Olivia started towards the group of women she saw huddled by the pool. She didn’t know exactly what she could do to help, only that she wanted to be of some use. Her heart ached for these people, the confusion they felt at having their home so needlessly destroyed.
The women turned as she approached, eyes narrowing with curiosity, and Olivia wondered how on earth she could explain who she was. But then, for better or worse, it turned out there was no explanation needed.
‘I...help,’ she said haltingly, and a child ran towards her, tackling her around the knees. Relief poured through her. Until that moment she hadn’t quite realised how much she needed to feel useful. To be needed.
She spent the next few hours bandaging cuts and cleaning scrapes, communicating in a mixture of halting Arabic and miming that made the children chortle with glee.
Olivia soon realised that the way she could be the most useful was simply by listening and chatting to the women and children, distracting them from their worries. And, goodness knew, she could use some distraction as well.
When all the injuries had been seen to, they retired to one of the women’s tents, drank apricot juice and nibbled on pitta bread with fresh hummus.
Before long she had a chubby baby on her hip and a toddler clinging to her legs as the women began firing questions at her, only half of which Olivia could understand, and none of which she could answer.
Who was she? Was she Zayed’s bride? Had he married in secret? Were they in love? When Olivia blushed, the woman crowed with laughter, delighted by her response. Even when she said nothing, it seemed she gave something away. And, with dread curdling in her stomach, she had a feeling Zayed would be furious.
But perhaps he would be furious with her, no matter what. He seemed determined to be, just as he was determined to regain what he’d lost. She would just be collateral damage, so much jetsam to be thrown away. The thought made her throat close. It hurt to be so disregarded, even though part of her understood it. Really, what else could she expect? Prince Zayed had a country to think of. She was just one woman, an unimportant palace servant he needed to get rid of.
‘Come.’ One of the women smiled at her and plucked her sleeve. ‘You are tired. You rest.’
She was tired, every muscle and sinew pulsing with exhaustion. With a smile of relieved gratitude, Olivia followed the woman to another tent where she could sleep...and perhaps forget, for a little while, the mess she was still hopelessly embroiled in.
* * *
It had been a strange, surreal kind of day. Zayed had been immersed in meetings with the tribal leaders, listening to their complaints, assuring them he would have vengeance on Malouf’s men. He’d already sent one of his own patrols out after the raiders, in the hope of recapturing the tribe’s valuable livestock. He saw the hope and, far more damning, the faith in the eyes of his people when he spoke to them and guilt cramped his stomach. How could they trust him as their leader, when he’d made such an enormous mistake? When he’d married the wrong woman and put his country’s most valuable alliance at terrible risk?
Even though he barely saw her, Zayed was conscious of Olivia throughout the day. He saw her down at the oasis, washing and bandaging the children’s scrapes with meticulous care. Later, when all the injuries had been seen to, he saw her laughing and playing in the water, kids crawling over her. The women seemed to have accepted her into their fold without question, which made Zayed wonder if they assumed she was his bride. Did they know she wasn’t the woman he’d meant to have? He had no idea if Olivia’s rudimentary Arabic was up to the task of disabusing them of any of their assumptions...or if she even would. Perhaps she was simply making herself useful so he would see what an asset she could be to him.
He shouldn’t have brought her, he supposed, so he could have stemmed any questions or curiosity, but he hadn’t thought the news of his bride would have spread to such a remote place. And he hadn’t wanted to let Olivia out of his sight, not until he knew what he was going to do with her.
In late afternoon, as the shadows started drawing in, Zayed met with Jahmal.
‘We’ll stay the night,’ he informed his aide. ‘And leave in the morning for Rubyhan.’
Jahmal raised his eyebrows. ‘Rubyhan? Is that wise?’
Zayed took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I need to retrench and decide what I am going to do about Olivia.’ Rubyhan, the summer palace of the royal family of Kalidar, had thankfully remained in his possession throughout Malouf’s reign. He used it as the seat of his provisional government and the place to which he went when he needed to regroup. And he certainly needed to regroup now.
A headache flickered at his temples and Zayed closed his eyes, fighting the pain. The last thing he needed was one of the crippling migraines he’d suffered from since receiving a head injury eight years ago in one of the battles against Malouf’s men.
‘My Prince?’ Jahmal sounded cautious. ‘Surely you can simply set her aside? She is only a servant.’
Irritation prickled his scalp and tightened his gut at the suggestion, although it was no more than what he’d already thought himself. Yet somehow he didn’t like his aide saying it.
‘It is not so simple,’ he said tightly. ‘Sultan Hassan will have realised I kidnapped his servant and, moreover, that I intended to kidnap his daughter. Our negotiations will be thrown into total disarray.’ If not broken off completely. ‘I need to mend things with Hassan. When I have an answer from him, I can decide what to do about Olivia.’
‘Still,’ Jahmal persisted. ‘It can be managed. If she is only a servant...’
Only a servant.
It was true, of course. Olivia was, to all intents and purposes, expendable. So why did that thought bother him right now? It shouldn’t, Zayed realised with sudden, crystalline clarity. He was letting sentiment cloud his vision, soften his determination. Despite his suspicions, he felt guilty for the way he’d treated her last night, so he was resisting the prospect of setting her aside and what it would mean for her. But he couldn’t let last night change things. He couldn’t let Olivia matter at all.
‘I do not wish to discuss it now,’ he said in a clipped voice. ‘I am going to wash and then we will eat with the tribal leaders.’
‘Very good, My Prince.’
Later, after he’d washed and eaten, he went in search of Olivia. He hadn’t seen her for several hours, and the realisation made unease deepen within his chest, although he couldn’t say why.
One of the women informed him she’d been given her own tent, which confirmed his suspicions that the tribe knew she was a woman of importance, perhaps even his bride. He really shouldn’t have brought her. His judgement was being clouded again and again, it seemed. The sooner this woman was out of his life, the better.
He bent to enter her tent, the flap falling closed behind him. He straightened, glancing around at the rough furnishings, a far cry from the sumptuous luxury she’d had back at his own camp. She was sitting on a pallet covered with sheepskin, her slender fingers flying as they plaited her damp hair. Her eyes widened as she saw him come in but she said nothing, just watched him warily.
Zayed’s gaze flicked over her. She wore the same nondescript tunic and trousers she’d been in earlier, hardly clothes to inflame a man, yet even now he felt that inexorable
