by Monica Burns
The old man’s response told Altair the shopkeeper knew who he was. Arching an eyebrow, he shook his head. “Ten thousand piastres? This rug is lovely but worth no more than two thousand piastres.”
“But look closely at the weave, Excellency. It is unparalleled in Egypt. Nowhere else will you find such beautiful craftsmanship. Surely it is worth at least seven thousand piastres to a man of your wealth and position.”
Altair shook his head and glanced out the window toward the establishment across the street. Returning his attention to the shopkeeper, he folded his arms across his chest. “Spoken like a man who knows more than he reveals. I’ll give you three thousand piastres for the rug.”
“Ah, Excellency, you wound me. How could I possibly part with such a beautiful rug for less than five thousand piastres?” Laughter sparkled in the limpid gaze of the old man, and Altair found himself smiling back.
“Four thousand piastres, and no more.”
“Done!” the shopkeeper exclaimed with satisfaction. “Shall I have it sent to Sheikh el Mazir’s villa, Excellency?”
The question made Altair send the man a probing glance. “So you know me.”
“Yes, Excellency, Sheikh el Mazir was kind enough to back the establishment of my shop. You are well known to me, Excellency.”
Studying the man’s laughing gaze for a moment, Altair remembered a letter from his cousin more than six months before that discussed several business ventures. It appeared this shop was one of those investments.
“Your name?”
“Sahir Mabur, Excellency.”
“Well, Sahir, I believe your suggestion to deliver this lovely rug to the Sheikh’s villa is an excellent one.”
He turned his head to peruse the storefront across the street. As he did so, Sahir clucked his tongue. “Tch, tch, tch, Excellency. The man you saw go into the tavern will not be out for some time.”
“How do you know that?” Altair tensed with suspicion.
The shopkeeper smiled patiently and bowed. “It is not the first time I’ve noticed your tribesman going into the tavern.”
“Do you know who the man is?”
“Alas, I don’t, Excellency. But I did send word to Sheikh el Mazir of the man’s activities. It is a bad thing to betray one’s people.”
Altair nodded as his gaze drifted back to the front of the establishment across the street. “I’d like to wait here until the man comes out.”
“Of course, Excellency, you honor me with your presence in my shop. May I offer you a cup of coffee?”
“Thank you.”
The merchant disappeared into the back of his shop, while Altair moved to a spot along the wall that afforded him a clear view of the tavern opposite the rug shop. A few moments later, Sahir returned with a small cup of coffee. Altair accepted the drink with a smile of gratitude. The aromatic scent of cardamom filled his nostrils as he took a small taste of the brew. Strong and sweet, the coffee reminded him he was home.
While the merchant returned to his duties, Altair leaned against the cool stone wall savoring his drink. His gaze returned to the tavern. Who was the tribesman who’d gone into the Hoggar stronghold and why? What would make a man betray his tribe? More importantly, what sort of betrayal was the man planning? Had Medjuel investigated the man? Did his cousin even know the man’s identity?
One question after another bombarded him. He sipped at the thick coffee in his cup as he pondered the questions filling his head. Then there was Alex. Twice now, someone had attempted to kill her. The stone falling from the balcony at the Museum had not been an accident. According to workers, someone had deliberately dislodged the stone.
Then there was the snake. A viper as deadly as a cobra could never get aboard a ship like the Moroccan Wind on its own. Someone had been going up and down the gangplank from the moment the ship docked. It would have been easy for someone to move about unnoticed. No, someone had intentionally put the snake in Alex’s cabin.
He grimaced at the memory of seeing her terrorized, struggling to keep from leaping toward him. Bravery was not a trait limited to men, but she had exceeded even the courage of some men in battle. Why would someone want Alex dead? It didn’t make sense.
Frowning, he sipped at the thick drink in his cup. Nothing had made much sense to him since he’d met Alex. In little more than two weeks, the woman had managed to turn him inside out with anger, desire and amusement. Medjuel was right—she was a woman worthy enough to stand at the side of Pharaoh or a mere sheikh.
