by Albany,Cara
THE SHEIKH'S DESERT BRIDE
Qazhar Sheikhs series Book 8
By
CARA ALBANY
CHAPTER ONE
Lucy Hunt peered out of the inches wide gap that served as the only window of the adobe building which had been her prison these past four hours.
Her jaw tightened with frustration and she groaned out loud. What was taking them so long! Didn't they realize she'd already been in here all afternoon.
A virtual prisoner.
They had to let her out soon. If they didn't, she would have to do something about it. Anything. Even if it meant breaking her way out, even though she knew the heavy wooden door hadn't budged with every previous attempt she'd made to get out of this cramped, dusty hut.
Lucy groaned aloud with frustration. What could she do? The answer to that was the same as it had been all afternoon.
Nothing. She was trapped, stuck in this dry and very smelly hut. Since the tribal elder had tricked her into coming into the small, brick-walled hut, the tribesmen must have known they had her completely and utterly confined here. It was that simple. They hadn't returned to the hut because they knew she wasn't going anywhere.
She needed to regain her freedom soon because it would be dark soon. She had to make it to the site before nightfall.
The sun had sunk behind the high mountains and the blue Qazhar sky was beginning to darken. The sandy valley where the tiny village of a few rough stone buildings lay was deeply shadowed by the towering cliffs that rose all around the settlement.
She could see her horse, tied up near the rough stone building. The pack containing her supplies for the journey into the mountains hung heavy across the horse's back. She'd used the lean brown mare to find her way across the desert and into these mountains. If only she could get to the horse she might be able to make her escape.
Through the narrow gap she saw a few tribesmen move slowly around the village, but none came anywhere near her building. Maybe they'd been given strict instructions to leave the young American woman alone for the moment. Let her remain in her refuge until the tribal elder had decided her fate. The tribal leader had assured he would return shortly and tell her whether she would be allowed to progress further into the mountains.
How generous of him, she thought sarcastically. She'd had to bite her tongue when he'd declared to her in broken English that this was his territory, his domain, and that he would decide how he could ensure her safe progress.
She didn't believe any of it.
It was typical of Qazhar men, she thought. Everything was about their personal domains; their authority; their honor. She understood that, had discovered it with someone else, someone who, right now, would be very far away from here, a man who cherished those same values.
Azim.
Lucy felt her heart quicken, felt the tightening in her middle at the very thought of him. Why did she still have those feelings every time she thought of him?
She sighed and dealt with the images of Azim Al Mahrez in the same way she'd been doing these past two years. Lucy pushed all thoughts of the handsome sheikh who had turned her world upside down into that familiar dark corner of her memory.
Lucy forced herself to refocus. She had to get away from these tribesmen. Had to get herself free.
She'd dealt with enforced delays like this many times before. It came with the work she'd chosen for herself. Negotiating with locals had been something she'd come to expect. She wasn't ignorant of the perils she often put herself in. This time was no different, she told herself.
Lucy paced back and forth across the dirt floor. She drew in a sharp breath, trying, once again, to ignore the stench of the place. Lucy groaned and wrenched as hard as she could on the large, rusted door-handle. The heavy wooden door didn't budge.
She yelled, demanding she be let free, just as she'd done before. Her voice sounded almost feeble in the confines of the room. She waited a moment, just as she'd done so many times before.
No response. It was pointless.
Lucy gazed around the room, desperate to find anything she could use to force the door open. The wooden table, two rickety looking chairs and a dark, wooden chest didn't promise anything that could be used to force the door. She slumped down onto one of the chairs, feeling it wobble beneath her. She felt her mouth dry with thirst, and realized she hadn't had any water to drink all afternoon.
She ran the events of earlier that afternoon over in her mind. In retrospect she should have known better. When the tribal elder had led her to the building, she'd felt a twisting knot of unease in her gut. Something just hadn't felt right. She'd seen the expression in the tribal elder's eyes, suspecting that the middle-aged Qazhar man had had more on his mind than simply asking her to wait until he arranged for her safe passage deeper into the mountains.
It had all been a lie, she now realized.
As he'd closed the door, asking her to wait inside a moment, the sudden darkness in his gaze had sent a shiver down Lucy's spine. And then the door had closed, she'd heard the lock turn and she'd known it was too late.
That she'd been a fool to trust the man.
She tried to understand who she might be dealing with. Maybe these were one of the small rebel tribes she'd heard so much about, the same kind of tribe responsible for the damage to culturally important sight in the other regions she'd visited as part of her work.
Maybe her judgment was failing her, even though it wasn't the first time she'd been in a situation like this. Danger came with the job. And that was exactly the way she liked it.
Wasn't it?
Her job meant everything to her. That was what she kept telling herself, every time she found herself in some isolated part of this region, photographing sacred sights, creating a documentary record of precious artefacts. Her passion was preservation work, helping to save vulnerable world heritage sites in danger of being harmed or destroyed for profit or from motives driven by ideology. Her work was the one thing she'd built her entire life around, sacrificing family and relationships in the process.
