The Sheikh Who Claimed Her. Barbara McMahon

A group of older men all dressed in elegant ivory robes walked proudly down the broad aisle between the tables. As all the other men bowed low to them, she realised that each of them must be a king in his own right, which was a reminder of the power their sheikh wielded.

      As this group fanned out to take their places around their leader’s throne, Antonia strained forward, still hoping for a glimpse of Saif. Once again, she was disappointed. He definitely wasn’t amongst Ra’id al Maktabi’s attendants—and probably wasn’t even a member of the court, she thought, angry with herself for allowing her imagination to run away with her. There was certainly no one to compare with Saif here.

      She was distracted and missed the moment when the ruling sheikh entered the room. She didn’t see him, but she felt his presence. It was as if the room had suddenly been infused with greatness, and yet he had entered without a fanfare. He had no need of one, she realised when she saw the ruler of Sinnebar for the first time. She could only see him from the back, but even so, as Ra’id al Maktabi walked towards the platform with the easy loping stride of a panther, she thought him the most imposing figure she had ever seen.

      At last here was a man to compare with Saif, Antonia decided. Dressed in robes of deepest blue, the ruling sheikh was easily the tallest man in the room, and far more powerfully built than any other man. She was transfixed by him, and couldn’t wait to see his face, but just as he was about to turn the gold agal securing his headdress flashed in the light and she was momentarily blinded. It was then they seized her from behind.

      This wasn’t quite how she’d imagined spending the evening, Antonia reflected miserably, having made herself as comfortable as was possible in a dank, cold cell with very little light and no heating. She had asked for a blanket and they had brought her a thin, scratchy one, which was probably all she deserved. What her brother would make of this latest exploit, she had no idea. She had pleaded for the right to make a phone call to him, and had given the guard his number, but had no way of knowing if the guard would act on her behalf—no way of knowing if she would ever be released. Curling up into a ball, she covered herself as best she could and resigned herself to a long, dark night of fear and uncertainty.

      She must have dropped off, Antonia realised when she was awoken by a crash of arms. Moments later her cell door was flung open and light streamed in. By this time she was huddled fearfully in the furthest corner of the wooden bench that passed for her bed.

      ‘Stand up,’ a guard shouted at her rudely.

      She did so and stood trembling with her back pressed against the wall, expecting the worst. She was both surprised and relieved when the guard backed out of the cell, though that barely left enough room for the man who entered next.

      She felt a sting of disappointment. What had she expected—the ruler of Sinnebar ducking his head to enter her cell? The ruling sheikh with his jewelled belt? Or perhaps Saif, her desert prince, the dark stranger of her dreams?

      For the first time in her life, Antonia resented her overactive imagination. It was always tricking her into expecting the best.

       The best?

      The man facing her now in his smart suit couldn’t have looked more disdainfully at her if he’d tried. ‘I can confirm the identity of the prisoner,’ he told the guard, ignoring Antonia completely.

      ‘Please,’ Antonia said as the man turned to go. ‘Please don’t leave me here.’ She sounded so pathetic, but she was desperate. ‘I have to get a message to my brother in Rome.’

      The man paused and then turned to her. ‘Nigel Clough, Foreign Office,’ he said, making no attempt to shake her hand. ‘I’m standing in for my colleague from Rome who is attending a charity function tonight. You’re lucky that someone with influence has arranged for your immediate departure from the country.’

      Antonia gasped. ‘Do you mean I’m being deported?’

      ‘I wouldn’t quibble if I were you,’ Nigel Clough warned her. ‘Just take the chance to go while you have it.’ The man’s pale gaze flickered disparagingly around the cell. ‘Unless, of course, you have some plan to stay?’

      ‘No, none.’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘Will you call my brother just in case it all goes wrong and they keep me here?’ She handed over a screwed-up note on which she had written Rigo’s private telephone number with a pen she’d accidentally borrowed from an unwary guard. ‘Thank you,’ she called after the starchy civil servant. Now she just had to hope it wouldn’t be long before she saw the outside world again so she could pick up her life.

      But they left the cell door open, and with a rush of relief Antonia realised the guards were waiting for her to leave. She had no idea what lay ahead of her, but one thing was certain—she wasn’t staying here. Drawing the flimsy blanket tightly round her, she followed the guards along the same dismal corridors down which they had first brought her, and almost cried with relief when she stepped onto the street. Of course there was no imposing sheikh, or sardonic Saif, waiting to greet her. She shaded her eyes against the glare of an unforgiving sun. This was a sorry end to a brave adventure.

      She flinched as the prison gates slammed behind her. She had survived a pirate attack and an assault on her heart, but she doubted she could survive her own self-loathing if she returned to Rome without a single one of her goals having been fulfilled.

      Well, that was just too bad, wasn’t it? Antonia admonished herself, bumping around in the back of an old army Jeep on her way to the airport. She had to bite the bullet and get on with life like everyone else. She’d got into this mess, and now it was up to her to get out of it. She’d go back to Rome, face up to her brother and prove both to Rigo and to herself that she was worthy of her brother’s trust and that she could do what she had set out to do. This time neither pirates, guards, nor even a man who had carved his name into her heart would stand in her way

      It felt like she’d hardly had time to unpack her suitcase before she was standing in an austere cubicle in a private clinic in Rome, getting dressed after her examination. Of course, it had been a little longer than that, weeks in fact, Antonia reflected. She felt she was enclosed in a stark white eggshell—white walls, white floor; even the curtain shielding her from view was white. But in the past five minutes since the doctor had confirmed she was pregnant her life had blazed with vivid colour. Yes, it had been an incredible shock to discover she was pregnant, but when the doctor had confirmed it her horizons exploded with possibility. This was so far beyond the bounds of anything she believed she deserved; she could hardly take it in. Except to say that having a baby both terrified her and made this the happiest day of her life.

      She couldn’t tell Rigo, of course. He definitely wouldn’t understand—and he would certainly never trust her again. But she must tell Saif. It might not be easy to track him down, but it wouldn’t be impossible when he had commanded such a notable yacht.

      A baby, Antonia mused, leaving the clinic in a bubble of happiness that grew and grew. She was going to have Saif’s baby. What better gift could he have given her than a baby she would lay down her life for, a child she would protect and nurture as a lioness protects its cub?

      Ra’id’s fist thundered down on the top of his highly polished desk. Was this possible? Could the girl he had lightly dubbed Tuesday be the missing heir? Had he been duped? Had he harboured a thief hiding behind the guise of innocence? Had the thief of his people’s land been lying in the arms of their king?

      Springing up, he paced the room. He could not reconcile the feelings of loss and longing he felt for the girl he had known as Tuesday with his very different feelings for the person he believed posed the biggest threat to his people’s happiness. The whole point of lifting a country out of chaos was to unite all the warring factions and keep them focused on one common purpose, which was the growth and prosperity of Sinnebar—something he was determined would be enjoyed by all, whatever their position in life. To think of one vast strip of land being teased away, leaving families stranded on either side of it, was something he would not tolerate.

      CHAPTER NINE

      MAYBE it was only a