The Sheikh's Collection. Оливия Гейтс

of uncertainty. Leila sounded so sure...as sure as Khalil. ‘What injustice?’ she asked before she could think better of it. Leila shook her head.

      ‘It is not for me to say. But if you had married Aziz, Your Highness, you would have been marrying an impostor. Very few people outside of Siyad believe Aziz should be Sheikh.’

      It was what Khalil had said, yet Elena could not accept it. ‘But why?’

      Leila’s forehead creased in a troubled frown. ‘You must ask Sheikh Khalil—’

      ‘He’s not really Sheikh,’ Elena interjected, unable to keep herself from it. ‘Not of Kadar. Not yet.’

      ‘But he should be,’ Leila said quietly, and to Elena she sounded utterly certain. ‘Ask him,’ the older woman advised. ‘He will tell you the truth.’

      But did she want to know the truth? Elena wondered as she walked between the towering rocks towards the oasis. If Khalil had a legitimate claim to the throne, what did it mean for her—and her marriage?

      Would she still marry Aziz if he wasn’t the rightful Sheikh? Would her Council even want her to? The point, Elena reminded herself, was most likely moot—unless she got out of here.

      After walking between the boulders she emerged onto a flat rock overlooking a small, shimmering pool shaded by palm trees. The sun sparkled on the water as if on a metal plate, the sky brilliant blue above. The air was hot, dry and still, perfect for a swim.

      She glanced around, wondering if the guards had followed her, but she could see no one. Just in case, she made a show of putting down her bag, spreading her towel on the rock. She slathered herself with sunscreen before she stripped down to the plain black swimming costume Leila had provided.

      She glanced around again; she was definitely alone. No one had followed her from the camp.

      And why should anyone? She was but a five-minute walk from her tent, in the middle of the desert, the middle of nowhere. In every direction the desert stretched, endless sand and towering black rocks, both bleak and beautiful.

      There was, Elena knew, nowhere to go, nothing to do but wait and hope that Aziz found her.

      Or send a signal.

      She reached for her bag and took out the slats she’d broken from the chair. A few weedy-looking plants grew by the oasis’s edge, and she took them and made a small, rather pathetic-looking pile. She wasn’t going to get much of a blaze from this, Elena realised disconsolately, but it would have to do. It was her only chance. If someone saw the smoke from her fire, they might investigate, might look for her.

      Resolutely, she started rubbing the sticks together.

      Fifteen minutes later she had blisters on both hands and the sticks were a little warm. She hadn’t seen so much as a spark. Frustrated, she laid the sticks aside and rose from the rock. The air was hot and still and the shimmering waters of the oasis looked extremely inviting.

      Balancing on her tiptoes, she executed a neat dive into the pool. The water closed around her, cool and refreshing, and she swam under water for a few metres before she surfaced, treading water, not knowing what was on the bottom and not particularly wishing to touch it with her bare feet.

      Even if she managed to start a fire, she thought, what would distinguish it from any other camp fire? She’d have to get a really big blaze going for someone to take notice. She’d have to set the whole camp on fire.

      Her plan, Elena realised, was ridiculous. The sense of purpose that had buoyed her all morning left her in a depressing rush. Yet even so she decided to try again. It wasn’t as if she had many, or any, other options.

      She swam to the side of the oasis and hauled herself, dripping, onto the rock ledge. Drying herself off, she knelt before the sticks again and started to rub.

      Five minutes later she saw the first tiny spark kindle between the sticks. Hope leapt in her chest and she rubbed harder; some of the dried plants and leaves she’d gathered caught the spark and the first small flame flickered. She let out a cry of triumph.

      ‘Don’t move.’

      Everything in Elena stilled at the sound of that low, deadly voice. She looked up, her heart lurching against her ribs at the sight of Khalil standing just a few feet away. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth thinned, everything about him tense and still.

      Her heart started to pound and then it seemed to stop completely as Khalil slowly, steadily, raised the pistol he’d been holding and pointed it straight at her.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      THE SOUND OF the pistol firing echoed through the still air, bounced off the boulders and rippled the still waters of the oasis.

      Dispassionately Khalil watched as the snake leapt and twisted in the air before falling a few feet away, dead.

      He turned back to look at Elena and swore softly when he saw her sway, her face drained of colour, her pupils dilated with terror. Without even considering what he was doing, or why, he strode forward, caught her in his arms and drew her shuddering body to his chest.

      ‘I killed it, Elena,’ he said as he stroked her dark hair. ‘It’s dead. You don’t need to be afraid now.’

      She pushed away from him, her whole body still trembling. ‘What’s dead?’

      Khalil stared at her for several seconds as the meaning of her question penetrated. He swore again. ‘I shot the snake! Did you not see it, but three feet from you, and ready to strike?’

      She just stared at him with wide, blank eyes, and forcibly he took her jaw in his hand and turned her head so she could see the dead viper. She blanched, drawing her breath in a ragged gasp.

      ‘I thought...’

      ‘You thought I was aiming at you?’ Khalil finished flatly. His stomach churned with a sour mix of guilt and anger. ‘How could you think such a thing?’ He didn’t wait for her answer, for he knew what it would be: because you kidnapped me. ‘I promised you I wouldn’t hurt you.’

      ‘And you also said you didn’t trust anyone’s promises. Neither do I, Khalil.’ She tried to move away from him but she stumbled, her body still shaking, and Khalil pulled her towards him once more. ‘Don’t—’

      ‘You’ve had a shock.’ He sat down on the rock, drawing her onto his lap. It was a jolt to his system, to feel a warm body against his, yet it also felt far too good, familiar in a way that made no sense, yet felt intrinsically right.

      He felt the stiffness in her body, saw the way she angled her face away from him and knew that just as he was she was trying to keep herself apart, stand on pride. He saw so much of himself in her and it unnerved him. It touched him in a way he didn’t expect or even understand. From the moment he’d met Elena she’d done things to him. Not just to his body, but to his heart.

      Gently he stroked her damp hair away from her face. She let out a shuddering breath and relaxed against him, her cheek against his chest. Something deep and fierce inside Khalil, some part of him he hadn’t thought still existed, let out a roar of both satisfaction and need.

      He tucked a tendril behind her ear just as he’d wanted to yesterday. Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes sweeping her pale cheeks.

      ‘You pointed that gun at me,’ she whispered, her voice sounding distant and numb.

      ‘I pointed it at the snake,’ Khalil answered. He knew she was in shock, trying to process what had happened, but he still felt a flash of anger, a stirring of guilt. He should have made her feel safer. She should have been able to trust him.

      This, when you trust no one?

      ‘A black snake,’ he continued, keeping his voice steady and calm. ‘They can be deadly.’

      ‘I didn’t even see