“Which only goes to show you’re in need of some serious therapy,” she muttered as she turned away from the spray.
After drying herself and her hair and applying plenty of lotion to combat the dryness of the desert, she slipped on her bra and panties, then a lightweight T-shirt and jeans. Next came her riding boots, followed by the traditional robes that covered her from shoulder to toes. Last, she slipped on her head covering.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, the only part of her she recognized was her blue eyes. Otherwise, she could have been any other Bahanian woman of the desert. Most women who lived in the city had long abandoned the traditional dress, but she and Murat would be heading into the desert where the old ways were still favored.
She left the bedroom and found Murat waiting for her in the living room.
He wore a loose-fitting white shirt and riding pants. She could see her reflection in his boots.
“I can arrange a Jeep if you would prefer,” he said by way of greeting.
“I’d rather ride. I won’t go off by myself again. I’ve learned my lesson.”
He nodded, then held out his hand. The diamond wedding band rested on it. “We are married. I will not have my people asking questions.”
She stared at the ring, then at him. The internal battle was a short one because she agreed that she did not want others brought into their private battle of wills. She took the ring and slipped it on.
His expression didn’t change at all. She’d half expected him to gloat and was pleased when he didn’t.
“Shall we go?” he asked.
Murat stepped out of the car into the milling crowd by the stable. Nearly fifty people collected supplies, checked horses, loaded trucks or called out names on the master list. His head of security gave him a thumbs-up, before returning to the conversation he’d been having with his team.
Murat helped Daphne out of the car, then waited while she glanced around.
“Did you say something about roughing it?” she asked in amusement. “I was picturing us on a couple of horses, with a camel carrying a few supplies.”
“This is not much more than that.”
She laughed. “Of course not. You do know how to travel in style.”
“Will you feel better knowing we are to sleep in a tent?”
“Gee, how big will it be?”
“Not large. A few thousand square feet.”
“However will we survive?”
“Everyone else is housed elsewhere. There is a kitchen tent, a communication tent and so on.”
She shaded her eyes as she stared into the distance. “I’m glad we’re going.”
As was he. Even shrouded in yards of fabric, she was still beautiful. He had not enjoyed the past week—her anger and silence. He hated that she slept in another bed, although he would not force her into his.
Why did she not understand that what was done was done and now they should get on with their lives? Did she really think that being married to him was such a hardship? She insulted him with her reluctance and sad eyes.
“Daphne,” he said, drawing her attention back to him. “About our time in the desert. I would like us to call a truce.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible when only one of us is fighting,” she said. “But I understand what you’re saying.”
She looked at the horses, then the camels and trucks. “Will we be joined by some of the nomadic tribes?”
“Yes. Word has spread that I will be among my people. They will join us as they can.”
She looked back at him. “I agree to the truce, but for your people, not for you.”
“As you wish.”
For now it was enough. If she spent time with him and forgot to be angry, he knew he could win her over. Then when they returned to the palace, all would be well.
“Come,” he said, holding out his hand.
She took it and allowed him to lead her to a snow-white gelding.
“Try not to fall off this one,” he said as he helped her mount.
She settled into the saddle and grinned down at him. “Try not to make me angry.”
“That is never my goal.”
“But you’re so good at it.”
“I am a man of many talents.”
Something flashed in her eyes. Something dark and sensuous that heated his blood and increased his ever-present wanting.
“We’re not going there,” she said. “Don’t think for a moment there’s going to be any funny business.”
“But you enjoy laughing.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“So many rules.”
“I mean this one.”
“As you wish.”
She might mean it but that did not prevent him from changing her mind. The desert was often a place of romance and he intended to use the situation to his advantage. Their tent might be large and well furnished, but there was only one bedroom…and one bed.
“Tell me where we’re going,” Daphne said after they’d been traveling for about an hour. “Is it a specific route? We’re on a road.” Sort of. More of a dirt track that cut through the desert.
“Yes. This leads north to the ancient Silk Road. We will not go that far—just into the heart of the desert.”
The Silk Road. She’d heard of it, studied it. To think they were so close. There was so much history in Bahania. So many treasures for her to discover.
She shifted slightly in her saddle. After a few minutes of trepidation after finding herself back on a horse, she’d quickly settled into the rhythmic striding and lost her fear. Murat riding close beside her helped.
She supposed it wasn’t a good sign that the very man who made her insane also made her feel safe. “Will we be camping by an oasis?” she asked.
“Each night. Eventually we will make our way to—” He hesitated.
“What?” she asked.
“We are going to a place of great mystery. It is not far out of our way, and I thought you would enjoy reacquainting yourself with my sister Sabrina.”
