At the Sheikh's Bidding

Black brows lowered in a slashing frown. ‘Is this true?’

Once again he’d addressed the solicitor, but Erin was fed up with being treated as if she was part of the furniture, and she glared at him, her hands on her hips and her eyes blazing.

‘Damn right, it’s true. Kazim is legally my son, and I won’t allow you to take him. You have no rights to him.’

‘We’ll see about that—or rather my lawyers will,’ Zahir snapped icily.

His jaw tightened. In all his thirty-six years he had never been spoken to in such a disrespectful manner—and certainly not by a woman. Under his father’s rule Qubbah had gradually become a more liberal kingdom, and he himself had spent much of his life in the US and Europe, where he accepted that men and women were equals, but he was a prince and he was used to being treated accordingly—to being fawned on, he admitted honestly, and to the unashamed adoration of women from both cultures.

He was not used to being yelled at by a flame-haired banshee, and the fact that Erin looked even more gorgeous when she was angry was no help at all. She was breathing hard, and he found himself fixated by the frantic rise and fall of her small breasts. Irritation, and another far more primitive emotion surged through him. He could not remember ever wanting a woman with such shaming urgency, but this woman was definitely out of bounds—Faisal’s widow and, apparently, the adoptive mother of his son. Zahir spun round and raked a hand through his hair. Hell, she was an unforeseen complication he could do without, he thought furiously. On the other side of the world an old and heartbroken man was waiting to greet his grandson. He had promised his father he would bring Faisal’s son to Qubbah, and he would not fail him. But clearly the situation was not as straightforward as he had assumed. He knew without conceit that he was a brilliant businessman and a shrewd tactician, feared and revered in the boardroom, but for the first time in his life he was at a loss to know what to do next, and he hated the feeling.

‘I can’t believe you thought you could just turn up here and whisk a three-year-old child off to another country, when he doesn’t even know you,’ Erin threw at him. ‘Kazim is little more than a baby, for heaven’s sake, who has just lost his father. Didn’t it occur to you that he would be terrified at being dragged off by a complete stranger?’

‘I was not going to drag him anywhere,’ Zahir snapped, stung by her criticism. ‘I came here alone today, rather than with my usual team of staff, so that he would have a chance to get to know me. My brother must have known I would come for him once I learned of his existence,’ he added harshly. ‘I assumed Kazim’s nanny had been instructed to continue caring for him until I arrived. I have already employed a highly qualified and experienced nanny to take charge of him in Qubbah.’

Fear gripped Erin, and her confusion intensified, but she hid both emotions. ‘Well, I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey,’ she said, forcing herself to sound calm. ‘But Faisal made it clear that he wanted Kazim to grow up in England—with me. He asked me to adopt Kazim, and I was happy to do so.’

‘In that case, why did he make no mention of you in his letter?’

Zahir had voiced the question that Erin could not answer, but she was saved from having to try when Gordon Straker stood up.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but it looks as though the weather is getting worse, and I have a train to catch,’ he said apologetically. He was already pulling on his coat, glancing worriedly out of the window at the heavy sky that warned snow was likely to continue falling for many hours yet. ‘Erin, if you need my advice at all…’ He hesitated and turned his eyes briefly to Zahir before moving them back to Erin. ‘Please contact me at my London office, any time.’ He walked towards the door, but paused when Zahir spoke sharply.

‘Are you sure there is nothing in the will about the child? No clause stipulating who should care for Kazim—no financial provision made for him?’

‘No,’ the solicitor replied simply. ‘Your brother left everything to Erin—in the expectation, I imagine, that she would provide for Kazim.’

‘Which I will,’ Erin burst out fiercely, infuriated at Zahir’s plainly sceptical expression. ‘I love Kazim as if he was my own child.’

‘Really?’ Zahir swung away from her and gave a harsh laugh. Erin sounded convincing, but he found it impossible to believe that she was prepared to devote her life to a child who was not her own flesh and blood out of love. Not when his own mother had abandoned him.

He had barely given his mother a thought for the past decade, Zahir realised with a jolt. Georgina had been his father’s second wife, an American who, according to his three older half-sisters, had found it difficult to settle to the life of strict protocol demanded of wife to the King of Qubbah. Zahir had not known that, and as a young boy he had simply accepted her frequent trips back to the US and waited impatiently for her to return to the palace. But when he was eleven she had not returned, and he’d never seen her or spoken to her again.

