He tried not to think of how close the project had been to disaster. He had specifically required both 4x4s have the steering on the right.
If Gwendolyn had not been able to drive a stick shift, the entire escape would have been ruined.
He had planned they would sit out the three days of abduction with no incident. Instead, Gwendolyn had been attacked. The hmar had tried to put his hands on her. He could have raped or killed her.
"When we return to the palace," he informed her, over the howl of desert wind, "I shall find the man who tried to hurt you and have him executed."
"If I was a better person, I would insist on a fair trial in front of his peers." She focused her attention on the next dune and downshifted with a jerk. "But I'm not going to. What does that say about me?"
"That you wish to save my country the time and expense." Four bruises marked each side of her throat. The clear outline of male fingers. Angry red scrapes marred the tender underside of her arms.
The sight of her injuries made him clench his jaw. The one who had done this to her would pay.
"Oh shit," she said. "Oh shit, oh shit."
Ah. He had wondered when the panic would set in. Now, it seemed. "Gwendolyn, you are safe now. I promise."
"Safe? You think so? Lost in the desert with a single tank of gas and no water? You call this safe?"
"We are quite safe, though keep our speed under fifty kilometers an hour, to conserve fuel." He made a show of glancing in the back seat. "There is no need for alarm, Gwendolyn. We have..." Yes. His bribe had not gone astray. "Six liters of water. Plenty to get us to our destination. Would you like a drink?"
She shook her head, but some of the tension went out of her.
"One of two things shall happen," he told her. "We will make it out of the desert or we will find shelter until my men arrive to escort us back to the palace. Unfortunately, I do not think we have enough fuel for the former. So it is the latter."
"Bullshit." She thumped the steering wheel with a palm. "You left out the third option, where we die in the desert and get eaten by buzzards. Someday they'll find our bleached bones, if we're lucky."
He could not blame Gwendolyn for her fear. She did not have the luxury of knowing they would not perish in the desert, as he did. But he liked the way she spoke. She acknowledged the things other people avoided. The way she expressed herself always had an interesting twist. He found himself looking forward to whatever she said next.
"We shall avoid your final option." He returned his attention to the glove compartment. "Let us find out where we are."
"Can you read the stars or something?"
"No, I can read a GPS." He allowed himself to roll his eyes in her direction. "I know of a place to shelter in those hills. I may be able to navigate there unassisted."
As if scripted, the GPS device fell out of a wad of maps and into his hand. Excellent. Another victory for bribery. He held the screen so she could see it. Her immediate reaction was to grin and raise her hand for the gesture known as a high five.
Amused, he slapped her hand the best he could with their two palms inches away.
"If the GPS works," he continued, "we can find the shelter. We will be safe there until we are found."
"So we aren't going to die?"
The simple question said so much about the fear she refused to show. A frisson of guilt passed through him. He fought off the unfamiliar emotion. "I suspect not. If this device boots up, I am certain we will not."
As if on cue, the GPS beeped and the sky-blue welcome screen displayed the company logo.
Gwendolyn whooped in triumph. Unexpectedly, she took her hand from the wheel and threw it around his neck in a quick hug. She planted a tiny kiss on his unshaven cheek. Her breasts brushed against him.
They had lain together in bed, but this kiss was more intimate. Not a forced gesture, but a sign of true affection for him.
A tire hit a rock, making the Toyota bounce.
Gwendolyn instantly twisted back in her seat, grabbing the steering with both hands. Her movement forced his left hand to follow, so his arm stretched out awkwardly.
"Sorry," she said, and at first he thought she was apologizing for hitting the rock. Then he saw the pink in her cheeks. "Sorry, sorry. I shouldn't have done—"
"I am not sorry in the least." In fact, he would like nothing more than to stop the vehicle, pull her into his lap, and remind her what a real kiss felt like. This was not the time. He took her right hand from the steering wheel and placed it on his thigh, covering it with his own.
The sun streamed in the windows, sending the heat soaring. Then again, the searing attraction between them might be contributing.
"Our journey will not be easy, you understand," he told her, while rolling down the windows. Sand and dust flew through the air, but the temperature lowered a few degrees. "We must abandon the vehicle far from our destination to cover our tracks. We face a harsh walk through the desert, then a harsher climb up a steep hill."
Gwendolyn set her chin. "I understand."
"You are prepared?"
"Probably not," she admitted. "But bitching about it won't change the desert or the mountain."
He had to admire her attitude. Facing reality instead of denying the situation. A useful trait for overcoming obstacles. "An excellent point, almost Zen-like in its wisdom."
"All right," she said. "Let's do it."
Ithnan openly studied her profile. There was more to Gwendolyn Spencer than he had ever imagined.
And he would have her.
***
Had he once thought her good for nothing but standing behind her father? Now, as they scrambled to maintain their footing on a steep shale slope sliding with every footstep, that seemed a thousand years ago.
How mistaken he had been.
She climbed with a lack of grace, but with determination, and with no complaints. Her palms left rusty stains on the rocks as they proceeded. She did not mention her injuries.
When they arrived at their destination, he would see to her bleeding hands.
