Hajar's Hidden Legacy Read online

  It was also the antithesis of a solution as far as getting his libido reined in was concerned.

  “Come out this way.” He started to head out toward the back of the palace, the exit that was nearest the stables, where the horses were waiting, already tacked up.

  He looked down at her hand and was tempted to take it in his. As he had done yesterday. She had been his anchor then. Had kept him from slipping over into that abyss that always came just before his mind was assaulted by violent flashbacks.

  He tightened his hand into a fist and denied the impulse, letting her simply follow him.

  “I haven’t been out to the stables yet. I didn’t … I wasn’t really sure if it might be off-limits to me.”

  “And yet you find my bedroom a nice place to pass time in the evening.”

  “Well, I was looking for you. And I … I know I’ve made a mess of some things here, Zahir.”

  “The mess was already made, Katharine,” he said, having to force his words through his tightened throat. “Why do you do that?”

  “Why do I do what?”

  “For a woman with such confidence, you seem to take on more than your share of fault.”

  “I just … I want to be useful.”

  “Is that all?”

  She was silent then, no witty comeback to that response. For the first time, he felt sorry for her. She was doing what she felt was right, what she felt she had to do, and yet, by her own admission, this experience was comparable to being in a darkened tunnel. And she was waiting for the light. That moment when she could be free. Of all this. Of him. Of the disaster that he was.

  “Perhaps,” she said, finding her witty comeback, he assumed, “you see it in me because the same tendency lives in you.”

  “I have earned every ounce of my guilt.”

  “No,” she said, “you haven’t. The guilt belongs to other men, Zahir. The men who attacked your family. All for what?”

  “Money,” he said. “Power.”

  “All things you don’t seem to care about. Or even want. I don’t see how you think you have a stake in this.”

  “Because I am left. I had to have committed a sin to manage that,” he said.

  “Or maybe you were blessed.”

  “That’s the last thing I feel, latifa.”

  He opened the door to the outside and relished the feel of the cool evening wind on his face. This was when he felt normal. Alive. Otherwise he just felt … nothing, either that or a crippling guilt. Well, he could add lust to the list now. Nothing, guilt and lust. It was a small step, but it was a step.

  The horses, one bay and one black, were waiting just outside the barn, tethered to the fence. He walked over to the larger, black mare and stroked her nose. The horses didn’t fear him. “This is Lilah. You can ride her. She’s very gentle.”

  “The sentiment is appreciated, but I don’t need gentle.”

  That statement made a dark cascade of erotic thoughts spin through his mind, made him pause for a moment as he thought of all the hidden meanings her statement could possess.

  “Noted,” he said, jaw clenched tight.

  “And who’s your handsome gentleman there?” she asked.

  He put his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over his mount. “Nalah doesn’t appreciate being called a he.”

  “Sorry. I assumed—” she pulled herself up onto Lilah “—that a big strong man like you would ride a stallion.”

  “Oh, no, definitely not. Not a good idea to have two stallions together, you know?”

  She laughed, a shocked burst of sound that echoed through the paddock. “Did you just call yourself a stallion?”

  He felt a smile teasing the edges of his lips, such a foreign feeling, even more so the small bit of contentment that accompanied it. Such a strange thing to talk to another person like this. To find that barrier of fear and uncertainty absent. Pride grew in him, mingling with the surge of warmth that was trickling through his veins. He had made her smile, after she had looked so sad.

  “I did,” he said.

  “Mmm … quite the ego.”

  “If you can beat me to that last fence post over there, the one just in front of the large rock formation, you might just put a dent in it.”

  She grinned at him and urged Lilah on with her feet, not waiting for further word from him. Fine as far as he was concerned. He could watch her shapely backside rise and fall with the motion of the horse, and then pass her at the end, of that he had no doubt. He couldn’t drive safely, couldn’t walk without a limp, but on the back of a horse, things were seamless. Easy.

  The sand pounded beneath Nalah’s hooves, a beat that resounded in his body, in his soul. It made him feel complete. Healed in some ways. The sun dipped completely behind one of the few flat mountains that dotted the Hajari skyline and bathed everything in a purple glow.

  He could still see Katharine clearly, pale ankles and face visible in the dim lighting. She had such a delicate look to her, and yet nothing could be further from the truth. Delicate, she was not. She was strength personified.

  But she wasn’t going to win the race.

  He overtook her at the last moment with ease and she let out a short, sharp curse word when she came to a stop just behind him, her hair wild around her face, her breathing labored, cheeks flushed pink.

  “Oh, you knew you were going to do that, didn’t you?” she said, gasping and laughing at the same time.

  “Of course I did.” He slid off of Nalah, grimacing as pain shot through his thigh when his feet made contact with the hard ground. The sand was thinner here, the terrain a bit rockier, and his muscle noticed the lack of extra cushion.

  Katharine dismounted, too, and shook her main of coppery hair out, sending the faint scent of vanilla into the air, into him. It was like a sucker punch straight to his gut.

  “Fair enough. If we’d been on my home turf, I would have done the same to you.”

