The Sheikh Doctor's Bride
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She looked so surprised—by his smile?—his next smile became a genuine one.
After all, she had saved his life!
Kate alighted from the ambulance, shaken by what was nothing more than a stranger’s casual finger touching her lips. Before she could analyse the reaction, she realised that Ibrahim and his entourage were already there. The older man was watching anxiously as the ambulance men rolled the stretcher out, set it on its legs and began to wheel it away.
He walked beside it, talking to Fareed, obviously concerned about his health, asking questions of the nurse who appeared, giving orders to his men—a caring man.
A sultan?
The word was redolent of fairy stories from Kate’s youth—men with golden turbans and casks of glowing jewellery. Did the world still have sultans?
Although it wasn’t stature but money that had everyone running around after him, she decided less than an hour later when a specialist ear, nose and throat surgeon arrived from Sydney, helicoptered in to the helipad behind the hospital.
‘I’m under orders to stay until the tube comes out and I’m sure he’s breathing safely without it—which is now—and then to fix the hole you made,’ the man said to Kate after he’d seen the patient. ‘My mother could have fixed the hole with one of her embroidery needles. Who is this bloke?’
Kate shrugged.
‘He came with Sultan Ibrahim to see one of my mother’s horses, that’s all I know. They must have got on to someone at their consulate and arranged to have you flown here.’
She hesitated, not sure whether to tell the surgeon about the gun. Decided not to. He’d see it for himself if he displeased the entourage in any way.
‘Well, now you’re here I’ll leave him in your expert hands and go home,’ she said, then smiled. ‘A top ENT man sitting in a country hospital watching a patient recover from anaphylactic shock—that must be a change for you!’
He smiled back.
‘Actually, it’s all in a good cause. They bribed me with the offer of a very handsome donation to my favourite research programme.’
‘Fair enough,’ Kate said, aware the man had expected her to ask what it was and to stay for a chat, but she was suddenly overwhelmingly tired and had yet to work out how she was going to get home.
One of the sultan’s men sorted that problem, emerging from one of the limos as she came down the hospital steps and opening the rear door for her to get in.
He’s either going to kidnap me or take me home, and right now I’m too tired to care, she thought as she climbed into the luxury vehicle and sank back into the soft leather seat.
‘Thank you,’ she said, as the limo pulled away from the hospital, then the build-up of stress she’d been feeling all day—apprehension about the important man’s visit, worry over Billy should Tippy be sold, the medical drama and the strangely attractive disdainful man—seeped silently out of her body, and she rested her head back and closed her eyes.
KATE AND BILLY were clearing fallen branches from the top paddocks when the fleet of cars rolled back down the drive the next morning—three limos this time, not four.
Wet and filthy, Kate pushed her straggling hair back off her face and scowled as they passed.
‘Mum’s down in the bottom paddock,’ Billy said, and Kate’s scowl deepened.
Filthy or not, she’d have to greet the visitors.
Leaving Billy to finish the work, she climbed the fence and hurried down the drive behind the cars, arriving as Ibrahim’s guard, as she thought of them now, formed around him.
‘Sorry I’m such a mess—we had quite a storm last night—and Mum’s down in the bottom paddock,’ she said, aware she didn’t sound the least bit sorry. ‘If you want to wait inside I’ll get her for you.’
Ibrahim waved away her apology and her offer.
‘It is you I have come to see.’ He spoke so formally Kate felt a whisper of apprehension slither down her spine. Studying him more closely, it seemed he’d aged since the previous day—grown weaker in some way. Shock over the bee-sting incident, or was the man not well? Could she enquire about his health, or would that be breaking some protocol she didn’t understand?
‘Let’s sit on the deck,’ she suggested, deciding to keep an eye on him as they spoke. Maybe an opening would arise when she could ask him if he was all right.
Having decided this, she led him around the side of the house to the wide, paved deck that looked down towards the river. ‘These chairs are used to work clothes.’
To Kate’s surprise, only Ibrahim followed her; the other men remained by the cars, although the one who’d attended her father’s funeral had peeled off from the group and was heading for the stables.
‘Why—?’ she began.
‘He will find your mother and talk with her,’ Ibrahim said, his smile allaying a little of her tension. ‘You must not be alarmed.’
Kate found herself smiling right back. There was something about this man—the mix of old-world charm and courtly manners—that made her feel safe.
Safe from what?
She had no idea.
She led him up onto the terrace and waved him into a chair, then wondered about the propriety of offering a wet chair to a sultan.
‘I think they’re all dry but you’d better check,’ she said. ‘Sometimes a storm blows rain in under the roof.’
Ibrahim obediently felt his chair before sitting down, but now, seated herself, the safe feeling had gone and Kate was feeling more than a whisper of apprehension.