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‘How do I get to Xa Shiraq from here?’ she demanded, with little hope the woman would understand.
She didn’t. Or pretended not to. S
he made a swift exit from the bedchamber and before Amanda could swing her feet to the lushly carpeted floor, a whole team of twittering servants poured into the room to start the pampering all over again.
Amanda kept repeating the name of Xa Shiraq to no effect whatsoever. The women insisted she dress in a long-sleeved caftan-style gown. It was black and reminded her of the burnoose that she hoped was providing some warmth for Upgrade if he was still alive.
She went into rebellion. She couldn’t, wouldn’t eat anything from the platter of exotic fruits provided for her breakfast. She wouldn’t drink her coffee. She searched for a way out of the harem. There was none that she could find quickly.
In anguished frustration she cried again, ‘I must get to Xa Shiraq. I have to see him. Please...can somebody help?’
A reply came from the oldest woman in attendance. ‘A messenger was sent that you are rested and well, Princess.’
‘How long will it be before I’m granted an audience?’ Amanda demanded, ignoring the odd form of address to her.
The woman shrugged. ‘It may be a day, perhaps a week, a month or two...who can tell the will of Xa Shiraq?’
‘I can’t wait that long!’ Amanda protested. ‘I have to talk to Xa Shiraq within the hour.’
A gong resounded from somewhere close. The women burst into excited twittering. The older one who had answered Amanda in English moved to the locked door at the far end of the room and opened a peephole. There was a quick exchange of Arabic. The woman turned to address Amanda.
‘The time has come. An escort awaits to lead you to the sheikh.’
Amanda barely stopped herself from running to the door. It was unlocked and opened for her before she reached it, but a few more seconds weren’t about to make any difference. She knew she had to control her seething impatience. It was paramount that she impress Xa Shiraq with reasonable behaviour or he would undoubtedly scorn anything she had to say.
The escort of four men was in ceremonial military dress. They marched along on either side of her. It looked like a guard of honour, but Amanda had no delusions about that. She wondered if it was supposed to lull her into a false sense of confidence before the axe dropped on her neck. Xa Shiraq certainly had no reason to welcome her presence in his country, let alone his palace.
She fretted over how best to beg his mercy, whether any approach at all would soften his heart or appeal to some generosity of spirit. She was totally blind to the beautiful works of art she passed in the corridors on her way to him; splendid mosaic murals, exquisite urns, ancient carvings, all testaments to a cultural heritage that was proudly displayed and cared for. She thought only of what she had to accomplish and the ways and means to accomplish it.
Her mind flitted over many explanations that would justify Upgrade’s betrayal to his sheikh. None satisfied her. She doubted Xa Shiraq would comprehend an emotional link that went beyond rationality.
The paired escort in front of her came to a halt at a double set of huge doors. With well-trained timing they opened them and stood back for Amanda to enter the room ahead of her by herself. As she had anticipated, it was no open court filled with people. It looked like a private library, the walls lined with books, the furniture comprising highly polished desks, leather armchairs, reading lamps.
Her gaze quickly swept the room as she stepped inside. She tried desperately to quell the nervousness and apprehension that threatened to reduce her to a jittery and hopelessly inadequate advocate for her cause. She was determined that none of what she really felt would show on her face or in her body language. If anything, she wanted to project defiance.
There were two men present, only two to confront and convince, she told herself in an attempt to minimise the mountainous problem facing her. While they looked intimidating in their official Arab robes and headdresses, Amanda steeled herself to think of them as ordinary human minds she could bend her way.
The one rising from the chair behind his desk was short and stout. The other, apparently perusing the book in his hands, was turned away from her but Amanda instantly identified him as the sheikh by the gold and black twisted ‘iqal that held his headdress in place.
He was a tall, formidable figure, and Amanda felt her stomach knot with apprehension as she heard the doors close behind her. An overwhelming sense of force and power emanated from him, holding her captive, yet he made no movement, gave no sign of acknowledgement that she had intruded on his consciousness.
She’d experienced this before.
Twice before.
Her heart clenched in painful yearning for the man who had made her feel so much. He had to be alive. If only he were here, Amanda was sure he could meet Xa Shiraq’s power with an equal strength that would have commanded respect. She had to act in a manner worthy of him.
The sheikh read on, ignoring her presence, or pretending to, perhaps waiting to see if she would crack, perhaps silently expressing contempt for her.
There was a waiting stillness about him that accelerated her heartbeat to a painful tempo. It reminded her of the stillness of the man who might at this moment be still for a more deadly reason.
She darted a glance at Xa Shiraq’s associate and was startled to find she recognised him. It was Mr Kozim, the man who had handed her the page telling of her promotion to general manager of the Fisa hotel.
A spark of hope kindled in Amanda’s heart. Surely he would be sympathetic to an appeal for the life of a man he had worked closely with, even though his first allegiance was to Xa Shiraq. Mr Kozim definitely had an air of stress about him. He cleared his throat with a nervous little cough.
‘Your Excellency, the...uh...geologist’s daughter is here.’
Amanda had no doubt the Sheikh of Xabia was aware of that. He was letting her stew, wanting to unnerve her. What was more, he was succeeding. She could feel his wish to torture her with his silence, to keep her on tenterhooks until she snapped into an outburst that he would use against her.
