The Sheikh's Bartered Bride

A sound in the sitting room alerted her to a servant’s arrival.

The trip to the airport was uneventful.

As a member of the royal family, getting a seat on the next flight to a major airline hub was a cinch and within short order she found herself in a first class seat waiting for the plane to take off.

The door closed and then the pilot announced their departure. They taxied to the runway and then stooped, no doubt waiting in line for their takeoff slot.

It seemed a long time coming and other passengers began talking amongst themselves, asking the flight attendant about the delay. Unfortunately, the conversations were in Arabic and she had not yet learned enough to interpret them fully.

But as the minutes ticked on a premonition of dread began to assail her.

When the outer door opened, she watched with almost fatalistic detachment as her husband’s form came into view.

His eyes caught hers immediately and the rage she saw in the black depths made her mouth go dry.

He didn’t bother to come to her row, but barked out a command to the fight attendant who quickly removed Catherine’s bag from the overhead compartment.

Catherine didn’t move, but glared her defiance at him.

He could take her bag. She didn’t care. She wasn’t getting off this plane. “I’m going home.”

Hakim did not respond. He spoke again to the flight attendant, this time his voice not so harsh, but the implacability of his tone was apparent even to Catherine, who could not understand what was said.

The flight attendant approached Catherine. “His highness was decreed we cannot take off until you leave the plane, madam.”

She didn’t need the immediate and quickly escalating grumbling to tell her defeat was staring her in the face. She could not hold everyone back. There was no doubt but that Hakim had the power to ground their plane indefinitely and the hard-faced stranger standing by the open doorway would do it.

She unbuckled her seat and stood up. Hakim turned and left. She followed him off the aircraft, stepping gingerly down the portable stairway that had been transported to the runway for her husband, the sheikh’s benefit.

When she reached the bottom, one of the black clad security man led her to a waiting limo.

She climbed into the back seat. She refused to look at her husband. She was both furious and frightened. The level of power he exerted was nothing short of intimidating when she faced the prospect of bucking his will.

Stupid tears burned her throat, but she would not give in to them. Not again.

She'd cried more in the last two days than she had for the past ten years.

Silence reigned for the brief trip in the car.

It stopped and another black clad gentleman opened the door. Hakim climbed out first and then extended his hand to help her out. She ignored it and ignored him.

"You can walk, or I can carry you, but you will come."

"Go to hell." She'd never cursed like that at someone, but she wasn't meekly following Hakim. No way.

A discussion ensued outside the limo.

Then Hakim leaned in, his intent obvious.

She shot to the other side and threw open the door. She scrambled outside only to be caught by manaclelike hands.

"Let me go!" She struggled against the hands and aimed a kick to her captor's testicles. It never connected.

She was bodily lifted from behind and two arms like steel bands wrapped around her. "Be calm, Catherine." "Release me right now!"

"I cannot."

She kicked backward and connected with his shin. He grunted, but his hold did not loosen. "Please, aziz, do not make this more difficult than it already is."

"You're kidnapping me. I'm not going to make it easy for you!"

"You cannot return to Seattle without me." "Watch me."

"To do so could very well be to watch you die."

With those startling words, he swung her up into his arms in a hold that immobilized both her legs and arms. He carried her to a waiting helicopter. He lifted her into the helicopter and followed too swiftly for her to jump out again.

"You can't do this. " The words were stupid. Patently he could because he was.

With a flick of his hand toward the pilot, the already warming engines revved and then the blades began their rotation. They were in the air within seconds.

There was no hope of conversing over the noise inside the chopper, so she didn't even try.

Trying to talk sense into a madman was difficult enough without having to shout above the sound of the rotor blades.

It was all so unbelievable. Her sheikh, whom she had considered far too civilized for such a thing, was kidnapping her in the best tradition of an Arabian Nights fantasy. Only it wasn't a fantasy. The dark, grim lines of his expression were all too real. So was her anger and the words he'd spoken before bodily carrying her to the helicopter. She might die if she went home without him. What was that all about?