The Golden Barbarian

by Iris Johansen

  She laughed. “Her husband wishes she were a little less vigorous. Married a little over five years to her and he appears worn and weary.”

  “Pauline was never one to accept anything but the most enthusiastic cooperation … even if she had to force the pace.”

  The carriage came to a stop, and instantly the footman opened the door. Sacha sprang to the ground and helped Tess out. “Go into the inn. The innkeeper will show you to your chamber. I’ll stay here until the second coach arrives and send up your boxes.”

  “Surely, the innkeeper could—”

  But Sacha was already striding across the flagstones toward the stable, and after hesitating a moment, Tess turned and entered the inn.

  “All is well?” Galen asked as Sacha entered the stable.

  Sacha waited just inside the door until his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The stable was empty except for Galen, who was kneeling beside his stallion in one of the stalls to the left of the door. The sheikh’s coat had been cast aside, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled past his elbow. A huge kettle of water boiled over a small fire at the back of the stable, and the air was filled with the scent of herbs mingled with hay and manure.

  “No,” Sacha said shortly. “All is not well. I feel like a Judas.”

  “There’s no reason for you to feel a traitor.” Galen carefully wrapped a warm, damp cloth around his stallion’s delicate left front ankle. “The poison is drawing well. He should be ready to travel in a day or so.”

  “Why don’t you let Said do that?”

  “Because Selik belongs to me, and I take care of my own.” He lifted his head and met Sacha’s gaze, saying with soft emphasis, “Everything I own.”

  Sacha knew this was true, and it was the only fact that made this situation tolerable. “She’s little more than a child, dammit.”

  “Old enough. I’ve waited a long time.”

  “I know, but—”

  “I won’t use force.”

  But he would still have his way. Sacha had learned during these last six years how strong Galen’s will could be. “I like the imp. I’ve always liked her. She doesn’t deserve to be used.”

  “Unless she chooses to let herself be used.” Galen rose to his feet and patted the black’s nose. “And we’re all pawns in the scheme of things.”

  Sacha stared broodingly at him. “What would you do if I asked you not to carry on with your scheme?”

  Galen’s stroking hand on the horse’s muzzle stopped in midmotion. “I’d consider it. You’re my friend, and the woman is your cousin.”

  “Consider, but not comply.”

  “You know how important she is to me. You’ve been to Sedikhan.” Galen continued to stroke the horse.

  Yes, Sacha knew the importance of Tess in Galen’s plan; it only added to his sense of being torn between loyalties. He smiled lopsidedly. “I’ve often wondered if that was why you persuaded me to go to Sedikhan. Am I a pawn, too, Galen?”

  Galen smiled. “Of course that’s why I wanted you in my homeland. Do you expect me to deny it? But it’s not a pawn you’ve been to me all these years.” He said gently, “I have no greater friend in the world.”

  Yes, they were friends, companions at arms, closer often than brothers. Sacha slowly shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do nothing.” Galen’s hand fell from the horse. He turned and picked up his black coat. “It will be her choice.” He shrugged into the coat, and then started toward the door. “Suppose I go and see what she says.”

  “Now?”

  “I thought I’d wait until after we’d supped, but I think I’ll have to put you out of your misery. You’ll be happier once the decision is made.” He grimaced. “And since I stink of horse and herbal salve, you’ll know that I’m not trying to sway her with anything but reason.” He started for the door. “When that cloth cools, dip it into the bucket of hot water and apply it again. I’ll rejoin you after I’ve talked to Tess.”

  The chamber wasn’t overluxurious, but at least it was clean. Tess bounced experimentally on the bed and made a face. Hard as the pallet in her cell in the convent. Well, it did not matter. She refused to let anything spoil her last few days of liberty.

  She smiled in satisfaction as she untied the ribbons on her bonnet, took it off and sent it sailing across the room onto the cushioned chair by the door. That was better. She had always hated hats, but Pauline had insisted on providing her with dozens of the dratted things as they assembled a wardrobe for her before leaving Paris.

  She stripped off her long white gloves and ruffled her hair, sending pins and clips flying before she crossed to the washstand and poured water from the flowered pitcher into the basin.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Entrez,” she called as she splashed water on her face. “You’ve been long enough, Sacha. It will be dark soon, and I’m hungry.” She reached for the towel and turned to face him. “And I do want to go back to the waterfront—” Her eyes widened in shock.

  Galen Ben Raschid stood in the doorway. “May I come in?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer as he took a few steps forward and closed the door. He bowed slightly. “It’s been a long time. You’ve grown into a young lady, Your Highness.”

  “I’m only three inches taller.” What a stupid thing to blurt out, she thought in self-disgust. She couldn’t seem to form an intelligent thought.

  His gaze flicked to the fullness of her bodice. “Sometimes a few inches can make an enormous difference.”

  She felt an odd heat surge through her, and knew she must be blushing. “I’m waiting for Sacha. I’ve just come from France and—” Enough of this babbling. “But you must know. Are you traveling with Sacha? I didn’t expect to see you again after you left Tamrovia.”

