Claiming His Desert Princess

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Contents

Cover (#u64a439f7-af4e-5377-a4c3-6d11ac884631)

Back Cover Text (#u450e1fb0-e8bc-52a7-a1ad-7dfdbf086a16)

Hot Arabian Nights (#u8b068c74-a892-5083-bdd3-0b78c5d37081)

Author Note (#u5360c45f-21a0-5941-8523-c2881c552385)

Title Page (#u50ba168f-b6eb-5b88-a2fa-d849e457613e)

About the Author (#ubb66c3f8-5967-5a61-945f-90385e9ec1a0)

Chapter One (#u5e0d657d-c8ea-5124-999c-a32bf662dd08)

Chapter Two (#u2b9e2a6d-5e1f-5e82-b0e1-98f3f9ced271)

Chapter Three (#ufcc8220f-15df-529b-8967-1819e08d6eeb)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Historical Note (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#uec5dc609-7773-581a-9bfe-5eb488360d72)

Kingdom of Nessarah, Arabia—July 1815

The moon was little more than a scimitar-shaped crescent in the night sky as Christopher moved stealthily towards the summit of the rocky outcrop which would provide him with the perfect vantage point. The heavens were strewn with hazy stars tonight, a scattering of dusty diamonds rather than the usual pincushion of bright-silver discs. Though he was pretty certain that the site he had come to reconnoitre was deserted, he had taken the precaution of leaving his hobbled camel at the nearest well, located over a mile away. The soft sand had given way to gravelly rubble underfoot. Patches of sparse scrub had forced their way through the hard-packed mud. Dusty and bereft of any greenery, their thick thorns snatched at his cloak as he crept forward, his soft-soled boots making no sound.

The rock formation which was the focus of his interest rose out of the gentle swell of the ground like the battlements of an ancient keep. In this light it looked russet red in colour, the vertical striations glittering. A clearly identifiable track had been hacked through the scrub leading towards a cleft in the rock. Stooping to examine the ground, Christopher could make out the indentations created by heavy cart wheels rumbling across the terrain. He was definitely in the right place.

His heart began to race with anticipation, but he mustn’t get ahead of himself. The whispered conversations he had overheard, the careful questioning of local contacts, his own research, might yet prove unfounded. The familiar tightening in his gut, the flicker of excitement which always accompanied such discoveries, was on this occasion leavened with a healthy dose of desperation. Never in his entire career had so much been riding on a mineral find.

A single black cloud traversed the moon, casting a shadow over the rugged desert landscape laid out before him. For six months he had been scouring southern Arabia in search of the perfect confluence of natural resources without once finding this, the most elusive of them all. He had now exhausted his list of potential locations. Nessarah was pretty much his last throw of the dice.

‘But this time, I know I’m in the right place,’ Christopher muttered resolutely to himself. The answer had to be here. He had grown weary of this self-imposed quest, longing for it to be over. He could not contemplate failure.

‘And so I must succeed.’ His hand felt automatically for the pouch containing the amulet. He did not need to remove it to trace the shape cast from beaten gold, the smooth enamel interior, the setting of each individual precious stone, and the oddly-shaped gap which might hold the key to the origin of the piece. He carried it with him everywhere, a tangible reminder of all he had lost, not least his own identity.

His entire life had been shown to be a sham built on false foundations on that fateful day shortly after the funeral when he had discovered the relic, along with the document which explained its presence. He had barely been able to comprehend the contents at the time. Even now, six long months into his search, nine months after that life-changing meeting which had taken place in London, he felt sick to the pit of his stomach when contemplating the ramifications.

And so he did not allow himself to think of them. His fingers tightened around the amulet, a priceless, ancient artefact, a potent symbol of the lie he had unwittingly been living, the bribe which had been paid to ensure the hateful, sordid truth of his past remained buried. He wished he had never discovered it, but having done so, he could do nothing until he had rid himself of it, returning it to its historical home. Only then could he put an end to this shattering chapter in his life, wipe the slate of his own history clean, make a fresh start and new man of himself.

But he was not there yet. First he had to prove that this new mine could provide him with the vital connection which had so far eluded him. Force of habit made him check that the pouch containing the amulet was securely fastened, that his belt was also securely buckled, that the scimitar and the slim dagger which hung from it could be easily drawn, and that the smaller dagger was still strapped to his leg. A man never knew when drastic action might be required. A final scan of the area with his spyglass assuring him that he was quite alone, Christopher got to his feet and went in search of the mine entrance.

