The man was tall. His thick dark hair was short and layered. In the darkness of the evening, his features blurred, although she saw a flash of white teeth when he smiled.
“You have the courage of a camel,” he told her.
“Gee, thanks. Camels aren’t brave.”
“Ah, so you know that much about the desert. Fine. How about the courage of a desert fox.”
“Don’t they run away all the time?”
He shrugged. “You see my point. Good.”
She had the most childish urge to stick her tongue out at him. Instead she took a deep breath and smelled something wonderful. Her stomach growled loudly as she realized he held a plate in one hand and a cup in the other.
“Dinner?” she asked cautiously, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.
“Yes.” He crouched in front of her and set the plate and cup on the sand before helping her into a sitting position. “But can I trust you enough to untie you?”
It was all Sabrina could do not to throw herself at the food and start eating directly from the plate. Her mouth watered so much she had to swallow twice, and her throat ached at the thought of water.
“I swear I won’t try to run away.”
He settled next to her on the sand. “Why would I trust you? I don’t know anything about you except you have the sense of a flea.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I really hate all these animal comparisons. If you’re discussing the fact that I misplaced my horse and my camel, it’s not my fault. I tried to tether them when the sandstorm approached. I covered myself with a thick cloak and stayed low to the ground. I would say the fact that I survived the storm at all is a testament to my good sense.”
He did not appear the least bit impressed by her argument. “What about the fact that you’re in the desert by yourself?” He picked up the cup. “Or would you rather discuss the fact that you lost both your horse and your camel?”
“Not really,” she muttered, then leaned forward to sip from the cup he held out to her.
The water was cool and clean. She swallowed greedily, taking in the life-giving moisture. Never had anything tasted so sweet, so perfect.
When she finished the cup, he put it on the ground and picked up the plate.
She looked from the strips of meat and pieces of vegetables to his hands. “You aren’t seriously considering feeding me, are you?” She held up her bound wrists. “If you don’t want to untie me, at least let me feed myself.”
The thought of him touching her food was too weird. Although she was pretty hungry and he looked clean enough. Despite the heavy robes and the heat of the desert, the man in front of her didn’t smell.
“Allow me the privilege,” he said mockingly, and picked up a piece of meat.
She probably should have been brave and stubborn and refused. But her stomach was so very empty. Instead she leaned forward and took the meat from him, making sure her mouth never touched his fingers.
“I am Kardal,” he said as she chewed. “What is your name?”
She took her time in replying. After she’d swallowed, she licked her lips and stared eagerly at the plate. For reasons that weren’t completely clear to her, she didn’t want to tell him who she was.
“Sabrina,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t connect that name with Princess Sabra of Bahania. “You don’t sound like a nomad,” she said in an effort to distract him.
“Yet I am.” He offered her another piece of meat.
“You must have gone to school somewhere else. England? America?”
“Why do you say that?”
“The way you speak. Your word choices and syntax.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “What do you know of syntax?”
She chewed and swallowed. “Despite what you think, I’m not an idiot. I’ve studied. I know things.”
His dark eyes seemed to take possession of her soul. “What things, my desert bird?”
“I, ah—”
She was saved from having to answer by him feeding her a grilled bit of vegetable. This time, however, she wasn’t so very cautious and the side of his index finger touched her lower lip. At the moment of contact, something odd shifted inside of her. Food poisoning, she told herself. No doubt he’d laced the food with something horrible.
But she was hungry enough not to care. She continued eating until the plate was empty, then drank the second glass of water Kardal gave her. When they were finished, she expected him to return to the men sitting around the small fire. Instead he continued to sit across from her, studying her.
She wondered how bad she looked. Her hair was a tangled mess and she was sure she had smudges of dirt on her face from the sandstorm. Not that she wanted to be attractive for her captor. This was generic female vanity—nothing specific about the man in front of her.
“Who are you?” he said quietly, staring into her eyes. “Why were you alone in the desert?”
With food in her belly, she felt a little less vulnerable and scared. She thought about lying, but she’d never been very good at that. Refusing to answer might be an option, except there was something compelling about Kardal’s steady gaze. The easiest course of action was to tell the truth. Or at least part of it.
“I’m looking for the lost City of Thieves.”
She expected a reaction of interest or disbelief. What she didn’t expect was for him to lean his head back and laugh. The low chuckling drifted across the desert. The men at the fire turned to look at them, as did the horses.
“Laugh all you want,” she snapped. “It’s true. I know exactly where it is and I’m going to find it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “The city is a myth. Adventurers have been searching for the city for centuries. What makes you think one slip of a girl will find it when they have not?”
“Some of them have,” she insisted. “I have maps, diaries.”
He lowered his gaze to her body. She wore a T-shirt and jeans, along with hiking boots. Behind her, on the sand, lay her cloak. She would need that cloak later. Already the temperature was dropping from stifling to pleasantly cool.
“Where exactly are these maps and diaries?” he asked sounding oh so polite.
