vigilant, he felt her awake beside him and he wondered as to her thoughts, as to what Felicity lay in the dark thinking about. He wondered whether she was missing her family, and he knew she must surely be confused and scared.
He pulled her in just a little closer. Warm, relaxed bodies were so much easier to move.
Could her baby be his?
His hand went to her stomach, to stroke the little scrap of life that was there inside, but he stopped himself. He could not let himself give in to emotion, because if it was his child then its fate was the same as his—and if it wasn’t…
Karim’s eyes opened and he stared into the darkness. The back of her head was inches from his face. How he wanted to bury his head in her hair, to kiss that neck. He could feel her warm bottom against his stomach. The hand that was wrapped under her held her shoulder loosely, and he was hard now. His fingers wanted to stroke at her breasts…
What if the baby was his?
Karim didn’t do sentiment.
He never had and had thought he never would.
Speaking with his father, he had allowed his calculating mind to come up with a rapid solution.
For the sake of their people he would carry the weight of the lie, as would Hassan, and the King would take it to his grave. Once Felicity’s test was taken and the baby proven not Karim’s, Jamal’s belly would appear to grow and the people would cheer.
Felicity offered a solution.
And now he’d had to go and do something stupid—like care. Care about the effect it might have on her. Every day she made him laugh inside, chatting away to herself even as he refused to answer. Every morning was better for waking up with her. Of course there were differences. He had assumed he would iron them out of her, but now he didn’t want to.
How did he tell her that the career she loved must now end? How could he tell her that she was not just a princess but might one day be Queen—that her every last freedom would be gone?
She stirred a little beside him, and there, lying in the darkness, he didn’t care about the people of Zaraq for the first time in his life. He didn’t care about the people, he cared about her. Neither did he care if this child was a boy or a girl, he just wanted it to be his—wanted Felicity to be his too.
He felt her breathing grow shallow and quicken. His hand moved on her waist, bypassing her stomach and moving down, down, to her sweet, warm place, feeling her thighs part a fraction.
Tonight he would love her, Karim decided, and tomorrow he would tell her. And if she couldn’t do it, didn’t want to do it, then; maybe they would work something out.
He was right there, at her entrance, his tip already moist, could feel her oiled and ready beneath his fingers. So easy would it be to slip in, to sink in, to share and to trust…
Not a word had been spoken, not a kiss had been shared, yet she had never felt closer to him. She knew he was awake beside her, had known when it started that this was no idle, sleeping erection. And she knew too that he was thinking of her, even loving her a little bit. She had felt his fingers ponder over her belly and then move down, felt him softly stroke her, felt his mind wander and then return to her.
Parting her legs, she could feel him now, feel the swell of him, the tip of his erection nudging at her clitoris and then moving a tiny way back. She rocked against him, willing him, wanting him, desperate for him.
‘Make love to me, Karim…’
‘Your Highness! Forgive the intrusion…’ Aarif was sobbing.
Karim swore violently in Arabic.
He was cursing and furious. How dared a servant intrude? If his father were sick his aide would ring. Nothing, nothing should disturb him in his chamber.
‘Please forgive me, Your Highness,’ Aarif pleaded. ‘But Bedra is dying, bleeding….’
IN A trice he dressed and sped through the tent. Felicity took a few seconds longer, but almost as soon she raced into the servants’ quarters.
Bedra lay collapsed, her huge brown eyes terrified. Karim deftly examined her belly, and it was only then that Felicity realised Bedra was pregnant. The abaya had concealed it. Karim was speaking in Arabic, then quickly translating for Felicity.
‘She is about six months pregnant.’ There was blood everywhere as Karim delivered his stark diagnosis. ‘Abruptio placentae.’
In a hospital Felicity would have known what to do. There Bedra and her baby would both have a chance. But here in the desert, with help miles away, it was clear from the extent of bleeding they would rapidly lose them both.
Felicity rolled the woman on to her side, to help with oxygen delivery to the baby, and Karim barked rapid orders to a tearful Aarif, who quickly ran off.
‘Should we drive her?’
‘There is not enough time to get her to the hospital.’ In one deft movement Karim scooped up the woman, carried her through long white corridors of tent. Felicity followed, confused as to where they were going. The desert was dark and cool as they stepped outside, and she was even more confused—because Karim had said it was too late to transport Bedra anywhere and yet one of the large four-wheel drives was speeding towards them. It stopped. Aarif jumped down and opened up the rear, and Karim ran towards the vehicle with Bedra in his arms. As Karim lay Bedra down in the rear of the vehicle Aarif was already pulling at leads, while Felicity stood, her nightdress billowing in the wind, unsure as to what exactly was going on.
Karim snapped her out of it. ‘Felicity—come on.’ He was strapping on a tourniquet as Aarif opened large labelled boxes, pulled out drapes. Here, right here in the desert, a mini operating theatre was being created. ‘We must operate now.’
He was a surgeon, yes—but to operate, to perform a Caesarean section here…
‘I am a surgeon,’ Karim said, his eyes locked with hers. ‘I know what I am doing.’
Aarif, on a strange kind of auto-pilot, where he was detached from his wife and baby in the hope of saving them, was slapping at Bedra’s arm, trying to find a vein. It was then that Felicity stepped in. How and why didn’t matter for now. They were in the middle of the desert in a four-wheel drive that looked like a mini-ambulance—and Karim about to perform a Caesarean section!
Karim was drenching Bedra’s belly in iodine; Aarif was pulling up drugs. ‘I cannot give them,’ Aarif said, handing her the vials, and Felicity looked at them. A strong analgesic, and a relaxant that would cause temporary amnesia. It wasn’t a general anaesthetic, but in such a strong dose it would compromise her airway.
‘Give them,’ Karim said, setting up his instruments. ‘Aarif will watch her airway. Felicity, get ready to receive the baby.’
His authoritative tone was welcome now. On Karim’s instruction she shot the drugs into Bedra, but she was acting on her own instincts now, opening up a large
