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

by Bonnie Vanak

  Lifting her hem, she quickly retrieved the knife and knelt down, dagger in hand, and began digging in the sand.

  The loosened mound of earth she had stepped into earlier surely hid the casket containing the jewels. A grim smile touched her mouth as she appreciated the irony—using Kenneth’s dagger to find Kenneth’s treasure so she could steal it.

  Dirt yielded to the dagger’s ruthless prying. She cupped earth and flung it aside. The inefficient means of excavation would take a while, but she didn’t dare cart tools below, didn’t dare draw any suspicion to her quest.

  Barely a few minutes later the jambiya made the hollow thud of striking a hidden chamber. Badra cleared the earth and peered into inky depths. The soft glow of her lamp picked up a glint.

  Gold!

  She felt blood drain from her face as she stared into the contents of a crumbled coffer, long eroded into fragments and dust. But the contents remained intact. Jewelry. Pieces and pieces of exquisite jewelry, precious gems, gold and silver leaf, lapis. With a trembling hand, she reached down and picked up a pectoral with a cartouche: the other necklace of Princess Meret. The necklace condemning the wearer to slavery. She dropped it in her bag like a hot coal.

  Night settled over the encampment. Lying in his narrow bed, Kenneth forced patience. A soft voice called to him from the night, low and filled with urgency.

  "Sahib, you must awaken."

  Kenneth dressed quickly and emerged from his tent. It was the guard on duty, who salaamed, gripping his rifle.

  ‘There is someone in the tomb."

  Kenneth nodded, dismissing the man. Stars glittered like fistfuls of diamonds scattered against the dark velvet sky. A waxing moon shed a soft, silvery glow upon the sand.

  Answers lay below, in the tomb itself. He lit a torch and prepared to descend.

  An eerie silence draped over the tomb’s interior. Sweat dripped off Badra’s nose. The stench of bat droppings filled the air. Being underground, below her beloved desert, brought out all her superstitions. She made the sign against the evil eye as she had been taught in childhood. The stolen necklace made her feel slightly queasy.

  She gazed around the deserted resting place of the pharaoh, whose tomb had been designed from the moment he ascended the throne. Her heart lurched again. Ancient Egyptians spent their entire lives preparing for the afterlife. By removing these items, which assured the royals would still have luxuries, she would be stripping the royals of all that ensured their happy afterlife. Such an act constituted an unpardonable sin.

  Summoning her inner strength, she turned away from such thoughts of betrayal and dishonesty. Badra went to retrieve her dagger—and heard the distinct, soft footfalls of someone in the descending corridor that connected the gallery.

  Badra looked around, frantic. The open chamber lacked any hiding place. Scrambling around the coffin, she crouched down and waited. The footsteps were made with stealth. Yet the bearer had unmistakable weight. A man. A man doing his best to enter the tomb unnoticed.

  If she stayed hidden long enough, perhaps the intruder would find what he sought and leave. Her damp palms clutched at the folds of her indigo kuftan. Another tomb robber?

  Fresh sweat blossomed on her temples. She contemplated another possibility. Whoever approached came fast. Her mind swiftly assembled a list of plausible reasons for her presence. But they sounded feeble, like a child’s lies.

  Remaining hidden was her best option. Badra tucked herself deeper into the shadows. The footsteps sounded directly outside the chamber and then carried inside. She listened intently. They were quick, brisk steps, as if the man had business to complete and planned to carry on in haste.

  Risking exposure, she craned her neck. She could see western trousers. No indigo trousers and soft leather boots, so no Rashid. Western clothing. Perhaps M. de Morgan himself?

  The man remained silent. No noise filled the tomb but the erratic cadence of her heart. She huddled against the quartzite coffin.

  A slight scrape, and the footsteps sounded again. A sigh of relief escaped her lungs in a sibilant hiss. She waited and heard the unmistakable sound of him leaving. With forced patience, she waited. Badra slowly uncurled her body, rubbing her cramped muscles. And let out a shriek that was effectively muzzled as a large hand clamped over her mouth and another seized her around the waist.

  A deep male voice sounded softly in her ear. "What are you doing here, Badra?"

