“I’ve already found your gift.” I point over to where the dagger lies in the sheath.
Another laugh. “I keep my promises. Always.” His grin becomes wicked. “You’d better remember that, sweetheart.”
I can’t stop the grin that comes over my face, suddenly ridiculously happy, enjoying this playful, light-hearted side of him. And I feel on top of the world as I watch him ruefully turning away and adjusting himself again, relishing the power I have over him. Letting him take my hand, he leads me outside into the bright sunlight, which makes me squint after the dimness of the tent. I’m learning things about Nijad by the minute, and the next is his thoughtfulness; in his hands are a pair of sunglasses he’s got ready for me – an expensive brand, I notice immediately. Thanking him I put them on. Now able to adapt to the harsh light, my eyes widen when I see what’s waiting just off to the side. Two beautiful Arab horses, tacked up, ready to go.
I gasp, my hands framing my face. I turn to him, my eyes are wide, not quite able to believe it.
“We’re riding?”
His eyes gleam down at me, pleased at my evident delight. “After what you told me, I thought you might enjoy it. The grey one is yours.”
I throw a quick look at him, unsure of the protocol around a desert prince. Would it be acceptable to throw my arms around him and kiss him? Seeing the stoic faces of the tribespeople standing around, I curb my desire for a physical display of my pleasure and resort to a verbal ‘thank you’ instead. Then I can’t hold back any longer, and quickly step forwards to stroke the lovely horse he tells me is mine.
‘Grey’ is a misnomer; the beautiful mare is almost gleaming white. She’s standing patiently, her only movement a flick of her tail to remove annoying flies, while the larger black stallion is stamping his feet with impatience. As I stroke the mare’s nose she lowers her head, undoubtedly seeking treats. I’ve nothing to give her. Instead, I put out my hand so she can lick the salt from my palm. As her tongue rasps over my fingers, I feel an instant connection with her.
“She’s gorgeous.” I turn back to Nijad.
“She’s called Sakin. I selected a quiet ride for you as it’s been some time since you’ve ridden. The stallion, my horse, is Amal.”
Nijad stands watching me, his flowing robes billowing around him in the slight breeze. He’s put on his headdress now and looks every inch the sheikh that he is, formidable and strong. There’s something untamed about him, and I catch my breath as it hits me that I’m actually married to him.
“Thank you.” I smile at him to show my appreciation. It’s been a few years since I was on a horse, but it’s as if I’ve come home. I lean against the mare, breathing in that distinct odour that I’ve always found so comforting. It calms me now.
Caught up in memories, I realise I’ve been lost in my thoughts when I hear his amused voice.
“Are you ready? I’d like to get going so we won’t be riding in the heat of the midday sun.”
Starting, I give an embarrassed nod and go round to the nearside to mount. Moving quietly and smoothly he comes across and cups his hands to give me a leg up. Landing gently, I quickly find the heavily ornamented leather saddle is as soft as it looks, and see the bridle is complete with little silver bells that tinkle as the mare shakes her head. The tack feels different from the utilitarian English type I’ve used before, but nonetheless very comfortable. Gathering up the reins I realise they are both supple and strong, and the grip feels firm. The pungent aroma of leather takes me back to the happy, carefree times at the riding stables of my youth. While I’m getting used to the feel of a horse under me once more, Nijad is busy adjusting the girth and making sure my stirrups are the right length. Throwing a smile up at me, he goes and mounts his horse. Once seated he glances across at me, his eyes questioning how I’m feeling. I respond and give him my confirmation with a nod and a grin wide enough to split my face in two. As if that’s the signal he’s waiting for he presses his heels into Amal’s sides, and we are off.
