Desert Prince's Stolen Bride

She’d felt too much already, from the electric tingle of Zayed’s touch to the churning fear when she’d first been taken, and then the overwhelming shock, like a tidal wave of numbness, when she’d realised the colossal mistake they’d both made.

Zayed glanced back at her, his expression closed, his eyes hard. ‘Are you holding up?’ he asked brusquely, and Olivia nodded, knowing she shouldn’t be touched by such a small, simple question, yet feeling it all the same. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back fiercely. The last thing she wanted to do now was cry. She didn’t even know what she’d be crying for—for what she was about to lose, or what she’d already lost?

They rode in silence, bumping over dunes for two hours, until they came to a huddle of Bedouin tents by a small oasis fringed with palms. Even before the Jeep came to a stop outside the circle of tents Olivia could feel the sense of desolation and despair. It hung like a mist over the camp, a darkness despite the sun that glinted diamond-bright off rock and boulders in the distance.

Zayed leapt out of the Jeep in one graceful movement and then, to Olivia’s surprise, he reached behind and held out his hand for her. Olivia took it, th

e feel of his rough, callused palm on hers reminding her of how he’d touched her earlier, and how she’d responded to it.

It seemed incredible that she could be affected by him even now, with confusion all around them, but her body felt as if it were supernaturally attuned to his. Or was she just naïve because no man had ever paid her any attention before? Either way, she had to ignore the fizzing sensation in her stomach, the electric excitement that pulsed through her as his hand brushed hers.

‘Come.’ Zayed dropped her hand once she’d exited the Jeep and Olivia followed him into the camp. Men, women and children milled about in states of sadness and anxiety; after speaking to some of the leaders, Zayed told Olivia that Malouf’s men had raided the camp and stolen their goats and camels, roughed up a few of their men. A few of the women and children were hurt, collateral damage, but fortunately no one had been too badly injured.

‘It could have been worse,’ Zayed said grimly, his expression making Olivia think that he had seen worse before, more than once.

‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘Where are the women and children who have been hurt?’

Zayed nodded towards the tranquil pool of water the camp had been built around. ‘They are washing in the oasis.’

Nodding, Olivia started towards the group of women she saw huddled by the pool. She didn’t know exactly what she could do to help, only that she wanted to be of some use. Her heart ached for these people, the confusion they felt at having their home so needlessly destroyed.

The women turned as she approached, eyes narrowing with curiosity, and Olivia wondered how on earth she could explain who she was. But then, for better or worse, it turned out there was no explanation needed.

‘I...help,’ she said haltingly, and a child ran towards her, tackling her around the knees. Relief poured through her. Until that moment she hadn’t quite realised how much she needed to feel useful. To be needed.

She spent the next few hours bandaging cuts and cleaning scrapes, communicating in a mixture of halting Arabic and miming that made the children chortle with glee.

Olivia soon realised that the way she could be the most useful was simply by listening and chatting to the women and children, distracting them from their worries. And, goodness knew, she could use some distraction as well.

When all the injuries had been seen to, they retired to one of the women’s tents, drank apricot juice and nibbled on pitta bread with fresh hummus.

Before long she had a chubby baby on her hip and a toddler clinging to her legs as the women began firing questions at her, only half of which Olivia could understand, and none of which she could answer.

Who was she? Was she Zayed’s bride? Had he married in secret? Were they in love? When Olivia blushed, the woman crowed with laughter, delighted by her response. Even when she said nothing, it seemed she gave something away. And, with dread curdling in her stomach, she had a feeling Zayed would be furious.

But perhaps he would be furious with her, no matter what. He seemed determined to be, just as he was determined to regain what he’d lost. She would just be collateral damage, so much jetsam to be thrown away. The thought made her throat close. It hurt to be so disregarded, even though part of her understood it. Really, what else could she expect? Prince Zayed had a country to think of. She was just one woman, an unimportant palace servant he needed to get rid of.

‘Come.’ One of the women smiled at her and plucked her sleeve. ‘You are tired. You rest.’

She was tired, every muscle and sinew pulsing with exhaustion. With a smile of relieved gratitude, Olivia followed the woman to another tent where she could sleep...and perhaps forget, for a little while, the mess she was still hopelessly embroiled in.

* * *

It had been a strange, surreal kind of day. Zayed had been immersed in meetings with the tribal leaders, listening to their complaints, assuring them he would have vengeance on Malouf’s men. He’d already sent one of his own patrols out after the raiders, in the hope of recapturing the tribe’s valuable livestock. He saw the hope and, far more damning, the faith in the eyes of his people when he spoke to them and guilt cramped his stomach. How could they trust him as their leader, when he’d made such an enormous mistake? When he’d married the wrong woman and put his country’s most valuable alliance at terrible risk?

Even though he barely saw her, Zayed was conscious of Olivia throughout the day. He saw her down at the oasis, washing and bandaging the children’s scrapes with meticulous care. Later, when all the injuries had been seen to, he saw her laughing and playing in the water, kids crawling over her. The women seemed to have accepted her into their fold without question, which made Zayed wonder if they assumed she was his bride. Did they know she wasn’t the woman he’d meant to have? He had no idea if Olivia’s rudimentary Arabic was up to the task of disabusing them of any of their assumptions...or if she even would. Perhaps she was simply making herself useful so he would see what an asset she could be to him.

He shouldn’t have brought her, he supposed, so he could have stemmed any questions or curiosity, but he hadn’t thought the news of his bride would have spread to such a remote place. And he hadn’t wanted to let Olivia out of his sight, not until he knew what he was going to do with her.

In late afternoon, as the shadows started drawing in, Zayed met with Jahmal.

‘We’ll stay the night,’ he informed his aide. ‘And leave in the morning for Rubyhan.’

Jahmal raised his eyebrows. ‘Rubyhan? Is that wise?’

Zayed took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I need to retrench and decide what I am going to do about Olivia.’ Rubyhan, the summer palace of the royal family of Kalidar, had thankfully remained in his possession throughout Malouf’s reign. He used it as the seat of his provisional government and the place to which he went when he needed to regroup. And he certainly needed to regroup now.

A headache flickered at his temples and Zayed closed his eyes, fighting the pain. The last thing he needed was one of the crippling migraines he’d suffered from since receiving a head injury eight years ago in one of the battles against Malouf’s men.