The unexpected resistance stunned Zara. Her father, Sayed and the Blue Men were already engaged in fierce battle with the sultan’s soldiers. She heard her father’s warning but did not heed it. How could she when her loved ones were fighting for their lives? Suddenly she saw a white-robed man on a midnight black stallion riding toward her father. Youssef’s back was toward the man; he was unaware of his danger. Zara acted without thinking; her father’s life was in peril and she had to save him.
Reacting instinctively, she rode her camel directly in the path of her father’s enemy, thwarting the attack and allowing Youssef precious time to escape. Youssef’s face convulsed in horror when he saw Zara riding into the middle of the fray. Fearing for his daughter’s life, Youssef gave the signal for retreat. Though a call for retreat was rare, the Blue Men broke ranks, melting away into the surrounding mountains.
Jamal realized what was happening and spit out an oath. “By Allah’s beard, don’t let them get away!”
Sheltered between Youssef and Sayed, Zara raced toward the protection of the mountains and their walled fortress. She heard the clamor of their pursuers and dared a glance over her shoulder. What she saw froze the blood in her veins.
A Negro soldier had managed to disable Sayed’s camel by slashing the tendons in his hind leg. Sayed was tossed to the ground and the soldier leaped upon him before he gained his wits. The fight was ferocious but short. Through a red haze Zara saw the upward swing of the soldier’s scimitar and its downward slash toward Sayed. Sayed was cut down unmercifully.
Zara let out a keening wail and her mind went blank, too filled with rage to think clearly. Sayed was dying! She couldn’t let him die alone. Swinging her camel around, she raced back to her betrothed and leaped off the animal’s back before he came to a full stop, landing hard. Gaining her feet, she gripped her scimitar and rushed at the soldier who had cut down Sayed.
Youssef, thinking both his daughter and Sayed were behind him, had no idea what was happening. With an army hard on his heels, he rode into the mountains with every expectation that Zara and Sayed would join him at their secret meeting place. Horses were no match for their superior racing camels, and he soon outdistanced the soldiers.
Jamal saw the Blue Man fall beneath Hasdai’s scimitar, saw his companion ride to his defense, and couldn’t help admiring the heroic act, rash though it might be. Jamal recognized the slim Berber as the same one who had ridden to the defense of the cadi. The courageous Blue Man had deprived Jamal of presenting the sultan with the head of his enemy.
Zara saw at a glance that Sayed was very close to death. Agilely ducking the soldier’s blade, she threw herself upon Sayed, pleading with him not to die, willing her own life into him. The soldier snarled out a curse and raised his scimitar high above Zara’s head. But Zara was beyond caring. Her childhood friend lay dying and she wouldn’t leave him now, even if it meant her own life.
Something about that selfless act deeply touched Jamal. Racing toward the hapless Berber, Jamal ordered Hasdai to hold. Hasdai reacted seconds too late; his scimitar had already begun its downward swing. At the last moment he managed to pull back, but still dealt Zara a stunning blow to the back of her head with the flat of his blade.
Zara saw the blade swing toward her and placed her soul in Allah’s hands. The blow she received, though not mortal, sent her spinning into oblivion.
Jamal dismounted and stared down at the stricken Berber. A strange feeling of destiny sent a shiver sliding down his spine. Yet he saw nothing unusual about the man. Slimmer than normal, perhaps, not quite as brawny as his comrades, he seemed much too fragile for the type of uncommon courage he’d displayed in defense of his comrades. Curiosity brought him to his knees beside the unconscious Blue Man, who sprawled across the body of his dead comrade. None too gently, Jamal flipped Zara over onto her back.
“He’s naught but a bare-faced youth!” Jamal exclaimed upon close examination of the Berber’s beardless countenance. His skin was fair and as flawless as that of a newborn babe. His eyebrows were the color of honey and finely arched; his lips were too full and lush to be considered masculine. His chin came to a delicate point below high, sculpted cheekbones. Jamal spied a strand of honey blond hair escaping from his headdress and had a strong suspicion that the Berber wasn’t what he seemed. If Jamal wasn’t mistaken, a woman’s body was hidden beneath the blue robes.