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kenneth! Icy fists of fear squeezed her heart as his implacable grip squeezed her waist. The Duke of Caldwell ensnared her as firmly as a snake twisting prey in its tight coils. Panic seized her. Arms as strong as tempered steel held her firmly upright as she twisted, trying to wrench free.

  "Badra." His heated whisper sounded in her ear.

  "Kenneth, please release me," she begged.

  "Not until you tell me why you are here."

  "I ... I ... am here to honor my people’s past."

  His grip lessened and he wrenched her around to look at him. His intense blue gaze, bright as the Egyptian sky, pierced her. Kenneth cupped her chin; his touch felt heated like coals in a brazier as he stroked the underside with a thumb.

  A dangerous, soft note entered his voice. "You lie, Badra."

  "Kenneth, please," she protested.

  His gaze fell to her feet. Kenneth kicked aside dirt and discovered what she had found. The hidden casket.

  In the glow the torchlight cast on the walls, his eyes burned like two brilliant sapphires. Ruddy anger flushed his lean, sculpted cheeks. He looked as menacing as the ancient pharaoh who’d stormed and burned and pillaged and enslaved.

  "Why are you here, Badra? To steal for someone?"

  A wild trembling ravaged her body. He brought his face closer. A terrible beauty shone there with grim fury. She saw no escape. She saw hard determination and a warrior, one who could squeeze a confession from any enemy.

  Kenneth leaned over her, pressing her against the wall. "You’re a thief, Badra. You’re stealing what is mine. You know what is done with thieves in Egypt."

  She needed the necklace. Badra tried not to tremble as his hand brushed against her cheek.

  "You want the treasure found here? Do you desire to see it glow against your soft skin?" His voice shifted, becoming low and husky. Before her startled eyes, he dug into her bag and withdrew the gleaming gold cartouche, Meret’s necklace cursing the wearer to slavery.

  "You tried hiding the other one in my library. Seduction covered your real purpose. Why did you return it, Badra? Because Rashid asked you? Did he know I found it in his pack?"

  Dryness choked her mouth. She could barely speak.

  "Kenneth, please ..."

  "What a fool I was!" A dry bark of laughter escaped him. "He’s gotten you to do his dirty work for him. Of course."

  She stared, bewilderment mixing with fear.

  "No mind." His fingers wrapped about her trembling wrist. "I’m taking the matter to Jabari. He’ll deliver justice."

  "No!" Her shriek of protest echoed through the chamber.

  "No Khamsin justice, Badra? I can have the authorities arrest you. Which would you prefer?"

  At his narrow gaze, she thought frantically. Jabari would demand answers. A hue and cry would rise and the digger working for Masud would alert him. Jasmine would be sold to the European. Immediately.

  She had no choice. She must return to the brothel and take Jasmine’s place. But time had run out. Kenneth would keep her trapped here. She stared at his furious face. And the idea surfaced. How much he desired her. Lust turned men mindless.

  Self-preservation gripped her. Badra sought the only course left to her, words the head eunuch had said at the Pleasure Palace echoing in her mind.

  "If you do not return with the necklace, the only thing that will free your daughter from here is to take her place."

  An odd calm born of desperation took over. Badra thrust out her hips, gave him a seductive smile. She licked her lips.
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  "I will give you an answer in your tent. And await you there. Allow me a little time to prepare."

  Confusion mingled with fury. He had never seen Badra act this way, so overtly seductive. What did she plan? To beg him to reconsider talking to Jabari? It would not work.

  He counted slowly to one hundred, then followed her out of the tomb. Steeling his spine, he braced himself as if for battle. Then Kenneth strode to his tent and went inside.

  A lamp on a folding table filled the interior with soft light. Badra stood, her back to the tent wall, long ebony hair spilling to her waist in a tangle of curls. She wore one of his white shirts. It draped open past naked thighs. And then she opened the shirt further, showing him what he had only dared dream about. Desire slammed into him like a gale force wind. Spellbound, he stared.

