And the Desert Blooms

by Iris Johansen

  “Who else, but my charming mother? And she could be very charming. She had been trained from childhood to dazzle and please. I was an easy mark for someone with her particular talents. When it amused her she would spend a week or so lavishing all her attention on me. I lapped it up like a starving puppy.”

  She couldn’t stand to see the pain and self-disgust in his eyes. “Don’t.” She lifted a finger to his lips. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

  He took her hand from his mouth. “And I don’t want to say any more,” he said. “But I will. I owe it to you to bleed a little.” He looked down at her hand and began to play absently with her fingers. “She liked Paris and Vienna and London. They suited her expensive tastes, and it was easier to elude my father in a large city. She always had a lover in tow, and when she decided I was primed for the kill, she would tell me that she was going away with him. She’d smile very sweetly and tell me I mustn’t ever expect her to stay. She told me I was too boring to keep her amused for very long.” His hand closed on hers with convulsive force. “I can remember begging her to stay, but she would only laugh.”

  Stay, he had said as he’d held Pandora in his arms last night. Stay forever. Her throat tightened with an aching tenderness.

  “I didn’t think that morning you told me you were going to Paris, I just reacted,” he said quietly. “You were leaving me, and I knew I already loved you a thousand times more than that bitch who gave birth to me. You had made me love you, and now you were leaving too.”

  “But you knew I loved you.” She was trying to keep her voice from breaking. “I’ve always loved you.”

  His gaze lifted from her hand to her eyes. “I didn’t believe it could ever really exist. Not for me. It was safer not to believe than to be hurt again.” He moved his shoulders in a shrug. “Now you’ve heard my little confession,” he said with a touch of self-mockery. “I hope you listened closely, for I never intend to indulge in that maudlin form of self-pity again.”

  “You won’t have to,” she said gently. “You didn’t have to confess anything to me.”

  “Yes, I did.” There was no bitterness now in the smile he gave her. It contained only tenderness and a little sadness. “You said you didn’t trust me. It’s very difficult to trust without understanding. Ask me. I’m the expert on cynicism.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Until now.”

  “You mean it?” she asked, her eyes bright with tears. “Oh, please mean it, Philip.”

  “I mean it.” The words were as solemn as a vow. “I never meant anything more in my life. Do you remember when we were on the cliff that morning and I told you what miracles could come from such an ordinary source as water?”

  “ ‘One pure, crystal drop of water and the desert blooms,’ ” she quoted softly.

  “I was like that desert until you came into my life. Barren and eroding into nothingness.” He smiled. “I didn’t even know it. That’s the most dangerous kind of erosion, the kind that can’t be detected until it’s too late. Then you came and bubbled through that desert like a clear, deep stream. You brought me to life again.”

  She drew a deep breath, struggling to keep the incredible happiness bursting inside her under control. “I’ve never been compared to an irrigation project before. Trust you to be different.”

  His lips moved from her palm to her wrist. “You want something more picturesque?” He met her eyes with a teasing glance. “I’ll be glad to oblige. How about spring? I hate to be cast as the god of the underworld when I’m trying to impress you with my more noble qualities, but you certainly fit the role of Persephone. You bring the spring, Pandora. Every minute of every day you bring the warmth and the sunlight and the blossoming to my winter world.” His voice lowered to a husky whisper. “Please, don’t take away that spring.”

  Beautiful. Had any man ever spoken such beautiful words to a woman before? The tears that had been brimming in her eyes could no longer be contained. Two drops ran slowly down her cheeks. “I wish you’d make up your mind. First you’re a desert and then you’re Pluto. A girl could get confused.”

  “I’m nothing but a man,” he said gently. “Just a man who wants to share your life. Who wants to be your friend and your lover and the father of your child. Is that clear enough?”

  “Oh, Philip.” She flew into his arms, hugging him as tightly as she could. “You know that’s not true. You’re Hannibal and Alexander and a Khadim and . . .” She ran out of words. “Oh, just everything.”

