The Sheikh's Guarded Heart

Over and over he murmured his apologies and only when she let her head fall against his shoulder and he felt her relax, did he gently chide her.

‘You could not wait two minutes, Lucy?’

‘I thought I could manage. What have I done?’ she asked into his shoulder. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

‘You’ve torn a ligament in your ankle, that’s all.’

‘All?’ She looked up.

‘I know,’ he sympathised. ‘It is an extremely painful injury.’

She remembered.

At the time it had all happened so quickly that she’d felt nothing. It had been just one pain amongst many. Now, though, she was reliving the moment in slow motion…

He was holding her, supporting her, holding the sheet to her mouth before she even knew she was going to need it, but there was nothing to throw up except water…

By the time her stomach caught up with reality and gave up, she was sweaty and trembling with weakness. He continued to hold her, offering her water, wiping her forehead, her mouth—so gently that she knew her lips must look as bad as they felt.

‘You’re very good at this,’ she said, angry with him, although she couldn’t have said why. Angry with herself for having made such a mess of everything. ‘Are you sure you’re not a nurse?’

‘Quite sure, but I took care of my wife when she was dying.’

His voice, his face, were wiped of all emotion. She wasn’t fooled by that.

She’d become pretty good at hiding her feelings over the years, at least until Steve had walked into her life; he’d certainly cured her of that. But when you knew how it was done it was easy to spot.

‘I’m so sorry…Han,’ she said, trying out the name he’d offered, as near as she could get to an apology for behaving so badly, so thoughtlessly, when all he was doing was trying to help her. When he was clearly reliving all kinds of painful memories.

‘Nausea is to be expected,’ he said distantly.

That wasn’t what she’d been apologising for and she was sure he knew it. Questions crowded into her mind, but she had no right to ask him any of them and she let it go. Better to keep to the practicalities.

‘Didn’t they explain your injuries to you at the hospital?’

‘They tried. I didn’t understand most of what they were saying. I was just so confused. By everything.’ She looked up, appealing for understanding. ‘I saw a mirage,’ she said, trying to make him see. ‘At least I thought I did. Then, after the crash there was an angel. He had gold wings and he was coming to get me and I thought I was dead—’

‘Hush, don’t distress yourself—’

‘And then you were there and I thought… I thought…’

She couldn’t say what she’d thought.

‘You drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. The mind plays tricks. The memory becomes uncertain.’

‘You’re speaking from experience again?’ she asked, trying a wry smile, but suspecting that it lost something of its subtlety in translation from her brain to her face.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Then, ‘They did a scan at the hospital,’ he said, wanting to reassure her. ‘There was no head injury.’

‘Just my ankle? Really? Is that it?’ she asked. ‘No more nasty surprises?’

‘Lacerations and bruising.’

‘Cracked ribs?’

‘No one mentioned anything about cracked ribs,’ he said, finally showing some emotion, if irritation counted as emotion, although not, she thought, with her. ‘Are they sore?’

‘Everything is sore. So, tell me, what’s the prognosis?’

‘The bruises, abrasions, will heal quickly enough and you’ll need to wear a support on your ankle for a couple of weeks, use crutches. That’s where I went. To fetch them for you.’

‘Oh. I didn’t know.’

‘Of course you didn’t. I should have explained.’ His smile was a little creaky, as if it needed oiling, she thought. ‘I’m so used to being obeyed without question.’

‘Really? I hate to have to tell you this, Han, but western women don’t do that any more.’

‘No? Do you want to take a shower?’

‘Please…’

‘Then you’re going to have to do as you are told.’

‘What…?’ Catching on, she laughed and said, ‘Yes, sir!’

‘Hold on,’ he said and she didn’t hesitate, but grabbed at his shoulders, bunching the heavy dark cloth of the robe he was wearing beneath her fingers as he lifted her back up on to the bed.

Her laughter caught at him, tore at him, and he did not know which was harder, taking her into his arms or letting her go so that he could fasten the support to her ankle. He reached out to stop her tipping forward when she was overcome by dizziness.

