A King's Ransom

By Joy Ann Coll

A King’s Ransom is an exotic and romantic suspense about a woman who must balance her duty to family with her passion for an unlikely lover in a foreign land. Megan Wentworth heads to the forbidding deserts and modern cities of the Middle East only to find herself arrested by the mysterious and powerful Sheikh Mikal al-Shareef.

Forced to cruise the Mediterranean with her blackmailer, Megan escapes from him by heading into the desert nation of Turkistan. When her blackmailer chases her, they both land in the middle of a secret military weapons test and are detained on suspicion of spying by Sheikh Mikal al-Shareef.

At first, under austere conditions of confinement, the captor and victim find themselves mutually hostile. When her captor rescues Megan from an attack and moves her into his palace, she soon becomes deeply attracted to him. The sheikh is utterly captivated by Megan’s inner strength and beauty, and against her better judgment, she finds herself falling in love with this mysterious man who detains her against her will.

Back in the states, Megan’s younger sister faces a prison sentence if Megan and her blackmailer don’t return home soon. Megan struggles between her love and devotion to her sister and the man she comes to love. Will she choose to betray Mikal and return home, or will she choose to remain in Turkistan?

Meanwhile, Mikal doesn’t trust Megan. As the leader of his country, he must first ensure the security of Turkistan before following his heart. However, as a virile man who knows what he wants, the sheikh wants Megan to fulfill his destiny to produce a male heir. When Megan is used as a pawn during an attempt to overthrow the sheikh’s rule, both Megan and Mikal must confront their conflicted desires. A tale of cultural clash and forbidden love, A King’s Ransom is a high-wire romantic adventure set amidst the exotic landscape of the Middle East.

Coll’s writing was inspired by a tour of Egypt, where she met modern and welcoming Arabs, both Muslim and Coptic Christian. With its mix of ancient history and enchantment with modern technology, the country’s culture and open, forward-looking people impressed her. So too did the sheikhs with their opulent wealth, their friendly, veiled women, and their all-encompassing hospitality. Coll realized she had the perfect setting for her story of love blooming amidst the desert.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joy Ann Coll
• Release date: Aug 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476269252

Joy Ann Coll

For more than a decade, Joy Ann Coll has been writing romance novels. She graduated from the University of Delaware and went on to pursue a successful twenty-five year career at DuPont. After leaving her corporate career, she moved to coastal Florida and began working on her writing career by taking part in conventions and contests held by the Romance Writers of America. She lives in Vero Beach, Florida, with Bernard, her husband of over twenty years, and their cat Checkers.

Book preview

A KING’S RANSOM

BY JOY ANN COLL

Copyright 2012 Joy Ann Coll

Smashwords Edition

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CHAPTER 1

Megan saw her chance to escape. She gripped the dune buggy's throttle and sped to the top of the dune. Her heart pounded, her palms ached. Faster, faster! When the buggy crested the hill, she saw three men gathered around some equipment. She cringed when they yelled and scattered. The buggy bounced onto the soft desert sand and tossed her out of the seat. She landed in a heap on her back, blew her long brown hair out of her eyes, and saw the tip of an automatic weapon aimed at her nose. Beyond the end of the gun barrel, two dark brown eyes stared back at her.

His light golden skin glowed against his white robe and headdress. He grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet. Two other men surrounded her, their guns drawn. He yelled at her in what she thought might be Arabic or Turkish. He shook her as if trying to shake an answer out of her. Startled by the sudden and dramatic end to her escape, she said nothing before the roar of another dune buggy came from the same direction. Richard followed me!

Richard flew over the top of the dune then came quickly to a stop. He sat stunned in his seat, guns aimed at his face, ready to fire.

He looked terrified and glared at her. What the hell are you doing? Are you nuts? He raised both hands in the air and gave a pleading glance to the three desert men.

You shouldn't have followed me! she said, hissing through pursed lips.

The men took them by the arms, removed her backpack and marched them toward a white truck. She and Richard got into the truck, sliding across the bench seat. One man got in the driver's seat. The other two men sat facing her and Richard. The man who pointed his gun in her face gave orders to the driver before he sped away. She looked intently at him, and he returned her stare.