  His arms went around her. “Am I?” he asked huskily. “That’s nice to know.” Then, with the half-mocking arrogance that was quintessentially Philip, he added, “I suspected as much, of course, but it’s always good to have one’s qualities appreciated.” His hand was stroking her hair with infinite gentleness. “You’ll stay with me?”

  “I’ll stay.” The words were muffled in the front of his shirt. “You’d have to tie me up and ship me out of Sedikhan in a trunk to get rid of me now.”

  “I don’t think that’s likely.” His chuckle reverberated against her ear. “I’m already regarded as something of a barbarian in diplomatic circles, but even I draw the line somewhere. Besides, the cramped position might be bad for the baby.”

  “The baby.” She pulled back to look up at him, her face lighting up. “I’m going to have a baby. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Very wonderful,” he agreed. “You act as if that fact has just come home to you. If you recall, that’s what this hullabaloo is all about.”

  “It has just come home. All I could feel was hurt and anger and betrayal when my father told me I was pregnant and that you knew all along.” Her hands abruptly tightened on his shoulders. “My Lord, what if I’d taken another fall off Oedipus and hurt the baby?”

  “You didn’t fall,” he said gently. “It didn’t happen. Stop worrying about it.”

  She was gnawing at her lower lip. “But it could have happened. How irresponsible can you get? I suppose I’ll have to stop riding right away.”

  “We’ll bring in an obstetrician and see what he recommends.” Philip’s lips tightened. “But there’s no way you’ll get on Oedipus again.”

  “All right, I won’t,” she said meekly. Her lashes lowered to hide the mischief in her eyes. “Until after the baby’s born.”

  “Pandora!”

  She laughed. “He likes me,” she protested laughingly. “He likes both of us. If he hadn’t acted up today, it would have taken us much longer to get everything ironed out.”

  “You’re casting that black devil in the role of Cupid?” Philip asked.

  “Well, not exactly. It was very naughty of him to rear up and hit you with his hoof.” She frowned. “We should really go back to the first-aid room so I can put some antiseptic on that cut.”

  “Presently.” He pressed her back on the mound of hay and settled down beside her. “Why don’t we just lie still and relax for a while? I like it here.”

  So did she. The dusky half light of the stable was so beautifully intimate and the hay beneath them was soft and springy, the scent both clean and sweet. Philip’s long, lean body was warm and hard and infinitely dear as he folded her more closely against him.

  She cuddled contentedly, her cheek finding the hollow of his shoulder. “All right, for just a little while.” She suddenly chuckled. “What do you suppose the stableboys are thinking out there? After the way you carried me in here, they’re probably expecting to hear screams and the sound of a horsewhip.”

  His lips twisted in a rueful smile. “My screams, more than likely. Most of them know what a wildcat you are. When that guard saw you hanging from the balcony he phoned me rather than run after you himself. I’m surprised none of them offered to stay and protect me.”

  “I’ll protect you,” she said dreamily. “You won’t need anyone else. I’ll take such good care of you.”

  His lips took hers in a kiss of enchanting sweetness that opened entire new horizons of joy and commitment. How wond
erful that so much could be contained in just a single kiss.

  “And I’ll take care of you,” he said with a touch of huskiness in his voice. “Now, hush. I want to lie here and hold you and be peaceful for a bit. Heaven knows, I’ll get little enough chance to do it in the future.”

  “Will you mind?”

  “No, I won’t mind. You expect a little discomfort when your life is starting to grow and change.” He smiled. “You expect it, and you look forward to it.”

  Growth and change. Such exciting words for what was to come. Growing individually, yet together, sharing ideas and experiences. Sharing love. A love that would make their lives rich and fertile for the blossoming to come.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked curiously, gazing down into her glowing face.

  She laughed softly. “Deserts,” she said. “And blossoms.” Her expression held all the wonder and eagerness of a child. “Oh, Philip, we have so many wonderfully exciting things in store for us. I can hardly wait!”