But he wasn’t Pharaoh, and while he might be a mere sheikh, his blood and lifestyle would always stand between him and any possibility of loving a woman like Alexandra Talbot. Even if Caroline hadn’t betrayed his trust, she would never have been able to survive in the desert. With unexpected fervor, his inner voice suggested that Alex was different. She had strength and courage. Two essential qualities for surviving the harsh Bedouin lifestyle. He shoved the thought aside. It didn’t matter what he thought or believed. Alex’s safety was in his hands, and he needed all of his wits to protect her
The sun was almost directly overhead when his quarry emerged from the Hoggar tavern. From where he stood, Altair could see the man’s face plainly. The Mazir looked furtively around him before heading off toward the docks. Swallowing the last of his coffee, he called for Sahir. When the merchant emerged from the back of the shop, Altair handed him the empty cup.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Sahir. I shall tell Sheikh el Mazir he made a wise decision to invest in your business.”
“You humble me, Excellency.”
Nodding, he said goodbye and strode out into the street. The sun now pushed high into the sky, and Altair took mental note of the heat his European clothes generated. The moment he reached the villa, he’d talk with Medjuel and then change into his gambaz. He’d be much more comfortable.
But his comfort would only be a physical relief from the heat. With mixed emotions, he headed toward the family villa. Each stride he took pounded out his anger against the street’s hard surface. Why hadn’t Medjuel told him about this treachery? What the devil was going on? There was a traitor in their midst, and it unsettled him.
The fierce pace he set ate up the distance to the family villa in minutes. Entering the inner courtyard, he followed a stone path through wild splashes of floral color. As he passed the small fountain in the center of the open-air court he heard the soft cooing of a pair of Namqua doves. The courtyard was one of his favorite places, and he’d spent many a moonlit night here, simply enjoying the night sky.
This time he paid little heed to the beauty around him. Instead, he charged into the house and headed toward the study his cousin used whenever the tribe was in Cairo. Barreling into the room, he saw his cousin’s mouth curl with amusement.
“What has the lovely Miss Talbot done now to make you so furious, Altair?”
“Alex’s done nothing. I just came from Sahir Mabur’s shop where I witnessed a Mazir entering the Hoggar tavern. We have a traitor in our midst.”
Medjuel’s face took on a troubled expression, as he rose to his feet and moved to the window overlooking the courtyard. Despite an outward appearance of serenity, his cousin’s knuckles were white with tension as he gripped the frame of the window to stare out at the tranquil scene.
“I know.”
“You know!” Altair snapped. “Why haven’t you done something about it?”
“Because I’m waiting for the right moment to confront Mohammed. There’s been word that some of our wells have been taken by Tarih’s men. If Mohammed is helping them, I need to know what he’s been telling the Hoggar. If I approach him too soon, it’s quite possible I won’t find out what Sheikh Tarih is up to.”
Medjuel turned slowly to face him. His cousin was obviously troubled, yet he seemed almost resigned to the betrayal of their tribesman. Altair shook his head and frown
ed. Why hadn’t Medjuel written to him about Mohammed? As his cousin’s advisor, he needed to know about these things.
Why had his cousin remained silent on an issue that affected the entire tribe? Was there some question as to his commitment to the tribe? The family? He’d always served Medjuel with more loyalty and love than any other tribesman. Surely his cousin knew that.
“It’s unlike you to not confront someone. What if Mohammed tells Tarih about the three new water sources we found last spring? If Tarih can’t use them, he’s malicious enough to contaminate them simply to keep us from using them. We can’t afford to lose any of our water sources.”
A cold expression crossed his cousin’s face. “Are you questioning my leadership?”
“No, of course not.” Altair stared at his cousin in puzzlement. “I’m simply offering you counsel as your advisor.”
“And you’ve told me.” Medjuel grimaced. “I’ve had Mohammed watched for several weeks now. When the time is right, I shall deal with the traitor.”
