CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVEN
V IOLET WAS VERY good at giving herself pep talks.
You’ve been through worse.
All through this terrifying, bewildering day she had said those words to herself over and over, and now, deep in the night and even deeper in the desert, she told herself the same thing...
You’ve been through worse.
And she had been.
As a child, she’d been taken from her bed at night by social workers, arriving in a new foster home as an emergency placement.
She’d become used to it, really. Had come to accept the constant upheavals.
Today’s events hurt at a different level.
She’d learned that Crown Prince Sahir of Janana was soon to be married!
Aadil and Pria had left, and now Violet sat on a jade velvet cushion, the two maids she had been left with staring at her...
Actually, they had been very sweet.
A little unsure what to do with their unexpected guest, they had held out robes, but Violet had turned her face away.
A little later they had led her to a beautiful bathing area, parting lavish drapes, and she saw they had drawn her a scented bath. But even though she ached to climb in and let the water absorb some of her tension, Violet had again shaken her head.
The older maid had moved to undo her zip. ‘No!’ Violet had said abruptly, and then shooed them out. Actually, seeing her crestfallen face, Violet had felt dreadful for doing that, but she’d really needed the loo. She’d also filled the pretty basin with water and washed her hands and face, then stared at her reflection.
Through it all she hadn’t cried.
Not once.
Violet never cried.
Well, she had yesterday, and Sahir had wiped away her tears...
She’d trusted him then.
For the first time in her life she’d completely trusted someone.
Never again.
Never, ever...
When she’d returned to her cushion the maids had brought out endless refreshments, but again she had declined, shaking her head and drinking only water.
By now she’d worked out their names. Bedra was the older lady, and Amal seemed to be around Violet’s age.
They both seemed concerned, and now they had unearthed a wooden trunk, holding up some English books.
‘No, thank you,’ she said.
Bedra, the older one, frowned.
‘Laa,’ Violet tried.
She knew a very few words of Arabic from her work in the library, but then she remembered one of her clients telling her that simply saying no— laa —could sound abrupt.
She reminded herself that it wasn’t their fault she was here.
It was Sahir’s.
‘Laa, shukran,’ Violet declined, more politely, and Bedra gave her a smile.
Then she gestured to Amal to help her carry the trunk into what were to be Violet’s sleeping quarters.
Oh, yes.
Because when a nervous Pria had earlier shown her the Crown Prince’s lavish sleeping area, Violet had loudly demanded an area of her own.
Pria had apologised, and started to cry, and Violet wasn’t proud of causing her tears.
Gosh, she’d really been a rather demanding unexpected guest!
Now she sat bolt upright, her ears strained for any sound, her wary eyes taking in every detail of her luxurious surroundings. From the bells that tinkled softly as she entered an area or left one, to the lavish rugs that dulled her footsteps. The jewelled daggers and swords on display had been noted, as well as the heavy, thick rope that hung over the velvet-draped bed where presumably Sahir slept.
She heard a sound—a low hum, steadier than the erratic wind.
She saw Bedra sit up straight, then abruptly stand. Amal moved quickly too. As the sound drew closer she was lighting lamps and stoking the central fire, as Bedra lit incense and filled two silver goblets with wine.
Then she heard the jangle of bells, and Bedra speaking urgent words she didn’t understand. But her gestures and meaning were clear.
His Highness is here. Stand. Hurry, you must stand.
Never.
Never, ever...
But then she saw the confusion and urgency in Bedra’s eyes, and knew that to sit as he entered would embarrass her and cause great offence. So Violet pushed herself up from the cushion, watching the drapes part, expecting a stranger.
An arrogant, ruthless stranger who had hurt her right to her core.
But she held back a gasp when she saw the same man who had left her this morning, dressed in the same robes.
It was the same Sahir.
His robes were less pristine, his kafir was gone and his complexion had a grey tinge, and when he saw her she saw a spark of something in his eyes that looked like relief.
On the maids’ quiet urging she briefly bowed her head, then returned her gaze to his.
Violet was standing.
Sahir had considered more than a thousand ways he might find her.
