The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind)

by Bonnie Vanak

  She thought of Khepri, how gently he used to take her hand when they walked into the village of Amarna. How he had guided her back to Jabari’s home. His fierce blue eyes had roved the streets, ever-watchful for enemies. She rested assured in his scimitar, which was always ready to slay any who dared touch her.

  Khepri. Now Kenneth. So foreign she scarcely recognized him, his tall, leanly-muscled frame exuding only confident power. He belonged to a green land far across the water, this man who had once gazed at her with such love and devotion.

  Footsteps pounded down the corridor. Badra tensed. Her clammy fingers plucked at the gauze of her harem trousers, and she hugged herself tighter as the wooden door opened. She heard the hard, firm click of masculine heels walk inside. Quivering, Badra stared at the floor and saw approaching brown leather boots.

  She forced herself to speak. "My master, I am most willing to do whatever you wish of me. All I ask is—please, please, do not beat me." The words came out in a trembling whisper.

  The bed sank with her new captor’s weight. A hand caught her chin, lifted it up. With every last ounce of courage, Badra lifted her gaze. And found herself looking directly into a familiar pair of deep blue eyes.

  "My dear Badra," the Duke of Caldwell said softly. "How can I make you understand? As long as I draw breath, no one will ever hurt you."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Stark relief slammed into her with the force of a raging wind. She closed her eyes, opened them, afraid he was a mirage. Kenneth tenderly regarded her.

  "Jasmine? Is she safe?" she asked hopefully.

  Kenneth laid a finger on her lips. He glanced at the eunuchs standing guard and issued a crisp command. "Leave us."

  When they had left, he gave her an expectant look. A shiver of misgiving shot through her at his grave expression.

  "Your daughter is safe with Jabari."

  She could only stare in growing horror. Her jaw dropped as she struggled to make sense of his words.

  "Your daughter, Jasmine. You did this because of her?"

  "She’s my sister ...," she argued.

  Her denial died with the keen look he gave her. "No, Badra. Your daughter. She has your eyes, your stubborn little chin. And the remarks you made, about a mother’s love. She’s the daughter you bore to Fareeq. I know. Jabari does as well."

  Panic gripped her. "He does? I was afraid to tell him. Jabari once said any children of Fareeq’s he would consider his enemy and be forced to destroy."

  "Jabari said that long ago in a rage. He would never, ever hurt any child of yours," he gently explained.

  Kenneth’s intent blue eyes found hers and he reached into his pocket. The gold pectoral of Amenemhat II’s cartouche dangled from his hand. Badra’s breath hitched audibly.

  "Why did you try to steal this, Badra? For Rashid?" As her brow wrinkled in bewilderment, he added grimly, "Rashid tried to kill me back in London as I slept."

  "Rashid would not kill you," she argued. Then she paused. She remembered how they had nearly come to blows in the antique shop.

  "Perhaps he merely wanted to wound me, to see if I was still a warrior. Did he ask you to steal for him?"

  "Never! He knew ... he tried to protect me. It was Omar, the owner of the Pleasure Palace. Fareeq sold Jasmine to Omar after they told me she,"—her voice hitched—"died. Omar wanted me and used Jasmine to lure me back. The price of freeing her was taking her place. The other option was stealing the cartouches. When I didn’t obtain the one at Dashur, I had to trade my freedom for hers." Her voice dropped. "I’m sorry. I was desperate."

  "Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you."

  "A raid, guns firing and Jasmine getting hurt? They threatened to sell her to a wealthy buyer if I told you. I would never see her again." A violent tremor shook her.

  Kenneth dropped the cartouche on the table beside the bed. His palms settled on her hands, calming her. Still, despite his courage, she knew he could not smuggle her out. The brothel had an interior courtyard, armed eunuchs standing guard. It was a fortress.

  She told him this, adding softly, "I know it is impossible, for I tried as a child to escape. And failed."

  Assuredness shone in his eyes. "Getting you out is going to be a bit of a challenge, that’s all. A challenge."

  Wild hope flared inside her, then died. "No. You can’t get me out. It’s too dangerous. No one can save me."

