Desert Rogues Part 2

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Desert Rogues Part 2 Page 69

by Susan Mallery


  She stood and faced the rumpled sheets. It was a very nice bed and the man who slept in it was nothing short of magical when it came to making love. Still, she had to be strong. At least until she knew if she were pregnant.

  She washed using the basin of water on the dresser, then pulled on the garments that had been left out for her. Murat had mentioned something about a tribal council today. He would assemble the leaders from the various tribes and then hear judgments and petitions from the people. She’d agreed to attend.

  Intricate embroidery covered her robes. In place of a headdress, a small diamond-and-gold crown sat on a pillow.

  Daphne stared at it. While she knew that Murat was the crown prince and that he would one day be king, she never really thought about it all that seriously. But now, staring at the crown, she felt the weight of a thousand years of history pressing on her.

  She carefully brushed her long, blond hair until it gleamed, then she set the crown on her head and secured it with two pins. She checked that it was straight, all the while trying not to notice she actually had it on her head, then left for the main part of the tent.

  One of Murat’s security agents sat waiting for her. When she approached, he stood and bowed.

  “Good morning, Princess Daphne,” he said. “The judgments are about to begin. If you will follow me.”

  He led her outside into a beautiful, clear morning. The camp was nearly deserted, but up ahead she saw a huge covering that would easily hold a thousand people. They walked toward it, avoiding the main entrance and instead circling around to the back.

  She ducked under a low hanging and found herself behind a dais that held several ornate chairs. Murat approached and took her hand in his.

  “We are about to begin,” he said with a smile.

  He spoke easily, but his eyes sent her another message. One that reminded her of their night together and all that had happened between them.

  She wanted to tell him they couldn’t do that again. Not until things were straightened out between them, but this was not the time or place.

  She followed him up onto the dais and sat in a chair just to the left and slightly behind his. On his right sat the tribal council. In front of them were hundreds of people sitting in rows. A few stood on either side of the room, and an older man with a parchment scroll stood in the center.

  He read from the ancient document in a language she didn’t recognize. She remembered enough from her previous time in Bahania to know he called all those seeking justice to this place and time. That the prince’s word would be final. Judgments against those charged with crimes were covered in the morning, while petitions came in the afternoon.

  Several criminals were brought forward. Two charges were dismissed as being brought about by a desire for revenge rather than an actual crime. One man accused of stealing goats was sentenced to six months in a prison and a branding.

  Daphne winced at the latter and Murat caught the movement.

  “It is an old way,” he said, turning toward her. “A man is given three chances. The brand allows the council to know how many times he has been before them.”

  “But branding?”

  “He stole,” Murat said. “These are desert people. They exist hundreds and thousands of miles from the world as you know it. If you steal a man’s car in the city, he can walk or take a bus. You steal a man’s goats or camels in the desert and you sentence him and his family to possible death. They may starve before they can walk out of the desert or to another encampment. They would not be able to carry all their possessions themselves, so they would be discarded. The youngest children might die on the long walk to safety. Stealing is not something we take lightly.”

  His words made sense. Daphne understood that where life was harsh, punishment must be equally so, but the whole concept made her uncomfortable.

  Several more minor cases were brought forward. Then a man in his late twenties was walked in front of the dais.

  The guards took his left arm and held it out for all to see. Three brands scarred his skin. Daphne sucked in a breath.

  “He is charged with stealing camels,” a member of the council told Murat.

  “Witnesses?”

  Five people stepped behind the men. Two were his accomplices, while the other three—a father and two sons—had owned the camels. The father spoke about the night his camels were taken. He had a herd of twenty, and this man and his friends took all of them. He and his sons went after the thieves only to find that one of the camels had gone lame and the thieves had slit its throat.

  The crowd gasped. Daphne knew that to kill such a useful creature because it had gone lame was considered an abomination.

  The cohorts spoke of the crime. They had already been charged and had confessed. Each had a fresh brand—their only brand. But the leader had three.

  Murat listened to all the evidence, then turned to the council.

  “Death,” each of them said.

  When it was his turn to speak, he said, “You decided not to end your thieving yourself. We will do it for you.”

  The criminal dropped his head to his chest. “I have two children and no wife.”

  Murat nodded for the children to be brought out.

  A boy of maybe fourteen stepped forward, holding on to the hand of a much younger girl. The boy fought tears, but the little girl seemed more confused, as if she didn’t understand what was happening.

  “What of this?” Murat asked the boy. “Do you have a brand on your arm?”

  The teenager squared his shoulders. “I do not steal, Prince Murat. I protect my sister and honor the memory of my mother.”

  “Very well.” Murat turned his attention to the crowd. “Two children of the thief.”

  There was a moment of silence, then a tall man in his early forties stepped toward the dais.

  “I will take them,” he said.

  Murat was silent.

  The man nodded. “I give my word that they will be treated well and raised as my own. The boy will be given the opportunity to attend college if he likes.”

  Daphne glared at the man and raised her eyebrows.

