by Emma Wildes
"I am a royal descendant, the son of many great kings.” There was a quiver of madness in the reply, an edge of control that wavered. “Do not insult me, old man, by comparing me to an English whore."
"She is no whore, which you well know, for she was confirmed pure before she came to your brother's bed. They are lovers, something foreign to someone like you who uses women basely and without conscience.” Leaning on his cane, Fahir said grimly, “I warn you now, Omar, do not approach the princess. All his life, Ahmed has contained his wrath, because it would pain your father if harm came to either of you. In this matter, he will not be crossed."
"We will see."
Standing there, Fahir watched the prince stride away, his heavy shoulders hunched, his stride long and powerful. And even in the warm jeweled light of the late afternoon, he felt a cold chilling foreboding.
Chapter 8
She probably looked ridiculous carrying a very proper parasol considering she was dressed like a native princess in a silken gown, but since she refused to be veiled and covered head to toe, Sarah had to do something to protect her complexion from the brutal sunshine. Next to her, Aunt Gillian clambered over a low wall of tumbled stones with surprising agility for someone her age, her eyes alight with fascinated interest. “Look at this,” she exclaimed, “you can see the mosaics under the dust, Sarah."
"This place was once a mosque,” Hamet informed them, “or so they say. It is so crumbled, it is hard to tell to my eyes. Infidels have wanted to dig here, especially your friend Herr Frank, but it is not allowed."
"A pity.” Bending over, Aunt Gillian brushed at a lopsided bit of what had been a wall, revealing the faded colors of the ancient tiles. “This should be recovered and preserved. Scientists back home would swoon to get their hands on a site like this. Wait until I tell Lord Mowery, who fancies himself an archeologist, what I have seen during my time here. He will be fairly green with envy."
Her aunt's imminent departure was not something she wanted to contemplate. Glancing out over the shimmering desert around them, Sarah remarked, “This seems an odd place for a mosque, so far from any city."
Though it was clear enough that Hamet thought it a mystery they would want to poke about in a ruined building that was little more than a few jagged partitions of hewn stones, he said dutifully, “The legend is that once there was a city here. It was consumed by the desert in a vast sandstorm that lasted for weeks, perhaps months.” He added dryly, “Of course, I have heard that same fable about other places, as well. In my opinion, this is too isolated, and no doubt the spring that gave it life ran dry so the people deserted it. That is much more logical that some mystical storm brought by the hand of Allah."
Sarah gave him a grin from under the brim of her umbrella. “But the story is much more romantic and intriguing."
"Perhaps for you Westerners, though what would be romantic about being buried in sand escapes me, Princess.” Turning and glancing at the horizon as he'd done continuously since they had arrived, he scanned the area around the ruins, then seemingly satisfied, looked back. His dark hair gleamed in the brilliant of the merciless sun and though he wore the loose-fitting comfortable garb of his people, he was sweating. “Have you ladies seen enough?"
"A few more moments,” Gillian said firmly, moving off purposefully toward where a small pile of rubble sat in a corner across the broken floor. Dressed in practical riding gear, wearing stout boots and using her parasol like a cane, she began to poke through the stones.
Hamet muttered, “Does she not feel the heat? I am used to it and still I long for some shade."
It was terribly hot, though the ride outside the city had been pleasant, for Sarah had been a virtual prisoner in her home the past few days, her husband consumed by some sort of new diplomatic duties that took up his entire day. It had been Halide who told her—if Sarah understood correctly what the woman was saying—that Ahmed had achieved a breakthrough by persuading his father's cabinet to open the country's borders and harbor to more outside trade. She told Hamet apologetically, “She is very enthusiastic about antiquities. That is how I persuaded her to accompany me on this journey in the first place. Besides, our activities have been so limited recently that she is enjoying—and so am I—some fresh air and sightseeing."
Crossing his arms and leaning against a waist high bit of dusty wall, Hamet gave her a level look. “You have been confined for a good reason, my Lady. This you know, for Ahmed told me he explained it to you."