  Kenneth flashed his old grin. "That’s what you said when we first met, remember? Remember what I told you?"

  A faint smile surfaced. "The Khamsin never fail."

  "Not then and not now. I will find a way. But I’m afraid it will take time."

  "You have exactly one month." She dropped her smile and sighed. "As long as Jasmine is safe. She’s all that matters."

  Kenneth marveled at Badra’s enormous courage—and ached at the resignation in her soft voice. A knot formed in his throat. He envisioned her body huddled protectively around her daughter, her large chocolate-colored eyes scared but resolved. Fear resting inside her like a block of ice, but her rising above it, pushing it aside because of Jasmine. Badra was fierce as a predator when it came to something so important. She would have forced herself to become a slave only for Jasmine.

  The depth of that love humbled him. He touched her hand gently, so as to not frighten her. God, she was scared enough as it was—and cold. So cold, like she’d been immersed in water.

  Stiff as an alabaster statue, she sat on the bed, fingers clutching her silk trousers so tightly her knuckles whitened. She stared, questions dancing in her big brown eyes. What next?

  He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to warm her, inside and out. To brush the panicked look off her face with a gentle kiss. To feel her lips turn moist and pliant beneath his, and then deepen the kiss. To melt away fear until all that remained was heated, intense anticipation. He wanted to make her writhe and moan in ecstasy. To cause the sweet hollow between her legs to dampen with moisture as his mouth and hands aroused her. To sink slowly into her and feel her tighten around him.

  He wanted to push her until she strained against him. Until his heat poured into her and she’d never be cold again. And when at last he took her to the peak of pleasure, he wanted to swallow her cry in his mouth and start anew, loving her without mercy until she clung to him, exhausted. Only then would he allow himself release.

  But he needed to discover the truth he suspected she hid: the real reason why she had pulled away from him. "Badra, undress for me. And turn around. I need to see your back."

  Convulsive shock slammed into her. She would be forced to reveal the very thing she hated most about herself to the man she secretly loved. A thick lump clogged her throat.

  "Please. Do not ask me to do this. I cannot."

  Kenneth’s expression softened as he touched her cheek. "I don’t wish to hurt you, little one. But I must know."

  Motionless, she watched him tug her veil down. When his fingers drifted away and slowly unlaced the satin ribbon holding closed her gossamer gown, her trembling hand caught his.

  He easily shook off her grip and slipped the gown from her shoulders. It dropped free, baring her breasts. Her large, frightened eyes met his.

  "Please, Khepri," she begged, her voice shaking.

  Tears soaked her cheeks. Badra’s heart sank as she stared into his face. His large hands felt warm on her quivering shoulders as he turned her around.

  "I’m sorry," he said quietly. "But I must see for myself."

  Kenneth flung her tangled mass of ebony curls over one shoulder. She jerked at his touch and tried to writhe away, but he held her steady. He laid a warm, gentle hand upon the twisted scar tissue lacing her back. Deep shame flushed her from neck to cheeks. Badra hung her head as his fingertips stroked the old wounds that still stung with shame.

  "Damn him to hell," he said hoarsely. "That fat bastard."

  She quivered and bit her lip, memories hurting as much as the sting of the lash. Her secret was out.
>
  Bile rose in his throat.

  Evidence of Fareeq’s cruelty lay in deep white streaks carved into Badra’s tender skin. The sheikh, her former master, had flogged her. Severely. Badra had lied to him. And judging from her tormented expression, she was the one who was ashamed.

  "What else did he do, Badra? Did he rape you as well?"

  A shaky nod confirmed his suspicions. Kenneth sucked in an angry breath. "How old were you?"

  A sob shook her shoulders. "I w-was ... eleven."

  He swore loudly. Just a little girl. Kenneth’s gut tightened as he envisioned the sweet child she must have been, wide-eyed and pretty, turning into a shallow ghost of herself, silent and tormented. Her bewildered wails of fear and pain as Fareeq forced her—

  Damn it! Why hadn’t he seen it? Because he hadn’t wanted to, Kenneth admitted. He hadn’t wanted to suspect the brutal truth.