Like many Berbers, who had emigrated to Africa from northern climes, Zara’s Germanic heritage was evident in her fair skin, blond hair and finely chiseled features. Still unable to believe that a woman of such rare beauty rode with the fierce Berbers, Jamal needed to convince himself that his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Reaching beneath her robes, he clasped a hand around a soft, unfettered breast, his fingers exploring its size and shape. He smiled and squeezed gently, noting that the firm mound was exactly the right size to fill his hand. He ventured further and found the hard, jutting nipple, sweetly erect and very much to his liking. He closed his eyes, imagining how perfectly it would fill his mouth. How delicious it would taste.
Heat. Zara awoke to a burning sensation that had nothing to do with her aching head. It took a few seconds to realize she was being groped. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped when she saw a white-robed devil bending over her, his dark, sultry eyes smoldering with blatant sensuality.
The breath hissed through her teeth. “Take your hands off me, murderer!”
Jamal’s searching hand stilled. “Ah, beauty awakens.” His hand withdrew reluctantly as he stared into a pair of angry green eyes. “Who are you? How is it that a woman is riding with the Blue Men?”
Zara touched her head and groaned. She was surprised to find herself alive. She tried to rise and with difficulty managed to push herself to her elbows. Her gaze fell upon her fallen betrothed, sprawled beside her in the dirt, his life’s blood draining upon the arid brown earth. She tried to crawl to him but Jamal held her back.
“He’s dead.”
“Fiend! Son of an ass! Camel dung! Sayed was too good a man to die like this.”
Jamal frowned. He had no idea why this woman’s friendship with the dead man should bother him. “What was he to you?”
“My betrothed. You’ve killed him!” She tried to grasp her blade, which lay just beyond her reach, but Jamal’s booted foot clamped her wrist to the ground.
“I’ve killed many men, but not this one. Your betrothed knew the consequences when he attacked the sultan’s caravan. Who are you? Your man was remiss in his duty toward you. Women don’t ride with warriors.”
Zara bristled with indignation. “Perhaps Arab women don’t, but I am a Berber. Sayed couldn’t stop me. Only the cadi has that kind of power, and my father was tolerant of my wish to accompany him.”
Jamal went still, digesting Zara’s words. Then he smiled. It wasn’t a pretty smile. “Praise Allah for my good fortune. It appears I have captured Youssef’s daughter.”
Zara realized her mistake too late. By revealing her identity she had placed both herself and her father in grave danger. Her capture would likely bring Youssef running to her defense, and that could prove fatal. Her captor seemed too intelligent to accept a lie, so she didn’t insult him by denying her identity.
“I am Princess Zara, daughter of the cadi, Youssef. Who are you?”
Stunned by her boldness, Jamal stared at her. Arab women never went out in public unveiled, or spoke to a man with such daring. But then, Berber women followed none of the rules that Arab men demanded that their wives, daughters and concubines obey. Finding his tongue, he said, “I am Sheik Jamal, loyal subject of Allah and the sultan. And you, Princess, are my captive.”
Grasping her hand, he hauled her to her feet, surprised to find her so tall and lissome. Though he was much taller, she reached his chin. By contrast, Arab women were small and inclined to plumpness. Arab men liked their women round, curvaceous and submissive. This feisty barb-tongued Berber princess possessed none of those qualities; she probably didn’t know ho
w to be submissive. Nevertheless, there was no mistaking her femininity. His questing hand had discovered a soft woman beneath her concealing blue robes.
Once on her feet, Zara swayed dizzily. Her head felt like a large melon about to explode. Recognizing her distress, Jamal swung her up into his arms.
Despite her injury, Zara resisted wildly. “No! You can’t leave Sayed for the wild animals to devour! I won’t let you.”
Zara hated to display weakness before the arrogant sheik but she couldn’t help herself. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She felt the wetness upon her face and blinked in dismay.
Handsome and brave, Sayed had been her best friend and protector for as long as she could remember. They would have already been married had she not delayed the wedding so that she might ride with her father a while longer. She had known that once she married, Sayed would have insisted that she remain in the village with the other women. And once she conceived his child, there would be no more riding with the men.
