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‘There’s something else we need to discuss, Caitlin,’ he added silkily. ‘Just in case you were thinking of concocting some kind of disappearing act, I would strongly advise against it. Because not only would it be a complete waste of your time, it would also make me angry and that is never a good idea. And besides,’ he finished, his voice dipping to a husky note so that it sounded like smoke on velvet, ‘no matter where in the world you go with my son, be sure that I will seek you out and find you.’
CHAPTER THREE
CAITLIN’S PULSE WAS hammering as she fled the hotel for the ferry terminal to catch the boat taking her back to her tiny island home. Usually, on one of her rare trips to the city, she would treat herself to a detour. A little relaxation and luxury and a contrast to her very basic life on Cronarty. She would peer into the windows of the big, bright shops before treating herself to a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows floating on the top as she watched the tourists bustle by. But today her mind was so full and her heart so heavy that she couldn’t face it. How could she possibly relax in the light of what she’d just learned? She needed to get home—and as quickly as possible.
On board the ferry she stared straight ahead, breathing in the cold, clean air in an attempt to calm herself. But nothing could stop the thoughts which rattled through her head as she saw the craggy peaks of Cronarty in the distance. She’d been born on this island. Been schooled here. She’d grown up watching her mother dream her foolish dreams, then watched as those dreams had been smashed—over and over again. As her mother had gone to pieces, Caitlin had internalised it all with the acquired bravado of the only child, refusing to show any pain, even when that pain had become unbearable. And although she had been glad to escape to the big city once the long battle had ended, Cronarty had been the only place she had thought of coming to when she’d discovered she was pregnant and alone. The island had felt safe, with its soaring clifftops and stunning beaches, against which the mighty, foam-capped waves of the Atlantic crashed.
But suddenly it didn’t feel safe any more.
She shook her head, as if that might somehow dislodge the memory of the dark and brooding sheikh, but his image seemed to be firmly rooted in her mind.
Stepping off the ferry, Caitlin began to walk towards her tiny cottage, the chill wind whipping around her. Sometimes Morag brought Cameron to meet the boat if she’d been away but they wouldn’t be expecting her back until later. What on earth was she going to say to them? How could she possibly explain to her sensible babysitter that her son’s father was a powerful desert sheikh with whom she’d had a one-night stand? More importantly, how was she going to tell Cameron himself? She bit her lip. She hadn’t lied to him. She never lied to him—she’d answered any questions he put to her but there hadn’t been many. He’d been too busy kicking a ball or swimming in the cold waters down by the bothy to pay much attention to his ancestors. Children on this remote place weren’t into tablets or mobile phones. Why, she didn’t even own a television set!
And Cronarty inspired its own particular form of loyalty—so that when Caitlin Fraser had returned to its shores, her belly huge and swollen with child, nobody had interrogated her about where the father was. In a way, living there was a bit like living in a capsule that time had forgotten. Cameron hadn’t yet started school on the mainland, so his upbringing had been beautifully unspoiled. And yes, she was sure people occasionally wondered why the pale and fey Caitlin Fraser had a wee boy whose hair was as black as the night and whose skin possessed the deep gleam of polished gold. But they never asked.
And now?
Caitlin stared up at the sky, where heavy clouds as dark as iron were massing ominously on the horizon.
Now the outside world was about to burst in on their quiet little life like an unexpected explosion detonating the night sky. Her son was soon to discover that his father was one of the most powerful kings of the desert and tomorrow they were being flown to London so he could meet him. How did you even begin to frame something as monumental as that?
Guilt had riddled her heart for years whenever she’d thought about the lack of a father in Cameron’s life—a guilt which had been quickly absolved by recalling Kadir’s marital status and reminding herself that men were capable of great deception. Yet Kadir’s wife was now dead. There no longer existed a reason why her son could legitimately be kept from his father. Not even her own sense of hurt at having been so badly deceived...
She shivered as she saw the outline of her home in the distance, but suddenly it wasn’t her little cottage she was seeing, but an altogether different view. A treeless landscape, with distant hills. And a woman with her own dreams of becoming a successful photographer, whose life was about to be turned upside down.
She had been leaning on a five-bar gate, steadying her hand to get the perfect shot of the golden eagle circling overhead. The shot had been perfectly framed when an exotic voice of silk and smoke had disturbed her and the bird—which had swooped away out of focus. Caitlin had whirled round to remonstrate, but the words had died on her lips as she’d found herself staring at the owner of the voice.
Who wouldn’t have been speechless if they were confronted by a man like Kadir Al Marara who had just appeared out of nowhere? A towering figure of a man, with jet-dark hair and skin the colour of burnished metal? Who stood out from the rusty browns of the Scottish landscape with the effortless dominance of a mighty mountain peak rising up in front of you? His black eyes had glittered with an expression she hadn’t recognised, something she’d momentarily thought was haunted. It was only afterwards that she realised she had probably been right. He had studied her for a moment in silence, in a way which should have felt insolent but, instead, it had felt as if she had been waiting all her life for a man to look at her that way.
‘I have disturbed you,’ he had observed.
‘Yes. You’ve frightened the eagle away.’
‘It will return.’ His voice had sounded assured, like no voice she’d ever heard before, and Caitlin had been fascinated by his exotic accent and the woven fabric of his words. When he’d spoken, it had sounded like poetry.
‘Do you know about eagles, then?’ she had asked him curiously.
The shrug of his shoulders had simply drawn attention to their power and Catlin had been so mesmerised by the play of muscles beneath his fine suit jacket that suddenly she hadn’t cared whether or not he was an ornithological
expert or that her perfect shot was now a distant memory.
‘I know a great deal about falcons, for we have many in my country, and all birds of prey share familiar traits.’
‘What country is that?’
‘Xulhabi.’ Dark eyebrows had been raised.
‘I’ve never heard of it.’
He had smiled again but this time the smile had been tinged with darkness. ‘Few people have.’
It hadn’t been the most conventional of beginnings, yet what had happened next had followed a time-honoured pattern—although it had certainly never happened to Caitlin before. The atmosphere between them had been electric. Off the scale. She’d wanted him to touch her. She’d longed to feel his lips on hers and the weave of his fingers through her hair. Even though she’d tried to tell herself it was wrong to feel that way towards a total stranger, she hadn’t seemed able to walk away from him. She didn’t remember what they’d talked about, only that it had felt like the best conversation of her life. At last, she had glanced at her watch, saying she really needed to be on her way, but he had seemed to share her reluctance to leave. And when she’d explained she was driving back to Edinburgh, he had offered to meet her halfway, for dinner. There was a place he’d known...
She’d known it, too. The food was famous and the views to die for. She remembered protesting that he couldn’t possibly get a table at such short notice, but of course he had. He was a sheikh, wasn’t he? A fact he had neglected to tell her during the delicious meal they’d barely touched or the ecstatic night which had followed. But she remembered that when they’d found themselves in a softly lit bedroom, he’d seemed to have second thoughts. Suddenly, he had drawn back, with a stricken look on his face, which should have warned her.
‘I should go,’ he had ground out harshly.
She should have listened to him. She should have let him beat a hasty departure—but desire had made her into a creature she barely recognised. A creature which had been hungry and yearning and craving her first experience of sex. But it had been more than that. She had wanted to comfort him, too. Had wanted to wipe that tortured look from his face and replace it with a smile again.