His father had explained that she was busy looking after her sick mother and couldn’t come back. Zahir had missed her desperately, and for a long time after she had gone he had kept her silk robe hidden beneath his pillow and wept into it every night. But when he was fourteen he learned the truth—that she had refused to live in Qubbah any longer and had accepted a huge financial settlement from his father in return for not seeking custody of her only son.

She had sold him—and he had never cried again after he’d found out, nor spared her another thought. But he had learned a valuable lesson about love and trust, Zahir conceded bitterly—a lesson that had been reinforced six years ago, when he had been betrayed by the only other woman he had ever loved.

Noises from beyond the library door catapulted him back to the present: the sound of a child crying mingled with a distinctive, broad Yorkshire accent. A moment later the door was flung open and a woman appeared with a hysterical toddler her arms.

‘Sorry to disturb you.’ She addressed Erin, oblivious to the tension in the room. ‘But Kazim has banged his head on the kitchen table. You know how he runs everywhere. Look, there’s a lump the size of an egg come up on his forehead, but he won’t let me console him—he wants you.’

Quickly Erin held out her arms and took the sobbing child from the cook, her heart clenching when he wrapped his arms around her neck and burrowed close. ‘Shh, it’s all right, darling. Let me look at your head.’ She brushed his dark curls off his brow and inspected the livid bruise, before applying the ice pack Alice had handed her. ‘That’s quite a bump you’ve got there, but there’s no real harm done.’

Kazim’s sobs gradually subsided as she cuddled him. He smelled deliciously of soap and baby powder, and the intensity of her love for him squeezed her heart like a giant fist. She had adored him since he was three months old, and nothing would ever make her give him up, she vowed fiercely. But when she glanced up and saw Faisal’s brother watching her, with his dark, forbidding gaze, she was filled with a sense of foreboding.

Alice heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Kazim’s a little daredevil,’ she cheerfully informed the two men. ‘He’s always running and climbing, and he’s constantly getting into mischief. Erin has her work cut out, looking after him.’

Erin saw Zahir frown and groaned silently. Thanks, Alice—that’s a real help.

‘Shouldn’t you seek medical advice for his head injury?’ he queried coldly.

Kazim was squirming in her arms, wanting to get down and clearly none the worse for his accident. ‘He’s fine,’ Erin said tersely. ‘He’s a lively three year-old, for goodness’ sake, I can’t keep him wrapped in cotton wool. I’m a fully trained nanny and qualified in first-aid,’ she continued, when Zahir looked unconvinced. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after him.’

She lifted her chin and her eyes clashed with his cold, faintly contemptuous gaze. She hated his arrogance, but she could not look away from him. As she watched heat flared in those dark depths, and for a split second raw, sexual hunger gleamed beneath his heavy brows before his thick lashes fell, concealing his thoughts.

Shaken, she glanced at Gordon Straker, who was edging towards the door. ‘Erin, I’m sorry, but I really must…’

‘Yes, of course.’ Making a swift decision, she set Kazim down and turned to Alice. ‘Will you keep an eye on him while I see Mr Straker out?’

She hurried across the hall after the solicitor, and stopped him as he was about to open the front door. ‘Mr Straker, when did Faisal give you the letter he instructed you to send to his brother after his death? Was it when he married me?’ she queried huskily.

‘Oh, no, it was about a month before he died. Until then I hadn’t known Faisal had any family, and I see that the revelation has come as a shock to you too,’ he added gently.

Erin bit her lip, feeling a sudden urge to confide in the kindly solicitor. ‘From the moment Faisal learned that he was dying he was desperate to secure Kazim’s future,’ she explained urgently. ‘I’ve cared for him since he was three months old. Faisal’s wife died as a result of complications while giving birth, and when Faisal’s illness was diagnosed a year ago he asked me to marry him to make it easier for me to adopt Kazim. He told me he had no other family and he didn’t want Kazim to grow up in care—like I had.’

