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

by Bonnie Vanak

  A porter, striding past, spotted her. A torrent of angry Arabic filled the air. "Urchin! I told you to leave and stop begging from guests! She’s been asking every single Englishman that since she arrived last night."

  The dark-haired child’s chin jutted out stubbornly, reminding him of Badra. She clung to Kenneth’s trouser-leg like a limpet. With a regal wave, he dismissed the porter, then squatted down to face the girl.

  "Are you Jasmine?" he asked in Arabic.

  "Yes. I’m Badra’s sister. She says she awaits you at the Pleasure Palace."

  Dismay gnawed at him. Kenneth stared at the child, her woebegone expression, the brave way she thrust her chin upward. A courageous front, when her insides wanted to crumble, he guessed. Again, just like Badra...

  "Where did you come from, little one?" he asked gently.

  Fear glittered in those huge brown eyes. "I came from the Pleasure Palace. Badra said they were releasing me, but she stayed. Why?"

  The words Badra had spoken slammed into him. Like a veil lifting from his eyes, he understood all. His throat constricted with emotion. "She stayed because she must love you, very, very much, honey."

  Enough to trade herself for your freedom.

  The Khamsin sheikh and the others gathered around in a circle. "Badra’s sister?" Jabari frowned.

  "Not her sister," Kenneth replied slowly in English, standing and facing the sheikh. "Her daughter. And Fareeq’s."

  For a comical moment he relished the shocked looks on the others’ faces. Jasmine looked clearly bewildered at the strange tongue the white Englishman spoke. Kenneth drew her to his side, rested a hand atop her head. Feeling a slight trembling, he glanced down. The poor thing shook with fear. He withdrew a small wrapped oval from his pocket and removed the paper. Kenneth bent down, offering it to her.

  "Do you like lemon drops?"

  She took the candy with a solemn expression. "What are they?"

  ‘Try one," he encouraged.

  Her elfin face lit up with pleasure as she popped one into her mouth. Kenneth smiled.

  "Don’t worry, Jasmine," he told her softly. "Badra trusted me to protect you, and I will."

  Her large eyes, too adult and solemn for her years, regarded him. "Badra said I should trust you." Jasmine slipped her hand into his. "I trust her, so I’ll trust you."

  The simple declaration tightened his chest. He beckoned to Ramses. "This is Ramses. He has a little girl, and he is a good father. He’s going to take care of you for awhile."

  Jasmine warily studied the muscular warrior who smiled gently at her.

  "Does he have more lemon drops?"

  Ramses held out his hand. Kenneth laughed. He gave the sweets to his friend. "Now he does. Go with him, honey."

  He watched Ramses lead her over to a cluster of overstuffed chairs in the lobby and do what any good father would—soothe a child who had suffered obvious trauma. Jabari stared at them, slack-jawed, clearly dazed.

  "Why did Badra not tell us?" he finally managed to ask.

  "I imagine she desired to keep her identity a secret because she was afraid of having borne an illegitimate child. The child of the man you hated above all others."

  The sheikh looked horrified. "Does she think I would not welcome her daughter into the tribe?"

  Kenneth’s gaze was even but not incriminating. "Do you remember what you once said—about how any children of Fareeq’s you’d consider enemies and be forced to destroy?"

  Blood drained from Jabari’s face. He looked stricken.

  "I said that in a rage. I would never hurt Badra’s child."

  Kenneth sighed. "I know. Let me go arrange rooms for all of us. I have an account in this hotel."

  Jabari’s gaze was as even as Kenneth’s had been minutes before. "And where will you go, Khepri?"

  "I’m going to get Badra back," he answered grimly.

  Rashid bristled and spoke up. "That is my duty," he snapped.

  "You lack the money," Kenneth replied with blunt honesty. "And they will be less suspicious of an English duke desiring a bit of exotic entertainment than of an Egyptian warrior."

  "So, the wealthy English duke desires to purchase Badra. You think your money will buy anything, do you not? But it will not buy you honor," Rashid shot back.

  "You dare to insult me?"

  The man’s dark eyes, filled with venom, met his. "I dare to tell the truth. You want to purchase Badra to finally use her as your whore."

