The Innocent Carrying His Legacy by Jackie Ashenden
CHAPTER FOUR
ANGERANDWHATcould only be fear flickered across Ivy Dean’s delicate features. It was there in her eyes too, those little veins of gold burning in the copper. But he didn’t care.
He couldn’t have people disobeying his orders regardless of whether they were his soldiers or not, and definitely not in front of his men. Especially not her. Not now he’d decided what he was going to do about her and the child she carried.
He didn’t have to speak—his guards knew what to do—and before the little fury could open her mouth to protest, he’d had them hustle her away down the corridor and back to the library.
It wasn’t a comfortable place for her and he knew that. But he didn’t have very many places in this part of the fortress that were suitable as waiting rooms for pregnant women. She’d be shown to more suitable quarters soon and, besides, he’d had food and drink brought to her and she’d eaten them quickly enough—or so he’d been told by the soldier who’d been watching the library via a security camera.
Just as he’d informed him when she’d opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
That she wouldn’t do as she was told, he’d expected. She’d never be a biddable wife, but a biddable wife wasn’t what he wanted anyway. He’d never thought he’d have a wife at all, not until she’d arrived, announcing that she was pregnant with his child, and everything had changed.
It hadn’t taken him long to make the decision.
After he’d left the guardhouse, he’d gone to his private office, turning a few ideas over in his head, sorting through the options and implications while she’d been eating the cupcakes he’d had his chef make for her. Yet it had only been when she’d opened that door and stepped into the corridor, blatantly disobeying him, that he’d decided. It was a snap decision and snap decisions were to be viewed with mistrust in the normal scheme of things, but not this time.
He couldn’t have her wandering around the fortress, nor could he have her wandering around Inaris. Once word got out—and it would—that she was expecting his child, his enemies would close in. Certainly the Sultan would have something to say about it and once he knew then the danger to both Ivy and the child would increase exponentially.
Even in England they wouldn’t be safe. They wouldn’t be safe anywhere except here, where he had an entire army to protect them.
So, he couldn’t let her go. She and the child would have to stay here with him. And, in order to leave no loopholes by which his enemies could harm her, the child or him, he’d have to marry her.
It wasn’t only to protect his child legally; there were other factors involved. Growing up as the product of his father’s affair with the Sultan’s wife hadn’t been easy. His connection to the Sultana had had to remain a secret so as not to risk exposing her to her husband’s wrath. The Sultan had been a cold, cruel man and Nazir hadn’t blamed his mother for seeking companionship in the arms of another. She’d managed to hide her pregnancy from the Sultan as it had progressed through artful clothing choices and aided by the fact that she didn’t show. Eventually she’d gone on a month long ‘holiday’ to have her baby in secret, accompanied by a trusted maid who was the only other person apart from his father who’d known what was going on. His birth had been a mistake though, and he’d felt the burden of that growing up.
He was a living, breathing reminder of his mother’s infidelity, a constant threat to her position. It had been a pressure that he wouldn’t wish on any child, especially his own, and, even though the circumstances here were different, he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.
This child would be acknowledged. And he or she would have both parents.
The little fury might have something to say about it, naturally, but her personal feelings on the subject were irrelevant. She’d have to put them aside for the safety of the child, and given that she was also protective of said child—he hadn’t missed those little gestures with her hand—he was certain she’d see the logic of it.
But several things had to be made ready first, before he informed her of his decision.
Nazir strode back to his office and called an emergency meeting with several of his top aides as well as the manager of the fortress staff. Various orders were given. His second-in-command, an ex-Navy SEAL from California, raised an eyebrow at the announcement, but no one questioned him. No one would dare. This was a private matter and it concerned no one else but him.
Once the necessary plans were put in place, Nazir ordered Ivy to be brought to his office. He’d debated on how best to tell her, but, since she wasn’t likely to be pleased no matter how he delivered the news, getting straight to the point was the easiest.
She’d also need some time to come to terms with it, which he would give her, though he wouldn’t brook a refusal, not given what was at stake. Nor could he let her leave. That would no doubt be a problem for her, but he wasn’t changing his mind.