Daphne remembered the pretty, intelligent teenager from her previous visit to Bahania. “She lives out here?”
“Yes, with her husband. My sister Zara resides there, as well.”
“Zara. Okay, she’s the daughter of the dancer. The American who found out she was the king’s daughter a few years ago?”
“Exactly. She is married to an American sheik named Rafe. He is the chief of security.”
“Of what?”
Murat looked at her. “That is the secret. You must take a solemn vow to never reveal it to anyone.” He seemed to be perfectly serious.
“You know I’m still planning to leave,” she said.
“We agreed not to speak of such things.”
“Not speaking doesn’t take away the truth. But I would never betray the people of Bahania. Or you.”
He nodded, as if he’d expected no less. “You have heard of the City of Thieves?”
She thought for a second. “It’s a myth. Like Atlantis. A beautiful city in the middle of the desert where those who steal find sanctuary. Supposedly some of the most amazing missing treasures are said to reside there. Jewels, paintings, statues, tapestries. If a country has lost something of great value in the last thousand years, it can probably be found in the City of Thieves.”
“It is true.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“All of it. The city exists.”
“You mean like a real city. Buildings. People. Cool stolen stuff?”
“There is a castle built in the twelfth century and a small city surrounding it. An underground spring provides water. The buildings all blend so perfectly with their surroundings that they cannot be seen from any distance or from the sky.” He motioned to the large crowd behind them. “We will leave nearly everyone long before we near the city. Prince Kardal will send out his own security forces to escort us in.”
“I can’t believe it,” she breathed.
“It’s like finding out the Easter bunny is real.”
“Sabrina is an expert on the antiquities there. Due to her influence, several pieces have already been returned to some countries. She will take you on a tour if you would like.”
“I’d love it. When do we get there?”
He laughed. “Not so fast. First we must ride deep into the desert and find our way to the edge of the world.”
“I’ve never been there,” she admitted, more than a little intrigued.
“It is a place worth visiting.”
Chapter Eleven
Daphne might hate the way Murat had arranged their marriage and not enjoy being kept in Bahania against her will, but she had to admit that the man knew how to travel and travel well.
Small trucks with large tires kept pace with the group on horse-and camelback. Several vehicles were designated as moving cafeterias, offering everything from cold water to sandwiches and fresh fruit.
Lunch had been a hit-and-miss affair, eaten while her horse drank and rested, but Murat promised a dinner feast when they reached their camp for the first night.
He had also promised more people would join them, and he was true to his word.
By midafternoon, the number of travelers had tripled. Every hour or so another group appeared on the horizon and moved toward them. There were families with small herds of camels or goats, several young men with carts, and what looked like entire tribes.
Murat’s security spoke with them first, inspected a few bags and boxes, then let them join the growing throng. A few of the men rode to the front of the queue and spoke briefly with Murat. She noticed that those brave enough to do so seemed to focus most of their attention on her.
“Why do they do that?” she asked as a man bowed low in his saddle and returned to his family somewhere behind them. “If they want to meet me, why don’t they just ask?”
“It is not our way. First they must speak with me and remind me of their great service to me or my father. Perhaps their connection is through a bloodline or marriage. Once I have acknowledged their place, they retreat. Later, at camp, they will bring their wives and children and introductions will be made.”
He glanced at her and smiled. “I do not flatter myself that so many people are interested in traveling with me. I have gone into the desert dozens of times. It is their future queen who sparks their imagination.”
Daphne felt both flattered and guilty. She was happy to meet anyone interested in meeting her, but she hated the thought of letting them think her position as Murat’s wife was permanent.
“Your eyes betray you,” he said. “How tender your feelings for those you have not yet met. Perhaps if you opened your heart to your husband, you would be less troubled.”
“Perhaps if my husband had bothered to win my affection instead of forcing something I never wanted, I could open my heart to him.”
Instead of looking subdued or chagrined or even slightly guilty, Murat appeared pleased. “You have not called me that before.”
“What?”
“Your husband.”
How like him to only hear that part of the sentence. “Don’t get too excited. I didn’t mean it in a good way.”
“Nevertheless it is true. We are bound.” His gaze dropped to her midsection. “Perhaps by a child growing even now.”
“Don’t count on it.”
She knew that if he had his way, he would will her to be pregnant. And if she had hers…she would be gone by morning.
Daphne breathed in the sweet air of the desert. The sounds delighted her—the laughter of the children, the jingling of the harnesses on the horses and camels, the call of the birds following them overhead.
As always the vastness of the wilderness left her feeling both small and yet very much a part of the world. All right—if truth be told, she would not wish herself away just yet. Perhaps it would be better if she left Murat after this trip.
“It has been many years since my people have had a queen to call their own,” he said.
