Master of the Desert(13)

Impressive.

So he was a wealthy man who drove around with blackedout windows-so  what? He could have been the lowliest member of the crew and she  wouldn't have felt any different about him. Both vehicles were  surrounded by security guards, but she'd be an important witness in the  piracy trial, Antonia reasoned, so there would have to be precautions  taken for her safety. She looked at Saif, who was greeting the  paramedic. To her eyes Saif couldn't have looked more magnificent if he  had been wearing the silken robes of her imagination. Even in plain  linen he had the bearing of a king. It wasn't just that he was tall and  imposing, or incredibly good-looking. He had such an easy manner-with  everyone except her, she realised ruefully. She was apparently invisible  now. In spite of everything she had so forcefully told herself, she  yearned for a sign from Saif that said she meant something to him.

She would wait a long time for that, Antonia concluded as Saif brought  the paramedic over to meet her. 'Take good care of the patient,' he  said. 'She's had a rough time.'

As he spoke Saif didn't even glance at her, though the paramedic, a much  older man, gave her a kindly smile, which she returned before bracing  herself to disembark.

'Kum shams ilha maghrib,'Saif murmured as she passed within earshot.

'I'm sorry?' She didn't understand and turned to look at him for an explanation.

'Every sun has its sunset,' Saif translated, and for the briefest moment she thought she saw regret in his eyes.

That was his gift to her. Saif wanted her to know it had been a special  time for him. It was the only gift she could ever want from him, just as  leaving him without making a fuss would be her gift to him. 'You're  right,' she said so that only Saif could hear. 'All good things must  come to an end.'

And then, conscious that the paramedic was waiting for her, she left the yacht with her head held high.

As the limousine swept up to the steps of the palace he felt the return  to reality more keenly than usual, but it altered nothing. The moment he  stepped out of the limousine, he was changed. That was how it had to  be. This was work. This was duty. This was his life.

The palace was set like a rose-pink moonstone on the golden shores of an  aquamarine Gulf. It was an elegant marble paradise, where every luxury  man could devise awaited him, and a fleet of servants was devoted to his  every whim. He had never troubled to count the bedrooms, and doubted  anyone ever had. Soon he would be making a gift of this towering edifice  to his people, but until that time he called it home.

He strode inside, greeting people by name as they bowed to him, lifting  them to their feet when they knelt in front of him. He loathed the  deference some of his fellow sheikhs actively courted, and lived  austerely considering his fabulous wealth. He valued all the treasures  history had granted him, but he valued his people more.

He bathed and then clothed himself in the costume of power, adopting the  shackles of responsibility with each new item. The heavy silk robe  reminded him of the weight of duty, while the headdress spoke of the  respect in which he held his country and its people. The golden agal  holding that headdress in place was his badge of office, like the  jewelled sash he wore at his waist. The sash carried his emblem, which  he had personally designed as a representation of his pledge to  Sinnebar. The rampant lion picked out in flashing jewels was a warning  to anyone who threatened his land, and the cold, blue sapphire clutched  in its claws was the heart he had given to his country and his people.  On the day of his coronation, he had vowed that nothing would alter the  pledge of that heart, or disturb the order he had returned to Sinnebar  following his father's chaotic rule. That history had come back to haunt  him in the form of a woman long dead, his despised stepmother Helena,  something he intended to deal with without delay.                       
       
           



       

While he was away it appeared a letter had been found in Helena's room.  Written before her death to an elderly maidservant, it contained a  photograph of Helena holding a tiny baby girl in her arms. That was why  they had called him back so urgently. Trusted advisors could be relied  upon to keep this revelation under wraps, but not for long in a palace  so heavily populated it was almost like a city in its own right.

The baby wasn't even his father's child, but the Italian Ruggiero's, and  should have had no entitlement to land in Sinnebar. But when Helena had  died the land had passed in equal part to her children. His father had  paid her off, because Helena was the mother of his son. Razi ruled his  own country and had returned the land to Sinnebar. Helena's daughter had  not. It enraged him beyond belief to think that a woman long dead, a  woman who had brought so much grief to his family while she was alive,  could reach out even now from the grave to threaten his land.

He shouldn't be surprised to find his father had left him one last  problem to overcome, Ra'id reflected grimly, checking his royal regalia  before leaving the room. They had never seen eye to eye on matters of  duty versus the heart.

He left the robing room with a purposeful stride, mentally preparing for  the task ahead of him. The prospect of encountering anything connected  to Helena was distasteful to him. It was an excursion into a world he  had no wish to go to. Helena's heir should be clearing out her  belongings, but the identity of the baby in the photograph had not yet  been established. He would read through the documents and see what he  could glean. At least it should prove a distraction, he conceded grimly,  for a man tormented by the memory of a dancing girl invoking the moon,  as he listened in vain for the sound of her voice.

He would never forget his desert-island castaway, Ra'id realised as he  paused to admire the elegance of one of the inner courtyards. With its  mellow fountains and counterpoint of singing birds, it was possible to  hope that there were enough distractions here in Sinnebar, so that in  time her voice would fade and her face would slip out of focus, until  one day she would be just The Girl-a memory consigned to history along  with all the rest. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, breathing in the  heavy perfumes of the East, waiting for them to blank out the girl's  fresh, clean scent. When that didn't happen, he frowned and turned away.  The courtyard, with its fretwork screens and carved stone palisades,  was made for the type of romance he had no time for. He didn't even know  why he'd stopped here.

His robes rustled expensively as he strode away, the sound of them  reminding him at all times of duty. When he reached his office he would  read the letter again and study the land deeds. He would not tolerate  part of Sinnebar being casually handed over to someone who cared nothing  for the land of his birth and who didn't even live in Sinnebar. He  would soon put an end to this outrageous claim and bury Helena's legacy  of turmoil once and for all.

Before transferring Antonia to a luxury hotel, they had advised her to  stay in a private clinic for several days, to check for concussion.  She'd wanted to say she'd had a blow to the heart, not to the head, but  the nurses and staff had been so friendly, and she had welcomed the  chance to rest and regroup in such a clean and efficient place.

Her bills were covered, the staff had explained when she'd started to  fret about expenses. She'd had no need to ask by whom, Antonia  reflected, wandering out onto the balcony of the luxury hotel suite  where she had just been transferred to. All of this had been paid for by  Saif. It had to be Saif. Who else knew she was here?

Knowing Saif had paid for her care did nothing to ease Antonia's  heartache. The fact that he hadn't tried to contact her once only rubbed  salt in a wound she doubted would ever heal. How could it heal when  there was no cure for her feelings for Saif?

The light of another day was fading, coating the city in a honeyed glow.  The pink marble walls of the palace were tinted a deeper red as the sun  drooped wearily towards the horizon. Leaning over the cool stone  balustrade, Antonia pictured her mother catching sight of this same  palace for the first time. Surely Helena must have seen the palace? It  was impossible to miss the magnificent building on a visit to Sinnebar's  capital, where the palace dominated the cityscape.                       
       
           



       

Knowing so little about her mother, Antonia could only guess that she  was following in Helena's footsteps. She had to believe that whatever  she found in Sinnebar would bring them closer in some small way. She  wanted to understand her mother's early life. She knew that Helena had  been very young when she had come to the Gulf, so it was easy to work  out that she had probably been a student, backpacking her way across the  world. Having discovered this beautiful desert kingdom, she hadn't  found the will to leave. It would be easy to give your heart to a  country where gilded cupolas and cream minarets stood proudly against a  vivid electric-blue sky, Antonia mused. She thought the vista over the  elegant city squares to the palace beyond was the most astonishing sight  she had ever seen.