Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child (7 page)

‘Your Highness, let me express our heartfelt thanks that you’ve been delivered to us safely. We thought your helicopter went down over the coast and we’ve been searching the sea for days.’

At his nod two ambulance officers hurried forward with a stretcher.

Tahir opened his mouth to say he wasn’t anyone’s highness, then realised perhaps he was. With Kareef as king, that made him and their brother Rafiq princes.

The ludicrous notion of the black sheep of the family scoring a royal title pulled him up short. It was so outrageous, so bizarre, he barely noticed when his surroundings blurred around him.

He heard a shout, saw serious faces shift in and out of focus, then the world faded into oblivion.

He had to stop making a habit of passing out. He didn’t have the patience for being sick. There was no amusement in it.

Even the soothing stroke of a soft, feminine hand at his brow lost its attraction when he came to enough to realise he’d dreamed it. What woman would sit patiently worrying at
his
bedside?

He’d had enough motor racing accidents to know nurses didn’t caress their patients. And Annalisa, the only woman whose touch he desired, wasn’t here. On the contrary, she’d be thanking her lucky stars she’d seen the last of him.

Still foggy from dreaming she was here, still weak enough to be plagued by regret that she wasn’t, Tahir was in a sour mood when he woke.

He wasn’t used to being dependent on anyone. Yet as he stirred he knew a craving for
her
by his side. He who’d never craved any woman! Who’d been alone so long he couldn’t remember what it was like to wake up with the same woman twice.

He was in no mood to find himself hooked up to all sorts of machines. He was disengaging himself when the doctor arrived.

‘No, sire. Please!’

Tahir ignored his protests. ‘I don’t need all this. I just need to get out of here.’ Not that there was anywhere he wanted to go—unless it was an isolated oasis inhabited by the dark-eyed beauty he couldn’t get out of his head.

The thought made him even more impatient.

There must be
somewhere
he should be.
Something
he should be doing. Something to keep him busy.

‘I need to see my brother. I have business at the palace.’ Tahir looked down in disgust at the hospital robe he wore. ‘If you want to be useful, bring me clothes.’

‘But, sire, you can’t—’

Tahir waved aside his protests, ignoring the sharp stab of pain through his chest at the movement. ‘Of course I can.’

‘You don’t understand, sire.’ The doctor stood his ground and reluctantly Tahir focused on him. ‘You need treatment and further observation. I can’t take responsibility for releasing you yet.’

‘I’ll take responsibility. Just hurry up with those clothes.’ Tahir forced himself to sit up and not sink back into the tempting comfort of the pillows. He felt absurdly weak.

‘But, si—’

‘And don’t call me sire,’ he snapped, ignoring the other man’s hand-wringing. ‘Just get me something to wear; that’s all I ask.’

‘Practising your fabled charm on the medical staff, little brother?’ A deep drawl from the doorway drew Tahir’s attention. He stiffened warily.

A tall man stood inside the door, his big frame suave in a hand-made Italian suit. His short black hair was brushed back severely and familiar ice-blue eyes surveyed Tahir.

After a moment Tahir saw the gleam of humour in his expression and the tension cramping his shoulders eased a fraction.

‘Rafiq!’ He hadn’t seen his family in eleven years. Not since his father had banished him. The potent shot of delight that surged through him was a complete surprise.

He’d been so busy getting on with life, pursuing pleasure and business in equal measure, he hadn’t let himself think about family. About resurrecting old ties. Even flying here he’d concentrated on the need to support his eldest brother, Kareef, as he ascended the throne, rather than on reviving personal relationships.

But the feel of Rafiq’s solid hand gripping his, his other palm at Tahir’s shoulder, as if to make sure he was actually there, evoked a blast of unexpected emotions.

‘You’re really here,’ Rafiq said, his sombre expression transforming with a grin of real pleasure. ‘Air control got your mayday, but there was interference and they misheard your coordinates and identification. They’d been searching the sea.’ He shook his head. ‘Why am I not surprised to hear you came out of the desert instead?’

Tahir felt an answering smile tug at his lips. He hadn’t
allowed himself to think what sort of welcome the family would extend to the prodigal son, but he hadn’t expected genuine warmth.

He returned Rafiq’s grip with his own.

