Читать книгу Forged in the Desert Heat - Maisey Yates - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU NEED TO wake up now.”

Zafar looked down at the sleeping woman, curled up on the floor of the tent like an infant.

The sun was starting to rise over the mountains, and in a moment, the air became heated. Enough that if you breathed too deeply it would scorch your lungs. And he didn’t relish riding through the heat of the day. He wanted to get to the oasis, wait it out, then continue on to the city.

He didn’t want to spend another night out here with this fragile, shivering creature. He needed to be able to sleep, and he could not sleep beside anyone.

Plus, she was far too delicate. Far too pale. Her skin an impractical shade of pink, her hair so blond it was nearly white, her eyes the same blue as the bleached sky.

She would burn out here in the desert.

She stirred and blinked, looking up at him. “I...” She pushed into a sitting position. “Oh, no. It wasn’t a dream.”

“No. Sorry. And are you referring to me or the kidnapping? Because I should think I am preferable to a band of thieves.”

“The kidnapping in general. This entire experience. Ugh. My whole body hurts. This ground is hard.”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps you should talk to the Creator about softening it for you.”

“Oh, I see, you think I’m silly. And wimpy and whatever.” She pushed a hand through her hair, and he noticed her fingers got hung up in it. He wondered how long it had been since she’d been able to brush her hair. He imagined she hadn’t been given the opportunity to bathe or take care of any necessities really.

And he wondered if they had gone with her when she’d had to take care of certain biological needs. If they had stood guard. If they had made her feel humiliated. It heated the blood in his veins. Made him feel hungry for revenge. But he couldn’t follow the feeling. Emotion didn’t reign in his life. Not now. Emotion lied. Purpose did not.

And it was purpose he had to follow now, no matter the cost.

“I think very little about you, actually. At least, about you as a person. Right now, you are an obstacle. And one that is making me late.” He’d been contacted by one of his men. There was an ambassador Rycroft, a crony of his uncle’s who was anxious for a meeting. Zafar was about as anxious for it as he was for a snakebite, but he supposed that was his life now.

Meetings. Politics.

“Excuse me?” She stood now, her legs shaky, awkward like a newborn fawn’s. “I’m making you late? I didn’t ask to be kidnapped. I didn’t ask for you to buy me.”

“Ransomed. I ransomed you.”

“Whatever, I didn’t ask you to.”

“Be that as it may, here we are. Now get out, I need to take the tent down.”

She shot him a deadly glare and walked out of the tent, her chin held high, her expression haughty. She looked like a little sheikha. A pale little sheikha who would likely wither out here in the heat.

“I have jerky in my saddlebags,” he said.

“Mmm. Yay for dry salted meat in the heat,” she said, clearly not satisfied to look at him with venom in her eyes. She had to spit it, too.

For all her attitude, she went digging through the bags, and as soon as she found the jerky she was eating it with enthusiasm. “More water?” she asked.

“In the skin.”

He continued deconstructing the tent while she drank more water and ate more food. For a woman who was so tiny, she didn’t eat delicately.

“Did they feed you?”

“Some,” she said, between gulps of water. “Not enough, and I was skeptical of it. So I only ate when I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Poisoning you, or drugging you would have served no purpose.”

“Probably not, but I was feeling paranoid.”

“Fair enough.”

“But you won’t hurt me, will you?” she asked, almost more a statement than a question, pale eyes trained on him.

“You have my word on that.”

He would not harm a woman. No matter her sins. Even he had his limits. Though he might see a woman thrown in jail for the rest of her life, but that was an entirely different woman. A different matter.

“I didn’t think you would. That’s why I slept.”

“How many days?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was afraid to close my eyes because who knew what might happen. But it only makes things worse. It makes you...think things that aren’t real, makes it all blur together and then...it’s all scary enough without the added paranoia. I thought I was going crazy.”

“Understand this,” he said. “I’m not holding you for fun. I am not holding you to harm you in any way. I need to get a better read on the situation. I know this isn’t ideal for you, but war during your courtship would be even worse.”

