‘You remind me of Zahir when you say that. He had a similar reaction when I told him that he could have been killed by that gunman. “But I wasn’t,” he said …’ Eyeing Gina with a definitely speculative glance, Farida stood in front of her and held out a hand to help her to her feet. ‘I will talk to the public security forces and then we will go directly home.’
The hard ride on his stallion had partially torn open the wound on Zahir’s side. Biting back a soft curse as his disapproving physician put in fresh stitches, he was nonetheless unrepentant. The ride had not only helped divert some of his frustration and restless energy, but had also helped clear his head.
As much as his proud, fiercely masculine nature and privileged position made him want to demand that Gina share his bed, he sensed that that was definitely not the way to go about achieving his goal. After all, he didn’t want to alienate her or make her hate him. No … instead he would employ a charm offensive that she couldn’t resist.
To start with he would give her a private showing of the Heart of Courage—even before he let her colleague Dr Rivers see the artefact. Then he would organise a special dinner for two in the palace’s grandest dining room, where she would marvel at the opulence and grandeur of the furnishings and—
‘A thousand pardons, Your Highness.’ The double doors flew wide and Jamal strode purposefully into the room. His urgent tone and agitated expression immediately applied the emergency brake to Zahir’s distracted train of thought. He’d been lying back against the luxurious satin pillows on his bed whilst his doctor snipped the thread from the last stitch he’d applied, but now he sat up abruptly. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
In a heated rush, Jamal told him. It was as though he’d been punched in the stomach by an iron fist. Gina … For a disturbing few seconds his thoughts were so distressed by the idea she might be hurt that Zahir was paralysed. Then, as Jamal continued to regale him with the story of how Dr Collins had almost been abducted in the marketplace, where she’d gone with Farida and his sister’s servant Hafiz, he swung his muscular legs to the floor and grabbed the long black robes he’d been wearing from the end of the bed—deliberately ignoring his physician’s plea to wait until his wounds were rebandaged as he hastily dressed.
Inside his chest his heart mimicked the heavy thud of a steel hammer against stone. Had he visited this latest calamity on his family by thinking he could apply reason to his dealings with the rebels? It had already been demonstrated what a deluded belief that was! Would his father have simply sent in the military to sort them out, giving them no chance to state their grievances whatsoever? Had Zahir’s arrogance in believing his way was right diminished his wisdom?
Shutting out the bittersweet memory of his father—a man who had been affectionately admired by officials and the public alike for his wisdom and fairness when dealing with matters of governance—he hurried out through the door at a mile a minute, with no mind to Jamal who, although young and fit, panted a little in his bid to keep pace with him.
The women were in a private downstairs salon, where they were drinking tea. On entering the lavishly decorated room, with its long gold-coloured couches and antique furniture, Zahir let his anxious glance deliberately overshoot his sister to dwell first on the slender, fair-haired woman seated at her side. Her usual tidy French pleat was a little awry, and escaping curling tendrils framed the delicate beauty of her face to give her the same vulnerable look that Zahir remembered from their first meeting in the Husseins’ garden. His breath caught in his throat.
In contrast the plain, traditional long black dress she wore hardly seemed fitting for such incandescent loveliness. He guessed it belonged to his sister. His first desire was to go straight to Gina, but because Farida and her servant Hafiz were both present he didn’t.
‘What is this I have been hearing about an assault on Dr Collins in the marketplace?’ he demanded, not bothering to temper his outrage.
Both Hafiz and his sister flinched. ‘It happened so quickly, Zahir. There was nothing we could—’
‘Nothing you could do?’ he interrupted furiously, uncaring in that moment that Farida looked distraught. ‘Why didn’t you take a bodyguard with you? In fact, why did you not take two—one for each of you? Have you forgotten what happened to me just the other day? For the love of Allah, what possessed you to go to the market in the first place? If you had wanted something specifically you could have sent your servant!’
‘I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I can’t sit here and let your sister take the blame for something that happened totally out of the blue.’
Having risen to her feet—a little shakily, he noticed with alarm—Gina all but pierced Zahir’s soul with the fiercely protective glint of her blue eyes. She continually astonished him. No more than now, as she refused to let him berate Farida for undertaking a trip she hadn’t needed to make in the first place, thereby putting them both at grave risk.
‘As lovely as it is, we both needed to get out of the palace for a while. When Farida suggested a trip to the marketplace I jumped at the chance. So if you’re intent on blaming your sister, then I want you to know that I am equally to blame.’
‘Did the assailant hurt you?’ He couldn’t help the catch in his voice. Right then he didn’t care who noted it, either. It was hell to stand there and pretend his concern was only that of a respectful host for a guest who had suffered some accident or mishap whilst under his roof when all the while he wanted to hold Gina in his arms and ascertain for himself whether she was hurt or not.
‘The man grabbed Gina from behind and dragged her from her chair. I am certain his aim was to abduct her, but fortunately she reacted quickly and bit him. He cursed and let her go,’ Farida explained, colouring slightly.
‘You bit him?’ Was it possible for this woman to amaze him any further? Arms akimbo, Zahir stared.
‘It was purely instinctive. I’m no heroine, I assure you.’
‘The law enforcement officers found a dangerous-looking knife under the man’s robes.’
His sister glanced at Gina with what looked to be an apologetic shrug, but it was too late. Zahir’s mind had already delved into the most horrific scenarios at news of the attack without the information that the assailant had been carrying a knife.
‘And the officers interviewed you for details of the assault on Dr Collins?’ His voice sounded strangely disembodied to his own ears, as shock and mounting fury spilled through his veins.
‘They did. They’ll be here shortly to have a meeting with you, Zahir. Do you think it was anything to do with the rebels?’
‘I do not doubt it.’ Scowling, Zahir dropped his hands to his hips. Helplessly, he returned his concerned hungry glance to Gina. Her skin had turned the sickly pallor of oatmeal, and suddenly, frighteningly, it was clear to him that she was having trouble keeping her balance.
‘Gina!’ Rushing forward, he caught her slim body in his arms just before she hit the marble floor.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS HE kicked open the door of Gina’s bedroom, to carry her across to the emperor-sized bed with its purple silk counterpane, Zahir realised he had an entourage. His sister, two servants—not including Jamal—and finally Dr Saffar, the personal physician he had commanded Jamal to fetch straight away, followed him.
Laying his precious cargo carefully down on the bed, he personally removed her shoes, then sat on the edge of the counterpane beside her, the tension inside him building excruciatingly every moment her eyes stayed closed. Taking her hand in his, he could not hide his shock at how cold it was. Moving to the other side of