The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride

Of course she was alive. What had he thought? That the medical staff didn’t know their jobs? Exhaustion, they’d said. Exposure and dehydration. But not severe enough to be life threatening.

She’d been lucky.

Rafiq considered the bandages on her wrists, the blistered skin of her shoulders, the drip attached to her arm, the vulnerability of her slight form.

His hands clenched into tight fists as a surge of adrenaline flooded him. Hot fury twisted low in his belly as he contemplated the men who’d done this to her.

Lucky!

She was indeed lucky to be alive. Lucky her captors hadn’t returned to the island for a little sport. Lucky they’d decided to let their victims die an ugly, lingering death from thirst rather than finish them off with a blade to the throat. Or worse.

Lucky the gang’s ringleader hadn’t taken part in the kidnapping personally. Selim al Murnah was a connoisseur of cruelty. A man who wouldn’t miss an opportunity to indulge his sick whims on such a lovely woman.

The idea of Belle at Selim’s mercy was revolting. The bitter taste of bile rose in Rafiq’s throat as he recognized how narrowly she’d escaped death and torture.

His gaze roved her features, so familiar after such a short time. Her golden hair, her straight, determined nose, the sculpted, bone deep beauty of her face. Her lips cracked and dry, but undeniably seductive. A mouth created to please a man. A courtesan’s mouth.

A mouth that had tempted him, haunted him, since he’d first seen her in the glare of the torchlight half naked, beyond exhausted, and heartbreakingly brave.

`Highness?’ The murmured word made him start. He turned his head to meet the worried frown of the doctor.

`Very well.’ Rafiq inclined his head. Ì see you’re doing all you can for Ms. Winters. Be assured of my gratitude. She and Mr.

MacDonald are important guests. Keep me informed of their progress.’

The doctor nodded. Òf course, Highness.’

As Rafiq turned to leave something caught his eye. A tentative movement against the stark sheet. He looked across to see her brow pucker, her eyes slowly open. Something caught at his throat, restricting his breathing, as he watched recognition spark in her gaze, her eyes widen.

`You came,’ she whispered, her voice a hoarse whisper. At the sound of it some of the stiffness across his neck and shoulders melted.

He reached down and took her hand in his, squeezing gently, as if he could transfer some of his strength to her. Her hand was slim, cool, frighteningly limp within his grasp.

Òf course I came, little one. You didn’t think I’d abandon you?’

She didn’t answer, just stared up at him from those mesmerizing azure eyes. The impact of that look struck him in the solar plexus, sending a jolt of sizzling sensation through him. Then her eyelids flickered shut and her hand went lax in his. If I may, Highness?’

Reluctantly Rafiq relinquished Belle’s hand to the doctor, and stepped back while he took her pulse.

`She’s fine,’ the doctor said after a moment, answering his unspoken question. `Merely sleeping.’ He paused. `Perhaps she will rest better after seeing Your Highness? She seemed to take comfort from your presence.’

There was the faintest trace of speculation in his well modulated tones. But Rafiq knew enough about his people and the power of speculation to be prepared.

Ì was one of the team who found Mr. MacDonald and Ms Winters,’ he explained. Ì‘d be surprised if they didn’t recognize us.’

Às you say.’ The doctor gestured for Rafiq to precede him out of the room. Ìt would be remarkable indeed.’

Rafiq resisted the urge to turn, to look again at Belle. Instead he followed the doctor out into the corridor.

Duncan McDonald’s room was identical to Belle’s, but the shutters were open, letting in late afternoon sun that lit his red hair to flame. His leg was in traction, his arm connected to a drip and his chest bandaged. He’d been injured while trying to protect Belle Winters from the abductors.

A brave man. So why was Rafiq reluctant to meet him?

He crossed the room and waited while the doctor performed the introductions.

`Mr. MacDonald, it’s ‘gratifying to see you looking so much better.’

`Your Highness.’ Duncan paused, as so many Westerners did over the title. Ì must thank you. I understand you were responsible for our rescue?’

`There’s no need for thanks, Mr. MacDonald. We are simply glad you and Ms Winters are now safe.

`Belle! How is she?’ There was no mistaking the desperate edge in the other man’s voice.