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

by Bonnie Vanak

  He saw her life, stretched out like the barren sands of the great Sahara, wanting love, fearing it. Putting up barriers to ward off his affections when he turned from being her friendly, protective guard into an ardent suitor.

  With all his might he wished he could yank back the veil of time and woo her as she deserved. To demonstrate the pleasures of how a man and woman shared their bodies, and to banish her fears.

  Kenneth dropped his hold on her chin to gently trace a single teardrop rolling down her cheek. With his thumb, he wiped it away.

  She was frightened, like a skittish mare scenting a stallion. He must gentle her fears.

  "Never again," he said hoarsely. "I promise you, little one. I will never let another man hurt you, not as long as one drop of blood runs in my veins."

  Badra offered a smile that wrenched his heart. "I know you wish to help, Khepri. But there are some things beyond even your courage and might. You can’t rescue me from here, try as you will."

  "You haven’t seen me begin," he stated grimly.

  Confusion tightened her face as he stood. "Where are you going?"

  "Back to the hotel. To tell Jabari you’re safe." He turned. "Do not, under any circumstances, leave this room. I’ll pay someone to guard you while I’m gone."

  He slammed the door behind him and stalked off.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kenneth stepped down the hallway, mentally noting corridors, twists, turns and accessibility. He turned a corner and found a doorway guarded by a stern bald eunuch, scimitar strapped to his side. An outside doorway?

  The guard’s face was impassive, though the man was polite. "If you are looking for an exit, sir, use the main entrance."

  "I suppose that door won’t get me to the ka’ah," he reasoned, watching the man’s eyes.

  "It only leads to the second-floor balcony."

  The second-floor balcony, which had a stairwell leading to the courtyard interior. Good. Kenneth met the man’s gaze. "I have need of a few things. Whom shall I ring?"

  "Use the bellpull in the room, sir, and servants will bring you anything you desire."

  "I need someone I can trust." Kenneth reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew a large wad of pound notes. As expected, the guard’s eyes widened.

  "I want someone to stand at the door to my concubine’s apartments. I do not want anyone entering."

  The man nodded. "I can have someone replace me here."

  "Good. I’ll need someone to go to the market as well. I want jasmine flowers. Fresh flowers, not perfume."

  "How many, sir?"

  "Enough to fill a room. But they must be fresh." Kenneth peeled off a few notes, making a show of counting them. Greed shone like diamonds in the guard’s eyes. Kenneth handed over the notes.

  "This is for you, for doing me this tremendous favor."

  Kenneth took more bills and handed them over. "And this is for the purchases and for the person running the errand."

  A small smile like the edge of his scimitar curved the guard’s lips upward. Kenneth prayed the man would be loyal.

  Khamsin warriors had invaded the Shepherd’s Hotel.

  In amused amazement, Kenneth sat on a large chair in the suite he had booked for Jabari. The sheikh sat opposite him, his dark gaze firm. All around Jabari was a sea of indigo-garbed men, curled up on bedrolls, sleeping on the floor, as they would before launching an attack upon an enemy tribe. Twelve of the tribe’s best fighters. He wondered what the manager thought of the Khamsin invasion of indigo and sharp steel in this genteel European hotel.

  "He protested so many of us, but when he discovered we are the Duke of Caldwell’s honored guests, he quieted," Jabari said.

  Kenneth eyed the scimitar lying within the sheikh’s reach, imagining the sight of several fierce warriors nudging the manager. That would explain his acquiescence more than any ducal status.

  "They don’t all have to stay with you, Jabari."

  "My men will get rooms, but for tonight they wished to stay here, until we heard from you. We brought a woman with us to care for the child. Tomorrow I will send Jasmine back to our camp, where she will remain with Elizabeth. Rashid is with her, guarding her until then." The sheikh arched a black brow. "We did not require the extra room and have saved you money."

  "Thank you for your consideration. I imagine the food bill will even the balance," he said dryly.

  "Who can eat at a time like this?" Jabari mused.

