Lost to the Desert Warrior

by Sarah Morgan

  Whichever way he looked at it, it felt like a betrayal. It pulled him down and tore at him. ‘I cannot do it.’

  ‘Because I am the daughter of your enemy?’ She spoke in the same calm voice. ‘Aristotle said “a common danger unites the bitterest of enemies”. We have a common danger. I am proposing we unite. It is the right thing to do and you know it.’

  Raz turned with a snarl that drew the dogs to their feet. ‘Never assume to guess what I am thinking, Princess.’

  Her head was slightly bowed but he could see her eyes were fixed in terror on the two animals now crouched low on the floor of the tent.

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ She held herself absolutely still, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘It seems a logical solution to me. I assumed it would seem so to you.’

  It did. The fact that his emotions defied logic frustrated him. ‘Do you apply logic to everything?’

  ‘I didn’t apply logic when I chose to steal a horse and point him towards the desert, so the answer has to be no, not to everything. But to most things. I find generally the outcome is better if the action is given the appropriate consideration.’

  He’d never met anyone as serious as her.

  He wanted to ask if she’d ever laughed, danced or had fun, and then wondered why he was even interested.

  ‘You are suggesting something I cannot contemplate.’

  ‘And yet you know it is the right thing for Tazkhan. So your reluctance must be because you once had a wife you loved so very much.’

  Raz felt the blood drain from his face. The tips of his fingers were suddenly cold. Anger sharpened his brain and tongue. ‘Logic, if not an instinct for self-preservation, should be warning you that you are now treading on ground that is likely to give way beneath your feet.’

  ‘I did not bring up that topic to cause you pain, but to try and understand why you would say no to something that is so obviously right.’ Her fingers shook as she smoothed the robe she was wearing. ‘You loved her and exchanged promises, and now you never want to marry again. I understand that.’

  ‘You understand nothing.’ He heard the growl in his own voice. ‘You have condensed a thousand indescribable emotions into one short sentence.’ The force of his anger shook him, and it clearly shook her too because her eyes flickered to the entrance of the tent, gauging the distance. Raz felt a rush of shame because whatever his sins, and God knew there had been many, frightening women wasn’t one of them.

  She spoke before he did. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her tone was a soothing balm against the raw edges of his pain. ‘And you’re right, of course. I don’t understand what you’re feeling because I’ve never loved anyone that way. But I understand that what you lost is somehow linked with your decision never to marry again. And I just want to make clear that what I’m suggesting has nothing to do with what you had before. Ours would be a marriage of political necessity, not of love. Not a betrayal of her memory, but a business arrangement. If you marry me, you take your rightful place as ruler of Tazkhan. You would be unchallenged.’

  Not a betrayal of her memory.

  So maybe she did understand him better than he’d first thought.

  ‘You think I’m afraid of a challenge?’

  ‘No. But I know you love your people and want to give Tazkhan a peaceful and prosperous future.’ Suddenly she sounded very tired, very alone and very young.

  Raz frowned as he tried to remember her age. Twenty-three? Younger?

  ‘And what do you gain from this arrangement, Princess? How do you benefit from entering into a marriage where feelings play no part?’ In the flickering candlelight he could see a hint of smooth cheek beneath the voluminous robes, but very little else except those eyes. And her eyes were mesmerising—as dark as sloes and framed by long, thick lashes that shadowed that smooth skin like the setting sun. Suddenly he wanted to see more of her. He wanted to reach out and rip off the robes that concealed her and see what lay beneath the folds of fabric. He’d heard whispers about the beauty of the elder princess and ignored them all because her physical attributes had been of no interest to him.

  Disturbed by the sudden flare of his own curiosity, he stepped back. ‘How do you benefit from this “business arrangement”?’

  ‘If I am married to you, then I cannot be married to Hassan.’

  ‘So I am the lesser of two evils?’ Could that truly be the reason? Raz struggled to decipher her intentions. She seemed innocent and yet she came from evil. She appeared to speak the truth but those who surrounded her spoke only lies. Feeling the weight of responsibility, he suppressed his instinct to trust her. ‘You are expecting me to believe that you crept out of the Citadel tonight, stole a horse and rode aimlessly into the desert in the hope of tripping over me so that you could propose marriage?’

  ‘I had more to lose by staying than leaving. And it is well known that there are plenty of people who know your whereabouts, Your Highness. I trusted that someone would bring me to you.’

  She’d called him ‘Your Highness’. It was an acknowledgement he wouldn’t have expected from her, given that they were on opposite sides.

  Raz narrowed his eyes. ‘Your loyalties are easily shifted.’

  ‘My loyalties are to Tazkhan, but I understand that you are afraid to trust me. I do have other reasons—more personal ones.’

  ‘What other reasons?’

  ‘If he finds her, Hassan intends to send my sister to America.’ Desperation shook that steady voice. ‘He wants her out of the way.’

  ‘Why would he want her out of the way?’

  ‘Because we are stronger together than we are apart and he wants to weaken us. Because my sister has an uncomfortable habit of speaking her mind and she becomes harder to control with each passing day. She is dreamy, passionate, and challenges everything. And Hassan hates to be challenged.’