“Medjuel, you know you can count on me to help with anything that might be troubling you, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, Altair.”
Altair watched his cousin turn away to stare out the window again. He had been gone too long. It was his responsibility to support his cousin in leading the Mazir. He’d failed Medjuel in that respect. While his cousin was dealing with life and death issues here, he’d been in London doing very little.
“I’m sorry. I should have come home sooner.”
“Your presence would not have made a difference.” Medjuel turned around to eye him closely for a moment, then with a smile his cousin strode toward him and grasped Altair by the arms. “But you’re home now, and that is all that matters.”
From the study doorway, a loud, joyous voice cried out Altair’s name, and he whirled around to see his stepbrother racing toward him.
“Kahlil,” he exclaimed with a delighted laugh as he embraced the young man in a tight hug. He released his brother and took a step back. His hands settled on Kahlil’s shoulders before he gave a gentle tug to the goatee the younger man wore. “Look at you, little brother. I go away for a few months and you finally manage to grow a beard.”
“And you need to grow yours back.” Kahlil grinned.
Altair squeezed his brother’s shoulder as he saw their mother entering the study. Her beauty still visible, despite the strands of silver filtering through her coal-black hair, Gameela Mazir was every inch the Bedouin princess. Even her name meant beauty and grace. It was easy to see why his father had been so enamored with her. Stepping forward, he opened his arms, and she hurried into his embrace.
He held her tight for a long moment before stepping back away from her. With a kiss to her brow, he smiled. “You are well?”
“Yes, and so happy to have you home again.” Gameela beamed at him.
“And Jemal?”
“You know your stepfather. The spring lambs have arrived, and you know how important they are to him.”
That he did. Jemal had married his mother shortly after he’d turned twelve. He’d resented his stepfather, and not made things easy for the man. But Jemal had been patient. Patient and wise. Instead of trying to win his approval, his stepfather had made him responsible for the care of an orphaned lamb. He’d known nothing about how to care for a lamb, and when the animal wouldn’t eat, he’d gone to Jemal. His stepfather had solemnly looked back at him, and pointed out that not all orphans were willing to take to a new parent. But that love, kindness and patience would serve both well. He’d gone back to his lamb—finally getting it to eat. Still, he’d not missed the parallel between him and Jemal. It had been the beginning of the end of all their differences. His stepfather was a good man, and had become a close friend.
“Are you staying for dinner, Altair?” Kahlil’s question jerked him back to the present.
His brother’s request made him wince with regret. “Actually, I agreed to dine with Miss Talbot and Mrs. Beacon.”
“But you’ll be staying here?” Gameela’s voice held the slightest trace of entreaty.
Capturing his mother’s hands, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Yes, I’ll be staying here. At least until day after tomorrow.”
“So soon?” Kahlil protested.
“I’m afraid so. Miss Talbot is in a hurry to get to Khatana-Qantir. She thinks it’s where Per-Ramesses is as well as Nourbese’s tomb.”
Silence filled the study, and Altair looked over his shoulder at Medjuel. A strange expression crossed his cousin’s face, but he couldn’t decipher it. Their eyes met, and the look vanished. Altair dismissed Medjuel’s expression as one of surprise. They both knew how unusual it was for anyone outside of the tribe to know Nourbese’s story. Beside him, Kahlil broke the quiet.
“If she finds Nourbese’s tomb, that means the tribe will be granted riches beyond our wildest dreams.”
Gameela shook her head as she arched her brow. “You’ve been listening to too many folk tales, young man.”
Altair met his mother’s curious look. “I think Miss Talbot might actually find Nourbese’s tomb, Mother. She’s a bright and remarkable woman.”
“And brave. A woman worthy of you, cousin.” Medjuel’s laughing words arched Gameela’s brow higher. “I have no doubt that you find her quite lovely.”
“I think I should like to meet this woman, Altair.”
His mother’s firm voice made him groan. “Not this time, Mother. When we come back from Khatana-Qantir, I’ll arrange for Miss Talbot to join us for dinner.”