  Violent anger exploded inside Kenneth. He went to swing a fist, hesitating just in time, remembering Jasmine. He glanced at the little girl sitting next to Ramses.

  "Not here," he grated through clenched teeth. "Let’s take this outside."

  Jabari remained silent, nodding slightly as Rashid’s gaze whipped to his. With a grunt, Rashid trailed Kenneth outside. Past the elegant terrace where elderly men sipped afternoon tea, down the steps past the snake charmer entertaining tourists, on the street below they faced each other.

  "Let’s have it out, Rashid. You and me. Right now."

  The man’s dark gaze burned. "Gladly," he replied.

  Kenneth did not wait. Women strolling idly with their English husbands screamed as his fist smashed into Rashid’s chin. "That’s for insulting me," he growled.

  Rashid did not even flinch. The two men began sparring. Rashid’s hard fist slammed into Kenneth’s stomach. He doubled over, wheezing. Damn, the man had a hard punch.

  "That is for insulting Jabari, my sheikh, when you left for England," Rashid jeered.

  Dodging a follow-up blow, Kenneth managed to land a glancing punch. Rashid winced, pulling back.

  This was ridiculous, squabbling like schoolboys. Kenneth grabbed Rashid by the lapels of his indigo binish, drawing him close. The warrior’s nostrils flared.

  "Listen to me," Kenneth said in a low, dangerous tone. "Badra’s mine. She always was. I’ll do whatever I must to save her. She gave up everything to free her little girl from slavery. I’m going in to rescue her, but I doubt I can do it alone. If you’ll stop being such a pigheaded fool, you’ll help me and stop wasting my time."

  Rashid’s lips thinned to a tight slash, but he did not raise his fists again. Instead, he glared at Kenneth.

  "Always yours, Kenneth? To degrade? To use and discard? I would die before I allowed you to hurt her!"

  "Good God," Kenneth shot back. "You think I would do that? I’d thrust a knife into myself first. I love her!"

  Damn. He hadn’t meant to confess that.

  "What?" Rashid asked, knitting his brows.

  "I love her," Kenneth said simply, releasing his grip. "I always have. Always will. All those years I was her falcon guard, I loved her."

  A troubled frown touched Rashid’s face. He seemed to sag into himself, brooding. "You love her," he repeated incredulously.

  "I love her. And I would never, ever hurt her. Not deliberately. I’d do anything to assure her happiness."

  A shadow passed over Rashid’s features.

  "Will you help me then? Let’s put aside this foolish quarreling and, for once, stick together to help the woman we both seem to care about." Kenneth thrust out a hand.

  For a minute he thought the warrior would refuse and push him aside in anger. But instead, Rashid shook it. "I will."

  A grin found Kenneth’s face. "Good. Now clean up, man. You look like hell."

  "You look worse," Rashid accused as they trudged up the steps.

  Kenneth found the brothel on the outskirts of Cairo after dropping a discreet word to the gharry driver, along with a few coins. The building looked like an upscale Cairene home, with its two stories and solid wood door. However, it sat on a stretch of secluded land with no immediate neighbors—no one to hear the screams of the little girls enslaved there.

  Opulent furnishings greeted him as he was escorted inside. Thick jewel-toned Persian carpets laid upon the marbled floors and the tall ceilings featured corniced moldings. Kenneth discovered an auction would take place the foll
owing afternoon. Two women were being sold, one of them Badra.

  He returned to his hotel, frustrated and restless. Jabari said little when he heard the news, only that he’d sent for a few more warriors to join them. Kenneth sent a hasty cable to his solicitor in London, instructing him to wire a large sum to a bank in Cairo. He would need that to purchase Badra. He found Zaid and ordered him to the dig site to explain his quick departure to de Morgan and Victor as "an urgent business matter." Kenneth told Zaid to remain there and keep an eye on Victor. He did not trust his cousin.

  That night, in his lavish suite, he could not sleep. He lay in the expansive, wide bed. Mosquito netting draped about him like a shroud. His sleep was plagued with dreams of another man buying Badra, dragging her toward a dark room, the door slowly closing, her wide, terrified eyes shut away from him. Her screams pierced his ears.