In this part of the world there were no shortage of heritage sites that had come under threat of destruction or damage. Lucy knew how important it was to document these places, bring the world's attention to the jeopardy they were in.
And today she'd come so close to this particular site, one she had tried to visit two years before. But that visit had been a whole different story, she thought, suddenly forcing her attention back to her immediate predicament. Best not to think of that time.
Best not to think about him. Not again. Not right now, at any rate.
She had arrived in Qazhar days before and made her way to the mountains here in the east of the country, far from the civilized pleasures of Qazhar city. She'd already had her fill of that place, once before. Two years ago.
But that seemed like such a long time ago. The contrast between the life of luxury she'd experienced in the city and the plain, simple existence she could see with these mountains tribesmen couldn't have been more stark.
She knew what she really preferred, knew what made her feel alive. Being here in this wilderness, she felt more vital, as if she was doing something real, something with meaning.
Saving the past.
She smiled, thinking how ironic that was. As long as her work didn't involve her own broken, shattered past, she was happy to devote every waking moment of her life to preserving tradition and the glories of history.
Up ahead, at the end of the range of valleys, she knew what awaited her. If she ever got there.
She felt excitement as she thought about the massive, religiou
s statues from around the first century BC carved into one of the mountains. She'd seen images of it, knew she had to visit it, document it.
But, the more she'd researched it, she'd uncovered rumors it had been damaged in recent times, and she'd known she had to find out of those rumors were true.
Lucy went to the window and glanced out. She saw the figure of the tribal leader who had locked her in this hut. He was making his way toward her building.
He wasn't alone.
Lucy felt her throat tighten and she gasped. Her eyes widened in disbelief when she saw who was striding alongside the tribal leader.
Lucy took a step away from the window and felt her legs weaken, felt the color drain from her face.
No way!
It couldn't be him, she told herself. What was he doing here? How on earth had he come here?
Him of all people.
Had he been following her the whole time?
She peered at the two men making their way toward her hut, and told herself she must be seeing things.
But, it was him, she finally admitted.
It was Azim. The man she had once foolishly told herself she loved.
Lucy's throat tightened with emotion and her heart started racing uncontrollably.
Azim Al Mahrez hadn't changed, she told herself, watching his tall figure stride purposefully alongside the smaller, older man.
The contrast between the two men merely emphasized the sheer, imposing stature of Azim. He still possessed an animalistic quality, his body almost seeming to glide with feline purpose. Azim's broad shoulders and wide chest were hidden beneath the white, traditional desert robes that seemed to hang on him with an understated perfection. His head was uncovered and she saw the sun glisten off his dark hair that hung to just above the shoulder level.
His chin had a shadow of dark stubble and she wondered how long he'd been away from his controlled life back at the palace he owned just outside Qazhar city.
But, there was one thing she noticed immediately. The intervening years since she'd last seen him, seemed to have wrought a change in his features. Even from this distance she could tell that there was an unfamiliar seriousness, even harshness, in his expression.
There had always been an intensity in that gaze, Lucy told herself. Somehow, the bright dark pools of his eyes seemed to contain something she hadn't seen before. Right now, she couldn't describe what it was, but she new it probably meant trouble.
Lucy drew in a deep breath and tried, vainly, to contain the emotions that had taken hold of her as she watched his easy stride, the barely contained power in his body. Dressed like that, out here in this wilderness, Azim looked every inch the desert sheikh. She'd known he could look like that, but most of the time they'd spent together two years before had been within the confines of civilized Qazhar society.
Lucy saw him gaze toward the hut and for a moment she wondered if he could see her at the window. But then she realized the almost darkness inside the room would prevent him from seeing her. Momentarily she felt relieved, grateful for the chance to gather her thoughts, seize whatever composure she could as she watched him make his way inexorably toward her.
Did this mean that Azim would free her, that he'd come to rescue her? She frowned and asked herself if that was what she really even wanted.
The other man said something and Azim halted, looking down with a stern expression at the tribal elder. Lucy wondered what the man had said. Whatever it had been, Azim had a look on his face which Lucy recognized instantly. She'd seen it many times while she had been with him. It was a look designed to intimidate, intended to communicate Azim's displeasure. Lucy herself had never been on the receiving end of that look, but Azim had used it anytime someone had tried to prevent him getting what he wanted. The Azim she remembered was someone who wouldn't let anyone stand in his way.
Lucy saw Azim take a step closer to the man. The tribal leader took a step back and looked up at Azim. There was a nervous smile on the face of the older man, one that told Lucy who had just won that particular, brief exchange.
In spite of herself, a smile creased the corner of Lucy's mouth and she shook her head. She had to hand it to the man who had once courted Lucy and almost won her hand. Azim knew how to take decisive action when it was needed.
