More Precious than a Crown Page 16

  Next to him, he felt Queen Elena tremble.

  Twenty taut minutes later the SUV pulled up at the makeshift camp Khalil had called home for the last six months, ever since he’d returned to Kadar. He opened the door and turned to Elena, who glared at him in challenge.

  ‘Where have you taken me?’

  He gave her a cold smile. ‘Why don’t you come out and see for yourself?’ Without waiting for an answer, he took hold of her wrist. Her skin was soft and cold and she let out a muffled gasp as he drew her from the car.

  She stumbled on a stone as she came to her feet, and as he righted her he felt her breasts brush his chest. It had been a long time since he’d felt the soft touch of a woman, and his body responded with base instinct, his loins tightening as desire flared deep inside. Her hair, so close to his face, smelled of lemons.

  Firmly Khalil moved her away from him. He had no time for lust and certainly not with this woman.

  His right-hand man, Assad, emerged from another vehicle. ‘Your Highness.’ Elena turned automatically, and Khalil smiled in grim satisfaction. Assad had been addressing him, not the unruly queen. Even though he had not officially claimed his title, those loyal to him still addressed him as if he had.

  He’d been surprised and gratified at how many were loyal to him, when they had only remembered a tousle-haired boy who’d been dragged crying and gibbering from the palace. Until six months ago, he had not been in Kadar since he’d been ten years old. But people remembered.

  The desert tribes, bound more by tradition than the people of Siyad, had always resented Sheikh Hashem’s rash decision to discard one wife for a mistress no one had liked, and a son he’d already publicly declared illegitimate. When Khalil had returned, they’d named him sheikh of his mother’s tribe and had rallied around him as the true ruling Sheikh of Kadar.

  Even so, Khalil trusted no one. Loyalties could change on a whim. Love was capricious. He’d learned those lessons all too painfully well. The only person he trusted now was himself.

  ‘Queen Elena and I would like some refreshment,’ he told Assad in Arabic. ‘Is there a tent prepared?’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  ‘You can debrief me later. For now, I’ll deal with the Queen.’ He turned to Elena, whose panicked gaze was darting in every direction, her body poised for flight.

  ‘If you are thinking of running away,’ he told her calmly, switching to English as the language they both knew, ‘don’t bother. The desert stretches for hundreds of miles in every direction, and the nearest oasis is over a day’s ride by camel. Even if you managed to leave the camp, you would die of thirst, if not a snake or scorpion bite.’

  Queen Elena glared at him and said nothing. Khalil gestured her forward. ‘Come, have some refreshment, and I will answer your questions as I promised.’

  Elena hesitated and then, clearly knowing she had no choice, she nodded and followed him across the camp.

  * * *

  Elena took stock of her surroundings as she walked behind Khalil. A few tents formed a rough semi-circle; she could see some horses and camels tethered to a post under a lean-to. The wind blew sand into her face and her hair into her mouth.

  She held her hands up to her face, tried to blink the grit out of her eyes. Khalil pushed back the folds of the tent and ushered her inside.

  Elena took a steadying breath, trying to compose herself. The only thing she could do now was learn as much as she could, and choose her moment well.

  Khalil moved to the other side of the tent, gesturing to an elegant teakwood table and low chairs with embroidered cushions. The outside of the tent had been basic, but the interior, Elena saw as her gaze darted around, was luxurious, with silk and satin furnishings and carpets.

  ‘Please, sit down.’

  ‘I want answers to my questions.’

  Khalil turned to face her. A small smile curved his mouth but his eyes were cold. ‘Your defiance is admirable, Your Highness, but only to a certain extent. Sit.’

  She knew she needed to pick her battles. Elena sat. ‘Where is Sheikh Aziz?’

  Irritation flashed across his chiselled features and then he gave a little shrug. ‘Aziz is presumably in Siyad, waiting for you.’

  ‘He’ll be expecting me—’

  ‘Yes,’ Khalil cut her off smoothly. ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘He received a message that you were delayed.’ Khalil spread his hands, his eyes glittering with what felt like mockery. ‘No one is looking for you, Your Highness. And, by the time they are, it will be too late.’

  The implication was obvious, and it made her breathless with shock, her vision blurring so she reached out and grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself. Calm. She needed to stay calm.

  She heard Khalil swear softly. ‘I did not mean what you obviously think I meant.’

  She looked up, her vision clearing as she gazed up at him. Even scowling he was breathtaking; everything about him was lean and graceful. Predatory. ‘You mean you aren’t going to kill me,’ she stated flatly.

  ‘I am neither a terrorist nor a thug.’

  ‘Yet you kidnap a queen.’

