His Forbidden Pregnant Princess Page 16

  “We put each other back together.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you, too.”

  “I did not think I would get my happy ending.”

  “You didn’t?”

  He shook his head. “Stepsiblings of any stripe are always evil.”

  “Well, then I could just as easily have been evil, too.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “You’re the princess.”

  “And you happen to be my Prince Charming, Luca. Stepbrother or not.”

  “Am I very charming?” He grinned at her, and the expression on his face made her light up inside.

  “Not always,” she said, smiling slightly. “But you’re mine. And that’s all that matters.”

  “That makes you mine, too.”

  “I choose you. I choose you over everything,” she said. She pressed a kiss to his lips, and he held her for a moment.

  “I choose you, too,” he said. “Over everything.”

  And though they spoke their vows later that day, it was those vows that she knew would carry them through for the rest of their lives.

  EPILOGUE

  SHE WAS ABOVE him in absolutely every way. A radiant angel of light, his wife. And never had he been more certain of that than when he looked at her, holding their daughter in her arms.

  He had been right about one thing, the scandal of their union had settled quickly enough once the excitement over the royal baby had overshadowed it all. A new little princess was much more interesting to the world over than how Sophia and Luca had gotten their start.

  Luca knelt down by his wife’s hospital bed, gazing in awe at the two most important women in his life.

  “What do you think, Your Majesty?” she asked.

  “I think...” He swallowed hard. “I think that with two such brilliant lights in my life I will never have to be lost in darkness again.”

  * * *

  If you enjoyed His Forbidden Pregnant Princess you’re sure to enjoy these other stories by Maisey Yates!

  The Prince’s Stolen Virgin

  The Italian’s Pregnant Prisoner

  The Spaniard’s Untouched Bride

  The Spaniard’s Stolen Bride

  Available now!

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  Sheikh’s Royal Baby Revelation

  by Annie West

  CHAPTER ONE

  ASHRAF WOKE TO the sound of a door slamming and the taste of blood in his mouth. Blood and dust.

  He lay facedown, head and ribs burning with pain, the rest of him merely battered. Slowly he forced his eyelids open. He was in a dark room, lightened only by a spill of moonlight through a small, high window.

  Then came rough voices using an obscure local dialect. Three men, he counted, walking away. He strained to hear over the merciless hammering in his head.

  They’d kill him tomorrow. After Qadri arrived to enjoy the spectacle and pay them for the successful kidnap.

  Ashraf gritted his jaw, ignoring the spike of pain in the back of his skull.

  Of course Qadri was behind this. Who else would dare? The bandit leader had even begun to style himself as a provincial chief in the last years of Ashraf’s father’s rule.

  The old Sheikh had moved slowly when dealing with problems in this remote province, the poorest and most backward in the country. He’d left Qadri alone as long as the bandit preyed only on his own people.

  But Ashraf wasn’t cut from the same cloth as his father. The old Sheikh was dead and Ashraf had introduced changes that would see Qadri dispossessed.

  He could expect no mercy from his captors.

  Ashraf wasn’t naïve enough to believe Qadri would negotiate his release. The man would fight for his fiefdom the only way he knew: with violence.

  What better way to intimidate poor villagers than to execute the new Sheikh? To prove that modernisation and the rule of law had no place in the mountains that had only known Qadri’s authority for two decades?

  Ashraf cursed his eagerness to see a new irrigation project, accepting the invitation to ride out with just a local guide and a single bodyguard into an area that was supposedly now completely safe.

  Safe!

  His belly clenched as he thought of his bodyguard, Basim, thrown from his horse by a tripwire rigged between two boulders.

  Ashraf had vaulted from his horse to go to him, only to be felled by attackers. There was little satisfaction in knowing they hadn’t overpowered him easily.

  Was Basim alive? Ashraf’s gut clenched at the thought of his faithful guard abandoned where he’d fallen.

  Fury scoured his belly. But fury wouldn’t help now. Only cold calculation. He had to find a way out. Or a way to convey his location to those searching for him.

  His father had always said he had the devil’s own luck. It had been a sneering accusation, not a fond appraisal, but for the first time Ashraf found himself hoping the old man had been right. He could do with some luck. And the energy to move.

  A slight scuffling broke his train of thought.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Ashraf refused to lie there waiting for another knockout blow.

  Ignoring the pain that exploded through him at the movement, he rolled over and up onto his feet, only to stop abruptly, his right arm yanked back.

  Spinning round, Ashraf discovered he was chained to a wall. Another turn, so swift his bruised head swam and pain seared his ribs. But with his back to the wall, his feet wide, he was ready to take on any assailant.

  ‘Come on. Show yourself.’

  Nothing. No movement. No sound.

