Читать книгу Forged in the Desert Heat - Maisey Yates - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

FOR ONE MOMENT, Zafar almost felt something akin to sympathy for the pale woman standing in front of him. Almost.

He had no time for emotions like that. More than that, he was nearly certain he had lost the ability to feel them in any deep, meaningful way.

He’d spent nearly half of his life away from society, away from family. He’d had no emotional connections at all in the past fifteen years. He’d had purpose. A drive that transcended feeling, that transcended comfort, hunger, pain. A need to keep watch over Al Sabah, to protect the weakest of his people. To see justice served.

Even at the expense of this woman’s happiness.

Fortunately for her, while he imagined she would be delayed longer than she would like, he had a feeling their ultimate goals would be much the same. Seeing her back to Tariq would be the simplest way to keep peace, he was certain. But he had to figure out how to finesse it.

And finesse was something he generally lacked.

Brute force was more his strength.

“I don’t like the idea of that at all,” she said. “I’m not really inclined to hang around and be moved by you. I want to go home.” She choked on the last word, a crack showing in her icy facade. Or maybe the shock was wearing off. It was very likely she’d been in shock for the past few days.

He remembered being in that state. A blissful cushion against the harsh reality of life. Oh yes, he remembered that well. It had driven him out into the desert and the searing heat had hardly mattered at all.

He hadn’t felt it.

He was numb. Bloody memories blunted because there was no way he could process them fully. Deep crimson stains washed pink by the bone-white sun.

If she was lucky, she was being insulated in that way. If not...if not he might have a woman dissolving in front of him soon. And he really didn’t have the patience for that.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Right. War. Et cetera.”

“You were listening. Now, hold that thought while I go and set up a tent. Can you do that? And can you also not wander off?”

“I don’t have a death wish,” she said. “I’m not about to wander off into the desert at night. Or during the day. Why do you think I haven’t escaped?”

“That begs the question how you were taken in the first place.” He took the tent, rolled up and strapped to the back of his horse, and walked over the outcrop of rock. He would hide them from view as best as he could.

Jamal and his men were hardly the only thieves, or the only danger, they could face out in the desert.

“I was on a desert tour. Of the Bedouin camps in Shakar. On the border.”

“So my people went into Shakar to take you?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“You are damned lucky they knew who you were.” He didn’t like to think of the fate she might have met otherwise.

“My ring,” she said. “It gave me away. It was part of the Shakari crown jewels.” She flexed her fingers, bare now. “They kept that. But then, they would be pretty bad thieves if they didn’t.”

“Fortunate you had it,” he said. “Odd they did not produce it as proof.”

Pale eyes widened, panic flaring in their depths. “But you must know about me,” she said. “You must know that Tariq planned to marry soon. I would imagine even base intelligence would have brought you that bit of information.”

“An alliance that pertains to the political, I believe,” he said.

“Yes. And he loves me.”

“I’m sure he does,” Zafar said dryly.

“He does. I’m not fool enough to think that my connections have nothing to do with it, but we’ve been...we’ve been engaged for years. Distantly, but we have spent time together.”

“And you love him?”

“Yes,” she said, tilting her chin up, blue eyes defiant. “I do. With all my heart. I was looking forward to the marriage.”

“When was the marriage to take place?”

“A few months yet. I was to be introduced to his people, our courtship to be played out before the media.”

“But your courtship has already taken place.”

“Yes. But you know...appearances. I mean, that’s the whole point of not taking me straight back to Shakar, isn’t it? Appearances. You don’t want Tariq to know your people, or by extension, you were involved in this. And you don’t want to appear weak. You don’t want people to know it happened on your watch.” She nodded once, as if agreeing with herself. “That’s a big part of it, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t had a single day in the palace yet. I don’t want to be at the center of a scandal involving a kidnapped future sheikha of a neighboring country, so yes, you’re right.”

“I see.”

“What is it you see, habibti?” he asked, the endearment flowing off his tongue. It had become a habit to call women that. Because it was easier than remembering names. Safer, in many ways. It kept them at a distance and that was how he preferred it.

Life in the desert, on the move, made it difficult to find lovers, but he had them in a few of his routine stops. A couple of widows in particular Bedouin camps, and a woman in the capital city who was very good at supplying him with necessary information.

She squinted, pale eyes assessing him. “That this is a threat to you personally.”

“I am not the most well-liked man in Al Sabah. Let’s just say that. This is an issue when one means to rule a country.”