His intense gaze made her feel uncomfortable. He seemed to be trying to figure her out. She looked out the window next to her and noticed their dune buggies still parked in the sand. Boxes of equipment rested on the shifting desert. Several birds soared overhead, as if scavenging for a meal.

They rode in silence for a short distance across the desert sands when a walled fortress came into view ahead of them. As they drove closer to the tall stone walls, she saw the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea beyond them. The truck drove through a small opening in the wall and came to a stop in front of large wooden double doors. The men got out and waved their guns toward the doors. The man who poked the gun in her face took her backpack and went in the opposite direction. His white robes and headdress flowed behind him in the desert breeze.

A gun in her back prodded her out of the vehicle and toward the doors. One of the men ran ahead to open the doors. Inside, her eyes took a few minutes to adjust to the darkness. A musty odor filled the air. She turned a corner and saw jail cells lining both sides of the walls. She instantly knew her fate. She stumbled on the dirt floor when they pushed her into the first cell. They shoved Richard into the cell next to her and followed him inside. The two men in long flowing robes quickly patted him down, found his wallet and digital camera. They took his belongings and left, their pale blue robes flapping open to reveal pants underneath.

Now look what you've done! Richard yelled. We're going to be shot!

Oh, shut up! Megan said. You shouldn't have followed me!

I wasn't going to let you get lost in the desert of Turkistan!

I wasn't lost! I intentionally went in the other direction! She glared at him.

Are you a fool? We have no passports, no money, no clothes … the cruise ship is going to leave without us! We'll be stuck here, waiting to be shot! He looked around at the dirt floor as if trying to find an escape route.

The only escape she wanted was from him. His eyes looked past her, and she turned to see the same three men in long tunics come toward them. The man who had grabbed her wore a headdress with two gold ropes wrapped around his forehead. He strode with confidence and determination to her cell, put his large hands on his hips and looked her up and down with a disapproving glare. He said something to her that she didn't understand.

I don't speak Arabic, she said, putting her hand on her waist.

You don't want to know what I said, he replied in a deep, stern voice. You are dressed inappropriately. He glared at her tank top and shorts.

Sorry, I didn't plan to be thrown in jail in Turkistan during my vacation, she said with sarcasm, tossing her long hair behind her back.

You have a habit of spying during your vacations? he asked, his dark brown eyes blazed into hers. His hands pressed firmly on his hips; his strong jaw tensed.

Spying? I wasn't spying! she said, her mouth remained slightly open. She thought he was a striking figure although a bit arrogant.

You entered my country without permission, he said.

I was touring the desert off the cruise ship, she said. We got lost.

We don't allow tours into the desert, he said, pressing his lips together.

She gave him an incredulous look. What do you think … I organized my own tour?

She saw his eyes narrow as his jaw clenched. Better not press him.

He grumbled and moved to the next cell where Richard listened to their conversation. I presume you're an American spy also?

Spy? No! I'm no spy! he said, gasping. She got lost and I went after her! I didn't mean to enter your country! I just followed her! he exclaimed, stepping near the bars and grabbing them.

Indeed… the man said, I don't believe you … either of you. He turned toward her. Your clothing is not acceptable here, he said as he strode confidently past her cell. You will wear a covering.

She watched him pass and yelled at his back, No I won't! You're not in charge of me!

He stopped abruptly, his back straightening as he turned on his heels. You will do as you're told! he bellowed and stormed out, his white robes and headdress flowing out behind him. The other men followed him out and slammed the doors behind them.

Richard stared at her in disbelief. What was he, a sheikh? You shouldn't have made him mad! We need to get out of here, pronto.

No one bosses me around like that. I don't care what he is. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. I'm used to giving orders, not taking them.

We're not in America now, Miss Hot Shot. You'd better hold that cocky tongue of yours and start acting more demure if you want to get out of here in the next ten years. His eyebrows squeezed together as he grasped the bars of his cell.

They can't hold us here, we're American citizens. I'll call the embassy.