This was necessary and the sooner she understood that, the better.
Five minutes later, the door to his office opened and his guards came in with a very annoyed-looking Ivy. Her mouth was set in a grim line, her clear gaze glittering.
Nazir looked her over, impersonal and assessing. The weariness was more apparent now, dark shadows like bruises beneath her eyes, and she was holding herself very rigid. This wasn’t the best timing for such an announcement, not when she needed rest, but, then again, the quicker he got this over with, the quicker she’d come to accept it.
‘Mr Al Rasul,’ she began furiously, not waiting for him to speak, her face flushed with annoyance. ‘You need to tell me what’s happening and you need to tell me now.’
Nazir flicked a glance at his guards, who immediately left the room, closing the door firmly behind them.
‘Sit,’ he ordered, gesturing at the chair in front of his heavy wooden desk.
Ivy folded her hands in front of her, her chin lifted. ‘Thank you, I’ll stand.’
Stubborn woman.
He rose to his feet and came around the side of the desk, noting how she stiffened even further the closer he got. It was clear she found his presence uncomfortable, which was interesting.
Leaning back against the desk, he folded his arms. ‘You might find it preferable to sit.’
‘I’ve been sitting for the past couple of hours. I do not wish to sit any longer.’ Her jaw was tight, her shoulders tense, the agitation pouring off her like a wave.
She needed some direction for all that energy. Whenever he had a soldier similarly agitated, a workout or intense weapons training was a good way for them to expend their nervous tension.
Obviously, though, he couldn’t involve Ivy in either a workout or weapons training.
There are other ways to expend nervous tension...
And he would not be involving her in that either, no matter how interested his nether regions might be. He’d marry her, but only as a marriage of convenience. It was going to be hard enough to convince her that she couldn’t leave, let alone that she must marry him. Sleeping arrangements would likely be a bridge too far right now.
Heat lingered inside him, though, reminding him of needs that he’d neglected for far too long. Well, he’d remedy that, but perhaps not right now.
‘Suit yourself.’ He gave her another critical scan. ‘You need more food and probably some more liquids, not to mention some rest.’
‘No. What I need, Mr Al Rasul, is to be told what’s going on.’ She enunciated each word as if it were made out of crystal and she didn’t want to shatter it.
‘I have made a decision about the child,’ he said. ‘That’s what’s going on.’
She seemed to stiffen even further. ‘And? Spit it out, for God’s sake. I need to be back in Mahassa by tonight, because—’
‘You will not be going back to Mahassa. Not tonight, and not tomorrow either.’
She blinked. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You’re going to be staying here in the fortress. Where I can protect you and my child.’
Her dark, straight brows arrowed down. ‘I’m sorry, what? What do you mean staying in the fortress? And protection? Protection from what?’
‘From whom. And as to what I mean about staying in the fortress, that is exactly what I meant. I’m afraid I cannot let you leave.’
‘Why ever not?’ There was an edge in her tone, the crystal becoming sharper and more cutting.
Nazir studied her, measuring her agitation and the sparks in her gaze. Part of being a good leader was being able to judge the well-being of those he commanded and he’d learned how to read his men. How to tell when he could push them and how far, as well as when not to push. When they needed rest and when they were bored and needed to be challenged. When they were uncertain and needed more confidence, and when they were arrogant and needed to be reminded of their failings.
Miss Ivy Dean was none of those things right now. What she was was tired and at the end of her tether. And perhaps this news would push her over the edge.
He wasn’t a man who generally did delicacy or care well, not when he was a soldier at heart. But he could manage it when the situation called for it and clearly the situation called for it now.
‘I have many enemies, Miss Dean,’ he said. ‘And your presence here will have been noted. I do not get many women coming to my gates and certainly not pregnant ones, and so conclusions will be drawn. Correct conclusions, as it turns out.’
She was still frowning. ‘So what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that if you return to Mahassa, you might be in danger from those wanting to use you and the child to get back at me.’
