by Emma Wildes
In retrospect, she should have asked about the supposed danger that had her husband concerned enough he kept armed men around the house day and night.
Moving back toward the bed, Sarah laid a hand on her husband's bare shoulder. “Ahmed?"
He awakened instantly, his impressive muscles tensing, shaking the dark hair out of his eyes as he sat up quickly. “What is it?"
Wordlessly, she pointed to the open window.
To both her relief and horror, Ahmed reached under the bed in a swift lithe movement and pulled out a very businesslike knife, the blade glittering wickedly, the honed metal reflecting the meager light. “Stay back,” he said quietly. “Sarah, do as I say."
She said in a hushed whisper. “Please, be careful."
Jerking on his trousers, he glided in swift steps to the window, a portrait of male strength and formidable protectiveness, the knife held as if he knew exactly how to use it. Glancing out, he slid over the sill without hesitation in one athletic smooth movement. Her heart pounding, Sarah pulled one of the sheets from the disheveled bed and wrapped it around her trembling naked body, obediently waiting. However, when she heard a male voice utter a low oath, unmistakable even in a foreign language, and then several sickening thuds, she could not help it, but rushed to the window, trying to swallow a choking rush of fear.
Two dark figures grappled in the shadows thrown by wall and leaf, Ahmed recognizable because of his half-dressed state. Even as she watched in terrified disbelief, they both lurched sideways as they struggled, falling and rolling out of her sight behind a bank of shrubbery. Seconds later, there was a cry—this time a scream of pain, and one of the two men rose slowly to his feet, his chest heaving. Head lifted, he seemed to be listening, turning as he scanned the garden for further danger.
In the faint light from a thinning moon, she saw with a relief that made her knees turn to water the gleam of a bare, well-muscled chest. Sagging against the sill, she waited as he came back along the path toward where she sat, seeing with a sort of fascinated horror the dripping knife in his hand and the dark smears across his torso. Her husband said calmly as he approached the open window, “I see you took my order very seriously, my Lady, and obeyed without question."
"I never agreed,” she argued automatically, her dilated gaze on what was obviously blood all over his upper body, “I was too frightened for you to just sit there. Oh, Ahmed, are you injured?"
"It is not my blood,” with graceful precision, he came back into the room as easily as he left it, vaulting over the sill, “though it certainly would have been if our murderous visitor had his way. He must have seen me come out the window for he was more than ready to attack."
"He tried to kill you?” It still seemed incomprehensible to her that just moments before two men had fought violently right in front of her.
"The only thing he said to me was ‘to the death'.” Bloody and disheveled, Ahmed smiled thinly, nothing of humor in the cold curve of his mouth. “I had no choice but to oblige him."
"Dear God.” Sarah clutched the sheet and stared at him.
He bowed then, the movement of a courtier, polite and cultured, even with a gory weapon still in his hand. “Forgive me, Sarah, but I have to see what has happened to the two men who were supposed to be watching this side of the house and alert the others there has been trouble. Go back to bed, for there is no more danger, I will make sure of it."
"I will wait for you,” she said with a small, half-hysterical laugh, “for I somehow think sleep will be more elusive than ever. Ahmed, why would someone wish you harm? Did you know him?"
"I did not recognize him, no. And I have enemies, like any other man. Now, please, you are shivering. Get back into bed and if you wish to wait, I will return as soon as possible."
This time Sarah did comply, slipping back between the sheets and pulling the blankets up to her chin. Shocked and disturbed, she lay there, pondering what had just happened.
Her husband said he had enemies, and she supposed that was true, for he was in a position of power and influenced the economics and policies of his country—Hamet had told her so.
Her husband's cousin had also admitted the guards had been increased since her arrival. If his marriage to her put Ahmed in danger, she was essentially responsible for what had just happened. It was a terrible thought, considering he might have been injured or even killed.
She had been petrified, she realized.
Because she was falling in love with her handsome, warrior prince.
