But she was a victim and she wanted the perpetrator punished. Was that so wrong? Unnerved by her own flailing thoughts, Molly sat there wondering what to do next. She refused to be coerced into not doing what she had the right to do and that was reporting Tahir to the UK police. No doubt there would be some people back home just as eager to make the story go away if offending people in high places in an oil-producing country would result. No, she was not that naïve, but she was also determined.
And if Azrael wasn’t prepared to return her to the airport she would get herself there. It couldn’t be far away. Djalia was a tiny country, wasn’t it? She seemed to recall Tahir making some remark of that nature, a vaguely derogatory one. And if she had been recovered at the airport and brought to the fortress it was unlikely that the airport could be that far away, she reasoned, immediately feeling more upbeat about her prospects of escape under her own steam. Why should she sit here acting like a willing prisoner?
She was utterly innocent of fault in what had happened. But did Azrael believe that? Or did he suspect that she had encouraged Tahir in his delusions? She knew that there were women who would have encouraged Tahir simply because he was rich and willing to buy expensive gifts but she wasn’t one of them. But did Azrael know that or did he believe the worst of her? Sixth sense suggested that Azrael cherished a half-empty-cup view of life while she preferred the half-full-cup version. He would believe the worst and, in the circumstances, be glad to believe the worst of her if it made his half-brother’s wrongdoing seem more understandable and more forgivable.
It would undoubtedly not occur to Azrael that she was a good deal less experienced with men than most women in her age group. Had that not been the case, would there have been anything in Tahir’s attitude that she would have recognised as threatening? Could she somehow have averted that threat? How could she tell? Aside of the few casual dates she had enjoyed as a schoolgirl and the single boyfriend she had had since her grandfather went into care, Molly had had neither the freedom nor the time to explore the world of sex. The boyfriend had been short-lived because she hadn’t particularly enjoyed his kisses and when he had demanded more she had ditched him, reckoning that if he had been right for her she would have wanted to have sex with him, instead of being repulsed by the idea of it. There was the possibility, though, she conceded wryly, that she had a naturally low sex drive because she was not remotely bothered by her lack of experience and only very mildly curious about what she might be missing. Although, if she was honest, she reflected grudgingly, she had been considerably more curious since she first laid eyes on Azrael...
But what on earth did it matter what Azrael thought of her? Why would she even care?
Well, the unwilling prisoner was about to make a run for it, Molly decided. Recalling all those soldiers on the floor below, she realised she would have to wait until night fell and most people were asleep and then creep out. Buoyed up by the belief that she could thumb her nose at Azrael’s coercion and escape Djalia, Molly lay back on her bed, smiling for the first time that day. Throwing a spanner in the works of Azrael’s god complex held immense appeal for her.
Luckily she hadn’t unsealed the water bottle that had arrived with her very tasty meal. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that she could head into the desert heat without water, but she wondered how far and in which direction the nearest road lay. Positioning herself by the window for a couple of hours, she kept watch for vehicles, and there were several four-wheel-drive rough-terrain cars that rolled down the dunes but they all traversed the same route, she noted with satisfaction. She would follow their tracks out back to civilisation and freedom.
* * *
‘Tahir will be harshly punished by his father,’ Butrus reminded his monarch. ‘Prince Firuz is a severe man.’
‘As I have cause to know,’ Azrael reminded the older man wryly, for Firuz was his stepfather.
Some years after Azrael’s father had been executed in Djalia, Azrael’s mother had returned to Quarein and remarried. The following year Tahir had been born. A former princess of Quarein, Azrael’s mother’s marriage to the ruling sheikh of Quarein had been as much a political alliance to strengthen her teenaged son’s standing as a personal relationship. Always guiltily aware of that truth, Azrael had grimly tolerated Firuz’s tough parenting regime and pitied his kid brother for what lay ahead of him.
‘He will not escape a whipping,’ Butrus mused out loud with a faint but perceptible shudder. ‘You should tell Miss Carlisle that. Tahir will pay heavily for his stupidity. His father will ensure it. Prince Firuz makes no allowance for youthful mistakes.’