Seduced by the Sultan(63)
Her gaze kept steering to the window, though the skies were now in darkness. But where the flicker of the plane lights passed over the ground, she could see the stark desert sands which Murat had spoken of so many times. And as the plane began its descent she could do nothing to prevent the shiver which ran down her spine, hating her reaction because she understood exactly what had caused it. Because this was the land which had spawned him. The land which had made Murat the cold-eyed warrior who had broken her heart.
So why had he brought her here? Against her will and against her knowledge?
She supposed that she could refuse to leave her seat, cling on tightly and demand to be flown back to Wales. But there was no way she could behave like that and maintain any degree of dignity, and she told herself that maintaining her dignity was paramount. Yet it wasn’t just that, was it? She was curious to know what had made Murat do something like this. He had promised to leave her alone and it seemed that he had broken his word—and it was that which surprised her more than anything.
A man called Bakri came onto the plane and introduced himself as Murat’s aide. It was weird, because, although she’d sometimes spoken to him when he’d phoned Murat in London, Catrin had never imagined she would actually meet him. She had never thought that her world would collide with the Sultan’s like this.
And she still didn’t know why it had.
Bakri was extremely courteous, but he stonewalled all her indignant questions with the mantra: ‘The Sultan will tell you everything you wish to know.’
Feeling slightly ridiculous in her jeans and T-shirt, Catrin walked down the aircraft steps to alight on Qurhahian soil and looked up into the starriest sky she had ever seen. She had removed her sweater on the plane but the fierce heat which hit her now was like being hurled into the centre of a furnace. She wondered where Murat was. Why he was not waiting at the bottom of the steps to meet her.
And then suddenly she heard a distant thunder, which gradually morphed into the unmistakable sound of approaching hooves. Her head jerked up to see a huge black stallion cantering towards her and Catrin’s heart missed a beat.
The man on the horse’s back could have been any man, with his anonymous flowing robes and a headdress billowing behind him. But it wasn’t just any man. She would have recognised that powerful frame anywhere, even before the rider grew close enough for her to see his stern and hawk-like face.
‘Murat,’ she gasped. ‘What the hell is going on?’
But he didn’t answer, just leaned right over and caught hold of her before lifting her up onto the saddle. And Catrin was so shocked by the apparent ease of this action that she leaned back into him as he clamped his arm tightly around her waist, dug his thighs into the horse’s flanks and set off.
It felt surreal. The airport buildings receded and tarmac roads soon gave way to sand as the horse entered the desert with a low whinny of delight.
Catrin’s heart was pounding wildly, though she wasn’t sure if that was from fear, or bewilderment, or the sheer excitement of being pressed up close to Murat’s hard body, with his arm locked tightly around her. There were no signs, but he kept looking up at the stars as if he was seeking guidance from those celestial signposts which never changed.
She didn’t know how long they galloped for, only that it felt like the most exhilarating journey of her life—but at some point she realised that a canopied dwelling had appeared in the distance and that Murat was heading towards it. And, minutes later, he brought the horse to a standstill in front of what looked like a very large tent.
But as he jumped down from the stallion and then raised his arms to lift her gently down onto the sand, Catrin realised that this was like no tent she’d ever seen.