When he was a kid Rafiq and Kareef had been his role models. He’d striven to be as quick and as strong and as clever as they were. Particularly Rafiq, their father’s favourite. But where Rafiq had been able to do little wrong in Yazan Al’Ramiz’s eyes, Tahir had done nothing right. The unfairness of it had haunted him.

For a while Tahir had resented Rafiq bitterly, until he’d realised his brother had nothing to do with their father’s favouritism. Or his frightening rages. In fact Rafiq had done his best to protect his little brother.

‘You know I was always the contrary one,’ Tahir murmured.

Rafiq shook his head. ‘You were always a survivor. And I’m glad.’ He nodded a dismissal to the hovering doctor, then pulled up a chair and sat, surveying Tahir with mingled amusement and consternation. ‘You’ve been incredibly lucky, you know.’

‘I know.’ Even now, after days drinking all the fluids Annalisa had insisted on, he could taste the desert sand in his mouth. The flavour of death.

He’d been far luckier than he deserved.

Rafiq’s grin faded. ‘Do us all a favour, Tahir, and stay here. You need to recuperate.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve got broken ribs and severe bruising, possible concussion, plus what the doctors warn is a severe chest infection. They say you’re not in a good way. In fact they seem to think you’re not as fit as you should be even without the injuries from the accident.’

Tahir shrugged. ‘I’ve never cosseted myself.’ And lately, as the darkness had closed around him more often and more swiftly, he’d pushed himself to the limits, seeking new thrills. He’d been careless of his health.

‘Well, for pity’s sake do it now. Just this once. Our mother has been frantic.’

Tahir’s eyes widened. ‘Our mother?’

Of all the people he’d left behind in Qusay she was the one
who’d weighed heavily on his conscience. Before his exile he’d tried to convince her to leave with him, lest Yazan Al’Ramiz turn his violence on her once he didn’t have his scapegoat son to vent his anger on.

But she’d refused to see him, refused to take his calls. At first he’d thought it was fear of her husband that prompted her. But even after he’d left the country she’d wanted nothing to do with him. His calls and e-mails had gone unanswered. He’d assumed he’d alienated her too.

‘You must be mistaken.’

Rafiq looked at him keenly. ‘No mistake. She’s been here since you were admitted, sitting by your bedside. She’s only just left.’

Tahir remembered the comfort of a feminine hand soothing his brow and stroking his hand. He’d dreamed it was Annalisa.

Was it possible his mother, the woman who’d cut off all ties with him, was the one whose touch he’d felt?

It seemed preposterous. Yet Rafiq’s concerned expression was real. Tahir frowned, trying to make sense of the impossible.

‘I’m not imagining you, am I?’ He’d suffered enough delirium in the last few days.

Rafiq huffed with laughter and settled more easily in his chair. ‘Am I that ugly?’

Tahir’s mouth pulled in a one-sided smile. ‘You expect me to answer that?’ He waved a hand in a gesture that encompassed the hospital room. ‘This is just a bit much to absorb. And what’s with these royal titles? “Sire” and “Your Highness” and so on?’

‘Ah. I’m glad you mentioned that.’ Rafiq leaned forward in his chair, his face suddenly serious. ‘There’s been a complication.’

‘That’s what Kareef said when he told me our cousin is no longer King of Qusay and that he would be taking the crown.’ He watched Rafiq steeple his fingers and felt premonition spider its way down his spine. Something was wrong.

‘Kareef has renounced the throne.’

‘He’s done what?’

‘He and Jasmine…You remember Jasmine?’

Tahir nodded. His eldest brother had been besotted by her when he was eighteen.

‘He’s given up the throne to marry her and they’ve gone back to Qais to live.’ At Tahir’s stare he continued. ‘Jasmine can’t have children, and Kareef knows it’s the King’s duty to produce an heir.’ He shrugged. ‘You know how seriously he takes matters of duty.’

Tahir sank back against his pillows, absorbing this astonishing news. ‘Looks like you’ve got a change of lifestyle ahead of you, big brother.’ He’d seen a few articles about Rafiq’s phenomenal business success in Australia. ‘You’ll have to move back here permanently. When do you take up the role of monarch?’

Rafiq paused before replying. He paused long enough to make Tahir frown again. That inkling of something wrong was back again, stronger than ever.