“War would be worse in general,” she said. “But maybe I can talk to Tariq....”

“Maybe. And maybe it would matter. But there are times when a man must show his strength to protect what is his. There is a time for peace, but when your fiancée has been kidnapped, I am not sure that’s the time.” He paused. “And then there’s how my people will react. It is the sort of thing they expect of me. I will be implicated, make no mistake. Jamal will ensure it. And you know, for many leaders, it wouldn’t matter. They could crush the rumors, destroy the rebellion. Me? There is no loyalty to me here. It is not the love of my people chaining me to the throne, but law. If they could see me relieved of the position, many of them would, do not doubt it.”

“But you need to rule?”

“I was born to rule. It is my rightful place, stolen from me. I was exiled, banished, and I will not live the rest of my days that way. The throne of Al Sabah is mine now, and I mean to take it.”

“Even if you have to hold me to do it?”

“You will be kept in a palace, surrounded by luxury that rivals anything your darling fiancé could produce for you, so I doubt you’ll feel to put upon. Consider it a spa retreat.”

She looked around them. “Shall I start with sand treatment? Good for the pores, or what?”

“All right, the retreat portion of the vacation starts tonight. For now, consider yourself still on the desert tour. Only this is one-on-one. And you’re now with a man who knows the desert better than most people know the layout of the city they grew up in.”

“I don’t know whether to ask questions about the rocks or the dirt. The beauty is so diverse out here.”

“The landscape in Shakar is similar. Perhaps you should rethink your upcoming marriage if the best you can muster for your surroundings is a bit of bored disdain.”

“I’m sorry to have insulted your precious desert. I’m in a bad mood.”

“Your mood is the least of my worries, habibti. Now—” he put the bundle of tent back onto the horse, took the skin from her hand and refixed it to the saddlebags “—get on the horse, or I shall have to assist you again.”

She looked up at the horse and then back at him, genuine distress in her blue eyes. “I can’t. I wish I could. But my legs feel like strained spaghetti. It’s not happening.”

“It’s no matter to me. I held you all night. Putting my arms around you again isn’t exactly a hardship.” Her cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red and it had nothing to do with the sun. He didn’t know why he’d felt compelled to tease her that way. He didn’t know why he’d felt compelled to tease her at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt the least desire to engage in humor or lightness of any kind.

But beneath that was something darker. Something he had to ignore. A pull that he couldn’t acknowledge.

“Do what you must,” she said, defeated.

He locked his fingers together and lowered his hands, creating a step for her. “Come on,” he said.

She looked down and squinted. “Oh, fine.” She put one hand on the horse’s back and one on his shoulder, placing her foot into his hands and pushing up. He lifted her as she swung her leg over the horse and took her position.

“Front or back, habibti, it’s no matter to me.”

She looked genuinely troubled by the question. And then as though she was calculating which method would bring her into the least contact with his body.

“I...front.”

He found the position a bit more taxing, but the alternative was to have her clinging to his back, thighs shaped around his, her breasts pressed to his back. The thought sent a strange tightening through his whole body. His throat down to his stomach, the muscles in his arms, his groin.

No. He had no time for such distraction. She would remain untouched. Protected. He swore it then and there. A vow made before the desert that he would not break.

Fiancée or not, a man who would take advantage of a woman in her position was the basest of creatures.

And are you not more animal than man after your time out here?

No. He knew what was right. And he would see it done.

Right was why he was returning now. Back to a palace that was, in his mind, little more than a gilded tomb. A place that held ghosts. Secrets. Pain so deep he did not like to remember it.

But this had nothing to do with want. Nothing in his life had to do with want; it was simply duty. If doing right meant riding into hell, he would. While the palace wasn’t hell, it was close. But there could be no hesitation. No turning back.

And no distractions.

He got on behind her, gripping the reins tightly. “Hold on.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “If we’re going to make it back to the palace today, we have to go fast.”