* * * *
Spearing a morsel of tender chicken braised with olives and lemon, Fahir said carefully, “It is a pity you killed him, Your Highness. He might have told us ... if influenced properly—who hired him. As I understand it, he was a mercenary, a Portuguese thug who sold his blade for coin."
Ruefully rubbing his bruised jaw, Ahmed replied, “He certainly had no problem using his fists. I am lucky he did not knock me senseless and achieve his mission for I didn't expect such a hard blow."
"The question is, what exactly was his mission, my Lord?"
Though he had barely eaten half his food, the young prince Fahir had nurtured into manhood set aside his spoon, his expression darkening. “I know you believe Sarah might be a target, but it makes little sense to attack while I am there and able to defend her."
"Forgive me, but if the princess had not been awake and gone to the window, would you have even have known defense was needed? You are both young and lusty, and it is no secret in a household this size that you take great pleasure in your new bride. Walls have ears, as do servants.” Fahir added bluntly, “Vigorous, sexual intercourse so often will tire any man, no matter how healthy and strong. And if you haven't thought of this already, please contemplate that you are certain to impregnate her soon, if you haven't already, with your impatient lust. Then you will not only have a wife to keep from harm, but also a growing child. Two men are already dead, for the assassin killed your guards without mercy."
Getting up from the table and pacing across the tiled floor, Ahmed said in evident frustration, “What would you have me do? I have hired guards, she sleeps only with me, and I make sure I have a weapon at ready. And when she goes out, I send ten men with her and her aunt, all of them well-trained and on the alert for any threat."
Since he had been Prince Ahmed's advisor his entire life, Fahir also felt the weight of responsibility for the danger he was certain existed. “It would be better if Omar struck again sooner, while we are anticipating it, rather than later. If he bides his time, we will naturally relax as the days pass and nothing happens, it is only usual to do so."
"I have spent my entire life trying to avoid confrontation with my brother.” Stopping by a lemon tree, the heavy fruit bright in the hot, midday sun, Ahmed looked once again like that sometimes uncertain young boy of the past, his sculpted features a caricature of pain and anger. “Since I have never understood his hatred for me, I cannot understand him. We are blood ... and I have no problems with any of my other brothers, as you well know. It is both bewildering and infuriating that I cannot simply enjoy the fact I am in love with a beautiful, enchanting woman without the horrendous fear of somehow losing her to this unnatural feud."
Since there was no doubt of the prince's sincerity ... and because Fahir had seen with his own eyes the way the younger man looked at his English wife, he felt a sort of grim resignation. “You are too romantic, Your Highness. It would be infinitely better if you simply used her as a woman should be and kept your emotions disengaged. However, since this is how you feel, we must form a plan to protect your bride. It would not hurt to perhaps teach her how to defend herself. Once again, we cannot anticipate everything, it is not possible, unless you wish to lock her in a fortified room and never let her out."
Returning to the table and sinking down, Ahmed lifted a dark brow, saying wryly, “I cannot quite see her agreeing to that plan, Fahir."
Recalling the princess’ independent spirit and her curious and open nat
ure, Fahir had a hard time picturing it as well. “Then I suggest asking Hamet to extend her language lessons to include some basic training in how to handle a weapon, something light that a slender woman could use with ease. You must also present her to your father at once. I predict he will be intrigued by her beauty, and since there is no doubting your affection for the princess when you are together, he will understand at once her value in your eyes."
"Unfortunately, so will Omar,” Ahmed muttered, taking a sip from his cup, his face moody.
"I, too, feared that, but I think he already knows, since it is not a secret ... so it is better if your brother realizes he will incur your father's wrath should she come to harm and his name be implicated."
Across the table, Ahmed looked at him with a steady, even gaze. “I don't know if that will stop him. If the trade agreements I negotiated are ratified, my brother will look like a fool for his unreasonable objections."
Reluctantly, Fahir agreed. “The wind blows in your favor, my Lord. Even the most stubborn of your father's advisors see the wisdom of better commerce with more powerful countries. And yes, Omar will be enraged and feel betrayed. His reason is slipping."