Sobbing on a bed, frantic with panic or even lunging at him in crazed anger.
Not once—not even for a second—had he expected to be met with such dignity.
Her blonde hair was tousled, her silk gown somewhat crushed, but she looked as elegant and beautiful as she had last night, as captivating as when she had climbed from that taxi. She looked angry, rather than scared, but pale, and her lips were white, her blue eyes glinting as if they were striking flint.
She was scared, though. Of that he was certain.
‘Are you okay?’
It was possibly the most ridiculous question, because nothing about this was okay, but he wanted to deal with the practical first.
She didn’t answer.
‘Violet...’ He inhaled deeply, dragging air into lungs that in recent hours had felt too taut to breathe. Seeing her again, he wanted so badly to reach for her, to take her in his arms, yet protocol did not allow for that and her stance warned him not to, for she stood ramrod-straight.
‘I apologise.’
He saw her blink, and young Amal seemed to start a little. Perhaps he should have cleared the room first.
‘I have just come from the palace. I spoke briefly with the King and his aide. It would seem there has been a misunderstanding.’
‘Sahir...’ She put up a hand and corrected herself. ‘Your Highness.’
For the first time she used his title, though he knew that the courtesy was not for his benefit, but for the maids. Her voice was clear and determined, but it held the tiniest tremble, which she seemed to swallow down.
‘May we speak alone?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’
But there were certain traditions, and Bedra approached with a goblet for him. He nodded and took it.
He watched as Amal handed Violet a goblet too.
‘Shukran,’ she said, and he was surprised to hear her thank Amal in Arabic.
‘She has taken no refreshment,’ Bedra informed him quietly.
He nodded, and though he knew they should both drink now, then replace the goblets on the tray, he saw Violet made no attempt to do so. Downing his wine, he replaced his own goblet and asked the maids to leave.
They stood there, staring silently as they heard the bells, and then softer bells, as the women made their way to the far end of the abode and finally they were alone.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘You know damn well.’
‘No, I want to hear it from you. I want to know all that occurred.’
‘I was kidnapped!’ Violet shouted, tossing her wine into the fire and throwing down the goblet—possibly the first person ever to display raw emotion in a royal abode. ‘That’s what “occurred”.’
‘There was a misunderstanding—’ he started, but again she put up her hand.
‘Please don’t,’ Violet interrupted. ‘I have three things I would like to say...’
A sound from outside the tent halted her, and as he listened to the sound of the helicopter taking off he knew her planned speech had been thwarted.
‘We shan’t be leaving tonight...’ he began.
Once more she put up her hand to halt him.
‘Then that leaves me with two things I have to say.’ She took a breath, as if running through a speech in her head, then lifted her gaze to his. ‘Do you remember me telling you that this dress is a rental—due back tomorrow?’
Sahir frowned deeply. She had been taken to another country, whisked off to the desert, and she was worried about a dress? She really was like no one he had ever met.
‘Can we not worry about the dress?’
‘I am worried—and not just about my deposit. I gave them my word that it would be back.’
She was, to his bewilderment, clearly distraught about the gown.
‘It’s for a wedding!’
‘I’ll sort out the damned dress!’ he told her.
‘Oh, you’d better. I won’t have you ruining that woman’s dream day the same way you ruined our night.’
She took a breath, and he knew the damage that had been done. He would rectify that, Sahir swore to himself, but right now he’d deal with her list.
‘What else?’
‘You’re engaged.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘The same man who told me there had been a security breach and we had to leave your house immediately.’
Sahir wanted details, but she told him very little.
‘Adal...?’
‘Aadil.’ His jaw hardened, but his anger would not help matters. ‘Tell me more.’
‘No. Ask the relevant staff. Because I don’t report to you, Sahir.’
She stood so strong, refusing to give him anything—not even a glimpse of the woman who had cried before his eyes, who had laughed and danced in his arms.
‘Especially when you haven’t answered my question. Are you to marry soon?’
‘Apparently so.’
