The Sheikh Who Claimed Her: Master of the Desert / The Sheikh's Reluctant Bride / Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT WAS an all-male gathering, which was definitely not what Antonia had bargained for. She was rocked back on her heels and hesitated outside the ornately carved double doors. She quickly gathered, from the glances she was attracting from the security guards, that she would not be welcome inside the ballroom. But they couldn’t stop her peeping inside the room. It was an exclusive occasion, judging by the number of ribbons and orders worn by the robed men already seated at the beautifully dressed tables. Crystal glass and silver cutlery glittered in the muted candlelight, and there was a buzz of anticipation in the hall, but absolutely no chance to slip in unnoticed as she had hoped. She would stick out like a sore thumb as the only woman present.

This was definitely not a suitable forum in which to lobby support for her plan, Antonia concluded. She had no option but to wait another three weeks for her official appointment. But, as she drew back in disappointment from the door, her heart wouldn’t allow her to leave. What if Saif was coming? What if he was already here? What if she could see him one last time?

She couldn’t leave, so she came up with a risky plan. She would try to get in at the back of the ballroom, where she could see some steps leading up to a mezzanine area. She would be able to see everything from there.

Including the man who sat on the sapphire throne …

Antonia’s gaze lingered. She’d seen images of Sheikh Ra’id’s sapphire throne on the Internet, but nothing could have prepared her for the actual brilliance of the gold, or the lustre of the royal-blue sapphires with which it was so lavishly studded. Just thinking about the man who would occupy this legendary seat of power sent a shiver down her spine. You crossed the ruling Sheikh of Sinnebar at your peril, she had heard.

Dragging her gaze away from the blazing splendour of this formidable leader’s throne, she crossed the lobby and slipped out of the building. Skirting the perimeter until she found a side entrance, she waited until the security guards were briefly distracted and then slipped inside through the staff entrance. Shoes in hand, she pelted up the back stairs, feeling certain her heart would explode with guilty fear.

Fortunately, the door to the mezzanine level was unlocked.

More tables had been set out for dinner on this upper level, for less important folk, she guessed. Taking quick stock of the situation, she decided if she hid behind a pillar no one would see her, while she could see everything that was happening below. This was her chance to weigh up the type of people she would be dealing with for the charity, and even the slimmest chance of seeing Saif made it worth the risk. The thought of seeing him and the fearsome Sword of Vengeance all in the same day made her heart thunder.

Taking a moment to calm down, she studied her surroundings carefully. She was at eye level with the royal standard, which was suspended behind the jewelled throne. That image made her heart leap when she remembered the last time she had seen it had been on Saif’s naked chest. That was all the prompt she needed to begin scouring the rows of tables in search of him.

He wasn’t there. She didn’t really need to look to know, her heart would have told her if Saif had been close by. She was still trembling with emotion and disappointment when a noise like a wave breaking on the shore swept over the vast auditorium. As everyone rose to their feet, Antonia held her breath, realising the ruling sheikh was about to enter.

There was a peal of trumpets and then a procession began. A group of older men all dressed in elegant ivory robes walked proudly down the broad aisle between the tables. As all the other men bowed low to them, she realised that each of them must be a king in his own right, which was a reminder of the power their sheikh wielded.

As this group fanned out to take their places around their leader’s throne, Antonia strained forward, still hoping for a glimpse of Saif. Once again, she was disappointed. He definitely wasn’t amongst Ra’id al Maktabi’s attendants—and probably wasn’t even a member of the court, she thought, angry with herself for allowing her imagination to run away with her. There was certainly no one to compare with Saif here.

She was distracted and missed the moment when the ruling sheikh entered the room. She didn’t see him, but she felt his presence. It was as if the room had suddenly been infused with greatness, and yet he had entered without a fanfare. He had no need of one, she realised when she saw the ruler of Sinnebar for the first time. She could only see him from the back, but even so, as Ra’id al Maktabi walked towards the platform with the easy loping stride of a panther, she thought him the most imposing figure she had ever seen.

At last here was a man to compare with Saif, Antonia decided. Dressed in robes of deepest blue, the ruling sheikh was easily the tallest man in the room, and far more powerfully built than any other man. She was transfixed by him, and couldn’t wait to see his face, but just as he was about to turn the gold agal securing his headdress flashed in the light and she was momentarily blinded. It was then they seized her from behind.