Hey, they can do whatever they want. The cruise ship told us to stay with the tour.

Quiet, she whispered, I hear footsteps. She tensed as the sheikh came around the corner with a stern look on his face, holding her backpack. It was unzipped.

He reached in, pulled out her skin-tight jeans and threw them at her feet through the bars.

Put these on, he mumbled as he reached again into the backpack. He pulled out her pink shirt. This as well, he said, pushing it through the bars. I'll keep your passport, Miss Megan Wentworth, he said, waving it in the air, before he spun on his heels to leave.

Give me my passport! she yelled at his retreating back. You have no right! Her fists and shoulders clenched as she heard him release a hearty laugh, and the heavy wooden doors closed with a bang.

You brought your passport? Richard's face looked angry.

Yes, she said, I planned to get lost in the desert … to escape from you!

His eyes became dark and moody, and she knew he finally grasped that she had planned this all along. I need to escape … but how?

Mikal gazed down at her passport; his mind reeled with questions. Who is she? What is she doing here? What is he doing with her? Are they spies? Is she a spy?

He took long strides across the cobblestone courtyard toward his office inside the palace. The space where the white truck always parked remained empty. His security team had driven it back into the desert to secure the scene. As he entered the palace, his footfalls on the floor echoed off the tiled walls and ceilings as he strode down the hall past his late mother’s rooms.

His office contained lots of chairs and sofas for meetings with his men and his ministers. The Mediterranean Sea lay beyond large windows, where at times he paced . High on the side wall, windows allowed light to come into the room. Ceiling fans gently turned overhead. Large rugs handmade by the ladies of Turkistan decorated the floor and hung on the walls. A smell of freshness came from the vases of palms and fresh flowers.

He tossed Megan's passport and backpack onto his hand-carved wooden desk, pulled off his headdress and laid it down. Running his fingers through his black wavy hair, he released a slow, easy breath and settled down into the chair behind his desk.

He turned the pages of her passport, checking the countries she had visited, when an older man entered his office. Rayhan, his father's closest friend, laid Richard's wallet on his desk and put a digital camera down next to it.

Rayhan nodded to him, rubbed his black and grey beard, and went to stand at the back of the room. His slender build relaxed against the wall, his frame disappearing into the shadows.

The rest of Mikal’s security team gradually filtered in as they returned from the desert. The youngest members of his team, Erol, Omar, and Zeki, entered the room and sat in the chairs facing his desk. The men dressed casually for the hot climate in which they lived and worked. High-quality cotton grown in their country was woven into comfortable western-style pants and shirts.

Mikal flipped through Richard's wallet, pausing to look at his driver's license. He heard the door open and glanced up to see his younger brother, Ahkmed, rush to the seat in front of his desk.

We hid their buggies in the wine cellar, Ahkmed said in Arabic. There wasn't anyone else out there. There were many tracks near the sea, but the winds covered their tracks into the desert.

And the cruise ship? Mikal asked.

It left port, Ahkmed replied. We're calling the ship's local representative to learn if two passengers are missing.

Mikal stroked his chin. If they were passengers on the ship, it doesn't mean they're innocent tourists. Arriving on a ship would simply give them easy access to our country and a reason to be here, he replied. For now, we'll hold them. I want to know why they're here. He scanned the faces of his men. Questions? he asked.

Zeki, the youngest man on the team, stirred in his seat and leaned forward. We should interrogate them tonight, he said.

Rayhan glared at Zeki. Annoyance with his youthful exuberance proved difficult to conceal at times.

Tomorrow, Mikal said. We'll interrogate them separately then compare their stories. He rose from his seat. Have the prison guards give them food, water, and blankets. We'll let them sleep on the dirt floor with the rats … perhaps that will loosen their tongues.

His men snickered as they stood up, bowed slightly, and left. He moved to the large window, where the sun set over the dark blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Ahkmed came to stand next to him. Mikal mused at how much his younger brother resembled his mother's side of the family, tall and slender. Mikal had a husky frame like his father's family, standing a couple inches shorter at six feet. No one would guess they were brothers.

