Hot Sahara Wind

by Emma Wildes

  "You will be presented to the king eventually. Right now, Ahmed guards you closely."

  Her cup arrested at her lips, Sarah stared. “Why?"

  An oddly evasive look came over Hamet's face. “This city is a dangerous place,” he murmured unconvincingly. Getting to his feet abruptly, he bowed swiftly and gracefully. “I will return tomorrow at the appointed time for our next lesson, Princess."

  Inclining her head, Sarah said dryly, “Do you always run away rather than explain yourself, Hamet?"

  "Though I mean no disrespect, I will truthfully tell you I am not used to explaining myself to a woman at all,” he said with a slight flush. “In this case, particularly, when the subject is not my place to discuss with you. If you wish to know why there are extra guards posted around the house since your arrival here, ask your husband, Your Highness."

  "I will,” she murmured out loud once he'd gone, sitting alone in the shadowed comfort of the largest courtyard. Frowning, she realized that he must be right, for there always seemed to be several male house servants nearby, and she had noticed that whenever she emerged from her bedchamber, there was at least one in the hallway. What was more, though he hadn't refused her permission to go out into the city, Ahmed sent what felt like a small army with her and Gillian on their several forays out of the house.

  She would take Hamet's advice, Sarah decided as she got to her feet, and would most certainly ask her husband why he was so concerned for her safety.

  * * * *

  Fahir sat in his usual place at the long table, listening to the escalating tone of the debate, watching Omar Aziz through narrowed eyes. The other ministers also seemed intent, some of them nodding each time he spoke, others impassive in implicit disagreement. Ahmed sat next to his oldest brother, and showed no emotion as Omar argued against every new policy he had proposed.

  The older prince, Fahir decided as he leaned back and watched Omar wave his arms in vehement almost threatening movements, was actually helping Ahmed's cause as far as he could tell, by his unreasonable opposition. Had he the prudence to accept some of the changes and fight against the ones he truly disagreed with, the council would listen. However, Omar was beginning to be viewed as a fanatic, and the older, more conservative men who would vote on the trade agreements were not interested in unnecessary conflict.

  It was a little odd, Fahir reflected, that Ahmed's older brother should be so openly opposed. The new treaties would reduce the amount of smuggling and the taxes on exported goods would only add to the royal coffers. Omar's greed was common knowledge.

  When the council adjourned, Fahir waited, already having been granted an audience with the king. Moving slowly into the private antechamber, he sat informally across from the man who was both his sovereign and his friend, and sighed deeply. “You feel the division in your house, my Lord, I'm sure."

  Tall and heavy in the shoulders, with a full dark beard just beginning to show glints of gray, his face a mask of both intelligence and the lines set by decades of royal responsibility, the king nodded and said dryly, “I would have to be blind to not see it, Fahir. Both my sons are strong men. Luckily, Ahmed has always handled Omar well, though they are like two lion cubs in the same pride. The play gets rough from time to time."

  "Yes, Ahmed has learned to manage their hostility, but even he will lose patience if Omar continues to malign his marriage to the English girl. It was a personal choice, not a political one whatever Ahmed might say, and he is very much infatuated with his young bride. Omar's not so oblique insults can only be overlooked for so long."

  The king said slowly, “They have come up against each other before, my friend."

  "True, and Ahmed can defend himself, I do not worry for him if the fight is fair. But I think it is obvious that Omar is losing his ability to reason, his hatred controlling both his mind and soul. I fear a tragedy, my Lord.” Fahir spoke firmly, with all the conviction he felt deep in his aching old bones.

  A glimmer of true concern showed in the other man's eyes. “I value both my sons, so what you say dismays me."

  "And Ahmed values his exquisite wife, my Lord. Your approval of his marriage is not enough ... Omar needs to know that should she come to harm, your wrath would be incurred and justice would be swift and without mercy."

  "I do not think my third son is a coward.” Frowning, his heavy brows together, the king objected with a flourish of his hand. “Attacking a woman is the act of a man who crawls on his belly, not a fine warrior like Omar."