  "I’m sorry, Khepri," she said in a choking sob. "Jabari knew but I begged him to remain silent. I should have trusted you with this secret. I wish I had. You always protected me; you always safeguarded my steps. But I was too ... ashamed."

  She trembled violently. Deeply concerned, he began rubbing her naked back, trying to soothe her. He ached to see the torment pulsing inside her. Oh Badra, he said silently. I vow you will never suffer such injustice again, my love. A primitive masculine rage rose in him. He wished Fareeq alive, so he could crush her tormentor under his heel, force him to his knees before Badra to beg forgiveness. Although not one drop of Egyptian blood ran in his veins, he shared the stark, raging protectiveness the Khamsin felt toward their women.

  He went to draw her into his arms, and she stiffened. When she spoke, her voice was as wooden as her body.

  "So, you have purchased me. And you know the value of your purchase. I know what you’ve always wanted. If you will, please, get on with it."

  She shrugged out of her gown and slippers. Naked, sitting on the bed, Badra looked ready to collapse. If he touched her, she’d shatter like glass. Frustrated, Kenneth jammed a hand through his hair.

  When he made no move toward her, she glanced up. "Why did you buy me, Khepri?"

  Why? A lifetime of wanting, dreaming, smelling her in his sleep, reaching for her in his dreams. He’d loved her for so long that she had branded herself on his heart.

  He said none of these things to her, though, only stroked a line across the bed, imagining he stroked her soft cheek. "I bought you because I would do anything to keep you from being hurt. Just as I vowed long ago when I was your falcon guard."

  Khamsin warriors were taught discipline and strict self-control. He needed every ounce of what he’d learned. With tenderness and gentle reassurance, he would coax Badra into his arms. He would teach her the deep pleasures awaiting her. But only when she wanted it. When she knew he loved her. When she wanted him to love her. Not now.

  "Are you hungry?"

  Wary hesitation showed on her face. "Yes."

  "Good. Get dressed and I’ll have food brought in."

  He ordered a feast for a sultan. He knew her tastes after all this time. A bevy of servants marched in and out, bearing platters of Badra’s favorite dishes on their outstretched palms. There was a silver salver of roast lamb on a bed of rice, a bowl of fresh oranges, grapes, dates and pomegranates, a basket of warm yeast rolls beneath a blue-and-white checked cloth, wedges of flat bread, and Ful Mudammas. A carafe of sugared tea followed, with cups. A small bowl of honey. A carafe of rich red wine and two crystal glasses.

  They settled on soft velvet cushions on the floor on opposite sides of a low mahogany table. Kenneth popped a grape past his lips. He bit down, sweetness flooding his mouth. Badra would be like that, he decided—a heady rush upon his tongue. "I am sure you are hungry, and there is a feast here for two," he said mildly.

  He could see interest flare as she stared at the food. Cautiously she reached for a date, nibbled at it with the edge of her small, white teeth.

  Awareness of her pulsed through his body. He could take her; it was his right. He’d bought her, and he knew she wanted him sometimes. But that was not his way. She must come to him, warm and willing. He would simply wait. Take his time—ease her natural fears away until he broke them down, one by one. He would unlock the deep wellspring of her passion and allow it to flood all else until she obeyed her body’s hunger to surrender.

  Kenneth ate another grape slowly, savoring it as a servant poured tea for them both and wine for him. Badra took a long gulp and set down her glass, continuing to watch him like a trapped mouse eyeing a cobra. He dismissed the servant, who padded out as quietly as she’d entered.

  He licked a drop of juice from his lips. Badra watched, clearly enthralled. He said nothing but smiled inside.

  He could smell the delicate fragrance of jasmine the women had mixed into Badra’s hair after they had bathed her. It stirred his senses. His blood sang in his veins and surged, hot and thick. He allowed himself to relish the anticipation, the want.

  Propping his chin upon his fist, Kenneth stared at her. He wanted to indulge every sense, watch the gentle sway of her long black hair as she bent her head over her meal. He wanted to immerse his body in her welcoming warmth.

  Kiss every inch of her satin skin. Bury his face in the silken mass of her long curls. Kenneth wanted to trace every inch of her with his tongue, let her know his raging passion.