Ivy blinked again. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘There are many things you don’t understand about me,’ he said, because he had to and because she had no idea of what she’d innocently walked into. ‘But one of those things is that I am dangerous to very many powerful people. Many powerful governments. And if they find out that I have a child...’ He didn’t finish, but then, he didn’t need to.
Comprehension flickered over her face. ‘But...why would they...?’ She stopped. ‘So you are a vicious warlord, Mr Al Rasul?’
‘That’s a conversation for another time. Right now, the most important thing for you to know is that by coming here, you’ve put yourself and the child in danger. And it’s imperative that you remain here in the fortress where I can protect you.’
The angry flush began to drain from her face, making the shadows under her eyes look darker. ‘I didn’t mean to,’ she said, cracks in those crystal tones obvious now. ‘I was doing it for Connie’s sake. I would never...’
Nazir straightened, beginning to frown himself now, because she was looking very pale indeed and he didn’t like it. It was one thing to be concerned for a soldier, but it was another thing again to be concerned for the woman carrying his child.
‘Sit down,’ he ordered. ‘Before you fall down.’
‘No.’ Her spine went ramrod straight, her gaze narrowing into a shard of copper-gold metal. ‘Tell me about this danger. How long do I have to stay here for? Because I have a life in England I need to get back to. And the baby. What about him? And my hotel room in Mahassa? My things are still there, my passport is in the safe. What about the consulate? Surely if I leave Inaris and return to England I’ll be safe.’
He waited until she’d finished, conscious of a certain admiration at the sheer stubbornness of her will. She was likely exhausted and in shock and yet was still arguing with him.
‘You will not,’ he said implacably. ‘You will not be safe anywhere but in the fortress. As to the hotel and your things, I’ve sent someone to retrieve them. They’ll be brought back here.’
Her hands moved, nervously smoothing the dusty robes she was still swathed in. ‘But how long for? I have leave for another week and then I have to be back in England.’
Nazir stepped away from the desk, moving over to where she stood, still agitatedly pulling at her robes. Without a word, he gripped her upper arms and, with gentle insistence, moved her over to the chair in front of his desk and then pushed her down into it.
Her eyes went wide and she must have indeed been in some amount of shock, because she didn’t resist or make any protest, just stared up at him, her gaze full of apprehension and, yes, definitely fear.
The chair had arms and so he put his hands on them, caging her in partly to make sure he had her attention and partly so she couldn’t stand up, because once he delivered the next part of his news, she’d definitely need to be sitting down.
Her fine-grained skin was far too pale beneath her sunburn, delicate almost. She was not made for the desert heat, nor was her physical fragility suited to life in his fortress. This English rose would not survive the harsh existence here. Luckily for her, however, he had the equivalent of a greenhouse.
‘Miss Dean,’ he said clearly and not without a certain amount of gentleness. ‘You will have to remain here at the very least until the baby is born. After that, we’ll have to negotiate. You said earlier that all children should be wanted and I agree, they should. And I want this child. But if I’m going to claim it then there are a few things you need to understand. My name is a dangerous thing. It is both a risk and a protection. Nevertheless, I want my child to have it and I want the child’s mother to have it too.’
Ivy stared blankly at him. ‘Your name?’
Nazir could see he was going to have to be a lot clearer.
‘I’m going to marry you,’ he said. ‘And I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.’
Ivy couldn’t understand at first what he was saying. She couldn’t understand what was happening, full stop.
First she’d been ordered back into that awful library and the door had been shut behind her then locked. Then she’d had no choice but to sit there for an hour and a half with absolutely nothing to do. She’d paced around initially, fears and apprehensions chasing around in circles in her head, knowing she was winding herself up and yet not being able to stop it.
She hated not being in control of things, hated having important decisions that involved her being decided by other people. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, and she couldn’t do a thing about it.
Luckily, just before she went totally mad with frustration, the guards had come for her, marching her down a number of long, narrow, echoing hallways, until they’d reached a pair of big double doors with yet another guard standing outside them.
The Sheikh’s office, apparently.
