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

by Bonnie Vanak

  His voice was a whisper. Those intense blue eyes burned into her. Her hand shook a little as she set down her cup.

  Why hadn’t he taken her last night as she’d expected? She felt confused. Despite his relaxed position, Kenneth looked dangerous, a powerful man accustomed to having his way. He wanted her. She was his concubine. She’d stolen from him and left him wanting for years. Yet he had left her alone, except to offer comfort when she sobbed from her nightmare.

  Slowly she dragged her gaze away and absorbed herself in eating. When she raised her eyes again, his intent look was gone, replaced by a charming smile. Kenneth gestured to a stack of books piled atop a table. "I thought you’d enjoy spending some time reading, so I had these sent over."

  Eagerly she went to the books, brushing crumbs off her gown. Badra lifted one, hungering for the words inside the leather cover much as her body had hungered for food.

  Such treasures! She recognized the Dickens she had left in his library and blushed, remembering what had transpired there.

  "When you’re finished with breakfast I thought we could begin your lessons."

  "But I know how to read."

  She turned and found he stood noiselessly behind her, silent as his totem, the cobra. Duke of Caldwell he might be, but a Khamsin warrior too.

  "Not reading," Kenneth said, taking the book from her and setting it down. "Fighting."

  She stared in bewilderment and he took her hands in his. "Defending yourself against men who would harm you, my love."

  "I cannot. I’m not a warrior."

  "No, but I can teach you a few valuable skills. Skills that will serve you well should another man ever attack you, Badra."

  Intrigued, she studied him. "What will these skills do?"

  "Badra, Rashid and I are not always around to protect you. Obviously. If you’re ever alone, you’ll be able to defend yourself. It’s a good feeling, knowing how to do that."

  "Very well, Khepri. Teach me, then."

  "This is where a man is most vulnerable."

  In her soft, blousy trousers and short scarlet jacket with long sleeves, she stood facing him. Kenneth took her hand and guided it between his legs.

  "Kick a man here and you’ll cause considerable pain—and considerable damage."

  The shock of feeling her hand on his genitals collided with the brisk efficiency of his words. He wrapped his hand around hers, cupping the dangling softness of his testicles.

  Letting her pull her hand away, he stepped back, eyeing her critically. "The best way is to knee him, but you’re rather short."

  "I am not short."

  "I like you that way," he teased. "Use your whole leg."

  Exasperated, she aimed. As her leg jerked upward, he maneuvered out of the way. "Again," he prompted.

  She repeated the move several times, but he kept moving away, twisting and moving. Frustration built inside her.

  ‘Too slow. Again. Put some power into it."

  Sweat dripped down her temples. Badra eyed him with a calculating look. He was much larger, muscled and quick. She felt like a bird trying to kick an elephant.

  A pretty bird ... must catch a man off guard. She swung her hips and gave a flirtatious smile. Placing her hands on his chest, she moistened her lips. Then she lunged forward and with all her might, kicked toward his groin.

  He caught her leg, barely.

  Kenneth smiled—a slow, approving smile this time. "Excellent. Catch a man off guard, then attack."

  A flush again ignited her cheeks—this time from the pleasure of his praise.

  He showed her a few more moves, including the points on a body where most damage could be inflicted. Very gently, Kenneth pressed a thumb just above the hollow of her throat. "With the heel of your hand, deliver a quick, sharp blow here. This can strangle a man and kill him," he told her.

  She shuddered at the knowledge warriors possessed. But it fed her confidence, as Kenneth had assured her it would.

  They broke off to eat, and downed large glasses of cold, sugared tea. Badra watched Kenneth’s throat work as he drained his glass. "You’re not teaching me this simply to guard myself against a random attack. You’re doing it for an escape."

  "Yes," he said quietly. "When we finally do take you out, Badra, if I’m not there to protect you, I want you to fight your way free. Do whatever you must to escape."

  She set down her glass, dismayed at the grim set of his jaw. "What do you mean, if you’re not there?"

  "I may be killed and unable to help you," he said simply.

