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Lost to the Desert Warrior
Sarah Morgan
‘Walking into the lion’s den unprotected, Princess?’For Layla, Princess of Tazkhan, her arranged marriage means one thing – a lifetime of cruelty and captivity. Such an unendurable prospect drives her to throw herself at the mercy of Sheikh Raz Al Zahki – her family’s greatest enemy! Raz demands one thing in return for the safe haven Layla is seeking – this brooding desert king wants to make her his queen!Her freedom might be secured, but now her heart is at risk, for soon she’s lost to the scorching heat of their marriage bed… Except it will take more than fire to thaw her guarded husband.‘The queen of the exotic, I love the way Sarah builds the perfect landscape.’ – Helen, 42, Sales and Logistics Coordinator www.sarahmorgan.com


“Walking into the lion’s den unprotected, Princess?”
For Layla, princess of Tazkhan, her arranged marriage means one thing—a lifetime of cruelty and captivity. Such an unendurable prospect drives her to throw herself at the mercy of Sheikh Raz Al Zahki—her family’s greatest enemy!
Raz demands one thing in return for the safe haven Layla is seeking—this brooding desert king wants to make her his queen! Her freedom might be secured, but now her heart is at risk, for soon she’s lost to the scorching heat of their marriage bed. However, it will take more than fire to thaw her guarded husband….

‘You are reluctant to take off your robe,’ Raz said softly, ‘but once we’re married you are going to be naked when you share my bed.’
Layla felt her stomach curl. Everything inside her twisted and heated. She felt dizzy and strange.
Nerves, she thought. ‘Does this mean you’re agreeing to my suggestion?’
Without warning he lifted a powerful hand and pushed back the swathe of fabric covering her head. His handsome face was taut and unsmiling, as if he were weighing up a decision of enormous importance.
Layla tried not to flinch, even though the gentle brush of those strong fingers against her cheeks made everything inside her clench. She told herself he had every right to look at the woman he might marry.
Her heart started to pound. His forefinger traced the line of her jaw.
His eyes dropped to her mouth.
‘You have strength and honesty and I respect those traits.’ He rose to his feet, sure and confident and very much the one in control. ‘There is no time to lose. We will be married within the hour. Oh, and Princess…’ He paused by the entrance to the tent, his eyes a wicked shade of black. ‘You have no need of the Kama Sutra. When the time comes I will teach you what you need to know.’
USA TODAY bestselling author SARAH MORGAN writes lively, sexy contemporary stories for Mills & Boon
Modern
.
RT Book Reviews has described her as ‘a magician with words’ and nominated her books for their Reviewers’ Choice Awards and their ‘Top Pick’ slot. In 2012 Sarah received the prestigious RITA
Award from the Romance Writers of America. She lives near London with her family. Find out more at www.sararahmorgan.com
Recent titles by the same author:
AN INVITATION TO SIN
(Sicily’s Corretti Dynasty)
SOLD TO THE ENEMY
WOMAN IN A SHEIKH’S WORLD
A NIGHT OF NO RETURN
(The Private Lives of Public Playboys)
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Lost to the Desert Warrior
Sarah Morgan


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u7cded9ea-2294-5add-b17d-edb126401306)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud1f33897-3fee-521d-a399-aa93163b3f44)
CHAPTER THREE (#u2e421c9f-13e2-59c5-b8fe-3e1898c3a07b)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ubf793f66-6c23-5c4d-8029-8efd49feca44)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
‘The Persians teach their sons, between the ages of five and twenty, only three things: to ride a horse, use a bow and speak the truth.’
—from The Histories by Herodotus, Greek historian, about 484-425 BC
‘SHH, DON’T MAKE a sound.’ Layla slammed her hand over her sister’s mouth. ‘I can hear them coming. They mustn’t find us.’
She wished she’d had time to find a better hiding place. Behind the long velvet curtains in her father’s private rooms hardly seemed like an obvious place for concealment, and yet she knew in some ways this was the safest place. No one would think to look for the princesses here. They were never allowed in his bedroom. Not even today, on the day of his death.
But Layla had wanted to see for herself that the man who’d called himself her father lay cold and still in his bed and wasn’t about to leap up and commit some other sin against her or her sister. She’d stood there, hidden by the curtain, and heard him seal her fate with his dying breath. His last words hadn’t expressed regret for a life misspent. There had been no demand to see his daughters, nor even a request to pass on a loving message to make up for years of cold neglect. No apology for all the grievous wrongs. Just one last wrong—one that would seal her fate forever.
‘Hassan must marry Layla. It is the only way the people will accept him as ruler of Tazkhan.’