She hated talking about her past, and dropped her gaze from Gordon Straker’s face as she continued in a low voice, ‘My mother was a drug addict, who died when I was ten, and I spent the rest of my childhood in the care of Social Services. I was a troubled teenager, and I don’t know where I would be now if I hadn’t been fostered—maybe working the streets to pay for my next fix like my mother,’ she confessed thickly. ‘My foster father worked here at Ingledean, as a gardener, and when Faisal came here with his baby son he employed me as Kazim’s nanny. Despite my background he knew I would love and protect Kazim as if he was my own child.’

She was hurt that Faisal had not been honest with her. He did have a family, and just before he’d died he had made the decision to tell them he had a son. Had he done so because he had begun to doubt her abilities to be a good mother to Kazim? Had he decided that he wanted his estranged family to be involved in the little boy’s upbringing after all?

All her old doubts and insecurities rose up inside her, but Gordon Straker opened the front door and a blast of icy wind whipped into the hall, snapping Erin out of her reverie.

The solicitor gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘You are Kazim’s adoptive mother, Erin,’ he said gently, ‘and no one can take him from you. Only you can decide if it would be in his best interests to have some contact with his family in Qubbah.’

He turned up the collar of his coat and stepped into the snow, but paused to glance back at her. ‘I’ve done a little investigating, and from what I’ve heard Sheikh Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir is an astute businessman and a risk-taker, respected on the world markets for his brilliance and daring. He is a man who is used to having his own way, and who pursues his goals with a ruthless determination, yet at the same time many people find him incredibly charming and persuasive—particularly women.’ He gave a faint smile at her sudden heightened colour. ‘All I’m saying is—tread carefully, Erin,’ Gordon Straker warned softly, ‘and don’t let him bully you, my dear.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ Erin replied fiercely.

But as she flew back across the hall to the library, where she had left the Sheikh with her son, a shiver of trepidation ran through her. The moment she had seen Zahir she had been mesmerised by his spectacular looks and powerful sexual magnetism. The man spelt danger, and the predatory gleam she’d glimpsed in his dark eyes warned her to be on her guard.

CHAPTER TWO

ZAHIR turned away from the window and the uninspiring view of snow-covered moors and found Kazim staring up at him, his chocolate-brown eyes wide with curiosity. Slowly he knelt down, so that he was on level with the toddler’s gaze, and pain tugged in his chest. The little boy bore a marked resemblance to both his parents, and the sight of his small, lively face and impish grin made the tragedy of Faisal and Maryam’s untimely deaths seem even more poignant.

The anger and bitterness that had eaten away at Zahir for six long years released its grip on his heart and was replaced by a new emotion that was unexpectedly fierce. Love—pure and uncomplicated—flooded through him, and he reached out and stroked Kazim’s cheek with fingers that shook slightly.

Faisal’s little son was an orphan, but he would never feel alone or unloved. He, Zahir, would make sure of that. Because of his stubborn pride he had left it too late to be reconciled with his brother, but he would love his nephew as if he were his own child. Kazim belonged in Qubbah, and nothing would prevent Zahir from taking him home.

His mind turned briefly to Faisal’s second wife and he dismissed her with a shrug. Erin was an inconvenience he would have to deal with. For now he focused all his attention on his brother’s son.

‘He seems tall for a three-year-old,’ he commented to the cook, who had settled her generous frame into an armchair by the fire.

‘Oh, he is—and strong,’ she agreed cheerfully. ‘He’s strong-willed too. Kazim’s an adorable child, but he knows his own mind. Sometimes Erin struggles to cope with his temper tantrums, especially at bath-time.’

Zahir frowned. ‘What do you mean—struggles? Does she lose her temper with him?’

Kazim was a sturdy toddler, but he had been left alone in the world since his father’s death, totally dependent on Erin’s care. Who was this woman Faisal had entrusted with his son? Erin had said that she loved Kazim but he, Zahir, was linked to Kazim by blood, and a wave of protectiveness swept through him.

‘Heavens, no.’ Alice shook her head. ‘Erin is wonderfully patient with him. She really does think of him as her own child—and, after all, she’s the only mother he’s ever known.’

The cook’s words were unwelcome, and Zahir’s frown deepened, but when he glanced up his features were schooled into a disarming smile. ‘I understand that Erin married my brother a year ago, but that she worked for him before that?’

