The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind)

by Bonnie Vanak

  THE COBRA AND THE CONCUBINE

  Book 3 in the Khamsin Warriors of the Wind series

  by

  Bonnie Vanak

  The Cobra and the Concubine

  Copyright 2004 by Bonnie Vanak

  All rights reserved

  Published 2013 by Bonnie Vanak

  Visit www.BonnieVanak.com

  Table of Contents

  PART ONE: KHEPRI

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  PART TWO: KENNETH & BADRA

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Author’s Note

  Book Notes

  PART ONE: KHEPRI

  Chapter One

  Eastern desert of Egypt, 1889

  Someone, please help me.

  The silent plea ran through Badra’s mind in a frantic chant. She quivered behind the large limestone boulder just outside the peppering of black goat-hair tents. Sounds of war raged: the screams of men dying, the triumphant war whoops of their enemies gaining a stronghold. The two fiercest desert tribes in Egypt—the Al-Hajid and the Khamsin, warriors of the wind—fought each other in a bloody clash.

  Peeking around the stone, Badra’s friend Farah watched. The sun burned down mercilessly upon both of them. Wind drifted across the dusky sand, ruffling Farah’s long black hair. At twenty, she was five years older than Badra in both experience and wisdom. She was the one who had urged this escape.

  Farah turned, her face flushed with urgency. "The Khamsin are departing our camp! Now is the time."

  Badra’s feet remained frozen to the sand. They had fled the harem tent in the confusion and made it outside the camp. Yet if they ran, Sheikh Fareeq would find them. "You are my slave, Badra," he had snarled. "Escape to the Sinai and I will find you. I do not let slaves go free. Ever."

  Farah’s voice returned Badra to the present. "Please, let us flee," she pleaded.

  Somewhere deep inside her, Badra found a tiny core of strength and drew on it. She and Farah ran out from behind the sheltering rocks.

  Chaos erupted—a blur of movement on fast, sleek Arabian horses. The Khamsin had recovered their prized breeding stallion and were leaving the Al-Hajid behind. The beautiful white horse was tethered to the saddle of the Khamsin sheikh who now rode off toward his home.

  Farah did not hesitate. She immediately darted after him, clutching Badra’s hand and screaming for him to stop.

  The Khamsin sheikh pulled up his mount in an expert move, the mare’s nostrils flaring. He was a magnificent figure. An indigo veil draped across his lower face, shielding his features. He leaned forward, and his dark eyes flashed with fury until Farah laid a hand upon his trouser-clad thigh.

  "Please," she begged, her voice frantic, "we belong to Sheikh Fareeq. Please, I beg you, sire, take us with you as your concubines. I know you are Jabari bin Tarik Hassid, sheikh of the Khamsin. I have heard you are a just and righteous leader."

  Badra raised her eyes hopefully, silently imploring the man. Words fled. She could not speak. The leader’s eyes crinkled in a frown, and two more warriors—one short, but with a powerful build, the other taller and leaner—pulled up, effectively trapping her between the sheikh and their horses. Three veiled faces stared down with hidden menace. Badra began to shake violently, wondering if she fled a familiar horror for one yet unknown.

  "Sire, what is the delay?" the more muscular warrior asked.

  "These women, Nazim. They ask sanctuary as my concubines."

  Nazim leaned over his mare and gave the women a cursory glance. "Then offer it," he hissed. "But let us hurry!"

  Jabari looked down at Badra, then at Farah, then questioningly at the third warrior. "Khepri, my brother, what is your opinion? Is this a trap, or should I take them into my care?"

  "You could do with a few concubines," the tall and lean warrior replied with amusement. "Perhaps if they keep you busy enough in bed, you will be less inclined to ride into trouble."

  "Watch your tongue, lest I cut it out for you," Jabari growled, but it seemed to Badra there was a smile in his voice. "Very well," he said to the women. "I will offer you refuge in my household."

  The Khamsin sheikh stared down at Farah, nodding. He reached down and scooped her into the saddle. "Khepri, take the little one," he instructed. "I am entrusting you to keep her safe for me."