He scanned the horizon, watching for the ship. Where is the ship headed? He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Istanbul, Ahkmed replied, leaning against the window. It returns to Athens.

The ship will know immediately if they're missing passengers, he said, half-closing his eyes in thought. Contact our embassy in Washington and tell them what to say if they're asked about lost tourists. He looked at Ahkmed who nodded. This situation could cause our country some difficulties if not handled correctly.

I understand, Your Highness, Ahkmed replied. Whatever you wish, it will be done.

Mikal looked at his brother and smiled. I know you were hesitant about assuming the leadership of the security team but Rayhan reports you learn quickly and have many new ideas.

I only hope to do the job half as well as Rayhan, Ahkmed replied, smiling.

I have no doubt you will, he said. Rayhan has agreed to remain a close advisor after his retirement. That pleases me. He felt a special bond with his father's best friend.

Father would be happy to know his friend watches over you, Ahkmed said. Speaking of family, if you're not busy, my family would like you to join us for dinner, Ahkmed said. My girls are eager to see their uncle, he said, smiling warmly and glancing at his brother.

I would enjoy that, he replied, but first I will check on our prisoners.

As you wish, Ahkmed said, bowing slightly before leaving.

He pondered his next steps with the two Americans. He could not afford any complications now that his secret military project was almost complete. Plus he didn't want the U.S. military to stage a rescue mission. He had to keep the tourists' presence a secret until he discovered their intentions. I must know if they are spies … for the safety of my country.

Megan paced the dirt floor in her cell. She needed an escape plan. Sunlight dimmed on the walls of her cell; she knew she faced a cool evening. A prison guard brought blankets, food, water, and a hooded cape for her to wear. While he was in her cell, he leered at her. She felt very self-conscious.

A cool breeze blew through the window high on the wall, causing a chill to run down her arms. She threw the blanket around her back hiding herself from view. She removed her tank top and shorts, put on her skin-tight jeans and pink long-sleeved shirt, tying it in a knot at her waist.

She tried small bites of the food, unsure what it was. When she realized it was lamb, dates, olives, and almond pastries, she enjoyed the meal, despite her confinement. Once done with her snack, she paced her cell, contemplating how to get out of this mess. Richard had been very quiet since she told him she intentionally tried to escape from him. He sat on the bench, arms crossed, brooding.

Isolation made her feel uneasy, as did the leering prison guard, a very rotund man, who glared at her half-naked body. He probably never saw a woman's body before. His ogling made her skin crawl. She felt a bit more modest wearing her jeans and shirt. Plus they kept her warm in the cool desert air.

You'd better watch out for that prison guard, Richard said. He's got his eye on you. On the other hand, it would serve you right if he shot you for spying! He pointed his finger at her.

We wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't forced me to go on this cruise, she said and crossed her arms in front of her. She turned her back on him and stepped away.

So now it's my fault? He lifted one eyebrow at her, his red hair highlighting his pale skin.

Yes, it is! You're a blackmailer! she said, hissing at him over her shoulder.

Now, now, now … such nasty words … my love, he crooned, moving to her cell.

Don't call me your love. I'm not your love! You know what you've done.

Just as she was about to fill his ears with angry words, she heard the door open.

The man Richard thought might be a sheikh came around the corner and walked confidently toward them. Have either of you decided to tell the truth about your spying? he asked, looking at both of them. His light golden skin tone was set off by his black wavy hair falling onto his forehead.

He removed his headdress and white robe, and she liked what she saw. His strong jaw tensed as he glared at Richard when neither of them answered. And what are you doing here, Richard Campbell of Virginia?

I'm an accountant, he said, wringing his hands. I'm no spy! You've got to believe me! His face wrinkled from the stress of his plea.

I believe no such thing, he said, crossing his arms. Why should I believe you?

Because if we were spies we'd have laser guns, night-vision goggles, and neat spy stuff like miniature cameras. We wouldn't be wearing shorts, he said, his hands gesturing to his attire.

The sheikh tossed back his head and laughed heartily. You've been watching too many movies, Richard from Virginia. This is the real world, and you'll have to pay the consequences for trespassing in my country.

