Read Online The Sheikh's Jewel by Melissa James - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melissa James
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taken Amber, they’d use her as leverage to make Alim disappear for good—and then they’d kill her to leave Harun free to wed a more fertile bride.
No!
‘Amber!’ he yelled, bolting for the door. He reached it before it slid shut, yanked it open and shouldered his way through.
Turning left, he ran down the passage—then a cloying scent filled his senses and mind; the world spun too fast, and he knew no more.
CHAPTER FIVE
T HE screaming headache and general feeling of grogginess were the first indications that life wasn’t normal when Harun opened his eyes…because when he tried to open them they were filled with sticky sand, and he had to blink and push his lids wide before they opened.
The second indication was when he saw the room he was in. Lying on a bed that—well, it sagged, he could feel his hip aching from the divot his body had made—he knew this was a room he’d never been in before. It wasn’t quite filthy, but for a man who’d spent every day of his life in apartments in flawless condition, he could smell the dust, breathe it in.
The furnishings were strange. After a few moments of blinking and staring hard, he thought he hadn’t been in a room so sparse since his tent during the war. The one cupboard looked as though it had been sanded with steel wool, the gouges were so messy, and it was old. Not antique, but worn out, like something sold at a bazaar in the poor quarter of the city. The one carpet on the wide-boarded wooden floor looked like an original eighteenth-century weave, but with moth-holes and ragged ends. The dining table and chairs had been hand-carved in a beautiful dark wood, but looked as if they hadn’t been polished in years. The chairs by the windows were covered in tapestry that had long lost its plushness.
Thin, almost transparent curtains hung over the wide, ornately carved windows and around the bed, giving an illusion of privacy; but in a life filled with servants and politicians, foreign dignitaries and visiting relatives, he barely understood what the word meant.
He moved to rub his eyes, but both hands came together. His hands were tied with a double-stranded silken string. Could he break it if he struggled hard enough—?
The silk was stronger than it appeared. The bonds didn’t budge, no matter how he struggled, and he swore.
A little murmur of protest behind him made him freeze halfway through pulling his wrists apart. A soft sigh followed, and then the soft breathing of a woman in deep sleep.
He flipped his body around to the other direction, his head screaming in protest at the movement, and looked at his companion. Pale-faced, deeply asleep, Amber was in bed with him for the first time, wearing only a peignoir of almost the same shimmering honey-gold as her skin.
For that matter, he wore only a pair of boxers in silk as thin as Amber’s peignoir.
A memory as blurry as a photo of his grandparents’ youth came to him—a vision of Amber’s feet being dragged backwards down the secret passage. But, try as he might, nothing more came to him.
They’d obviously been kidnapped, but why? For money, or political clout? Why would anyone want to take them now, when it was too late? It made no sense, with Alim back and able to take his rightful place as Sheikh—
Unless…could this be part of an elaborate el-Shabbat plot to reduce the el-Kanar power base in Abbas al-Din? He’d just paid one hundred million US dollars for Alim’s safe release. If Alim paid the same for his and Amber’s safe return, it wouldn’t bankrupt the nation, but it would be enough to create a negative media backlash against the family. Why do these people keep getting kidnapped? Once was forgivable, but twice would be seen as a family weakness. If they’d taken Alim as well, it might destroy the—
An icy chill ran down his back. If it was the el-Shabbats,
it would mean their deaths, all of them. Alim had just been taken hostage, beaten badly, and released only by ransom. How
No!
‘Amber!’ he yelled, bolting for the door. He reached it before it slid shut, yanked it open and shouldered his way through.
Turning left, he ran down the passage—then a cloying scent filled his senses and mind; the world spun too fast, and he knew no more.
CHAPTER FIVE
T HE screaming headache and general feeling of grogginess were the first indications that life wasn’t normal when Harun opened his eyes…because when he tried to open them they were filled with sticky sand, and he had to blink and push his lids wide before they opened.
The second indication was when he saw the room he was in. Lying on a bed that—well, it sagged, he could feel his hip aching from the divot his body had made—he knew this was a room he’d never been in before. It wasn’t quite filthy, but for a man who’d spent every day of his life in apartments in flawless condition, he could smell the dust, breathe it in.
The furnishings were strange. After a few moments of blinking and staring hard, he thought he hadn’t been in a room so sparse since his tent during the war. The one cupboard looked as though it had been sanded with steel wool, the gouges were so messy, and it was old. Not antique, but worn out, like something sold at a bazaar in the poor quarter of the city. The one carpet on the wide-boarded wooden floor looked like an original eighteenth-century weave, but with moth-holes and ragged ends. The dining table and chairs had been hand-carved in a beautiful dark wood, but looked as if they hadn’t been polished in years. The chairs by the windows were covered in tapestry that had long lost its plushness.
Thin, almost transparent curtains hung over the wide, ornately carved windows and around the bed, giving an illusion of privacy; but in a life filled with servants and politicians, foreign dignitaries and visiting relatives, he barely understood what the word meant.
He moved to rub his eyes, but both hands came together. His hands were tied with a double-stranded silken string. Could he break it if he struggled hard enough—?
The silk was stronger than it appeared. The bonds didn’t budge, no matter how he struggled, and he swore.
A little murmur of protest behind him made him freeze halfway through pulling his wrists apart. A soft sigh followed, and then the soft breathing of a woman in deep sleep.
He flipped his body around to the other direction, his head screaming in protest at the movement, and looked at his companion. Pale-faced, deeply asleep, Amber was in bed with him for the first time, wearing only a peignoir of almost the same shimmering honey-gold as her skin.
For that matter, he wore only a pair of boxers in silk as thin as Amber’s peignoir.
A memory as blurry as a photo of his grandparents’ youth came to him—a vision of Amber’s feet being dragged backwards down the secret passage. But, try as he might, nothing more came to him.
They’d obviously been kidnapped, but why? For money, or political clout? Why would anyone want to take them now, when it was too late? It made no sense, with Alim back and able to take his rightful place as Sheikh—
Unless…could this be part of an elaborate el-Shabbat plot to reduce the el-Kanar power base in Abbas al-Din? He’d just paid one hundred million US dollars for Alim’s safe release. If Alim paid the same for his and Amber’s safe return, it wouldn’t bankrupt the nation, but it would be enough to create a negative media backlash against the family. Why do these people keep getting kidnapped? Once was forgivable, but twice would be seen as a family weakness. If they’d taken Alim as well, it might destroy the—
An icy chill ran down his back. If it was the el-Shabbats,
it would mean their deaths, all of them. Alim had just been taken hostage, beaten badly, and released only by ransom. How
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