This wasn’t quite how she’d imagined spending the evening, Antonia reflected miserably, having made herself as comfortable as was possible in a dank, cold cell with very little light and no heating. She had asked for a blanket and they had brought her a thin, scratchy one, which was probably all she deserved. What her brother would make of this latest exploit, she had no idea. She had pleaded for the right to make a phone call to him, and had given the guard his number, but had no way of knowing if the guard would act on her behalf—no way of knowing if she would ever be released. Curling up into a ball, she covered herself as best she could and resigned herself to a long, dark night of fear and uncertainty.

She must have dropped off, Antonia realised when she was awoken by a crash of arms. Moments later her cell door was flung open and light streamed in. By this time she was huddled fearfully in the furthest corner of the wooden bench that passed for her bed.

‘Stand up,’ a guard shouted at her rudely.

She did so and stood trembling with her back pressed against the wall, expecting the worst. She was both surprised and relieved when the guard backed out of the cell, though that barely left enough room for the man who entered next.

She felt a sting of disappointment. What had she expected—the ruler of Sinnebar ducking his head to enter her cell? The ruling sheikh with his jewelled belt? Or perhaps Saif, her desert prince, the dark stranger of her dreams?

For the first time in her life, Antonia resented her overactive imagination. It was always tricking her into expecting the best.

The best?

The man facing her now in his smart suit couldn’t have looked more disdainfully at her if he’d tried. ‘I can confirm the identity of the prisoner,’ he told the guard, ignoring Antonia completely.

‘Please,’ Antonia said as the man turned to go. ‘Please don’t leave me here.’ She sounded so pathetic, but she was desperate. ‘I have to get a message to my brother in Rome.’

The man paused and then turned to her. ‘Nigel Clough, Foreign Office,’ he said, making no attempt to shake her hand. ‘I’m standing in for my colleague from Rome who is attending a charity function tonight. You’re lucky that someone with influence has arranged for your immediate departure from the country.’

Antonia gasped. ‘Do you mean I’m being deported?’

‘I wouldn’t quibble if I were you,’ Nigel Clough warned her. ‘Just take the chance to go while you have it.’ The man’s pale gaze flickered disparagingly around the cell. ‘Unless, of course, you have some plan to stay?’

‘No, none.’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘Will you call my brother just in case it all goes wrong and they keep me here?’ She handed over a screwed-up note on which she had written Rigo’s private telephone number with a pen she’d accidentally borrowed from an unwary guard. ‘Thank you,’ she called after the starchy civil servant. Now she just had to hope it wouldn’t be long before she saw the outside world again so she could pick up her life.

But they left the cell door open, and with a rush of relief Antonia realised the guards were waiting for her to leave. She had no idea what lay ahead of her, but one thing was certain—she wasn’t staying here. Drawing the flimsy blanket tightly round her, she followed the guards along the same dismal corridors down which they had first brought her, and almost cried with relief when she stepped onto the street. Of course there was no imposing sheikh, or sardonic Saif, waiting to greet her. She shaded her eyes against the glare of an unforgiving sun. This was a sorry end to a brave adventure.

She flinched as the prison gates slammed behind her. She had survived a pirate attack and an assault on her heart, but she doubted she could survive her own self-loathing if she returned to Rome without a single one of her goals having been fulfilled.

Well, that was just too bad, wasn’t it? Antonia admonished herself, bumping around in the back of an old army Jeep on her way to the airport. She had to bite the bullet and get on with life like everyone else. She’d got into this mess, and now it was up to her to get out of it. She’d go back to Rome, face up to her brother and prove both to Rigo and to herself that she was worthy of her brother’s trust and that she could do what she had set out to do. This time neither pirates, guards, nor even a man who had carved his name into her heart would stand in her way

It felt like she’d hardly had time to unpack her suitcase before she was standing in an austere cubicle in a private clinic in Rome, getting dressed after her examination. Of course, it had been a little longer than that, weeks in fact, Antonia reflected. She felt she was enclosed in a stark white eggshell—white walls, white floor; even the curtain shielding her from view was white. But in the past five minutes since the doctor had confirmed she was pregnant her life had blazed with vivid colour. Yes, it had been an incredible shock to discover she was pregnant, but when the doctor had confirmed it her horizons exploded with possibility. This was so far beyond the bounds of anything she believed she deserved; she could hardly take it in. Except to say that having a baby both terrified her and made this the happiest day of her life.