  His eyes were intent and warmly tender. “Neither can I.” He kissed her gently on the forehead. “Neither can I, love.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  IRIS JOHANSEN, who has more than twenty-seven million copies of her books in print, has won many awards for her achievements in writing. The bestselling author of Killer Dreams, Blind Alley, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, Body of Lies, The Search, and many other novels, she lives near Atlanta, Georgia, where she is currently at work on a new novel. She can be reached at her website, www.irisjohansen.com.

  BOOKS BY IRIS JOHANSEN

  And the Desert Blooms

  The Treasure

  Touch the Horizon

  The Golden Valkyrie

  Capture the Rainbow

  A Summer Smile

  Stormy Vows/ Tempest at Sea

  Stalemate

  An Unexpected Song

  Killer Dreams

  On the Run

  Countdown

  Blind Alley

  Firestorm

  Fatal Tide

  Dead Aim

  No One to Trust

  Body of Lies

  Final Target

  The Search

  The Killing Game

  The Face of Deception

  And Then You Die

  Long After Midnight

  The Ugly Duckling

  Lion’s Bride

  Dark Rider

  Midnight Warrior

  The Beloved Scoundrel

  The Magnificent Rogue

  The Tiger Prince

  Last Bridge Home

  The Golden Barbarian

  Reap the Wind

  Storm Winds

  The Wind Dancer

  The Treasure

  Available now

  MAY 3, 1196

  FORTRESS OF MAYSEF

  NOSAIRI MOUNTAINS

  SYRIA

  HIS POWER WAS WANING, fading like that blood-red sun setting behind the mountains.

  Jabbar Al Nasim’s fists clenched with fury as he gazed out at the sun sinking on the horizon. It should not be. It made no sense that he should be so afflicted. Weakness was for those other fools, not for him.

  Yet he had always known it would come. It had even come for Sinan, the Old Man of the Mountain. But he had always been stronger than the old man in both mind and spirit. Sinan had bent before the yoke, but Nasim had prepared for it.

  Kadar.

  “You sent for me, master?”

  He turned to see Ali Balkir striding along the battlements toward him. The man’s voice was soft, hesitant, and he could see the fear in his face. Nasim felt a jolt of fierce pleasure as he realized the captain had not detected any loss of power. Well, why should he? Nasim had always been master here, in spite of what outsiders thought. Sinan might have been the King of Assassins, feared by kings and warriors alike, but Nasim had been the one who had guided his footsteps. Everyone here at the fortress knew and groveled at his feet.

  And they’d continue to grovel. He would not let this monstrous thing happen to him.

  Balkir took a hurried step back as he saw Nasim’s expression. “Perhaps I was mistaken. I beg your forgiveness for intrud—”

  “No, stay. I have a task for you.”

  Balkir drew a relieved breath. “Another attack on the Frankish ships? Gladly. I brought you much gold from my last journey. I will bring you even more this—”

  “Be silent. I wish you to return to Scotland where you left Kadar Ben Arnaud and the foreigners. You are to tell him nothing of what has transpired here. Do not mention me. Tell him only that Sinan is claiming his price. Bring him to me.”

  Balkir’s eyes widened. “Sinan? But Sinan is—”

  “Do you question me?”

  “No, never.” Balkir moistened his lips. “But what if he refuses?”

  Balkir was terrified, Nasim realized, and not of failing him. Nasim had forgotten that Balkir was at the fortress at the time Kadar underwent his training; Balkir knew how adept Kadar was in all the dark arts. More adept than any man Nasim had ever known, and Kadar was only a boy of ten and four when he came to the mountain. How proud Sinan had been of him. What plans he had made for the two of them. He had never realized Nasim had plans of his own for Kadar.

  All wasted when Kadar had left the dark path and rejected Sinan to live with the foreigners. What a fool the Old Man had been to let him go.

  But it was not too late. What Sinan had lost, Nasim could reclaim.

  If Kadar did not die as the others had died.

  Well, if he died, he died. Kadar was only a man; it was the power that was important.