  "Come, little one," the warrior named Khepri called.

  Badra could not move; she was too terrified. Leaving would constitute the bravest act she’d undertaken since being sold to Fareeq four years ago when she was eleven.

  Dust rose in a thick cloud as the others rode off. Khepri motioned to her, his blue veil hiding all but his eyes.

  At her continued hesitation, the warrior looked over his shoulder. Distant, angry shouts filled the air—sounds of men gathering. The Al-Hajid had recovered and would soon ride in pursuit. He slid off his mare in a graceful move and came for her, holding out his hand. Badra dragged her frightened gaze up to meet his, then recoiled. He had the same bronze coloring as those men familiar to her, but his eyes burned a fierce blue, like the Egyptian sky.

  The man tore off his veil, revealing features that tore the breath from her lungs. Badra stared, awestruck. Lean, sculpted cheeks, a strong jaw and a dark-bearded chin made him appear fierce, but he offered a gentle smile and his tone was soothing and low.

  "I am Khepri bin Tarik Hassid, brother to the sheikh. Have no fear, little one. You are safe with me." Those incredible blue eyes suddenly blazed with mischief. "And I promise you, Jabari is a considerate man. If you have any trouble, I will punish him most severely." He winked.

  Whether it was his teasing or his gentle manner, something about this man pulled at her. Badra nodded. He hoisted her easily onto his saddle and then pulled up behind her, cradling her with his firm, warm body. Another shiver went through Badra—this time not of fear but a deeper intensity.

  They rode fast through hard canyons and deep desert, finally meeting up with the others; then they rode almost ceaselessly, taking only the short breaks required by the horses. Badra did not speak. During the rest periods, some of the Khamsin warriors cast her searching glances. Sly remarks followed.

  "Fareeq took our breeding stallion, so our sheikh will bed Fareeq’s concubines as revenge. Jabari will prove he is the virile leader that Fareeq is not," one man commented.

  Handing Badra a goatskin of water, Khepri frowned. "Must you talk around these women as if they do not exist? You have as many words as a storm has sand, Hassan, but a sandstorm is far more pleasant to the ears."

  Sharp panic pinched Badra as all the men laughed. The Khamsin sheikh would bed her immediately, to prove himself to his warriors. Would he also brutalize her? She found herself terrified as she rode.

  When they reached the Khamsin cam
p, Badra gazed around with wide-eyed curiosity. Blue-scarved women looked curiously at her. Farah came over, offering an encouraging smile. Khepri escorted them to a many-poled tent. A middle-aged woman introducing herself as Asriyah, the sheikh’s aunt, welcomed them. Badra was given water for washing, a change of clothing and shown to a soft bed. She fell asleep as soon as her body touched the mattress.

  The next day, Badra woke up confused and afraid. She glanced around at the low sandalwood table near her bed, the rich, thick carpets, the elegant carvings set upon a handsome wood chest. Then it all came back. The Khamsin camp. She had a new master. She touched the cotton sheets with a trembling hand. Despite the reassurances Khepri had given her last night, Badra could not believe she was safe.

  Even if Jabari was kind, Fareeq would come for her. She was one of his favorites. The only time she had escaped his attention was while she was pregnant. The childless Fareeq was desperate for a son, so she’d broken the secret pact among his concubines to ensure he’d remain childless; she’d stopped taking the herbs preventing conception. Remembering her difficult pregnancy and her labor that started two weeks early, Badra swallowed a lump in her throat. Her little girl. She had held the child in her arms and marveled at the tiny, precious life. Then they had taken her away when Badra fell into an exhausted slumber. When she awoke, she’d learned Jasmine had been too little and died. Barely had she recovered when Fareeq began raping and flogging her once more ...

  Badra clutched the sheet as the woven door to her chamber lifted. Farah entered, smiling blissfully.

  "The sheikh has taken me to his bed! He is a wonderful lover and brought me to a pleasure I never imagined. He is unmarried. Perhaps he will wed me," Farah told her.