She couldn’t tell Rigo, of course. He definitely wouldn’t understand—and he would certainly never trust her again. But she must tell Saif. It might not be easy to track him down, but it wouldn’t be impossible when he had commanded such a notable yacht.

A baby, Antonia mused, leaving the clinic in a bubble of happiness that grew and grew. She was going to have Saif’s baby. What better gift could he have given her than a baby she would lay down her life for, a child she would protect and nurture as a lioness protects its cub?

Ra’id’s fist thundered down on the top of his highly polished desk. Was this possible? Could the girl he had lightly dubbed Tuesday be the missing heir? Had he been duped? Had he harboured a thief hiding behind the guise of innocence? Had the thief of his people’s land been lying in the arms of their king?

Springing up, he paced the room. He could not reconcile the feelings of loss and longing he felt for the girl he had known as Tuesday with his very different feelings for the person he believed posed the biggest threat to his people’s happiness. The whole point of lifting a country out of chaos was to unite all the warring factions and keep them focused on one common purpose, which was the growth and prosperity of Sinnebar—something he was determined would be enjoyed by all, whatever their position in life. To think of one vast strip of land being teased away, leaving families stranded on either side of it, was something he would not tolerate.

CHAPTER NINE

MAYBE it was only a few months in real time, but it felt like ten years of growing up had passed since the last time she’d flown over this turquoise sea on her way to the Gulf. At least on this occasion she was prepared, Antonia reflected, and full of determination to finish what she’d started. There would be no hitching lifts on fishing boats, or desert-island idylls—there would be no distractions at all. This time she was here on business with a track record of success behind her.

After returning home in disgrace she had cancelled her initial meeting in Sinnebar to give herself time to regroup. The wounds from her ordeal with the pirates had gradually faded, but not so the wounds in her heart, and her brother Rigo had taken some convincing before agreeing to give her a second chance. It was then Antonia had discovered that a broken heart was the best engine for change. To forget Saif, she had thrown herself into her work, and in a short space of time had managed to double the number of children they were able to help. Having picked herself up, she had gone on to open branches of her brother’s charity in Europe. Sinnebar was the next natural choice, and it was a place she couldn’t wait to visit, though negotiations at the highest level had been necessary to arrange a visa for someone who had been deported from the country.

But this wasn’t all about work. While she was here she would find Saif and tell him about their baby. What would happen next was a little hazy at the moment, but she was sure they could come to a civilised arrangement.

She would succeed in achieving all her goals this time, Antonia determined. She had a child to protect and set an example for now—a miracle she was still getting used to. And expecting a child had only intensified Antonia’s longing to know her mother. She was more determined than ever to find out what she could about Helena’s life in Sinnebar. Finding Saif was perhaps the most important goal of all.

She’d settle for that, Antonia realised, tightening her grip on the briefcase that held all the paperwork relating to the charity. If anything, it was Saif who had given her the courage to continue this adventure, and just knowing she was in the same country as the man was enough to make her heart fly. She had a good feeling about this as she disembarked the aircraft.

He had watched her progress over the past three months, knowing she would come back to Sinnebar. She had no other option if she wanted to extend the reach of her brother’s charity. Antonia Ruggiero, daughter of Helena Ruggiero; Tuesday; Wild-child; Criminal; Cheat.

Lover …

She had bewitched him once and would never be allowed to do so again.

He thanked the immigration official on the other end of the phone for informing him that the individual under surveillance had landed, and replaced the receiver in its nest. He would see Signorina Antonia Ruggiero at the meeting in his government offices this afternoon. Antonia had no idea he would be there. He would surprise her at her appointment with his Minister of Charities.