"Yes.” Sarah almost pensively scuffed the hard dirt with the toe of her sandal. “And I do not wish to complain, but you must understand I am used to riding whenever and wherever I wish, of attending balls and parties, and most certainly of at least having friends and acquaintances to converse with. When my aunt sails in a few days, I will be left completely alone."
Looking a little uncomfortable, Hamet said with uncharacteristic awkwardness, “I am your friend, if you will honor me of thinking of me in such terms, Your Highness."
Since she liked her husband's cousin very much, Sarah was touched by his words. However, since she also knew he was adjusting his attitude toward her gender with reluctance, she couldn't resist teasing him a little. Widening her eyes slightly, she said, “But I am a woman, Hamet. Surely it is unusual for us to meet on equal ground. And most certainly that is what friendship entails. Mutual respect, liking, and affection."
"I did not say we were on equal ground,” he protested quickly, straightening slightly. “Females cannot—"
Hiding a smile, Sarah interrupted smoothly, “Females are every bit as intelligent and capable as men, and I am glad you are starting to see that. However, we are good at different things. We compliment each other, do we not? Your strength to our compassion. Your protectiveness to our nurturing. Your ability to provide a home and ours to keep it and make a place where you wish to live. Does it not make sense when one looks at it that way? Without women, the human race would perish."
"Without men, it would perish as well,” Hamet pointed out, his handsome face scowling.
"Exactly.” Sarah gave him a sweet smile.
Her husband's cousin twitched slightly in surprise ... and then burst out laughing. Bowing, heedless of the curious stares of the guards who lounged with the horses in the shade of the tallest of the tumbled walls, Hamet said, “You win, my Lady. I concede that though our strengths are different, we are equally important and it would be my delight to call you a friend."
"I feel the same, and thank you, perhaps I will not be as alone as I think."
"You also have Ahmed.” Hamet gave her a speculative look. “I know he does not just admire your beauty, but also your wit and intellect."
"He is a wonderful husband,” Sarah admitted. Shading her eyes to watch Gillian pounce delightedly on something that looked like a bit of broken crockery, she asked casually, “Tell me, Hamet, what does this mean?” Softly, she repeated the words she had memorized night after night, recalling the mesmerizing music of her husband's voice as he held her close and whispered them in her ear.
Looking a little disconcerted, Hamet said, “I am not sure a direct translation is possible, my Lady."
Not believing him for a minute, Sarah lifted a brow. “Do your best."
"I am reluctant, since this is obviously a private matter between a man and his wife."
"What will it hurt to satisfy my curiosity? He knows I am studying your language and will understand eventually."
"That is women's logic,” Hamet muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. Then with obvious resignation, he said haltingly, “Those are words of love, my Lady, pledging not only desire but the heart as well. If my royal cousin said this to you, he rests in the palm of your hand."
She had guessed as much, of course, and it was impossible to conceal her happiness. “Do not worry,” she promised quietly, “he is safe there."
* * * *
The room was quiet as his father signed the documents, using the royal seal to impress the pape
r afterwards. Witnessing the ceremony were both ministers and foreign dignitaries, and after all the formalities were over, there were smiles and bows and a murmur of voices rose in the high-ceilinged room. Sitting next to his father, Ahmed accepted each salutation automatically, his mind completely somewhere else. When he got a chance, he discreetly sought Fahir, leaning close to say tersely, “Where is Omar?"
"I have no idea, Your Highness.” The older man looked troubled, his mouth a thin worried line. “I did not think for a moment he would risk your father's disfavor by being absent when his presence was directly requested. He does not show it, but your father is not pleased by the open show of dissent."
Dressed very formally, right to the jeweled sword in the sash at his waist, Ahmed smiled tightly. “I, too, did not expect this particular defiance. In fact, I was so certain he would be occupied here, that I gave Hamet permission to take my wife and her aunt to the desert, to view the ruins of the ancient mosque. Gillian has been requesting the trip since her arrival, and I felt there would be no harm, not when my brother was sure to be here, in my sight. She is due to sail back to England in a few days, and I knew it would please Sarah to grant her beloved aunt her wish."
