The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
‘I was one of the team who found Mr MacDonald and Ms Winters,’ he explained. ‘I’d be surprised if they didn’t recognise us.’
‘As you say.’ The doctor gestured for Rafiq to precede him out of the room. ‘It 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. ‘I 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.
‘Ms Winters is sleeping. The doctor assures me she will recover completely.’
Duncan slumped back against the pillows and sighed. ‘I feel responsible for her.’
Rafiq knew how he felt. At least MacDonald had the solace of knowing he’d done his best to protect her. It was for Rafiq to feel the full weight of guilt, since he was the ultimate cause of their danger. That realisation was like a canker, eating at his peace.
‘On behalf of all Q’aroumis, may I express our deep regret at this terrible incident? Our security forces are scouring the country even now in search of your kidnappers.’
‘They’ll be tried?’
‘Of course.’ Rafiq’s smile was grim. ‘We no longer administer rough justice in Q’aroum. You can look forward to testifying at the legal proceedings against them.’
Duncan MacDonald nodded. ‘If you catch them.’
‘Oh, they’ll be caught.’ He’d see to it personally. Selim and his followers would be hunted down like rabid dogs. They wouldn’t escape justice after what they’d done.
Rafiq stifled the urge to pace. Political dissent was one thing. But violent plots couldn’t be tolerated. The kidnapping was part of Selim’s wider scheme to destabilise Q’aroum’s democratic system. He hid behind extremist ideology but sought only personal power.
‘If you hadn’t turned up when you did—’ Duncan MacDonald began, but Rafiq cut him off with an impatient gesture. He didn’t want MacDonald’s thanks.
‘You’d have survived. I’m sure Ms Winters would have seen to it. She’s a remarkable woman.’
Yet he knew how close the search had come to missing that one small atoll. Just as well he’d insisted on taking a personal role in the operation. His inside knowledge of Selim, his second cousin, had helped concentrate the search in the right area. If it hadn’t been for that…
‘Tell me,’ he said, focussing again on the man before him. ‘Is there anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable?’
‘Well, there is one thing.’ Duncan MacDonald hesitated. ‘My girlfriend doesn’t have a visa for Q’aroum, and I know they take weeks to process.’
Rafiq felt his facial muscles stretch wide as he smiled. His first genuine smile since this business began. So MacDonald had a girlfriend back home in Britain.
‘I’ll have it organised immediately.’ He paused, as if considering. ‘We must ask Ms Winters when she wakes whether she has a similar request.’
Duncan MacDonald shook his head. ‘No need. Belle doesn’t have a boyfriend waiting at home for her.’
Ah. Now, that was interesting.
Belle sank back gratefully against the limousine’s soft leather seat. At last she was on her way.
After three days in hospital she’d been climbing the walls with impatience. But the medical staff had been insistent: she mustn’t leave until they were sure there were no complications, until she’d recovered her strength. Anyone would think they’d had orders to keep her immured there. It had only been when she’d threatened to leave without a formal discharge that the doctor had agreed to release her.
And now this. She surveyed the sumptuous interior of the vehicle with a frown. Surely an ordinary taxi would have done? She wasn’t a VIP.
She stared out of the window as the engine purred into life and they swept out of the hospital forecourt. She should be excited at the prospect of returning to her lodgings. Of resuming work again. After all, she’d made marine archaeology the centre of her life for years now—was just starting to build a modest reputation as an up-and-coming researcher in her field.
There was so much to catch up on. She’d call the maritime archaeology centre and discuss a replacement for Duncan. And she’d better check the wreck site to see if the cyclone had damaged the ship or covered it again. It had been in remarkable condition for a vessel that had been underwater for two millennia. She couldn’t bear the thought of it being destroyed just as they found it.
And tonight she’d make another long call home, to reassure her mum. Then a hot, soothing bath. Bliss!
She shifted on the padded seat. Why wasn’t she more excited to be on her way? There was a niggle of tension in the pit of her stomach that she’d tried to ignore ever since she’d left her hospital room. A niggle that had grown alarmingly into a tight, hard knot of fear.
Fear that alone in the expedition team’s house she might not be safe. That masked men might burst in, brandishing guns.
She’d relived the nightmare of abduction so often that she could barely believe it was over. Surely it was over? The doctor had spoken of political strife, had implied she and Duncan had been merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet still the anxiety lingered.
Belle wondered if she’d ever lose it.
She stared out at the brightly lit streets, finding some comfort in the quaint and vibrant old city. They passed a huge square where the colourful night markets were in full swing. She loved the medieval town, with its maze of streets and its unexpected open spaces.
The car took a sharp corner and Belle looked up to see the palace, illuminated like a fairytale castle. It reminded her of long-buried fantasies. Of Arabian nights and genies and magic carpets. On two sides, facing the sea, it was a brooding fortress, its centuries-old walls a solid bastion against invaders’ cannon. But from this side the royal buildings were an Arabian fantasy: gardens and fountains, pavilions, gilt domes, arches, and screens adorned with delicate carved tracery.
‘Hey, you can’t go in here!’ Belle scooted forward on her seat as the car turned into the private palace road.
The driver ignored her, pulling to a halt at the ornate iron gates barring their way. A man in uniform stepped out of the shadows and spoke briefly to the chauffeur. Then, to Belle’s amazement, he waved them on as the gates slid open.
‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was husky with disbelief. ‘This isn’t where I’m going.’
The driver’s