  Her friend possessed a sinuous grace. Like Fareeq’s other women, she had evaded the whip, using her wiles, which she’d eventually taught Badra, to lessen Fareeq’s abuse. A sage look came into her dark eyes.

  "He has called for you next. He is quite virile, this one."

  Badra flinched, remembering Fareeq’s nightly visits, the rough way he had shoved himself into her until she cried. Men did not deliver pleasure. Only pain.

  Farah’s expression softened. "You must go, Badra, lest you anger him. Do you want to return to Fareeq?"

  Fear twisted like a loathsome snake about Badra’s spine. How could she endure sharing her new master’s bed? Yet she had no choice. Her mouth went dry.

  Farah drifted outside, a dreamy expression on her face. Asriyah entered. "I am told you are called Badra," the sheikh’s aunt said. "I have been instructed to bring you to Jabari’s tent as soon as you are prepared for him. Hurry," the woman said.

  Badra washed, dressed and subjected herself to the woman’s gentle touch as she brushed her hair. "You are quite beautiful," Asriyah commented. "My nephew will be pleased."

  Badra tensed, thinking of the horrors to come.

  The sheikh’s aunt escorted her out to the largest tent. Badra removed her sandals. Sucking in a deep breath, she walked inside the tent’s main room, her feet treading noiselessly on a thick jewel-toned carpet. Wind blew softly through the enclosure from the partly rolled-up flaps. Jabari sat cross-legged on the floor next to the warrior she’d heard called Nazim. The men ate dates from a bowl on the floor and talked and laughed. Badra studied her new master with care. He was much younger than she’d first thought, somewhere in his twenties. Quite handsome and tall, with long black hair spilling from beneath his indigo turban. She prayed the ebony eyes would hold kindness, that he would show a little of the warmth she’d glimpsed yesterday.

  Jabari glanced up. A reassuring smile touched his mouth. His manner seemed gentle.

  "Nazim," he said in husky voice. "Leave us."

  The warrior gave his sheikh a grin and a wink and left. Badra trembled. Jabari invited her to sit and offered her a date. She took one as he talked. His voice was deep and soothing, but she heard little. Sweat trickled down her back. Her stomach pitched as he unfolded his muscled body and stood. "Come," he told her, holding out his hand.

  The sheikh led her to a back room. A massive bed stood near one tent wall. She knew what he wanted. Her heart thudded.

  "Undress for me," he instructed softly.

  Moisture dampened her palms. Badra bit her lip, filled with revulsion. But if she did not obey, this man might flog her as Fareeq had. The sheikh’s broad shoulders hinted at muscle that could wield a whip harder than Fareeq. She felt helpless.

  Her shaking fingers tugged off her indigo kuftan and stripped off the underlying kamis shirt and wide, blousy trousers. Naked, she stood before Jabari, displaying what Fareeq had coveted since eyeing her at the Pleasure Palace, the brothel where her parents had sold her. The sheikh’s jaw dropped.

  "Allah," he said hoarsely. "You are lovely."

  She hated this. Hated herself. Badra tried to quell the horror that the lusty gleam in his dark eyes sent through her. He put a palm upon her breast.

  No! Not again! She could not. Terrified, she jerked away. Nowhere to run. Badra felt trapped. Instinct drove her into the tent corner. She crumpled on the carpet and crouched, facing the wall. Her arms wrapped about her for protection.

  Maybe if she curled up very tightly and made no noise he would leave her alone. Violent shivers racked her.

  "Badra, what is wrong? What are you doing?" Bewilderment filled the sheikh’s voice.

  Badra crawled further into the corner. She felt humiliated and ashamed. Yet she could not stop.

  "Do not be afraid of me," he said.

  Air brushed her naked skin as he lifted her hair. A warm hand suddenly settled over her exposed back, upon the deepest of the scars carved there. She flinched. Badra stuffed a fist into her mouth to stifle a scream.

  No noise. Noise meant he’d hit her harder.