Sahir was not being deliberately evasive, but the mist of panic that had hit him was lifting a little, and while he did not understand all that had occurred, he knew Aadil’s unexpected arrival in London should have been a sign, as well as the fact that the council had been convened.
‘It’s a yes or no answer, Sahir.’
A smile almost ghosted his lips at her demand for a straightforward answer. It was not the time to explain the intricate laws and the mysterious ways of his land, but neither would he lie.
‘Yes.’
‘I abhor violence...’ Violet stepped forward. ‘And I’ve always said there’s no excuse for it—whatever the circumstance. Even so, never say never!’
She slapped his cheek.
He could have stopped her—he had reflexes like lightning and was the most skilled warrior—yet he let the slap land before catching her wrist. He’d allow her to have that one...and not just because he deserved it, but because now he had contact.
He could feel her pulse hammering beneath his fingers. Knew that despite appearances she was not just furious but petrified. And, yes, again he inhaled her fear...
‘Violet...’
His voice halted, but not because he was without words. Just with the simple act of her reclaiming her hand, all they had shared—all the laughter and affection and trust, everything so easily built—had dissolved and he fought for its return.
‘You’re safe,’ he told her.
‘How can you even say that?’
‘I swear you are safe.’
‘I shall never forgive you,’ Violet promised.
For the first time since arriving he saw the shimmer of tears, and he could feel not just her terror but her devastation.
‘You slept with me, and now I find out that you’re getting married.’
He reached for her. ‘It’s not how it seems...’
‘Don’t!’
She took back her wrist, turned and walked away.
‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.
Not only was he not used to anyone walking away from him, he had thought there was much more to discuss. As well as that, she was walking towards the music area.
‘To bed,’ she told him.
‘That is the musicians’ area.’
‘Not just for musicians...’ She threw the words over her shoulder as she walked off. ‘Pria gave me a tour. She called it your “entertainment area”.’ She was shouting again now. ‘I believe she meant it’s where members of your harem await their summons.’
‘Yes, had I lived a century ago.’
‘Bedra showed me the cord above your bed.’
And now, instead of storming off to bed, she abruptly changed direction, taking a dagger from one of the walls.
He watched as she crossed the tent.
He didn’t follow, but knew full well what she was doing. The ancient bells in the musicians’ area jangled as she went into his sleeping quarters and cut through the cord over his bed. That was followed by a whip-like noise from above as the velvet was severed.
‘Sorted,’ she said, walking out again. ‘And for your information, I don’t answer to bells.’
‘I would never expect you to.’
She marched into the musicians’ room—her sleeping area.
‘Violet, we need to—’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘You need to eat.’
‘Don’t tell me what I need,’ she said from behind the partition. ‘I’m going to get some sleep.’
‘Let me at least have the dress so I can send it back...’
He almost instantly regretted his suggestion when, through the fabric partition, he saw that she was stripping off.
Violet was correct that this room had once been where the harem awaited its summons.
But now Sahir came here for deep reflection, and always alone.
It was also where the monarch came after his wedding, or when the teller had informed the council that the time was ripe for an heir.
It was subtly erotic by design.
He turned his back, but her near naked shadow danced on the far wall.
So he looked up at the ceiling.
More Violets. A kaleidoscope of Violets, all dancing naked across the walls of the tent.
He examined his thumbnails until she threw out the violet dress.
‘That needs to be urgently sorted,’ she told him. ‘You had better not let another bride down.’
‘I don’t have a bride.’ He took a breath. ‘Here, a royal marriage is very different. I don’t even know who she’ll—’
‘La-la-la!’ she shouted.
Here, that meant, ‘No, no, no.’ He knew what she meant, though, for he could see her shadow covering its ears, and also that whatever she wore it was see-through...
‘Violet...’
Should he tell her she was as good as naked?
She’d soon work it out.
‘I am going to go to—’
‘Hell!’ she finished for him, and Sahir knew there was no chance of reasonable conversation tonight.
He should leave things for now; they could speak tomorrow.
Her anger he accepted.
What he could not accept was the certain knowledge that she was scared.
And from what Bedra had told him she was probably hungry too.