The morning is still young, but already the air is warm, the sand shimmering in the heat. As though it was only yesterday I’d last ridden, I quickly start moving naturally with the horse as my muscle memory takes over. Soon I feel relaxed and confident, and able to take in my surroundings. As we make our way through the tented village I see the oasis is relatively small, like a little lake surrounded by palm trees offering shade. There’s a rock formation at the far end. Children play in the water while their mothers are washing clothes. Laughter fills the air as the children shout and splash and the women watch them fondly. It’s a peaceful scene. We leave the oasis behind and the bleating of goats becomes louder as we pass an enclosure of nannies with kids. Chickens peck around in the sand. I sigh softly, feeling content. Despite the primitive lifestyle, I believe I could be happy here. It’s such a contrast from my dreary house in London and my lonely existence there. While some of the tribespeople are looking at me, it’s with curiosity to see the new wife of their sheikh, and not with pity or condemnation. Fighting my natural urge to lower my face from their view, I pull my back up straight and sit tall.
Today really is the first day of the rest of my life.
Two very well-armed men are following behind us on horseback at a respectful distance. It gives me food for thought. Maybe the desert is not as serene as it appears.
“Nijad, why the guards? Is there danger here?”
Throwing me a quick look he replies enigmatically, “There’s danger everywhere.”
“But a specific threat?”
I want to know more. It’s not as though I’m frightened, not unless anyone tells me there’s a real risk, but I want to learn all I can about what has, so quickly, become my new home.
He lets the horses amble on a while before he answers. “We’re close to the border, sweetheart. While Amahad is peaceful, progressive compared to some other countries, we have borders with two of those who envy our wealth, and our multiculturalism. There are zealots who believe there is only one true faith and would enforce their beliefs by force.” He pauses.
I look at him avidly. “They come across the borders?”
He nods. “Yes. That’s why I’m based here. In my camp, and those of other tribes, we have soldiers who can quickly put down any skirmish that might start.”
“Are there many?”
“Enough. But so far it’s always been small pockets, not determined action. Some years ago now there was a major war with Ezirad, the country that borders us on the edge of the southern desert. The war is over, but jihadists still try to cross into Amahad. They don’t succeed.”
I’m silent for a while as I consider this information, remembering what his brothers had explained about the importance of keeping peace in the desert, and invaders from crossing the borders. My mare plods on through the vast acres of sand, but instead of calm I’m now envisaging the same ground turned red with blood. I frown as the realisation of his status hits me.
“You lead the men?”
He answers with an inclination of his head.
I look at him, my strong powerful sheikh, seeing for the moment the man who first greeted me when I got out of the helicopter. Then I’d thought him stern and cruel. I realise there are two different men inside him, the warrior and the lover. My gut churns at the thought that he puts himself in danger, and then I start, realising I must already harbour some feelings for him to have such a strong reaction to the thought of him being hurt. He’s already got under my skin. But how? I know next to nothing about this man at all. I can’t have feelings for him, not this quickly. I have to protect myself; I’m a novice at this, after all. It would be all too easy to fall for him simply because he’s the first man to make love to me. I have to get to know him better. So I try to keep him talking.
“What do they hope to achieve? Surely a few border skirmishes wouldn’t do much?”
“We nip them in the bud,” he explains. “It would only be dangerous if it escalated. A few trying to cross the border
to cause trouble is one thing, but if jihadists cross in larger numbers, we could be looking at another full-scale war.”
He stops his horse and tries to stress the point he is attempting to make.
“The fact we’re here means we will not allow that to happen. We’ve learned lessons from other countries; we are well prepared and equipped.” He throws me a pointed look. “And now we’re married, the tribes will remain united so we’ve got the manpower to keep them out.” He kicks the stallion forward again.
I’m starting to understand why our marriage was so important, a fact this time only yesterday I’d found so difficult to believe. I file that away and continue my original line of questioning.
“So we need the guards, why?”
“It would be foolish to come out here without taking precautions. We can’t ignore the fact that just one person might sneak over the border intent on doing harm. Any member of the royal family makes a desirable target.”
“Wait, have you already been shot? Is that where you got your scars?”
I can’t keep the concern out of my voice. The fact he’s been injured makes the danger all the more real. Where have I been brought to?
He pulls his horse up next to mine and puts his hand on my reins.
