Desert Knights

by Conrad, Linda; Conrad, Linda

  Kathleen screamed and threw rocks at her assailant as she saw Sayeed take another strike on the hip. One of her rocks glanced hard off the man’s forehead, momentarily stunning him. Sayeed went for the gap, his scimitar knocking the weapon from the man’s hand and cutting through his wrist. Blood spurted. The man’s eyes went huge in shock. He glanced in horror at his now useless hand as his blade clunked to the sand.

  Sayeed rushed forward and hit him with his full body weight, tackling him to the ground. He then pinned the bastard to the dirt and pressed the tip of his scimitar to the man’s throat. All he had to do was plunge it in. Sweat leaked into Sayeed’s eyes, burned. He was breathing hard, bleeding himself.

  But he could feel Kathleen watching, and he could not do it. He could not subject her to any more horror. He removed his sword, got up and kicked the man in the side. “Get out of my sight you piece of excrement!” yelled Sayeed. “Set foot near my quarters or my prisoner and I will string you up and gut you myself and leave you for the vultures. Understand?”

  The man rolled away, staggered to his feet, clutching his gaping wrist. He stumbled into the darkness.

  Sayeed turned his attention to Kathleen. In the moonlight she was sheet-white, her eyes dark with shock. Her face was dirt-streaked, and her robes were ripped across the chest, the swell of her breast showing underneath.

  “Did… Did he…” Sayeed could barely speak, memories of Marwan raping and hurting his mother swirling fresh and red and violent through his brain, memories of Bakkar burning his mother’s face with hot oil, blaming her instead of Marwan, scarring her beautiful face so no man would look at her again, banishing her from his compound, sending her alone and unequipped into the vast sands of the Sahara with her raw wounds. He began to shake.

  “No,” she said softly. “You got here before he could do anything.” Emotion hiccupped through her, and she began to cry. “Thank you, Sayeed.”

  I am not Sayeed! He wanted to scream. I am Rashid Al Barrah, and I will rip these men apart with my bare hands before I let them hurt you!

  Rage—raw like volcanic lava—boiled through his veins, his alias cracking around him. He grabbed her arm and, instead of comforting her, he hauled Kathleen around to the front of the tent and frog-marched her toward the silent crowd gathered around the campfire.

  Faces looked up in shock as he shoved Kathleen in front of them. She stood there confused, shaking, her exposed skin alabaster in the moonlight.

  Several men leaned forward. A few stood up, their hands going to the hilts of scimitars or daggers.

  Others started coming out of tents.

  Sayeed saw Bakkar open the tent flap to his private quarters and step out. Shadows from the fire played across his ugly scar—the scar given him by his eleven-year-old son. That boy was now a man, and Bakkar did not know it was the same man who held court in front of the fire now.

  Marwan also came out of his tent.

  Adrenaline thumped in Sayeed’s chest.

  “Now, you all listen to me.” He pushed Kathleen forward and pointed his sword at her. “This woman, this prisoner, is mine!” He glanced at the face of each man gathered around the campfire. “And understand this—” he pointed the tip of his scimitar at the crowd “—if you or you or anyone one of you go near her, you will die. I have interrogated her. She knows nothing. Kathleen Flaherty is a stupid fool of an American who came to the desert looking for her sister when no authority would help find her. She is a laughingstock. And she has told no one she was going to Adrar.”

  He watched the eyes of the men, his gaze panning and settling on each and every one of them. “But she is good for other things.”

  Someone smiled, teeth glinting in the firelight. Sayeed pointed his blade at that man. “Yes,” he said menacingly. “You know what I mean. I am publicly laying claim to this woman. I will take her for my wife, and the clan must accept this in the old way, the way that once made us strong. The way that some of you—” he pointed his sword at a close associate of Qasim’s “—have forgotten. We need to remember where we came from. We need to adhere to our ancient codes of justice and honor.” This time he looked directly at Bakkar. “This is why we fight. This, our past, our honor. And it’s why we will be a force to be reckoned with once the world learns of our work. It’s why organizations like Al Qaeda are already starting to look to us for manpower and assistance. This also means you will stay away from my wife or force me to invoke the code of justice and take your life or die trying.”