  Dressed in a comfortable white robe, with soft white cotton trousers, the sheikh had removed his turban. His inky black hair spilled past his shoulders. But despite the relaxed attire, tension knotted Kenneth’s friend. Dark shadows hollowed beneath his eyes. The sheikh sat woodenly in his chair, muscles clenched as if waiting to attack.

  Kenneth hadn’t seen his foster brother this anxious in years, not since Elizabeth had been held captive by Fareeq. Jabari worried deeply about Badra. Kenneth hastened to give reassurance.

  "Badra is well. She’s mine for the time being."

  "You purchased her?"

  "Would you have seen her sold to someone else?"

  "I would have seen her not sold at all," the sheikh said evenly. "Are you aware this is the same brothel where she was sold as a child?"

  Kenneth grunted. "Yes. And I intend to get her out."

  "Good. Then give us the word and we will invade."

  "No, Jabari. You can’t storm in there. You’ll endanger Badra and the other women. Give me time to memorize the harem layout, to find its weaknesses. I have a month before she’ll be re-sold."

  The sheikh’s dark gaze sought his. "Return to us then, Khepri, when you have full knowledge of how we may best rescue her. But guard her well."

  "I will honor the vow I once gave to protect her with my life," he said solemnly.

  The sheikh wore a thoughtful look. "You said you loved her, Khepri. Badra needs the love of a good man. She is lovely as her namesake, the moon, but like the moon, she is surrounded by darkness."

  Kenneth saw where this was leading and leaned forward, his voice earnest and low. "And your father gave me the honored name of an ancient Egyptian sun god, Khepri. The god represents sunrise, creation and new life. Do you remember, Jabari? He said I was as bright as the sun and just as intense. The moon and the sun cannot exist without each other." He paused. "But the moon is shy, female, and must be gently coaxed into opening fully. And eventually she must surrender to the sun’s warming embrace."

  "Khepri—the sun god who gives new life," Jabari mused. "Perhaps you will give new life to Badra." The sheikh’s eyes darkened. "But know this. If you hurt her, I will not forgive you."

  "I will not hurt her."

  He stood, wending his way past the sleeping bodies to the doorway, then paused.

  "Charge anything you require to my account. Just don’t light a fire in the room and roast a lamb in the bedchamber," he advised.

  The sheikh gave him an amused look. "Do you think us barbarians, Khepri? When my men become hungry, we will roast a lamb in the dining room."

  His soft laughter followed Kenneth out the door.

  Hard boot heels clicking on the marble floor warned of his return. Badra immediately scuttled to the bed and dove under the sheets. Violent shudders racked her body.

  Kenneth had left her alone for some time. Now, during the dark of night, he would not. She was both excited and afraid.

  Curling into a ball, she lay still. The door opened with a click. An oil lamp burned on a sandalwood table. Sounds assaulted her ears, the plucking and rasping of buttons as he unfastened his shirt. The bed sagged where he sat. A dull thud echoed as his boots hit the floor. There came a muted rustle of trousers and underdrawers sliding off.

  He was naked!

  Cool air freshened her body as Kenneth lifted the sheet and slid into bed. Badra felt dipped into a bath of ice.

  His deep voice startled her. "Jabari knows you are well. I told him I’m going to scout out every inch of this building and form a
plan to get you out of here."

  His words offered little reassurance. And until then? The question thickened her tongue. When she found her voice, it came out as a rasp.

  "What are you going to do to me, Khepri?"

  "Badra, I will not lie. I want you."

  Tears came to her eyes. Heat enfolded her as he shimmied closer, until the warm hardness of his body pressed against her backside. He lay still, stroking her hair. The male hardness of him pressed against her bottom. Badra tensed. She knew, oh God, she knew what would happen next. Oh please—if he does, I cannot bear it, I swear I cannot. If he turned into a raging lusty beast and the mad look came into his eyes and he pushed himself crudely inside her, she could not bear it.

  Not him. Not Khepri. Please, not him.

  But he did not move; he merely lay still, stroking her hair. At last he rose and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to prepare for the inevitable, when he would become a groping beast, grunting and shoving his cock inside her, to rid himself of that hardness, to spill his seed deep into her womb. And then he’d lie back, panting, his eyes glowing with conquest.

