Sultan Eshan Jaleem was a cruel man with a penchant for exacting severe punishments upon those who garnered his disfavor. His son was not exempt from the Sultan’s retribution and his body bore the scars to prove it. As a result of the vicious beatings he had taken over the years, his dreams were filled with brutal nightmares that brought him awake gasping, his heart pounding furiously.
That early morn in the midst of a howling monsoon was no different.
Ardalan sat up, his eyes glazed and wide, dragging quick, shallow breaths into his lungs. The crimson-splattered vision that had driven him from sleep was a monster sitting on his chest, crushing him beneath the weight of memory.
“It was but a dream, Prince Ardalan,” Sitara said softly, hoping not to startle him as she too sat up.
He snapped his head around and looked at her, no recognition in his wild stare.
“I am Sitara, daughter of the Kishnu Maharaja. Do you remember?” she asked.
Raking a violently trembling hand through his hair, Ardalan nodded, unable to speak past the wicked lump lodged in his throat. He could barely draw air past the obstruction of what he knew was a terrible memory of his father’s hands choking him, closing off his windpipe.
“Your wounds?” she gently inquired. “Are they better?”
He looked down at his bare chest, frowning, and put a hand to the deepest cut. He winced only a little as he pushed at it. “It seems all right,” he replied, his voice husky.
“We thought it best not to dress it until this morning so it could drain,” she told him. “It doesn’t look as though it needed to.”
“I heal fairly quickly,” he said gruffly. His dream had come back to him with a jolt that left him fighting the urge to blush like a green boy.
“That is good.” She crawled over to him and gave the wounds a quick look. “That is very good.”
“Why did you help me?” he asked. “If I remember rightly, you reminded me we are sworn enemies.”
“I did not say I was your enemy. I said my people wish your death, but they do not know what I have learned of you. You had no desire to invade my land,” she said. “You argued against it. You only did what your father and sultan ordered you to do.” She drew in a long breath. “I too know what it is like to be forced to do a royal bidding.”
Ardalan was being bombarded with the scent of her body—musk mixed with the tang of cinnamon, and he ached to run his hands over her honey-colored skin. He had to fight down the temptation.
Halim entered the little room and smiled briefly at Sitara before bowing respectfully to his prince. “You are feeling better, my Prince?” he inquired.
“Well enough,” Ardalan replied, indicating he wished Halim to sit down so he didn’t have to crane his neck to look up at him. “There’s a problem?”
“You know me too well,” Halim said. He hunkered down. “We are surrounded by thousands of very angry religious fanatics. Isn’t that problem enough?”
Sitara sat back on her heels. “I would not call my people fanatics, Captain,” she corrected. “But I agree with you, they are angry. You have desecrated sacred grounds by camping here.”
“We had no idea what these caves were,” Ardalan said. “Had we known, we would not have chosen them.”
She stared into his eyes, gauging his words, then nodded slowly. “I believe you,” she said.
Ardalan had known the moment men had begun arriving from every quadrant of the horizon that he had badly miscalculated by sending his men into the caves. In trying to fight their way out of the valley, the land had become a quagmire of blood and his troops had been forced back into the safety of the caves. Now, they were trapped.
“The maharaja has sent an emissary,” Halim stated. “He awaits an audience with you.”
“Where is he?” Ardalan asked. “This emissary?”
“Sitting his mount in the rain,” Halim replied. “He came alone.”
“A brave man,” Ardalan remarked. He shifted position, flinching as his wounds pulled at his flesh. “Well, go get him. No doubt he’s here to tell me we’ll never leave these caves alive.”
Sitara realized the Asaraban was trying to put on his robes and got to her knees, crawling over to him to help him. It was difficult to do with the man sitting and she made sure she didn’t look down for she had already glimpsed an enticing view of his naked flanks. As she moved behind his back, she drew in a shocked breath.
“Not a pretty sight, is it?” Ardalan asked.
The prince’s back was crisscrossed with scar tissue, most of it widely furrowed. A dark red patch stood out near his shoulder and she realized it was a brand of some sort.
“He did this to you,” she said on a breath of sound.
“And enjoyed every pass of the cat,” he said. “If memory serves, he laughed when the brand was applied.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember anything save my own screams.”
“But his own son,” she said, and her eyes filled with tears at the tremendous pain this man had suffered at the hands of his father.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ardalan said as he pulled his garment up and stuck his arms into the sleeves. “There was never any love lost between us.”
Sitara started to speak but stopped, turning her face toward the sound of voices beyond the room. She put a hand to her chest, her face reflecting a sudden fear.
“You know the emissary?” Ardalan asked, for he too had heard the voice of the Kishnu male speaking with Halim.
“Aye,” Sitara said, lowering her eyes. “He is my betrothed.”
Ardalan’s eyes narrowed. He felt like a werehound, his hackles coming up at the thought of another male having laid claim to the princess, but he had no chance to question her as Halim led the Kishnu man into the room.
“Prince Ardalan,” Halim said, “may I present Prince Sahan Kapoor?”