  Dead silence hung over the camp apart from the pop and crackle of the fire, the hiss of a boiling kettle.

  Several men, including Qasim, glanced back toward Bakkar’s tent. His silence was taken as tacit endorsement. Marwan, however, stepped forward, a sly smile forming on his face.

  “You surprise me, Sayeed Ali,” Marwan said quietly. “Perhaps even impress me. Take her, then. Let the old way rule.” Marwan paused, his smile fading. “For now.”

  Sayeed seized Kathleen by the arm. He yanked her body hard up against his, and he pressed his mouth down on hers, forcibly kissing her in full view of the men while aggressively backing her all the way to his quarters. Claiming her, making her his.

  Once inside his tent, he pulled back instantly, breathing hard.

  Kathleen staggered, gripped the table for balance, her heart slamming hard against her rib cage. She stared in shock at Sayeed. Her lips burned from his kiss, from the rough taste of him inside her mouth, and her legs trembled in fear.

  She understood exactly what he’d said to those men. She’d also felt the primal lust in his kiss, the hard press of his erection against her pelvis. Sayeed wanted her. And he had the power to take her right now, to do whatever he wanted with her, for himself. But he hadn’t. He’d stopped.

  He’d done this for her.

  He’d put his own life on the line to save hers, again.

  They stared at each other, the raw, strange, terrifying power of their kiss still resonating between them, swirling into the rush of adrenaline, of fear, of danger.

  “Cover yourself!” he barked abruptly. Sayeed began to pace the room, his movements angry as if he was trying to distance himself, get away from her, get away from his own lust, but he couldn’t because he was trapped in this tent with her, wild animals outside. He spun abruptly to face her. And Kathleen saw that his body was shaking, his eyes glittering with emotion. “God, I am so sorry,” he whispered.

  She swallowed, unsure of what to say.

  Sayeed steeped forward, cupped her face, his dark eyes liquid, gentle. “It was the only way. I…I told them I was taking you for myself, Kathleen, as my wife, and if anyone tried to touch you, I’d be bound by the ancient code of clan justice to kill them. And the kiss—it had to look like I meant it, Kathleen.”

  It sure felt like you meant it.

  “What about Bakkar?” she whispered.

  “I told him that you know nothing. I—” Sayeed swore again in Arabic. “I think he’ll leave us alone for a while. I think they all will.” He glanced down at her torn robes. “I’ll find you more clothes,” he said softly. “But not right now. I need to let things settle down outside. I need them to think we are… That—”

  “That we’re making love,” she said quietly.

  His eyes turned dark, hungry. “Yes.”

  Kathleen felt her cheeks warm. He averted his gaze, reaching instead for a cotton sheet. He handed it to her. “Can you use this to cover yourself in the meanwhile?”

  She nodded, shakily wrapping it around herself.

  “Are you sure that man didn’t hurt you?” he said, his voice getting low and thick again.

  “I’m sure.”

  He glowered at her, still pumped for a fight. Then he spun away and started marching up and down the room again like a caged lion.

  Suddenly, he slumped onto a stool and put his face in his hands. He sat like that for a long while, face buried in his palms.

  Kathleen drew the sheet tighter around her body, feelin
g awkward. She took a tentative step toward him. And without thinking she placed her hand softly on his broad shoulder. “It’s okay, Sayeed.”

  Emotion surged through Sayeed. He didn’t trust himself to look up or to say a word. This woman had been to hell and back—he had put her through that hell. He did not deserve her kindness, yet she gave it anyway. This woman was too good for him.

  Too good to be in the godforsaken desert with these rabid thugs. Too damn good to be thrust into the heart of one of the biggest terrorist plots since 9/11.

  “Sayeed?”

  He lifted his head slowly. She knelt down in front of him, holding her sheet tight. Her face was grazed, dirty, her chin bruised. But her gaze was clear. “Why?” she said quietly. “Why did you do it? Why are you jeopardizing your life to save mine?”