  Then, out of the darkness, something gleamed. Something pale that shone in the faint moonlight.

  His guard was blond?

  Ashraf blinked. It wasn’t an hallucination.

  Whoever it was, he wasn’t local.

  ‘Who are you?’ He switched to French, then English, and heard an answering hiss of breath.

  English, then.

  The silence grew, ratcheting his tension higher.

  ‘You don’t know?’ It was a whisper, as if the speaker feared being overheard.

  Ashraf frowned. Had the blow to his head damaged his hearing? It couldn’t be, yet it sounded like—

  ‘You’re a woman?’

  ‘You’re not one of them, then.’
Her voice was flat, yet taut, as if produced by vocal cords under stress.

  Stress he could understand.

  ‘By “one of them” you mean...?’

  ‘The men who brought me here. The men who...’ Ashraf heard a shudder in her voice ‘...kidnapped me.’

  ‘Definitely not one of them. They kidnapped me too.’

  For which they’d pay. Ashraf had no intention of dying in what he guessed was a shepherd’s hut, from the smell of livestock. Though the sturdy chain and handcuff indicated that the place was used for other, sinister purposes. He’d heard whispers that Qadri was involved in people-smuggling. That women in particular sometimes vanished without a trace, sold to unscrupulous buyers across the border.

  The pale glow came closer. Ashraf saw her now. Silvery hair, pale skin and eyes that looked hollow in the shadows. She swallowed and he made out the convulsive movement of her throat. Calm overlying panic. At least she wasn’t hysterical.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.

  A tiny huff of amusement greeted his question. ‘That’s my line. You’re the one who’s bleeding.’

  Ashraf looked down. Parting his torn shirt, he discovered a long cut, no longer bleeding. A knife wound, he guessed, but not deep.

  ‘I’ll live.’

  Despite the playboy reputation Ashraf had once acquired, he’d done his time in the army. A stint which his father had ensured was tougher and more dangerous than usual. Ashraf knew enough about wounds to be sure he’d be alive when his executioner arrived tomorrow.

  ‘How about you?’

  * * *

  Tori stared at him, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.

  Except tears wouldn’t help. And she feared if she laughed it would turn into hysteria.

  ‘Just scrapes and bruises.’ She was lucky and she knew it. Her jaw ached where she’d been backhanded across the face but that was the worst. Despite the hungry gleam she’d seen in her captors’ eyes as they’d inspected her, they hadn’t touched her except to subdue her and throw her in here.

  Looking at this injured man, she trembled, thinking she’d got off lightly. So far.

  He’d been unconscious when they’d dumped him on the dirt floor. Either he’d put up a mighty fight or they had a grudge against him to beat him up like that.

  She hadn’t had time to investigate how badly he was injured. His shirt was torn and stained and his head was bloody on one side. Even so, he stood tall. His ragged shirt hung from wide, straight shoulders and his dusty trousers clung to a horseman’s thighs. He looked fit and powerful despite his injuries. Under the grime he had strong-boned features that she guessed might be handsome, or at least arresting.

  Would she see him in daylight or would they come for her before that? Terror shuddered down her spine and turned her knees to jelly. Panic bit her insides as she imagined what was in store for her.

  ‘Where are we?’ Like her, the stranger kept his voice low, yet something about the smooth, deep note eased a fraction of the tension pinching her.

  ‘Somewhere in the foothills. I couldn’t see from the back of the van.’ She wrapped her arms around her middle, remembering that trip, facing a grim stranger with a knife in his hand.

  ‘There’s a road?’ The man before her pounced on that.

  ‘Part of the way. I walked the last part blindfolded.’ Which was why her knees were rubbed raw after she’d stumbled and fallen time and again over uneven ground.

  ‘Is there a guard at the door?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  She’d heard the men talking as they walked away. Even so she crept to the door, peeking through the gap between it and the wall. No one. She moved along the wall but it was surprisingly solid, with no chinks to peer through.

  As if it had been used as a prison before.

  Tori thought of the heavy chain that secured her companion and her stomach curdled.

  ‘There’s a light further away. A campfire, I think. But no one here as far as I can tell.’

  Why would they bother? The door was bolted. Her companion was chained and she didn’t have as much as a pocket knife to use as a tool.

  What wouldn’t she give for her geologist’s hammer right now? Designed for cracking rocks, the sharp end might prise open the chain and it would make an effective weapon.

  ‘What are you doing?’ He’d turned his back on her and she heard the rattle of metal links.

  ‘Testing this chain.’ There was a grunt, then a muffled oath.

  She crossed to stand behind him. ‘You won’t pull it out,’ she whispered. ‘It’s fixed securely. Believe me.’

  ‘You’ve checked?’ His hunched shoulders straightened as he lifted his head and turned around.