‘Yes. The master employed her as Kazim’s nanny soon after he moved into Ingledean,’ Alice confirmed, opening up like a flower beneath Zahir’s full-on charm. ‘She lived at the gate lodge with her foster parents, but when they retired and moved south to be near their son Erin moved in here. She always loved this house.’ Alice’s voice dropped. ‘After Faisal died there was some unpleasant gossip in the village that Erin had persuaded him to marry her by promising to take care of Kazim because she wanted to inherit Ingledean.’ She snorted. ‘All rubbish, of course—Erin doesn’t have a mercenary bone in her body—but some folk are so mean-minded, and they dug up all that about her past…’

The cook looked suddenly uncomfortable, and Zahir demanded sharply, ‘What about her past?’

‘Oh, it was nothing,’ Alice assured him quickly. ‘Erin had an unhappy childhood, and as a teenager she ended up in trouble with the law. It was a minor offence, I understand. I don’t know much about it.’ Alice trailed to a halt, clearly embarrassed that she had allowed her tongue to run away with her. ‘What I do know is that Faisal trusted Erin,’ she said firmly, as she got to her feet and threw a log on the fire. ‘And although they might not have had a normal marriage, they were very fond of each other.’

In what way had his brother’s marriage not been normal? Zahir wondered curiously. He wanted to force some more answers from the cook, but Alice was looking pink-cheeked and flustered, and with an effort he restrained his impatience. He would phone his personal assistant, Omran, as soon as possible, and instruct him to research Erin’s background. He had grown up in a royal palace where intrigue and gossip were rife, but he knew from experience that even the wildest rumours often contained grains of truth. Omran’s diligence was next to none, and if there were any skeletons in Faisal’s widow’s cupboard they would soon be revealed, he thought grimly.

He turned his attention back to Kazim, and this time his smile was genuine. ‘I brought a present for you,’ he told the little boy, his heart softening when Kazim’s eyes lit up with excitement. ‘It’s a toy camel, just like the real camels that live in the desert. How would you like to come to my home in the desert and ride on one?’

Erin pushed open the library door to see Kazim staring at Zahir, utterly spellbound. Zahir was crouched low, so that his face was on a level with Kazim’s, and Erin was instantly struck by the familial likeness between the man and the child. Kazim shared his uncle’s Arabic colouring and silky black hair. An image filtered into her mind of the two of them astride a camel, Zahir’s arms around Kazim as the animal carried them across golden sands.

The picture in her head was so real that she drew a sharp breath. Kazim’s home was here at Ingledean, with her, she reminded herself, fighting the sudden surge of panic that gripped her. She turned to Alice, who was watching Zahir with a dreamy expression on her face that fuelled Erin’s irritation. Okay, so the man looked like Lawrence of Arabia, and his voice was no longer cold and haughty but as warm and sensuous as molten syrup—but that was no reason to drool over him, she thought crossly.

‘Erin—I got a camel.’ Kazim finally noticed her and ran across the room, waving the toy excitedly at her. ‘I’m going to ride on one—a real one,’ he added emphatically, his brown eyes glowing with anticipation. ‘Can we go to the desert now?’

Out of the mouths of babes! Erin managed to simultaneously smile at the toddler and glare at Zahir, who had straightened to his full height once more and dominated the room.

‘Not today, darling,’ she murmured. ‘The desert is a long way from here.’ She swung her gaze back to Zahir and gave him a cool smile that belied the frantic thudding of her heart. ‘Gordon Straker was sensible to leave before the weather worsens. I suggest you do the same. I’m sure you would prefer not to be stranded in this “draughty monstrosity of a house,”’ she added sweetly. ‘Alice, will you take Kazim to the kitchen? It’s time for his tea.’

‘Oh—right.’ Alice looked faintly startled at Erin’s brisk tone, but held out her hand to Kazim and led him from the room.

The cook closed the door behind her, leaving Erin alone with Zahir, and her heart sank when she glanced at him and saw that his face had hardened, his eyes blazing with anger.

‘You would begrudge me even five minutes with my brother’s child?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Kazim is my flesh and blood—’

‘I didn’t know about you.’ Erin quickly defended herself. ‘Faisal told me that neither he nor his first wife had any family. You must understand that your appearance here today has been a shock.’ She bit her lip, her thoughts whirling around her brain. ‘When you say that Kazim has family in Qubbah—who are they, exactly?’