They did not have far to go to get to the cave, but the loose rocks made the climb slow and difficult. For every three steps upward, they slid back one. They climbed with hands and feet. Stopping for rest meant losing ground, so they rarely even paused. Because of their connected hands, they had to coordinate their steps. He could have easily outdistanced her, but he restrained himself. She kept up with him, no matter how hard she had to push herself.
Gwendolyn's breath came heavily, he noted. To her, the heat would be oppressive. At least sun had lowered.
He had insisted she wear his tuxedo jacket. Her pale skin would burn under the rays of the desert sun. The handcuffs would not permit him to take the jacket off. They'd turned it inside out so the shiny silk lining was on the outside.
As he grew more pleased with Gwendolyn's character, her lack of reaction to him bothered him in equal measure. He appreciated her unpretentious nature, the way she put no value on wealth or power, yet that very trait meant she did not value his wealth and power.
Sweat shone on her forehead, drenched her auburn locks. She had lost a few pounds, too. He should have made her eat more. Her cartoon character pajama pants were wet and loose on her bottom. She had insisted on carrying one of the water jugs, despite the fact he could have taken them both. Two thin blankets they had found in the back of the 4x4 now served as slings across their backs.
Perhaps it was how she had no difficulty expressing her anger, even at him, the way she handled herself in the escape, or the way she drove a manual transmission, but he had made a decision. It had been difficult in some ways, ludicrously easy in others.
No woman had ever attracted him as she did. He had expected the kidnapping to have permanent consequences for Zallaq, not necessarily for himself. But he had made his choice. There would be no divorce.
Gwendolyn Spencer would stay with him in Zallaq.
She was familiar with high society, comfortable
in it, and could maneuver through it when she chose to. She would become accustomed to being his hostess. Charming when she chose to be. She brought her father's company to the marriage. His position did not intimidate her—he had not considered that positive at first, but he now found himself enjoying it.
Most importantly, she had maintained a certain down-to-earth manner despite being raised to a life of privilege. The people of Zallaq found him distant and inaccessible. He sought to rule with wisdom and fairness, but some of his subjects felt no personal connection to him. Friendly and outgoing, she would provide such a connection.
Her strengths complemented his own. She would be the ideal queen. The only way she could have been more appropriate was if she was from Zallaq, but some things could not be helped.
She would require convincing, which would take all his powers of persuasion. Not a heavy chore. He had the feeling he would enjoy the debate.
He looked on his decision with satisfaction, even though he had to push aside an unfamiliar pang of his conscience. Marriage would benefit both of them. Also his country and the company she was to inherit, which would prosper in Zallaq.
The situation would work out for the best, even if she did not recognize the fact at first.
"Gwendolyn, may I ask how you drive a standard transmission? I understood Americans did not have the skill."
"Ha! Don't lump us all into the same category. My mom always said every girl should learn how to drive a stick. Plus, it's just plain fun."
"Is it? I rarely drive anymore."
"See, now I thought all you rich oil guys were car crazy." He heard a wink in her voice. He liked the way she felt free to tease him. "Your brother is. He told me about his garage. You have a chauffeur, I suppose."
The sharp stone biting into his hand irritated him less than her reference to Walid. She must have spoken to him at the party. In a large room, with many other people around. Not like the intimate conversations he'd had with her.
He had no reason to be jealous of Walid.
Or so he told himself.
"I do have a driver," he said, swallowing his instinct to tell her he would buy some cars if she liked them. "Once we return to the palace, we will arrange to bring a vehicle out here again, if you like."
She stopped climbing and slid down the hillside half a foot. "Why would we come back here?"
"So you may enjoy the dunes. I might reacquaint myself with driving," he said. "And so we might spend some time together."
"I think we've spent plenty of time together."
"I thought you did not dislike me." She had to feel the intense attraction between them. Why did she deny it?
In the 4x4, she had kissed him.
She rolled her eyes. "Again with this? I like you fine, mister. But put yourself in my place. I’m not super happy with the desert right now. Bad associations."
She began to climb again, forcing him to do the same.
He swallowed, but his throat had become tight. He didn't have to put himself in her place. He had been in her place, more than once. For all she knew, their kidnappers could retake them any moment. Afraid. Feeling free, but hunted. Not knowing if he would survive. The memories came flooding back to him, and they seemed to want to pour out to her.
"I discovered this place on one of my escape attempts from Hidd," he told her, the words surprising him.
He'd been terrified, but his heart had nearly burst with the hope he could escape his hellish captivity. He'd been without water for a day.
"Ithnan? Are you okay?"
He blinked at her. "Yes. Why?"
"You stopped climbing."
He looked up. The mouth of the cave was quite hidden. If he hadn't already known where the cave was, he would not have been able to find it.
He was suddenly a ten-year-old boy again, feeling freedom for the first time in two years. But also wondering how much longer he could survive. Without the knowledge shelter lay nearby, the climbing now seemed endless.
"A man from one of the nomadic tribes found me," he told her. "I had bribed a guard to look the other way while I attempted escape. I had been free for two days. I had brought some water, but not enough. I knew I was going to die. At least I would die on my own terms, I told myself."