Medjuel burst out into laughter, and Altair glared at his cousin. His glower simply made his cousin laugh all the harder. The mirth rolling from his cousin almost made him forget how tense Medjuel had been earlier. He would do whatever he could to help his cousin. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop him from wondering if Medjuel’s course of action was in the best interest of the tribe. He’d stayed away too long. Far too long.
Chapter Nine
Alex stretched her limbs as her eyes slowly opened to take in the netting surrounding her canopied bed. Last night’s dinner had been a pleasant evening, despite the tension between her and Altair. Jane had gone out of her way to charm Lord Tunbridge. She had seemed determined to make the man enamoured with her.
Sitting up in bed, Alex smiled. It had been amusing to watch her friend match wits with the earl. Jane had been irritated by the man’s dismissive behavior in the lobby yesterday, particularly when she was unaccustomed to being ignored. Her friend would have considered it a challenge to bring the man to his knees and make him adore her.
As she’d watched her friend engage in a duel of words and witticisms with the earl last night it had provided a small buffer against the emotions Altair had aroused in her. The sight of him entering the dining room of the Billôr Sarâya had only rekindled the fire he’d ignited in her earlier on this very bed. The memory of his touch on her skin made her heart race.
With a sharp movement, she flung the covers off her and scrambled out of bed. Stop it, Alex—the man is a rake. His behavior was a way to control you. She strode to the dresser, which had a scalloped mirror attached to the back. Hands braced against the wooden surface of the furniture, she scowled at her reflection.
“Admit it, you enjoyed every minute of it, Alex Talbot,” she whispered at the image in the glass.
The woman looking back at her shook her head as if trying to deny the accusation. Her eyes fluttered shut at the memory of Altair’s heated gaze on her last night. It had been difficult to forget that only a few short hours earlier his hands and mouth had been exploring her body in a way that drove the breath from her lungs.
Staring at her reflection once more, she slowly slid her nightgown off her shoulders to study her body in the mirror. Just thinking about the man had already hardened her nipples, and her breasts felt heavy. Her fingers g
lided over her rigid nipples, as she remembered the way he’d suckled her.
She cupped each of her breasts, her thumbs strumming each nipple. Her eyes closed, she remembered how Altair’s tongue had teased and nipped at her. She ached with the need to feel his touch once more. She wanted him to tempt her again. Her mouth grew dry at the memories, and she inhaled a ragged breath. She wanted more. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin again.
Her eyes flew open to stare at her reflection in horror. No—no, how could she want that? How could she crave the kisses of a man she couldn’t trust? She needed to learn more control. She was here to find Per-Ramesses and Nourbese’s tomb, not to act like a wanton harîm girl.
With a disgusted sniff at the image in front of her, she turned away from the mirror. Whether Altair liked it or not, she intended to enjoy her brief stay in Cairo. Nothing he could do would spoil her enjoyment of the city. In the desert, she’d have to do his bidding, but here in town, tolerating his over-protective behavior was a different matter.
She’d just finished dressing when an authoritarian knock sounded on her door. Startled, she turned her head toward the noise. Her heart instantly skipped a beat. It was a distinctive knock. She visualized Altair on the other side of the wooden barrier. When she hesitated, the knock came again. Insistent and impatient. It was him.
She hurried to the door to answer the commanding raps. His tall figure filled the doorway as she flung the door open. She fought to keep breathing. There was only one word to describe him. Magnificent. Unable to take her eyes off him, she struggled to calm her erratic heartbeat. Somewhere in the back of her mind, curiosity made her question why he was dressed like one of the natives. The thought was a fleeting one as she fought to keep her senses from responding to his commanding presence.
Dressed in the dark blue, flowing garment of the Mazir, he looked as if he had been born to wear the desert clothing. No longer the English lord, he was as lean and predatory as a leopard. A utility belt filled with rifle cartridges crossed his chest, while a pistol was tucked into a belt around his waist.