She’d been shown into a large, but spare room, the same stone floor as everywhere else, and bare stone walls. A huge desk sat at one end of the room, the wall behind it covered in a number of beautifully displayed swords, some in scabbards, some out. There were shelves along the walls, lined with books and boxes and other office paraphernalia, while a large meeting table sat off to one side near a window. This window too looked out onto the strange and beautiful greenery of the courtyard and the moment she’d entered the room she’d wanted to go straight to it and stare out at it.
At least until the man behind the desk had risen to his feet and pinned her where she stood with that icy, sharp gaze of his.
She couldn’t go home, he’d told her. She had to stay here. She was in danger and so was the baby.
That had been enough of a shock, but then she’d found herself propelled into the chair she’d tried to refuse, with him standing in front of her, his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning his massive, muscular body over her, making her feel so very small and fragile and somehow disturbingly feminine.
Then he’d said she had to marry him, which couldn’t be true. She didn’t know him. He was a stranger and no one married strangers, unless you were on some crazy reality TV show, right?
The definitively masculine lines of his face were hard and set and as expressionless as they had been before, the colour of his eyes startling against his bronze skin and thick, black lashes.
She couldn’t stop staring. It really was the most extraordinary shade, with a crystalline quality that hinted at frosts and snows and glaciers. Such cold in the middle of the desert heat. And he was hot; she could feel it radiating from him. It was a warmth that made her want to put her hands out to it like a comforting fire.
Except this fire wasn’t comforting and a part of her could sense that. This fire had the potential to blaze and set her alight too if she wasn’t careful.
With an effort, Ivy tried to bring her shocked mind back to what was happening. Him. Marriage...
‘No,’ she forced out. ‘That’s insane. I can’t... I can’t marry you. What are you talking about?’
He didn’t move. He seemed immovable as a mountain, obdurate as granite, and she had the sense that she could push and push and push at him, but he wouldn’t budge. There was no give in him at all.
‘You may not refuse.’ She felt that harsh voice in her bones, the rumble deep as the shifting of tectonic plates. ‘As I said, I insist.’
A burst of shock went through her and she had to struggle hard to mask it. ‘But what if I’m married already? What if I have a partner?’
‘Are you married? Do you have a partner?’
‘No, but—’
‘Then that isn’t relevant.’
‘Why?’ she demanded, exhaustion and shock making panic collect in her throat. ‘Why do I have to marry you?’
‘It will give you some legal protection, especially here, where my name is known.’ Something sharp glittered in his eyes. ‘Also, the mother of my child should be my wife.’
‘But that’s...medieval. People don’t have to be married these days.’
‘I don’t care what people do these days,’ he said dismissively. ‘My child shall have both parents and those parents should be married to each other.’
‘We don’t love each other. You’re a stranger.’
He frowned. ‘What has love got to do with it?’
‘Only people who love each other get married.’ She knew she sounded ridiculous yet was unable to stop. The panic was spreading out inside her and she couldn’t seem to force it down and contain it, which wasn’t like her at all.
She was normally good in a crisis, she always knew what to do. She was calm and matter-of-fact, and never let her emotions get the better of her. So why she felt as if she were going to pieces now, she had no idea.
Pregnancy hormones, no doubt. Pregnancy hormones and this arrogant bastard of a sheikh.
‘I don’t know what fairy-tale world you’ve been living in, Miss Dean, but it isn’t this one.’ His frown deepened, as if he’d seen something he didn’t much like in her expression. ‘It isn’t a proper marriage I’m insisting on, you do understand that, don’t you? Publicly it might look like it, but privately it will only be a legal formality.’
A tension that she hadn’t been conscious of released, though she wasn’t sure if that left her feeling better or worse.
Better, definitely better. Because why on earth would she be unhappy that it wouldn’t be a real marriage? It wasn’t as if she wanted to sleep with him or anything.
Ignoring the odd flutter that particular thought set off, Ivy said, ‘I’m sorry, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. Especially considering you’re telling me I’m in danger and I now have to stay here until the baby is born.’
‘Your feelings on the matter are not important.’ He let go of the arms of the chair and straightened, towering over her like the fortress itself. ‘The safety and well-being of my child is the only thing of any relevance.’