  The bed shifted, creaked. Something thick and soft fell over her. Badra’s shivering ceased. She eased one eye open.

  A blanket. Warm thick fleece lay atop her quivering body.

  Kenneth moved noiselessly about the room, a Khamsin warrior still. She heard him give a soft sigh as he eased his tall, muscled body onto the large seat beneath the latticed window.

  She waited. And waited.

  Soft sounds of deep breathing eventually came from the window. He was sleeping. Badra clutched the warm blanket close to her. Relief soothed her body.

  He had not touched her.

  He was Khepri still. A man of honor.

  Her heart beat quietly with love for him as she lay awake in the dark, tears slipping down her cheeks.

  Chapter Nineteen

  That night in her dreams, the past lived on. It approached like a herd of Arabians shaking the sand, but no beauty existed in this black tent. She was eleven, a newly purchased slave to Sheikh Fareeq. Badra lay upon the thin sheepskin bed, its fibers old and graying with dirt and dust, the stench of old sweat and something more intimate and darker ground into the bed skins.

  A flimsy crimson gown of gauze covered her thin, undeveloped frame. Her veil was fashioned from the same fabric, and delicate slippers of saffron covered her tiny feet. Badra adored the slippers. They were the only thing of hers left when her parents had left her, sobbing at the brothel, and she clung to them as a child would clutch a battered, favorite doll.

  The footsteps stopped outside the tent. Sunlight exploded into the darkness as her master pulled up the door flap and stomped inside. She shook with fear.

  Breath stinking of onion and garlic flooded her face. A stench of old sweat. The sheikh removed his robes and unwrapped his black turban. His hair was thick, greasy and lined with threads of white age.

  He stood before her, naked, his torso flabby and hairless but for a small thatch of black below the curve of his belly. A phallus the size of her fist jutted out.

  She drew back, fear snaking into terror as he came toward her. The same gleam filled his gaze that had maddened the eyes of the men staring at her on the auction block. A meaty fist tore the scarlet gown from her body and ripped off her veil.

  Fareeq glanced at the saffron slippers she was so proud of and laughed. "Leave them on," he ordered.

  He pushed her flat on her back, against the sheepskins. He shoved at her, forcing her back into the sheepskins. He squeezed her tender young breasts, which were just beginning to show signs of approaching womanhood.

  "Boyish," he grunted in disgust. "They had better ripen. You will open your thighs for me every night until my seed takes root in you and my son grows in your belly."

  Then he mounted her, his strangling weight pressing her into the sweaty sheepskins. Breath wheezed out of her but she became aware of the little hard tube of flesh poking out from him, poking the soft, secret place between her legs.

  With a grunt, he shoved inside her.

  A scream of fright rippled from her throat. Fareeq laughed and pushed harder. Burning pain filled her as he ripped inside, pushing harder.

  It was over in a minute as he grunted, straining over her. He withdrew, leaving a bloody streak upon her trembling thighs.

  "Nothing like a virgin," he leered, wiping himself with the discarded shreds of her gown. "You will be my new favorite each night, for your sheath is tight and accommodates me nicely." He then settled his bulk upon the bed and fell asleep. Loud snores filled the tent.

  Badra curled into a tight ball, crying softly. Each night? She vowed he would not use her again. Tomorrow night, she would fight.

  The next night Fareeq undressed as she lay on the sheepskins. "Open your legs for your new master," he ordered.

  He went to mount her. Her fingers, curled into a tight fist, smacked him. Fareeq howled. Satisfaction tunneled through her at the smear of crimson on his lip.

  "No man is my master." She thrust out her chin.

  Panting, he jerked away, his eyes darkening. Fareeq grabbed her, jerking her upward. Terror flooded her as he positioned her between the thick tent poles, binding her naked body between them. Savage anger gleamed in his eyes as he picked up a leather whip and began snapping it.

  "No, whore? I’ll show you who your master is."

  She shrieked as the lash tore into her flesh.

  Badra gave a sobbing scream, and Kenneth sat up, startled out of deep sleep. The noise had lacerated him. He ran to the bed. Badra’s slender shoulders shook. Kenneth pulled her to him.