Tears were the last thing Jamal expected from this haughty princess. Then he recalled that the dead man was her betrothed and surprised himself by relenting.
“I will see that the dead are buried in a common grave.”
Zara wanted time to grieve for Sayed, time to sit beside him and whisper her good-byes, but she would not beg favors from this arrogant Arab sheik. Once her people were in power again, she would make sure that Sheik Jamal received just punishment.
Zara’s thoughts were interrupted when Captain Hasdai appeared to report on the fleeing Berbers. Since Zara saw no prisoners, she assumed her father had escaped. Hasdai’s report confirmed her belief.
Hasdai spoke to Jamal but his gaze was on Zara, who still rested in Jamal’s arms. “They all escaped, my lord, including Youssef.”
“We haven’t lost the day, Captain. The sultan’s caravan is intact and his daughter is my captive.”
“His daughter!” Hasdai’s gaze swept over Zara with profound interest. Then he smiled. “The sultan will be pleased. Do we return now?”
“Aye, we return to Meknes. Leave enough men behind to bury the dead and collect the wounded.”
“Let me remain behind with Sayed!” Zara begged, forgetting her pride. “I wish to mourn him.”
Jamal had shown all the mercy he was capable of. After Hasdai hurried off to convey the sheik’s orders, Jamal flung Zara atop his horse and mounted behind her. With one hand on the reins and the other pressing her tightly against him, he guided the prancing Kacem toward Meknes.
The warmth of Zara’s slim body, the curve of her supple waist beneath his hand, and the imprint of her slim hips against his groin, made Jamal blatantly aware of her soft femininity. His arm tightened around her, bringing her even closer against him.
Zara held herself stiffly away from the arrogant sheik, the angle of her body and tilt of her head a clear indication of her utter contempt for him.
Could she be broken? Jamal wondered, amused by her defiance. He sincerely doubted it, but he would like to try. Zara was too proud and insolent for a woman. She needed to learn obedience, to be taught to submit to her master. Jamal frowned, recalling that the pleasure of using Zara’s sweet body belonged to the sultan. With no small amount of envy, Jamal wished him joy of it.
When Zara finally went slack against him, Jamal realized she had either fallen asleep or lost consciousness. She had taken a nasty blow on the head and could have been more seriously injured than he’d realized. The stubborn female would never give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly she was hurt. Holding her upright against him, he put his spurs to Kacem.
Zara awoke some time later to the rolling gait of Jamal’s mount, still an unwilling captive of his superior strength. Allah forgive her, but she could kill him without a qualm for what he’d done this day. She glared at him over her shoulder and said, “You’re holding me too tightly!”
He merely smiled and splayed his hand over her stomach so that the pad of his thumb rubbed back and forth against the soft underside of her breast.
“Son of a goat! Braying ass! You have no right to touch me.”
“I have every right. You are my captive.” That statement left a sour taste in his mouth. Technically, Princess Zara belonged to the sultan. She was not his.
What would Moulay Ishmail do with her? he wondered. Make her a part of his harem? He already had more women than he knew what to do with. Ishmail was a shrewd man; perhaps he would use her as bait to capture her father. Her life wouldn’t be easy as Ishmail’s prisoner. The sultan was an exceptionally cruel and vindictive man.
Zara dared another glance over her shoulder at Jamal. He appeared to be preoccupied with his own thoughts, and she took a moment to study him. His hair was concealed by a white turban, but judging by the color of his dark brows and lashes, she supposed it was dark also. His skin was more bronze than swarthy, and she suspected the dark color was due to the sun and was not his natural skin tone. His eyes were dark and impenetrable, not the murky brown of mud but the pure black of a desert night.
Her silent contemplation of his face at an end, Zara dwelled briefly on Jamal’s other attributes, those she couldn’t see but could feel. He was uncommonly strong; she could feel his strength in the hardness of his chest and thighs pressing against her, and in his hand splayed against her, restraining her struggling with such ease. He controlled his spirited mount with one hand upon the reins, as if born to the saddle. Sheik Jamal was a man to be reckoned with, Zara decided. She would need to employ cunning and guile in order to escape him, but, Allah willing, she would escape.