* * *

An hour later, Tahira tethered her camel to a gnarled acacia tree. The moon was faint, hardly ideal for exploring the site, but that did not matter greatly. This was her first visit, a reconnoitre to familiarise herself with the terrain, to have a cursory look for the tell-tale signs of ancient occupation—or the lack of it. She pulled off her headdress and cloak, folding them neatly under the acacia. Her tunic and trousers were tobacco-brown, the same colour as her riding boots, designed to allow her to easily blend into the shadows, though such caution would not be necessary tonight, for the excavations had only just begun, too early as yet to merit the posting of a guard.

She had never before explored the site of a working mine, considering the risk of discovery too great, but she had never before needed to distract herself from such a dire situation at home. Her brother was determined to force her into obeying his will. She could not resist thumbing her nose at him by exploring this, his latest pet project, even though he would never know.

Excitement made her heart flutter. There was nothing quite like it, being out here all alone in the desert. Nothing compared to that tingling sense of anticipation, wondering what hidden treasures she might uncover. She had always possessed a strong, vital sense of connection with the past that she never could explain to her sisters. They simply couldn’t understand the affinity, the way her blood stirred when she held an ancient artefact, or stood on a spot where her antecedents once stood. Not that she would dream of admitting to such first-hand experience. Her sisters would be horrified if they ever found out about her night-time escapades, terrified by the consequences were she to be caught. She would not risk compromising them by sharing such information, preferring to keep her secret firmly to herself, and in doing so, keeping the three people she loved most in the world safe.

The three people in the world who, if her brother had his way, she would soon be forced to abandon. With the pressure on her to comply increasing daily, she was determined to make the most of her fleeting moments of freedom, storing up these precious nights as ballast against the future that others were determined to force upon her. A future she neither wanted nor had any say in. Here, under cover of darkness, released from the gilded cage she inhabited, she could cast off the burden of her birthright, forget the fate she was trying so assiduously to avoid, and inhabit another world, where no one but herself could dictate her actions.

Doing so was not without considerable risk, but as her sense of impending doom increased, so too did her determination to reward herself with these stolen hours. She would not think about the consequences of discovery. She refused to believe she would be caught. Besides, she reasoned, her activities were so improbable, it was highly unlikely that anyone would imagine her capable of them. There were advantages, after all, to being a mere female. Her brother and her father would not believe such defiance possible even if they gave it a second’s thought—which they would not. How satisfying it would be to confound them, to see the incredulity on their faces. Or it would be, if by doing so she would not immediately guarantee at the very least an abrupt cessation of her nocturnal activities.

A soft breeze whispered through the scrub, ruffling her tunic, tugging at the scarf which tied her hair back from her face. A gentle reminder that she had work to do. Shouldering the leather bag which contained her notebook and tools, Tahira began to explore the site.

* * *

She had completed a full circuit of the circumference of the rock formation, and had just clambered up to examine the entrance to the mine when the flicker of light from a lantern coming from inside the tunnel made her freeze in horror. There was a guard on duty after all. Heart bumping, mouth dry, Tahira turned away, bracing herself to flee down the steep incline towards her camel. He must have moved with the litheness and lightning speed of a sand cat, for she had taken no more than two steps when one very strong arm encircled her waist, lifting her clean off her feet.

‘How dare you! Release me at once.’

She could not decipher the guard’s response, for it was uttered in a foreign tongue, but he set her down immediately before turning her around to face him. ‘A woman! What in the name of the stars are you doing here?’

He spoke in Arabic now, though his accent was odd. Tahira blinked up at him in astonishment. ‘You are not a guard. What are you doing here, creeping about like a thief in the middle of the night?’

He laughed brazenly, holding the lantern higher. ‘I might reasonably ask you the same question.’

He was tall, dressed in dusty, everyday garb, a drab brown tunic and trousers rather like her own, a cloak that might have been white at some point in the distant past, and brown-leather riding boots, but there was nothing at all everyday about the man himself. In fact, Tahira’s first thought was that here was a man one would never forget meeting. Her second was that he was not only memorable, but at a visceral level extremely attractive. His tousled hair gleamed gold in the lantern light. His skin was deeply tanned, he had a strong nose and a sensual mouth, but it was his eyes which drew her attention, for they were the most extraordinary piercing blue rimmed with grey and, even more than the vicious scimitar which hung from his belt, proclaimed him dangerous.