Hearing footsteps, Layla kept her hand pressed over her younger sister’s mouth. Her forehead brushed the curtains and she could smell the dust. The dark was disorientating and she held herself rigid, waiting for the curtains to be flung back, afraid that the slightest movement would give them away.
From behind the protection of rich, heavy velvet she heard several people enter the room.
‘We have searched the palace. They are nowhere to be found.’
‘They cannot just have vanished.’ The voice was harsh and instantly recognisable. It was Hassan, her father’s cousin, and if his last wishes were carried out, soon to be her bridegroom. Sixty years old and more power-hungry even than her father.
In a moment of horrifying clarity Layla saw her future and it was blacker than the inside of the curtain. She stared into darkness, feeling her sister’s breath warm her hand, afraid to breathe herself in case she gave them both away.
‘We will find them, Hassan.’
‘In a few hours you’ll be addressing me as Your Excellency,’ Hassan snapped. ‘And you’d better find them. Try the library. The older one is always there. As for the younger one—she has far too much to say for herself. We’re flying her to America, where she will be out of sight and out of mind. The people will soon forget her. My marriage to the eldest will take place before dawn. Fortunately she is the quiet one. She has nothing to say for herself and is unlikely to object.’
He didn’t even know her name, Layla thought numbly, let alone her view on the world. She was ‘the eldest’. ‘The quiet one’. She doubted he knew or cared what she looked like. He certainly didn’t care what she wanted. But then neither had her father. The only person who cared about her was currently shivering in her grasp.
Her young sister. Her friend. Her family.
The news that they were planning to send Yasmin to America intensified the horror of the situation. Of everything that was happening, losing her sister would be the worst.
‘Why rush into the marriage?’
Hassan’s companion echoed Layla’s thoughts.
‘Because we both know that as soon as he finds out about the old Sheikh’s death he will come.’
He will come.
Layla knew immediately who ‘he’ was. And she also knew Hassan was afraid. So afraid he couldn’t bring himself to speak the name of his enemy. The formidable reputation of the desert warrior and rightful ruler of the wild desert country of Tazkhan frightened Hassan so badly it was now forbidden to speak his name within the walled city. The irony was that by banning all mention of the true heir to the sheikdom he had increased his status to that of hero in the minds of the people.
In a small moment of personal rebellion, Layla thought the name.
Raz Al Zahki.
A prince who lived like a Bedouin among the people who loved him. A man of the desert with steely determination, strength and patience, who played a waiting game. Right now he was out there somewhere, his exact whereabouts a secret known only to those closest to him. The secrecy surrounding him increased tensions in the Citadel of Tazkhan.
Footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the bedroom.
As the door closed behind them Yasmin pulled away, gasping for air. ‘I thought you were going to suffocate me.’
‘I thought you were going to scream.’
‘I’ve never screamed in my life. I’m not that pathetic.’ But her sister looked shaken and Layla took her hand and held it firmly as she peeped around the heavy velvet curtain.
‘They’ve gone. We’re safe.’
‘Safe? Layla, that wrinkled, overweight monster is going to marry you before dawn and he’s going to send me away to America, miles from home and miles from you.’
Layla heard the break in her sister’s voice and tightened her grip on her hand. ‘No, he won’t. I’m not going to allow him to take you away.’
‘How can you stop it? I don’t care what happens, but I want us to stay together. It’s been the two of us for so long I can’t imagine any other life. I need you to stop me opening my mouth when I should close it and you need me to stop you living your life in a book.’
Her sister’s voice was soaked with despair and Layla felt crushed by the weight of responsibility.
She felt small and powerless as she stood alone against the brutal force of Hassan’s limitless ambition.
‘I promise we won’t be separated.’
‘How can you promise that?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I’m thinking...’
‘Well, think fast, because in a few hours I’ll be on a plane to America and you’ll be in Hassan’s bed.’
‘Yasmin!’ Shocked, Layla gaped at her sister, who shrugged defiantly.
‘It’s true.’
‘What do you know about being in a man’s bed?’
‘Nowhere near as much as I’d like. I suppose that might be one of the advantages of being banished to America.’
Despite their circumstances, a dimple flickered at the corner of Yasmin’s mouth and Layla felt a lump in her throat. No matter how dire the circumstances, her sister always managed to find a reason to smile. She’d brought laughter to places without humour and light into the dark.
‘I can’t lose you.’ She couldn’t even bear to think of that option. ‘I won’t lose you.’
Yasmin peered cautiously across the room. ‘Is our father really dead?’
‘Yes.’ Layla tried to find some emotion inside herself but all she felt was numb. ‘Are you sad?’
