Forged in the Desert Heat

“You were listening. Now, hold that thought while I go and set up a tent. Can you do that? And can you also not wander off?”

“I don’t have a death wish,” she said. “I’m not about to wander off into the desert at night. Or during the day. Why do you think I haven’t escaped?”

“That begs the question how you were taken in the first place.” He took the tent, rolled up and strapped to the back of his horse, and walked over the outcrop of rock. He would hide them from view as best as he could.

Jamal and his men were hardly the only thieves, or the only danger, they could face out in the desert.

“I was on a desert tour. Of the Bedouin camps in Shakar. On the border.”

“So my people went into Shakar to take you?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“You are damned lucky they knew who you were.” He didn’t like to think of the fate she might have met otherwise.

“My ring,” she said. “It gave me away. It was part of the Shakari crown jewels.” She flexed her fingers, bare now. “They kept that. But then, they would be pretty bad thieves if they didn’t.”

“Fortunate you had it,” he said. “Odd they did not produce it as proof.”

Pale eyes widened, panic flaring in their depths. “But you must know about me,” she said. “You must know that Tariq planned to marry soon. I would imagine even base intelligence would have brought you that bit of information.”

“An alliance that pertains to the political, I believe,” he said.

“Yes. And he loves me.”

“I’m sure he does,” Zafar said dryly.

“He does. I’m not fool enough to think that my connections have nothing to do with it, but we’ve been...we’ve been engaged for years. Distantly, but we have spent time together.”

“And you love him?”

“Yes,” she said, tilting her chin up, blue eyes defiant. “I do. With all my heart. I was looking forward to the marriage.”

“When was the marriage to take place?”

“A few months yet. I was to be introduced to his people, our courtship to be played out before the media.”

“But your courtship has already taken place.”

“Yes. But you know...appearances. I mean, that’s the whole point of not taking me straight back to Shakar, isn’t it? Appearances. You don’t want Tariq to know your people, or by extension, you were involved in this. And you don’t want to appear weak. You don’t want people to know it happened on your watch.” She nodded once, as if agreeing with herself. “That’s a big part of it, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t had a single day in the palace yet. I don’t want to be at the center of a scandal involving a kidnapped future sheikha of a neighboring country, so yes, you’re right.”

“I see.”

“What is it you see, habibti?” he asked, the endearment flowing off his tongue. It had become a habit to call women that. Because it was easier than remembering names. Safer, in many ways. It kept them at a distance and that was how he preferred it.

Life in the desert, on the move, made it difficult to find lovers, but he had them in a few of his routine stops. A couple of widows in particular Bedouin camps, and a woman in the capital city who was very good at supplying him with necessary information.

She squinted, pale eyes assessing him. “That this is a threat to you personally.”

“I am not the most well-liked man in Al Sabah. Let’s just say that. This is an issue when one means to rule a country.”

It was the understatement of the century. If he had been recognized anywhere in the city while his uncle was in command, his life would have been forfeit. His exile had been under the darkest of circumstances, and since then, he’d hardly done anything to improve his standing, particularly with those loyal to his uncle.

His loyalty was to the Bedouins. To ensure they never suffered because of his uncle’s rule, and without him, they would have. No medical, no emergency services of any kind. His uncle had put them at the mercy of foreign aid while taxing them with particular brutality.

They had become Zafar’s people.

And now...now somehow he had to assume the throne and unite Al Sabah again, redeem himself in the eyes of the people in the cities while not losing the people in the desert.

And without incurring the wrath of the Sheikh of Shakar.

Not a tall order at all.

“It doesn’t really make me feel all that good about being out here with you.”

“I’m certain it does not. I’m also certain that’s not my problem. Now, I have a tent to pitch so that we don’t have to sleep in the open.”

“You expect me to sleep in a tent with you?”

“I do. The alternative is for one of us to sleep without any sort of protection and I’m not going to do that. I assume you won’t, either. You should see all the bugs that come out at night.”

Ana shuddered. The idea of sleeping in the vast openness of the desert with no walls around her at all was completely freaky, and she didn’t want any part of it. But the thought of sleeping next to this man...this stranger...was hardly any better.

Her one and constant comfort was the fact that he didn’t want to start a war.

Maybe she should tell him she was a virgin. And that Tariq knew it. So if he tried anything he shouldn’t there would be no getting out of it. War would be upon him.

A war over her hymen. Yuck. But potentially true.

And if it would help protect her, well, she wasn’t above using it as an excuse. But she would save it. Because...yuck.

“How long do you intend to keep me with you?” she asked, watching as he began to work at setting up what looked to be a far-too-small tent.

“Until I no longer need to.” He was wearing so many layers, robes to keep him protected from the sun, that it was hard to tell just how his body was shaped, and yet, because of the ease of his movements and the grace in them, she got a sense that he was a man in superior physical condition.

Not that she should notice or care.

“That’s not very informative.”

“Because I have no more information to give. I will have to evaluate the situation upon arrival at the palace, and until then, we are stuck with each other.”

He continued to work, his movements quick and agile, practiced.

“So...you do this a lot?”

“Nearly every night.”