Sheikh's Defiant Wife: Defiant in the Desert

Why hadn’t he been watching her?

His mouth hardened as he swung himself up onto the biggest and most powerful stallion.

Because he was a coward, that was why.

Despite his supposedly exemplary military record and all the awards which had been heaped upon him—he had selected a tent as far away from hers as possible. Too unsure of his reaction to her proximity, he had not dared risk being close. Not trusting himself—and not trusting her either.

He hadn’t imagined the white-hot feeling of lust which had flared between them last night and he was too experienced a lover to mistake the look of sexual yearning which had darkened her violet eyes. When she was standing in front of him in her embroidered robes—her hair woven with fragrant leaves—he had never wanted her quite so much.

Hadn’t he wondered whether her western sensibilities might make her take the initiative? Hadn’t he wondered whether she might boldly arrive naked at his tent under cover of darkness and slip into his bed without invitation, as so many women had done before?

He stared down at the senior bodyguard. ‘You have checked her trail?’

‘Yes, boss. She has headed due north—taking the same path by which we came, back towards the airbase.’

Suleiman nodded. It was as he had thought. She was trying to get back to England on her own—oh, most stubborn and impetuous of women! ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will follow her trail. And you will assign three men to take up the other three points of the compass and to set off immediately. But no more than three. I don’t want the desert paths disturbed any more than they need be. I don’t want any clues churned up by the damned horses.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘You will also send someone to find a high enough vantage point to try to get a mobile phone signal. I want the military base informed and I want every damned plane at their disposal out looking for her. Understand?’

The bodyguard nodded. ‘Understood.’

‘And believe me when I tell you that you have not heard the last of this!’

With his final, angry words ringing Suleiman galloped off at a furious pace, the warm wind streaming against his face as he followed the mixed track of the camels and the newer footprints of Sara’s horse.

He had already realised that there would be repercussions. By involving the military, word would inevitably get back to the Sultan that the princess was missing. But he didn’t care what criticism or punishment came his way for having lost the future Sultana of Qurhah. They could exile him or imprison him and he wouldn’t care.

He didn’t care about anything other than finding her safe and well.

He had never known such raw fear as he travelled beneath the heat of a sun which was growing ever more blistering. Even though she was out of practice, he knew that she was a sound horsewoman—a fact which had always been a source of pride since he had been the one to tutor her, but which now gave him only comfort. And he found himself clinging to that one small comfort. Please let her ride safely, he prayed. Please not let something have frightened the horse so that Sara might be lying there buckled and broken on the sand. Alone and scared while the sun beat down on her and the vultures waited to peck out her beautiful violet eyes...

He sucked in a breath of hot air which felt raw as it travelled down his throat. He should not think the worst. He would not think the worst. Think positive, he told himself. At least no snake or brown scorpion could touch her when she was high up on her horse.

But knowing that did not help him locate her, did it?

Where was she? Where was she?

His eyes trained unblinkingly on the ground before him—he saw the exact point where her path had veered off from the main route. Had something distracted the horse? Distracted her?

He pushed forward now, letting the powerful stallion stream across the sands until Suleiman urged it to a halt and then opened his mouth to call across the desolate landscape.

‘Sara! Sa-ra!’

But the ensuing response was nothing but an empty silence and his heart gave a painful lurch.

He forced himself to take a drink from one of the water-bottles he carried, for dehydration would be good for neither of them if he found her.

When he found her.

He had to find her.

The position of the sun and his wristwatch told him that he had been searching for her for over four hours. He could feel his heart pumping painfully in his chest. The heat of the midday sun was a tough enough combatant but darkness was a whole different ball-game.

He thought of the nocturnal creatures which came out in the cold of the desert night—dangerous animals which populated this inhospitable terrain.

‘Sara!’ he called again and then the horse’s ears pricked up and Suleiman strained to hear a sound that was almost lost in the distance. He listened again.

It was a sound. The smallest sound in the world. The sound of a voice. If it had been anyone else’s voice, he might not have recognised it—but Suleiman had heard Sara’s voice in many guises. He’d heard it as a child. He’d heard its hesitancy in puberty and its breathlessness in passion. But he had never heard it sound quite so broken nor so lost as it did right now.

‘Sara!’ he yelled, the word spilling from his lips as if it had been ripped from the very base of his lungs.

And then the shout again. Due east a little. He pressed his thighs against the flanks of the horse and urged it forward in a gallop in the direction of the sound. He heard nothing more and as the silence grew, so too did his fear that he had simply imagined it. An aural version of a desert mirage...

Until he saw the shape of a rock up ahead. A dark red rock which soared up revealing a dark cool cave underneath against which gleamed the metallic golden sheen of an Akhal-Teke palomino. He narrowed his eyes, for the horse carried no rider, and he galloped forward to see Sara leaning back against the rock. Its shadow consumed her with its terracotta light but he could see that her face was white with fear and her eyes looked like two deep pools of violet ink.

Grabbing a water-bottle, he jumped from the horse’s back and was beside her in a moment. He held the vessel to her lips and she sucked on it greedily, like a small animal being bottle-fed. He put the bottle down and as he watched the colour and the strength return to her all his own fear and anger bubbled up inside him.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ he demanded, levering her up against him so that her face was inches away from his.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Her voice sounded weak. ‘I was trying to get away.’

‘You could have died!’

‘I’m not...I’m not that easy to get rid of,’ she said, her lips trying for a smile but he noticed she didn’t quite achieve it—though nothing could disguise the flash of relief which flared briefly in her eyes.

‘Where were you headed for?’ he demanded, watching as he saw her face assume a look of sudden wariness.

She looked at him from the shuttered forest of her lashes. ‘Where do you think? Back to the airport.’

‘To the military base?’

‘Yes, to the military base. To demand to be taken back to England. I...I came to my senses, Suleiman. I realised that I couldn’t go through with it after all—no matter what you or the Sultan threatened me with, I don’t care. I don’t care about political dynasties or forging an alliance between my country and his. My brother will have to find someone else to offer up as a human sacrifice.’

Furiously, he stood up and pulled out his mobile phone and started barking into it in Qurhahian. Sara could hear him telling the military that the search should be called off. That the princess had been found and she was safely in his charge.

But when he terminated the call the look on his face didn’t make Sara feel in the least bit safe. In fact, it made her feel the opposite of safe. His black eyes were filled with fury as he slowly advanced towards her again.

‘So let me get this straight,’ he said, and she could tell that he was only just holding onto his temper. ‘You took off on your own into one of the most hostile territories in the world—even though you have not ridden for years and have been living a pampered life in London—is that right?’

Her gaze was defiant as she met the accusation in his eyes.

‘Yes,’ she said fiercely. ‘That’s exactly right.’

The absurdity of her quest infuriated him. He thought about the danger she’d put herself in and he felt the clench of anger—and fear too, at the thought of what could have happened to her. He intended to give her a piece of his mind. To tell her that he felt like putting her across his knee and smacking her. At least, that was what he thought he intended. But somehow it didn’t work out like that.

Maybe it was the sight of all that tousled blonde hair, or the violet glitter of her beautiful eyes. Maybe it was because he’d always wanted her and had never stopped wanting her. His desire for her had been like an endless hunger which had eaten him up from the inside out and suddenly there was no controlling it any longer.