The sheikh glanced at her. What about this feisty lady?

Megan's innocent, you need to let her go … we're sorry for going into the desert by mistake, he whined as he got on his knees. Please believe us!

She felt disgusted by Richard's groveling; she wasn't going to beg. She felt some anxiety in her stomach and tried to rub it away with her hand.

He moved in front of her and looked her over from head to toe, mumbling in Arabic. You will put on the covering that was given to you, he said, pointing to the neatly folded cape on the bench.

She walked over to the cape, sat down next to it, crossed her arms and legs and resisted exploding into a tirade about the oppression of women.

This is for your protection, he continued. Coverings are not a sign of submission, he cajoled, sensing her bristling at their cultural differences.

She looked aside and did not move.

Very well, he said, tossing his hand in the air. You will sleep on the floor tonight. Perhaps tomorrow you will choose to be more cooperative.

She watched his broad back walk away, relieved to escape his intense scrutiny. Those dark eyes of his drilled right though her. She grabbed herself to still a shudder. The wooden doors closed before the creepy prison guard looked around the corner with a cock-eyed grin on his face. A more intense shudder shook her to her toes. He gives me the chills. Tomorrow I need to get out of here.

Mikal walked through the palace gardens headed for his brother's rooms on the desert side of the fortress. The fading light of the sunset behind him caused the bottle of red wine he carried to flicker shades of red. Impressed by his brother's gardening talents, he remembered fondly how his mother spent hours planting and tending her gardens before her illness claimed her. The stone path he followed wove a gentle course through plants and trees, interrupted by an occasional bench, statue, or fountain highlighting his brother's artistic flair.

Red color filled the sky as the sunset bounced off the tile roof of the palace. Arched windows looked dark and foreboding in the many unused rooms of his ancestral home. As he neared the desert side of the palace, the windows emitted a warm, welcoming glow. Around the next bend in the path, he saw his two nieces waiting for him. When he returned their wave, they ran to him, hugging his sides. He wrapped his arms around them and squeezed. Look at you two, he said, looking into their eyes. I haven't seen you in a week and you've grown two inches.

The girls erupted with laughter. They looked up at him with bright shining eyes and broad smiles. Almost in a choreographed dance, they stepped back and bowed. We are very pleased to see you, Your Highness, Iris said. She wore a double braid, indicating in the Turkistani custom that she was a single girl.

I'm pleased to see you, he said. I only wish I could see you more often. He kissed their heads one after the other.

Come with us, uncle. We eat outside tonight, his youngest niece, Kayla, exclaimed as she pulled him along by one hand. He chuckled at her enthusiasm.

Kayla—let Uncle Mikal walk by himself, Iris instructed. Kayla obeyed and took the hand of her older sister skipping beside her. Her double-braided hair jumped in the air.

He had a soft spot in his heart for his five-year-old niece. Filled with innocence, she enchanted everyone with her amusing observations. He would enjoy having a daughter like her some day.

Take this, he said, handing the bottle of wine to Iris. He reached down and picked up Kayla, placing her on his waist. She screeched with glee. He carried her down the path around a slight bend. A white cloth draping a round table moved gently in the desert breeze. Surrounded by swaying date palms and low, flowering plants, lighted candles brought a warm glow to the area. He felt at home when he visited his brother's family. Perhaps one day I'll have a family of my own.

My girls found you, Ahkmed said, shaking his brother's hand and taking Kayla from him. He put her down, took the wine from Iris and gestured for him to come toward the table.

You did a fine job with Mother's gardens, he said, smiling. They fell into disrepair after she passed on. He glanced around, admiring the variety of plants outside Ahkmed's home.

She'd be pleased with the changes, Ahkmed replied, glancing at his wife, who joined them. He put his arm around her shoulders and smiled warmly at her.

Good evening, Your Highness, Maryam said, bowing slightly. We're pleased you could join us for our first alfresco dinner. She smiled, extending her hand.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. My charming sister makes my day happier. He released her hand and looked at his nieces. "Your daughters grow too