‘He’s my child too,’ Ivy said without thinking.
One of the Sheikh’s black brows shot up. ‘I thought he was your friend’s baby?’
An uprush of sudden heat swamped her, followed by a surge of anger at this man who’d somehow taken control of the situation, making her feel helpless, powerless. As she had all those years ago, the poor little orphan that nobody had wanted to adopt, no matter how good she was. No matter how hard she smiled. So many interviews with lovely potential parents and yet not one of them had ever chosen her. Not one of them had wanted her. And there’d been nothing she could do about it. Absolutely nothing.
Ivy pushed herself to her feet, not realising until far too late that she was standing very close to him, only inches away. And that he was so very tall and so very broad. He dwarfed her. He smelled like the desert, hot and dry, with a tantalising spice that made her heartbeat accelerate and her breath catch.
He was dizzying.
She was trapped by the icy clarity of his gaze and by a strange weakness, as if a tide were receding and she were being carried with it, adrift, and it were drawing her slowly and inexorably out to sea.
Blackness edged her vision and she didn’t even realise she was falling until the Sheikh moved, and she felt one hard, muscular arm come around her, catching her and drawing her close against the granite solidity and heat of his body.
She let out a breath, her hands automatically coming up to press against his chest in order to balance herself, yet more shock echoing through her. He felt as if he were made of iron and steel, and yet, as she’d already sensed, there was nothing cold about him. The hard metal shape of him was sheathed in velvety bronze skin and warm linen, and a very deep part of her wanted to simply close her eyes and rest against him as she would a sun-warmed rock.
His relentless gaze bored into her, his arm hard against her back, trapping her against him, and she couldn’t move. She just couldn’t move. She’d exhausted all her energy coming out here, confronting him, then being marched into the fortress and having the door locked behind her. And then this bombshell, not being able to leave, the insistence on her marrying him. Claiming the child...
She was so very tired and deep down she was very afraid. Connie was gone, and she desperately wanted to do her best for her friend, for the child she carried, but she wasn’t sure she could. And she’d never imagined she would have to do this all on her own...
Anger and grief and fear tangled inside her, knotting together so tightly she couldn’t pull them apart. And, much to her horror, the tears came back again, her eyes prickling, her vision swimming.
Oh, God, to nearly faint in front of him...and now she was on the verge of bursting into tears... It was too much.
Ivy closed her eyes and she heard him mutter something that sounded like a curse before she felt herself being swept up into his arms.
She should have fought, should have protested, should have done something to stop him, but she didn’t. The last four weeks since Connie had died had just been too hard and she’d come to the end of her strength.
She was dimly aware of being carried out of the office and through dark, echoing stone corridors, the sounds of voices following her, mainly the Sheikh’s deep tones as he issued orders.
Perhaps she was being taken back to that library again, which wasn’t a pleasant thought, but Ivy couldn’t bring herself to care. The man who carried her was very warm and very strong, and it seemed almost natural to relax against his hard chest.
She hadn’t been carried like this since she was a child. In fact, come to think of it, had she ever been carried like this? Certainly it had been a very long time since she’d had anyone’s arms around her, since she’d even been touched. She couldn’t remember the last time...
Maybe she’d lie like this for a little while. It wouldn’t matter. Just for a couple of moments.
She put her cheek against the linen of his robe, inhaling his dry scent, mixed with that intriguing, masculine spice. She could hear the beat of his heart, steady and strong and sure. It was comforting.
The sounds of doors closing echoed and then the air around her changed, became less arid and more cooling. Brightness pressed against her lids and she would have thought she was outside except there was no suffocating heat. It was quieter too, and calm, and somewhere she could hear a fountain playing.
Then she felt herself being placed on something soft and for a brief second her fingers clutched at him, as if a part of her didn’t want him to put her down, but she made herself let go. This brief moment of weakness was coming to an end and now she needed to deal with reality.
Ivy forced her eyes open.