  "As I said before, he is not acting in a reasonable manner. It would be an effective blow—if he could get to her, for she is heavily guarded. That alone tells you that Ahmed is not as convinced as you are of his brother's honor."

  Leaning back in his chair, the king's stare was troubled. “If she is guarded as you say, then surely she is safe, and we have no need to discuss this matter."

  Fahir lifted one brow in a cynical gesture. “I beg leave to argue with you, my Lord, for you have not met her. I am more puzzled than ever at how the English can rule so much of the world when they raise their women to be independent and headstrong. The princess has not yet figured out that every step she takes is shadowed by at least two armed men, but she is intelligent—for a woman—and will most certainly come to realize it. I already can tell you, from our short acquaintance, that she will not like it."

  "I cannot see how her wishes come into this."

  "Ahmed does not feel the same, I promise you. If she insists on his removing the guard, he might agree to please her."

  In obvious exasperation, the king said bluntly, “Then he would be a fool."

  "A lovesick fool, perhaps,” Fahir agreed. “But I remember well the tale of a rash young man who once raided an enemy town and risked his royal neck to abduct a beautiful half-French maiden named Gisele. She was a peasant girl, not worthy to be his queen, but he married her anyway. I believe she was your mother, was she not?"

  There was a short silence and the king gave a muffled laugh. “Ahmed has always actually reminded me of my father, perhaps that is why he is my favorite child. A strong man in body and character, but with a romantic soul. You are too persuasive, Fahir, you always have been. I concede to your uneasy imaginings and will make it very clear that my son's English bride is now my daughter, the vessel that will bear my grandchildren. In turn, you must promise me to keep an eye on the situation."

  With painful effort due to his infirmities, Fahir stood and bowed. “I will, my Lord, rest assured."

  * * * *

  "The mixture is of dates, nuts, and honey,” Ahmed said with an indulgent smile. “And I am glad if it pleases you."

  "As I have had three pieces,” Sarah confessed, laughing and licking her lower lip in an unconsciously tantalizing motion, “I would guess it does please me. I have a weakness for sweets."

  His gaze drifted over her lissome slender form, taking in the curve of bosom and hip, and the long length of her legs. Dressed in the garb of the women of his country, she looked both evocatively enchanting and still overtly foreign, her long golden tresses a contrast to the rich silken fabric that draped her perfect body. He murmured, “One would never know it."

  Color rose to her cheeks, but her gaze did not waver. “My shape gives pleasure to you, my Lord?"

  "Oh ... yes.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I believe you know it does, my Lady."

  Her smile was a teasing curve of those tempting lips. “I suspected it might,” Sarah said with a light musical laugh that enchanted him, her dark blue eyes alight, “on one or two occasions."

  Leaning forward slightly, Ahmed said, “Last night, I believe it was four occasions."

  Her blush intensified, and she glanced at where a manservant stood by the doorway into the house, hovering there in case they needed more wine or plates cleared away. “Perhaps tonight we can make it five, my Lord,” she whispered mischievously, the sensual suggestion making a streak of sexual need shoot through his body straight to his groin, his t
esticles tightening in instant preparation for arousal.

  His luscious wife often surprised him with her candor and sense of humor, but she never failed to captivate his attention, both in bed and out of it. In fact, he had been distracted their entire meal by her every movement, his impatience to get her to bed evident in the almost animal craving he felt to touch and take her. Ahmed, not nearly as caring of listening servants, replied smoothly, “That is a particular challenge I accept. Perhaps we should get started at once, in fact. Do you want another sweet, my dear, or are you quite finished?"

  It was barely dusk and Sarah looked a little startled at his abrupt statement, sending another self-conscious look at the young man who stood so impassively a short distance away. “I'm quite ... satisfied,” she stammered.

  "I am not.” He didn't even attempt to hide the desire in his eyes as he studied the opulent curve of her full breasts, his gaze fastening on the hidden glory of the lush flesh lifting the silken cloth of her gown. “In fact, I am famished, beautiful Sarah."