  He caught her gaze and took a step back. “Ah, the girl, too.”

  “Better,” she murmured.

  “She-wolf,” Murat whispered back. But he sounded pleased.

  Still Murat did not speak to the man making the offer. At last the man sighed. He called out to the crowd. Several people turned to watch as a young girl of eleven or so stepped out and walked to the man.

  “My youngest,” he said heavily. “The daughter of my heart. I give her into your keeping, to ensure the safety of those I take in.”

  The girl stared up at him. “Papa?”

  He patted her head. “All will be well, child.”

  Murat rose. “I agree,” he said. “The children of the thief will enter a new family. Their pasts will be washed clean and they will not carry their father’s burden.”

  He walked to Daphne and held out his hand. She stood and took it, then followed him off the dais, toward the rear of the tent.

  “What was all that?” she asked. “Why did that man bring out his daughter?”

  “Because she is insurance. We will check on the condition of the two children he is taking in, but here, desert traditions run deep. Should he not treat them well, they will be removed from his care, along with his daughter. She gives him incentive to keep his word.”

  She’d never heard of such a thing. “An interesting form of foster care.”

  “It is more than that. He will take those children into his home and treat them as his own. I meant what I said—they will not bear the stigma of their father’s crimes.” He urged her toward their tent. “It is often this way with the children of criminals. They are taken in and given a good home. I have never heard of one of them being ill treated. I know the man who claimed them. He will be good to them.”

  She ducked into the tent and found lunch waiting for them. “I guess it really d
oes take a village.”

  “For us it does.”

  He held out her chair, then took the seat across from hers. A young woman carried a tray of food toward them.

  “What happens this afternoon?” Daphne asked as she served herself some salad. “More criminals?”

  “No. The petitions. Anyone may approach me directly and ask me to settle a dispute.”

  “That must keep you busy.”

  He smiled. “Not as busy as you would think. My word is law, and I have a reputation of being stern and difficult. Only the truly brave seek my form of justice.”

  “Are you fair?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “The fate of my people rests in my hands. I do not take that responsibility lightly. I do my best to see both sides of the situation and find the best solution for all concerned.”

  He wasn’t what she thought. At first she’d described Murat as being just like her family—friendly and supportive as long as he got his way. But now she questioned that. He wanted to be a good leader. A good man.

  How did she reconcile that with what he’d done to her? What was the solution to her dilemma? How did she show him that they had to be honest with each other before they had any hope of a relationship together?

  After lunch Murat met with his tribal council, and Daphne went for a walk. She strolled by the makeshift stables and stopped to watch several children play soccer. A young woman approached and bowed.

  “Greetings, Princess,” she said. “I am Aisha. It is a great honor to meet you.”

  “The honor is mine,” Daphne said with a smile.

  The girl was maybe sixteen or seventeen and incredibly beautiful. In the safety of the camp, she left her head uncovered. Her large brown eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as if she found life amusing. Her full mouth curved up at the corners. Jewelry glinted from her ears and caught the sunlight.

  “I must confess I sought you out on purpose,” Aisha said. “I have a petition for the prince, but I dare not deliver it myself.”

  “Why?”

  The girl ducked her head. “My father has forbidden me.”

  Daphne didn’t like the sound of that. “He forbids you to seek justice?”

  She shrugged. “He has offered me in marriage to a man in our tribe. The man is very honorable and wealthy. Instead of my father having to provide me with a dowry, the man will pay him the price of five camels.”

  This would be the part of the old-fashioned desert world Daphne didn’t like so much. “Is your potential fiancé much older?”

  Aisha nodded. “He is nearly fifty and has many children older than me. He swears he loves me and I am to be his last wife, but…”

  “You don’t love him.”

  “I…” The girl swallowed. “I have given my heart to another,” she said in a whisper. “I know it’s wrong,” she added in a rush. “I have defied my father and dishonored my family. I know I should be punished. But marriage to someone so old seems harsh. Please, Princess Daphne, as the wife of the crown prince you are entitled to plead on my behalf. The prince will listen to you.”

  Daphne thought about her own recent marriage and the circumstances involved. “I’m not the right person to take this to the prince. You have to believe me.”

  “You are my only hope.” Tears filled Aisha’s eyes. “I beg you.”

  The girl reached for the gold bangles on her wrists. “Take my jewelry. Take everything I have.”

  “No.” Daphne shook her head. “You don’t need to pay for my support. I…”

  Now what? She felt bad for the girl, but would Murat give his new wife a fair hearing in these circumstances? He had said he took his responsibility very seriously. She would have to trust that…and him.

  “I’ll do it,” she said. “Tell me what you want from the prince.”

  Murat listened as the woman explained why she was entitled to have her dowry returned to her. Her case was strong and in the end, he agreed. The husband, who had only married her for her dowry, sputtered and complained, but Murat stared him down and he retreated. Murat spoke with the leaders of the woman’s tribe to make sure there would be no retribution and gave her permission to contact his office directly if his wishes weren’t followed out.