  “Speaking of home turf,” he said, ignoring the tightness of desire that was making itself felt at the apex of his thighs, drowning out any muscle pain he’d been experiencing. “I want to show you something.”

  This hadn’t been part of the plan, but now that they were here it seemed logical somehow. She would want to see this. She’d been connected to Malik, too. There were so few people in his life that were.

  There were so few people in his life, full stop. But it suddenly made sharing this seem vital. If someone else knew, then the memory would have a better chance at living. And maybe it wouldn’t feel quite so heavy on him.

  He led Nalah to the post and tethered her to it, more of a precaution than he probably needed to take, but he didn’t chance things with his horses. Katharine followed his lead.

  “All right, lead the way.”

  “This way.”

  Katharine followed Zahir, her heart still pounding, from the exhilaration of the ride, and from the intense adrenaline high that came just from being with him. Zahir was an experience all on his own. Infuriating, fascinating, arousing. She’d never known anyone like him.

  Certainly Malik hadn’t been like this. He’d been fun. Easygoing. Truthfully, five years ago Zahir hadn’t even been like that. He’d been more of an enigma, always a bit more serious than his brother, but nothing like the man she’d got to know over the past week.

  She followed him to the outcropping of rocks that seemed to have been placed there, everything around it flat and desolate for miles.

  There was a small space between the rocks, just big enough for them to pass through.

  “What is this?” she asked, looking at the green surroundings. The rocks curved inward and offered partial shade, and water trickled down the side of the natural walls.

  “Amal, the Oasis of Hope. This was what drew the first band of my people here to Kadim. Hajar is mostly flat and shelter from the elements is hard to find. They had been walking through the desert for weeks with no reprieve, and they found this outcropping. There was water, shelter.”
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  “And eventually a palace nearby. And a city,” she finished.

  “The city came first. But this has always been a special place to my family. Malik and I used to come here as boys. A place we could play, escape the heat and the indoors.”

  She could picture them as they’d been. Boys with no cares. “Things must have seemed simpler then.”

  He shrugged. “Yes and no. I always knew. Always knew that Malik had a heavy burden to carry. I was always grateful that it wasn’t me.” He laughed, the sound cold and flat in the enclosed space. “I have wondered …” He looked down, then back at her. “I have wondered if that’s why I’m left. A trick of fate. I was always much more content with my lot. So happy that it was my brother who bore the responsibility of leadership.” He cleared his throat. “I was a military officer. I should have seen the signs. I should have known.”

  She touched his forearm. “You should have known what?”

  “I should have known what was coming. I’ve seen war. Usually, I … feel things in my gut. That day, there was nothing. I was blindsided. We all were. And I was the only one who had no excuse. It never should have got past me.”

  “You couldn’t have known, Zahir.”

  “I know,” he said harshly. “I know.” He softened his tone. “But sometimes I still think I should have been able to stop it.”

  “No. The only people who could have stopped it are the ones who did it. They could have turned back that day. They didn’t.”

  “All for power. Fools. Power is an empty thing.”

  “Not if you use it right.”

  “And spare few do. Power, the lust of it, is why you’re here and not at home. Why you have to guard Alexander. Because of people who will do anything to get it.”

  “So it’s the ones who don’t want it who do best with it. That’s why you’re such a good leader, Zahir.”

  “And what about you, Katharine the Great?” She arched her brow at the nickname and he pressed on. “What about you and all the responsibility you take on? Is it your job to fix everyone?”

  “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know what else to do. Unlike you, I do feel called to rule. And yet I can’t. I never will. I have to … do something. Find a way to … matter. And if I fix things to accomplish it, then okay. I’ll be the one to fix things.”

  He looked at her for a long time, his dark eyes assessing her, causing prickles of heat to fire beneath her skin, making her want to close the gap between them, then share her warmth. Because he looked cold, and she wanted so badly to make the cold go away for him.

  “You do not need to fix me,” he said, his voice flat.

  Suddenly she realized she didn’t know how. She offered him platitudes. They were even true, but they weren’t … enough. She’d been taught to lead with her head, and it wasn’t enough with Zahir. She wanted to put a bandage on it and call it better, when she doubted if that were even possible.

  She looked at him standing there, a warrior, even if he was a warrior scarred by battle. The scars inside were so much worse than the ones that covered his skin. And she had the swirling, helpless sensation of knowing she wouldn’t be enough for him. That she would never be able to reach him.

  “It was easier today,” Zahir said, entering the library.

  Katharine set her book aside and treated him to one of her easy smiles, a sight he’d become more accustomed to than he should have. More than he’d like to admit.

  “I’m glad.”

  The drive into town today had been easier. They had been getting progressively so. The touch of Katharine’s hand, her face, they anchored him. Kept him in the present. Ironic since he had attributed the flashbacks to her, to his losing control.

  The wedding was another matter. Hundreds of people with their eyes trained on them, the chance for him to either emerge in triumph, or humiliate his people. His family name. It was hard to explain, even to himself, what he thought might happen in that situation. The possibility of lost time, a loss of control, with an audience, was more terrifying and more likely than the chance of another attack.