  Suddenly he was closer than she’d expected, towering above her. Her hissed breath cut the thick silence.

  Only hours ago she’d been grabbed by strangers: big men who’d overpowered her despite her frantic struggle. Fear curdled her belly anew and adrenaline pumped hard in her blood, freezing her to the spot.

  Yet as she stiffened the man stepped back towards the wall. Giving her space.

  Logic said he wasn’t the enemy. Her abductors had kidnapped him too.

  Tori sucked in oxygen and tried to steady her breathing. In the gloom she met his eyes. It was too dark to be sure but she’d swear she read sympathy in his face. And something else. Pity?

  Because the fate of a woman abducted by violent men would be truly pitiful.

  Tori stiffened her knees against the images she’d tried so hard not to picture. She couldn’t afford to crack up now.

  ‘Of course I checked.’ She made herself concentrate on the conversation, not her fear. ‘I thought if I could pry it loose I might use it as a weapon when they came back.’

  ‘One against three?’

  Despite their desperate situation, Tori felt a throb of satisfaction at surprising him. ‘I won’t go down without a fight.’

  ‘It would be safer if you don’t resist.’

  Tori opened her mouth to protest but he went on.

  ‘Three to one aren’t good odds. Wait till you’re alone with one of them. Someone will probably transport you elsewhere tomorrow.’

  ‘How do you know? What did they say about me?’ Her voice was harsh with fear.

  He shook his head, then winced. The soft whisper that followed might have been in a language she didn’t know, but she knew a curse when she heard one.

  ‘I didn’t hear them mention you,’ he said finally. ‘But their leader arrives tomorrow. They’re expecting payment for their efforts then. They’ll leave us be until he arrives.’

  Tori sagged, her knees giving way suddenly. She stumbled to the wall, propping herself against it. For hours she’d been on tenterhooks, expecting at any moment—

  ‘Are you okay?’ He moved closer before stopping, as if recalling her earlier recoil.

  She nodded. When she opened her mouth to reply a jagged, out-of-control laugh escaped. She clapped a hand to her lips, hating the hot tears behind her eyes and the sensation that she was on the verge of collapse.

  It was ridiculous to feel relief, hearing she was safe for tonight. She was still in terrible danger. Even so, her exhausted body reacted to the news by slumping abruptly.

  Firm hands caught her upper arms as she sank, taking her weight and easing her descent to the floor.

  His hands were big and hard, yet surprisingly gentle. Tori heard the clank of metal as he withdrew, hunkering before her.

  ‘Sorry.’ The word wobbled and she tried again. ‘I just...’ She looked up into dark eyes. ‘What else did they say? What are they going to do with us?’

  Did she imagine that his expression turned blank? In this light it was impossible to tell.

  ‘Nothing about you.’ He paused, then continued slowly. ‘I have no proof
, but I suspect they’ll take you over the border.’

  Like a smuggled commodity? Tori bit her bottom lip. She’d heard stories of the illegal slave trade, particularly in women. Nausea rose as she contemplated where she might end up.

  ‘If that’s so there might be a chance to escape. Maybe some of them will stay here.’ Tori knew she was grasping at straws but it was better than giving up hope.

  ‘I can guarantee it.’ His tone grabbed her attention.

  ‘Why? What else did you hear?’

  He shrugged those wide shoulders and sank cross-legged before her. Despite the heavy chain and his injuries he looked at ease. Strange how his air of confidence reassured her.

  ‘Their leader is my enemy. I think it fair to assume he’ll be more focused on me than you.’ There was a note in that deep voice that sounded almost like wry humour. Grim lines bracketed his mouth.

  Suddenly Tori remembered the gesture one of their captors had made as he’d chained this man to the wall. One man had asked a question and another had laughed, a sound that had sent a chill skittering down her backbone. He’d said something sharp and dragged his finger across his throat in a gesture that crossed all languages. Death.

  They were going to kill this man.

  She should warn him.

  Except even as she thought it she realised he knew. Tori read it in that stern face, a chiaroscuro masterpiece of male strength, and knew he wouldn’t surrender to fate. Not with that pugnacious set to his jaw.

  Instinctively she reached out, her hand fleetingly touching his, feeling living warmth flow into her chilled fingers. ‘What can we do?’

  For long seconds he surveyed her. Then gave another infinitesimal shrug. ‘Check for a way out.’

  ‘I’ve done that. It’s all I’ve done for the last five hours or so.’ That and try not to panic.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a hairpin?’

  ‘For picking the lock on your handcuff?’ Tori shook her head. ‘I don’t need hairpins with a ponytail.’

  He watched the swish of her hair around her shoulders and something unexpected zipped through her. Something other than fear and despair.