“Are you ready for a canter?” It’s an abrupt change of subject, but I nod anyway. “We’re heading for the hills over there.” He indicates foothills in the distance. “Now you need your hijab over your face.” He shows me how he did his. “It will protect you from the sand and dust.” He waits until I’m ready, his eyes missing nothing as I fumble, but at last I’m covered to his satisfaction.
The only erotic thoughts I’ve experienced in the past have been summoned up by descriptions in the novels I read, but no words can muster my reaction to the image of my desert warrior wrapping his black headdress around his face, so only his eyes are showing. He looks so fierce, so strong and masculine that my stomach clenches, and I feel embarrassingly damp between my legs. A delicious shiver runs down my spine as it hits me again that I’m really married to him.
Then the doubts return. Is he here, now, today, just because of words on a piece of paper? I woke yesterday in the midst of a nightmare, and today it’s turned into a wonderful fantasy. I’m starting to doubt my ability to discern reality.
Jerking myself out of my reverie I realise that he has kicked his horse on, and I let Sakin have her head to follow. We trot on a short way and then he increases the pace, starting off with a gentle canter. After checking with a quick glance back to see how I’m keeping my seat, he digs his heels in once more, and soon we’re galloping across the sand.
It’s an exhilarating feeling, covering the ground so fast. The horses are both sure-footed, and I feel confident and safe as I lie low over the saddle, unable to remember how long it’s been since I felt so free. Galloping over miles of open sand surpasses speeding across the stubble fields I’d loved back in England. The warm wind sweeps past and the only sound is the pounding of hooves, clearing the worries of the previous conversation right away. I’m concentrating only on the horse. It seems all too soon when we pull up, the horses’ sides heaving. The hills, which I can now see are made of barren rock, are still a little way ahead of us. Beyond the hills rise even higher peaks, high enough to qualify as mountains. It is stark, rather than beautiful.
“We’ll walk now, and let the horses cool off.”
Nijad unwinds his hijab, exposing his handsome, chiselled face. I copy his actions, having difficulty taking my eyes off him, as if he’s a mirage that will disappear any second. What have I done to deserve this man. Can he truly be mine? I feel like I’m dreaming; instead of being in cold, wet London I’m riding a horse in the desert. I resist the urge to pinch myself. If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up!
We continue riding side by side in a comfortable silence. Twenty minutes later the terrain begins to get rocky underfoot, and soon we are travelling up a gradual incline.
“Where are we going?”
It looks to me as though we’re heading straight for a dead end.
He glances over, and smiles, knowing something I don’t.
“There.” He points vaguely ahead.
I screw up my eyes, but am none the wiser; all I can see is a solid rock face. But as we draw closer, I can see a winding path going up the side of the cliff. The way looks very narrow.
“No!” I exclaim, horrified. “You have got to be bloody kidding me! Tell me we’re not going up that?” The path becomes clearer as the horses plod on, and at each step it looks more frightening. I pull Sakin to a halt.
“It will be OK. The horses are sure-footed. There’s no need to worry.” He frowns, and then, seeing the fear on my face, he adds, “What’s the matter?”
I point, my hand already shaking just at the thought of it.
“That’s not even a path, Nijad. It’s right on the cliff edge! I can’t go up there. Isn’t there somewhere else we could go, or another way up?” It looks to me as though even mountain goats would struggle to get up that track. “No way in hell am I riding on that path!”
He stares at me, his sexy eyes glinting. I have no idea what he plans until, with one swift move, he nudges his horse over, sweeps his arm around my waist, pulling me off my mount and seating me in front of him. I squeal loudly.
“Just relax. You’ll be safe with me.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice.
“What are you doing?” I can’t believe the speed with which he’s taken me, demonstrating his formidable strength.
“Keeping you safe.” As he speaks he reaches over to the mare, ties the reins so she won’t catch her feet in them, and then lets her loose, confident she’ll follow. He squeezes his heels and the big stallion moves forwards once more.
I start struggling, trying to get him to let me down, but his arm is like a band of steel holding me round the waist.
