don’t know why they let you just walk in here but—’
‘They let me just walk in here because to refuse me access would have caused offence and they have a lot of ground to make up.’ They could arrest, interrogate and imprison a foreign national on charges that carried the death penalty, but not the bride-to-be of the heir to the Suranian throne.
Maybe if she had chosen another moment to stray across the border his uncle’s influence alone would have been enough to gain her freedom, but with impeccable timing Hannah Latimer had wandered into an armed border patrol at a time when the ruling family of Quagani was politically vulnerable. Accused by rival factions of being unable to protect the country’s interests against foreign exploitation, the royals had responded by instigating a draconian zero-tolerance policy: no second chances, no leniency, no special cases...almost.
His uncle had not ordered, he had not played the duty card—instead he had spoken of a debt he owed Charles Latimer and asked with uncharacteristic humility if Kamel would be willing to marry Hannah Latimer.
‘She is not ideal,’ the King admitted, ‘and not the person I would have wanted for you, but I’m sure with guidance... She was a lovely child, as I recall. Very like her mother, poor Emily.’ He sighed.
‘She grew up.’
‘It is your decision, Kamel.’
This was the first thing ever asked of him by his uncle—who was not just his King but also the man who had stepped in after his father’s death and treated him as his own son. Kamel’s response had never been in doubt.
Hannah heard the irony in her rescuer’s voice but didn’t have a clue what it meant. ‘I don’t understand a word you’re saying.’ Though he said it in a voice that had a tactile shiver-down-your-spine quality.
‘You will.’ Despite the smile that went with the words, she sensed an underlying threat that was echoed in the bleakness of his stare.
‘Look, no one is about to ask you anything, but if they do, don’t say anything. Burst into tears or something.’
That would not require much effort. The walking might, though—her knees felt like cotton wool.
‘Just pretend you’re running away from some sucker at the altar.’
Her shocked violet eyes widened to their fullest extent. The reputation she pretended not to care about had followed her to a jail halfway around the world. Ironically she had come here in the hope of rebuilding her reputation, or at least escaping the cameras.
‘I believe you’ve had some practice,’ he murmured before seamlessly raising his voice from the soft, for-her-ears-only undertone, to an authoritative command to the prison guards.
The words were unintelligible to her but the effect was magic. The guards she recognised stood either side of the open door, their heads bowed. Along the corridor there were uniformed figures standing to attention.
The man beside her spoke and the guards bowed lower. Hannah stared, astonished—it wasn’t just their reaction; it was the man himself. He seemed to have assumed a totally new persona, and it fitted him as well as the flowing robes. He was clearly immersing himself in his role; even his body language had changed. The arrogance was still there but it was combined with an air of haughty authority as he strode along, shortening his step so that she could keep pace.
What the hell was happening?
She had expected to be smuggled out of some back entrance, not to receive the red-carpet treatment.
Like a sleepwalker, Hannah allowed her tall escort to guide her down the corridor. Nobody looked directly at her or her companion as they walked past. The silence was so intense she could feel it.
Outside, the heat hit her—it was like walking into a shimmering wall, but the sun was infinitely preferable to the ten-foot-square, white-walled cell. It was the thought of being discovered and ending up back there and not the temperature that brought Hannah out in a cold sweat.
A leashed guard dog began to bark, straining at the lead as they walked on. Could dogs really smell fear? As his handler fought to control the animal the man beside her turned, clicked his fingers and looked at the dog, who immediately dropped down on his belly and whimpered.
Neat trick, Hannah thought, momentarily losing her balance as a jet flew low overhead. She had heard the sound before many times over the last days but it was a lot quieter in her cell.
‘I’m fine,’ she mumbled as the hand on her elbow slid to her waist. In that moment of contact she registered the fact that his body had no give—it was all hard muscle. For a moment she enjoyed an illusion of safety before she was released.
Hannah, who had been totally disorientated when she had arrived in darkness, realised for the first time that she had been incarcerated on a military base.
Almost as if some of his strength had seeped into her, she felt more confident, enabling her to adopt a fatalistic attitude when they were approached by a mean-looking man with shoulders the size of a hangar, dressed similarly to the man she struggled to keep pace with.
Hannah wanted to run, every survival instinct she had was screaming at her to do so, but the hand that reached down and took her own had other ideas. Her escort had stopped when he saw the other man and waited. Under her blue silk and grubby shift Hannah sucked in a shaky breath and began to sweat—but the hand that held her own was cool and dry.
‘This is Rafiq.’
So clearly friend, not foe. She managed a shaky half-smile when the big man acknowledged her presence with a respectful tip of his covered head. He responded with calm, one-word replies to the questions her escort threw at him, even earning a tight smile that might have been approval.
Hannah, who hadn’t been able to follow a word, was unable to restrain herself. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘You mean are you about to escape justice?’
‘I’m innocent!’
Her protest drew a sardonic smile from her rescuer. She had the impression he wasn’t her greatest fan, but she didn’t mind so long as he got her out of here.
‘We are all guilty of something, angel. As the man said, there’s no such thing as a free meal, but, yes, your taxi awaits.’
Hannah spun to face the direction in which he had nodded and saw a jet with a crest on the side that seemed vaguely familiar.
CHAPTER TWO
AT THE SIGHT of the private jet Hannah felt her heart race. Her anticipation of imminent escape and the possibility that her father was inside waiting were mingled with the equally powerful conviction that any minute someone would catch on. To be caught when freedom was literally within sight, touch and smell would be so much harder than if she had never hoped.
‘Keep it together.’
She turned her head sharply, the action causing the silk to fall away from her cheek. She could not believe he could look so relaxed. Did the man have ice in his veins? No—she remained conscious of the warmth of his guiding hand on her elbow.
Hannah