The Kishnu bowed slightly but his eyes never left Sitara. He spoke to her rather than acknowledging Ardalan. “You are well, Princess?” he inquired in their native Kishnu.
“I am,” Sitara answered.
“Have you suffered abuse at the hands of the Asarabans?”
Sitara shook her head. “No, I have not. They have treated me with respect and honor.”
Switching his attention to Ardalan, the Kishnu straightened to his full height, staring at his enemy with ill-disguised contempt. “What will it take to return Princess Sitara to her father unharmed?” he asked.
Without asking for help, Ardalan got to his feet. He did not seem in the least encumbered by the wounds that had laid him low and stood straight and tall, though Sitara knew he had to still be in pain. “You are assuming I ordered her abduction to use her as a bargaining point with your maharaja.”
Sahan’s expression did not change. “We know you did. What will it take to free her?”
Ardalan turned his gaze to Sitara. He found himself staring at the tattoo on the top of the woman’s right hand. It was the symbol of the Kishnu royal family and marked her as the daughter of the maharaja. The Asaraban prince knew just how much tattoos could hurt when applied to a bony part of the body for he had one around each wrist. The thought of her suffering brought out a protective instinct in him he found undeniable.
Sitara met Ardalan’s stare and felt the jolt of it all the way to her belly. She had to look away from that intensity, feeling her heart slamming against her ribs as she did.
“What if we were to sue for peace between us?” Ardalan countered, shocking the others in the room.
Halim took a step forward. “My Prince,” he said in Asaraban. “Your father will not approve of such a ploy. He will be furious.”
“So let him,” Ardalan answered in Asaraban. “I am allowed more than one wife according to the Prophet.”
“Ardalan!” Halim shouted, forgetting himself. His face had lost its normal ruddy color.
“Be still, Halim,” Ardalan said. “I know what I am about.”
“This is most unwise,” Halim pronounced. “Most unwise!�
�� He cast Sitara an accusing look. She was looking back at him with wide eyes.
Sitara understood the Asaraban language and she knew something monumental was happening. The glare coming from the captain made her look to Sahan for protection.
“In what manner are you suing for peace?” Sahan asked in stilted Obinese, ignoring Sitara.
“It is my desire to take the Princess Sitara to wife.”
Sitara’s felt those words spinning around inside her head—making her dizzy—yet she could not move, could not speak.
“His majesty will not wish to ally his beloved daughter with one such as you,” Sahan said with a smirk. “This much I know.”
“He will if he wishes her to remain among the living,” Ardalan said brutally, drawing Sitara’s shocked stare to him. “Either he hands her into my keeping or she will die here with me and mine.”
“This is preposterous!” Sahan proclaimed. “Why would you wish such a thing?” He was not speaking to Sitara but to the man his people had labeled The Evil One.
“I find our psyches mesh well together,” Ardalan replied. “I need no other reason than that.”
Sahan flicked a quick look over Sitara then lifted his head. “I will relay your offer to the maharaja but—”
“It was not an offer,” Ardalan interrupted him. “It was a statement. Either she comes to me as my bride or she will die here with me.”
Sahan bowed stiffly—though not nearly as respectfully or judiciously as he should have—then spun on his heel and stalked off, pushing Halim aside as though the captain were nothing more than a gnat buzzing about Kapoor’s head.
“Do you know what you have done?” Halim asked, staring at Ardalan.
Ardalan turned his attention to Sitara. “Do you find it as strange as I do that a man whom you told me was your betrothed did not mention that information to me?”
Sitara was trembling. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing would come out.
“I find it very strange, indeed,” Ardalan said then calmly lowered himself to the pallet once more. He put a hand to his head.
“Ardalan,” Halim said, squatting down beside his prince. “This is not a game.”
“I know that, Halim.”
“You are doing something for which I fear you will pay dearly.” Halim’s face was tight with concern.
“Your Grace, rescind the offer,” she asked. “The captain can tell Sahan you were not in your right mind. That you were under the fever’s influence and—”
“It wasn’t an offer,” Ardalan said, rubbing at his temple. “I told him it wasn’t an offer.”
“If you are concerned about your men’s safety, I will intercede with my father. I will explain to him you did not know this was holy ground when you camped here. I will tell him you were against the invasion from the start. If you promise to take your troops back across the Dingir, leave our lands, I will make sure you leave without being attacked,” Sitara promised.
“Do whatever you like, pretty one,” he said. “Either way, you will be my bride.”
With that said, he pitched backwards, unconscious.
Chapter Four
“He’s asleep again?” Sabir asked, pointing at his prince. He’d come just in time to see Ardalan pass out. It was obvious from his tone that he was annoyed at having been left out of the meeting with the emissary.
“Passed out,” Halim said. He looked to Sitara as she put a hand to the unconscious man’s cheek.
Her brows drew together. “Does he suffer from headaches?”
“On occasion,” Halim replied.
“He has one now,” she told them. “What do they give him for it?”
“Tenerse,” Halim answered, “but since it is so highly addictive, they are very careful how much.”
