Shackled to the Sheikh(18)

Alongside her he made a sound, half snort, half laughter. ‘Just as well, really, given that’s my first time.’

Her head swung around. ‘Seriously? You’ve never paddled before?’

‘Not that I recall.’

‘But when you were a kid—you must have gone to the beach or something?’

He shook his head as he looked out over the water, his elbows on his bent knees. ‘The school I went to had a pool. It’s not like I didn’t learn how to swim.’

But he’d never experienced the simple delights of paddling in the shallows? And she thought back to that night on the terrace when he’d told her he wouldn’t send Atiyah off to boarding school, and she wondered. ‘How old were you when you were sent to school?’

‘I don’t remember, I just remember always being there.’ He shrugged. ‘It was a good school, set in leafy Oxford. I can’t complain.’

‘But so far from home.’

‘That was my home.’

‘But your parents?’

‘My mother died when I was in infancy. I grew up believing my father was also dead.’

A chill went down Tora’s spine. Atiyah was his sister so his father had been alive... It was so horrible, she couldn’t help but want it to be untrue. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

And he turned and looked at her with eyes that were dark empty holes, and she regretted her words even before he spoke. ‘Do you really think I’d kid about a thing like that? No, I never knew he’d been alive all that time until I was summoned to a meeting in Sydney to be told that he’d actually been alive for the thirty years I’d believed him dead, only to have been killed in a car crash weeks before. Not only that though, because I was now the proud guardian of his two-month-old child. How would you feel, learning all that?’

Under the heavy weight of his empty eyes, she knew. Gutted. Devastated. Angry.

And her breath caught. He’d been angry the night she’d met him. Because that was the day he’d learned the truth? God, he’d had good reason. No wonder he’d been so resentful of Atiyah, charged with the responsibility of a child of a father who’d as good as abandoned him three decades before.

She looked out over the surface of the water and the ripples that sparkled under a hot sun. ‘Why would any man do such a thing to his child?’

Rashid swiped at an insect on his legs. ‘Apparently he was protecting me,’ he said. ‘Protecting both of us.’ And he told her of his father being chosen as the Emir’s successor, the plot to dispose of both father and child and the exile and separation that had followed.

‘And he never once contacted you in all that time.’

‘No.’

‘So you were brought up by strangers?’

He leaned back on his elbows. ‘My houseparents were my guardians. A good couple, I suppose, but I never felt I belonged. I was never part of their family, so much as a responsibility.’

It explained so much about the man he was. No wonder he felt so ill-equipped to care for a child. ‘What a hard, cold way to grow up.’

‘It wasn’t so bad, I guess. What they might have lacked in affection, they made up for in instilling discipline. I was the perfect student in the classroom or on the field.’

Discipline, yes. But no love. No warmth. And her heart went out to the little boy who’d grown up alone and now had the unexpected weight of a country on his shoulders. ‘Will you stay, do you think? Will you become the new Emir?’

Rashid sighed. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said, being honest. ‘My father chose not to tell me any of this—I think he valued his freedom in the end, and he wasn’t about to force me into a role he saw himself having escaped. Either that, or he thought one attempt on my life was enough.’

‘Would it be dangerous?’

‘Kareem says not. Apparently the longer Malik ruled, the more of a buffoon he became, interested in satisfying only his own appetites. Everyone knows the last three decades have been wasted. The people want change.’

Rashid stared into the middle distance. Why was he telling her all this? But somehow putting it into words helped. Somehow her questions helped. Would he stay?

Qajaran needed help, that much he’d learned these last few days, but was he the man who could turn the country’s fortunes around? Zoltan would be here tomorrow to advise him, but there would be no need for that if he decided to walk away.

Could he simply walk away?

And once again his eyes were drawn to the line of mountains that lay across the sands, and he thought about the words Kareem had spoken in an office in Sydney what seemed like a lifetime ago, words that had made no sense to him at the time, words that now played in his mind to the drum beats of his heart.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked as he rose to his feet and walked towards the sands that lay beyond the fringe of green.