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him. ‘Just pass me the crutches and give me some room.’

He didn’t try to argue with her, but he didn’t take any notice of her either, Lucy discovered. The minute she had the crutches in her hands, had settled them on the floor ready to push herself up, she found herself being lifted to her feet.

She would have complained, but it seemed such a waste of breath.

He didn’t let go either, but just leaned back a little, spreading his hands across her back to support the shift in weight. Strong hands. Hands made to keep a woman safe.

He was, she thought, everything that Steve was not.

A rock, where the man she’d married in such haste was quicksand.

Light-headed, drowning in eyes as black as night, her limbs boneless, she knew that if she fell into Hanif al-Khatib’s arms the world would turn full circle before she needed to breathe again.

‘Lucy…’

It was a question. She thought it was a question, although she wasn’t sure what he was asking.

She swallowed, shocked at the thoughts, feelings, that were racing through her body—struggled to break eye contact, ground herself.

‘I’m all right.’ Breathless, her words little more than a murmur, he was not convinced. ‘You can let go.’ Then, when he still didn’t move, ‘I won’t fall.’

She looked down and slowly, carefully, felt for the floor beneath her one good leg, took her weight. Then she leaned on the crutches. Still he held her, forcing her to look up.

‘Please,’ she said.

Han could not let go. It was as if history was repeating itself, that if he stopped concentrating, even for a moment, she would fall, be lost to him.

Stupid.

She was nothing to him.

He was a man without feelings.

Yet from the moment her dust trail had caught his eye his world had become a torrent of emotions. Irritation, anger, concern…

He refused to acknowledge anything deeper.

‘We’ll do it my way,’ he said abruptly, taking a small step back, without removing his support. ‘Or not at all.’

‘It’s that instant obedience thing again, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Try it. You might like it.’

She blew a strand of hair from her face, took the weight on her hands and swung forward a few inches, barely stopped herself from crying out in pain. For a moment his entire body was a prop for hers, her forehead against his cheek, her breast crushed against the hardness of his broad chest, her thighs, clad in nothing but a skimpy hospital gown, against the smooth, heavy cloth of his dark robes. And, as he held her, for one giddy moment she felt no pain.

‘This is harder than it looks,’ she admitted after a moment.

‘You are not ready,’ he said, tucking the loose strand of hair behind her ear, doing his best to ignore the silky feel of it.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I usually wear it tied back. I really must get it cut the minute I get home.’

‘Why?’ he asked, horrified. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘It’s a damned nuisance. I meant to do it before…’

‘Before?’

She shrugged. ‘Before I came to Ramal Hamrah. Okay, I’m ready. You can let go now.’

Against his better judgement, he took another step back, still keeping a firm hold of her.

In this manner, her persistence wearing down his resistance, they crossed the room one step at a time until they were standing in the bathroom with the wall at his back. ‘This is as far as we go.’ Then, when she was slow to respond, ‘Enough, Lucy,’ he said impatiently. ‘You’ve made it to the shower. You can drop the crutches. I have you. You won’t fall.’

Lucy’s leg was shaking from the effort, her hands, arms, shoulders, back, shrieking in agony. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t obey Han, it was because she couldn’t. Her fingers were welded to the crutches and she was unable to straighten them.

‘I can’t,’ she said.

Looking down, he saw her problem and, muttering something she did not understand, but was sure was not complimentary, he caught her around the waist and, propping her up against his body, eased the crutches from her grasp.

‘You’ve done enough for today,’ he said.

Lucy, the hot grittiness of her skin made all the more unbearable by the very nearness of relief, persisted. ‘I’m not leaving here until I’ve had a shower.’

He shook his head, smiling despite himself. ‘I have to give you ten out of ten for determination, Lucy Forrester.’

‘Yes, well, no one ever accused me of being a quitter. And look, the shower has a seat. Easy. Just turn it on, give me back the crutches and leave me to it.’

He did as she’d said, testing the water until he was certain it was not too hot or cold, making sure that she had everything she needed to hand before turning to go. ‘Do not,’ he said, ‘lock the door.’

