The initial eruption of sound died, but in the distance he caught an ominous rumbling. Another quake, or a building coming down? Automatically he held Rihana protectively close, well away from the decorative arches lining the courtyard. He scanned the roofline but could see no damage. Could hear no cries for help.
‘Stay here,’ he ordered. ‘Either I or someone else will come for you.’
‘Tahir!’
Her urgent tone and her grasp of his sleeve stopped him in mid-stride. He turned. What he saw in her face made him want to stay and comfort her. But he couldn’t. Others mightn’t be as lucky as they’d been.
‘Be careful,’ she murmured.
Those two simple words turned his heart over in his chest. He stepped close, gently embraced her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. ‘I will. Now, don’t forget. Wait here.’
It was the first time he’d kissed his mother in more than a decade.
The news was bad. No damage to the palace, but a section of the old town was devastated. Ancient structures and adobe walls had tumbled into narrow streets, making rescue difficult.
A check on the provinces brought news that only the capital was damaged. Nevertheless, Tahir set in motion national arrangements for evacuation should there be aftershocks.
Rescue and medical teams worked at full stretch. Tahir had contacted his cousin, Zafir, once King of Qusay and now ruler of nearby Haydar, and arranged for more rescue specialists to fly in. Tahir’s brother, Kareef, had already sent men from the mountains of Qais to help.
As afternoon faded into night Tahir was still busy directing, reassuring, planning. He did it on autopilot. Beneath his calm façade lay a fear so potent it froze his bones and threatened to paralyse his brain.
Annalisa was missing.
Just thinking it sent dread spiralling through him.
Every centimetre of the palace and grounds had been searched. Surrounding streets had been investigated.
Had she gone home, angry after their last encounter?
Guilt lanced him. Even as he pored over city plans with engineers and officials he was alert for footsteps, lest one of his staff return with news of her. He hoped for and feared it.
It was his fault she’d gone. He’d barked at her, furious that she’d dared to pry into the most private part of his life. He’d punished her for trying to heal the rift between himself and his mother.
His stomach churned at the knowledge that he was to blame for her disappearance.
Silently he told himself over and over that she wouldn’t have ventured into the old souk. But he didn’t believe his own reassurances. He wanted to scour the streets himself, looking for her.
Already he’d been down amongst the wreckage too often for his staff’s liking, hoping to find her. They’d protested he was in danger. Only the knowledge he was more useful coordinating the rescue efforts had kept him in the makeshift emergency centre on the edge of the damage zone.
The acrid scent of fear filled his nostrils with every breath. His heart drummed frantically.
Never had he felt so powerless. If anything happened to her…
He’d rather endure a lifetime of beatings than this. Waiting, trying to be strong for those needing his leadership, while terror gnawed at his vitals. If only he had some clue where she’d gone.
He’d thought himself safe in his isolated world, relying on no one, caring for nothing.
What he felt now obliterated that self-deception.
Finally he gave in to those urging him to rest for an hour before daybreak. But instead of returning to the palace he prowled the streets. People welcomed their King’s presence. But it was the need to find Annalisa that kept him going.
He’d almost given up hope when he came upon a temporary triage centre on the furthest side of the disaster zone. Makeshift awnings protected the wounded and lights were set up to assist the medics.
Movement caught his eye: a spill of rich dark hair. Golden highlights glinted as the woman turned her head. Impatiently she reached round and secured the waist-length tresses in a familiar gesture.
Tahir felt a huge weight rise to block his throat and impair his breathing. He strode through the debris, past stretchers, piles of rubble and huddled figures. He heard nothing but the rush of blood in his ears.
As he approached she turned, her hand out to grasp a nearby pole for support. Her clothes were rumpled and dirty. A dark stain marred her shirt.
Terror jammed his throat as he realised it was blood.
She stumbled and he ran, just in time to scoop her off her feet before she fell.
Tahir’s heart pumped out of control as his arms closed convulsively around her. She felt warm and wonderful and alive. Alive. Thank God.
He was whirling around, looking for a doctor, when her voice finally penetrated.