  "Shhh, it was a dream, my love," he whispered soothingly.

  But she did not cease crying. The violence of her sobs alarmed him. In a low voice he began to sing a lullaby he remembered Jabari singing to Tarik as an infant.

  Badra’s shoulders went still. Then her body shook. She lifted her wet face. She was laughing.

  "Oh please, do stop. Jabari was correct," she sputtered. "You do have a voice like a camel farting."

  He grinned sheepishly and pursed his lips, making a low purr by blowing between them. A sound between a choked sob and a laugh caught in her throat. He pulled her tight against him.

  Finally, she quieted. He fetched a cloth. As she wiped her face, Kenneth stroked her hair. ‘Tell me," he said softly. Badra stiffened. He repeated, ‘Tell me. Once you tell someone, dreams have no power over you," he assured her.

  Finally, her hand squeezed his. Slowly the words spilled out. Kenneth listened, anger clenching his muscles. Damn Fareeq!

  He pulled her against him, letting her take reassurance in the simple comfort of being held and cherished. Kenneth pressed a deep kiss against her forehead.

  "Never again," he said softly. "I promise you, little love, never again will I allow another man to hurt you."

  He eased her back onto the bed. She slept, long lashes lying against her cheeks. For a long while after, Kenneth remained on the bed gazing at her, until a soft knock at the door roused him from his watch.

  Badra woke gritty-eyed and disoriented, and sat up, rubbing her eyes. An overpoweringly sweet scent flooded her nostrils. Now she was hallucinating as well! A fragrant illusion, though: the delicious smell reminded her of a flower garden and freedom.

  Badra opened her eyes and gasped. The bed was awash in jasmine flowers. Sprigs and sprigs of fresh jasmine floated in bowls and filled ceramic vases throughout the room. The room no longer smelled of stale perfume, rancid smoke or sex.

  "Good morning."

  Kenneth’s deep voice sent a small shiver down her spine. Sitting up, she clutched the sheet to her breasts.

  Kenneth sat on the floor before the sandalwood table. A silver pot, two china cups and a tray were laid out. Steam misted the air. She inhaled the tangy scent of Turkish coffee and fresh yeast rolls. Kenneth nodded toward the bed. "A gift for you," he said softly.

  Glancing down, she saw a puddle o
f red. Badra picked up the robe, which was embroidered with tiny gold stars. She stroked the Chinese silk, marveling at the sensual feel between her fingers. "Thank you," she told him.

  She slipped the robe on over her yellow gown, went to the small connecting room serving as a necessity, then murmured about visiting the women’s bath. Bathing each morning was a requirement for slaves here.

  When she returned, he offered her an orange. Badra settled on the table’s opposite side, her new robe draped about her in graceful folds. "I loathe oranges."

  "How can anyone loathe oranges? It’s like biting into a burst of sunshine." He popped a slice into his mouth.

  Badra bit into a roll and swallowed hungrily. "You must adore oranges because of your name, Khepri, and being associated with the sun. So if I ever desire to bite into sunshine, I will just bite you," she assured him with a teasing smile. It disappeared when she realized what she had said.

  Kenneth grinned and winked. "Any time, feel free to use your teeth on me. I won’t bite back."

  After a moment she gave in to an odd impulse. "Pity," she said, tossing her hair back.

  Kenneth held her gaze in his. He selected another orange slice and gave it a long, slow caress with his tongue. "I didn’t say anything about licking, though," he warned.

  A furious heat rose to her cheeks. Badra’s insides felt like warm yogurt. Kenneth watched her, his brilliant blue eyes never leaving her face. She picked up her coffee and considered him over the cup rim.

  "I am named Badra after the full moon, Khepri. Have you ever seen the moon? It’s pale and cold and distant. I think my parents chose the name for a reason."

  "I have seen the full moon. Seen it as a silvery wash upon the gray sand, filling the land with a pale light. Egypt’s moon is hauntingly beautiful, not cold and distant. Yet she yields to the approaching sunrise, gently allows herself to be coaxed into surrendering to the powerful embrace of Khepri the sun."