They rode across towering brown hills, through forests of mimosa, cork and olive trees, stopping briefly at a water hole to refill their goatskin water bags. Zara drank greedily when offered water, and accepted a handful of olives and a hunk of goat cheese from Jamal. Then they rode on, until darkness claimed the land and Jamal called a halt. A fire was quickly built to brew mint tea. Again they ate sparingly of olives, bread and cheese they carried with them, washing the food down with refreshing mint tea. Then Jamal placed his blanket on the ground and lay down, indicating that Zara was to lie beside him.
Nights were cold despite the sizzling heat of the day, and Zara would have welcomed the warmth of a blanket, but she neither trusted nor liked Jamal and wondered what mischief he intended for her this night.
“Come, Zara, lie down beside me. I’m tired, and keeping you beside me tonight is the only way I can be sure you won’t escape.”
“Your touch disgusts me,” Zara said with a shiver. “’Tis enough I’m forced to ride with you. I won’t lie with you.”
“Would you rather be bound hand and foot and made to sleep on the cold ground?”
“Aye, if it meant I wouldn’t have to endure your hands on me.”
Jamal’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Did you enjoy Sayed’s hands on you?”
The breath hissed from her lungs. “Don’t you dare compare yourself with Sayed. Aye, I very much enjoyed his hands on me.”
“I understand that Berber women are bound by few restrictions. An Arab man would slay his bride if she came to him without a hymen. How many men have you taken between your sweet thighs, Zara?”
“Do not judge me, prince of donkeys,” Zara declared. “Berber women are free to love where they will. How many concubines do you have to ease your nights? How many love slaves do you keep in your household? I will be no man’s slave. Berber women choose the men with whom they wish to share their bodies.”
Jamal’s mouth thinned. Never had he heard a woman speak so openly or with such passion. Zara’s words shook the very foundations of Islamic teachings. In the Arab world women were taught to be obedient and submissive to men. Allah had placed women on earth for men’s pleasure, and to bear their children. They lived in harems apart from males and covered their faces discreetly when they appeared in public. Their purpose in life was to pleasure their masters, and some, particularly concubines, were highly skilled in such art
s. They did very little except indulge themselves with food and sweets and enjoy the luxuries provided by their husbands or masters.
Of course, his own mother had been an exception to the rule, Jamal reflected. His father had emptied his harem at her request and taken no other concubines or wives after she came to him as a young English captive. They had shared true love, and his father had desired no other woman. After his father’s death at the hands of Berbers, his mother was free to do as she pleased. His father had willed it so. Lady Eloise had chosen to return to her people in England. Jamal had elected to remain in his native Morocco, sailing to England frequently to visit his mother.
Jamal felt a modicum of pity for the rebellious girl standing before him. But pity was not an emotion he dared to entertain. The sultan would have his head if he allowed Zara to escape. “Do you refuse to lie beside me?” he asked harshly.
“Aye,” Zara said, tossing her head defiantly.
“So be it.” Jamal called Hasdai to attend him. The captain appeared almost instantly.
“What can I do for you, Sheik?”
“Princess Zara has expressed a desire to sleep on the cold ground, bound hand and foot so she can’t escape. See that her wishes are granted.”
Grasping her arm none too gently, Hasdai pushed Zara to the ground and called for a rope. It was provided moments later and Hasdai seemed to derive great pleasure in binding Zara’s wrists and ankles, then winding the rope ends around her slim waist and tying the ends securely behind her back. When he finished, he stepped back and looked inquiringly at Jamal.
“That will be all, Hasdai. Set the guard and see that the rest of the men settle down for the night.
“Are you comfortable, Princess?” Jamal asked with bland indifference. If she would but admit to her discomfort, Jamal would release her immediately. He wasn’t cruel by nature and he didn’t like to see women suffer.
Zara bared her teeth at him. “As comfortable as I can be amidst an army of jackals.”
Sheik Page 2