  No, the food had no appeal. He could only see and hear and smell her. Badra. A feast for the senses. A rare Madeira, as exquisite and sharp upon the tongue as the finest wine.

  She took a long swallow of tea. Badra tasted a date next, then nibbled on a grape. Kenneth watched, enchanted, as her tiny tongue licked a pearl-like drop from her lips. He pressed his hands into his lap, not surprised at the hardness there.

  Suddenly, she gazed at him with troubled eyes. "Kenneth, you are not eating. Why do you look at me like that?"

  "I like watching you." He sipped his wine. French. Not bad. Her perfect rosy mouth parted. "Eat," he said softly. "You must be starving."

  "I cannot eat." She hugged herself, looking about with large, troubled eyes. ‘This room ... the smells."

  His brow wrinkled. Kenneth set down his wineglass and sniffed. So intent had he been on studying her that he did not notice. Now the underlying odor hit him—a smell of cigarette smoke, the stale odor of old perfume, and the musky taint of sex. He stood, walked over to the latticed windows, went to open them and realized they were locked.

  "They do it to prevent us from jumping. Should we be given a master who does not ... smell so nice."

  Startled, he glanced over and saw her holding her nose. Kenneth laughed, charmed. A small smile touched her rosebud mouth. That mouth, so lush and carnal—he ached to taste it. Instead, he resumed his seat, poured himself some wine and went to pour some for her as well. She held up a hand.

  He raised a brow. "Just for tonight. It will help you sleep. Trust me."

  The glass shook a little as her fingers curled around its stem. Badra took a long pull, then drew back, her mouth wet with wine. He wanted her as desperately as he had years ago. But he was no eager, hot-blooded youth of nineteen. He had a man’s restraint and a warrior’s honor. Tension crackled in the air. Badra looked away, studying the exquisite Persian tapestry covering the walls.

  "Why did you turn me down when I asked to you marry me, Badra? I want the real answer this time."

  Silence hung heavy in the air. Finally she sighed, the sound so forlorn it wrenched his heart. "How could I marry you, Kenneth? After all you’ve just learned?" Her voice dropped an octave. "I told Jabari you were a good man who deserved better. I knew I could never be the kind of wife you expected."

  "The kind of wife I expected?"

  "I could not be your wife, Kenneth," she whispered. "I am terrified of ... the intimacy a wife and husband share."

  "Oh, Badra," he said gently, reaching out to touch her hand. She recoiled and buried her face in her hands.

  "I never meant t
o insult you or hurt you." Her voice leaked out between her trembling palms.

  One year of trying to banish her from his mind, and still she remained buried deep inside him like tiny grains of sand ground deep into his heart. In those dark chocolate eyes he saw her pain and fear. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

  Pride, he admitted with brutal honesty. He had been humiliated that she had turned him down three times; he had not been thinking of her.

  He had nothing left to lose. Kenneth reached across the table as her hands dropped. He caught her chin with a gentle grip, forcing her to look directly at him.

  "So, Badra, answer me another question. Did you ever love me?"

  Moisture sparkled in her eyes, making them glisten like dark gems. "How could I not?" Her broken voice shattered him. "Your kindness, your humor, the way you always put my needs before your own. Your fierce sense of honor and courage. The way your eyes looked at me with a love that would never die. And all those years that you kept your vow never to touch me, despite wanting to — and I know how you wanted to! That one kiss you wanted to steal ... how many times I would lie in my bed at night and regret I pushed you away."

  She paused. Her hands pressed against her heart. "I knew I could never tell you how I felt; I couldn’t return your passion and you deserve a woman of passion. So I kept my love hidden inside like a precious jewel. I loved you the first time you made me laugh. I was dead before I met you, and you revived me. I dreamed of you taking me into your strong arms, teaching me not to be afraid. So many times my fear and my dreams would clash like Khamsin steel. The fear always won, so I turned you down. But I never stopped loving you."

  Kenneth could barely breathe. All these years thinking perhaps she didn’t return his affection, that she merely regarded him as a friend. He felt his dreams spark and flare into an all-consuming fire. Her love was true and as great as his. She’d tucked it away, cherishing it, and pushed him off because she thought he deserved someone better.