  He returned to the Pleasure Palace the next afternoon. Hovering in the ka’ah—the spacious reception room—with the other men awaiting the sale, he willed away his rage. Dozens of men sat on red cushions on the floor with straight-back pillows resting against the wall, or they milled about, sampling dates and drinking fruit juices. Kenneth sat, drumming his fingers on one knee.

  When the Palace guards called the potential buyers into the adjacent room, he tightened his resolve. But nothing could prepare him for the agony of seeing who was on the raised dais. Wide dark eyes, ebony hair—she was beautiful as the desert night and its thousands of stars sparkling overhead.

  Scarlet skirts clutched in one clenched fist, her chin upright and defiant, Badra stared out into the sea of men. Lust in their eyes, they made crude remarks. Instinct demanded Kenneth yank her off the platform, gather her into his sheltering arms and flee. Protecting her was his nature. He had to save her.

  She was being sold as a concubine in her daughter’s place, he realized. Her fierce love astounded him, humbled him. But why had she stolen the artifacts? For the same reason? He needed more answers.

  His heart ached as he beheld her, fear sparkling in her dark eyes, yet she stood regally upon the dais. Badra did not tremble. A rough mixture of love and desire rushed through his heated blood as the auction master turned her around, displaying her in a way Kenneth had only dared dream about in the years Jabari entrusted him to her care.

  Violence coursed through him, desire to pound the snickering auction master with his fists and show the man the might of an angered Khamsin warrior. Kenneth locked his gaze on Badra’s face. He summoned all the discipline he had learned as a warrior, when his own desire had brewed inside him. When he had wanted nothing more than to tumble Badra to the sand and thrust deeply into the soft portal of her lush body and whisper words of passion in her delicate, shell-like ear. When he would have sold his soul merely to be around her.

  Mine, mine, mine. The possessive chant filled him as he glared at the other men. The same craving was reflected in their greedy faces, as if Badra were a tasty dish to be consumed.

  But he had never, not once in the five years he had guarded her, thought of her as something to be used and discarded. These men did not know her, could not appreciate her. Kenneth felt all the love he had restrained come pouring out like the ocean upon dry sand. He looked at Badra and silently sent a message, praying she somehow could hear.

  I love you. I will not let another man use you for his lust and violate what I sought for five years to guard—your honor, your virtue. You are not goods to be bought and sold. You deserve love, a man who will cherish you as the treasure you are. You are more precious to me than gold. I would give up all the riches I own to hold you in my arms for one single night. I would sacrifice all my tomorrows for one night of your true love.

  He burned hotter as he caught a glimpse of her shapely calf. The auction master had lifted the gown, leering as he did so, to show off what awaited Badra’s buyer in bed. Kenneth swore silently, his hand going to his waistband. No scimitar. He had only his wits and his burning love to drive him on.

  Kenneth gritted his teeth. He glanced around at the men crowding the platform. Sensing her terror, he willed a message to Badra.

  Do not fear. I will not let them have you.

  Her evil past was unfolding again before her eyes. Badra stared into the faceless crowd, unwilling to let them see her fear, her shame at being sold like a sheep. She’d already faced this, at age eleven, shivering and confused, fearful of the darkness in the eyes of the men staring at her with great hunger. Then she had known nothing of men. Now she knew.

  Minutes passed in agonizing slowness. Badra bit hard on her lower lip as the auction master raised her gown to mid thigh.

  "Look here, my good friends. Have you ever seen such a treasure? Surely this one will bring you to paradise when you take her to bed. She is not a virgin but well-versed in the arts of sensual delight."

  Murmurs filled the air, cackling noises that splintered her self-possession. If they saw her fear, they would frenzy like desert jackals. Badra steeled her spine and tried to quiet her heart rate. You are not a spectacle. You will not let these men intimidate you.

  She needed a focus, a peaceful place of serenity that would shut out the leering men and their ribald remarks.

  Khepri. She did not see him in the crowd.

  His image flashed in her mind. His startling blue eyes, his fierce warrior’s might, his polish and urbane charm as an English duke. How much he’d changed. And yet, not at all. He was a man of honor. A man of might. Her protector. What would Khepri say to defray her fears?