  He stared at her. Then he said, “Why do you jeopardize your own life, Kathleen, in an effort to find your sister?”

  “I told you why,” she whispered. “Jennie is everything to me. I love her. She raised me, and I owe her all that is good in my life.” Kathleen paused. “I’m doing it because it’s the right thing, Sayeed. Because I can’t not do it.”

  “That’s why,” he said. “I helped you because it was the right thing. I couldn’t not do it.”

  Just try telling that to the Pentagon when this mission goes to hell in a handbasket, when thousands of people start dying. All because he can’t allow a woman called Kathleen to become collateral damage.

  Sayeed swore softly to himself and felt like throwing up.

  “I don’t understand why you’re with these men, Sayeed—you’re different from them.”

  “It’s not your business to understand.”

  “You just made it my business. You abducted and brought me here. You put me in the middle of all this. I think that gives me a right to know.”

  She was right. He owed her an explanation, one he wasn’t at liberty to give.

  He got up, trapped, frustrated. Angry.

  “Sayeed? Look at me,” she demanded, her voice rising in frustration. “I’m not a fool. I can see this is some kind of military camp. You have heavy weaponry out there, missile launchers and things. It’s all camouflaged from the air. I saw men doing military training exercises.”

  “That’s what desert thugs do, Kathleen,” he said curtly. “They deal in black-market weapons, raid tourist convoys—”

  “And kidnap for ransom?” She looked him directly in the eyes, so directly he almost couldn’t lie to her anymore. “Did your men take Jennie? Did something go wrong? Is that why there’s been no ransom demand, because she’s dead?”

  His mouth went dry. “I told you,” he said coolly. “I don’t know anything about your sister.”

  “I don’t believe it,” she snapped. “I don’t believe you came to my camp by accident. Your men have eyes in this desert, an information network. You must have, because clearly you have something very big here that you want to hide. And you took my box of photos, my journal but not my money. Why?”

  “We took your money. We took anything of value.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Look, Kathleen. Your sister vanished in Burkina Faso. That’s a completely other country. It has nothing to do with the men in this camp!”

  “So why did you come to my camp?”

  “To rob you. We heard there was an American showing photos around and traveling north. So we came to see if you had anything of value.”

  Her mouth went tight, and her eyes narrowed. “You lie. You came with orders to kill me.”

  A wariness stole into Sayeed. “What makes you say that?”

  Her eyes flickered. “I… It’s obvious. Isn’t it?”

  A slight chill crawled down Sayeed’s spine. Had he underestimated this woman? Could she understand Arabic? Was she working him? “Kathleen,” he said very quietly, calmly. “I know you’ve been through hell, but this is not about your sister, no matter how much you might want it to be.”

  Her shoulders sagged in defeat. The tip of her nose turned pink. “You really don’t know anything about Jennie? Not one thing, nothing at all that could help me?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  A single tear tracked down through the dirt on her cheek. “Can you promise me that’s the truth?”

  He almost laughed. “A promise? From me—the badass who abducted you? How could that possibly be worth anything to you?”

  “You saved my life more than once. I’ve got a pretty good idea that you did it at huge risk to yourself. I trust you, Sayeed. I have to.”

  Trust.

  His chest tightened. He fought the urge to comfort her, to tell her what he knew.

  She stepped closer, her voice going soft, low. “Something tells me that, deep down, you are a good man, Sayeed, and that you really don’t belong with these people.”

  His eyes burned. He ached with an unquantifiable need. To be touched, loved. To love back. He ached for home. He wanted her. He suddenly wanted all those things he’d written off, the things he couldn’t have, and Sayeed knew that if he didn’t step away from her this instant, he was going to make a very big mistake.

  “There’s water in the jug over there,” he said curtly. “Clean yourself up. Take the bed, pull the curtain. You need sleep. I’ll wait outside the tent until you’re in bed.”

  Hurt flashed through her eyes, and she suddenly looked abandoned, defeated, small. Vulnerable. Alone. He could only imagine what she was going through right now.