  He inclined his head. ‘A necessary evil, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I don’t believe any evil is necessary,’ Elena shot back. She took another steadying breath. ‘So what are you going to do with me?’

  It was a question she wasn’t sure she wanted answered, yet she knew ignorance was dangerous. Better to know the danger, the enemy. Know your enemies and know yourself, and you will not be imperilled in a hundred battles.

  ‘I’m not going to do anything with you,’ Khalil answered calmly. ‘Except keep you here in, I hope, moderate comfort.’

  One of the guards came with a tray of food. Elena glanced at the platter of dates and figs, the flat bread and the bowls of creamy dips, and then looked away again. She had no appetite, and in any case she would not eat with her enemy.

  ‘Thank you, Assad,’ Khalil said, and the man bowed and left.

  Khalil crouched on his haunches in front of the low table where Assad had set the tray. He glanced up at Elena, those amber eyes seeming almost to glow. They really were the most extraordinary colour. With his dark hair and tawny eyes, that lean, predatory elegance, he was like a leopard, or perhaps a panther—something beautiful and terrifying. ‘You must be hungry, Queen Elena.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘Then thirsty, at least. It is dangerous not to drink in the desert.’

  ‘It is dangerous,’ Elena countered, ‘to drink in the presence of your enemies.’

  A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Very well, then. I shall drink first.’

  She watched as he poured what looked like some kind of fruit juice from an earthen pitcher into two tall tumblers. He picked up the first and drank deeply from it, the sinuous muscles of his throat working as he swallowed. He met her gaze over the rim of his glass, his eyes glinting in challenge.

  ‘Satisfied?’ he murmured as he lowered his glass.

  Elena’s throat ached with thirst and was scratchy from the sand. She needed to stay hydrated if she was going to plan an escape, so she nodded and held out her hand.

  Khalil handed her the glass and she sipped the juice; it was both tart and sweet, and deliciously cool.

  ‘Guava,’ he told her. ‘Have you had it before?’

  ‘No.’ Elena put the glass back down on the table. ‘Now I am refreshed.’ She took a deep breath. ‘So you intend to keep me here in the desert—for how long?’

  ‘A little less than a week. Four days, to be precise.’

  Four days. Elena’s stomach knotted. In four days the six weeks Aziz had been given to marry would be up. He would lose his right to his title, and Khalil must know that. He must be waiting for a chance to seize power.

  ‘And then?’ she asked. ‘What will you do?’

  ‘That is not your concern.’

 
‘What will you do with me?’ Elena rephrased, and Khalil sat down in a low-slung chair richly patterned with wool, regarding her with a rather sleepy consideration over the tips of his steepled fingers. Elena felt her frayed nerves start to snap.

  ‘Let you go, of course.’

  ‘Just like that?’ She shook her head, too suspicious to feel remotely relieved. ‘You’ll be prosecuted.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You can’t just kidnap a head of state.’

  ‘And yet I have.’ He took a sip of juice, his gaze resting thoughtfully on her. ‘You intrigue me, Queen Elena. I must confess, I’ve wondered what kind of woman Aziz would choose as his bride.’

  ‘And are you satisfied?’ she snapped. Stupid. Where was her calm, her control? She’d been teetering on a tightrope for her entire reign; was she really going to fall off now?

  But maybe she already had.

  Khalil smiled faintly. ‘I am not remotely satisfied.’

  His gaze held her and she saw a sudden gleam of masculine intent and awareness flicker in his eyes. To her surprise and shame, she felt an answering thrill of terror—and something else. Something that wasn’t fear, but rather...anticipation. Yet, of what? She wanted nothing from this man but her freedom.

  ‘And I won’t be satisfied,’ Khalil continued, ‘until Aziz is no longer on the throne of Kadar and I am.’

  ‘So you are one of the rebel insurgents Aziz mentioned.’

  For a second Khalil’s gaze blazed fury but then he merely inclined his head. ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘Why should you be on the throne?’

  ‘Why should Aziz?’

  ‘Because he is the heir.’

  Khalil glanced away, his expression veiled once more. ‘Do you know the history of Kadar, Your Highness?’

  ‘I’ve read something of it,’ she answered, although the truth was her knowledge of Kadaran history was sketchy at best. There hadn’t been time for more than a crash course in the heritage of the country of her future husband.

  ‘Did you know it was a peaceful, prosperous nation for many years—independent, even, when other countries buckled under a wider regime?’

  ‘Yes, I did know that.’ Aziz had mentioned it, because her own country was the same; a small island in the Aegean Sea between Turkey and Greece, Thallia had enjoyed nearly a thousand years of peaceful, independent rule.