It was the understatement of the century. If he had been recognized anywhere in the city while his uncle was in command, his life would have been forfeit. His exile had been under the darkest of circumstances, and since then, he’d hardly done anything to improve his standing, particularly with those loyal to his uncle.

His loyalty was to the Bedouins. To ensure they never suffered because of his uncle’s rule, and without him, they would have. No medical, no emergency services of any kind. His uncle had put them at the mercy of foreign aid while taxing them with particular brutality.

They had become Zafar’s people.

And now...now somehow he had to assume the throne and unite Al Sabah again, redeem himself in the eyes of the people in the cities while not losing the people in the desert.

And without incurring the wrath of the Sheikh of Shakar.

Not a tall order at all.

“It doesn’t really make me feel all that good about being out here with you.”

“I’m certain it does not. I’m also certain that’s not my problem. Now, I have a tent to pitch so that we don’t have to sleep in the open.”

“You expect me to sleep in a tent with you?”

“I do. The alternative is for one of us to sleep without any sort of protection and I’m not going to do that. I assume you won’t, either. You should see all the bugs that come out at night.”

Ana shuddered. The idea of sleeping in the vast openness of the desert with no walls around her at all was completely freaky, and she didn’t want any part of it. But the thought of sleeping next to this man...this stranger...was hardly any better.

Her one and constant comfort was the fact that he didn’t want to start a war.

Maybe she should tell him she was a virgin. And that Tariq knew it. So if he tried anything he shouldn’t there would be no getting out of it. War would be upon him.

A war over her hymen. Yuck. But potentially true.

And if it would help protect her, well, she wasn’t above using it as an excuse. But she would save it. Because...yuck.

“How long do you intend to keep me with you?” she asked, watching as he began to work at setting up what looked to be a far-too-small tent.

“Until I no longer need to.” He was wearing so many layers, robes to keep him protected from the sun, that it was hard to tell just how his body was shaped, and yet, because of the ease of his movements and the grace in them, she got a sense that he was a man in superior physical condition.

Not that she should notice or care.

“That’s not very informative.”

“Because I have no more information to give. I will have to evaluate the situation upon arrival at the palace, and until then, we are stuck with each other.”

He continued to work, his movements quick and agile, practiced.

“So...you do this a lot?”

“Nearly every night.”

“You buy kidnapped women and then carry them off on your horse every night?”

“I was just referring to the tent.”

“I know,” she said, looking up at the sky, vast and dotted with stars. “Just trying to lighten the mood.” Otherwise she really would cry. She didn’t have enough energy for anger anymore. Lame jokes were her last line of defense.

And she couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Her father would need her to keep it together, to make sure she made it back to him. Back to Tariq. She’d done everything right, had spent so many years doing her best to be helpful. To not be a burden.

Falling down in the home stretch like this was devastating.

“Technically,” he said, tying a knot in a rope at the top of the tent. “I didn’t buy you. I ransomed you.”

“That does sound nicer.”

“Think of it that way then. If it helps.”

“A small comfort, all things considered, but I’ll take it.”

“There, it is done. Are you ready to sleep?”

No and yes. She didn’t want to get into the tent with him and sleep on the ground. It was demoralizing. More than that, it was scary. The idea of being so close to him made her heart pound, made her feel dizzy. But she was also ready to collapse with exhaustion. No matter that Zafar was a stranger, he wasn’t her kidnapper. He wasn’t the same as the men who’d been holding her these past few days.

No matter how austere and frightening he was, he had saved her from her kidnappers.

“Oh...thank you,” she said, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Thank you so much.”

And something in her broke that she hadn’t even realize had been there. The dam on her emotions that had been keeping her strong, keeping her from falling apart since she’d been taken from the camp all those days ago. Or maybe the same dam that had been in place for years, holding back tears for ages, and unable to withstand this new onslaught of life’s little horrors.

And control was suddenly no longer an option.

A sob shook her body, emotion tightening her throat. And then she broke down completely. Great gasps of breath escaping, tears rolling down her face.

He didn’t move to comfort her; he didn’t move at all. He simply let her cry, her sobs echoing in the still night. She didn’t need his touch. She just needed this. This release after days of trying to be strong. Of trying not to show how scared and alone she felt.

And when she was done she felt weak, embarrassed and then angry again.

“Done?”

She looked up and saw him regarding her with an expression of total impassivity. Her outburst hadn’t moved him. Not at all. Not that she really wanted comfort from this big...beast man. But even so. A little reaction would have been nice. Sympathy. Offer of a cold compress or smelling salts or...something.