She gritted her teeth. “They’re in my saddle bags.”
“I see. On your runaway horse?”
“Yes.”
He paused. “You do realize it will be more difficult to find this fictional city without the maps.”
She curled her fingers into fists. Irritation swelled inside of her. “I’ve already figured that out.”
“Yet you continue to seek the city?”
“I don’t give up easily. I swear I’ll come back and find it.”
He rose to his feet and stared down at her from his rather impressive height. “How determined you sound. But your plans are based on an interesting assumption.”
She frowned, barely able to see him in the darkness of the night. “What’s that?”
“For you to return anywhere, I must first let you go.”
Chapter Two
Kardal kept his eyes closed, trying to ignore the squirming of the woman next to him. The ground beneath was hard, but not uncomfortable, although he doubted Sabrina would appreciate that fact. While he’d unbound her feet, he’d kept her wrists tied and connected to a rope anchored to the belt around his waist. He knew that without a deterrent of some kind she was impulsive enough to try to escape in the night.
She was less than amused by their sleeping arrangements.
“This is ridiculous,” she hissed, her words barely audible over the snores of his men. “It’s the middle of the night in the middle of the desert. Where exactly do you think I’m going to go? Untie me at once.”
“How imperious you sound,” he replied, not bothering to look at her. “If you continue to speak, I’ll put a gag in your mouth. I assure you, after a time it grows most unpleasant.”
He heard her sharp intake of air, but she didn’t talk anymore, for which he was grateful.
>
She shifted again, drawing her thick cloak more tightly around her. The night temperature continued to drop. Kardal knew that in time she would welcome the heat of his body next to hers. Left on her own, she would be shivering by dawn. But he doubted she would thank him. Women were rarely sensible creatures.
As for trusting her enough to release her—he would rather trust his fortune to a gambler. He couldn’t believe she’d been foolish—or foolhardy—enough to be traveling by herself in the desert. Didn’t she realize how dangerous the vast emptiness could be?
Obviously not, he thought, answering his own question. At first he’d been shocked to see a lone traveler in the distance. He and his men had quickly changed course to offer assistance. As they’d approached, he’d realized the traveler was a woman. And then he’d seen her face and known exactly who she was.
Sabrina Johnson—otherwise known as Princess Sabra, the only daughter of King Hassan of Bahania—was everything he’d feared. Willful, difficult, spoiled and lacking the intelligence the good Lord gave a date palm.
He supposed the sensible course of action would be to return her to her father, even though he knew the king wouldn’t do anything to mend her wayward ways. From what he’d heard, King Hassan ignored his only daughter, allowing her to spend much of the year with her mother in California. No doubt living in wildness as the king’s former wife did.
Kardal opened his eyes and stared up at the heavens. Stars twinkled down at him. He was as much a product of the new century as any man in his world could be. Trapped between tradition and progress, he attempted to find wisdom and act accordingly in all situations. But when he thought about Sabrina wasting her time in Beverly Hills, having affairs and living who knew what kind of hedonistic lifestyle…
He swore silently. She might be uncomprehendingly beautiful but she had the heart and soul of a spoiled and willful child. She was not a traditional desert wife, nor was she a sparkling gem of a woman produced by the best western culture had to offer. She fit nowhere and he had no use for her. If life were fair, he could simply return her and be done with her.
Unfortunately life was not fair and that course of action wasn’t open to him. The price of being a leader, he supposed.
Sabrina flopped onto her back, tugging at the rope that bound them together. He didn’t move. She sighed in disgust and was quiet. In time, her breathing slowed and he knew she’d found sleep.
Tomorrow would be interesting, he thought wryly. He would have to decide what to do with her. Or perhaps he already knew and didn’t want to admit it to himself. There was also the matter of her not recognizing him, although it was possible she hadn’t been told his name. That thought made him smile. If she didn’t know, he wasn’t about to tell her. Not yet.
Sabrina woke slowly to an unusual combination of hard bed and warmth. She shifted slightly, but the mattress didn’t yield at all. Nor did the heat source surrounding her. It was specifically on one side. Like a—
Her eyes popped open. She looked up into the rapidly lightening sky and realized she wasn’t back in her bed in the palace, nor was she in her room in her mother’s house. Instead she was in the desert, tied by a rope to a man she didn’t know.
The previous day’s events returned to her memory with all the subtlety of a desert storm: Her excitement at finally starting the journey she’d been dreaming about ever since she’d first heard of the lost City of Thieves. How she’d been so darn careful to pack her supplies sensibly, even taking a more docile horse than usual so that she wouldn’t have to worry about a riding accident. She’d had a compass, maps, diaries and determination on her side. What she hadn’t counted on was a conspiracy by the elements.
Which was how she’d come to find herself in her present predicament. Tied to a nomad who was going to do who knows what to her.
