Master of the Desert

by Susan Stephens

  So this was war, he thought with a mixture of anticipation and amusement. Excellent. Let battle commence.

  ‘Are you ready to go?’ she said, eyeing the quiet gelding he had chosen for her before raising an eyebrow when she viewed his stamping monster of a stallion.

  He almost had to curb a smile at the sight of the girl he recognised even without a knife in her hand. This was Antonia white-lipped with determination, and even the kind gelding he had selected for her was hanging its head uncertainly, as if it sensed trouble approaching its back.

  He soothed it with a gentle touch as she mounted up, and then said, ‘Ready?’

  Her gaze was like a lick of flame that wavered when he held it. Travelling into the desert with him wasn’t so appealing, suddenly, he guessed. On my own? he imagined her thinking. With you? Without anyone to take my part?

  ‘You have a hat, I hope?’ he said. ‘The sun is hot. You may have noticed?’

  She crammed on the totally unsuitable headgear she had been holding crushed in her hand.

  ‘That hat isn’t suitable for the desert,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Well, it’s what I’m wearing.’ She gave the brim a defiant tug.

  ‘You’ll need this.’

  She huffed contemptuously at the scarf he was holding out for her to wind about her face and head. ‘Keep it!’ she exclaimed, as if accepting anything from him was the first step on the road to damnation. ‘I’m just fine as I am,’ she assured him, wheeling her horse around.

  One hour and a sandstorm later, she was begging him for the Arabian headgear.

  ‘I suppose you think this is funny?’ she demanded as he sipped cold, clean water from a ladle offered to him by the Bedouin who had set up temporary camp around a well of clean drinking-water.

  ‘Not at all.’ Having unwound the yards of fabric he wore to protect his head, neck and face, he was largely untroubled by grit and sand, while Antonia looked more like a sand sculpture, with her red-rimmed eyes the only sign that she was human. ‘I have a solution for you.’ He smiled.

  ‘You do?’ She glanced towards the stallion, where his saddlebags full of the supplies he considered necessary were hanging.

  ‘Certainly,’ he said, tipping the bucket of water over her head. ‘That should clean you up a bit—and cool you down.’

  Spluttering, she swore at him. ‘Why, you—’

  ‘Brute?’ he supplied mildly, already on his way to retrieve the spare howlis he’d brought for her to wear.

  By the time he had returned, the laughing women of the camp had helped Antonia to wash her hair, and were hustling her away between them, no doubt to find her something more suitable for the desert than her Hollywood gear. Bedouin were kind that way, he reflected; infinitely generous.

  He waited with mounting impatience as the minutes ticked by, chatting with the men whilst keeping an eye on the women’s tent where they had taken her. He wouldn’t put it past Antonia to steal a camel and make a break for it—and this time when she left the country he wanted to be sure it was for good.

  But as he held that thought Antonia just ducked her head to leave the tent, and now was coming towards him with her head held high and that seemingly irrepressible look of determination and challenge locked in her eyes. She was wearing a serviceable but undeniably sexy outfit. The Bedouin women knew a thing or two about such things. It comprised a robe and a headdress that both protected her and—regrettably, as far as he was concerned—made her seem only too well suited to the hostile environment. She didn’t belong here, and in his opinion the sooner Antonia realised that, the better.

  ‘Ready?’ she said, taking her revenge cold as she sprang into the saddle of the gelding he was holding for her.

  ‘Ready,’ he confirmed, handing her the reins.

  Far from buckling and demanding a helicopter out of what had to be both an alien and terrifying terrain for her, Antonia had adapted and was still intent on going forward. So be it. He was equally determined that this would be Antonia’s first and last taste of the desert adventure she so foolishly craved.

  At least she was clean. The women had allowed her to use their private bath-house, which was basically a tent they had erected over the stream that bubbled up to the surface from some underground keep far below the surface. But never had a bathroom seemed more luxurious to her, or people more friendly and fun as they poured buckets of cold water over her.

  It was the first time she had been able to relax in a long time, Antonia felt. The women had made that possible for her with their lighthearted banter and teasing looks through the tent flap, at Ra’id and then at her. She had tried to mime that he was way too important for her, and that anyway she wasn’t interested, but they just laughed at her. And after an hour of constant teasing she found her hunger for Ra’id had only increased.

  Black-hearted Ra’id, as she was determined to think of him, was already mounted when she stepped outside the tent. He was holding the reins of her horse with his gaze inscrutable behind the folds of his dark and forbidding headgear. Thankfully, the women had arranged her own scarf so that, just like Ra’id, only her eyes were showing—which meant he couldn’t see her blazing cheeks, or the way her lips had swollen with desire for him. Perfect. She angled her head to give him a glare. She wanted to be sure he could see her resolve, and that she would go on with this without allowing any personal considerations to get in her way.

  The fact that she was terrified—of Ra’id, of the desert, of the safety of their unborn child—was something she, like countless women before her, would simply have to take in her stride. There was a job to be done, and only unflinching determination was going to get her through it.