Finally, there was something he could do.
Although perhaps not very well...
Violet didn’t know where he was—just that he had gone.
She poured some water from the jug by the bed and drank a glass down, and as her temper left her she shivered.
Away from the fire it was cold, and the flimsy muslin nightdress that had been left out for her offered no warmth.
The wind was shrieking outside, and suddenly she was shaky. It was as if she’d held on to her nerve since the moment she’d realised she was being taken, and only now was her terror surfacing.
Now that he was here.
Bedra had left a few of the books by the bedside, and Violet had just climbed into the bed with one when Sahir spoke to her from the other side of the flimsy wall.
‘I’ve brought you a drink and something to eat,’ he said.
‘I don’t want it.’
‘I’ll bring it in.’
‘Please don’t.’
He ignored her, and she lay staring up at him as he walked in with a tray.
‘So, no privacy?’
‘I won’t enter here again unless asked,’ he said, moving the jug and glass, replacing them with a small plate and a tall red glass with ornate silver handles. ‘You can hate me if you want, but you need to eat. I made some—’
‘ You made?’ she sneered.
He looked down at her where she lay. ‘That face you just pulled doesn’t suit you.’ He curled the side of his top lip. ‘You look like a camel!’
She gave a shocked gasp. ‘How rude.’
‘Just an observation. And as for your supper...? I did make it—well, I made the drink.’
She turned and looked at the silver plate.
‘I cannot take credit for the gaz ,’ he told her. ‘It is very sweet...like nougat.’
She turned her head and stared straight ahead.
‘I am going to go to the stables now.’
Please don’t go , she wanted to say. But she didn’t want to admit to Sahir how nervous she was at the thought of being here alone.
‘I shouldn’t be long. But there’s a satellite phone there, and if I am to sort out the dress...’
‘And a helicopter?’
‘The wind is too high now to fly safely tonight,’ he responded. ‘The pilot was hesitant to bring me out—that is why the helicopter returned so quickly.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘We can discuss all that in the morning. For now, you need to eat and sleep. We will talk tomorrow.’
‘I don’t want to talk to you.’
She felt her mouth curl, and then thought of camels and closed it again, but she knew she was still pouting.
‘That’s better.’
He gave her a tired smile, and she didn’t understand why. Goodness, he looked dreadful. Still beautiful, but compared to the man she’d seen this morning he looked utterly drained. Shattered...
He glanced at the books that had been placed by her bed. ‘You’ve got something to read. That’s good.’
‘Yes, it’s as if I’ve been given a toy box to entertain me...’ Her words faded. Violet knew her acrimony was misplaced. But the gesture was a painful reminder of her past.
He peered into the trunk. ‘It looks like my mother’s old school books.’
She said nothing.
‘I won’t disturb you again,’ he told her. ‘You have your privacy, I promise. I won’t come in.’ He was very direct. ‘I can assure you nothing will happen here.’
‘Oh...’ Her voice was dark with warning. ‘It had better not.’
‘Violet, I am appalled at what has occurred. Tomorrow, if you’re willing, I want to hear about it, so I can deal appropriately with my staff,’ he said. ‘I am not putting you on a helicopter with anyone who has mistreated you.’
Violet swallowed. She hadn’t really been mistreated; the only thing that had been wounded was her heart.
‘If you need me—’
‘I won’t need you.’
‘You might hear—’
‘I’m not scared of things that go bump in the night.’
She looked at him then—really looked. At his liquorice eyes, at his gorgeous tall frame, at the man she should perhaps hate, but didn’t. Certainly hating him would be the safer alternative.
‘I don’t need anyone, Sahir,’ Violet said, and picked up one of the books. ‘I worked that out a long time ago.’
‘I shall make that call and then come back. If you have any questions—’
‘I won’t.’
The bells signalled his leaving.
She was too weary to think about the day’s events, and yet too wired to sleep.
She was also bored with her hunger strike—especially when such treats had been placed by her side.