She risked glancing to her right. The man was still asleep, which gave her the opportunity to study him. In the soft light of morning, he still looked hard and powerful—a man of the desert. He held her fate in his hands, which alarmed her, but she no longer believed her life was in danger. Nor had she worried for her virtue. Even as she’d protested and then seethed at the thought of being tied up, she’d never once thought he would actually physically attack her. Which didn’t make any sense. She should have been afraid.
Now she looked at the thick lashes resting on his cheek and the way his mouth relaxed as he slept. His skin was tanned, adding shadows to sculpted cheekbones and a strong jawline. Who was this Kardal of the desert? Why did he hold her prisoner rather than simply offering to escort her to the nearest town?
Suddenly his eyes opened. They stared at each other from a distance of less than eight inches. She tried to read his expression, but could not. It was very strange, but if she had to pick a word to describe what was in his dark eyes, she would have said disappointment.
He rose without saying a word. As he did so, she realized that he must have loosened the rope holding them together, because it lay on the blankets he’d spread over the sand. With a quick movement, he bent down and untied her wrists.
“You may have a small bowl of water for your morning ablutions,” he said by way of greeting. “Don’t try to escape. If you do, I’ll give you to my men.”
And then he turned his back on her. “Not much of a morning person, are you?” Sabrina called out before she could stop herself.
He kept walking away and didn’t bother responding. She sighed. So much for friendly chitchat.
She did as he instructed, taking her small bowl of water to the far side of the camp. Covering herself with her cloak, she did her best to freshen up. Between the sandstorm, the night of sleeping in her clothes and the prospect of wearing them again for an unspecified length of time, she would have given a lot for a shower.
Ten minutes later, she cautiously approached the fire. Two men were making breakfast. She ignored the food and gazed longingly at the pot of coffee sitting close to the flames. Food wasn’t a priority for her until later in the day, but coffee was life.
She caught Kardal’s attention and motioned to the pot. He nodded without saying anything. She sidled closer to the men and took an unused mug from an open saddlebag, then poured herself a full cup of the steaming liquid. It was hot and strong enough to grow hair.
“Perfect,” she breathed.
Kardal moved around the fire to stand next to her. He wore his robe open over his shirt and trousers. The long covering flowed behind him with each step.
“I’m surprised you like it,” he said. “Most westerners and many women find it too strong.”
“Too strong isn’t possible,” she said after sipping again. “I like coffee I can stand a spoon in.”
“No lattes or mocha cappuccinos?”
What? Humor from the great and mysterious Kardal? She smiled slightly. “Not even on a bet.”
He motioned for her to follow him to the edge of their camp. Once there he put his hands on his hips and stared down at her as if she were a particularly unappealing bug. So much for the moment of bonding over coffee.
“Something must be done with you,” he announced.
“What? You don’t want to spend the rest of your days traveling with me throughout the desert? And here I thought you enjoyed tying me up and making me sleep on the hard ground.”
He raised his dark eyebrows. “You have more spirit than you did last night.”
“Not surprising. I’m rested, I have coffee. Despite rumors to the contrary, I’m a creature of simple wants.”
The curl of his mouth indicated that he didn’t believe her.
“We have three choices,” he told her. “We can kill you and leave your body here in the desert. We can sell you as a slave or we can ransom you to your family.”
She nearly choked on her coffee, barely able to believe he meant what he said. Although the edge of determination in his voice told her that he did.
“Can I see what’s behind curtain number four?” she asked when she could finally s
peak. Here she’d been thinking ol’ Kardal wasn’t so bad and he was talking about killing her and leaving her remains for whatever animals lived out here.
Of course if they were going to kill her wouldn’t they have already done it? Sleeping with her tied up next to him had to have been just as uncomfortable for Kardal as it had been for her.
“Eliminating death as an option,” she said cautiously, “I don’t think I’d make an especially good slave.”
“I had considered that. Of course a good beating would change that.”
“And what would a bad beating do?” she murmured.
“Which would you prefer?”
She stared at him. “A good or a bad beating? Neither, thank you.” She couldn’t believe they were discussing this. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. That she was standing in the middle of the Bahanian desert discussing the physical abuse of her person.
“I meant,” he said slowly, as if she weren’t very bright, “which of the three do you prefer?”
“It’s my choice? How democratic.”
“I am trying to be fair.”
She grimaced. Obviously he’d missed the sarcasm she’d attempted to interject into her words. “Fair would be giving me a horse and some supplies, then pointing me in the right direction.”
“You’ve already lost your own horse and camel. Why would I trust you with stock of mine?”
She didn’t like the question so she ignored it. There was no point in protesting that the loss of her horse and camel had been more because of the storm than because she’d done something wrong.
“I do not want to be killed,” she said at last when it became apparent he really was waiting for her to choose her fate. “And I have no desire to be any man’s slave.” Nor did she want to return to the palace and marry the troll prince. Unfortunately there wasn’t much choice.
She wondered if her father would bother to pay a ransom for her. He might if for no other reason than it would look bad for him if he didn’t. Now if one of his precious cats had been kidnapped, the entire kingdom would be in an uproar until it was returned.
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