  And that he had control over. At least he was finding he did. That there were touchstones he could reach out to. That Katharine’s voice could keep the gates that held back the memories locked up tight. That there were things other than the exhausting, all-consuming use of his self-will to keep himself from experiencing them in crowded spaces.

  “The wedding will be easy,” he said.

  “Easy?” She pushed up out of the chair and stood, arms folded. He allowed himself a tour of her curves, welcomed the tightening of lust in his gut. “Weddings are never easy, no matter what the circumstances.”

  “I thought you were trying to make me feel better about all this.”

  “I’m just trying to get us through,” she said.

  “A lofty goal.”

  “I think it’s all any engaged couple can hope for.”

  “You may have a point there,” he said. “Although my first engagement was brief.”

  “Oh … Amarah.”

  The venom in her tone amused him. “Amarah wasn’t evil.”

  “I can’t imagine her as anything else,” she said. “She should have stayed with you.”

  “So you didn’t end up having to deal with me?”

  “No. Because she made a promise to you.”

  He gritted his teeth, hating to tell the story, yet feeling he had to. So she could understand. “You remember how I was the first time in the market.” She nodded. “I was like that all the time after. Moments of lucidity followed by endless screaming, raging. I was in pain, and the medication I was given to manage either made me sleep or made reality become blurred. I was not the man she knew. I didn’t even look like the man she knew. The skin on my face was so badly burned I wasn’t recognizable. And for a while they thought my mind was gone, too. I thought it was. There was so much grief. So much pain everywhere, inside of me, my skin felt like it was still on fire. And when I started to shut it down, my memories, my emotions, then I could function. Then I could learn to walk, learn to deal with losing the vision in my eye. How could I have asked her to stay? How could I have asked her to live with the Beast?”

  “You aren’t … “

  “I was. Then especially.” He had never spoken these words to anyone. Never told the whole truth of it. But he wanted her to know.

  Her green eyes were filled with pain. Not pity. Nothing so condescending. It was as though she felt what he’d felt. As though she shared in it. “How did you even go on, though? To lose your family … and then her?”

  “I had Hajar. And I knew that I had to protect my people. That it was left to me. And as much as I am not a ruler … I had to do what I could. I started with homeland security, moved into hospitals for children who had been victims of attacks. We treat children from all over the world for free. Of course to support that I had to work on new ways of bringing revenue in. It’s kept me going.”

  “How can you think you aren’t meant to be a ruler, Zahir? Your people … “

  “Are afraid of me.”

  “Maybe because you haven’t shown them who you really are.”

  She said it with such earnest sweetness, as though she truly believed there was something in him worth valuing, even after his admission of how … dark and empty he was inside. Maybe she just didn’t understand. He’d been told that could be part of the PTSD, too. The absence of emotion. But it didn’t go away. Other things had gotten better, but the blank void inside him remained. And knowing that it might have a medical cause did nothing to make it less acute.

  He looked at her, studied the way she looked at him. And he longed to change it. He turned away from her. “So I have been preparing to deal with the crowd. Is there anything else?”

  “We … we’ll have to dance. We don’t have to dance, actually. If your leg … “

  His stomach tightened. He’d been damned if he’d take the easy way, the handicap or whatever it was she was offering. “I thought we
had to.”

  “Not if you … I don’t want to … “

  “You told me you’re not fragile. Neither am I,” he said. “I used to dance. I didn’t take lessons or anything, but especially during my university years in Europe, I danced quite a bit.” Not that he’d enjoyed it for its own sake. It had been more of a pickup technique. But it had worked.

  “That surprises me.”

  “It shouldn’t. Women like to dance and I always liked women.”

  “And they liked you.”

  “It seems another lifetime ago, but if I can ride a horse, I’m certain I can dance. Unless you don’t want to dance with a man who might limp through the steps.”

  She frowned. “That’s not it. I don’t want to tax you, I … “

  A shot of competitiveness sent a spark of adrenaline through him. “Latifa, you are welcome to try to tax me. I doubt you will be able to.”

  A stubborn spark lit her eye, an answer to his challenge. Good. He wanted her to challenge him. To see him as a man, and not her patient. “I’d like to see some of these dancing skills,” she said.

  “Not up to par with what you’re used to, I’m certain. But I know I still can.”

  He held out his hand and she simply stared at it. “I’m not really used to anything. I haven’t done a lot of dancing.”

  “That surprises me.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re a beautiful woman.”

  Katharine cleared her throat and looked away, the compliment making her feel self-conscious. “Well, I am a woman who was promised to a sheikh in marriage. And who anticipated being used for another political union so … I was never really encouraged to dance.”

  “And you need encouragement to do things? I thought you did as you pleased.”

  “I do what my father asks,” she said quietly. “What makes him see some kind of value in me.”

  Zahir’s eyebrows locked together, his expression fierce. He leaned in, cupping her chin and tilting her face up so that she had to look at him. “If he does not see the value in you, he is a blind fool. No, not even blind. I can’t see out of one eye, and yet I see your value.”

  Katharine swallowed hard, her eyes riveted to his. “Do you?”