disappearance, that perhaps what she had endured was not quite as traumatic as she had made it sound, but Yusuf’s reaction to Chrissie’s reappearance in Jaul’s life as his queen was uniquely revealing. Jaul still wanted to hear the details of Yusuf’s dealings with his wife on King Lut’s behalf but he would wait until the older man returned to Marwan to receive them. After all, he already knew the most crucial facts, he reminded himself heavily. His wife had told him how she had suffered and he had doubted her every word, had literally prayed that her lively imagination had encouraged her to embellish her story. And wasn’t this his due reward for his lack of faith in his wife and his all-consuming loyalty to his father’s memory? What had happened to his loyalty to the woman he had married?
Self-evidently, his father had lied to him shamelessly over and over again. Lut clearly hadn’t cared what he’d had to say or do to destroy his son’s marriage. Jaul was appalled that the man he had respected and cared for could have gone to such brutally selfish lengths to deprive his son of the woman he loved.
As the sun began to climb higher in the sky, driving off the early morning chill, Jaul paced the sand, oblivious to the anxious watch of his guards. He could not escape certain devastating conclusions: he had virtually wrecked Chrissie’s life and, worst of all, he had not just done it once, he had done it twice. The first time he had married her and left her pregnant and without support and the second time he had blackmailed her into moving to Marwan and giving their marriage a second chance. How did any man come back from such grievous mistakes? What right did he have to try and hold onto a woman he knew he didn’t deserve?
While being angry and hostile at the outset, Chrissie had come round sufficiently to offer him a measure of forgiveness and understanding. But she didn’t owe him either, did she? He had done nothing to earn her forgiveness. An honourable man would let her go free, Jaul reckoned, perspiration dampening his lean dark features in the heat of the sun. An honourable man would instantly own up to his mistakes and give her the freedom to make a choice about whether she wanted to stay or go...
It was the most humiliating moment to discover that he was evidently not an honourable man, for the prospect of facing life without Chrissie and the twins by his side was not one that Jaul could bring himself to even contemplate.
He had screwed up, he had screwed up so badly, he reasoned fiercely, that he could only do better in the future. But the shame of his misjudgement felt like a giant rock lodged in his chest. He watched Chrissie curl up on a seat in the shade while fruit and rolls were brought to her for breakfast. Her shining hair was loose round her lovely face and she wore not a scrap of make-up, her slender body fetchingly clad in khaki capris and a plain white tee. She was his wife...but for how much longer? Stress locked tight every muscle in his lithe, powerful body.
‘WHAT HAPPENED TO that horse you idolised?’ Jaul asked lazily.
‘Hero’s in a sanctuary close to the farm where I used to live with Dad,’ Chrissie told him as they rode back to the oasis encampment with the sun slowly rising to chase the coolness from the sky. Her eyes were wide and bright, appreciative of the surprising and colourful beauty of the barren landscape at dawn. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen him in months. While I was working and looking after the twins, it was just impossible to get up there for a visit but maybe next time we’re in London I could make a special trip to see him.’
‘Why’s your horse in a sanctuary?’ Jaul pressed with obvious incomprehension.
‘Because, Mr Spoilt-Rotten-Rich, when my father had to vacate the farm tenancy I no longer had anywhere to house Hero and no money to pay for his upkeep either. Then, luckily for me, we sold the island to Cesare and I gave the sanctuary an endowment to give Hero a home for life,’ Chrissie explained without heat as she gently stroked the neck of the beautiful Arabian mare she was riding. ‘He’s safe, well-looked-after and happy. It was the best I could do for him.’
Their time in the desert was almost over, Chrissie reflected, for they were travelling back to the palace as soon as they returned to the camp. The palace stables were packed with wonderful horse flesh and Jaul had had his stallion and her gorgeous high-stepping mare brought out for their use. Every day they had gone riding at dawn and at dusk when the desert heat was at its coolest. She had adored those quiet times with Jaul and the knowledge that their mutual love of horses and fresh-air activity was something they could share. But although Jaul had been endlessly attentive and reassuring she could not escape the suspicion that something was amiss with him.
While Jaul had endured long meetings with the tribal sheikhs, who had arrived every morning to speak with him and stayed throughout the day, Chrissie had spent the time with their wives and families. She enjoyed meeting people and learning about their lives and with Zaliha to translate she had held story-telling sessions with the children and all formality had been abandoned while she entertained them. Jaul had called those sessions an ‘unqualified success’ and had complimented her on her easy manner with his people. He had even asked her to consider working with the professionals on a nursery education development programme for Marwan, pointing out this was her area of expertise. His request had filled her with pride and pleasure, yet in spite of his praise and satisfaction she remained convinced that there was something wrong between them.
There was a distance, a reserve in Jaul that had not been there before, and he had not made love to her since their wedding night. Of course, he had been forced to sit up late with his visitors, she acknowledged ruefully. He had come to bed in the early hours and had still risen at the crack of dawn as he always did. But since that first night, he hadn’t touched her at all, indeed had suddenly become very restrained in his behaviour in a way that was totally unfamiliar and confusing to Chrissie because Jaul was such a naturally physical person. Last night, for instance, she had shifted over to his side of the bed and he had lain there as rigid as an icicle being threatened by the heat of a fire. Chrissie had intended to make encouraging moves herself but the polite goodnight he had murmured had made her pull back from that idea.
Maybe, she thought anxiously, now that she was available all the time, as it were, she didn’t have quite the same appeal. Or more probably, common sense suggested gently, he was simply exhausted by early starts, late nights and the need for constant courteous diplomacy while he worked with the different factions involved in the talks that were lasting, on average, eighteen hours a day. The very last thing she should be doing with Jaul, she told herself urgently, was allowing her imagination or her insecurities to conjure up seeming problems in what was probably perfectly ordinary behaviour. Their marriage was working, wasn’t it? She thought it was working but the renewed closeness she had fancied she saw during their second wedding night seemed to have evaporated again.
When they arrived back at the palace, Bandar greeted them in the entrance porch to speak urgently to Jaul. Jaul pokered up and a flush mantled his exotic cheekbones, his response to his aide clipped and cool in tone.
‘What’s happened?’ Chrissie asked worriedly.
A tiny muscle pulled tight at the corner of Jaul’s unsmiling mouth. ‘My grandmother has arrived in Marwan and has asked to see me. She’s staying at an hotel in the city.’
‘My goodness, she must be quite an age now,’ Chrissie remarked.
‘I understand that she is travelling with her daughter, Rose. Obviously at some stage she remarried...my grandfather did not,’ Jaul could not resist reminding her.
‘I suppose, taking into account how he and your father felt about her, it would be an awkward and uncomfortable meeting for you but—’
Jaul froze