  And she would not be the one to end it.

  ‘Perhaps you also know, then, that Sheikh Hashem threatened the stability of Kadar with the rather unusual terms of his will?’ He turned back to her, raising his eyebrows, a little smile playing about his mouth.

  Elena found her gaze quite unreasonably drawn to that mouth, to those surprisingly lush and sculpted lips. She forced herself to look upwards and met Khalil’s enquiring gaze. There was no point, she decided, in feigning ignorance. ‘Yes, I am well aware of the old Sheikh’s stipulation. It’s why I am here to marry Sheikh Aziz.’

  ‘Not a love match, then?’ Khalil queried sardonically and Elena stiffened.

  ‘I don’t believe that is any of your business.’

  ‘Considering you are here at my behest, I believe it is.’

  She pursed her lips and said nothing. The Kadaran people believed it was a love match, although neither she nor Aziz had said as much. People believed what they wanted to believe, Elena knew, and the public liked the idea of a royal fairy-tale. If it helped to stabilise their countries, then so be it. She could go along with a little play-acting. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Khalil.

  ‘Pleading the fifth, I see,’ Khalil said softly. ‘I grew up in America, you know. I am not the barbarian you seem to think I am.’

  She folded her arms. ‘You have yet to show me otherwise.’

  ‘Have I not? Yet here you are, in a comfortable chair, offered refreshment. Though I am sorry you hurt yourself.’ He gestured to her scraped knee, all solicitude. ‘Let me get you a plaster.’

  ‘I don’t need one.’

  ‘Such abrasions can easily become infected in the desert. A grain of sand lodges in the cut and, the next thing you know, it’s gone septic.’ He leaned forward, and for a moment the harshness of his face, the coldness in his eyes, was replaced by something that almost looked like gentleness. ‘Don’t be stupid, Your Highness. God knows I understand the need to fight, but you are wasting your energy arguing with me over such small matters.’

  She swallowed, knowing he was right, and hating it. It was petty and childish to refuse medical care, not to mention stupid as he’d said. She nodded and Khalil rose from his chair. She watched as he strode to the entrance of the tent and spoke to one of the guards waiting outside.

  Elena remained seated, her fists clenched in her lap, her heart beating hard. A few minutes later Khalil returned to the table with a cloth folded over his arm, a basin of water in one hand and a tube of ointment in the other.

  ‘Here we are.’

  To her shock he knelt in front of her and Elena pressed back in her chair. ‘I can do it myself.’

  He glanced up at her, his eyes gleaming. ‘But then you would deny me the pleasure.’

  Her breath came out in a rush and she remained rigid as he gently lifted the hem of her skirt over her knee. His fingers barely brushed her leg and yet she felt as if she’d been electrocuted, her whole body jolting with sensation. Carefully Khalil dampened the cloth and then dabbed the scrape on her knee.

  ‘Besides,’ he murmured, ‘you might miss some sand, and I would hate to be accused of mistreating you.’

  Elena didn’t answer. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. Every atom of her being was focused on the gentle touch of this man, his fingers sliding over her knee with a precision that wasn’t sensual, not remotely, yet...

  She took a careful breath and stared at the top of his head, his hair ink-black and cut very short. She wondered if it would feel soft or bristly, and then jerked her mind back to her predicament. What on earth was she doing, thinking about his hair, reacting to his hands on her skin? This man was her enemy. The last thing, the very last thing, she should do was feel anything for him, even something as basic as physical desire.

  His hand tightened on her knee and everything inside Elena flared to life.

  ‘I think that’s fine,’ she said stiffly, and tried to draw her leg away from Khalil’s hand.

  He held up the tube of ointment. ‘Antiseptic cream. Very important.’

  Gritting her teeth, she remained still while he squeezed some cream onto his fingers and then smoothed it over the cut on her knee. It stung a little, but far more painful was the kick of attraction she felt at the languorous touch of his fingers on her sensitised skin.

  It was just her body’s basic physical reaction, she told herself as he rubbed circles on her knee with his thumb and her insides tightened. She’d never experienced it like this before, but then she was inexperienced in the ways of men and women. In any case, there was nothing she could do about it, so she’d ignore it. Ignore the sparks that scattered across her skin and the plunging deep in her belly. Attraction was irrelevant; she would never act on it nor allow it to cloud her judgement.

  Escape from this man and his plans to ruin her marriage was her only goal now. Her only desire.

  Copyright © 2014 by Kate Hewitt

  ISBN: 978-1-472-004289-7

  MORE PRECIOUS THAN A CROWN

  © 2014 Carol Marinelli

  Published in Great Britain 2014

  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited

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