‘That’s one of the things I need to talk to you about.’ There was no laughter lurking in his eyes now. ‘I’m refusing the crown too, and moving back to Australia. Giving up the crown for love seems to be a family trait.’

‘I don’t believe it.’ What sort of mess had he walked into?

‘Believe it, Tahir. And as for the reason the doctor keeps calling you sire…? That would be because you’re now King of Qusay.’

T
IREDNESS
took its toll and Annalisa’s pace slowed as she walked along the wide esplanade in the capital, Shafar. She’d started out briskly from her aunt’s house, needing to walk off her excess energy.

Her lips twisted ruefully. It wasn’t excess energy but shock at the news she’d just received.

Yet part of her had expected it. Ever since she’d missed her period. Lately there’d been nausea, and a slight tingling in her breasts when she crossed her arms.

She’d thrust from her mind hints that her body was changing, telling herself it was the whirl of organising her overseas trip that had thrown her system out of balance.

What other cause could there be for her unaccustomed moping, her keen sense of distress?

A shudder marched down her spine at how wrong she’d been about Tahir. She’d known they were from separate worlds. Yet she’d believed herself…
connected
to him.

She told herself grief had made her turn to him for comfort. Wasn’t she glad he’d shown his true colours? The return of his memory had revealed a man vastly different from the one she’d thought she’d known.

Demanding, dissatisfied, selfish.

She swallowed a knot of rising pain and stared dazedly towards the huge ornate gates set in the wall just ahead.

It didn’t matter that their night together had been the most
wonderful experience of her life. Was one night with an arrogant stranger, albeit a heart-stoppingly magical lover, worth the price she paid?

Her hand slipped across her flat stomach. It felt hollow because she’d been unable to face breakfast.

She’d imagined having children after marrying a man she loved. She mightn’t be a traditional Qusani woman, but neither had she dreamed of being a single parent.

More than ever she felt the loss of her beloved parents and her grandfather. Her cousins were kind and caring, but they’d be shocked to the core by her news.

She shook her head, rocked by the emotions bombarding her. Excitement, fear, confusion and renewed grief.

Putting a hand to the wall beside her, she braced herself, fighting nausea as her stomach roiled.

It will be all right. Women have babies all the time.

Yet Annalisa felt bereft and shockingly alone.

‘Are you all right, my dear?’ The gentle voice made her turn her head.

A few metres away a silver limousine had stopped across the pavement, before turning into the massive open gates. In the back seat sat an older woman, with a severe yet chic hairstyle, gentle eyes and a fortune in pearls.

Hastily Annalisa straightened.

‘Thank you,’ she said, a flush scorching her throat. She felt exposed, as if she’d inadvertently displayed her private fears and worry. ‘I’m fine.’

The woman regarded her carefully. ‘If you’ll forgive me, you don’t look well. You’re pale. Were you on your way to the palace? Did you have an appointment?’

Annalisa’s head jerked round at her mention of the palace. She’d been so absorbed she’d barely noticed which way she’d walked. Now, through the ceremonial gates, she saw the royal enclosure’s majestic gardens and the massive domed palace roof.

Her stomach tumbled over. Had she subconsciously come this way because of Tahir? What were the chances of him still being here? It was more than a month since…

Hastily she looked away.

If you’re pregnant I want you to tell me. Promise me.

Tahir’s voice was so real Annalisa shivered, her arms automatically wrapping around her torso.

‘Are you here to see someone?’

‘No!’ The word shot out instantly. Then she paused.

She’d have to tell him. Even though she was almost certain he’d expect her to terminate the pregnancy. A father had a right to know he had a child. That much she knew.

And the fact that she wanted this baby, come what may.

The certainty warmed her, strengthening her weary body. Of course she wanted this child! She’d barely absorbed the news of her pregnancy, but that one fact tugged her lips wide in a smile of pure joy.

‘That is…’ She looked again at the woman in the car, so patiently awaiting her response. Was she a diplomat, or a friend of the royal family?

Tahir was connected to the King. Perhaps she knew him?

Annalisa took a few diffident steps forward, feeling gauche, yet impelled to follow this opportunity. ‘I’m sorry, I’m a little…’ What? Confused? Upset? Pregnant? She stifled a bubble of hysterical laughter.

‘It’s kind of you to ask,’ she started again, pinning a polite smile on her face. ‘I was hoping to contact someone at the palace. He’s called Tahir. I don’t know his family name. Tall, lean, bright blue eyes? He was injured in a helicopter crash.’