  “He won’t refuse,” Nasim said. “He gave Sinan his word in exchange for the lives of the foreigners.”

  “What if he does?”

  “You are questioning me,” Nasim said with dangerous softness.

  Balkir turned pale. “No, master. Of course he won’t refuse. Not if you say he won’t. I only—”

  “Be gone.” Nasim waved his hand. “Set sail at once.”

  Balkir nodded jerkily and backed away from him. “I will bring him. Whether or not he wishes to come I will force—”

  The words cut off abruptly as Nasim turned his back on him. The man was only trying to gain respect in his eyes. He would have no more chance against Kadar if he tried to use force than he would against Nasim, and he probably knew it.

  But he wouldn’t have to use force. Kadar would come. Not only because of his promise but because he would know what would result if he didn’t. Sinan had spared the lives of Lord Ware, his woman, Thea, and the child Selene and given them all a new life in Scotland. Nasim had permitted the foolishness because he had wanted to keep Kadar safe until it was time to use him.

  But no one would be more aware than Kadar that the safety Sinan had given could always be taken away.

  Kadar had shown a baffling softness toward his friend Lord Ware and a stranger bond with the child Selene. Such emotions were common on the bright path, but Nasim had taught Kadar better. It seemed fitting that he be caught in his master’s noose because he’d ignored his teachings.

  The fortress gate was opening and Balkir rode through it. He kicked his horse into a dead run down the mountain. He would be in Hafir in a few days and set sail as soon as he could stock his ship, the Dark Star.

  Nasim turned back to the setting sun. It had descended almost below the horizon now, darkness was closing in. But it would return tomorrow, blasting all before it with its power.

  And so would Nasim.

  His gaze shifted north toward the sea. Kadar was across that sea in that cold land of Scotland, playing at being one of them, the fools, the bright ones. But it would be just a matter of months before he would be here. Nasim had waited five years. He could wait a little longer. Yet an odd eagerness was beginning to replace his rage and desperation. He wanted him here now.

  He felt the power rising within him and he closed his eyes and sent the call forth.

  “Kadar.”


  AUGUST 4, 1196

  MONTDHU, SCOTLAND

  “SHE’S BEING VERY FOOLISH.” Thea frowned as she watched Selene across the great hall. “I don’t like this, Ware.”

  “Neither does Kadar,” Ware said cheerfully as he took a sip of his wine. “I’m rather enjoying it. It’s interesting to see our cool Kadar disconcerted.”

  “Will it also be interesting if Kadar decides to slaughter that poor man at whom she’s smiling?” Thea asked tartly. “Or Lord Kenneth, who she partnered in the last country dance?”

  “Yes.” He smiled teasingly at her. “It’s been far too peaceful here for the last few years. I could use a little diversion.”

  “Blood and war are not diversions except to warriors like you.” Her frown deepened. “And I thought you very happy here at Montdhu. You did not complain.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. “How would I dare with such a termagant of a wife.”

  “Don’t tease. Have you been unhappy?”

  “Only when you robbed me of craftsmen for my castle so that you could have them build a ship for your silk trade.”

  “I needed that ship. What good is it to produce fine silks if you can’t sell them? It wasn’t sensible to—” She shook her head. “You know I was right, and you have your castle now. It’s as fine and strong as you could want. Everyone at the feast tonight has told you they have never seen a more secure fortress.”

  His smile faded. “And we might well have need of our fortress soon.”

  She frowned. “Have you heard news from the Holy Land?”

  He shook his head. “But we walk a fine line, Thea. We’ve been lucky to have these years to prepare.”

  Ware was still looking over his shoulder, Thea thought sadly. Well, who could blame him? They had fled the wrath of the Knights Templar to come to this land, and if the Knights found out that Ware was not dead, as they thought, they would be unrelenting in their persecution. Ware and Thea had almost been captured before their journey started. It had been Kadar who had bargained with Sinan, the head of the assassins, to lend them a ship to take them to Scotland. But that was the past, and Thea would not have Ware moody tonight when he had so much to celebrate.