‘Why would I be sad? This is only the fifth time I’ve ever seen him in person and I don’t think this one counts so that’s only four times. He made our lives hell and he’s still making it hell even though he’s dead.’ Yasmin’s unusual blue eyes darkened with fury. ‘Do you know what I wish? I wish Raz Al Zahki would ride into the city on that terrifying black stallion of his and finish off Hassan. I’d cheer. In fact I’d be so grateful I’d marry him myself and give him a hundred babies just to make sure his line is safe.’
Layla tried not to look at the figure on the bed. Even dead, she didn’t want to see him. ‘He wouldn’t want to marry you. You are the daughter of the man responsible for the death of his father and his beautiful wife. He hates us, and I cannot blame him for that.’ She hated herself too, for sharing the blood of a man with so little humanity. For sharing in his shame.
‘He should marry you. Then no one would be able to challenge him and Hassan would be finished.’
The idea was so outrageous, so typical of Yasmin, Layla’s instinct was to dismiss it instantly and preach caution as she always did. But how was caution going to help them when her marriage was only hours away?
Her mind picked at the idea gingerly. ‘Yasmin—’
‘It is said he loved his wife so deeply that when she died he made a vow never to love again.’ Yasmin spoke in an awed whisper. ‘Have you ever heard anything so romantic?’
Layla’s courage evaporated along with the idea. She couldn’t do it. ‘It’s not romantic. It’s tragic. It was a terrible thing.’
‘But to be loved that much by a man as strong and honourable as him—I want that one day.’
Yasmin stared into the distance and Layla gave her a shake.
‘Stop dreaming.’ The whole thing was alien to her. The only love she knew was her love for her sister. She’d never felt anything remotely romantic when she’d looked at a man. And nothing she’d read on the subject had led her to believe that would change in the future. She was far too practical a person, and it was the practical side that drove her now. ‘If they take you to America I’ll never see you again. I’m not going to let that happen.’
‘How can you stop it? Hassan is at his most dangerous when he’s afraid and he’s terrified of Raz Al Zahki. He won’t even allow his name to be spoken in the city. But everyone does speak it, of course. Especially the women. I’ve been listening.’
‘You’ve been to the souk again? Do you have no sense of danger?’
Yasmin ignored her and her voice was an awed whisper. ‘They say his heart is frozen into ice and only the right woman can melt it. It’s a bit like the legend of the Sword in the Stone you read me when I was little.’
‘Oh, Yasmin, grow up! A man’s heart cannot be frozen into ice unless he finds himself lost in Antarctica with insufficient equipment. A heart is responsible for pumping blood around the body. It cannot be “frozen” or “broken”.’ Exasperated, Layla wondered how two sisters could be so different. Their experience was the same, except that Layla had protected Yasmin from the worst of her father’s actions. ‘This isn’t legend, this is real. Stop romanticising everything.’
‘They think he will come.’ This time there was an undertone of excitement in her sister’s voice. ‘He has been playing a waiting game while our father and Hassan plotted. With our father dead, he has to have a plan for taking up his rightful place as Sheikh. Hassan is terrified. The council is terrified. They have extra guards on the doors at night. They’ve sent patrols into the desert, although goodness knows why because everyone knows Raz Al Zahki knows the desert better than anyone. No one is sleeping because they’re afraid he might enter the Citadel at night and murder them in their beds. Frankly, I wish he’d just get on with it. If I bumped into him in the dark I’d show him the way.’
Layla covered her sister’s lips with her fingers. ‘You need to be careful what you say.’
‘Why? What else can they do to me? They’re splitting us up! I’m going to America and you’re going to marry Hassan. How much worse can it get?’
‘I’m not marrying Hassan.’ Layla made her decision. ‘I’m not going to let that happen.’
‘How can you stop it? Hassan can only be the next ruler if he marries you. That’s a pretty powerful motivation.’
‘Then he mustn’t marry me.’
Yasmin looked at her with pity. ‘He is going to make you.’
‘If he can’t find me, he can’t make me.’ Not daring to give too much thought to what she was about to do, Layla sprinted to her father’s dressing room and removed a couple of robes. She thrust one at her sister. ‘Put this on. Cover your hair and as much of your face as you can. Wait here for me behind the curtain until I come and fetch you. I need to get something from the library before we leave.’
‘The library? How can you think of books right now?’
‘Because a book can be many things—a friend, an escape, a teacher—’ Layla broke off and hoped her sister didn’t notice her high colour. ‘Never mind. The important thing is that we’re going away from here. It will be like the game of Hide we played as children.’ She caught her sister’s horrified glance and wished she hadn’t used that reference. Both of them knew what that game had really meant. She changed the subject quickly. ‘Those horses you love so much—can you actually ride one if you have to?’
‘Of course!’
Her sister’s hesitation was so brief Layla told herself she’d imagined it.
