Beholden to the Throne. Carol Marinelli

       ‘I can’t do this again …’

      Amy was so upset she did not focus on his touch, just on the thought of next year, and the next, of watching the babies she loved being lost to strange laws.

      ‘I can’t do this, Emir …’ She was frantic. ‘I have to leave …’

      ‘No,’ Emir said, for he could not lose her now. ‘You can be there for them, comfort them and explain to them …’ She could—he knew that. The answer to his prayers was here and he bent his mouth to taste her, taste the salty tears on her cheeks.

      His lips moved to her mouth and her fear for the girls was replaced—but only with terror, for she was kissing the King. And she was kissing him. Her mouth sought escape from her agony and for a moment she found it, letting her mind hush beneath the skill of his lips. His arms wrapped around her and drew her in, and his tongue didn’t need to prise open her lips because they opened readily, and then she knew where this was leading—knew the plans he had in mind.

      It wasn’t her that he wanted, just that she be there for his daughters. He wanted to ensure she would stay …

      So she pulled back, as her head told her to. Because for Amy this was too dangerous a game. With this kiss came her heart.

       Carol Marinelli recently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and, after chewing her pen for a moment, Carol put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked, ‘What are your hobbies?’ Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered ‘swimming and tennis’. But, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

       Recent titles by the same author:

BANISHED TO THE HAREM^* AN INDECENT PROPOSITION A SHAMEFUL CONSEQUENCE (The Secrets of Xanos) HEART OF THE DESERT

^*linked to BEHOLDEN TO THE THRONE

       Carol also writes for Mills & Boon® Medical Romance^™!

       Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Beholden to

      the Throne

      Carol Marinelli

      

      

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Penny Jordan,

      who made me fall in love with sheikhs. Rest in peace, Penny. Loved, missed and always remembered. C xxx

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘SHEIKH King Emir has agreed that he will speak with you.’

      Amy looked up as Fatima, one of the servants, entered the nursery where Amy was feeding the young Princesses their dinner. ‘Thank you for letting me know. What time—?’

      ‘He is ready for you now,’ Fatima interrupted, impatience evident in her voice at Amy’s lack of haste, for Amy continued to feed the twins.

      ‘They’re just having their dinner …’ Amy started, but didn’t bother to continue—after all, what would the King know about his daughters’ routines? Emir barely saw the twins and, quite simply, it was breaking Amy’s heart.

      What would he know about how clingy they had become lately and how fussy they were with their food? It was one of the reasons Amy had requested a meeting with him—tomorrow they were to be handed over to the Bedouins. First they would be immersed in the desert oasis and then they would be handed over to strangers for the night. It was a tradition that dated back centuries, Fatima had told her, and it was a tradition that could not be challenged.

      Well, Amy would see about that!

      The little girls had lost their mother when they were just two weeks old, and since his wife’s death Emir had hardly seen them. It was Amy they relied on. Amy who was with them day in and day out. Amy they trusted. She would not simply hand them over to strangers without a fight on their behalf.

      ‘I will look after the twins and give them dinner,’ Fatima said. ‘You need to make yourself presentable for your audience with the King.’ She ran disapproving eyes over Amy’s pale blue robe, which was the uniform of the Royal Nanny. It had been fresh on that morning, but now it wore the telltale signs that she had been finger-painting with Clemira and Nakia this afternoon. Surely Emir should not care about the neatness of her robe? He should expect that if the nanny was doing her job properly she would be less than immaculate in appearance. But, again, what would Emir know about the goings-on in the nursery? He hadn’t been in to visit his daughters for weeks.

      Amy changed into a fresh robe and retied her shoulder-length blonde hair into a neat ponytail. Then she covered her hair with a length of darker blue silk, arranging the cloth around her neck and leaving the end to trail over her shoulder. She wore no make-up but, as routinely as most women might check their lipstick, Amy checked to see that the scar low on her neck was covered by the silk. She hated how, in any conversation, eyes were often drawn to it, and more than that she hated the inevitable questions that followed.

      The accident and its aftermath were something she would far rather forget than discuss.

      ‘They are too fussy with their food,’ Fatima said as Amy walked back into the nursery.

      Amy suppressed a smile as Clemira pulled a face and then grabbed at the spoon Fatima was offering and threw it to the floor.

      ‘They just need to be cajoled,’ Amy explained. ‘They haven’t eaten this before.’

      ‘They need to know how to behave!’ Fatima said. ‘There will be eyes on them when they are out in public, and tomorrow they leave to go to the desert—there they must eat only fruit, and the desert people will not be impressed by two spoiled princesses spitting out their food.’ She looked Amy up and down. ‘Remember to bow your head when you enter, and to keep it bowed until the King speaks. And you are to thank him for any suggestions that he makes.’

      Thank him!

      Amy bit down on a smart retort. It would be wasted on Fatima and, after all, she might do better to save her responses for Emir. As she turned to go, Clemira, only now realising that she was being left with Fatima, called out to Amy.

      ‘Ummi!’ her little voice wailed. ‘Ummi!’

      She called again and Fatima stared in horror as Clemira used the Arabic word for mother.

      ‘Is this what she calls you?’

      ‘She doesn’t mean it,’ Amy said quickly, but Fatima was standing now, the twins’ dinner forgotten, fury evident on her face.

      ‘What have you been teaching her?’ Fatima accused.

      ‘I have not been teaching her to say it,’ Amy said in panic. ‘I’ve been trying to stop her.’

      She had been. Over and over she had repeated her name these past few days, but the twins had discovered a new version. Clemira must have picked it up from the stories she had heard Amy tell, and from the small gatherings they attended with other children who naturally called out to their mothers.