‘Just something I need to do,’ he said, before stepping from the grass and onto the sands, feeling the crunch of the thin surface give way to the timeless hot grains of Qajaran’s sands beneath. Anyone watching would think him mad—Tora must certainly think him mad—but his heart was thumping as he walked, feeling the grains work between his toes and scour his soles. And when he’d walked far enough, he stopped and leaned down to pick up a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers while warm desert air filled his lungs and the breeze tugged at his shirt, whispering the secrets of the ages. He turned his head to listen and found his gaze looking across the desert plains, back to where the blue mountains rose in the distance, and, with a juddering bolt of sensation, he saw the colour of his eyes in the distant range and he felt it then—the heart of Qajaran beating in his soul.

And he knew he was part of this place.

He was home.

His skin still tingling with the enormity of the revelation, he turned back towards the oasis. He was staying. He knew that now, and he wanted to tell Tora, to share it with her because somehow he knew she would understand.

He frowned, because there were more people gathered there where he had left her. They bowed as he drew closer, calling blessings upon him and wishing him well, their eyes full of hope, while Tora stood there in their midst, her beautiful face alight with a smile that warmed his newly found soul.

The children were less hesitant than their parents. They ran up to him, wanting to touch his hand, and he knew he didn’t deserve this kind of reception, and he didn’t know if he would make a good leader, but the people of Qajaran needed a good leader, and he would try.

The price of failure was too high.



Their return to the Old Palace was subdued, Rashid lost in thought as he watched the desert retreat in the face of the city. Kareem would welcome his decision, he knew, and throw himself into executing the plans for the coronation he already had mapped out. And still he wondered if it was the right decision.

‘So what will you do with the palaces?’ she asked. ‘Unless you’re planning on establishing your own harems, of course.’

Lord help him. He couldn’t imagine having six women, let alone six harems. One woman was more than enough and he didn’t have her. Not really. And there was another problem...

He shook his head, because there were no easy answers to anything. ‘I’m not sure. But the state can’t keep paying for them. Kareem wanted to show me, in case I preferred one of them over the Old Palace.’

‘I like the Old Palace,’ she said. ‘It has history and character. You have to keep that as the kingdom’s base, surely?’ And then she paused. ‘Not that it has anything to do with me, of course.’

‘But that still leaves the problem of what to do with the rest. Qajaran already had a Desert Palace and a Mountain Palace before Malik took it into his head to increase the number of palaces by two hundred per cent.’

‘Sell them, then.’

‘Not possible. They belong to the people of Qajaran. For better or worse, they are part of their heritage. Even if they could be sold, nobody would pay what Malik spent on them. The country would lose a fortune.’

‘So you have six white elephants costing a fortune to upkeep?’

‘That’s the problem.’

‘Could they be turned into boutique hotels? So many bedrooms already with en-suites—surely it couldn’t be too hard.’

He looked at her. Really looked at her. ‘Did someone tell you that? Did Kareem mention it while we were looking around the palaces?’ Kareem had mooted it as a possibility with him just yesterday when he was going over the final details for the inspection.

She shrugged and shook her head. ‘No. But what else could you do with them? You could hardly turn them all into museums—that would never pull as many tourists from overseas or earn you as much money. But think of the tourists who would flock here, wanting to tick off staying at Qajaran’s quirky hotels one by one, or get married alongside a Venetian canal in the desert. And think of the employment that could be generated in servicing busy hotels rather than in maintaining six empty palaces waiting for their next visit from their Emir.’

He rubbed his chin between his thumb and his fingers, the gravel of his whiskers like a rasp against his skin. The tour had taken the better part of the day and he had a five o’clock shadow to show for it. ‘Maybe it’s possible.’ The palaces couldn’t be sold, but they could be leased to a luxury hotel chain to manage...