  ‘And you don’t challenge him?’

  ‘I see no point in poking an angry dragon with a stick.’

  ‘And where is your sister now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ There was fear and anxiety under the veneer of calm. ‘The horse galloped off. I’m scared she might have fallen and been injured. I’m scared Hassan’s men will find her before you do.’

  Raz lifted an eyebrow. ‘That is almost inevitable since I’m not looking for her.’

  ‘But will you look for her? Once I’m your bride, will you also offer your protection to my sister?’

  So that was why she was here, he thought.

  She’d risked everything for love. Not romantic love, perhaps, but love all the same.

  ‘So to keep your sister with you, and protect Tazkhan, you would marry a stranger. That is the least romantic proposition I have ever heard.’

  ‘Possibly. But we’ve already established this is not about romance. You wouldn’t want that and neither would I.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I am not a romantic person, Your Highness.’

  That matter-of-fact statement might have been unremarkable had it come from someone several decades older than she was. Her eyes were dark, luminous pools of pain and he wondered how those eyes would look if she smiled.

  ‘You don’t believe there can be love between a man and a woman?’

  ‘Yes, I do believe there can be. Just not for me. I’m not like that. I don’t have those feelings. I’m a very practical person,’ she said with disarming honesty. ‘As you don’t want love either, I assume that won’t be an obstacle for you.’ She brushed it aside as easily as the desert winds shifted sand.

  She had no idea, he thought. No idea that love was the most powerful force known to man. No idea how much havoc could be wrought by that emotion.

  But he knew.

  He’d been caught in the wake of devastation and still ached from his injuries.

 
‘You say that this is a political arrangement to secure the future of Tazkhan, but for a marriage to be legal and binding in our country it requires more than simply the exchange of vows and rings.’

  Her spine was rigid and her eyes were fixed on the ground in front of him. ‘I am aware of that. It’s important that Hassan isn’t able to challenge our union so I’ve already familiarised myself with Tazkhan marriage laws.’

  Raz found himself intrigued and exasperated in equal measures. ‘So you understand what marriage entails?’

  ‘You’re referring to the physical side and, yes, I understand that. I know it has to be a full and proper marriage. I accept that. It won’t be a problem.’ She’d dipped her head so that the folds of her robe almost obscured her features. ‘From what I’ve read, it shouldn’t be a problem for you, either. A man doesn’t need love in order to be able to perform the sexual act.’

  ‘Perform?’ Raz was torn between amusement and disbelief as he stared down at her. Under the protective folds of the robe she was shy, fragile and clueless. ‘What exactly have you been reading? Whatever it is, it sounds an unusual choice for a girl like you.’

  ‘I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.’

  Not yet. The thought flew into his head and he stared at her for a long moment.

  ‘You are contemplating a lifetime with a man who cannot love you.’

  ‘But you will respect me.’ Lifting her head, she looked him directly in the eyes. ‘You will respect me for making the decision to do the right thing for Tazkhan. And that is all I need.’

  Raz stared at her for a long moment.

  Respect.

  Was that really all she needed?

  It sounded like very little, and yet right now he wasn’t sure he could deliver even that.

  Feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like a thousand tons of sand, he turned and strode to the doorway of the tent. ‘I need air.’

  * * *

  I need air.

  Layla sagged. She needed air, too. She couldn’t breathe. She was suffocating under the heavy fabric of the robes and the stifling heat in the tent and she was terrified she’d blown everything by mentioning his wife. And as for the rest of it—she’d never thought talking about sex could feel so uncomfortable. It was a natural act, performed by animals—of which man was one—since the dawn of time. Why a discussion on the topic should leave her hot and shaky she had no idea.

  It was him.

  There was something about him—a raw physicality that made her understand for the first time why women talked about him in dreamy tones.

  Confused, exhausted and desperately worried about Yasmin, all Layla wanted was to strip off the robes she’d taken from her father’s rooms and lie down.

  She looked longingly at the low bed covered in richly coloured silks that dominated the far side of the tent.

  His bed?

  Just for a moment she had an image of him lying there, strong limbs entwined with the beauty who had been his wife, sharing their love. The image shocked her. Apart from images of the sculptures of Michelangelo she’d never seen a man naked, so she had no reason to be imagining one now.

  Her body ached from head to foot and she wanted to stretch her limbs and examine her bruises, but she was too afraid to move with the dogs guarding her.

  She watched them as she carefully tried to ease herself into a different position.

  The bag she’d tied under the robes pressed uncomfortably against her hip and she pulled out the two books she’d taken from the library. One was her favourite—a book she’d read so many times she almost knew it by heart. The other—

  ‘What is that?’ His voice came from the doorway of the tent and Layla jumped and dropped both books onto the thick rug that carpeted the floor of the tent.

  ‘Books. Just books. I brought them from home.’

  Before she could snatch them back he stooped and picked one up. And of course it was that one.

  There was a tense silence while he scanned the title of the volume. Dark eyebrows rose in incredulity. ‘The Kama Sutra?’