  Hell, if it might make her feel better, even just for tonight. If it kept her quiet. If it helped her sleep.

  “I promise,” he said. “I know nothing of your sister.”

  Sayeed stepped out the tent feeling he’d stooped to a new low, if that was even possible.

  Chapter 6

  Kathleen pretended to sleep, but through a gap in the curtain, she watched Sayeed bathe the wound on his hip by the light of a small kerosene lamp.

  He stood naked, partially hidden by the small table on which he’d placed a bowl of water, and he was trying to see his wound in the small shaving mirror as he worked. The warm light of the lamp made his skin glow dark gold.

  Dipping a cloth into the water, he wiped away blood. The gash didn’t look too deep from Kathleen’s vantage point, but the cotton pants he’d hung over the chair were covered in blood.

  He opened a disinfectant pouch and winced as he touched the pad to his skin. Compassion surged through her. The wound was in an awkward position. She wanted to help but was embarrassed by how his nakedness warmed her cheeks, how it made blood pulse through her body.

  He was beautiful, she had to admit. Powerful, sensuous, dark, dangerous—just like every one of the desert knights and warrior sheiks she’d ever fantasized about. But that’s all they were—fantasies—because although Kathleen liked to dream about swarthy princes on shining horses, men who could make her feel like a real woman, she didn’t hold any naïve notions about the reality of men like that. Nor did she hold naïve notions about happily-ever-after marriages. She’d seen too many broken ones. Her own parents had been a mess. So had her childhood. Life, she knew, wasn’t so simple.

  And while she might have dreamed about being forcibly swept off her feet and whisked to a foreign and strange land, the truth of abduction was something else entirely. This naked man—this camp, this band of thieves—was no Arabian fairy tale. They were flat-out terrifying. And she was beginning to doubt she’d ever make it out alive.

  Sayeed repositioned the small shaving mirror and moved around the side of the table for a better view of his gash.

  Kathleen caught her breath as he stepped into full-frontal view.

  His abs were classic washboard ripples. Black hair flared between powerful, smooth thighs. And he was big in a way that would satisfy the most demanding woman. Her nipples started to tingle, and her throat turned dry.

  She tried to swallow.

  She tried to focus on some other part of his body. Then she forgot
herself completely, no longer pretending to sleep but watching with brazen fascination.

  And as she studied his powerful physique, his smooth, even-toned skin, the way his dark, glossy hair gleamed in the lamplight and hung loose around his shoulders, the way his muscles rolled under his skin as he moved, her body warmed reflexively, and the memory of his fierce kiss returned. Heat pooled low in her stomach and a yearning began deep within Kathleen—an awakening that had started with her journey to Africa and into the desert.

  Then, as Sayeed struggled to affix a butterfly suture to his wound, he fully turned his back to her and she caught sight of a tattoo at the base of his spine. Shock rippled through Kathleen as she recognized the ancient Sun Clan emblem of a fierce Moorish tribe that once ruled a part of the Atlas Mountains.

  Her pulse quickened. Only sheiks—princes—of pure lineage were permitted to carry that mark. She wondered if Sayeed had copied the emblem or if he could actually be a prince descended from the original Sun Clan.

  She shook the notion.

  What would a prince of the Sun Clan be doing with this band of marauders?

  Sayeed must have sensed something in the intensity of her gaze because he suddenly turned and glanced at the curtain. Kathleen quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep once again, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment.

  Sayeed resumed his task, using the last butterfly bandage to close his wound. He pasted a length of clean, white bandage over the top, then, wrapping a towel around his waist, he sat topless at his small desk. He began to go through the pile of papers. Things grew quiet outside. Chatter around the fire ceased. So did the noises of pots being cleaned. The desert shifted its cycle as night creatures came out to rustle and hunt. Kathleen heard a distant yipping, possibly jackals hunting high on the cliff. She pulled her sheet tighter around her, wishing she had some pajamas. But sheer exhaustion finally overcame her, and Kathleen fell into an unsettled slumber.