* * *

Fast was an understatement. They made a brief stop at the oasis, a pocket in a mountain that seemed to rise from the earth, shielding greenery and water from the sun, providing shade and relief from the immeasurable heat.

Sadly, they didn’t linger for very long and they were back in the sun, the horse’s hoofbeats a repetitive, pounding rhythm that was starting to drive her crazy.

By the time the vague impression of the city, hazy in the distance, came into view, Ana was afraid she was going to fall off the horse. Fatigue had set in, bone deep. She felt coated in a fine layer of dust, her fingers dry and stiff with it.

She needed a bath. And a soft bed. She could worry about everything else later, as long as she had those two things as soon as humanly possible.

This was not her life. Her life was cosseted in terms of physical comforts. A plush mansion, a private all-girls school with antique, spotless furniture and women’s college dorms that rivaled any five-star hotel.

Hot baths and soft beds had been taken for granted all of her life. Never again. Never, ever again. She was wretched. She felt more rodent than human at the moment. Like some ground-dwelling creature rooted out of her hole, left to dry out beneath the heat.

As they drew closer she could see skyscrapers. Gray glass and steel, just like any city in the United States. But beyond that was the wall. Tall, made of yellow brick, a testament to the city that once had been—a thousand years ago.

“Welcome to Bihar,” he said, his tone grim.

“Are you just going to ride in?”

He tightened his hold on her. “Why the hell not?”

He was a funny contradiction. A man who was able to spout poetry about the desert, soliloquies of great elegance. And yet, when he had to engage in conversation, the elegance was gone. On his own, he was all raw power and certainty, but when he had to interact...well, that was a weakness for sure.

“Seems to me a horse might be out of place.”

“In the inner city, yes, but not here on the outskirts. Not on the road to the palace. At least not the road I intend to take.”

They forged on, through the walls that kept Bihar separate from the desert. They went past homes, pressed together, stacked four floors high, made from sun-bleached brick. Then on past an open-air market with rows of baskets filled to the brim with flour, nuts and dried fruit. People were milling about everywhere, making way for Zafar without sparing a lingering glance.

She turned and looked up at him. Only his eyes were visible. Dark and fathomless. His face was covered by his headdress. No one would recognize him. It struck her then, how funny it was.

The sheikh riding through on his black war horse, a captive in the saddle with him. And no one would ever know.

They continued on, moving up a narrow cobbled street, past the dense crowds, and through more neighborhoods, the houses starting to spread out then getting sparser. The cobbles turned to dirt, a path that followed the wall of the city, in an olive grove that seemed the stretch on for miles. Then she saw it, a glimmer on the hilltop, stretching across the entire ridge: the palace. Imposing. Massive. Beautiful.

White stone walls and a sapphire roof made it a beacon that she was sure could be seen from most points in the city. Bihar might have thoroughly modern buildings that nearly touched the sky, but the palace seemed to be a part of it. Something ethereal or supernatural. Unreal.

Zafar urged the horse into a canter and the palace rapidly drew closer. When they arrived at the gate, Zafar dismounted, tugging at the fabric that covered his face, revealing strong, handsome features. Unmistakable. No wonder he traveled the way that he did. There was no way he would go unrecognized if he didn’t keep his face covered. No way in the world.

He reached into the folds of his robes and pulled out...a cell phone. Ana felt like she’d just been given whiplash. Everything about Zafar seemed part of another era. The man had ridden a freaking black stallion through the city streets, and now he was making a call on a cell phone.

It was incongruous. Her brain rejected it wholly, but it couldn’t argue with what she was seeing. Her poor brain. It had tried rejecting this entire experience, but unfortunately, the past week was reality. This was reality.

“I’m here. Open the gates.”

And the gates did open.

She was still on the horse, clinging to the saddle as Zafar led them into an opulent courtyard. Intricate stone mosaic spiraled in from the walls that partitioned the palace off from the rest of the world, a fountain in the middle, evidence of wealth. As were the green lawns and plants that went beyond the mosaic. Water for the purpose of creating beauty rather than simply survival was an example of extreme luxury in the desert. That much she knew from Tariq.

