Teresa Southwick - The Sheikh Who Claimed Her - Master of the Desert / The Sheikh's Reluctant Bride / Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife

Dragging her gaze away from the blazing splendour of this formidable leader’s throne, she crossed the lobby and slipped out of the building. Skirting the perimeter until she found a side entrance, she waited until the security guards were briefly distracted and then slipped inside through the staff entrance. Shoes in hand, she pelted up the back stairs, feeling certain her heart would explode with guilty fear.

Fortunately, the door to the mezzanine level was unlocked.

More tables had been set out for dinner on this upper level, for less important folk, she guessed. Taking quick stock of the situation, she decided if she hid behind a pillar no one would see her, while she could see everything that was happening below. This was her chance to weigh up the type of people she would be dealing with for the charity, and even the slimmest chance of seeing Saif made it worth the risk. The thought of seeing him and the fearsome Sword of Vengeance all in the same day made her heart thunder.

Taking a moment to calm down, she studied her surroundings carefully. She was at eye level with the royal standard, which was suspended behind the jewelled throne. That image made her heart leap when she remembered the last time she had seen it had been on Saif’s naked chest. That was all the prompt she needed to begin scouring the rows of tables in search of him.

He wasn’t there. She didn’t really need to look to know, her heart would have told her if Saif had been close by. She was still trembling with emotion and disappointment when a noise like a wave breaking on the shore swept over the vast auditorium. As everyone rose to their feet, Antonia held her breath, realising the ruling sheikh was about to enter.

There was a peal of trumpets and then a procession began. A group of older men all dressed in elegant ivory robes walked proudly down the broad aisle between the tables. As all the other men bowed low to them, she realised that each of them must be a king in his own right, which was a reminder of the power their sheikh wielded.

As this group fanned out to take their places around their leader’s throne, Antonia strained forward, still hoping for a glimpse of Saif. Once again, she was disappointed. He definitely wasn’t amongst Ra’id al Maktabi’s attendants—and probably wasn’t even a member of the court, she thought, angry with herself for allowing her imagination to run away with her. There was certainly no one to compare with Saif here.

She was distracted and missed the moment when the ruling sheikh entered the room. She didn’t see him, but she felt his presence. It was as if the room had suddenly been infused with greatness, and yet he had entered without a fanfare. He had no need of one, she realised when she saw the ruler of Sinnebar for the first time. She could only see him from the back, but even so, as Ra’id al Maktabi walked towards the platform with the easy loping stride of a panther, she thought him the most imposing figure she had ever seen.

At last here was a man to compare with Saif, Antonia decided. Dressed in robes of deepest blue, the ruling sheikh was easily the tallest man in the room, and far more powerfully built than any other man. She was transfixed by him, and couldn’t wait to see his face, but just as he was about to turn the gold agal securing his headdress flashed in the light and she was momentarily blinded. It was then they seized her from behind.

This wasn’t quite how she’d imagined spending the evening, Antonia reflected miserably, having made herself as comfortable as was possible in a dank, cold cell with very little light and no heating. She had asked for a blanket and they had brought her a thin, scratchy one, which was probably all she deserved. What her brother would make of this latest exploit, she had no idea. She had pleaded for the right to make a phone call to him, and had given the guard his number, but had no way of knowing if the guard would act on her behalf—no way of knowing if she would ever be released. Curling up into a ball, she covered herself as best she could and resigned herself to a long, dark night of fear and uncertainty.

She must have dropped off, Antonia realised when she was awoken by a crash of arms. Moments later her cell door was flung open and light streamed in. By this time she was huddled fearfully in the furthest corner of the wooden bench that passed for her bed.

‘Stand up,’ a guard shouted at her rudely.

She did so and stood trembling with her back pressed against the wall, expecting the worst. She was both surprised and relieved when the guard backed out of the cell, though that barely left enough room for the man who entered next.

She felt a sting of disappointment. What had she expected—the ruler of Sinnebar ducking his head to enter her cell? The ruling sheikh with his jewelled belt? Or perhaps Saif, her desert prince, the dark stranger of her dreams?

For the first time in her life, Antonia resented her overactive imagination. It was always tricking her into expecting the best.

The best?

The man facing her now in his smart suit couldn’t have looked more disdainfully at her if he’d tried. ‘I can confirm the identity of the prisoner,’ he told the guard, ignoring Antonia completely.

‘Please,’ Antonia said as the man turned to go. ‘Please don’t leave me here.’ She sounded so pathetic, but she was desperate. ‘I have to get a message to my brother in Rome.’

The man paused and then turned to her. ‘Nigel Clough, Foreign Office,’ he said, making no attempt to shake her hand. ‘I’m standing in for my colleague from Rome who is attending a charity function tonight. You’re lucky that someone with influence has arranged for your immediate departure from the country.’

Antonia gasped. ‘Do you mean I’m being deported?’

‘I wouldn’t quibble if I were you,’ Nigel Clough warned her. ‘Just take the chance to go while you have it.’ The man’s pale gaze flickered disparagingly around the cell. ‘Unless, of course, you have some plan to stay?’

‘No, none.’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘Will you call my brother just in case it all goes wrong and they keep me here?’ She handed over a screwed-up note on which she had written Rigo’s private telephone number with a pen she’d accidentally borrowed from an unwary guard. ‘Thank you,’ she called after the starchy civil servant. Now she just had to hope it wouldn’t be long before she saw the outside world again so she could pick up her life.

But they left the cell door open, and with a rush of relief Antonia realised the guards were waiting for her to leave. She had no idea what lay ahead of her, but one thing was certain—she wasn’t staying here. Drawing the flimsy blanket tightly round her, she followed the guards along the same dismal corridors down which they had first brought her, and almost cried with relief when she stepped onto the street. Of course there was no imposing sheikh, or sardonic Saif, waiting to greet her. She shaded her eyes against the glare of an unforgiving sun. This was a sorry end to a brave adventure.

She flinched as the prison gates slammed behind her. She had survived a pirate attack and an assault on her heart, but she doubted she could survive her own self-loathing if she returned to Rome without a single one of her goals having been fulfilled.

Well, that was just too bad, wasn’t it? Antonia admonished herself, bumping around in the back of an old army Jeep on her way to the airport. She had to bite the bullet and get on with life like everyone else. She’d got into this mess, and now it was up to her to get out of it. She’d go back to Rome, face up to her brother and prove both to Rigo and to herself that she was worthy of her brother’s trust and that she could do what she had set out to do. This time neither pirates, guards, nor even a man who had carved his name into her heart would stand in her way