Carrying The Sheikh's Baby. Heidi Rice
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reading far too much into a simple courtesy. Obviously, Zane Khan had only offered to escort her to her quarters to be polite. And now she was making a massive meal of it.
He searched her face in a way that only made her feel more uncomfortable, then clicked his fingers above his head. ‘Who here speaks English?’ he asked, addressing a group of young women who had gathered to watch them from a respectable distance.
A teenage girl stepped forward, covering the bottom of her face with her veil, her dark eyes alive with curiosity.
‘What is your name?’ he asked the girl.
‘Kasia, Your Divine Majesty,’ she answered in faltering English.
‘This is Dr Catherine Smith. You will serve her for the duration of her stay here at double your normal salary. Make sure she has everything she desires and she does not go anywhere unescorted. Do you understand?’
The girl nodded furiously, her cheeks flushed as she dropped to one knee. She didn’t reply, clearly speechless at being addressed directly by the Sheikh. But Cat felt the prickle of dismay at his instructions. Why did she have to be escorted everywhere?
‘Kasia will show you to your quarters,’ he said, addressing Cat, that searing, all-seeing gaze silencing the unruly thought. ‘She will accompany you wherever you go. It is very easy to get lost in this place.’
The prickle of dismay was crushed by panic.
Exactly how powerful was this man? Could he read her thoughts?
As Kasia, her new minder, led Cat up a flight of stairs to a mezzanine level, she stole one last glance over her shoulder.
Zane Khan strode back through the gardens towards the entrance to the women’s quarters. His powerful figure cut a dark swathe through the colourful clothing of the women and the garden’s exotic flora.
The soft edges she had glimpsed in the car had been sheared off, as if they had never existed. As soon as they had arrived at the palace, he had become every inch His Divine Majesty again, entitled to rule over everyone he surveyed... Including her.
Her rapid heartbeat sank into her abdomen. But it couldn’t disguise the pang of regret at the thought that the man she’d glimpsed in the car had never been more than a figment of her overactive—and far too romantic—imagination.
OVER THE FOLLOWING fortnight Cat buried herself in the project, which helped ground her and dispel any more of the foolish feelings about Zane that had assailed her on her arrival.
The first job she set herself was to become more fluent in the spoken language, so she didn’t feel like such an interloper. Although Kasia had overstated her command of English, she was smart and eager to help Cat integrate into the society of women in the palace. As they tested out their faltering language skills on each other, Kasia soon became a friend, and also an invaluable research assistant, proving a font of knowledge when it came to documenting Narabia’s customs.
Kasia and the other women who Cat had interviewed though, were less informed on the subject of the Nawari royal family. And Zane in particular. No one seemed to know anything about when he had first come to the palace, or more specifically his relationship with the former Sheikh. Either that or they had been told not to say anything.
Cat convinced herself she was being paranoid. Why would Zane have hired her to do a job like this if he had something to hide? Especially as he had arranged for her to go on a series of ‘fact-finding missions’.
But even though Cat had found the day trips—to a host of local businesses, architectural wonders and even to one of his council meetings—informative and interesting at first, after two weeks of these carefully orchestrated excursions, her initial suspicions had begun to return.
She was learning how to converse in Narabi with Kasia’s help, but she was never allowed to speak to anyone not specifically sanctioned to speak to her by the Sheikh. The bodyguards and advisors who accompanied her wherever she went seemed to be under strict instructions about whom to allow her to speak to. And nothing she said or did could influence them to loosen their hold on her schedule.
Zane meanwhile had been unavailable since that first night. And the interview he’d promised her had yet to materialise.
At first Cat had been grateful for his absence, aware of how overwhelming she found his presence. But as the days passed, and her conversations with Kasia and the other people in the palace brought up questions she wanted to ask that only Zane could answer, her gratitude began to turn to frustration—with herself as much as him.
She wanted this project to be a seminal study of a country and a people whose lives and culture had been almost entirely cut off from the outside world for generations. But for that she needed proper access to all walks of Narabian society, and more access to their Sheikh, especially as he appeared to be the driving force behind all the changes taking place.
Her academic integrity was at stake. Not only that, but Zane had promised her the interview when she’d agreed to take the job.
She could keep her strange reaction to him in check. She wasn’t used to male attention, and certainly not the attention of a man who exuded enough testosterone to arouse a stone. But she couldn’t let her social ineptitude screw up this project. And she only had three months to write this study, so she couldn’t waste any more time pandering to her own insecurities.
But two weeks after arriving in Narabia, she didn’t seem to be any closer to getting the promised interview with its Sheikh. Ravi had been unfailingly polite and helpful, but whenever she’d asked about Zane, she’d been fobbed off with a series of vague excuses.
His Excellency was too busy. His Excellency was out of the country. His Excellency didn’t have the time to deal with the project today.
So yesterday, she’d decided to write the Sheikh a note—reminding Zane of his promise to grant her an interview.
One curt line scrawled in black ink on a piece of cream notepaper was the result.
Ravi will arrange an interview at my convenience, when I have the time.
ZK
‘The Sheikh, he writes to you like a lover.’
Cat glanced up to find Kasia grinning at her.
Cat blushed as she scrunched the note up in her fist and tossed it in the waste bin by the writing desk she had been given. ‘He writes to me like a tyrant, more like.’
‘What is this tyrant?’ Kasia asked, testing her increasingly fluent English.
Cat searched for the word in Narabi. But of course there wasn’t one, because tyrant was an insult, and apparently being an obstructive jerk was perfectly okay if you were the Sheikh in this country. ‘Someone who never lets you do what you want to do,’ she said.
The girl grinned. ‘What is it you wish to do?’
‘I need to speak to people outside these walls,’ she said in her own faltering Narabi. ‘I want to interview a much bigger cross section of Narabian society.’
She’d like to interview Zane Khan too, but she figured that was way outside Kasia’s remit.
‘Why do you not go to the marketplace? There are many people of Narabia there.’
‘I would, but I can’t go anywhere unaccompanied,’ she huffed, the frustration starting to choke her. ‘And all the visits we’ve been on so far, I haven’t been allowed to talk to anyone properly.’
‘You could come with me to buy the herbs and spices for eating tomorrow.’
Cat’s heart hammered against her ribs. Why had she assumed that Kasia never left the palace?