“No. It’s too dangerous! He can’t carry us both!”
The steep path is getting closer and I can see, as it winds round the mountain, there is a sheer drop on one side. The way doesn’t appear to be any wider than I first thought.
“Please Nijad, please let me down. Amal can’t carry me as well; he’ll stumble carrying my weight.” I turn to plead with him, fright making my voice little more than a whisper. “Please, can’t we just go back? Don’t take me up there, we’ll fall!”
To my distress he doesn’t pull Amal up, but just gives a sigh of exasperation, sounding long-suffering. “You really do want a fucking spanking, don’t you?”
Though scared, I’m perplexed, “What on earth have I said now?”
Holding the reins in one hand, his free arm tightens around me as he pulls me even closer. “You weigh nothing at all, and Amal will hardly notice his extra passenger.” I can’t miss hearing the grin in his voice. “You’re still thinking of yourself as overweight. I can’t spank you now; it might spook the horse, and we don’t want him to lose his footing, do we?”
As I look down, I realise we are already on the narrow path, and on one side the ground just drops away. I swallow a squeal. It’s not the place to have to control a panicked horse.
Nijad laughs quietly. He nuzzles my neck, and his arms grip me, holding me safe. Even so, I can’t relax, my mind trying to cope with the fact that I’m riding up a path I wouldn’t even be able to walk along. It’s not that I don’t like heights; it’s the danger of the narrow ledge combined with the steep drop I can’t cope with. One wrong step and we’ll both fall to our deaths. I’m shaking as I lean back against Nijad, eyes tight shut, desperately trying to keep still as a statue so as not to unbalance the horse. Amal plods on, putting each of his four feet down surely, never slipping. The sound becomes monotonous, the mare’s hooves hitting the path behind like an echo. Time seems to stand still. I feel like I’m on a scary roller-coaster ride; I just want it to end. But the warmth of the day, the sound of the horses, and the strong arm that holds me as we move ever upwards without mishap, even
tually help to ease my tension. Having had little sleep the night before, I even start to doze.
Chapter 14
Nijad
What the fuck am I doing? I’ve travelled this path with Amal a hundred times and he knows his way, so I don’t have to concentrate, except for holding this woman securely in my arms. That conversation in the desert got to me. It is dangerous here, although I tried to play that down. No one would send a Western woman here – unless she were expendable. She doesn’t know it, but Cara might as well have a target painted on her back with a huge great sign flashing ‘Kidnap me!’ But, of course, no one would turn a hair at the thought of Joseph Benting’s daughter in danger. No one except me, that is. Fuck! I already care for her. I don’t want to see her come to harm.
I shouldn’t be here today. I should have left her at the camp, and shouldn’t have moved her in with me. Should have kept my distance. But already I can’t fucking do that. Now it’s driving me out of my mind. I need to protect her from my enemies, and protect her from myself. But she feels so good, lying here in my arms, moving naturally with the horse, even in her sleep. I’ve been with so many women, but never one like her. Never with someone who makes me feel such an urge to protect and care for her. If only I’d met her before Paris … But then, in those days, I probably wouldn’t have looked at her twice.
As the horses plod on, Cara’s face lolls back against my shoulder and I stare down, appreciating the view. She’s washed off the make-up so carefully applied by the women the night before, but she still looks beautiful to me: her fresh face still has the look of innocence, even though I took that from her last night. The memory makes my cock jerk and brings a grin to my face. Fuck, last night was good, and that’s an understatement. Pulling myself back to the here and now, I examine her carefully and frown as I see the scars from her childhood acne marring her otherwise perfect skin. They don’t bother me, but if she’s still upset by them I’ll investigate treatments that might help. I’ve an idea there might be something that can be done with lasers. My teeth grind as I think back to the story she told me in the night, about how that bastard Benting destroyed her. Giving Amal a loose rein, I lift my hand and stroke her face softly, so I don’t wake her. I knew she was broken, but perhaps I can put her back together. If only she could do the same for me.
Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) Page 17
