The Sheikh Who Claimed Her. Barbara McMahon
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swear.’ It was hard to take in the facts. Not only had her young mother been the late sheikh’s mistress, but Helena had been paid off when the sheikh had tired of her with this gift of land. It was clear the late sheikh had thought nothing of this valuable gift of territory within Sinnebar, while Ra’id viewed it quite differently. Ra’id was the highly principled conservator of a kingdom and guardian of his people, and no greater sin could have been committed as far as he was concerned. She could understand his resentment. She had inherited a parcel of his people’s land. It was a gift that had been passed from Helena to Antonia, who was not the daughter of the late sheikh but Antonio Ruggiero, the man who had rescued her mother from this life of …
She had no idea what her mother’s life had been like, Antonia realised with a sharp pang of regret. Raising her gaze to meet Ra’id’s hard, uncompromising stare, she knew she’d get no pity from him. But he still dazzled her, unreachable as he was. He was like a dark force framed in light, and one she must soften if her proposal for the charity was to succeed.
‘I will use the land for the good of your people,’ she said, feeling her strength and her courage return as a plan began to take shape in her mind.
‘You can only do that with my permission.’
‘But you will—’ She had sprung up too quickly, and now she was paying the price. ‘You must,’ she said weakly, clutching the table for support.
‘Are you ill?’ Ra’id demanded, observing her keenly.
‘No, I’m not ill,’ she managed, instantly protective of her baby. Ra’id’s child was a royal baby and could be stolen away from her by the stroke of his pen. She had to be cautious now.
‘A drink of water, perhaps?’ he suggested.
Antonia nodded, glad of the reprieve, and also relieved that even in his darkest rage Ra’id still had some flicker of humanity left in him. She sucked in a deep, steadying breath as he poured some water for her. Pregnancy might have weakened her, but what it couldn’t do was lessen her resolve, and she would not fail for want of defending herself against Ra’id’s unfair accusations.
‘This doesn’t change anything,’ he said, handing her the glass of water. ‘You have your mother’s blood in you.’
‘As you have your father’s,’ she flashed back. Ra’id might frighten her, but she was no doormat to be insulted by anyone. She wouldn’t give up, her gaze plainly told him; she didn’t know how to. This was her last chance to find out about her mother, to build a branch of the charity here and make it thrive. ‘It would be a tragic mistake if you allowed your feelings for me to impact negatively on what we can achieve together with the charity.’
His expression remained unchanged. It was as hostile as ever. It wouldn’t be so easy this time to build a bridge between them, Antonia realised, but she was as determined to push her proposals for the charity through as she was determined that her child would know its mother. Ra’id might be all ruthless, barbaric force, while she only had a dream to sustain her, but she had a store of stubbornness she hadn’t even begun to draw on yet. ‘I’ll need planning permission.’
‘To do what?’ he demanded.
‘Having read through this document, I see there’s an old fort on the land I have inherited.’ Ignoring his darkening expression, she went on. ‘I shall restore that.’
‘So you persist in this fantasy?’ he interrupted.
‘Obviously I would consult you first where any changes were concerned,’ Antonia rushed on, determined he would hear her.
‘You should know the land your mother left you lacks its own water supply.’
She made the mistake of staring into his eyes in confusion, only to see that the mockery she expected was mixed with slumbering passion in his gaze. ‘You’re enjoying this,’ she said faintly, shocked to think that Ra’id could still want to bed his prey when he was so obviously relishing this opportunity to destroy her.
‘The water course is on the wrong side of your border—and, unfortunately, you have no access to it.’
‘Unless you permit it?’ she guessed.
‘And I won’t permit it.’ Ra’id’s dark gaze glittered with triumph.
‘So my land is …?’
‘Worthless,’ Ra’id confirmed.
‘But not to me,’ Antonia insisted, remembering her plans. ‘The land is not worthless to me.’
‘Arid desert? What will you do with it—offer camel rides?’
‘That’s cruel and unnecessary, Ra’id, especially with the prospect of you opening a branch of my brother’s charity here in Sinnebar.’
‘Only if I head up the ruling council of that charity.’
‘Is there anything you don’t rule?’
There was one thing—or rather one person—Ra’id reflected as Antonia pursued her argument. He had forgotten how persistent she could be. How irritating.
How desirable …
He watched her closely, noticing how her gaze softened when she spotted some ancient artefact, or when she stared dreamily into the middle distance as she formulated her plan, only for that gaze to harden and grow anxious when he’d mentioned the drawbacks to the old fort she had inherited. Would she fight for it? Remembering the girl who had swum through a storm to reach land, he had no doubt she would. Although she could only find the idea of visiting an ancient citadel where her mother had spent her last few months in Sinnebar incarcerated intimidating, rather as if the ancient building had the potential to become Antonia’s prison too.
She had not yet broken free from her safe cocoon at home, though she badly wanted to, he concluded. So what was holding her back? Was it him? Was she frightened of him? Or was Antonia more frightened by the secret she was hiding from him?
As if sensing the way his thoughts were turning, she met his gaze, and that briefest of stares told him all he needed to know.
When Ra’id took a step closer Antonia’s throat closed, and her gaze fixed on the jewelled belt on his robe. The rampant lion worked in gold thread clutching a very large sapphire in its deadly paws was exactly as she had pictured it, and she though it a perfect illustration of his power. But she had a small child sheltering inside her, and was responsible for other children who couldn’t help themselves. She had to ignore her own fears and press on. ‘If the old fort is habitable, I could live there myself and supervise the renovations.’
‘Are you mad?’ Ra’id thundered.
Mad? Yes, and very frightened, at the thought of taking a baby into the desert—a baby who hadn’t even been born yet. But if she turned around and went home she felt sure she would never be allowed back into Sinnebar and everything she had set out to achieve would fail. ‘According to those documents you showed me, I am entitled—’
‘You are entitled to nothing without my permission,’ Ra’id assured her in a deadly quiet voice.
He was very close to her, and his intoxicating scent was scrambling her brain. She had to forget everything they had ever been to each other. Ra’id must know she hadn’t changed or weakened just because he was a king, and that she was as determined as she had ever been to carry all her plans through. ‘So the rule of law means nothing in Sinnebar?’ she challenged boldly.
She might not have spoken for all the good it did her. ‘I will pay you for the land,’ Ra’id told her coolly. ‘Money is no object. Name your price.’
Her body shook with a tremor of revulsion. ‘I don’t have a price,’ she said fiercely, searching for some semblance of the man she had known in Ra’id’s eyes.
‘I will buy the land from you,’ he explained as if he thought her mind had failed her.
‘It