Restlessly, Ahmed stood again. Curtly, he said, “Excuse me, Fahir, but I am no longer hungry. I will speak with Hamet at once about Sarah and arrange an audience with my father."
"May I also suggest men posted outside your bedroom window and the door just in case you become ... overly fatigued after you and the princess retire, Your Highness?"
A small flash of amusement came and went in the prince's face. “I can show some restraint."
"Are you certain?"
Ahmed laughed, a soft sound. “Actually, no. All right, since I can hardly ignore the three deaths last night, I will agree to armed men at my bedroom door and in the garden. Any other suggestions?"
Kill Omar first, Fahir wanted to say, but refrained. Instead, he murmured, “It sounds like a good start, my Lord."
* * * *
Sarah looked at the object in her hand and then again at the man standing in front of her. “I beg your pardon?"
"Try to stab me,” Hamet said patiently, as if she were a child not paying attention. “Lift the weapon so,” he raised his arm in a gesture mimicking someone holding a dagger, “with the blade down, because the greatest force can be applied that way, and come at me."
"This,” Sarah said with conviction, “is nonsensical. What if I should actually hurt you?"
At that the young man in front of her laughed, his dark eyes twinkling. “You won't, Princess, I promise you that.” Standing in the tiled courtyard, the shaded confines peaceful and serene, he looked completely amused.
"If I am not capable of doing it, then why try?” she asked, a little insulted; though she was certain he was right. Not only was he a good eight inches taller, he weighed at least twice as much as she did, and moved like a dancer, all rippled muscles and agility. However, his superior attitude always irritated her, though they were reaching a tentative truce on the subject of women and their capabilities.
"You are capable,” he informed her, “but do not yet know how."
"This seems ridiculous,” she muttered, “and if Ahmed had not asked me to do it, I would think you are insane. All right, I will try, but I warn you, if I should as much as scratch you, I will feel terrible."
"So would I.” His smile was wide, white teeth gleaming. “For my royal cousin would ever taunt me on being bloodied by a woman. The sheer shame of being injured by such an inferior creature would cripple my pride."
For the first time in their acquaintance, she felt he was teasing her and not sincere in such an outrageous observation. Sarah said tartly, “Considering the supposed supreme mastery of your sex, cousin, I am sure you have nothing to fear. Though once or twice, I have considered doing you physical harm for your outdated and less than flattering opinion of my gender."
"I have noticed. And you are wrong, of course, for I find women delightful ... in the capacity for which they exist.” He chuckled at her glare, backing so he was a few paces across the tiled space. “Now, remember, your weapon is an extension of your body, my Lady. Use your brain and instincts rather than physical force. That is how a man who weighs less than his attacker, as Ahmed did last night, can best his opponent. He did not use brute strength, but skill, to kill him."
At the reminder of the horrible events of the previous evening, Sarah felt herself pale. “Hamet, please, I do not want to recall what happened."
"I'm sorry,” he said apologetically, “but that is why we are here, doing this. You must realize this is not a game, but your husband is in earnest about you having a sense of how to deal with someone who might mean you harm. Now, please try it."
It was almost mortifying how easily he deflected her attempted blow, and in an instant, she was captured by a pair of strong arms, and rendered helpless and weaponless. Though his grip was respectful, it was relentless, and Sarah felt a surge of panic at her vulnerability, never before having experienced exactly the disparity between her own strength and that of a healthy, adult male. It was true, she thought as she struggled ineffectually, that Ahmed seemed able to lift her effortlessly in his arms, as if she were a child and not a grown woman, but she hadn't ever thought of it in terms of her own safety. Raised in a pampered environment, in a world where gentlemen treated ladies with deference and care, she was unprepared for any kind of confrontation that involved physical force.