Had it been a chance meeting on his yacht three months ago? How likely was that? He would trust no one with Helena’s blood in their veins, and the coincidence was too much for him to swallow. Antonia had come to Sinnebar, like her mother before her, to weigh up the ground before greedily scooping up whatever she could. No wonder she hadn’t been prepared to tell him her name. The charity she represented might be wholly above board—he’d had it checked out—but as far as he was concerned Helena’s heir was a cheat out to rob his people of their land. The reckless escapade on a local fishing-boat was nothing more than vanity for the indulged wild-child of an Italian industrialist with more money than sense. Antonia Ruggiero had set out to deceive him. She was a criminal with a plan to steal his people’s land—a woman who thought she could stroll back into the country and threaten him with her mother’s bequest.

Let her try. He was ready for her.

Ra’id smiled grimly as he buckled on his belt with the royal insignia emblazoned on it.

‘Signorina Antonia Ruggiero,’ a quietly spoken man announced.

As the double doors shut silently behind her, Antonia was instantly aware of an atmosphere of ceremony and history. She could see the majestic council-chamber with its high, vaulted ceiling had been adapted to modern life with consoles and monitors positioned in the centre of a highly polished oval table, but nothing could take away from the craftsmanship around her. The gilt scrolling on the ornate plasterwork, like the exquisitely tiled floor and the artefacts decorating the room, was magnificent. Life-sized murals on the walls picked out scenes from Sinnebar’s past, while giant gold vases at least twice her height stood like sentries at the doors. The floor-to-ceiling windows allowed honeyed light to flood in, and the air was scented and streaked with sunbeams. She felt it was a privilege to be here where time was measured in millennia rather than minutes.

Air-conditioning cooled her as she walked deeper into the room, and as she drew close the dozen or so men seated round the table stood and gave her the traditional greeting.

‘Gentlemen,’ she said, dipping her head politely before taking her seat. She had dressed for the occasion in a sober, beautifully tailored suit, in a subtle shade of dove grey that was both comfortable and modest, and she was wearing hardly any make-up. Her hair was neatly tied back, and though she had already given one presentation that morning her enthusiasm for the charity project had kept her fresh and alert.

She had left that last meeting with a positive feeling. Many of the men the sheikh had chosen to sit on his council were family men and they had quickly come to share her passion for the concept. This meeting was the final stage before Sheikh al Maktabi put his seal of approval on the scheme. She had been assured he would, as the ruler of Sinnebar always put the interests of his people first. She fully expected to start work on a centre for parents and children to enjoy in the next few weeks—providing the ruling sheikh would allow her to use some of his land for the project.

He had to—he must—Antonia determined. Ra’id al Maktabi famously cared about his people. How could he refuse such a simple request?

She was halfway through her summing up when the huge, arched golden doors at the far end of the room swung open. She felt a shiver of prescience and, following everyone else’s lead, she stood up.

The thought of finally meeting the formidable Sword of Vengeance was both a thrilling and terrifying moment for Antonia, but as she turned to catch her first glimpse of him the light streamed into her eyes. It made no difference. She could still sense his animal power as he strode towards her.

Tall and lithe, the ruler of Sinnebar was bearing down on her like a jungle cat, deep blue robes rustling rhythmically as he walked. At his waist a jewelled symbol flashed.

Fear rippled down Antonia’s spine. She had imagined the infamous Sword of Vengeance would be older. Sheikh Ra’id al Maktabi of Sinnebar’s reputation was built on the solid rock of dedicated service to his country, but she could see now that this was a man in the prime of life—and that for some reason he disapproved of her.

‘Signorina Ruggiero.’

‘Saif …’

The breath shot from Antonia’s lungs as His Imperial Majesty, Sheikh Ra’id al Maktabi, clasped her hand Western-style in greeting. She would have known that grip anywhere, and the name Saif had escaped her lips before she’d had chance to think.

But now …

Antonia began to shake as a debilitating fear swept over her.

‘Water,’ she heard a man’s voice command and then someone was drawing out a chair for her and she sank back. That same someone had stopped her falling, and now he settled her into the chair, and she found herself staring down the long stretch of table into the face of a man who was both a stranger and her lover.

And the father of her unborn child.

The realisation that the father of her baby was none other than the Sword of Vengeance was a devastating emotional blow. Most things she could get around, but not this.

Any hope she’d had of finding Saif and living happily ever after had just been crushed. How could she tell this man—this formidable king—that she was carrying the heir to his throne? When would she tell him? Would he be willing to grant her a private audience—or would he find out somehow and steal her child?