall be looked after,’ Ilyas said. ‘You have been given a suite in the west wing and I have asked that Kumu take care of you. She speaks English. If you would prefer to return to the hostel, though, I completely understand...’
‘I’m free to leave?’ she checked.
It would be so much easier on him if she did.
So much easier on Ilyas for Maggie to storm out now and never look back.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You are free to go.’
‘Well, in that case...’ Maggie smiled, glad to have the choice to leave and the luxury of the choice to remain. ‘I might just hang around.’
Damn.
* * *
Kumu was warm and friendly as she showed Maggie to her suite. It was quite simply stunning, with a formal lounge area and then a large bedroom with French windows that opened up to a balcony that had a view of the desert from which she had just come.
Nothing was too much trouble.
In fact, her belongings had been brought over from the hostel and had all been beautifully laundered. Her clothes, which had seen better days thanks to living out of a backpack, were now all pressed and hanging up. ‘I shall pack for you this evening,’ Kumu said. ‘Would you like to wear a robe to fly home in?’
Maggie was about to decline but then Kumu added, ‘His Royal Highness shall be coming to say farewell in the morning.’
‘A robe would be lovely,’ Maggie agreed.
She was actually thrilled to know that she would have a little keepsake to remind her of her time here.
Left alone, she removed her jewelled slippers and was about to walk out to the balcony and tip out the sand when she halted.
Maggie went through her backpack and found an old envelope where she had collected menus and tickets and such things.
She pulled them out and then took off her slippers, tipping the small bit of sand into the paper, even gathering a little that she spilled from it on the floor. Then she licked the envelope and sealed within it her tiny memento of the desert.
Of course, she needed no real reminders.
How could she ever forget?
* * *
If ever there was a perfect end to a holiday then Maggie knew she had found it.
After a light lunch she was given an insider’s tour of the palace. Maggie had seen it from the plane and its outline from the desert, but nothing could have prepared her for its internal beauty.
The palace was its own mini city, Kumu explained as she took her through stunning gardens, lush with flowers and water displays, and into a very modern compound. There were offices and kitchens, though there were separate ones for the workers and royals. ‘And guests.’ Kumu smiled. ‘You shall select from the same menu as the queen tonight.’
‘Do the royals come to this part?’ Maggie asked, hoping for a glimpse of Ilyas, but Kumu shook her head.
‘Not really.’
They left the compound and Maggie was led to the ornate bridge she had walked across with Ilyas. But whereas Ilyas had strode ahead, Kumu took her time.
‘From here you can see the royal jets.’ Kumu pointed. ‘The palace has its own runway and there is the landing pad where we just came from. Here is where you might see a royal returning from a function or overseas trip.’
‘And I thought they just sat around eating grapes,’ Maggie said, and then worried that her humour might be misconstrued as rude, but Kumu laughed.
‘Oh, there is plenty of that too. Come, I will show you the main entrance where dignitaries are greeted.’
It too was amazing.
The huge display of flowers, on closer inspection, turned out to be jewels. And the hummingbirds that drank the nectar were gold encrusted with rubies and emeralds.
She could gaze upon that display alone for hours, yet there was still so much to see. There were huge marble pillars and the ceiling was so high Maggie had to extend her head back fully to see it; she stood like that for several moments utterly in awe. It was as if Michelangelo had spent half his lifetime right here in Zayrinia, for the artwork on the ceiling was breathtaking.
‘Come and see the portraits,’ Kumu said, and Maggie found herself looking up at a huge portrait of a very forbidding-looking man and his wife.
The queen was younger in the portrait than the woman Maggie had seen briefly, but though very beautiful there was still a coldness to her eyes.
There was another painting of them with their children. Ilyas must have been about eleven or twelve, Maggie guessed, but he had been an old head on young shoulders even then. She looked right into the beautifully captured intense hazel eyes and then smiled at his serious expression.
Of course it was not returned!
The surprise, though, was Hazin, for she had expected a cheeky smile or a glimpse of the wild prince to come but, no, he stood rigid and formal, and as impeccably groomed as his older brother.
And then Maggie’s throat seemed to close a little, for the next portrait was of a very young Hazin and his bride.
‘She was beautiful,’ Maggie said.
‘And kind.’ Kumu sighed. ‘She always had a smile for me and said thank you...’ Maggie glanced sideways and saw that there were actually tears in Kumu’s eyes.
Maggie guessed that smiles and kind words were somewhat missing here.
‘Princess Petra was so happy on her wedding day,’ Kumu said as she gazed at the young bride. ‘She loved Hazin so very much.’
They moved along, even if Maggie would have loved to linger and find out more.
It wasn’t her place to, though.
Oh, how could she bear to leave? Maggie thought, for the palace and its many secrets had won her heart too.