‘My father…’ Zahir paused; Erin seemed genuinely shocked that Faisal had a family. For some reason Faisal had not told her that he was a prince, nor that his son was heir to the throne of Qubbah, but for now he saw no reason to impart that information. ‘My family have much power and influence in Qubbah,’ he informed her. ‘My father, Sheikh Kahlid, is eager to see his tenth grandson. My three sisters are married, and have children who are Kazim’s cousins, and my father has six siblings who, together with their husbands and wives and children, make up a large extended family.

‘Surely you must see that it would be better for Kazim to be brought up by his real family, by relatives who will love him, who can teach him of his heritage and culture and who want only the best for him?’ he demanded impatiently when Erin stared at him, stunned into silence by the revelation that Kazim had a huge family in Qubbah.

Kazim was hers, she thought frantically, and no one could take him from her. Gordon Straker had said so. ‘I love him,’ she said fiercely. ‘I want what is best for him. And I don’t think that carting him off to unfamiliar surroundings and a horde of people he’s never met before would be good for him right now. You have to believe that my only concern is Kazim’s welfare,’ she continued, forcing herself to sound calm, although she felt anything but when Zahir was prowling the room, silent and menacing as a panther stalking its prey. ‘I don’t know the reason why Faisal was estranged from you and the rest of his family, but it must have been serious if he made no contact with you in six years. Kazim is a little boy who has lost both his parents, and he needs the security and stability of remaining here in the only home he has ever known. Perhaps when he is a bit older there could be some contact,’ she offered hesitantly. You could visit…’

‘I don’t intend that my relationship with my brother’s child will be confined to the occasional visit.’ Zahir’s icy scorn flayed her like a whip. ‘Kazim belongs in Qubbah, with his blood family, and that is where I intend to take him—with or without your approval.’

‘You can’t.’ Erin remembered Gordon Straker’s warning not to allow Zahir to bully her, and she squared her shoulders, refusing to cower beneath his anger.

‘The word can’t is not one I am familiar with,’ he informed her imperiously.

He wasn’t joking, Erin realised shakily as she stared at his haughty expression. She had a feeling that no one had ever crossed Sheikh Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir in his life, and she did not relish being the first.

‘Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to add it to your vocabulary,’ she snapped. ‘Kazim is legally my son, and I intend to follow Faisal’s wishes and bring him up here in England. I can see that it would be good for Kazim to meet his relatives,’ she conceded huskily, her voice faltering fractionally at the prospect of sharing the little boy with strangers who, if Zahir’s attitude was anything to go by, would disapprove of her, ‘and I understand your father’s desire to see his grandson. For that reason I am prepared to allow him to visit Kazim.’

Prepared to allow! Outrage robbed Zahir temporarily of his ability to speak. No one allowed members of the ruling family of Qubbah to do anything. Their power was absolute in the tradition-bound kingdom. And as for being dictated to by a woman! Changes were slowly happening in his homeland, and he recognised that there would have to be many more if Qubbah did not want to be left behind as the world moved through the twenty-first century, but at present women had no status in Qubbah, and he was infuriated by Erin’s assumption that he would meekly agree to her rules. Meek was not a word ever associated with Prince Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir!

He glanced out of the window at the gathering dusk and his jaw hardened. He did not have time to stand here arguing. He thought again of his father, remembering the look of devastation on his face when he had broken the news of Faisal’s death. Kazim was a lifeline. He was possibly the only person who could lift the King from his despair. Nothing would prevent Zahir from taking the child home to the kingdom that he would one day rule.

‘My nephew belongs in Qubbah,’ he stated coldly as he crossed to the desk and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. He could feel Erin’s eyes on him, but he refused to look at her. He did not want to picture her with Faisal, did not want to admit to the corrosive jealousy that burned in his gut when he imagined them together. He was furious with himself that he could not banish the fantasy of making love to her so passionately that he drove all thoughts of his brother from her mind.

His unexpected desire for Erin was an inconvenience. Her legal status as Kazim’s mother was a much bigger problem. But there was a simple solution. She had sounded convincing when she’d stated that she loved the child, but everything had its price—even love.