Lucy genuinely believed she was the only person in Azim's life who hadn't automatically submitted to his will or given in to his demands. What she had just witnessed was probably still the way Azim lived his life. If something stood in his way he just waved it aside. Everyone simply rolled over whenever he made a demand. Especially when it came to women.
Lucy sighed. Well, not this girl, she told herself. Lucy was probably Azim's one failure in his life; the one time he'd snapped his fingers and someone hadn't just come running.
Lucy wrenched her gaze away from the scene outside and tried to think about what she was going to do when Azim entered the room.
Talk about and awkward reunion!
Why had he come? She presumed he'd come to make sure she didn't go any further on her journey. Perhaps to interfere with her work.
One other thought floated into her mind. Maybe he'd come to make sure she was safe. That thought made old emotions tug insistently at Lucy.
But, how had he known she was here in the first place? How had he made it here so quickly? She knew that Azim had connections with most of the various tribes throughout Qazhar. It was part of his role as a sheikh who was responsible for Internal Cultural Co-ordination. It had been how Lucy and Azim had met. When she'd sought permission to visit certain sights within the kingdom he'd taken responsibility for making sure she got what she wanted.
For a while, at least. Until Azim had decided that the most important thing in the world was courting, seducing and ultimately possessing Lucy.
And it was then that her world really turned upside down.
Memories flooded her mind and all too familiar sensations swept through her. She grabbed the back of a chair feeling the sudden need to steady herself. She gazed desperately around the room.
She needed to do something.
And fast.
CHAPTER TWO
Azim Al Mahrez turned his back on Jawad, the tribal leader and grunted impatiently. The man's name might mean "generous" in their own language, but he was being anything but that right now. Did Jawad seriously think that Azim had merely come here to bargain for the release of the American woman? And not just any American woman, but the only one that truly mattered to Azim.
Lucy.
Azim glanced the few yards to the plain adobe building inside which was imprisoned the one woman who had ever come close to changing him. He could hardly believe she had been so irresponsible. Coming here, to these mountains, was never going to be a good idea. Didn't she realize the danger into which she'd been placing herself?
Jawad walked alongside him, continuing to plead, trying to extract something out of the situation. Azim greeted every word with taciturn silence. Jawad finally ran out of ideas and made a suggestion that stopped Azim in his tracks.
Something unrepeatable. Unthinkable! How dare Jawad ask about trading Lucy for something else.
Fury rose inside Azim and he reached across, seizing Jawad's robe, tightening it around the man's throat. Jawad's eyes widened in panic.
"What did you just say?" Azim demanded.
Understanding that he had probably gone too far in his suggestion about what could be done with the American woman, Jawad desperately began to backtrack. "Nothing, Sheikh Al Mahrez. A mistake. Please, forgive me."
"You seem to be unaware that I am already acquainted with this particular American," Azim said.
"You are?" Jawad exclaimed, sudden panic in his eyes.
Azim nodded. "Very well acquainted. And what you have just said to me makes me wonder whether or not I should remove your head from your shoulders. Have you no honor?"
Jawad grasped at Azim's hands but the sheikh kept a tight hold on the tribal leader. Off to one s
ide, Azim saw a group of young tribal members emerge from around the corners of the buildings. Azim had known he and Jawad would probably have been observed by other tribesmen. Azim saw that some of the young men had rifles held down by their side.
He loosened his grip on Jawad's robe, and the man sucked in a deep breath, rearranging his robe and glancing toward his tribesmen. Maybe he'd gone too far, Azim asked himself. Now, Jawad would feel dishonored, especially in front of the men under his command.
But, just who did Jawad think he was dealing with? Didn't he realize that if Azim wanted, he could arrange for this so-called tribe to be relocated to somewhere. Permanently. A place where they wouldn't be in a position to pester foolish foreigners?
Azim had that power, had the connections to make that happen. Only a powerful sense of honor and decency would prevent him from taking such draconian measures. There were other ways to resolve this situation.
Azim had heard enough rumors about Jawad's tribe and he was sure he knew what had drawn Lucy to put herself in danger and venture into a place where she had no business being.
Jawad tried to restore some dignity to the conversation. "I apologize sheikh. I had no idea that the American woman meant so much to you."
Azim scowled at Jawad. "Lucy. Her name is Lucy."
Jawad nodded. "You must forgive my impertinence. Ignorance is a curse upon all of us."
"Apparently on some more than others," Azim replied frowning at Jawad.
The man's eyes narrowed at Azim. The tightening of Jawad's mouth betrayed the impulse to respond, but it was quickly contained.
"Of course, this changes everything," Jawad said after a pause.
Azim raised a brow. "Really? That's most generous of you. What did you say your name was?" Azim asked.
Jawad looked immediately affronted. Of course, Azim knew who Jawad was. He'd known all about the activities of the man and his tribe for a while now. And that knowledge had become even more important once Azim had learned that an American woman had been seen making her way into the mountains. Alone.