The woman’s expression didn’t alter and Annalisa’s hope waned. It was foolish to expect he’d still be here. ‘But it doesn’t matter. He’s probably not—’

‘You met Tahir after his accident?’ The woman’s voice held a curious inflection.

‘I…Yes. In the desert. I did what I could to nurse him, but—’ Annalisa stiffened, alarm jolting through her at the woman’s arrested expression. She moved up to the car, would have gripped the door if a burly guard hadn’t stepped in front of her.

But she had to know.

She peered round him. ‘He did get better, didn’t he? He’s
all right?’ Tahir hadn’t fully recovered. ‘His head wounds—they weren’t…?’

Fatal.
She couldn’t say the word, could only stare mutely and hope for reassurance.

For all Tahir had revealed an unpleasant side to his character, she
knew
there was more to him. He’d been kind, funny, likeable through those days at the oasis. And he’d been an exquisitely tender lover. The idea of him—

‘No, no. Of course he’s not dead.’ A reassuring smile played on the other woman’s lips. ‘He’s recovered now. According to the doctors, he owes his life to you.’

Annalisa’s heart gave a great thump of relief and she lifted a hand to it, surprised at how shaky she felt.

The woman said something Annalisa didn’t hear over the pounding in her blood. The guard moved, taking her elbow and ushering her to the far side of the vehicle. A chauffeur stood to attention, holding open the rear door.

The interior smelt of leather and expensive perfume. Annalisa’s eyes widened as she took in the full impact of the elegant woman inside. She wore indigo silk exquisitely embroidered with silver. High-heeled silver sandals. Pearls at her wrist as well as her throat.

Annalisa froze, suddenly fully aware that this was someone very important indeed. The limo, the guard, her clothes, her air of understated refinement…

‘Don’t be shy,’ she said, gesturing for Annalisa to enter the vehicle. ‘You want to see Tahir, don’t you?’

Mutely Annalisa nodded. She told herself she
needed
to see him. She had more sense than to
want
to see him. That madness had passed.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘But if he’s here I’ll come back later, when I’m tidier.’ She gestured to her clothes. Shoes dusty from hours of wandering. Loose trousers and her favourite green shirt: comfortable, but hardly appropriate for calling at the palace.

‘Nonsense. Tahir will want to see you and thank you personally. I know he’s here at the moment.’ She beckoned, and this time Annalisa complied, gingerly settling herself on the wide seat.

The door clicked shut and she jumped, unable to stifle the
notion she’d committed herself to more than she’d intended. The car slid forward and Annalisa turned to her companion, wondering if it was too late to back out. She could talk to Tahir by phone.

‘Your name, my dear?’ The woman forestalled her.

‘I’m Annalisa Hansen.’

‘How do you do, Annalisa? I’m Rihana Al’Ramiz, Tahir’s mother.’

Annalisa opened her mouth to reply, then snapped her jaw shut as she absorbed the name.

Al’Ramiz.
It couldn’t be…

Yet, taking in the other woman’s attire, Annalisa realised with a sinking sensation it could very well be. Al’Ramiz was the name of Qusay’s ruling family.

‘How do you do?’ Her voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. She paused, unsure how to proceed. ‘Tahir said he was coming for a coronation.’

Rihana Al’Ramiz nodded, her mouth curving wryly. ‘His brother, Kareef, has just inherited the throne.’

‘But…’ Annalisa shook her head, unable to take it in. Tahir was a member of the royal family! He’d said he was related to the King, but she’d thought he meant a distant connection. She was sharing a seat with the dowager Queen of Qusay! ‘I had no idea…’ she blurted out.

Her skin prickled and tightened and her vision blurred around the edges. Annalisa gripped the seat with shaking fingers as the world pitched and heaved out of focus. This was one shock too many.

‘It’s all right.’ A gentle hand on hers tugged her back to reality. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve had some refreshment. Come.’ Her tone grew brisk as the door opened and a servant gestured for Annalisa to get out.

Shakily Annalisa stood, concentrating on staying upright. Her legs were like jelly and her bones felt hollow, as if a breeze might blow her away.

She watched Rihana Al’Ramiz gesture towards the beautiful old palace. Sunlight glinted off semi-precious gems set in
decorative patterns around the entrance and servants stood to attention, waiting to usher them inside.