  He said it very gently, looking at her. She stared. Breath caught in her lungs. "Khepri, you couldn’t—"

  "I could. I told you, I will never again let another man hurt you as long as blood runs in my veins. But ..."

  Her mouth went dry. She drank more tea. "You are no longer my falcon guard. Why do you risk your life for me, Khepri?"

  His gaze held hers intently. "Because I’m bound to you by something greater than a mere oath. I love you, Badra. I would die to keep you safe."

  Her glass shook as she set it down. The simple declaration was uttered with stark honesty, and it brought to the fore all the considerations that were Khepri. His willingness to sacrifice his life for her freedom and his hard resolve. She saw the quiet determination of a man wanting to protect a woman. Not because of an oath, but because of love.

  Kenneth took another orange slice, ate it, then wiped his hands with the damp towel provided with the meal. He stood, his tender look gone, the hardened warrior having returned. "Well, shall we resume our lessons?"

  He left her to rest in the afternoon as he scouted the building, but Badra could not sleep. She picked up Dickens and curled into the window seat. Soon she became engrossed in another world. When Kenneth returned, he joined her in the alcove.

  His smile warmed her insides. "Read to me," he told her.

  Clearing her throat, she began. Kenneth leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. She read a few pages and stopped.

  "I’m tired. Here, you go on." She handed him the book.

  Kenneth’s eyes flew open. He stared at the pages, a blank look shuttering his eyes.

  "Khepri? I thought you liked the story?"

  "I like hearing your voice, that’s all."

  She didn’t understand his gruff tone. "Another book then?"

  Kenneth rubbed his temple, sighing. When his gaze met hers, a look of pain surprised her.

  "Badra, no more secrets between us. It’s time you know something about me, as well."

  Chapter Twenty

  God, how could he tell her? Kenneth braced himself and flipped open the book. His muscles tightened. "I can’t read."

  She blinked, clearly bewildered. "But you read all the time when you lived among us. I always saw you with a book—"

  "Arabic, Badra. I can’t read English. I never learned."

  Her mouth opened. "You ..."

  "Do you know what it’s like to leave everything familiar and return to a country you don’t know? Those first days it took all my strength not to turn back." A hard laugh escaped him. "I was born in England and knew nothing about my country. Not even"—he shoved a frustrated hand through his hair—"how to read an English book."

  He looked away. "When I returned to England, I told no one about my inability to read. I was too ashamed. You’re the only one I’ve ever told."

  After a minute, he met her gaze. Her expression shifted, transformed from incredulity to a calm smile. Badra gently plucked the book from his hands and slid toward him until their thighs touched.

  "Now we know each other’s secrets, Khepri. Reading English is difficult, but I can teach you. Will you let me?"

  Relief filled Khepri. She had not sneered. Not that he’d expected her to, but ... He slowly nodded.

  She opened the first page and took his finger, placing it on the crisp sheet. "‘Chapter One. I am born’ …"

  For nearly the entire afternoon, his love taught him to read. Badra made him sound o
ut each word. Kenneth struggled to make sense of the letters, his normal self-consciousness over his illiteracy fading under her patient tutoring. Totally absorbed in the lesson, he read aloud a sentence and earned a delighted smile.

  "Thank you," he told her, something in his chest easing.

  Badra had taught him. Soon it would be his turn to tutor her, to return the favor. His body tensed with delicious anticipation as he fetched another book. He cupped her cheek.

  "Read to me again, Badra."

  As she reached for Dickens, he stayed her hand. "This one."

  She stared at the copy of the Kama Sutra he placed in her lap. He had brought it from England, a book he’d hoped would help fulfill his secret fantasy—Badra reading to him the acts he wanted to perform with her.

  A dull flush lit her cheeks as she scanned the page.

  "Do you truly want to embrace your dreams, Badra? Do you want to know what it’s like to know passion?"

  Her secret desire. She both feared and longed for it.

  His deep voice slid over her like warm honey. Kenneth traced the edge of her jaw with his thumb. "Read it to me."

  She dropped her gaze and began reading. His heat poured over her like his namesake, the god of the sunrise. She became aware of his thigh touching hers, his palm resting lightly on her knee. When she finished reading the page, Kenneth placed his hand on hers and squeezed.