‘And I’ve read extensively on the theory of riding and the history of the Arabian horse, so between us I’m sure we’ll be fine.’ She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. ‘We’ll take the back route to the stables and ride into the desert from there.’
‘The desert? Why are we riding into the desert?’
Layla felt her mouth move even though her brain was telling her this was a terrible idea. ‘We’re going to find Raz Al Zahki.’
* * *
The wind blew across the desert, bringing with it whispers of the Sheikh’s death.
Raz Al Zahki stood at the edge of the camp and stared into the darkness of the night. ‘Is it truth or rumour?’
‘Truth.’ Salem stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. ‘It’s been confirmed by more than one source.’
‘Then it is time.’ Raz had learned long before to keep his feelings buried, and he kept them buried now, but he felt the familiar ache of tension across his shoulders. ‘We leave for the city tonight.’
Abdul, his advisor and long-time friend stepped forward. ‘There is something else, Your Highness. As you predicted, Hassan plans to marry the eldest princess in a matter of hours. Preparations for the wedding are already underway.’
‘Before her father’s body is even cold?’ Raz gave a cynical laugh. ‘Her grief clearly overwhelms her.’
‘Hassan must be at least forty years older than her,’ Salem murmured. ‘One wonders what she gains from the match.’
‘There is no mystery there. She continues to live in a palace and enjoy benefits that should never have been hers to begin with.’ Raz stared at the horizon. ‘She is the daughter of the most ruthless man who ever ruled Tazkhan. Don’t waste your sympathy.’
‘If Hassan marries the girl it will be harder for you to challenge the succession legally.’
‘Which is why I intend to make sure the wedding does not take place.’
Abdul shot him a startled look. ‘So you intend to go ahead with your plan? Even though what you’re suggesting is—’
‘The only option available.’ Raz cut him off, hearing the hardness in his own tone. It was the same hardness that ran right through him. Once, he’d been capable of warmth, but that part of him had died along with the woman he’d loved. ‘We have considered every other option, and—’ He broke off as he heard a commotion in the darkness and then lifted a hand as his bodyguards emerged silently to flank him.
They were men who had followed him for fifteen years, since the brutal slaying of his father. Men who would die for him.
Abdul thrust himself in front of Raz and that gesture touched him more than any other, because his trusted advisor was neither physically fit nor skilled with weapons.
Gently, but firmly, he moved him to one side, but Abdul protested.
‘Go. Go! It could be the attempt on your life we have been expecting.’
Aware that Salem had his hand on his weapon, Raz fixed his gaze on the slim figure of a boy whose arms were gripped by two of his men. ‘If my death were the objective then surely they would give the responsibility to someone I could not so easily crush.’
‘We found him wandering in the desert along the border with Zubran. He appears to be alone. He says he has a message for Raz Al Zahki.’
Knowing that his men were protecting his identity, Raz signalled for them to bring their captive forward.
His hands were tied and as they released him the boy stumbled and fell to his knees. Raz stared down at him, noticing absently that his robes swamped his thin body.
It was Salem who spoke. Salem, his brother, who rarely left his side. ‘What message do you have for Raz Al Zahki, boy?’
‘I have to speak to him in person.’ The words were mumbled and barely audible. ‘And I have to be alone when I do it. What I have to say is just for him and no other.’
The guard closest to him gave a grunt of disgust. ‘Someone like you wouldn’t get close enough to Raz Al Zahki to wave from a distance, let alone be alone with him, and you should be grateful for that. He’d eat you alive.’
‘I don’t care what he does to me as long as he hears what I have to say. Take me to him. Please.’
The boy kept his head bowed and something in the set of those narrow shoulders drew Raz’s attention.
Ignoring Salem’s attempts to hold him back, he stepped forward. ‘So you’re not afraid?’
There was a brief pause. The wind blew across the desert, whipping up sand and catching the edges of the boy’s robe. He clutched it desperately.
‘Yes, I am afraid. But not of Raz Al Zahki.’
‘Then you need to be educated.’ The guard dragged his captive to his feet and the boy gasped in pain. ‘We’ll keep him here tonight and question him again in the morning.’
‘No!’ The boy struggled frantically in the man’s grip. ‘By morning it will be too late. I have to speak to him now. Please. The future of Tazkhan depends on it.’
Raz stared at the boy, half shrouded by robes that were too big for him. ‘Take him to my tent.’
Salem, Abdul and the guards looked at him in disbelief.
‘Do it,’ Raz said softly, but still the guards hesitated.
‘We’ll strip-search him first—’
‘Take him to my tent and then leave us.’
Abdul touched his arm, his voice low. ‘I have never before questioned your decisions, Your Highness, but this time I beg you, at least keep the guards with you.’