The gaz was lovely, and the hot chocolate delicious—especially because he’d made it. It was sweet, but with a bitter edge, and so creamy that even after she’d finished it, even after she’d turned off the lamp, she could taste the sweet remnants on her lips as she lay there waiting for sleep.
She should be exhausted, surely?
But there was that prickly feeling that came from being alone in a new place, and it was a feeling that was all too familiar.
She made a quick dash for the loo, and attempted an even quicker dash back, because this tent was by far too big to be alone in, but on her way back she saw his softly lit room.
Poor Pria...
How Violet had shouted when she’d first seen it, and demanded a space of her own.
She stood at the entrance, feeling less terrified now he’d arrived.
Softly lit lamps illuminated the very masculine, sensual space. There the rugs weren’t patterned, but thick and soft. Some looked like fur.
There was a lit fire with a huge dome above it—like a huge candle snuffer, should the heat get too much. And well it might, for she could feel the warmth even from where she stood.
Everything deserved to be explored, but her eyes were drawn to the vast bed. To call it a four-poster would be an injustice. There was an intricate patterned headboard that stretched right up to the dark wood ceiling—it really was like a room within a room. The heavy drapes were neatly tied back, and she wondered what it would be like to lie in that bed with them closed. They were of the same dark jade velvet of the cushion she’d sat on, and given how long she’d waited on it, Violet knew how soft they would feel.
Still, she walked over and ran her hand over one, then stroked the bedcover. The fabric was cool to the touch, while her body felt warm from the fire.
How could she still want him?
How could she want to climb in and close the drapes and wait for him to return?
Hide from the world with him?
No.
She went back to her own bed—in her far cooler, hastily made-up room—and lay looking at the ceiling, wishing it was last night, when she’d been in his arms with no idea of what was to come.
It had been the most peace she’d ever known...
The tent’s roof really did move...and the one thing her first helicopter ride had taught her was that she really was in the middle of nowhere.
Oh, where was he?
Unable to sleep, she needed distraction, not to dwell on her plight, so she turned on the lamp and picked up a beautifully bound book.
Goodness, it belonged behind glass, Violet thought, or she should be wearing gloves. Because it was exquisite...
She opened the book slowly and looked at the carefully scripted name inside.
Anousheh.
Was that his mother’s name?
It really was a gorgeous book, Violet thought. And it was beautifully illustrated.
She read a poem and didn’t really get it. But then, while she might normally have skimmed over it, she saw a tiny scribbled note that helped.
Such need!
She looked at the words, which had been underlined, and read the poem again, with widening eyes.
Were Sahir here she might be tempted to tell him that she doubted this was one of his mother’s old school books.
These poems were sensual...and so erotic.
Not all of them, but the Queen’s underlining habit made it easy to find the good parts, and Violet lay reading about buds and clamshells and such...
So engrossed was she, she barely glanced up when she heard the bells that signalled his return. But as he turned off the lamps in the living area she knew she should turn out her own.
Then she heard running water, and wondered if he was going to have a bath or a shower. She did her very best not to picture him naked, and hoped he’d be ages, because she wanted to read just one more poem.
Oh, my goodness!
She glanced up as his lamp went on, and of course she could hear him. Surely that was by design, for there should be strings being plucked and beauties reclining upon the cushions. Well, there would have been a hundred or so years ago.
Unfortunately, her bedtime reading had moved on from clamshells to ‘tumescence’, heavily underlined. It was like reading a diary, while at the same time not.
It was timeless pleasure that was being addressed here.
Placing the book face-down, she realised she could see the shadow of Sahir’s member through the tent’s wall. He was not erect, but he was certainly not flaccid, either, and she found that her hand had slipped from her shoulder and she was cupping her own breast.
She pulled it away, telling herself that he couldn’t see her, and got back to the gorgeous poem.
And the next.
Had she been a little hasty in her warning to him that nothing could take place?
‘Stop it...’ she said aloud, trying to talk sense into herself, then closed the book and turned off her own lamp.
She heard a soft ‘clank’ and realised the dome must have been lowered over the fire in the next room as darkness fell.
Thankfully there were no more shadows to mire her mind...