Imprisoned by a Vow

The thrill was almost enough to dispel the strange queasiness she felt.

It had been over twelve months since she’d been allowed out of the front door. The clenching spasm of stomach muscles, the panic that had grabbed her throat and made her heart race as she’d left the house, had hit out of nowhere. She hadn’t even been able to wave farewell to the guests, every fibre concentrated on conquering that sudden tension.

As if she’d been afraid to step into freedom.

Ridiculous! For years she’d done nothing but plan how to get away.

It was just the rich food after sparse rations that had turned her stomach. The heavy scents clogging the air at the wedding feast and the buzz of conversation after months of monastic silence that made her dizzy.

Or maybe it was excitement at being so close to escape. Fear that at the eleventh hour it would all go wrong. She knew firsthand how Gamil liked to toy with his victims—hold out the illusion of liberty then yank it away. She’d watched it happen to her mother too. Each time Leila had vowed not to let him best her. But she shuddered, remembering.

‘Are you cold?’

‘Not at all.’

Nothing could stop her boarding that plane. This was the first day of her new life away from the man who’d made her world, and her mother’s, hell. Soon she’d put her plans into action. Set herself up with the money she got on marriage and see about resuming her studies. She’d build a new life without ever needing to ask anyone’s permission again.

Joy flooded her. This was real. Joss had already secured her precious passport. How often had Gamil taunted her that he kept it under lock and key?

The limousine was ushered through a gate and onto the airfield. Moments later they drew up near a sleek jet. Staff waited to see them aboard.

‘Ready?’ The deep rumble of her husband’s voice tickled Leila’s spine, leaving her skin tingling. But, she reassured herself, he was husband on paper only. The instrument of her freedom.

‘Ready.’ Eagerly she pushed open the door before the chauffeur reached it.

Warm, desert-scented air wafted into the car as she slid from the seat. She nodded her thanks to the uniformed driver, turned to face the crew lined up at the base of the steps and grabbed the car door as her knees abruptly crumpled.

The world swooped around her: the sky vast, almost endless as it tilted and stretched towards a far distant horizon. It was so huge, so empty, as if it had the power to suck her up into its immense nothingness. Sick heat beat at her temples.

Her pulse raced as her heart catapulted against her rib cage. In her ears she heard the roar of pounding blood.

A nameless, dragging terror clawed at her. She knew it would press her down till that infinite space swamped her, expelling the last of the air from her labouring lungs.

Leila couldn’t breathe. Yet she fought to stay on her feet. She saw the chauffeur say something then Joss was in front of her. His mouth moved. His brow pleated in a scowl.

He might have been behind glass. Everything was distant but for the heat, the weight of the very air pushing at her, and the tandem crashing thud of her heart and lungs as panic seized her and her stomach churned.

Adrenalin surged as she fought the impulse to fling herself back into the car. Into that small cocoon of safety that beckoned so tantalisingly.

She wouldn’t do it.

She wasn’t going back, no matter what!

Yet it was all she could do to keep her feet on the ground, her hands limpet-like on the door.

‘Leila!’ This time she heard Joss. There was concern in his brusque tone. ‘What is it?’

She dragged in a deep breath and with furious effort straightened her shoulders. She lifted her chin, swallowing with difficulty, her throat as dry as the great inland desert.

Joss’s dark gaze held hers, reminding her she was strong. She’d survived years with her dangerously controlling stepfather. She’d got through a farce of a wedding that was all about business, not love. Surely she could walk to the plane.

The thought of being taken back to the capital, perhaps to her old home and her stepfather’s tender mercies, was a douche of ice water on overheated flesh.

‘Sorry,’ she said in an unfamiliar voice. ‘My legs are stiff from sitting so long.’ She tried to smile but it was more of a grimace. ‘I’ll be okay in a minute.’ At least her voice was merely hoarse now, not wobbly.

For answer Joss turned and said something to his staff, who dispersed out of sight.

Leila drew another breath. Whatever this unnamed fear, it wasn’t rational. It could be overcome. She took a tentative step, still holding the car door. Her legs were made of concrete, so heavy, yet shaking and weak as water.

She took a second step towards the jet. Only twenty paces to the stairs. She could manage that.

With a shuddering breath Leila forced her cramped fingers to release the door. Willing herself on, she paced towards the plane.

Out of nowhere strong arms wrapped round her, scooping her up. They hefted her against a solid body that smelled of soap and citrus and what could only be the spicy scent of male flesh. A thread of heat eddied through her, warming her frozen body.

The arms tightened and she felt the reassuring thud of Joss’s heart against her: steady, calm. Reassuring.

In that moment her instinctive protest faded away.

It didn’t matter that she hated the idea of needing help. Or that Joss acted simply because he couldn’t leave his bride collapsing on the tarmac.

For the first time since her mother’s death Leila knew the comfort of being held. The shock of it helped clear her pounding head.

‘Relax,’ Joss said in an even tone as if dealing with a half-fainting female didn’t faze him. Perhaps he was used to women swooning at his feet! ‘I’ll have you somewhere quiet in a moment.’

‘I can walk. I want to board the plane!’ She jerked her head up and found herself with a close-up view of his solid jaw and a full lower lip, incongruous in such a harshly defined face yet somehow right. Midnight-blue eyes bored into her, alight with speculation. Straight eyebrows tilted high towards his hairline as if he registered her desperation.

Anxiety still jangled like a drug in her bloodstream but she met his scrutiny with all the dignity she could muster.

‘Please, Joss.’ It was the first time she’d said his name and it slipped out with an ease that surprised her. ‘I’ll be fine once I’m aboard.’

He hesitated and Leila’s nerves stretched to breaking point. She watched his brow furrow as he scrutinised her minutely. ‘Very well. The jet it is.’

Leila dragged in the breath to fill her empty lungs. ‘Thank you.’

She shut her eyes and tried to regulate her ragged breathing, willing her pulse to slow. She sensed him move but didn’t open her eyes. It was enough to feel those hard muscles holding her, the sense of safety seeping slowly into her taut body.

She didn’t let herself question why she felt safe in the arms of a stranger.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not usually given to…’ What? What was wrong with her? ‘Usually I can even walk and make conversation at the same time.’

A huff of laughter riffled the hair on her forehead. ‘No doubt. Don’t forget I’ve seen you play hostess, deal with an unfamiliar husband in front of hundreds of guests at a never-ending wedding and maintain your poise without batting an eyelid.’

Leila’s eyes popped open at the note of wry humour in that deep suede voice. It…appealed to her.

She’d thought Joss Carmody too dour for humour. Too focused for sympathy, especially for a wife he didn’t want. She’d been sure when he looked at her all he saw was a vast tract of land awaiting development.

‘That was a short wedding celebration by Bakhari standards,’ she murmured, concentrating on his face and not the vast sky beyond his shoulder as he ascended the stairs to the plane. ‘We got off lightly.’