Hamet let her go, handing back the knife. “This time,” he instructed, apparently taking his role of teacher very seriously, “come at me with organized force, my Lady. That means I want you to think about what I might do to deflect the blow, and attempt to circumvent my reaction. You have just learned you cannot compete with my strength. However, your brain is agile, is it not? Use it to assess my weaknesses, to gauge my intentions."
He was correct, Sarah discovered in the next hour or so, though he was stronger and undeniably faster, she managed with his suggestions to at least hang on to her weapon by the end of their session. Out of breath and disheveled, her long hair having tumbled loose and hanging down her back, she also learned of the most potent vulnerability of a male by accidentally bringing her knee up into Hamet's groin, his response entirely genuine as his grip loosened and he groaned out loud. Jerking away, she whirled, knife in hand, and had it been a real contest, might have actually inflicted damage.
"Enough, my Lady,” he said in a choked voice, half-bent over, “for you have already unmanned me. However, that is something valuable to learn. The eyes are also a weakness, for no one can fight an opponent they can't see. However, I beg you to not practice that technique on me."
"Did it hurt that badly?” Sarah asked, amazed, standing there with the knife loosely hanging in her hand.
"Worse,” Hamet admittedly wryly, his smile a little strained as he straightened, “than a woman can imagine. It is not a delicate topic, but I assume Ahmed wants you to know that striking a man between his legs is very effective in causing him pain."
"I see.” Frowning, she quietly handed him the knife. Then, impulsively she said, “Hamet, I would not wish anything to happen to him simply because he married me. Perhaps it would be better if I went back to England."
"You fear for him?"
"Of course,” she retorted, recalling the paralyzing dread of watching her husband slide out the window to confront the intruder.
At that, her husband's cousin chuckled again. “I would like to see you try to leave, my Lady. Ahmed is as unlikely to let you go as the moon is to mate with the sun. He is the one who is afraid, for he would not see you harmed because of a vengeful quarrel that started long before he met you. You are simply a tool his enemy could use to harm him."
"What enemy?"
"One,” Hamet muttered cryptically and emphatically, “who dishonors our house."
Chapter 7
The delicate sound of lute music formed a cosmopolitan backdrop to the soft clinking of china and th
e muted sounds of conversation. The room was European in every way, from the formal mahogany table to the gold rimmed bone china and the fine French vintages served with each course. Seated next to the wife of the Italian Consul, Ahmed engaged Madame Minetti in polite conversation, deflecting with as much diplomacy as possible complaints about the beggars in the street, the appalling heat, and the incompetence of her native servants. Since he was relatively sure they would be having the same conversation no matter the country she lived in at the moment, he took no offense but instead murmured platitudes while covertly watching his beautiful wife charm every man in sight.
Alluringly beautiful in a low-cut fashionable rose gown that bared the smooth upper swells of her breasts, her blond hair upswept and intricately coiled, she sat on the opposite side of the table. The seats next to her were occupied by an elderly factor for a British aristocrat who frequently bought horses from the desert tribes, and a younger, obviously entranced, German student of the antiquities. Herr Frank seemed to spend his time between guzzling wine and ogling Sarah's abundant charms, while Sir Henry favored her with courtly smiles and flowery compliments. It pleased him to see his lovely bride enjoying herself, however, Ahmed acknowledged wryly, there was a reason he rarely accepted invitations such as this one. While he might be Cambridge educated and well-traveled, there was still a basic wedge of differences between his people and the Europeans who resided in the city.
"Tell me, Your Highness,” Robert Tulane asked with his usual quiet dignity during a lull in Madame Minetti's petty grievances, “are the new trade agreements in place yet? I have several petitions each month, wondering if the embargos will be lifted. Rich men who could benefit trade wish to invest and form companies here to export all manner of native products from dates to palm oil and fine cloth."
The British Consul was more subtle than the others, and astute as well. Honestly, Ahmed said, “It is still under debate. My country relinquishes the past slowly and with difficulty. I believe my father is in favor of modernizing our relations with the West, but he listens, as always, to his ministers."