Gwendolyn made a wordless sound, her face twisted in concern.
If she knew he was behind her kidnapping, she would not spare him the sympathy.
He resumed the climb. "As I said, a tribesman found me. He was one of the hunters who used the cave. I'd begun climbing these rocks in the hopes I could see some landmark from the top of them."
"To try to get home?" she asked.
He shook his head. "By then I'd come to understand I was not welcome at home. My usefulness to my father was as a hostage in Hidd, nothing more. If I had returned to Askar, my father would have shipped me back to Hidd in minutes."
Gwendolyn fell silent.
"The man brought me to the cave, gave me food and water. He promised his tribe would accept me as one of their own. He spoke of hunting with hawks and roaming the sand with his family," he said. "I fell asleep and dreamed of freedom. A nomadic life embraced by the desert. I never saw him again."
She did not react, but allowed him to continue without interruption. "In the morning, soldiers from Hidd woke me. They tied me up and took me back to the palace. The man had informed the authorities of my location. No doubt he received a reward. I cannot blame him."
"I can," she said.
"We will reach the cave soon." It seemed important to assure her. And to keep her mind off her fear. He had made her as frightened as he had been, so long ago. Afraid for her life. But he had to put the needs of his country before all else. Even before an innocent woman who had shown nothing but skill and bravery in the face of danger. "I am confident the tribes still use it as a hunting camp. There will be food, water, and a place to sleep."
Her smile cracked her dry lips. "I trust you."
His whole body went cold. Gwendolyn trusted him. A fatal mistake on her part. He had learned lying from the most skilled deception artists in Hidd. Yet he found himself telling her the truth more and more often.
Telling Gwendolyn Spencer the truth was becoming a habit for him. Though he still lied to her, she had learned secrets he had never meant to tell anyone. As uncomfortable as her knowing these things made him, he could not stop himself from telling her.
"When you got back to Hidd, you were punished for trying to escape, I suppose. I imagine that one was bad."
He bore a two-inch scar over his navel from the beating.
"It was," he admitted. A vivid picture exploded into his mind. A military-issue boot coming toward his stomach. At the time, the pain had conquered all his senses. After, when the trio of soldiers had finished executing their orders and he had been returned to his closet-sized room to allow his wounds to heal, another sensation had crept in. Determination. "I had tasted freedom. Nothing could keep me from trying again. Many times. I learned to deceive the palace guards, to use those around me for whatever I could."
"But you never escaped. Your uncle took you to Zallaq. A good man."
"The best of men," he agreed. "I am infinitely grateful. But as soon as his death became public knowledge, Hidd attempted an invasion of Zallaq. They were unsuccessful."
"Bet you knew they were coming."
"You are a perceptive woman." The cave was a mere few feet away. "I had a few well-placed spies in Hidd. I believe most of the troops were grateful to be captured. Several battalions offered their loyalty immediately, but we had enough men to take Hidd without their assistance."
"Didn't quite trust them, huh?" she asked.
"They had been our enemy hours before. I thought it best they remain behind." The decision had not even been difficult. "It was a simple thing to march to the capital and take the palace. In fact, his own royal guard had placed Mahmoud under arrest by the time we arrived. They were of great assistance in removing the occupants and their goods before we b
urned the palace. Now Hidd is a province in Zallaq. Not far from here, in fact. The majority of Hiddites said goodbye to Sheikh Mahmoud with great joy."
"Wow," she said. "It's pretty amazing you survived your childhood, much less got your—" She broke off the sentence suddenly.
"Revenge?" He waved a hand. "Do not worry about offending me."
"I heard you burned Hidd palace to the ground."
"I ensured the building's evacuation first. Then I exiled former Sheikh Mahmoud. I found both quite pleasurable. Are you shocked?"
"I'm right there with you."
"Now I wonder if it was some weakness in me. I destroyed a building paid for by taxpayers' money."
"I bet it felt good," she offered.
"To be precise, it felt exquisite." He had watched the flames for hours. "Yet it was unnecessary."
"Hell of a revenge fantasy, though. You showed restraint in not executing him."
"I do believe life in exile is the greater punishment for him."
"What did your dad think?"
"On hearing of Uncle Sulaiman's death, he had arrived in Zallaq, expecting to ascend to the throne. My uncle had not informed him he had made me his heir. The news of my uncle's legacy put my father into a rage." Unfortunately, he had not had time to truly enjoy the sight of his father's puffy red face as he prepared to explode. Not with Hidd about to invade. At least the invasion had distracted him from the death of the one person who had truly cared if he lived or died.
"You miss your uncle." She had a thoughtful look on her face. "And your relationship with your brothers is strained."
"If you call my brother building an army on our mutual border strained, I agree."
"What?"
It made no sense for him to share these things. Yet he had a strange desire to be open with her. "Since I came to power, Walid has moved an increasing number of troops to our border. I have had no choice but to respond in kind."
"Why?" she asked, straining to reach for the next rocky outcropping. "I don't get it. Why wouldn't your dad and your brother be thrilled to have a friendly country on their borders?"
Handcuffed to the Sheikh, Too Page 8