  "Allah," the sheikh said in a shocked voice. "That fat jackal of a bastard, what did he do to your back?"

  Badra whimpered.

  "Please, Badra, come out. I will not hurt you."

  Lies. Always the lies. Of course you say you will not hurt me. Then you do. Oh please, don’t touch me. I cannot bear it.

  Jabari’s words became a buzz in her ears. She peeked and saw him offer her clothing. Another trick. He would offer covering and then rip it off. And beat her. And laugh.

  Finally the sheikh stood. She heard him leave. A few minutes later, he returned and she heard Farah’s voice.

  "She will not say a word to me. What did that bastard do to this poor girl?" Jabari said.

  "Badra hasn’t spoken in months to anyone. She was our master’s favorite. He enjoyed ... flogging her."

  Farah crouched down. Badra stole a peek.

  "Badra, stop this before the sheikh becomes angry," her friend pleaded. "He is a skillful lover, much more than our master. Why, the Khamsin sheikh’s member is far larger than our master’s. Like the towering obelisks of Egypt it is—"

  "Thank you," the sheikh said dryly. "You may leave now. Call Nazim in."

  He followed Farah out to the tent’s main section. Badra heard a man’s footsteps and a deep, cheerful voice.

  "Do you need assistance, sire? Advice? I had thought you would need no instructions in this matter."

  "Stop joking, Nazim. Badra ran into a corner and will not come out. Farah attempted to reassure her—by telling her my member is large as the obelisks of Egypt."

  "Ah, very reassuring. And not true." Nazim chuckled.

  "The girl is terrified. Fareeq flogged her. Come and see if you can work your famous charm to coax her out."

  Badra heard them enter the bedchamber. She squeezed her eyes shut. If Jabari wanted her, he’d have to force her. No words would move her from the slim safety of the corner.

  "Look, she’s shivering, poor girl. I should carve my dagger into that bastard Fareeq for what he has done," Nazim said quietly.

  Opening one eye, Badra saw the man lean over, heard him murmur something soothing. Compassion shone in his odd, whiskey-colored eyes, but she knew look
s could deceive. He touched her bare arm.

  She shrieked and huddled further into the corner.

  A heavy sigh rushed from Nazim. "She has too much fear, Jabari. I advise you to be gentle with her. Give her time."

  She heard him leave, then the sheikh sat nearby.

  "I see we are at an impasse, Badra." Jabari said quietly. "But I am a patient man, and I will wait for you to come out. As long as it takes."

  Two hours. What was Jabari doing to her?

  He had counted every minute since the sheikh took the new girl Badra into his tent. Finally Khepri could take it no longer. He stood near Jabari’s quarters, fashioning a new harness for a farmer’s donkey. Irritated, he frowned at two warriors exchanging sly grins and glancing at the sheikh’s tent. Ribald remarks about Jabari’s sexual prowess followed—not all of them positive. Jabari needed to prove himself, still. He was only twenty-three and had assumed leadership barely two months ago. Bedding Fareeq’s concubines would gain the warriors’ respect.

  "Two hours! Our sheikh is a strong man," one said.

  Khepri grimaced. Seeing him, the other warrior laughed. He said to the first, "Look, his brother already is thinking how to surpass him. Always determined to be the best. I hear fathers lock their daughters away when Khepri visits the village. They have seen how his mistress cannot walk straight for days after being with him. Perhaps our sheikh will do the same to his new concubine."

  Khepri’s insides twisted. The little concubine called Badra had seemed terrified. Her dark eyes had begged for help. Pity and an odd protective feeling stabbed him. He too, had quivered with fear when he came to the Khamsin, his parents’ death screams still ringing in his ears.

  To cover his agitation, and any noise of coupling inside the sheikh’s tent, he began to sing. He tried not to think about Jabari bedding Badra. She belonged to the sheikh and he was foolish to covet her. Yet he couldn’t help the jealousy stinging him like a cactus needle.

  Her muscles ached. Badra dared not move. The sheikh studied a sheaf of papers. Her body ached from huddling in one position so long. But here was safety.