‘You think I can’t defend myself from someone half my height and weight?’
‘I think Hassan will try anything at this late stage in the game. He is frightened and desperate and a desperate man should never be underestimated. I think it could be a trap.’
‘I agree.’ Salem’s voice was hard. ‘I’ll come with you.’
Raz put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘Your love and loyalty means more to me than you can possibly know, but you must trust me.’
‘If anything happened to you—’
Raz felt the weight of it settle onto his shoulders. He, better than anyone, knew that there were some promises that shouldn’t be made. ‘Make sure I’m not disturbed.’ He dismissed his bodyguards with a single movement of his hand and strode into his tent.
He closed the flap, muffling the sound of the wind and protecting them from prying eyes.
The boy was on his knees in the furthest corner of the tent, his hands still tied.
Raz studied him for a moment and then strolled over to him and cut the rope with a swift movement of his knife. ‘Stand up.’
The boy hesitated and then stood in a graceful movement, only to fall again a moment later.
‘I don’t think I can stand—’ The words were uttered through clenched teeth. ‘My legs are stiff from riding and I injured my ankle when I fell.’
Raz looked down at the slender body bowed at his feet. ‘Tell me why you’re here.’
‘I’ll talk to Raz Al Zahki himself, and no one else.’
‘Then speak,’ Raz commanded softly, and the boy lifted his head in shock.
Under the concealing robes, dark eyes widened. ‘You’re him?’
‘I’m the one asking the questions.’ Raz sheathed his knife. ‘And the first thing I want to know is what a woman is doing creeping around my camp in the middle of the night. What are you doing walking into the lion’s den unprotected, Princess?’
* * *
Layla was in agony. Physical agony from her fall from the horse, and emotional agony from the knowledge that her sister was missing and alone in the vast emptiness of the baking desert and it was all her fault.
She was the one who had suggested this stupid, crazy plan. She, who never did anything stupid or crazy. She, who studied all available evidence before she made a decision, had acted on impulse. Which just proved that a cautious nature wasn’t to be mocked.
It would have been better had Hassan sent Yasmin to America. At least then Layla would have known she was alive.
As it was, Yasmin was lost, and she was now a captive in the desert camp of Raz Al Zahki, a man who had more reason to hate her than any other.
A man who knew who she was.
Staring into those cold black eyes, she suddenly knew the meaning of the phrase ‘between a rock and a hard place.’ If her cousin was the hard place then this man was the rock. He stood legs spread, handsome face unsmiling as he stared at her. His body had the muscular structure of a warrior’s, his shoulders broad and hard. She knew he had suffered terribly and yet there was no sign of suffering in face. This man wasn’t broken, he was whole and strong—at least on the outside. There was nothing soft about him. Nothing vulnerable. Even before he’d revealed his identity she’d sensed his place at the head of the pack. He had the confidence and authority of a man born to lead others, and even though Layla had expected nothing less still he intimidated her.
‘You knew who I was the whole time?’
‘Within five seconds. You have a memorable face, Princess. And very distinctive eyes.’
It was the first personal comment anyone had ever made to her and it took her by surprise.
She’d studied him on paper and committed all the facts to memory, from his year and place of birth to his impressive military career and his degree in engineering. She knew he was a skilled rider and an authority on the Arabian horse. She knew all that, but was only just realising that facts could only tell you so much about a man.
They couldn’t tell you that his eyes were darker than the desert at night or that the power he commanded on paper was surpassed a thousand times by the power he commanded in person. They couldn’t tell you that those eyes were capable of seeing right through a person to the very centre of their being. They couldn’t tell you that meeting those eyes would make your heart thunder like the hooves of a hundred wild horses pounding across the desert plain.
She was fast realising that a list of dates and qualifications didn’t convey strength or charisma.
Unsettled that the facts had given her such an incomplete picture, Layla remembered what her sister had said about the rumours. That Raz Al Zahki was a man who knew women. Before he’d fallen in love he’d been wild, and afterwards he’d locked it all away. Every emotion. Every feeling.
‘How do you know me?’
‘I make a point of knowing my enemy.’
‘I am not your enemy.’ And yet she could hardly blame him for thinking that, could she? His family had suffered terribly at the hands of hers. They stood on opposite sides of an enormous rift that had divided their families for generations.
‘Which brings me to my second question—where is Hassan? Or is he so lacking in courage he sends a woman with his messages?’
Layla shivered, but whether it was his tone or his words that affected her she didn’t know.
‘I’m not here because of Hassan. I was with my sister, Yasmin, but I fell from the horse.’ She saw his beautiful mouth tighten. ‘I’m sorry—I—you have to help me find her. Please. She’s alone in the desert and she won’t have a clue how to survive.’ The thought filled her with despair but still he showed no emotion. No sympathy. Nothing.