  Erotic dreams of Badra, naked and willing in his arms, paled beside her actual beauty. Her breasts were firm and gold as ripe peaches, tipped with dark rose nipples. Her body gleamed like honey in the dull lamplight. Her waist was slender and her hips rounded. A thatch of soft black curls rested above her womanly parts. Though she barely reached his chin, her legs were long, slender with a hint of muscle.

  But her face—ah, the frozen, blank expression dulled her beauty. Cold and dead, lifeless like a tomb.

  She stood motionless, a lustrous statue in the soft light.

  This was her intent? Lovemaking?

  He could not believe she would do it. Kenneth gripped her chin with one hand, forcing her to look up at him. Her warm, satiny lips met his in a soft, dreamlike cloud.

  Kenneth jerked back, shocked, dropping his hold on her chin. Her kiss teased him to the edges of raw anger, wresting control from him. A wild vortex of pleasure engulfed him. He closed his eyes, caving in to the longing. His hand cradled her head as he held her steady. Hot blood rushed through his veins as he relished her mouth against his.

  Sudden awareness flared.

  Badra was kissing him as a distraction. Her lips pressed against his felt passive. He pulled her closer, deepened the kiss, coaxing her mouth to respond to him.

  Badra whimpered against Kenneth’s arousing, punishing kiss, for it sent fire through her veins. Heat pooled in her body, building to an incredibly sweet tension. Not like this, her mind screamed in protest. Not here. She collapsed in his embrace. He nipped her lower lip, slid his tongue along her mouth, teasing and flicking. Like an invading warrior, it plunged inside her mouth and ravaged, coaxing her to respond in kind.

  Trapped against his hard body, her breath fled into his mouth, mingled and danced. His tongue stroked and explored, demanding that she surrender.

  Twin forces of passion and fear pulled at her. She could not let him go too far, yet she needed to arouse his passion. Convince him she was worth it. Inflame his desire until he would follow her to the ends of the earth.

  Or to a brothel in Cairo.

  Badra willed herself into the age-old dance, a participant instead of an observer. She must convince him she was worth the price. Better to have her former falcon guard purchase her at the Pleasure Palace than face another cruel captor. Kenneth at least would try to be kind. And she did care for him.

  The hard ridge of his erection pressed against the softness of her belly. His large, warm hands reached up beneath the shirt, softly kneaded her bottom. She yanked out of his embrace before they could wander farther, finding the twisted scar tissue covering her back.

  "No," she said. "Not yet."

  Kenneth cursed softly, aching with frustrated need. She was doing it to him again. Badra. His love. His curse. But soon, his alone. He wanted to possess her utterly and take her as a man took a woman, feel her warm skin soft beneath him, but she danced teasingly out of reach.

  He watched warily as she donned her indigo kuftan, shielding her lovely nude body from his hungry gaze. She lifted her chin. "Not arrest, Kenneth. Nor justice delivered by Jabari. But I will be your concubine. That is the price I will pay for taking what belonged to you. I only ask one favor. Go to the Shepherd’s Hotel in Cairo and find a little girl named Jasmine. See to her needs. Then you will find me at the Pleasure Palace, the brothel where I was first sold. They will put me up for auction. If you want me, buy me."

  "What?" he blurted, wholly shocked and confused.

  Sadness shone in her dark eyes. "Some things are stronger than life itself. Your mother knew this. She sacrificed her life to put you into that basket when the Al-Hajid raided. A mother’s love is stronger than the Nile, more enduring than the sun. A mother who loves her child will do anything to save her."

  Her sadness shifted to worry. "Will you arrest me, Khepri?"

  He closed his eyes. "Never. I could never, Badra."

  When he opened them again, she had fled into the night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Standing before the slave master at the Pleasure Palace, Badra spoke the words her soul dreaded. "I have failed to recover the necklace, and I am offering myself in my child’s place."

  No surprise flickered in Masud’s dark eyes. They were in the brothel’s front room where clients entered and transacted business. Lush scarlet-and-lapis divans and satinwood tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl softened the room’s businesslike interior. An ornate, rolltop desk sat off to the side.

  Her trembling legs threatened to collapse. Badra wanted to get this business over as soon as possible.

  She prayed Kenneth would follow her. Though he’d be confused and furious, Khepri had a kind heart. He would see her daughter to safety. Only Jasmine mattered.