  Rising, he stepped around the low table inlaid with gleaming tiles and ebony, hearing her faint gasp as he swept her up in his arms. She tasted like warm honey and wine, her lips parting under the pressure of his mouth even as she slid her arms around his neck. He held her there, relishing the prolonged pleasure of simply holding and kissing her until they were both slightly breathless. When he lifted his head, her eyes were half-shut and her lips curved in a provocative smile that made his heart begin to beat a fraction faster, incipient lust stiffening his already burgeoning erection. She said in a husky tone, “Maybe I still have an appetite as well, Your Highness."

  "Let's see if we can't assuage our hunger.” In a few swift strides, he carried her into the house, the bowing servant opening the door for their passage. His wife seemed to have forgotten, or at least dismissed the idea of embarrassment, for she kissed his neck as they went down the long hallway, her soft caress artless but infinitely erotic.

  Though in the past he had always taken his time with his young bride, both out of care for her innocence and his own pleasure in the leisurely pursuit of carnal release, this time he felt an impatience that could not be denied. Shouldering his way into the bedroom, he crossed to where his bed sat on a small dais, the soft sweet scent of incense drifting in the air.

  Sarah made no protest as he laid her down and pulled her skirts up her legs. Her slim thighs were pale and smooth and the pale gold triangle of hair at their juncture was soft and silky. “Forgive my impatience,” Ahmed told her, his fingers deftly unfastening his pants so his rigid erection was freed, urgent fierce desire making his entire body pulse, “but this first time, I cannot wait."

  Climbing on top of her, both of them still dressed, he quickly shoved her legs apart and positioned himself, pushing his rigid, throbbing penis into her welcoming warmth with a low groan of satisfaction. Beneath him, Sarah lay in willing acceptance of his impetuous penetration, closing her eyes as he began to thrust in and out, her subtle movements fluid and erotic in response.

  It was most definitely not tender, romantic lovemaking, but instead an almost primitive mating. Usually a man who prided himself on control in all areas of his life, Ahmed found himself bent on his pounding need for sexual release, pumping between her legs with hard long strokes, feeling the glorious transformation of the body of the woman he wanted with such tremendous and overwhelming lust as she approached orgasmic climax. Her legs opened further and her knees came up to allow him to thrust as deep as possible, shallow sighs turning into wild moans as her nails bit into his shoulders through his fine linen shirt. Her sex grew warmer, and her sexual fluids coated his surging penetration, the gliding friction of their intercourse incredible. Just moments after he had so summarily dumped her on the bed and entered her, both of them shuddered in exquisite, blissful intemperate sensation, her climax rippling around his flexing cock as he let the hot, overwhelming rush of fiery sexual release take over.

  When he could breathe again, Ahmed laughed, a low echoing sound. “I am not sure what astounds me more, beautiful Sarah, your passion or mine. Rest assured, you have my sincere apologies."

  Her fingers drifted through his hair in an intoxicatingly tender gesture. Her blue eyes were heavy with a heated light as she gazed up at him. “I don't think I am sure why you are contrite, my Lord."

  His smile was rueful, though he made no move to withdraw, their half-dressed bodies nestled intimately together. “I did not undress or ready you."

  "Did I not seem ready?” she asked, her laugh warm and mellow.

  That was true, she had been wet and yielding, and there was little doubt she had enjoyed their intercourse every bit as much as he had. Ahmed stroked the soft curve of her cheek, his gaze serious. “I have never felt such desire for anyone,” he confessed haltingly. “I am not used to it."

  "Sex is not what I expected either,” his lovely wife said with a thoughtful frown. “I always had the impression it was more of a duty than a pleasure. Of course, I suppose if everyone knew it was so wonderful, there would be no chaste young ladies left in this world."

  He couldn't help it, he laughed. Ahmed nuzzled the side of her graceful neck, nibbling a little on her earlobe. “You enchant me,” he told her in his native tongue, “Your body is a shrine I worship, I am your slave and your master, and you are mine. I will keep you always in my heart for I love you."