‘So where is Hassan?’
‘He could be back at the palace, or he could be out there looking for us. I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know? And yet this is the man you’re supposed to be marrying in a matter of hours.’
And if Hassan found Yasmin first—
His words slowly seeped into her numb brain. ‘You know about the wedding?’
‘I know everything.’
‘If you think I want to marry Hassan then clearly you don’t know everything.’ The tent was dimly lit, but there was enough light for her to see the flash of surprise in his eyes.
‘How did you leave, if not with his consent?’
‘We escaped. My sister loves horses. She took the fastest horse in the stables. Unfortunately she omitted to tell me she couldn’t control him.’ Layla rubbed her palm across her bruised back. ‘He proved too much for both of us.’
‘Both of you?’ A dark eyebrow lifted. ‘You rode one horse?’
‘Yes. We’re not that heavy and we didn’t want to be separated.’ Layla didn’t tell him that she’d never ridden before. This man was renowned for his horsemanship. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be impressed by the fact she knew everything about the breeding history of the Arabian horse, but nothing about the reality of riding one. ‘Something scared him and he reared up. I fell and he bolted with Yasmin on his back. She won’t be strong enough to stop him. She’s probably fallen, too.’ Panicking, she tried to stand up again, but her body protested so violently she sank back onto her knees just as two large dogs bounded into the tent.
Terror sucked the strength from her limbs. She was at eye level with the two beasts as they came to a standstill, teeth bared.
Raz said something to them and they whimpered and sank down to their bellies, huge eyes fixed on him in adoration.
‘Saluki?’ The fear was so sharp Layla could hardly breathe. ‘You own Saluki?’
‘You recognise the breed?’
‘Of course.’ Her mouth felt as if she’d swallowed all the sand in the desert. If dogs could smell fear, she was doomed. ‘The Saluki is one of the oldest breeds in existence. They have been found in the Pyramids of Egypt, mummified alongside the bodies of pharaohs.’ She didn’t reveal that her familiarity with the breed came from a darker, more personal experience. An experience she’d tried to block from her mind.
‘You said you were escaping. What was your destination?’
‘You. You were my destination.’ Reminding herself that the dogs were unlikely to attack without provocation or command, Layla kept utterly still, watching the animals. ‘We were trying to find you.’
‘On the night your father died? From the lack of tears it would seem you have inherited his lack of sentimentality.’
Was that what he thought?
Shocked, Layla almost corrected him, but she knew this wasn’t the right time. Misunderstandings could be corrected later. Or maybe they didn’t even matter. ‘It was my father’s dying wish that I marry Hassan.’
The darkening of his eyes was barely perceptible. ‘So why come looking for me?’
She’d practised a hundred alternative ways to say what she wanted to say but every word vanished under that icy scrutiny. ‘You are the rightful ruler, but if he marries me that weakens your claim and strengthens his.’
There was a sudden stillness about him that suggested she had his full attention. ‘That still doesn’t tell me why you’re here.’
Only now did Layla realise just how much she’d been hoping he’d be the one to say it. He was praised for his intelligence, wasn’t he? Couldn’t he see for himself why she was here? Couldn’t he see the one solution that would solve this once and for all?
But perhaps he could see and chose not to look.
‘I don’t blame you for hating us.’ The words tumbling out of her mouth weren’t the ones she’d rehearsed but when she looked at him all she could think of was the loss he’d suffered. ‘If I could change who I am then I would, but I’m asking you to put that aside and do what needs to be done.’
‘And what,’ he prompted softly, ‘do you believe needs to be done, Princess?’
No man had ever asked her opinion. Not once since the day she took her first step to the day she and her sister had slid out of the window of their father’s bedroom. Not once had anyone treated her as anything but a weapon in the considerable armory of the house of Al Habib.
But this man had asked her.
This man was listening to her.
He was regal, she thought, proud and sure of himself. In that moment she caught a glimpse of why so many trusted him and protected him. He was as different from Hassan as the ocean from the desert.
‘You know what needs to be done. You have to take your rightful place. You have to end this before Hassan finishes what my father started. Before he ruins our country in the selfish pursuit of power...’ She paused, wondering whether to mention Yasmin again but deciding this man would be motivated more by his duty to his people than sympathy for her sister. ‘And to do that you have to marry me. Now. Quickly. Before Hassan finds me and takes me back.’
CHAPTER TWO
HE’D BEEN PLANNING to do whatever was necessary to prevent her wedding to Hassan taking place. Yet he had not considered the option of marrying her himself, nor had any of those surrounding him dared to suggest it despite the fact it was the obvious solution.
The tactician in him could see the benefit. The man in him recoiled.