‘Got it,’ she said—as if she had the energy to waste on that kind of nonsense. Then, clutching hold of a handrail, ‘If I need you I’ll scream. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

‘Oh, wait. Um, can you unfasten the bows at the back of this thing?’

Keeping his gaze fixed firmly above her head, he tugged the fastenings loose on her hospital gown. ‘Anything else?’

‘No. Thank you. I can manage.’

It was an exaggeration, but she did what she had to, then settled herself in the shower, keeping her splinted foot propped out of the way of the water as much as she could. The warm water seemed to bring her back to life, but washing her hair was more than she could manage and by the time she’d struggled into the towelling robe he’d laid out for her she was almost done.

‘Han?’

He was there almost before the word was out of her mouth.

‘Thanks,’ she said, swinging herself through on willpower alone. ‘I would have opened it myself, but I had my hands full.’

‘You, Lucy Forrester, are a handful,’ he said. ‘Come, there is food, tea. Eat, then you can rest.’

Hanif had hoped for a few minutes alone walking the quiet paths of the ancient garden surrounding the pavilion where Lucy Forrester lay resting.

Fed by a precious natural spring that irrigated the orchards, guarded from the encroaching desert and wandering animals by thick, high walls, they had been laid out centuries earlier as an earthly reflection of heaven and he’d come here hoping to find some measure of peace.

In three years he hadn’t found it but today it wasn’t his own guilt and selfishness that disturbed him. He’d barely reached the reflecting pool before an agitated Zahir came hunting him down.

‘Sir!’

Han stopped, drew a deep breath then turned, lifting his head as the tops of the trees stirred on a windless day. Knowing what Zahir was going to say before the words left his mouth.

‘Sir, I’ve had a signal from the Emir’s office.’

No one had been here in months so this was no coincidence; it had to be something to do with Lucy Forrester.

‘Who is it?’ he asked. ‘Who is coming?’

Was it the man—he was certain it would be a man—she’d been so desperate to reach?

‘It is the Princess Ameerah, sir.’

Not her lover, then, but nevertheless Lucy Forrester was the direct cause of this invasion.

‘I am to have a chaperon, it would seem. You wasted no time in reporting last night’s event to my father, Zahir.’

‘Sir,’ he protested. ‘I did not. I would not…’ Then, ‘Your father is concerned for you. He understands your grief but he needs you, Han.’

‘He has two other sons, Zahir. One to succeed him, one to hunt with him.’

‘But you, Han…’

‘He can spare me.’

Zahir stiffened. ‘You were not recognised at the hospital, I would swear to it, but the removal of Miss Forrester by your staff would not have passed without comment. Sir,’ he added, after a pause just long enough to indicate that he did not appreciate his loyalty being doubted. ‘It was only a matter of time before news of it reached your father.’

‘He will want to know why the news did not come from you.’

‘You undertook a simple act of charity, Excellency. I did not believe the incident was of sufficient importance to interest His Highness.’

‘Let us hope, for your sake, that His Highness takes the same view,’ Hanif replied wryly, briefly touching the young man’s shoulder in a gesture that they both understood was an apology. ‘I would hate to see him replace you with someone less concerned about bothering him.’

Or was that what Zahir was banking on? Did he consider the chance of returning to the centre of things worth the risk of irritating the Emir?

‘I think I should warn you, Zahir, that the arrival of the princess would suggest otherwise.’

‘It may be a coincidence.’

‘I don’t believe in coincidence.’ Undoubtedly his father was making the point that if he could take in and care for some unknown foreign woman, he could spare time for his own daughter. He turned away. ‘Make the necessary arrangements to receive the princess.’

‘It has been done, Excellency.’ Zahir raised his voice as the helicopter appeared overhead, shaking a storm of blossom from the trees. ‘Will you come and greet her?’

‘Not now. She’ll be tired from her journey. Maybe tomorrow,’ he said when his cousin looked as if he might press the point.

He’d had three years of tomorrows. One more wouldn’t make any difference.

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