  “I had every intention of seeing you again.” He strolled across the room toward her, moving with animallike grace. He was bigger than she remembered, a giant of a man, and she found herself mesmerized by the flexing of the powerful muscles of his thighs and calves beneath his clinging black trousers. He wore a black silk coat but no cravat, and the top button of his white shirt was unfastened to reveal his strong brown throat. She was conscious of a blatant maleness about him that was shocking in intensity. He looked the same, but he must have changed in some way. All those years ago she had not felt nervous in his presence.

  “In fact, I’ve expended a good deal of effort to see you again.” He took the towel from her. “Your face is wet.” He began to gently dab her cheek.

  The action was almost servile, yet there was nothing servile about Galen Ben Raschid. He dried her face as if he had every right to touch her intimately. She was quite still as she stared up at him, unable to look away. His shining black hair was tied back in a queue, and his face appeared leaner and tanner than it had been six years before. Yet the power she had sensed still seemed to be running deep beneath his controlled expression. She began to feel an odd breathlessness, and looked hurriedly away from him. “I was washing my face.” Another stupidly obvious remark. What was wrong with her?

  “Yes.” He dabbed lightly at her chin. “You still have the most exquisite skin. Most women lose such a silky glow after childhood.”

  “Do they?” He stood so close, she caught the scent of horse, leather, herbs, and soap clinging to him, and felt the warmth his body was emitting. She took the towel from him and put it on the washstand. Her hand was trembling, she noticed with no surprise. “How are Apollo and Daphne?”

  “In fine health.”

  “Good. I’ve often thought of them.” She took a step back and asked again, “Did you come with Sacha?”

  “No.” He smiled faintly. “Sacha came with me. Not very willingly, I might add. He’s full of doubts and apprehensions.” He moved across the chamber to the chair by the door. “May I sit down?”

  “I’m expecting Sacha at any moment.”

  He looked curiously at her. “You’re afraid of me. How odd. It’s
not how I remember you.”

  “Nonsense. I’m not afraid of you. I’m merely surprised. I wasn’t expecting to see you, and I was caught off guard.”

  “Off guard?” He repeated the expression thoughtfully. “And are you always on guard?” His gaze searched her face. “Yes, I think perhaps you are. Not surprising, considering the life you’ve lived.” He gestured to the chair by the window. “Please sit down. I’m no threat to you.”

  “Sacha will—”

  “Sacha won’t be here until our discussion is over.”

  Tess hesitated, then moved quickly across the room and sat on the edge of the chair, folding her hands in her lap.

  He smiled, started to sit, and then paused. “Yours?” He reached down and picked up her feathered bonnet.

  The bonnet looked exceptionally silly and frivolous in his tanned, capable hands. Beautiful hands, she noticed absently. Long, graceful fingers with a certain rhythm of movement as he turned the bit of velvet-and-feather-trimmed confection to look at it from all angles.

  “It doesn’t look like you.”

  “Pauline chose it. She said it was all the crack.”

  “And you believed her?”

  Tess shrugged. “It didn’t matter.”

  “No.” He set the hat on a table near the chair. “You’re not a woman for fuss and feathers. I’d choose something entirely different for you.” He sat down and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. “If you were mine.”

  Her gaze flew to his face, her muscles tensing.

  “That frightened you again.” He smiled. “A slip of the tongue. We barbarians are regretfully primitive, and possessiveness is one of our uncivilized traits.” He leaned forward. “But there’s nothing to be apprehensive about. I’ve learned to control myself so that I’m a savage only when I choose to be.”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand you.”

  “You will. It’s quite simple. I have a proposition for you.” His gaze held hers steadfastly. “I need to join with you in marriage.”

  Her eyes widened, and she could feel the muscles of her stomach go rigid as if she were warding off a blow. “What?”

  “I need an irreversible bond between Tamrovia and the El Zalan. King Lionel has seen fit to refuse an alliance between us. He regards the El Zalan as just another wild tribe of Bedouins. However, in my country a marriage tie is as strong as a political agreement. Brother does not fight brother. The tribes would assume a marriage with a member of the Tamrovian royal house would also offer me military protection.” His hands tightened on the cushioned arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “I have to unite the tribes of Sedikhan under one rule, and the only way I can do it is to show them that my forces are more powerful than theirs. Might is everything in Sedikhan. An alliance with Tamrovia would—”

  “Stop.” She shook her head dazedly. “Why do you come to me? I have no say in this. My father will choose my husband, and he—”

  “Will not choose a wild sheikh from Sedikhan,” he finished for her.

  She nodded slowly. “I meant no offense.”

  “None taken. I know how the court of Tamrovia regards me, and that’s why I’ve come to you. We will wed tomorrow.” He smiled. “And we will not bother to tell your father until it’s too late for him to act.”

  Incredulous, she laughed. “That time will never come. Do you not realize I’m his property? If I married without his will, he would only petition the pope to annul it.”

  “Do you wish to remain his property?”

  “I have no choice.”

  “I’m giving you a choice, one a woman of your station seldom gets to make.” Galen’s voice deepened persuasively. “Freedom.”

  Tess felt a flutter of hope stir deep within her. “Marriage is not freedom.”

  “It could be. It will be.” He smiled. “Have you ever thought how it might feel to be free? To do what you wish, when you wish?”