"It bodes ill he is not present.” Fahir frowned, his bushy gray brows drawing together. “I think I would prefer to know where he is, my Lord."
Grimly, Ahmed agreed, “Especially since he directly threatened my wife in front of you. It was a challenge, meant to be carried to me directly."
"It is only several hours ride outside the city."
"My thoughts exactly.” Already striding away, Ahmed said over his shoulder, “Express my apologies to my father for my abrupt departure, Fahir."
"I believe he will understand, my Lord."
* * * *
Dust lifted gently at the passage of the horse's hooves and the sky had gone the color of burnished copper as the wind rose and sighed. Though the afternoon had been fascinating and ruins picturesque, Sarah longed for a bath and a cool, sweet drink. She was sticky, hot, and pleasantly tired. Guiding her horse carefully toward the darkened opening between two huge rocky outcrops, she couldn't help but marvel at her elderly aunt's stalwart disposition. Riding next to her, Gillian looked unfazed by the long day, still smiling over her climb into the archaic rubble of a vanished people.
Directly in front of them, Hamet suddenly reined in his horse, a superb bay stallion that snorted in displeasure over the unexpected halt. Curious, Sarah also tugged on the reins, bringing her mare to a stop. “What is the matter?"
In answer, a volley of gun fire erupted, and to her horror, up ahead, she could see the guards that had preceded them tumble from their mounts. Whirling, Hamet grabbed the bridle of her horse, urging it around. “Ambush. Ride, Princess!"
Frightened and stunned, Sarah obeyed, finding the minute she was turned around on the narrow path, it was blocked solidly by a band of men with weapons drawn, the remaining guards who had been in the rear so outnumbered there was little choice but for them to sit their horses quietly, not lifting their weapons. Next to her, she could hear Hamet steadily cursing under his breath, and the only word she clearly understood was ‘Omar'.
Gillain, looking a little bewildered, said, “Oh my."
In moments, she, her aunt, and Hamet were in a circle of men mounted on beautiful, well-muscled Barbary horses, their number at least thirty strong. One of them urged his mount forward, his gaze fastened on her so intently, that Sarah felt herself flush under that penetrating, almost insolent regard. Without looking away, he addressed her husband's cousin who had protectively wedged himself between her and her aunt, so close his leg touched hers. Hamet responded harshly and furiously, and she heard her husband's name.
Slowly the man shook his head, a universal gesture of denial, his gaze not precisely disrespectful but disconcertingly direct. Booted, dressed in dirty baggy breeches and a loose linen shirt, he was bearded and swarthy, his shoulders powerful and wide. That he was the leader was not in doubt, for when he spoke again there was an edge of swaggering authority in his tone.
Hamet answered tersely, his hand resting on his sword. Then in English, he said quietly, “This is not good, Your Highness. These men are hired brigands. Look at them, a motley crew at best, some of them white, outcast from their own worlds. You saw with your own eyes the way they cut down our escort."
She had, and it had been horrifying. Beginning to get truly frightened, Sarah whispered, “What do they want?"
"You.” It was grim rejoinder, Hamet's glittering gaze on the man sitting his horse in front of them, one long-fingered hand grasping the hilt of his sword. “And without a doubt, Omar, that slinking hyena, is behind this abduction. He will use you to get to Ahmed, and it will work, my Lady, for your husband will do whatever he is asked to get you back. Tell me, do you have your knife?"
She did, strapped to her upper right thigh in a leather sheath that Ahmed insisted she wear. “Yes."
Shifting his weight slightly, Hamet muttered, “Good. Remember what I have taught you. It has been my honor to know you, Princess."
Suddenly realizing his intentions, Sarah said in alarm, “There are too many of them! Do not try to fight!” Reaching out, she grasped his arm but he easily shook her off and drew his sword with flash of gleaming metal. Speaking in slow, menacing words, Hamet advanced in obvious challenge, looking like a young, primal warrior prince, his stance menacing.
Stricken, Sarah watched as the outlaw leader smiled slowly, his own weapon pulled free as he shouted something. Even as she heard the first ring of metal on metal, she was seized and dragged from her horse by rough hands, a low scream erupting from her throat.