  Antonia’s heart sank as their horses slowed to a trot outside the crumbling walls of the ancient citadel. This was not what she had expected at all. Instead of a fine fort sitting foursquare in the desert, the fortress she had inherited from her mother was a sad, run-down place with doors hanging off the hinges and windows boarded up. ‘No wonder you wanted me to see it,’ she said to Ra’id brightly, determined he wouldn’t see her alarm. ‘It’s a blank canvas, isn’t it?’ she said, making the derelict wreck sound like the most desirable real-estate on the face of the earth.

  ‘It’s a blank something,’ he agreed.

  It was just a pity her horizons had been stretched somewhat since arriving in Sinnebar so that now they encompassed doors formed from solid gold, decorated with gem-studded handles. And windows—always made of crystal glass.

  She smiled to herself at the irony of it all and was glad of something to cheer her up as she stared at the dried-out skeleton of a once-majestic home. Shielding her eyes against the glare of a sky bleached white by the sun, she tried to sum up her decrepit inheritance. ‘A heap of stones’ was a generous description. ‘Is it safe to go inside?’ she asked Ra’id, who had reined in beside her.

  ‘I’ll take a look.’

  Before she could stop him he had urged his stallion into a brisk canter and was almost instantly swallowed up inside the walls.

  Sitting alone on a fidgeting horse, breathing air that was heavy and still, was an unnerving experience. The heat was like a smothering cloth that choked off the last of her optimism, and the silence was overwhelming. There was no birdsong here, no leaves rustling, no sound at all.

  Patting her horse, she rested her cheek against the firm, warm neck for comfort. She had never felt the need of a friend more. Had her mother felt like this? Antonia wondered, imagining Helena’s feelings on being moved from one palace to the next by her disenchanted lover. This ancient fortress must have come as quite a shock after the opulent palace in the city. Her gaze swept the pitted stone, lingering on the mean little windows. How oppressive a building could seem, she reflected, remembering Ra’id explaining on the ride that the old fort had originally been built as a defensive outpost to guard the nearby water-supply—water that would now be held from her at Ra’id’s whim.

  She was beginning to hate it here, Antonia
realised as the minutes ticked by. The ancient citadel was like nothing she had imagined, and had nothing to offer other than a home to desert rats and scorpions. It was ugly, and it stood in lonely isolation in the fire-pit of the world. She must have been mad to think she could restore it. Surely no human being could bear to live in a place that was so remote and hostile? It was sheer vanity on Antonia’s part to think she could wave a magic wand and transform this tumbling ruin into a welcome retreat for hard-pressed parents and their children. That was definitely a fantasy too far.

  And where was Ra’id? She was growing increasingly anxious about him. Old buildings could be dangerous, and he had been gone a long while…

  Antonia’s imagination started running riot. If Ra’id came to harm because of her, she would never forgive herself—and how would she help him here? The sooner they left the better, she concluded, regretting her earlier optimism.

  She exclaimed with relief as he rode into view.

  ‘It’s safe to come in,’ he said, reining in his prancing stallion. ‘Antonia?’ he pressed when she hesitated. ‘Have you changed your mind? I thought you were on fire to see this?’

  When she saw the glint in Ra’id’s eyes and realised this was a test, and that he expected her to turn tail and run back to the city as fast as she could, she said, ‘I am keen.’ And picked up the reins.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ANTONIA dismounted and led the pony into the cobbled courtyard. It was impossible to know what to expect once she went beyond the outer the walls of the old fortress, and she didn’t want to risk the horse stumbling. She felt sick and weak with disappointment—although pregnancy might have had something to do with it, Antonia conceded worriedly, unscrewing the stopper on her flask.

  As she drained the cooling water she was conscious of Ra’id watching her. Had he guessed? Did he know that she was pregnant? She really couldn’t find the energy to fight him now; all her earlier defiance had drained away. It was one thing taking on a major building-project in the desert when she only had herself to worry about, but the baby meant more to her than anything else, and she hadn’t realised just how hostile and isolated an environment this was.

  She was defeated before she even got started. She wanted to go home. The old fort was a dreadful place; no one could possibly live here. No wonder Helena had been miserable. It must have been nothing short of torment for a young girl to be shut away in the desert.

  Lashing her horse’s reins to a rail, Antonia sank down on a hard stone mounting-block and put her head in her hands.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  She lifted her head. Ra’id sounded genuinely concerned.

  ‘This isn’t too much for you, is it?’ he said.

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ she said stubbornly. ‘But, unlike you, I’m not used to the heat.’

  ‘It’s much cooler inside the walls.’

  As he spoke, Ra’id was unwinding the folds of his headgear, slowly revealing his brutally handsome face. How could she have forgotten how the sight of him affected her? Antonia wondered, holding on to her composure by the slimmest of threads. ‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed, as if her heart wasn’t pumping furiously at the sight of Ra’id so close, so hot, so masculine. ‘In fact,’ she added, determinedly, ‘If there was only water on tap, this castle would be ideal for my purposes.’

  ‘Then it’s a pity you don’t have water on tap,’ Ra’id observed smoothly, reminding her never to be off her guard where he was concerned. ‘Shall we?’ he invited, gesturing towards the entrance to the living quarters in the old keep.