  Next two men argued over the use of a small spring deep in the desert. Murat gave his ruling, then watched as a veiled woman approached. By the time she’d taken a second step, he knew it was Daphne.

  Why did she seek him so publicly? To petition for her own freedom?

  For a moment he considered the possibility. That she would seek to hold him to the fairness he claimed to offer all. A protest rose within him. There were no words, just the sense that she couldn’t leave. Then he remembered their night of lovemaking and the one that had occurred nearly three weeks before. She could not go until they were sure she was not with child. More than anyone, she understood the law of the land.

  Relief quickly followed, allowing him to relax as she walked toward him. As she reached the dais, she bowed low, then flipped back her head covering to reveal her features. Many in the waiting crowd gasped.

  “I seek justice at the hand of Crown Prince Murat,” she said, then frowned slightly. “You’re not surprised it’s me.”

  “I recognized your walk.”

  “I was covered.”

  “A husband knows such things.”

  Several of the women watching smiled.

  He leaned forward. “Why do you seek my justice? For yourself?”

  “No. For another. I call forward Aisha.”

  A young woman no more than sixteen or seventeen moved next to Daphne. Murat held in a groan. He had a bad feeling he knew what had happened. The girl had approached Daphne and had told a sad story about being forced to marry someone she didn’t love. Daphne had agreed to petition on her behalf.

  Murat looked at the teenager. “Why do you not petition for yourself?” he asked.

  The girl, a beauty, with honey-colored skin and hair that hung to her waist, dropped her chin and stared at the ground. “My father forbade me to do so.”

  Murat shifted back in his chair and waited. Sure enough, someone started pushing through the waiting throng. A man stepped forward and bowed low.

  “Prince Murat, a thousand blessings on you and your family.”

  Murat didn’t speak.

  The man twisted his hands together, bowed again, then cleared his throat. “She is but a child. A foolish young girl who dreams of the stars.”

  Murat didn’t doubt that, but the law was the law. “Everyone is entitled to petition the prince. Even a foolish young girl.”

  “Yes. Of course you are correct. I never dreamed she would seek out your most perfect and radiant wife. May you have a hundred sons. May they be long-lived and fruitful. May—”

  Murat raised his hand to cut off the frantic praise. No doubt the thought of a hundred sons had sent Daphne into a panic. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

  “You see what you have started?”

  “I seek only what is right.”

  Murat sighed and turned his attention to the girl. “All right. Aisha. You have the attention of the prince, and your father is not going to stop you from stating your case. What do you want from me?”

  It was as he expected. Her father wished her to marry an old man with many children.

  “I am the wife he expects to care for him in his waning years,” she said in outrage.

  “And the man in question?” Murat asked.

  There was more movement in the crowd, and a tall, bearded man stepped forward. He had to be in his late fifties. He bore himself well and had the appearance of prosperity about him.

  The man bowed. “I am Farid,” he said in a low voice.

  “You wish to marry this girl?” Murat asked.

  Farid nodded. “She is a good girl and will serve me well.”

  “Instead of asking for a dowry, he offers me five camels,” the father said eagerly. “He has been married before and has lost eac
h wife to illness. Very sad. But all in the village agree the women were well treated.”

  Murat felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. He looked at the girl.

  “There is one more player missing, is there not?”

  Aisha nodded slowly. “Barak. The man I love.”

  Her father gasped in outrage, the fiancé looked patiently indulgent and a steady rumble rose from the crowd.

  At last Barak appeared. He was all of twenty-two or twenty-three. Defiant and terrified at the same time. He bowed low before Murat.

  “You love Aisha, as well?” Murat asked.

  The young man glanced at her, then nodded. “With all my heart. I have been saving money, buying camels. With her dowry, we can buy three more and have a good-size herd. I can provide for her.”

  “I will not give her a dowry,” her father said. “Not for you. Farid is a good man. A better match.”

  “Especially for you,” Murat said. “To be given camels for your daughter instead of having to pay them makes it a fine match.”

  The father did not speak.

  Murat studied Farid. There was something about the color of the skin around his eyes. A grayness.

  “You have sons?” Murat asked the older man.

  “Six, Your Highness.”

  “All married?”

  “Two are not.”

  Murat saw the picture more clearly now. “How long do you have?” he asked Farid.

  The man looked surprised by the question, but he recovered quickly. “At most a year.”

  “What?” the girl’s father asked. “What are you talking about?”

  Murat shook his head. “It is of no matter.” He rose and nodded at his wife. “If you will come with me.”

  He led her to the rear of the tent.

  “What’s going on?” Daphne wanted to know. “Can you do this? Stop the hearing or whatever it is in midsentence? What about Aisha? Are you going to force her to marry that horrible old man?”

  Murat touched her long, blond hair. “That horrible old man is dying. He has less than a year to live.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but the information means Aisha was right. He’s buying her to take care of him in his old age. If he’s so rich, why doesn’t he just hire a nurse?”

 

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