"Sara!” Her aunt's alarmed voice protested, “I say, let her go, you ... you foreign devil.” As unfazed as ever, Gillian swung her parasol with outraged intent, only to have it caught and tossed aside. Then she, too, was hauled from her horse, her outraged bellow echoed by a short oath as she struggled and apparently made contact with her attacker.
Caught in a vice-like grip by a chuckling giant of a man with ebony skin and a giant turban, Sarah's hands were swiftly bound and a blindfold placed over her eyes. Trussed and helpless, she could hear the fight with dazed shock, the clash punctuated with cheers from the motley crowd, and then a telling silence. Limp and in disbelief, she was lifted onto a horse, the restless movement beneath her unmistakable.
Then the world turned to a melee of clattering hooves as she was swept away.
* * * *
What the devil?
Sweat ran into his eyes, the wind tore at his hair, and at first, Ahmed was not certain he was seeing correctly. Up ahead, near the narrow pass that plunged the path toward the open desert, the ground was littered with several dark forms and the silent drift of vultures overhead was an ominous sign of what had transpired. Spurring his horse, Ahmed leaned over the neck of his Bay stallion, his heart tightening with each swift stride.
When he was close enough, he saw that his worst fears were confirmed, his stomach giving a sick lurch of foreboding. Four men lay in varying poses of death, their horses missing, sightless eyes staring upward as the scavengers circled above in lazy, menacing circles. Since several of the men he had hired to guard his wife were loyal friends and worthy soldiers, he felt an intense sense of both loss and anger as he controlled his restive mount and surveyed the carnage. At a glance, he could see the dead men had been stripped of their weapons. Dismounting, he knelt by one, feeling the heat from the latent afternoon sun, now sinking, radiating from the shimmering sand. The young guard, not much more than eighteen years, had been shot cleanly through the temple, the point of attack clearly the narrow gully between two rocky ridges. On the other side, the terrain sloped down toward the desert and the endless vista of rock and scrub vegetation struggling for survival amid the harsh, arid climate. Uselessly feeling for a pulse, Ahmed noted the body was not yet rigid, but still warm and pliant. Saying a brief prayer for the lost souls of his men, he rose swiftly, grasped
the reins, and swung back onto his horse.
If this had happened not long ago, he told himself in frantic reassurance, perhaps he was not too late to trail whoever had done this. Guiding his horse down the path through the chasm, the sight of another body sprawled face down on the other side of the small pass filled him with even greater panic, for he recognized his cousin's lean body with the intuition of one who knew him like a brother. Riding up and sliding off, Ahmed crouched down and fearfully turned Hamet over, registering the slashes in his linen shirt and the soaked crimson cloth with dismay and heart-wrenching sorrow. His young cousin was ashen, his body limp, and it appeared he had been cut across the abdomen, and wickedly and deeply across one shoulder, the second being more serious for it bled profusely.
But he breathed.
With incredulous relief, Ahmed noted the slight, almost imperceptible rise and fall of Hamet's chest. Going to work with shaking hands, he tore open the shredded shirt and used strips of the torn cloth to try to stem the bleeding. When he lifted his cousin slightly to wind the makeshift bandage behind his back to secure it, Hamet groaned out loud and his eyelids fluttered. Fearful, for he had seen wounds less deep and severe that had taken strong men, he knew with chilling practicality that in order for the wounded man he tended to have a chance, he would need immediate attention.
Sarah, he thought in agonized fear as he heaved Hamet over his shoulder as gently as possible, hearing another tell-tale groan, do not despair, for I am coming for you
Chapter 9
It was rather difficult to be cheerful under the circumstances but there were a few positive points. After all, so far she had not been harmed, nor had Aunt Gillian, though it appeared their captors had had enough of her elderly relative's sharp tongue. Her scathing comments were fairly easily understood no matter whether a person spoke English or not. When they had been shoved into some unknown place and the lock scraped shut, Sarah had the feeling the men who abducted them felt relief to escape the acrid, constant tongue-lashing.