“I agree,” Sitara said. “There is another drug which—”
“Will no doubt do him more harm than good,” Sabir interrupted.
Halim’s eyes nearly popped from his head when the dark woman moved almost quicker than the eye could see. Her right hand went to Sabir’s neck and she shoved him against the wall, holding him there with what seemed to be little effort.
“Let us get something straight between us, Major,” she said, spitting out his title as though it were a bad taste. “I am sick of listening to your complaints, your innuendoes, your insinuations—and I am even sicker of the tone of voice you use when speaking to me. I am a person of royal blood and I will have your respect one way or another.” Her lips were pulled back from her teeth as she spoke to Sabir and her gaze narrowed to a pinpoint of dislike. “Leave off now before you make me lose my temper.” She tightened her grip around the man’s neck. “You don’t want to make me lose my temper!”
Sabir’s feet were a good four inches from the floor as he dangled there on the wall. Under no stretch of his imagination could he have expected a woman of the princess’ size—or any woman for that matter—to have such incredible strength. When she released him, he slid down the wall to his ass with his legs splayed in front of him and coughed, rubbing his abused throat and gasping for breath.
“It is not in my nature to act in such a manner,” Sitara apologized to Halim, “but I have had all of his insulting behavior I could take. Forgive me, Captain.”
“No apology necessary, Your Grace,” Halim said. From the look on his face, he was just as stunned as Sabir at the power the diminutive woman could wield.
Sabir was struggling to breathe. His throat was bruising quickly, dark marks left by the princess’ fingers livid on his flesh. His eyes were watering as he sat there wheezing.
“Oh you are not hurt that badly,” Sitara snapped. “Get up and be about your business before I really do you harm.”
Scrambling to get up, Sabir kept his hand to his throat. The pain he was experiencing was stamped on his pale face.
“You asked for it, Sabir,” Halim pointed out calmly. “Perhaps you will be a bit more circumspect in voicing your opinions henceforth.” He arched a thick, shaggy brow. “Besides, it is not wise to get on the bad side of your prince’s bride-to-be.”
Sabir snapped his head around to stare at Halim.
Halim nodded. “Prince Ardalan sent the emissary packing, telling him the only way the princess will be safe is if she becomes the bride of The Evil One.”
“No,” Sabir said, his voice husky. “You must have heard wrong. He—”
“He heard correctly,” Ardalan said quietly, and they each turned to look down at him. “Get out of here, Sabir, until you can behave as you should to my bride.”
Disbelief spread over Sabir’s face and he hurried from the room, a low, keening sound coming from the very core of him.
“He’ll not be your best man,” Sitara said emphatically. “That much I know for sure!”
Ardalan held out his hand to her and she took it, coming to sit down beside him. “You have accepted my decision?” he asked.
She searched his face, looking for any sign of discomfort. There was pain there—lurking in his dark brown gaze—and a fine, white line circled his lips to indicate the agony he was enduring. “Captain,” she asked. “Ask Kiyan to bring me a brewing of rosemary and vervain tea.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Halim responded and left.
“You didn’t answer me,” Ardalan reminded her.
“Do I have a choice in the matter?” she countered, too aware of his hand holding hers.
“No.”
She shrugged. “Then what difference does it make whether I have accepted your decision or not?”
He smiled slightly. “You are an opinionated woman.”
Sitara’s lips twitched. “And do not forget that, Jaleem.”
“Ardalan,” he corrected.
“It would be highly improper for me to use your given name until the ceremony has been performed over us,” she said primly.
“I know of no other woman who would dare speak to me in such a way as do you,” he said.
“Perhaps they do not speak as I
do because if you are the mean person you named yourself, they fear doing so. I can see you intimidating women.”
He laughed then winced, putting his free hand to his right temple. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.”
Sitara eased her hand from his, although he tried to keep it captive. She moved so she could sit behind him on her haunches, lifting his head to place it on her crooked knees. “Close your eyes,” she said as she put her fingertips to either side of his temples and began rubbing in a circular pattern.
“Your fingers are cool,” he said. Images from his dream flooded his mind and he shifted uncomfortably.
“I have found the cold helps such headaches as yours. A compress will help greatly.”
“Less tension in my life will help more,” he said on a long sigh.
“True,” she agreed.
“When did you know you had the gift to heal?” he asked.
She smoothed the dark fall of his hair back from his forehead and began massaging his scalp. “I was five, I believe,” she answered. “My pet was bitten by a viper. I was very upset that he might die and I prayed to the goddess Jivanta to help me. She answered in a way no one expected.”
“Jivanta is the goddess who gives life,” he said.
“You know a bit about our culture, don’t you?” she asked.
“I made it a point to learn what I could of your people before I crossed the Dingir.”
“Yes, it is wise to know your enemy.”
“It is polite to know something of the culture of the lands you visit.”
“Ah,” she said, tugging playfully at his thick hair. “But you were not visiting, milord. You were invading.”
He opened his eyes and looked up at her. “Not I, milady. I did not invade your world.”
Desert Wind Page 5