  “No.” She had not let herself think of it because it hurt too much. “It’s not possible.”

  “I can make it happen.”

  She jumped to her feet and went to the window to stare blindly down at the courtyard below. “You’re no different from other men. You said it yourself. You like to own things.”

  “I also said I could control myself. Wed me tomorrow, and in three years I’ll send you to Paris or London, wherever you wish to go. I’ll give you a fine house and take care of your every need. You can play the great lady and have a fashionable salon. You’ll live the life you wish to live.” He paused before adding, “Without the encumbrance of a husband. Naturally, I’d remain in Sedikhan.”

  “According to tradition, that is not at all natural.”

  “I don’t think you care a snap of your fingers for tradition.”

  She turned to face him. “You’d truly do this?”

  He nodded.

  It was too wonderful to be true. She would not have to go back to Belajo ever again. She would not have to subdue her behavior and act the mindless chattel as her mother did.

  She began to pace back and forth, her hands clasped behind her back. “It could never work. My father would capture us before we reached the border.”

  Galen shook his head. “The border is only a day’s ride from here.”

  “He would follow us to your Zalandan.”

  “He might be tempted,” Galen agreed. “But once in Sedikhan I anticipate no problem. We’re a warrior breed. Your Tamrovians are soft in comparison.”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “Then why do you need us as a show of power?”

  “An invisible sword is as good as a real one, if the enemy believes it’s pointed at his heart.”

  “Wouldn’t your show of force be useless if the other sheikhs realized Tamrovia was against this marriage?”

  A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “Very perceptive. Yes, it would. But it won’t happen. I only need six months to soothe your father’s ire and make him tolerate me as a son-in-law.”

  “You won’t have six months.”

  “Yes, I will. Perhaps a little longer.” He paused. “It depends upon when he decides to send word to the convent that you’re to come home to Tamrovia.”

  “But he’s already brought—” Realization dawned. “Sacha?”

  “He paid a visit to his uncle and took the opportunity to write a letter to the Mother Superior and affix your father’s seal to the letter.”

  She remembered Pauline’s sudden desertion at the last moment. “And Pauline?”

  “She would have been in the way on the journey to Zalandan. I assure you that she was more than content with the compensation we forwarded her.”

  “I see. You’ve been very thorough.”

  “But eminently civilized,” he said mockingly. “My father kidnapped my mother and forced her to wed him after my birth. But I’m not my father. I’ve always found choice is far better than force.”

  She gazed at him shrewdly. “As long as the choice is in your favor.”

  “Why should marriage not benefit both of us?”

  She nibbled at her lower lip. “Why me?”

  “You’re the only daughter of the brother of the king of Tamrovia.” He met her gaze. “And you impressed me as possessing a certain boldness and sense of purpose that would be essential to my plan.”

  “Three years and I’m free?”

  He nodded. “You won’t find your life in Zalandan intolerable. We have certain comforts.”

  “Could I have a horse? A wonderful, beautiful horse like Telzan?”

  A tiny smile appeared on his lips. “It’s just as well I have little vanity, or I might be insulted that you require a four-footed bribe to wed me.”

  “Could I?” she persisted.

  He nodded gravely. “One beautiful horse. I have a golden palomino mare that would suit you admirably.”

  Excitement and fear churned within her. “I don’t know.…”

  “One more thing.”

  She looked war
ily at him.

  “I’ll require a child as quickly as possible.”

  She stared at him in uncertainty. “A child?”

  “You seem surprised. I don’t believe I’m being unreasonable.”

  “No, every man wants a son.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a son. Just a child to strengthen the bond. Your father would have a good deal more trouble making a match for you if you were carrying another man’s child.” He stood up. “And in my people’s eyes a child would prove the strength of the alliance.”

  It had been drummed into her from childhood that it would be her duty to bear her husband as many children as she was capable of bearing, but the possibility had seemed as nebulous as the man who would give them to her. “A child …”

  “The babe would be no bother to you. I’ll keep it in Sedikhan when you leave.”

  For some reason that thought brought a wrenching pain.

  Galen’s gaze narrowed on her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” She spoke haltingly. “But it hurt me when you took Apollo and Daphne away. What if … I might want—”

  “I suggest we discuss the disposition of the child when it becomes a reality.” He smiled. “By ‘as quickly as possible,’ I didn’t mean tomorrow. I will let you become accustomed to me before the marriage is consummated. I’ve waited a long time. I can wait a little longer. Suppose I leave you to think about my offer.” He glanced over his shoulder as he walked to the door. “It’s a very good bargain. Everything you could want. Would you rather Sacha took you home to Belajo?” He read the answer in her expression and added softly, “Then be bold, kilen.”

  The door shut behind him.

  She whirled and looked out the window again.

  “Be bold.”

  She had never lacked boldness, but these circumstances were different, and the step he wanted her to take would affect her entire future. She would be defying her father to journey to a wild land with a man who was as strange and barbaric as Sedikhan.

  Yet Galen had been entirely reasonable and urbane as he had outlined his proposal to her. He had used persuasion, not force. Why was she still thinking of him as a barbarian?