  ‘If I’m proposing marriage then it’s important I have some knowledge of what is required. There is no skill that cannot be mastered with sufficient studying. I’m ignorant, and in my experience ignorance is never bliss.’

  She could hear the blood throbbing in her ears. She felt her mouth dry as if she had swallowed all the sand in the desert and her heart pounded like the hooves of the Arabian stallion who had thrown her onto the sand with such disdain.

  His prolonged silence was more humiliating than a refusal and she was grateful for the semi-darkness of the tent that gave her at least some protection from his scrutiny.

  Her expectations of this encounter had been modest. She hadn’t exactly expected him to embrace the idea of marriage with enthusiasm, but she’d thought he’d say something. She certainly hadn’t expected him to walk out of the tent.

  But perhaps the thought of marrying her sickened him. Perhaps people were wrong and Raz Al Zahki wouldn’t do anything that needed to be done for his country. Perhaps even he wouldn’t stoop so low as to marry the daughter of the man who had destroyed his family.

  Perhaps he didn’t want a woman whose knowledge of the world had been gained from the contents of her father’s library.

  ‘You’re not going to need this.’ He handed the book back to her and her face burned like the desert in the midday heat

  Tears formed a hot burning ball in the back of her throat and she almost choked on it.

  He was refusing to marry her.

  ‘I understand. In that case I need to try and find my sister myself, before Hassan does. He is at his most dangerous when he is angry and he will be very angry.’ She struggled to her feet, but her legs cramped from kneeling for so long in one position and she lost her balance.

  He caught her and scooped her into his arms.

  Afraid of being dropped to the ground for the second time in one day, Layla gripped his shoulders and her fingers dug into an unyielding layer of solid muscle.

  In her day-to-day life at the palace she didn’t encounter men like him. Her father had surrounded himself with men like Hassan: men whose flesh was softened from inactivity, sycophants whose purpose in life was to indulge to the fullest.

  She doubted Raz Al Zahki had ever overindulged in his life. He was lean, athletic, super-fit—and dangerous in every way.

  As she turned her head, her eyes met the fierce black of his. Curiosity turned to fascination. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, now terrifyingly close to hers. Hassan’s mouth was full and fleshy, but this man’s lips were firm and perfectly shaped. His face was beauty blended with hardness. Hardness in the savage slash of his cheekbones and the lean line of his darkened jaw. Hardness in the grim set of his mouth and the glint in his eyes. And that hardness gave him an edge of danger. Even she, with no expertise or interest in men, could see why women might describe him as spectacularly handsome.

  Something tightened deep in her stomach. Heat washed across her skin and poured through her veins.

  They stared at each other and then his mouth compressed. He strode across the tent and lowered her onto the silken cover draped over the large bed, standing over her, powerful and imposing in every way.

  ‘Where does it hurt? Explain your injuries.’

  That curt command jolted her out of her dreamy state of contemplation.

  Layla told herself there was no reason to feel intimidated. He couldn’t help his height. He couldn’t help his powerful build. And she could hardly blame him for not smiling in the circumstances.

  He’d asked about her injuries.

  All the talk of romance and emotions had stressed her beyond belief, so the practical nature of his question soothed her. She preferred the definable to the indefinabl
e and her injuries were definitely definable.

  ‘I ache all over, but particularly my legs, my back and my arms. I suspect it’s a mixture of stiffness from unaccustomed muscle use and bruising from the fall. Based on the symptoms, I don’t believe anything is broken.’

  His eyes gleamed with irony. ‘Presumably you have studied medical texts along with Aristotle and the Kama Sutra? Your reading matter is diverse, Princess.’

  She didn’t tell him she hadn’t even started the Kama Sutra. ‘I read a lot.’

  ‘You read. Your sister talks.’ He studied her for several long and deeply unsettling minutes. ‘Take the robe off.’

  ‘What?’ Feeling like a tiny mouse in the sights of a predatory eagle, Layla stared at him. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want to assess the state of your injuries for myself.’

  ‘I don’t have any injuries,’ she said quickly. ‘Truly, it’s just muscular. Superficial. Nothing for you to worry about but I appreciate your concern.’ She’d been desperate to be out of the robes, but now she was equally desperate to keep them on. The thought of removing them in front of this man unsettled her.

  With a sigh he sat down on the bed, his thigh brushing briefly against hers. ‘You say you want marriage and yet you’re afraid even to remove your robe in my presence? Are you proposing that once we’re married we go to bed fully clothed?’

  ‘No, of course not. That’s different.’

  ‘How is it different?’

  He was testing her. He thought she couldn’t do it.

  Desperation blew away modesty. If he refused to marry her she would never see Yasmin again.

  ‘I will be fine. I will take the responsibilities that come with the role very seriously.’

  ‘Responsibilities?’

  ‘Physical intimacy is one of the responsibilities of a wife. I understand that. I understand exactly what is involved.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Those dark eyes swept her face with disturbing intensity. ‘How much of the Kama Sutra have you read, Princess?’

  If she said she’d read the whole thing cover to cover would he marry her?