As if the entire palace wasn’t example enough.

She looked at Zafar. His posture was rod straight, black eyes filled with a ferocity that frightened her. There was a rage in him. Spilling from him. And then, suddenly, the walls were back up, and his eyes were blank again.

They were met at the front by men who looked no more civilized than Zafar, a band of huge, marauder-type men. Desert pirates. That’s what they made her think of. All of them. Her escort included. One of the men, the largest, even had a curved sword at his waist. Honestly, she was shocked no one had an eye patch.

Fear reverberated through her, an echo along her veins, a shadow of what she’d felt when she was taken from the camp and her friends, but powerful enough that it clung to every part of her. Wouldn’t let her go.

She was in his domain. Truly, she had been from the moment she’d been hauled across the border from Shakar to Al Sabah, but here, with evidence of his power all around, it was impossible to deny. Impossible to ignore.

His power, his strength was frightening. And magnetic. It drew her to him in a way she couldn’t fathom. Made her heart beat a little faster. Fear again, that was all. It could be nothing else.

“Sheikh,” one of them said, inclining his head. He didn’t even spare her a glance.

“Do you need help dismounting?” Zafar asked.

“I think I’ve got it, thanks.” She climbed down off of the horse, stumbling a little bit. So much for preserving her pride. She looked over at Zafar’s sketchy crew and smiled.

“We shall need a room prepared for my guest. I assume you saw to the hiring of new servants?”

She nearly laughed. Guest? Was that what she was?

The largest man nodded. “Everything has been taken care of as requested. And Ambassador Rycroft says he will not be put off any longer. He insists you call him as soon as you are in residence.”

“Which, I suppose is now,” Zafar said, his voice hard, emotionless. “Take the horse.”

“Yes, Sheikh.”

If any of his men were perturbed by the change in status they didn’t show it. But then, she imagined that Zafar had always been the one in charge. That he had always been sheikh to those who followed him.

Questioning him wasn’t something anyone would do lightly. He exuded power, strength. Danger. Everything that should have repelled her. But it didn’t. It scared her, no mistake, but it also fascinated her. And that scared her on a whole new level.

“Your things?” the other man asked.

“I have none. Neither has she. Remedy that. I want the woman to have a wardrobe of new clothing before the end of the day. Understood?”

The man arched one brow. “Yes, Sheikh.”

Oh, good grief. They were going to think she was the starter to his harem. Or at least they would think she was his mistress. But there was no way to correct it now. This was an unprecedented point in Al Sabah’s history. Zafar was taking over the throne, and the entire palace clearly had new staff. Zafar would be an completely different sort of leader to the one they’d had before, that much was true.

And it would be such a relief, not just to the people here, but to Tariq’s people. She knew that things had been strained between Shakar and Al Sabah, that Tariq had feared war. He’d called her late one night and expressed those fears. She’d valued that. Valued that he cared enough to tell her what was on his mind, his heart.

It was part of why she’d fallen in love with him. Part of why she’d said yes to his engagement offer. Yes, her father had instigated it. And yes, he was a driving force behind it, but she wouldn’t have said yes if she wasn’t genuinely fond of Tariq.

Fond of him.

That sounded weak sauce. She was more than fond of him. Love was the word. No, theirs wasn’t a red-hot relationship. But so much of that was to be expected. Tariq was old-fashioned and he’d courted her like an old-fashioned guy. It was respectful.

Plus, he was so handsome. Smooth, dark skin, coal eyes fringed with thick lashes, strong black brows...

She looked back at Zafar and the memory of Tariq and his good looks were knocked completely from her head.

Faced with Zafar, the sharp angles of his face, black beard covering most of his brown skin, obsidian eyes that were more like a dark flame and his lips...she really was quite fascinated by his lips...well, it was hard to think of anything else.

He wasn’t smooth. His skin was marked by the sun, by wind. There was nothing refined about him. He was like a man carved straight from the rock.

