The Desert Sheikh's Innocent Queen: King of the Desert, Captive Bride. Jane Porter
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Brilliant blue water sparkled below as it suddenly dawned on her that they weren’t headed to Sarq but a different destination.
It had to be Dubai, she thought. It was one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the Middle East and a place very far removed from Jabal. “Are we headed to Dubai?” she asked, as the plane tilted slightly, giving her a wider view of the Arabian Peninsula looming on the horizon.
“No, we’re going to Baraka. I have friends there and you’d be safe. But tell me, how is it that a girl from a small Southern town knows so much about the Middle East?”
“I pour over travel brochures all day,” she said, but from his expression she could see he didn’t understand. “I’m a travel agent,” she added.
“So you’re a world traveler.”
She shook her head regretfully. “No. I don’t usually travel. I just book trips for other people. This is my first real trip. Until now I’d never been out of the U.S.”
Suddenly the nose of the plane tipped and they seemed to be changing direction again. Sheikh Fehr frowned and reached for his seat belt. The flight attendant moved toward them at the same time.
She knelt at his side and spoke quietly in Arabic. “The pilot said we’ve a problem. We’re dangerously low on petrol. We need to land almost immediately. Fortunately we’ve been given permission to land in Cairo.”
“Good. Thank you,” Khalid answered, glancing at Olivia, knowing that things were beginning to get a little more complicated than he liked.
By being diverted at the last minute from Baraka to Egypt he wouldn’t be able to process Olivia swiftly. He’d planned on having her checked out by a doctor then put on a private jet to New York tonight. Instead they were landing in Cairo, which meant they’d need to find a place to stay, and since he couldn’t use his preferred pilot and jet, nor the doctor he normally used, he’d need to find another way to get her quickly and quietly attended to. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be today, or tonight.
Olivia turned just then to look at him, her blue eyes wide, almost pinched, in her pale oval face. She was still wearing her headscarf, but the fabric was loose around her neck, exposing her delicate features.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, fear in her voice, the same fear that made her eyes turn to lapis.
“We’ve had a change of plans,” he answered.
Her forehead creased. “Another? Why? What’s happened?”
“Out of petrol, or as you Americans call it, gas. So we’re landing in Egypt instead of Baraka.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected, but her sudden smile stunned her, her blue eyes widening with excitement. “Egypt?” she repeated. “I was on my way to Egypt when I was arrested. Will we have time to see the pyramids in Giza?”
“Unfortunately not. We’ll be landing and hopefully taking off as soon as we refuel. We need to get to Baraka tonight.”
Her gaze searched his as if trying to see what he wasn’t telling her. “Why?”
“You want to go home, don’t you?”
She nodded slowly, clearly puzzled. “But if we don’t make it out tonight, we’ll just go tomorrow, right?”
He wasn’t ready to tell her that things were a lot more complicated than she knew.
For the past ten years he’d operated his version of an underground railroad. He specialized in rescuing innocent people and he’d enlisted some powerful friends to help him. People like Sheikh Kalen Nuri, the younger brother of Baraka’s King Malik Nuri, and Sheikh Tair, leader of the independent state Ouaha.
In the past few years Kalen and Tair had helped him with dozens of impossible rescues, and they’d pledged to help with Olivia’s, but first they had to get to Baraka.
“We want to reach Baraka tonight,” he said tersely, unwilling to give up his initial goal. “I need to make a few calls,” he added, rising from his seat. “Relax, try to get a little sleep. I will be able to tell you more once we’re on the ground.”
Twenty minutes later they touched down, the jet landing so smoothly that Liv didn’t even realize they were on the ground until the pilot began to brake, slowing the jet’s speed.
After taxiing to the terminal the jet sat on the tarmac, not far from the executive terminal. Khalid didn’t appear and the pilot hadn’t emerged from the cockpit.
Liv, seeing the flight attendant on the plane phone, flagged her down. “Are we refueling?” she asked.
But before the flight attendant could answer, Sheikh Fehr walked from the cockpit back to Liv’s seat.
“We’re staying in Cairo tonight,” he said. “I’ve a car waiting. Let’s go.”
Liv shot him an uneasy glance. He was angry. She felt his tension wash over her in dark brooding waves. Something had happened. Something not good.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, unbuckling her seat belt and rising to her feet. From her window she could see a black car outside, waiting not far from the plane.
“We can talk later,” he answered, extending a hand, his black robe with the gold embroidery swirling. “Come. Traffic will be heavy. We need to go.”
She put her fingers in his, shuddering at the sharp hot spark that passed between them. She wanted very much to take her hand back but was afraid of upsetting him.
Once seated in the car, their driver sped on and off highways and Liv marveled at the way Sheikh Fehr traveled.
She’d never met anyone who owned his own jet and employed his own pilot and flight crew. Even though she worked in the travel industry, she thought of flying as booking a ticket on a commercial airline, then going to a crowded airport for an endless wait in a long security line. Maybe it was just the U.S., but modern travel meant canceled flights, missed connections, lost luggage, no meal service and irritated flight attendants. In short, flying was far from luxurious, and definitely not glamorous. But Sheikh Fehr’s jet was sumptuous, as was his fleet of cars.
The fact that he had access to a fleet of cars in different countries, never mind the security, made her wonder about him, and his power.
What kind of man could accomplish the things he did?
What kind of man risked life and limb for a stranger?
Unless he did it for money.
Hiding her worry, she shot another glance his way. Could he be a mercenary of sorts?
The thought made her skin crawl, nearly as much as her disgusting black prison-issued robe and lank headscarf did.
Self-consciously she reached up and touched the headscarf she still wore. The flight attendant hadn’t worn one and Liv wondered now if it was still necessary. “Can I take this off?” she asked.
“Please. In Jabal we didn’t have a choice, but here in Egypt, and my country of Sarq, it’s optional.”
“Some women want to wear the veil?”
“They view it as protection, shielding them from leering eyes and inappropriate advances.” His gaze swept over her. “You will need something else to wear though. That’s obviously a prison-issued robe.”
Liv plucked at her robe’s stiff, coarse fabric. “I can’t stand this thing,” she confessed, her voice dropping. “It’s all I’ve worn since they arrested me and I hate it. I never want to put it on again.”
“You won’t have to. And once we’re at the hotel, I’ll make sure the robe’s properly disposed of.”
“Thank you.” Tears inexplicably burned the backs of her eyes and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to hold the emotion in. She was just tired. Overwhelmed by the day. There was no reason to cry. She’d be home soon.