Chosen as the Sheikh's Wife

CHAPTER FOUR

'Princess! Oh, please…'

'The daughter of a sheikha is a sheikha. As a direct descendant of Fatima, the title is yours by right.'

She shook her head emphatically. 'No.'

'It's the truth, and I am inviting you to see for yourself where you come from, to learn your history. To return the Blood of Tariq and place it where it belongs, in the hand of my grandfather.' He glanced at her neighbour, then back at Violet. 'In Ras al Kawi I can offer protection from those who would stop at nothing to use you.'

Use her? How? She was nobody…

'I…I can't,' she said. 'I can't just up sticks and go to Ras al…'

'Kawi. Ras al Kawi.'

'Ras al Kawi.' She repeated the name as if it echoed, like some precious tribal memory, deep in her heart.

'If you are not here, they cannot use you. Or threaten your friends to get what they want.'

'They wouldn't!' she exclaimed. Then realised that they already had. 'What do they want?'

'Power,' he said.

'What about you, Sheikh Fayad?' she asked, apparently unimpressed. 'I don't know you. Are you using me?'

She looked at him as if she could see right through him. Remembering the way he'd spoken to his cousin about her, his utter disregard for her own wishes, his only concern with what was expedient for his country, that was not a comfortable thought.

It was, nonetheless, essential to convince her of his sincerity. But while some people were easily won round with smiles and charm, he sensed that this was not the way with Violet Hamilton. Some inner sense warned him that she would mistrust them.

'I understand your hesitation, Princess. No sensible woman would fly into the unknown with a stranger. What can I do to satisfy you that I mean you no harm? Whose word would you trust? The Mayor of London?' he suggested. 'I'm having lunch with him. Or maybe you'd prefer to have my character from the Foreign Secretary?'

'Go for the Prime Minister,' Sarah urged. 'If you can get him down here I'd really like a word with him about local schools.'

Violet simply regarded him with reproachful eyes, and he understood instantly that it had been a mistake to offer such people to vouch for his honour. As heir to a country with whom they wanted to do business, she knew they wouldn't hesitate to put his needs before that of some ordinary girl.

'Maybe you'd have more trust in the Englishwoman who was my son's nanny?' he offered.

'Why his nanny? Why not his mother?' she asked.

Inwardly, he flinched at the directness of her question. Outwardly, he allowed nothing to show.

'My son and his mother both died when he was no higher than my knee,' he replied.

Behind him, her friend caught her breath, and for a moment he thought he had Violet, too. It gave him no satisfaction. On the contrary, it felt like a tacky play for sympathy, something he neither deserved nor wanted, when all he wanted was her trust.

He was a diplomat, well used to dealing with awkward situations, using words to make things happen, and yet, confronted by this young woman wearing nothing but a shabby bathrobe, he appeared to have lost control of the situation. Of his thoughts. Of something more. Something that he didn't want to think about…

'I'm sorry,' she said. Her eyes were soft with genuine sympathy but her gaze was direct and, standing straight and tall, steel in her backbone, she said it again. 'I'm sorry, Sheikh Fayad al Kuwani. Take the Blood of Tariq to your grandfather, but I must stay here. I have to pack up the house. Clear everything…'

Without warning the steel buckled, and for the second time she grabbed for a chair as if, suddenly, the shock of what had just happened, the realisation of what was ahead, had drained the fight from her.

He caught her, lowered her into it, filled a glass with water and held it while she took a sip. Held it until her long, slender fingers stopped shaking sufficiently for her to take it safely.

'Stupid… Stupid…' she said.

'Don't be so hard on yourself. Your friend is not the only one who has had a shock, Princess.'

'Don't…' She shook her head. 'Don't call me that. It isn't right.'

'It is not only right, it is your heritage,' he said. And it was true. She did not need silk, jewels. It was in her manner, her bearing, some edge to her character…' Come to Ras al Kawi and you will see for yourself,' he urged.

'I can't. Truly. There's just too much to do here'

'Her grandmother used a dodgy equity release-scheme to raise some money on the house years ago,' Sarah explained. 'Before they were properly regulated. Now she's dead it's all theirs. Lock, stock and rotting floorboard. They want her out by the end of the month.'

So, it was as he'd been told. Violet Hamilton was without fortune, homeless, and yet she did not ask for money for the khanjar, nor grab at an invitation to be feted as a princess.

'Where will you go?' he asked.

'It depends how much she gets for the khanjar' Sarah replied, meaningfully.

'Stop it, Sarah. It's not mine to sell.' Then, gathering herself, 'If you'll excuse me, Sheikh Fayad, I have things to do.'

She meant it, he realised. Was immovable.

He wasn't used to being refused anything, wasn't prepared to accept defeat now, but continuing to press the matter would only intensify her resistance.

'Very well. If you insist on staying, I have no choice but to accept your decision.' He took a pen from his pocket. 'Give me the card.'

For a moment she looked as if she might resist, but then fished it out of her pocket.

He wrote a number on the back and returned it to her. 'I have to go now, but I will arrange for your door to be repaired. Someone will come before the end of the day. And if you should change your mind about coming to Ras al Kawi, you can reach me on that number day or night.' He handed it to her. Looked directly into her eyes. 'While I have a breath in my body my family will be at your command, Violet Hamilton. All you have to do is call.' Then he picked up the khanjar, bowed, slightly, and said, 'Princess… Sarah…'before turning and walking out through the still wide open front door.

Curious neighbours had gathered, but, looking neither to left nor right, he stepped into his car and, as it sped away from the kerb, began to make a series of phone calls.

'He might at least have said thank you,' Violet said, as the front door closed behind him. 'He just walked away, didn't look back.'

'They don't. It's their way. But they never forget a debt. And that 'breath in my body' pledge is not meaningless. You will be paid one way or another.'

'I don't want to be paid,' she said, shaking her head. 'I'm just glad to be rid of the thing. Then, unable to help herself, she asked, 'What's it like, Sarah? Have you been there? Ras al Kawi?'

'We were next door in Ras al Hajar. The ruler there has an English wife. Did you know that? She used to

be a foreign correspondent.' She sighed. 'Terrific place to live.' Then, 'Ras al Kawi is less developed, and the old Emir is a bit of a recluse. I always wanted to go there. It's mountainous, and has the most fabulous coastline.'

'It sounds lovely.'

'You're wishing you hadn't been so quick to turn him down now?'

'No. No, of course not.'

Sarah laughed, clearly not believing her. 'Violet, sweetheart, you remember me saying that you should be careful not to get swept off your feet by the first good-looking man that came your way?'

'I remember.' Not that she'd needed telling. With a father like hers, trust in the male did not come easily. Then,