  Still clad in her silken gown, her hair loosened from the pins she used and spread across the linen sheets, her skirts bunched between them as he rested still between her legs, Sarah asked softly, “What did you just say?"

  He kissed her, this time without the rapacious need of earlier, but instead like a lover, wooing her mouth with his lips and tongue. When he lifted his head, he said in English, “In time, you will understand."

  "Why do think I am taking lessons from Hamet?” she told him with her usual charming candor. “I love it when you speak to me like that, but I have no idea what you are saying and it is a little frustrating, if you want the truth."

  His erection was already returning, he could feel the pleasurable stiffening as it lengthened inside her slick warm vaginal passage. “We can't have you frustrated,” Ahmed teased, not sure he was ready yet to tell her he loved her when she could understand, not even sure if she would realize how astounding his conviction that he truly felt that way was to him. He'd known back in England two years ago that he was infatuated ... but what man wouldn't be captivated by her perfect, female beauty? However, he hadn't quite anticipated not being able to forget her, nor the pleasure he now took not only in her splendidly responsive body, but her company as well.

  Tentatively, he moved, sliding back a fraction. Her eyes widened, and she said, “Oh."

  "We'll undress the next time,” he suggested with a wicked grin. “Unless, of course, you didn't mean it when you tested my manhood with your contest.” He slid almost all the way out, his shaft swelling even more at the delicious friction. “Five times, I believe it was?"

  "Or six,” Sarah whispered as she gasped when he sank back in as far as he could.

  Drowning in rapturous sensation, Ahmed darkly promised his English bride, “I'll see what I can do, my Lady."

  Chapter 6

  Her husband was asleep, his tall, nude body relaxed and taking up most of the bed, the natural sprawl of his slumber undoubtedly pure physical exhaustion. Also pleasantly and thoroughly tired, Sarah still found for some reason that she simply could not drop off, and she slipped out of bed, beckoned by the cool breeze. Wandering to the tall open windows overlooking the enclosed garden, she leaned there, letting the night air wash over her damp skin and play with the loosened strands of her long hair.

  Was it possible, she asked herself with a sort of uneasy lassitude, to separate the sensual communion she felt with Ahmed from the more practical considerations of day-to-day life? Aunt Gillian would sail back home in a few weeks, maybe even sooner, and she would be left alone in this new, exotic world, with no frie
nds except the man she had married ... and they were even essentially strangers except in the bedroom.

  Well, that wasn't precisely true, Sarah reminded herself quickly. He was William's friend, and she knew his teasing humor and keen mind, not to mention his sense of honor and duty. However, he was a busy man, and if the past week was any indication, had little time for her during the day.

  At night however...

  Turning, Sarah studied his slightly averted, classic profile, the width of his powerful shoulders, the play of light on his long muscled form, the dark silk of his hair stark on the white cool linens of the bed. Her face warmed as she remembered the sexual excess of the past few hours. He had taken her time and again, sometimes slowly, with careful licentious seduction, and sometimes with heated swift need, his ardor leaving her both languorously fulfilled and unreasonably hungry for more. Race and culture aside, there was certainly a common meeting ground between her and her handsome husband in bed, she realized wryly.

  But was that enough?

  A sound, very slight, made her turn back toward the window, her gaze scanning the darkened confines of the formally laid-out garden. Surrounded by tall walls to shut out the city sights and smells, it was an oasis of color and fragrance, protected and sheltered and utterly still in the filtered starlight. Except, Sarah saw with some alarm, that a figure moved slowly in that peaceful sanctuary, creeping along one of the geometrical paths, the covert stealth of the progress making her shrink back slightly, very suddenly aware of her nudity and the open window.

  As she watched, the man glanced up, as if he sensed she watched him, his dark face a gleam in the shadows.

  Surely one of the guards that Hamet had admitted were around wouldn't walk with such caution, as if afraid of discovery? Peering out, half-wrapping part of the soft damask drape around her body, Sarah realized something else with an indrawn breath ... the man held something in his hand that gleamed as the tearing clouds above parted, perhaps a knife ... it was difficult to tell.