The sense of unreality grew. And with it the worrying suspicion that life was about to get even more complicated.

‘Thank you for your advice, Akmal. The views of the Council are always of interest to me.’ Tahir prowled to the huge window facing the sea and reminded himself for the hundredth time that patience was required.

Patience wasn’t his style.

Ruling a country wasn’t his style!

He couldn’t believe after all these weeks he hadn’t found a way out of this bind. Or that the Qusanis wanted
him,
the reprobate son of a vicious father, to succeed to the throne. But despite his best efforts he’d yet to uncover a distant relative who could take the royal role off his hands. As far as the Council of Elders was concerned he was King, and they expected him to rule.

He couldn’t begrudge his brothers their decision to give up the throne. He’d do the same himself if he could. But he was trapped till he found a viable alternative.

‘A suitable marriage would be timely, sire,’ his vizier said in a measured tone. ‘After the…turmoil of the last months it would be a perfect way of demonstrating the stability of the royal lineage.’

Tahir’s mouth kicked up at one side. ‘Turmoil’ was Akmal’s diplomatic way of saying the Al’Ramiz brothers had caused enough sensation for several lifetimes.

After his cousin Zafir had discovered he wasn’t the legitimate ruler and stepped aside, Tahir’s eldest brother had inherited. But as both Kareef and then Rafiq had since renounced the throne, the country now lay in Tahir’s hands.

A man who’d been exiled at eighteen. The brother with the wildest reputation. Who hadn’t set foot here for eleven years. He clenched his fists.

Hell! He couldn’t stay as King. He wasn’t into responsibility, or settling in one place long-term.

No wonder they wanted him to marry. They hoped it would make him settled and stable.
Tied down.

‘The Princess is—’

‘Thank you, Akmal.’ He spun around to face his advisor. ‘I’m sure she’s a paragon of virtue and would make a perfect queen.’ He clasped his hands behind his back, remembering the old man was only doing his job in pressing for a wedding. ‘However, it’s too soon to consider marriage.’

‘But, sire—’

Akmal broke off as a knock sounded and a servant entered, apologising. He was sorry to intrude, he knew the importance of the King’s private meeting, but he—

‘What is it?’ Tahir was only too grateful for the interruption.

‘The Lady Rihana asks if you would join her for tea, Highness.’

Tahir froze in mid-step.

His
mother
had invited him to tea?

It was unprecedented. Since he’d been back he’d seen her, of course. She’d expressed relief that he was safe. She’d welcomed him and offered her support. All with a distant courtesy that spoke of good breeding and duty.

Not a trace of maternal love.

He’d shattered that by the time he got kicked out of the country, after being found with his father’s naked mistress.

It didn’t matter that it had been the mistress trying to seduce
him.
Nor that Tahir had an ingrained distaste for the notion of sharing his father’s women. But he hadn’t protested his innocence. His father’s fury had been worth the price.

Tahir had become a son no parent could be proud of. His mother’s distance made it clear he’d long ago destroyed any vestige of parental devotion.

And now? Perhaps she needed something.

That was why people got close: for what he could provide. Money, sex, publicity, the excitement of walking on the wild side with a man whose reputation was notorious.

‘I’d be delighted to join her.’ Tahir turned to his vizier. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’

Akmal was already bowing. ‘Of course, sire.’

He pulled up short in the doorway. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the deep-set windows. It caught golden highlights in a woman’s rich brown hair.

His stomach clenched as memories stirred. Long silken tresses tangling round him as he shivered in pleasure and release. Smiling dark eyes looking shyly up at him. Lush red lips tentatively kissing his flesh. His heart had leapt at that gentle caress.

She turned and his heart ricocheted against his ribs, beating out of kilter.

‘Annalisa!’ He was halfway across the room before he remembered himself and took note of the situation.

Annalisa, the girl he’d left angry and hurt but well, looked far too pale. Her face was thinner, and her brow puckered as if she were in pain. Her lips were compressed in a nervous line and her eyes skittered from his.

He started forward again.

‘Tahir. I’m glad you could join us.’ His mother rose from a nearby divan and he slammed to a halt.

Swiftly he bowed. ‘Mother.’

He sent her a searching stare, but she met his regard blandly. What was going on?