  "We don’t have any betel nuts," he said softly. "But we do have dates."

  Kenneth took one from the fruit bowl. His lips parted and he slid the pitted date into his mouth and held it there, then slipped it out and pressed it against her closed lips. It lay there, warm and wet from the moistness of his mouth; then he brushed her lips with it. An inner tremble seized her. She did not open her mouth. He persisted, very gently but determined, giving light pressure to penetrate her lips, his other hand resting against the small of her back. His scent teased her—sandalwood and masculinity.

  The symbolism of the act became apparent with each tiny thrust, each gentle but determined push against her mouth. Kenneth bent his head and murmured reassuring words, crooning to her in Arabic all the while. Her tongue wanted the date’s sweetness, tasted the wet juiciness. She reached out with her tongue to taste it, slightly parting her lips—and at that precise moment Kenneth gave one last firm, determined push and slipped it inside her mouth.

  Startled, she took it in. She chewed slowly, let the fruit flavor explode in her mouth, and swallowed. Her huge eyes met his.

  "That is how to eat a date, my love," he said softly, then covered her mouth with his. His kiss was deep and drugging, and he pressed her body close, devouring her mouth as she had the date. He tore away and framed her face in warm, strong hands. His deep voice flowed over her, seductive and full of promise.

  "Let me fall again, Badra. Let me fall into you and drown in the full moon. Like Khepri, god of the sunrise, I want to die into you, the moon. Let the sun and the moon collide in passion and eclipse all else. I promise I will be there to catch you and I will not, ever, let your feet touch the ground. Come and dance in my light as I will dance in yours. Let me hold you in my arms and never let go."

  "Khepri," she said in a choking voice. "I want to. But ... I’m afraid."

  "I know," he said soothingly. "But the best way to erase fear is to face it. What do you fear the most?"

  He held her hands in his, lightly. She dredged up courage. "Being tied up, as I was in Fareeq’s tent, and faced with the whip. Being helpless," she whispered.

  "Do you trust me?"

  When she nodded, he touched her cheek again. "Then come to me, my love," he said, his soft voice husky and compelling. She felt trapped by its hypnotic tone. His heavy sensuality intoxicated her. This was Khepri—not an English duke, but her Egyptian warrior skilled in the Eastern way of men, coaxing women into their beds, seducing them with their masculinity and passion.

  Badra trembled, afraid and yet longing.

  "Do not fear me, little one," he said soothingly. "I will not hurt you." His voice deepened to a protective growl. "I will not allow anything to hurt you ever again."

  She swallowed hard. Her pulse jumped. Every beat of her heart seemed to ring in her ears. He tugged her from the seat. Kenneth began undressing her, his fingertips grazing her skin, a soft caress. When she stood before him, fully nude, he swept her body with his gaze.

  Admiration and desire shone from his eyes. Kenneth bent down, lifted her hair and nuzzled her earlobe, giving it a tiny lick. A shudder of pure pleasure raced through her.

  "Trust me," he told her softly. "Do you? To do this, I must have your full and complete trust."

  He brushed a finger across her cheek. "Do you give me your full and complete trust, Badra? Do you know I would not, will not, hurt you?"

  Her throat tightened with emotion. She could only nod.

  To her horror, he fetched the cartouche and draped it over her neck. Breath squeezed out of her. It was the cursed necklace. She was his slave now. Fully and completely. Powerless.

  Clasping her tiny hand in his large one, he led her to the tall marbled columns. Two large steel hooks protruded from the stones, gleaming and dangerous. A shiver stroked her spine.

  He held her very life in his hands. Never before had she felt more powerless, not even when Fareeq had beaten her, for she had clung to her soul, her ba, even as the whip scored her tender flesh.

  Then, hatred had kept her alive. But Kenneth, her former protector, had the power to flay her with deeper wounds than Fareeq ever had inflicted.

  He took her palms and pressed a kiss against each. He produced a silk cord and wound it about each wrist. Old terrors filled her as he tied the cord to the ominous steel hooks, stretching her arms apart. Enough tension existed to allow her arms slack, yet the knots were mercilessly tight.