“Then you should encourage your father to remarry.”
“He has had four wives and several great loves. I think he prefers his various mistresses.”
“What man wouldn’t?”
Murat’s expression hardened. “Is that what you think? Do you resist me because you assume I will not keep my vows? I assure you, I have no interest in being with another woman. You are my wife and I seek solace in your bed alone.”
Had things been different, the information would have thrilled her. As it was, she felt a slight flicker in her chest, but she quickly doused it.
“For now,” she said.
“For always.”
He drew his horse so close, her leg brushed against his.
“I am Crown Prince Murat of Bahania. My word is law. I will honor our vows to my death.”
The declaration had the desired effect. She felt bad for doubting him and for the briefest moment wondered if she was being incredibly dumb to resist him. Yes, he’d married her against her will, but it wasn’t as if he planned to mistreat her.
Wait! Was that her standard for a happy marriage? Lack of mistreatment? What about love and respect? What about treating each other with dignity? What about the fact that for the rest of their lives together, he would think it was all right to ignore her opinion and desires and simply do what he wanted?
“I plan to release you well before you breathe your last,” she said.
His gaze narrowed. “You mock my sincerity.”
“You ignore my deepest and most sincere wishes.”
“I have not tried to bribe you.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “And that’s a good thing?”
“I knew you would not approve. Nor would jewels and money influence your decision.”
“You’re right about that.” How could he know her so well on the one hand and be such a jerk on the other? “You’re very complicated.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
“I’m not sure it’s a compliment.”
“Of course it is. You will not be bored with me.”
That was true. “We’d fight a lot.”
“Passion is healthy.”
“Too much anger can chip away at the foundation of a relationship.”
“I would not allow that to happen.”
“You don’t always get to choose.”
“Of course I do. I am—”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Crown prince. Blah, blah, blah. You need some new material.”
He stared at her with the shocked expression of a man hearing words from the mouth of a beetle. Both dark eyebrows raised, his mouth parted and she half expected him to stick his finger in his ear and jiggle it around.
“You dare to speak to me that way?”
“What’s the problem. I am, for the moment at least, your wife. If I don’t, who will?”
“No one. It is not permitted.”
“Murat, you seem to be a pretty decent ruler, but you really have to get over yourself.”
She half expected him to call down thunder onto her. Instead he stared at her for a long moment, then tossed his head back and began to laugh.
The sound delighted her, even as she realized she’d never heard it before. Oh, he’d laughed, but not like this—unrestrained, uncontrolled. He was not a man who allowed himself to be taken off guard very often.
In that moment she knew she could make a difference for him. She could be the person he trusted above all others, the person he depended upon. She could ease his burden, give him a safe place to rest.
Need filled her. All her life she had longed to be a part of something. She’d always felt out of step with her family, and since leaving home, she’d never found anyone to love that completely. With Murat…
He was a man who took what he wanted. She thought of all the dates she’d had with guys who didn’t bother to call when they said they would or who were too intimidated by her family to want a rel
ationship with her. Men who hadn’t been strong.
Murat was too strong. They had been too weak. Was there any comfortable place in the middle? And if she had to choose one or the other, which was best?
Strength, she decided. Perhaps there was something to be said for a prince of the desert.
“What do you think?” Murat asked as he passed her a bowl filled with a spicy grain dish.
Daphne smiled. “It’s amazing. I feel as if I’m in the middle of a giant movie.”
A sea of tents surrounded them. Twilight approached, and in the growing dark, campfires stretched out toward the horizon. The last rays of the sun danced off the dozens of banners flying from tall poles.
Scents of a thousand meals prepared on open flames blended with perfumes and oils and the clean smell of fresh straw.
She and Murat dined alone. The guards were always there, ever-present shadows who watched for danger. Yet she felt comfortable and at peace. Should the unlikely occur and someone try to attack Murat, the intruder would be laid low long before he reached the center of the camp. The desert tribes were both fierce and loyal.
“While silence is often welcome in a woman,” he said, “in your case it troubles me. What are you plotting?”
“I’m thinking about your people. They have a long and proud history.”
“It is true. Many have sought to invade our land and none have succeeded. Now we have an air force to protect us from the skies.” He picked up his glass of wine. “Why do I know you care more for the fate of my people than you care for me?”
“Because it’s true,” she said cheerfully before biting into a piece of chicken.
“You think you can say anything to me.”
“Pretty much.” She reached for her napkin. “What are you going to do to me? I’m the future queen. You can’t really lock me up.”
“There are other forms of punishment.”
He spoke the words in a low voice that grated against her skin like burned velvet.
“Cheap threats,” she told him. “I am the future queen. You must honor me.”
Desert Rogues Part 2 Page 67