“Yes,” she said, her throat still tight, her voice croaky. “I am done. Thank you.”

“Ready to sleep?”

“Yes.” The word escaped on a gust of breath. She was completely ready to collapse where she was standing. She didn’t know how that had happened. How exhaustion had taken over so completely.

And then she realized she was shaking. Shivering. She couldn’t do this. She had to be strong and keep control. She had to hold it together.

“I don’t know why,” she said through chattering teeth.

He swore, at least she assumed it was a swearword, based on the tone, and took two long strides toward her, gripping her by the arms and drawing her into the warmth of his body. It wasn’t a hug. She knew that right away. This was no show of affection; it was just him trying to keep her from rattling apart.

She trembled violently, his strong arms, his chest, a wall of support. It was amazing that he smelled as good as he did. Yes, it was a weird thought, but it was simple, basic and one she could process.

All those layers in the heat and she would have imagined he might smell like body odor. Instead he smelled spicy, like fine dust and cloves. And he did smell of sweat, but it wasn’t offensive in any way. He smelled like a man who had been working, a man who had earned every drop of that sweat through honest effort.

That, somehow, made it seem different than other sweat.

Not that she could really claim to be an expert in the quality of sweat, male or otherwise, but for some reason, that was just how it seemed to her.

This current train of thought was probably a sign of a complete mental breakdown. Highly likely, in fact. Yes, very likely, because she was still shaking.

And adding to the signs of a breakdown, was the fact that part of her wanted to curl her fingers around his robe and hold him tightly to her. Cling to him. Beg him not to let her go.

“The nearest mobile medical unit is...not very near,” he said, his voice rough. “So please don’t do anything stupid like dying.”

“If I were dead, how much help would a mobile medical unit be anyway?” she asked, resting her head on his chest, something about the sound of his heartbeat making her feel more connected to the world. To living. She was so completely drained; it felt like it was the reminder of his life that kept her connected with hers. “Besides I don’t think I’m dying.”

“Does anyone ever think they’re dying?”

“I’m not hurt.”

“How long has it been since you had a drink?”

She thought back. “A while. I’m not even really sure how many days it’s been since I was kidnapped.”

“I’m going to put you in the tent.”

She nodded, and at the same time found her feet being swept off the ground, as her body was pulled up against his, his arms cradling her, surprisingly gentle for a man with his strength.

He carried her to the tent and set her down on a blanket inside. Then he left her, returning a moment later with a skin filled with water.

“Drink.”

She obeyed the command. And discovered she was so thirsty she didn’t think she could ever be satisfied.

She pulled the skin away from her lips and a drop ran down her chin. She mourned that drop.

“I hope you weren’t saving that,” she said.

“I have more. And we’ll stop midmorning at an oasis between here and the city.”

“Why didn’t we stop at the oasis tonight?”

“I’m tired. You’re tired.”

“I’m fine,” she said. His tenderness was threatening to undo her, if you could call the way he was speaking to her now tenderness.

“You must be realistic about your own limitations out here,” he said. “That is the first and most valuable lesson you can learn. The desert can make you feel strong and free, but it also makes you very conscious of the fact that you are mortal.”

She lay down on the blanket and curled her knees into her chest, her back to Zafar. She heard the blanket shift, felt it pull beneath her as he lay down, too.

“The wilderness is endless, and it makes you realize that you are small,” he said, his voice deep, accented, melting over her like butter. She felt like the ground was sinking beneath her, like she was falling. “But it also makes you realize how powerful you are. Because if you respect it, if you learn your limitations and work with them, rather than against them, you can live here. You will never master the desert...no man or woman can. But if you learn to respect her, she will allow you to live. And living here, surviving, thriving, that is true power.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and the world upended. “I’m cold,” she said, a shiver racking her.

A strong arm came around her waist, and she was pulled into heat, warmth that pushed through to her soul. It was a strange comfort. It shouldn’t even be a comfort, and yet it was. Being held by him felt good. Human touch, his touch, soothed parts of her she hadn’t known had been burned raw by her nights in the desert.

His fingertip drifted briefly along the line of her bare arm. A soothing gesture. One that stopped the chill. One that made her feel like a small flame had been ignited beneath her skin.

Her last thought before losing consciousness was that she’d never slept with a man’s arm around her like this. And the vague sense that she should be saving this for the man she was marrying.

Except that didn’t make sense. This was just sleeping.

And she badly needed sleep.

So she moved more tightly into his body and gave in to the need she’d been fighting against ever since she’d been kidnapped.

And slept.