She wasn’t sure handsome was the right word for it. It seemed insipid.

“Shall we go in? It is my palace, though I have not been back here in fifteen years. I was born here. Raised here.”

Which meant he’d come into the world like everyone else, rather than being carved from stone, so there went that theory.

“Must be...nice to be back?” She watched his face, saw no expression change. If she hadn’t caught that moment of intense, dark emotion at the gates, she would think he felt nothing at all. “Strange? Sad?”

“It is necessary that I’m back. That is all.”

“I’m sure you feel something about being back.”

“I feel nothing in general, Ms. Christensen,” he said, addressing her by her name, any part of it, for the first time. “I should hardly start now. I have a country to rule.”

“But you’re...human,” she said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement. “So, I’m sure you feel something.”

“Purpose. Every day since my exile there has been one thing that has enticed me to open my eyes each morning, and that has been the belief that my people need me. That it is my duty and my right to lead this country, to care for these people, as they should be led and cared for. Not in the manner my uncle did it. Purpose is what has driven me for nearly half of my life, and purpose is what drives me now. Emotion is unnecessary and weak. Emotion lies. Purpose doesn’t.”

In so many ways, he echoed a colder, harsher version of what she’d always told herself. That doing right was what mattered. That when people stopped doing right and started serving themselves, things fell apart. Utterly and completely.

She’d seen it in her own family. She’d never wished to bring the kind of destruction her mother had, so she’d set out to be better. To be above selfishness. To do the right thing, the thing that benefitted others before it benefitted her.

To take care, instead of destroy. To be a blessing instead of a burden.

But hearing it from his lips, it seemed...wrong. At least she acknowledged emotion; she just knew there were more important things in life than giddy happiness. Giddy happiness was fleeting, and selfish. She felt it was just her mission to make sure she didn’t put her feelings above the happiness of others. There was nothing wrong with that.

“You know what else doesn’t lie? My muscles. I’m so stiff I can hardly move.”

“A bath then. I will have one drawn for you.”

“Th-thank you.”

“You sound surprised.”

“You’re giving me nicer things than my last kidnapper.”

“Savior, Analise. I think the word you’re looking for is savior.”

She looked into his midnight eyes and felt something tug, deep and hard inside of her. Something terrifying. Something that touched the edge of the forbidden. “No, I really don’t think that’s the word I’m looking for.”

“Come,” he said, walking toward the doors of the palace.

Zafar didn’t wait for the double doors to open for him. He pushed against them with both palms, flinging them wide, the sound of the heavy wood hitting the stone walls echoing in the antechamber.

He simply stood for a moment, and waited. For what he did not know. Ghosts, perhaps? There were none. None that were visible, though he could almost feel them. The pain, the anguish this place had witnessed seemed to echo from the walls and he felt it deep down in his bones. If he listened hard enough, he was certain he could still hear his mother screaming. His father crying.

The air was heavy. With memory, with a cold, stale scent that lingered. Probably had more to do with the stone walls than with the past.

He’d spent years living in a tent. Hell, it had been over a year since he’d actually been in a building that wasn’t made from canvas. The walls were too heavy. Too thick. Making the air even harder to breathe.

He wanted to turn and run, but Ana was behind him. He felt like an animal being herded into a cage, but he wouldn’t show that weakness. He couldn’t.

So he took another step inside. Into darkness, into the place that had seen so much death and devastation. It was a step back into his past. One he wasn’t prepared to take, but one that had to be taken.

“Zafar?”

He felt a small hand on his arm and he jerked away, looking down at Ana. She didn’t shrink back, but he could see something in her wilt. Unsurprising. She must think him more beast than man, but then, there was truth in that.

“We shall have your bath run for you,” he said, his voice tight, cold, even to his own ears.

He had no choice but to move forward. To embrace this because it was his destiny. And his penance. He gritted his teeth and walked on.

Yes, this was his penance. He was prepared to pay it now.