He’d thought there was no price he wouldn’t pay to fulfil his duty.
He’d been wrong.
Tension rippled down his spine. He felt as if he were being strangled.
‘No.’ He’d trained himself to shut down emotion but that skill suddenly failed him and his refusal came from somewhere deep inside him. Some dark part of himself he no longer accessed. ‘I had a wife. I don’t need or want another.’ His voice sounded strange. Thickened by a hundred layers of personal agony. One of the dogs growled, a threatening sound that came from low in the animal’s throat. He saw her gaze flicker to the dog and sensed her fear although he didn’t understand it.
‘I know about your wife.’ Her brief hesitation suggested she was about to say something else on that topic, but then she gave a little shake of her head. ‘Obviously I’m not suggesting myself as a replacement. This would be purely a political arrangement, advantageous to both sides.’
Raz tried to detach his mind from the pain he carried around inside himself. ‘Political?’
‘Hassan’s position is precarious. Marriage to me is his way of securing his place as my father’s successor. He has no support in Tazkhan and has never taken the trouble to earn it. For him, ruling is about what he can gain rather than what he can give and that approach makes him neither popular nor secure.’
Raz hid his surprise. He’d listened to men talk for hours on the problems facing Tazkhan and yet this girl had summarised the situation in four blunt sentences, devoid of emotion, exaggeration or drama.
‘Perhaps he didn’t expect your father to die so soon.’
Again there was hesitation, and it was obvious she was being selective about what she told him. ‘Hassan knows that the only way he will be accepted is to marry me, and he is willing to do anything to make that happen. Do not underestimate him.’
Her words were like the scrape of a knife over an open wound because he’d done exactly that. In his righteous arrogance he’d thought himself untouchable and as a result he’d lost someone he’d loved deeply.
‘You seem very familiar with the workings of his mind.’
‘I’ve studied him. I think there is a strong chance he is clinically disturbed. He demonstrates some of the elements of a sociopath, shows no remorse or guilt for any of his actions.’
Her words were serious, those beautiful, almond-shaped eyes steady on his.
‘He has no care for the feelings or opinions of others and an overinflated idea of his own importance. He is a dangerous man. But you already know that.’
‘Yes.’ He did know. What surprised him was that she knew.
Raz realised he’d made assumptions about her based purely on her bloodline. He also knew she was right that the marriage had to be prevented. He didn’t reveal that he’d had his own plans for making sure it didn’t happen.
There was no doubt her plan was better. Permanent.
And safer for all concerned.
Except for him.
For him, it meant breaking a vow.
His tension levels soaring into the stratosphere, Raz paced the length of the tent.
Whichever way he looked at it, it felt like a betrayal. It pulled him down and tore at him. ‘I cannot do it.’
‘Because I am the daughter of your enemy?’ She spoke in the same calm voice. ‘Aristotle said “a common danger unites the bitterest of enemies”. We have a common danger. I am proposing we unite. It is the right thing to do and you know it.’
Raz turned with a snarl that drew the dogs to their feet. ‘Never assume to guess what I am thinking, Princess.’
Her head was slightly bowed but he could see her eyes were fixed in terror on the two animals now crouched low on the floor of the tent.
‘I beg your pardon.’ She held herself absolutely still, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘It seems a logical solution to me. I assumed it would seem so to you.’
It did. The fact that his emotions defied logic frustrated him. ‘Do you apply logic to everything?’
‘I didn’t apply logic when I chose to steal a horse and point him towards the desert, so the answer has to be no, not to everything. But to most things. I find generally the outcome is better if the action is given the appropriate consideration.’
He’d never met anyone as serious as her.
He wanted to ask if she’d ever laughed, danced or had fun, and then wondered why he was even interested.
‘You are suggesting something I cannot contemplate.’
‘And yet you know it is the right thing for Tazkhan. So your reluctance must be because you once had a wife you loved so very much.’
Raz felt the blood drain from his face. The tips of his fingers were suddenly cold. Anger sharpened his brain and tongue. ‘Logic, if not an instinct for self-preservation, should be warning you that you are now treading on ground that is likely to give way beneath your feet.’
‘I did not bring up that topic to cause you pain, but to try and understand why you would say no to something that is so obviously right.’ Her fingers shook as she smoothed the robe she was wearing. ‘You loved her and exchanged promises, and now you never want to marry again. I understand that.’
‘You understand nothing.’ He heard the growl in his own voice. ‘You have condensed a thousand indescribable emotions into one short sentence.’ The force of his anger shook him, and it clearly shook her too because her eyes flickered to the entrance of the tent, gauging the distance. Raz felt a rush of shame because whatever his sins, and God knew there had been many, frightening women wasn’t one of them.
