Carol Marinelli - Captive For The Sheikh's Pleasure

She had taken the train first to Paris and from there Maggie had travelled through Europe before heading to America and then Asia and Australia and home via the Middle East.

And now on the final leg of her journey, Zayrinia had won her heart.

On Monday she would be on her way back to London and a week after that she would be back working at the café.

Maggie fought to keep her eyes open, for she wanted to savour every last moment. But the day had started early and an awful lot of it had been spent in the sun. Maggie’s eyes were soon closing.

At first she thought the rustle of the tent was just the wind but then Maggie felt a hand on her shoulder. For a brief second she thought it must be the guide telling her to wake up, but then the hand gripped her tighter, roughly, and even before Maggie thought to scream, she felt a hand clamp over her mouth.

It all happened so quickly—one moment Maggie was sleeping, the next she was being dragged under the canvas and through the sand.

She fought and kicked but there was more than one person and the wind was her enemy now, for it drowned the sounds of the struggle she made. She smelt body odour and felt the rough fabric of their clothes against her cheeks. But their grip on her arms and thighs only tightened as she twisted to free herself.

All to no avail.

It took less than a minute to be bundled into a vehicle and Maggie fought each second of it even as she was driven away.

‘What do you want?’ she asked as the hand was removed from her mouth, but there was no answer.

The vehicle came to a halt and she was dragged out. Maggie thought she had already tasted fear, but that was nothing compared to how the sand stung as it whipped at her cheeks and the wind took her breath away as she cried out at the lights from a helicopter.

‘Yalla! Yalla!’ a man urged loudly, and Maggie knew they were being told to hurry.

‘Please...’ she begged, not just because she was being kidnapped, but because surely it was way too windy to fly. Nothing she said or did made a difference; Maggie knew she was outnumbered and knew somehow that it was better to save her energy than to fight.

And still she refused to cry.

Careful what you wish for!

Just a few hours ago, Maggie had silently bemoaned the fact she was not deeper in the desert, and now she watched as it spread like a never-ending ocean beneath them.

It was not the first time Maggie had been wrenched from her bed.

Memories were stirring and she tried to stuff them down, but as they grew stronger she gave in, for there was strange comfort to be had in remembering those days.

As she looked through childhood memories with adult eyes, she found she could make sense of things. Time had given her perspective; what had happened to her made far more sense now than it ever had when she had been living through it.

The memories came thick and fast now. The drenching light and her bedroom full of strangers had, in fact, been the first responders when her mother had taken a serious turn for the worse.

Erin had called for an ambulance and, Maggie realised now, she must have told them she had a child sleeping in the flat.

It had felt like an invasion at the time—being lifted from her bed and carried to an ambulance.

She had held her mother’s hand throughout the journey and told her she loved her over and over. At the hospital she had been led to a small room to wait and it had been there she had been told that her mother was dead.

That was fear, Maggie told herself as she stared out into the dark night.

She could deal with this.

And there had to be a logical explanation.

She remembered being driven through the night some time after her mother had died.

Again, she had been awoken, seemingly in the middle of the night.

Now, though, she recalled arriving at yet another new temporary accommodation. A couple had been eating their dinner. It had been the middle of winter and dark, but perhaps not the middle of the night as she had thought then.

There had been a more logical explanation then and there had to be one now.

Maggie simply could not fathom what it was.

‘What do you want from me?’ she asked one of the men, but either he did not understand or simply chose not to answer.

The helicopter was circling and she could feel them hover and then be lifted by a gust of wind. She could see the tension on the features of the men as the pilot fought to land them in the storm.

There was a complex beneath, the white of a large tent with a collection of smaller ones dotted around the main one, like surf on the ocean. And the sand moved in waves beneath them, not unlike the sea itself. Finally they landed and Maggie breathed a sigh of relief.

She was hauled from the helicopter and a large hand pushed her head down as she was dragged through the sands.

The air was cold, the sand stung her cheeks, and then she was pushed, or did she simply stumble?

Maggie pulled herself up to her knees, anticipating being hauled back to her feet and determined to do it herself.

It took a moment to fathom she was now alone.

The sound of the chopper combined with the shrieking wind was deafening and she put her hands over her ears, battling with too many thoughts and sensations to attempt to think clearly.

The flashing lights were lifting, the helicopter was taking off again, and Maggie covered her eyes as she realised she had been left there alone in the shifting sand.

The sharp grains blasted her cheeks and stung her eyes as she tried to gauge her surroundings. Squinting, she could just make out the white of a tent in the distance.

It was huge.

Bigger than the circus tent she had been to as a child.

And in the midst of terror, as so often happened, a happier memory flashed to mind—sitting with her mother, eating a sticky treat, laughing and laughing...

She hadn’t known then just how precious that time was; it had seemed so natural to be content then. Now, though, she was a fighter and, if Maggie wanted to survive, then there was little choice but to make her way to the tent for protection.

Or perhaps not?

Briefly she turned from the tent and considered simply walking away and forcing them to come and get her.

Whoever they were.

Two steps into her journey away from the tent she gave up on the idea. There was no way she could last out here on her own.

The winds shrieked around her as Maggie reluctantly headed towards the tent, for it was like walking through molasses.

She reached the entrance and pulled a heavy drape aside, dreading what she might find—more henchmen? More captives? Her imagination was working overtime, but not for a second had she considered that she might step into luxurious beauty.

The inside of the tent was softly lit and the sound of screeching winds was mercifully muted as the drape closed behind her. She caught strains of music and the scent of incense, and felt an irresistible pull to follow the length of the corridor ahead.

Thick carpet had replaced the sand and was soft on her bare feet; the walls were lined with a stream of tiny bells that made a soft tinkling sound as she ran her hands along them.

No one came to find her.

She walked further and came to an entrance covered by a veil of sheer fabric and she thought she must be at the centre.

Still, nothing made sense, for she had never seen such beauty before in her life. The floor was spread with rugs and was scattered with cushions. Gorgeous tapestries hung on the walls and light from many lamps danced along them. In the centre was an enclosed fire with a flue that led to the high roof of the tent. The only indication of the stark weather conditions outside was the gentle billowing of the roof as she looked up.