  She was determined this would not be an emotional re-run of her visit to her mother’s forgotten room, though she was deeply conscious of walking in her mother’s footsteps as Ra’id led the way up the stone staircase to the main building.

  This had to be the strangest experience she’d ever had, Antonia concluded. She was bursting with emotion at the thought of finally visiting the place where her mother had been exiled; finding out about her mother’s past was something she had waited her whole life to see and understand. And here she was at last with the father of her child walking beside her. It should have been perfect. But this was the same man who wanted nothing more than to be rid of her. Where Ra’id was concerned she had a blind spot, Antonia admitted. She could never stop looking for a sign that he still felt something for her. Keep looking, she thought as they began the tour of dilapidated rooms.

  How terrified Helena must have felt when she had arrived here a virtual prisoner, Antonia mused, discarded and exiled to the desert where she could cause no embarrassment to the ruling sheikh, parted from her child—could anything be more dreadful? And never knowing if she would ever see her little boy again. How must Helena have felt as she walked beneath this same cold, stone arch into an austere and forbidding citadel? A gift of land would hardly heal those wounds.

  A glance at Ra’id made Antonia tremble inwardly. When Ra’id discovered she was pregnant, would he show her any more mercy than his father had shown her mother? The al Maktabis were warrior sheikhs, and Ra’id al Maktabi was the fiercest of them all. He thought the gift of this fortress and the land surrounding it had been a generous pay-off to her mother, but Antonia knew there were more important things than money and land. In her opinion there was nothing that could compensate for the crushing of a human spirit.

  So what would she do if she were stranded here?

  It was at that point, the same moment as they entered the dark and dismal building, that Antonia’s empathy with her mother’s situation began to waver, and she had to remind herself that Helena hadn’t been as fortunate as Antonia, who had such strong support from a brother who adored her. It was easy to be strong when you had people behind you to give you confidence, Antonia reflected, knowing how lucky she was. And with that strength she would take a fresh look at the citadel, seeing the positive this time rather than the drawbacks. For instance, the small windows meant that the fortress would be cool by day, and she would make it even cooler by installing air-conditioning. The extensive terracing could be enjoyed in the cooler months, as well as at dawn and dusk, and if she took on the project she could even make it a practical memorial to her mother.

  Would she take it on?

  That all depended on Ra’id. Without his water, there was no project. She had to try the one thing that might touch him where she had failed. ‘You’ve seen the photographs.’

  Drawing to an abrupt halt in a shadowy rubbish-strewn hallway, Ra’id interrupted her. ‘Photographs?’

  ‘The photographs of the children our charity helps,’ she said quietly. ‘You saw the album during my presentation.’

  ‘You can’t seriously be thinking of bringing those children here?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Do you want a list? And why would you even think of it when I have more palaces than I know what to do with going begging in the capital?’

  ‘Because I want to do something, maybe? Because I don’t want or need your handouts, Ra’id?’ When his eyes narrowed with suspicion, her passion for the project overflowed. ‘If you didn’t expect me to make use of the fortress, why did you bring me here, Ra’id? Was it to teach me a lesson? Or to show me how inhospitable the place is so I will relinquish my claim on the land?’ She found it impossible to keep the heat out of her voice.

  ‘I thought you should see for yourself that your mother’s legacy is nothing more than a meaningless sheet of paper—and if you weren’t prepared to listen to me, then bringing you here was the only way I could make you see the truth.’

  ‘The truth as you see it,’ she returned hotly. ‘You don’t know me at all, Ra’id—though I can see how it would suit you to bring me here.’

  ‘Suit me?’

  ‘Yes.’ She steadied herself by concentrating her thoughts on all those people who depended on her making a success of this visit. ‘I think you pictured me taking a tearful look around before dejectedly mounting my pony and riding out of your life for good. Well, guess
what, Ra’id? I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay right here.’

  ‘And if you’re deported a second time?’

  Antonia firmed her jaw. ‘If you do that, I’ll shame you before the world.’

  ‘You’d blackmail me?’ Ra’id demanded incredulously.

  ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to see this project through.’

  Now she knew she’d gone too far. She was alone with the Sword of Vengeance in the middle of the desert, where anyone could disappear without a trace…

  ‘I suggest you consider very carefully what you say next,’ Ra’id warned her in a voice that was all the more menacing for being low and calm.

  Antonia held her ground, though she was trembling inside. Ra’id had to know she was no pushover, and that she would stand up to him, in this and in all the discussions to come—or else how could she speak up for her child?

  There it was—the most important secret of all, glittering between them like the Grail. She could see Ra’id some time in the future, holding their baby, before handing the child back to her.

  Was that wishful thinking?

  The thought that it might be frightened her more than anything else. Surely they could come to a civilised arrangement where their baby was concerned? But was civilised even possible with Ra’id? This visit to the citadel where her mother had been incarcerated was bound to stir violent emotion in her, Antonia reasoned. But now she must control her feelings, concentrate on finding a way to touch Ra’id and convince him that her plan for the fortress would work if he would only agree to giving her the water she needed. If he agreed to do that, she could build the retreat for the charity, as well as a home and a purpose for herself and for her child.

  ‘I understand why you think the worst of me.’