She was in a light, airy room with high ceilings and walls covered in smooth white tiles with a scattering of blue and green here and there. The floors were cool white stone, covered with silken rugs that echoed the blues and greens of the tiles, and a few jewel-bright reds. Deep windows looked out onto a shady colonnade around another, most exquisite little courtyard containing a small fountain and a lot of greenery; she swore she could even hear a bird calling.
There were a few low couches strewn with silk cushions and side tables ready for drinks or snacks or books. Ornate wooden bookcases stood against the walls, the shelves stuffed full, and she could see that many of the titles were in English.
She wasn’t sure what kind of room this was, but it looked like the much more comfortable, luxurious cousin of the bare little library she’d just been taken out of.
Shifting slightly, she realised he’d put her down on one of the couches and that it was incredibly comfortable, and, quite frankly, she didn’t want to move. The room was cool and soothing and quiet, and all she wanted to do was lie on this couch and maybe go to sleep and forget about the past couple of weeks for a while.
But the Sheikh was crouching next to her, his sharp gaze studying her critically, like a doctor examining a patient and wondering what treatment to give next.
It made her feel exposed and vulnerable, and she was very tempted to close her eyes again, to block him out and pretend he didn’t exist. Yet that wasn’t going to help her.
He did exist and he was the father of this child. A child he wanted to claim...and apparently her along with it.
She’d never been a coward and so she couldn’t opt out now, no matter how badly she wanted to.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I didn’t mean to faint like that.’ She tried to sit up, only for him to gently push her back down again, his large hands heavy and warm on her shoulders.
‘You need to rest.’ His dark, harsh voice was full of authority. ‘And then you need a shower, some fresh clothes, and more food. You definitely require more water.’
Ivy felt her hackles rising once again, his peremptory tone abrading her raw emotions.
‘And no,’ he went on before she could speak. ‘Don’t argue with me. Not only is it a waste of your energy, but you also know that I’m right.’
He was, damn him.
Ivy let out a breath. ‘I don’t like being told what to do.’
‘What a shock.’ His expression didn’t change and yet she could have sworn his hard mouth relaxed slightly. ‘Actually, neither do I. Yet if someone told me to go and eat, and I knew my body needed food, I’d eat, and not waste time arguing about it.’
The strange surge of emotion that had caught her just before was receding, taking with it her anger and her stubborn refusal to give in. She didn’t have the energy for it and somehow, here in this calm, cool room, the urgency to do so had faded too.
Irritated, she picked at the hem of her dusty, sandy robe. ‘Telling me I’m not allowed to leave and that you’re going to marry me didn’t help.’ She knew she sounded petulant, but right now she didn’t care.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It probably didn’t. But you needed to know my intentions upfront and the sooner I told you, the more time you would have to come to terms with it.’
‘You don’t have to, you know,’ she said. ‘I’m sure there are much easier ways to protect me and the baby than marriage.’
‘Perhaps.’ He rose to his full height in a surprisingly graceful liquid movement then turned, going over to another of the couches and picking up a soft throw in muted blues and greens that had been tossed over the back of it. ‘But that is what I’ve decided.’ He came back to where she lay and tucked the soft fabric around her. ‘We’ll talk about this later. Right now you need some sleep. I don’t want you fainting on me again.’
Ivy gave him an indignant look even as she snuggled beneath the throw. ‘It wasn’t exactly a faint.’
‘Swooned, then,’ he said, without any discernible change of tone.
She narrowed her gaze suspiciously. Was he teasing her? Surely not. He didn’t look like a man who even knew what a tease was. ‘Swoon? Do women swoon these days? I certainly don’t.’
His expression remained enigmatic. ‘You might. Given the right circumstances.’
A delicious lassitude was creeping up on her, as if the warmth and softness of the throw and the soothing sound of the fountain outside were wrapping around her, easing her, relaxing her.
She fought it briefly, determined not to give him the last word. ‘And what circumstances are those?’
One side of his mouth lifted in the barest hint of a smile, something glittering in the depths of his eyes that for once wasn’t cold. ‘Sleep, Miss Dean,’ he said.
And much to her annoyance, she found herself doing just that, his almost-smile following her into her dreams.