Read Online Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem by Marguerite Kaye - Free Book Online
Authors: Marguerite Kaye
Ads: Link
different—short, staccato sentences, none of the soft vowels and curling consonants she had grown used to.
She felt as if she didn’t know him. She forced herself to accept that she didn’t. What had happened over the last two days had been an oasis, an exotic interlude in the harsh, unyielding desert of reality. This was his real life. Suddenly she was a little afraid.
She hadn’t taken his threat to make her his concubine seriously. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about his harem. In fact, she had allowed herself to assume that it simply wouldn’t happen, that when they arrived here he would change his mind and—and what?
She was alone. Worse, she was a woman alone, which meant she had neither the right nor the power to choose her own destiny. It wasn’t a case of being forced to do Ramiz’s bidding. She didn’t have any other option.
Powerless. The full meaning of the word hit her like a sack of corn swung into her middle, so that she felt her breath whistling out, her stomach clenching. Celia began to panic, her fevered imagination conjuring up all sorts of hideous fates. It would be weeks—months, maybe—before she was missed. She pictured Cassie waiting anxiously every day for a letter which did not come, trying to reassure Caroline and Cordelia and poor little Cressida, and at the same time attempting to persuade Papa to take some sort of action. But what could he do, so far away in London? Nothing. And in the meantime she, Celia, would probably have been cast out into the desert and left to die.
Fortunately at this point Celia’s common sense intervened. If Ramiz had wanted her dead he would not have saved her life. If he’d wanted harm to come to her, he’d have left her on her own at the site of the massacre. She couldn’t claim to truly know the autocratic Prince standing a few yards away, oblivious to her presence, but she knew enough about the man to believe in his integrity and honour, and she knew enough of his hard-won and volatile peace to understand that he wouldn’t risk upsetting the British government by slaughtering the daughter of one of their foremost statesmen. She was acting like a hysterical female when dignity and calm were what was required. She was in a royal palace, for goodness’ sake! She was a citizen of one of the world’s great powers. Ramiz wouldn’t dare lock her in a harem and expect her to do his bidding.
Nodding to herself with renewed resolve, Celia looked up, but Ramiz was gone. She stood quite alone in the courtyard, with only the tinkling fountains for company. She had no idea which of the doorways he had gone through. Though the doors were all open, each was draped in heavy brocade and gauzy lace to keep out the fierce heat of the day. The keyhole-shaped windows of the salons, with their gold-plated iron grilles, stared out blankly at her.
‘Hello?’ she called out tentatively, feeling horribly self-conscious as she listened to her voice echo up through the courtyard. There was no answer. This is ridiculous, she thought, deciding simply to select a doorway and walk through it.
She was picking up her skirts and making for the nearest one when a voice halted her. Two men were approaching. Huge men with bellies so large they looked like cushions, dressed not in robes but in wide black pleated breeches and shiny black boots. Each had a vicious curved dagger held in the sash which marked where the waistband had once been. Under their black turbans each had a black beard and long black moustaches.
Like two of Ali Baba’s forty thieves, Celia thought a little hysterically as the men stopped in front of her. Then they bowed, indicating that she follow them, and with her heart in her mouth she did, through a myriad of doors and cool dark passageways, until they came to another large wooden door set in another white-tiled wall. One of the men produced a large key and pulled the door wide. Celia stepped through into a courtyard almost a mirror image of
She felt as if she didn’t know him. She forced herself to accept that she didn’t. What had happened over the last two days had been an oasis, an exotic interlude in the harsh, unyielding desert of reality. This was his real life. Suddenly she was a little afraid.
She hadn’t taken his threat to make her his concubine seriously. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about his harem. In fact, she had allowed herself to assume that it simply wouldn’t happen, that when they arrived here he would change his mind and—and what?
She was alone. Worse, she was a woman alone, which meant she had neither the right nor the power to choose her own destiny. It wasn’t a case of being forced to do Ramiz’s bidding. She didn’t have any other option.
Powerless. The full meaning of the word hit her like a sack of corn swung into her middle, so that she felt her breath whistling out, her stomach clenching. Celia began to panic, her fevered imagination conjuring up all sorts of hideous fates. It would be weeks—months, maybe—before she was missed. She pictured Cassie waiting anxiously every day for a letter which did not come, trying to reassure Caroline and Cordelia and poor little Cressida, and at the same time attempting to persuade Papa to take some sort of action. But what could he do, so far away in London? Nothing. And in the meantime she, Celia, would probably have been cast out into the desert and left to die.
Fortunately at this point Celia’s common sense intervened. If Ramiz had wanted her dead he would not have saved her life. If he’d wanted harm to come to her, he’d have left her on her own at the site of the massacre. She couldn’t claim to truly know the autocratic Prince standing a few yards away, oblivious to her presence, but she knew enough about the man to believe in his integrity and honour, and she knew enough of his hard-won and volatile peace to understand that he wouldn’t risk upsetting the British government by slaughtering the daughter of one of their foremost statesmen. She was acting like a hysterical female when dignity and calm were what was required. She was in a royal palace, for goodness’ sake! She was a citizen of one of the world’s great powers. Ramiz wouldn’t dare lock her in a harem and expect her to do his bidding.
Nodding to herself with renewed resolve, Celia looked up, but Ramiz was gone. She stood quite alone in the courtyard, with only the tinkling fountains for company. She had no idea which of the doorways he had gone through. Though the doors were all open, each was draped in heavy brocade and gauzy lace to keep out the fierce heat of the day. The keyhole-shaped windows of the salons, with their gold-plated iron grilles, stared out blankly at her.
‘Hello?’ she called out tentatively, feeling horribly self-conscious as she listened to her voice echo up through the courtyard. There was no answer. This is ridiculous, she thought, deciding simply to select a doorway and walk through it.
She was picking up her skirts and making for the nearest one when a voice halted her. Two men were approaching. Huge men with bellies so large they looked like cushions, dressed not in robes but in wide black pleated breeches and shiny black boots. Each had a vicious curved dagger held in the sash which marked where the waistband had once been. Under their black turbans each had a black beard and long black moustaches.
Like two of Ali Baba’s forty thieves, Celia thought a little hysterically as the men stopped in front of her. Then they bowed, indicating that she follow them, and with her heart in her mouth she did, through a myriad of doors and cool dark passageways, until they came to another large wooden door set in another white-tiled wall. One of the men produced a large key and pulled the door wide. Celia stepped through into a courtyard almost a mirror image of
Similar Books
