The Sheikh's Disobedient Bride

Her eyes, wide, frightened, held his and her fear cut him. She was hurt and in pain and he was doing this to her.

“What do you need?” he demanded, switching to English even as he lightly slapped her cheek, trying to get her to focus, communicate. What was wrong? Why couldn’t she breathe?

Her fingers merely curled, reminding him of the letter C from the Western alphabet as she gasped, and he blocked out her frantic gasps of air studying her fingers instead. And then suddenly he knew. Asthma.

“You have asthma,” he said. He was gratified to see her nod. “Where is your inhaler?”

“Cam-ra.”

He lifted a hand, gestured, signaling he wanted it. The bag was handed over immediately.

Tair unzipped the top, rifled through, found the inhaler in a small interior side pocket and shook it before putting it to her mouth. Her hand reached up, released the aerosol, letting it flood her lungs.

Still holding her in the crook of his arm he watched her take another hit, saw her chest rise and fall more slowly, naturally, saw that she was breathing more deeply and he felt a measure of relief. She lived. He hadn’t killed her. Good.

Hard to explain a dead Western woman to the authorities.

Minutes later she stirred again.

Tally didn’t know at exactly what moment she realized she was lying in the barbarian’s arms, her legs over his, her body in his lap, but once she knew where she was, and how he held her, she jerked upright.

She wrenched free, attempted to jump from the horse but instead fell to the ground, tumbling in a heap at everyone’s feet.

She groaned inwardly, thinking she was getting too old for dramatic leaps and falls. Tally rose, straightening her white cotton shirt and brushing her khaki trousers smooth. “Who are you?” she demanded.

The man on the horse adjusted his headcovering, shifting the dark fabric to conceal all of his face but his eyes and bridge of nose. Face covered, he just looked at her, as did the others, and there were about a half dozen of them altogether.

“What do you want with me?” she persisted.

“We will talk later.”

“I want to talk now.”

He shrugged. “You can talk but I will not answer.”

Tally inhaled, felt the hot still air slide into her lungs. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It made no sense. Nothing about this made sense. She’d been kidnapped from the medina, taken right from the market by a group of masked men. But why?

Who were they?

Her gaze settled on the soft suede boot in front of her, the color light, cream, just slightly darker than the white robe. Her gaze rose, lifting from the pale suede boot which covered from foot to calf, up over his knee, to the horse’s ornate saddle and bridle. Both were made from pounded silver, heavily decorated with bits of onyx and blue stone, finished with colorful woolen tassels. The bridle’s decorative leather curved protectively around the neck, nearly covered the ears, shielding the eyes. More silver and leatherwork ran across the front of the horse to match the saddle.

Tally’s gaze lifted higher, moving from horse to man. He, in comparison, was dressed simply. White pants and robe, and a dark headcloth that wrapped around the neck, covered the head, and cloaked his face from nose to throat.

His eyes she could see. And they were dark, fixed, penetrating, nearly as strong as the bridge of his nose.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“We will talk later,” he said, and turning slightly in his silver and gold embroidered blanket that served as a saddle, gestured to his men. “We go.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You nearly killed me!” Her voice was deep, raspier than usual.

He shrugged. “Fortunately I also saved you.”

“And you what? Expect thanks?”

“Indeed. If it weren’t for me, you would have died.”

“If it weren’t for you, I’d still be in town. Safe.”

“It’s a moot point. You’re here now.” He shifted on the embroidered blanket, reins loose in his palm as his gaze swept the barren landscape. “And this is where you want to stay? In the middle of the desert, on your own?”

Tally glanced right, left, saw only sand and pale dunes, the world a stunning ivory and gold vista in every direction. “We’re just hours from the nearest town.”

“Hours by horse.” His head cocked and he studied her curiously, black eyebrows flat above intense eyes. “Do you have a horse?”

She felt her spine stiffen, her teeth clamping tight in the back of her jaw. “Not unless you kidnapped one for me.”

“I’m afraid I did not.”

“Right. Well, then, no horse.”

He leaned down, out of his saddle so that his face loomed above hers. “I guess you’ll be coming with me.” And before she could protest, he swept her into his arm and deposited her on the saddle in front of him, back onto his lap from where she’d only just escaped.

Tally grunted as she dropped onto his lap. Damn. His lap was big, hard, just like the rest of him. Soussi al-Kebir. Chief of the Desert, indeed. “What group are you part of?” she asked, unable to remain silent despite her best intentions. She needed to know the worst.

“Group?” her captor grunted, even as he resettled her more firmly into his lap, his left arm slung around her, holding her against his hips.

She squirmed inwardly at the contact. “Who are you with?”

“With?”

If ever there was a time to be sensitive—diplomatic—this was it. But it wasn’t easy finding the right words, or the right tone. “You must be part of a group, a tribe maybe?”

She felt him exhale. “You talk too much,” he said exasperatedly even as he urged his horse into a canter. “Practice silence.”

They rode the rest of the day in virtual silence, traveling deep into the desert, racing across the sand for what seemed like hours. Tally had given up sneaking glances at her watch. Time no longer mattered. They weren’t close to anybody or anyplace that could help her. There was no one here to intercede on her behalf. The only thing she could do was stay alert, try to keep her wits about her, see if she couldn’t find a way out.

Just before twilight they slowed, horses trotting as they reached the bandits’ camp city, an oasis of tents and camels in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere.

At the camp, the men dismounted quickly. Tally’s bandit jumped from his horse but when he reached for her, Tally squirmed away and dismounted without his help. She’d had enough of his company and wanted nothing more to do with him. But of course her captor had other plans for her.

“Come,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Follow me.”

He led her past a group of men sitting on the ground, and then past another group of men cleaning guns. She gave the second group of men a long, hard look. Guns were not good. This situation was not good.