  He would wink and say, "Look at them. Don’t be afraid. Imagine them naked and impotent. The sagging paunches, the dimples in their overweight bottoms, their tiny little ..."

  A bubble of hope rose. She thought of Khepri scrutinizing the portly man in the front row. "Look at him. Have you ever seen a man with so many chins? Do you think he has three wives for each chin? Does each chin have a name?"

  Oh Khepri, she thought silently, wishing with all her heart to see him. You once made me laugh. You always made me feel safe. Even now, when you are far away, I am surrounded by your memories and can survive.

  Resolve filled her to stand upright and throw back her shoulders. Smiling, Badra kept the image of Khepri in mind, his friendly grin and breezy self-assurance, his tender concern and remarkable courage.

  Khepri had been placed on a stage like this when he’d returned to England—stared at and studied like her potential bidders were doing to her now. The insight startled her. Had Kenneth felt as naked as she did? Yet he seemed to handle the role of English nobleman with charm, never once intimating he minded the quiet scrutiny of his peers, minded being weighed and measured like a commodity.

  Knowing her former falcon guard had probably suffered a similar torment gave her new courage. Badra relaxed. Until the bidding began. Then she swallowed hard.

  "Gentlemen! This lovely lady is available to one man, exclusively, for a month of pure pleasure. The bidding opens at five hundred pounds."

  Fingers flicked, heads nodded, and the bids climbed higher and higher. Panic tightened her chest. Forced to endure a new master every month? It was worse than she’d thought. The bidding rose to one thousand pounds. Two thousand. Badra thought of Khepri’s reassuring smile, his tender manner. She must not panic. Khamsin warriors never showed emotion before the enemy. Nor would she.

  The man casting the last bid on her stood toward the front. His face was lean and hollow-cheeked. He had a cruel smile. Badra could not prevent a shudder from racing down her spine, nor the icy fingers of fear wrapping about her heart.

  Then, "Five thousand pounds," a quiet voice said, and it held an air of arrogant assurance.

  All heads swerved toward the back, toward the commanding voice that had softly dominated the airless, musty room. It sounded like Khepri’s voice, but Badra could not be sure. She craned her neck to see. The auction master slapped her.

  "Mind your place!" he snapped.

  Dared she hope? No other offers followed. The room remai
ned draped in awed silence.

  The auction master barked, "Sold! Good sir, please retreat to the ka’ah to make arrangements to pay—and to collect your new concubine. She will see to all your wildest desires."

  Badra was hustled off before she glimpsed the tall, dark-garbed stranger, his face shrouded in shadows. She could only pray with all her heart that her new master’s manner with her did not match the tempered steel in that deep voice.

  The building was fashioned like many lavish Cairene buildings, with a large inner courtyard and dark wooded latticework windows overlooking lush gardens. Inside, a high ceiling and elaborate tile work decorated the private apartment. Divans and heavy cushions were scattered about the room. Set into a small alcove was an obscenely large bed. Silk pillows sat atop a richly embroidered coverlet.

  Two eunuchs guarded the door, granting no one but her new master access and barring her escape. Rubbing her arms, Badra paced, fighting her razor-sharp fear. You can do this, she reassured herself. You are a mature, experienced woman, not a frightened eleven-year-old virgin.

  But she felt as scared as that long-ago child.

  A full-length brass-edged mirror mounted on a wall caught her attention. Badra wandered over to examine her appearance. Large terrified eyes outlined in black kohl stared back at her. A silk gown of turquoise with white flounces covered her body. A sheer veil of white gauze fringed with coins hid her face. The veil served to add to the mystique of the exotic surroundings and excite her new owner, not to cover her modesty.

  She wore saffron-colored slippers of soft kid leather, edged with turquoise piping and embroidered with tiny turquoise-and-white flowers. The slippers brought a shudder—too much like those she had worn when first enslaved.

  Resigned, she walked over to the bed, testing it with one hand. Soft as a cloud. Knowing what would happen there shook her self-confidence. Badra sat, wrapping her arms about herself.

  Who would it be? Another cruel, sadistic man who laughed and raped her until her mind grew numb? Perhaps this time she’d be fortunate and her master would rut upon her but not flay her with a whip.