  Badra thrust her chin skyward. "That was our agreement. I am offering myself in her place. Bring her to me."

  Masud snapped his fingers. Within minutes Jasmine appeared in the doorway, looking scared, until her gaze lit upon Badra. Then her elfin face glowed with pleasure. Clutching a small bag, she ran to Badra. Badra bent down, enfolding her in a tight embrace. Then looking up, she glowered at the guards and Masud.

  "Give me a minute alone. It’s all I ask."

  With a grunt, the men left.

  Badra bent down, embracing Jasmine with all her love, all the hopes she nurtured in her heart. She kissed the girl and spoke softly into her ear. She glanced inside the child’s bag, aching at the few possessions. A ragged change of clothing, little more. Taking her daughter’s palm, she folded some money into it.

  "They are going to release you. Take this money, hire a gharry and go to the Shepherd’s Hotel. It is a large building, the driver will know the way. Await an Englishman named Kenneth, the Duke of Caldwell. Do not let anyone stop you from trying to see him. Tell him I am here. He is kind and will protect you."

  Doubt shadowed the little girl’s face. Badra squeezed her hands. "Please, you must trust me," she implored. "It is the only way I can save you from here."

  Jasmine looked up at her, eyes shining with innocence and goodness. In them Badra saw a flicker of her own childhood, innocent and joy-filled, until all had been stolen from her.

  She must save her daughter.

  "I will do it," Jasmine whispered.

  Badra stood, gripping her daughter’s shoulder as the men returned. "I am taking her to find transportation," she told Masud in a cold voice. "I do not trust you."

  Two armed guards escorted them outside into the open courtyard ringing the building. A waxing moon hung low in the sky. Badra glanced up, hoping her namesake would guide her daughter’s steps. Clutching her arms, the guards grimly bracketed her. Jasmine walked ahead, tossing anxious glances over her shoulder as they cleared the courtyard and moved outside. The brothel lay at the end of a deserted street, in a private clearing, like a pasha’s secluded mansion. Badra walked toward the street’s end until they reached the crossroad, a main street where pedestrian traffic became thicker. She spotted a gharry driver waiting with his horse.

  "Go to that man. Do as I told you," she told Jasmine.

  The child turned, uncertainty playing over her face.

  "Go," Badra said, shoving her, feeling
scalding tears burn her eyes. "Now! Run, Jasmine."

  Her little girl scampered away, picking up the skirts of her gown. The guards watched silently as Badra uttered a low prayer.

  "Go with God, little one. May He keep you safe."

  Then she and the guards turned and they marched her back to the brothel.

  Jabari wasted no time with questions when Kenneth told him what had happened; he insisted on accompanying the duke. Kenneth purchased first-class compartment tickets for the sheikh, himself, Rashid and Ramses. Their unity reminded him of the tight-knit bond among the Khamsin.

  Worry and rage battled inside him. On the train to Cairo, his emotions choked him like a snake’s tightening coils. He slid the dagger Badra had dropped at the dig site out of its sheath, staring at it.

  Once he’d cut his palm with this, and tossed it at her feet. Now it had become a symbol of their past. Their present.

  Badra never did anything without reason. She craved the familiar and the comfortable. Few things drove Badra, but what did, she reacted to with ruthless determination.

  To return to the brothel where she had been sold equated to flinging herself into a pit of hissing snakes. It sounded self-destructive, yet Kenneth recognized the stubborn jut of her chin. It could only mean one thing. Something terribly important was at stake.

  She was in deep trouble, and he had to know why. She had shut herself off, erecting barriers thicker than any pyramid walls. He had to break the barriers down, find out what she hid.

  They disembarked the train in Cairo. At the Shepherd’s Hotel, Kenneth led the way inside to the front desk, ignoring the puzzled stares of the genteel guests. He passed a clump of chattering Englishmen calling out greetings and halted dead as a little girl wearing a long scarlet gown embroidered with tiny yellow flowers darted in front of him.

  A thin girl, her tangle of hair was dark as midnight. She looked at him beseechingly. "Please, sir, are you the Duke of Caldwell?"