  She could not escape.

  He bound her ankles the same way. Now she was stretched out, a sacrifice to his pleasure, bound naked between the two columns. It was nearly the same position Fareeq employed when he had beaten her. She could not help the violent shudders racking her body. Badra tried to summon courage.

  Kenneth stood before her, tall, muscled and powerful. A leather whip hung on the far wall. With predatory grace, he strode over to it and released it from its place.

  A sharp crack filled the air as he flicked the whip with expert skill.

  Her body sagged against the ropes. Please. Her mouth formed the word, but no sound escaped. Kenneth approached, the whip in his hands, his expression tight and merciless.

  Gooseflesh broke out on her naked flesh. Her body clenched, tensing in anticipation of pain. Time crawled by, minute by agonizing minute. She closed her eyes. She could not bear to watch the man who professed to love her, the warrior who’d once vowed to sacrifice his life for her, lift a whip to her skin.

  "Trust me, Badra."

  Kenneth had been a man of honor. Could she trust him to not hurt her, despite how badly she had hurt him?

  Badra bit down on her wobbling lower lip and hung on to a precarious thread of hope, of love shutting out the fear. Her eyes flew open and resolve filled her.

  "I trust you."

  A small thud sounded on the floor. Kenneth stood before her, the whip lying at his feet like a coiled, dead snake. His gentle kiss brushed her lips, softer than silk, like honey pouring over aching wounds.

  Standing back, he studied her, and his face went soft with tenderness. His strong hands, capable of violence against his enemies, cupped her face as if he held the fragile faience dug from beneath the pyramid.

  "My love," he said thickly. "Allow me to show you the passion of a Khamsin warrior."

  He vanished behind her. His mouth gently settled upon her scarred back, his lips feathering a trail of scorching pleasure down her sensitive skin. Kiss after kiss was chased by tiny, light flicks of his velvet tongue.

  He was kissing her scars, she realized with wonder, pressing his lips to her past as if each kiss could ease all the pain she
had suffered. It was a tender balm upon her soul. One after one, each light kiss, each touch of his warm mouth filled her body. Badra felt a tear trickle from her eyes. She squeezed them shut and began to count, and fresh awe spilled through her.

  The secret of one hundred kisses.

  This was the Khamsin warrior tradition she had heard women whisper of in their dark tents, kisses designed to arouse a woman’s passion. The kisses ended at a woman’s pleasure center and brought her to the height of ecstasy.

  Kenneth’s kisses bathed her in a warm sea of acceptance, of forgetfulness of the past, of assurances of his love. One hundred kisses to soothe away the burning flick of the whip. For each cruel stroke of the lash Fareeq had delivered, Kenneth healed it with his loving mouth and tenderness.

  Kenneth reappeared before her, his intent gaze holding hers a moment; then he began kissing her again. His mouth sought her breast, kissing the nipple, and she writhed in her bonds. Then he dropped to his knees. His arms wrapped about her waist as he pressed his mouth against her hot skin, his lips touching her belly, delving lightly into her navel with light, expert flicks. She felt a hot gush between her thighs.

  And then, with powerful hands that could kill, yet were so gentle, he parted the softness between her thighs and pressed his mouth to her feminine core.

  Pleasure burst inside her with each scorching kiss, then he took her flesh into his mouth and sucked gently, flicking out his tongue. Badra strained against the ropes, writhing as heat raked through her. Heat from his mouth, building a pleasure she had never known before. The tension mounted and she arched for something not quite there, just out of reach.

  He stopped.

  Quivering, she gasped for breath, looking at him. Aching frustration filled her as she sagged against the ropes, her body throbbing with want.

  He stood and swiftly untied her, then carried her to the bed. She felt the soft mattress beneath her, his firm, warm mouth above.

  When he removed his trousers, she caught sight of his thick arousal. Badra tensed and shrank back. He paused, regret in his gaze, and belted a thick black velvet robe about his body. Kenneth went to the door, paused, his hand on the knob. "I’m going to the baths. Why don’t you remain here and rest?"