She spoke before he did. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her tone was a soothing balm against the raw edges of his pain. ‘And you’re right, of course. I don’t understand what you’re feeling because I’ve never loved anyone that way. But I understand that what you lost is somehow linked with your decision never to marry again. And I just want to make clear that what I’m suggesting has nothing to do with what you had before. Ours would be a marriage of political necessity, not of love. Not a betrayal of her memory, but a business arrangement. If you marry me, you take your rightful place as ruler of Tazkhan. You would be unchallenged.’
Not a betrayal of her memory.
So maybe she did understand him better than he’d first thought.
‘You think I’m afraid of a challenge?’
‘No. But I know you love your people and want to give Tazkhan a peaceful and prosperous future.’ Suddenly she sounded very tired, very alone and very young.
Raz frowned as he tried to remember her age. Twenty-three? Younger?
‘And what do you gain from this arrangement, Princess? How do you benefit from entering into a marriage where feelings play no part?’ In the flickering candlelight he could see a hint of smooth cheek beneath the voluminous robes, but very little else except those eyes. And her eyes were mesmerising—as dark as sloes and framed by long, thick lashes that shadowed that smooth skin like the setting sun. Suddenly he wanted to see more of her. He wanted to reach out and rip off the robes that concealed her and see what lay beneath the folds of fabric. He’d heard whispers about the beauty of the elder princess and ignored them all because her physical attributes had been of no interest to him.
Disturbed by the sudden flare of his own curiosity, he stepped back. ‘How do you benefit from this “business arrangement”?’
‘If I am married to you, then I cannot be married to Hassan.’
‘So I am the lesser of two evils?’ Could that truly be the reason? Raz struggled to decipher her intentions. She seemed innocent and yet she came from evil. She appeared to speak the truth but those who surrounded her spoke only lies. Feeling the weight of responsibility, he suppressed his instinct to trust her. ‘You are expecting me to believe that you crept out of the Citadel tonight, stole a horse and rode aimlessly into the desert in the hope of tripping over me so that you could propose marriage?’
‘I had more to lose by staying than leaving. And it is well known that there are plenty of people who know your whereabouts, Your Highness. I trusted that someone would bring me to you.’
She’d called him ‘Your Highness’. It was an acknowledgement he wouldn’t have expected from her, given that they were on opposite sides.
Raz narrowed his eyes. ‘Your loyalties are easily shifted.’
‘My loyalties are to Tazkhan, but I understand that you are afraid to trust me. I do have other reasons—more personal ones.’
‘What other reasons?’
‘If he finds her, Hassan intends to send my sister to America.’ Desperation shook that steady voice. ‘He wants her out of the way.’
‘Why would he want her out of the way?’
‘Because we are stronger together than we are apart and he wants to weaken us. Because my sister has an uncomfortable habit of speaking her mind and she becomes harder to control with each passing day. She is dreamy, passionate, and challenges everything. And Hassan hates to be challenged.’
‘And you don’t challenge him?’
‘I see no point in poking an angry dragon with a stick.’
‘And where is your sister now?’
‘I don’t know.’ There was fear and anxiety under the veneer of calm. ‘The horse galloped off. I’m scared she might have fallen and been injured. I’m scared Hassan’s men will find her before you do.’
Raz lifted an eyebrow. ‘That is almost inevitable since I’m not looking for her.’
‘But will you look for her? Once I’m your bride, will you also offer your protection to my sister?’
So that was why she was here, he thought.
She’d risked everything for love. Not romantic love, perhaps, but love all the same.
‘So to keep your sister with you, and protect Tazkhan, you would marry a stranger. That is the least romantic proposition I have ever heard.’
‘Possibly. But we’ve already established this is not about romance. You wouldn’t want that and neither would I.’
‘Why wouldn’t you?’
‘I am not a romantic person, Your Highness.’
That matter-of-fact statement might have been unremarkable had it come from someone several decades older than she was. Her eyes were dark, luminous pools of pain and he wondered how those eyes would look if she smiled.
‘You don’t believe there can be love between a man and a woman?’
‘Yes, I do believe there can be. Just not for me. I’m not like that. I don’t have those feelings. I’m a very practical person,’ she said with disarming honesty. ‘As you don’t want love either, I assume that won’t be an obstacle for you.’ She brushed it aside as easily as the desert winds shifted sand.
She had no idea, he thought. No idea that love was the most powerful force known to man. No idea how much havoc could be wrought by that emotion.
But he knew.
He’d been caught in the wake of devastation and still ached from his injuries.
‘You say that this is a political arrangement to secure the future of Tazkhan, but for a marriage to be legal and binding in our country it requires more than simply the exchange of vows and rings.’
Her spine was rigid and her eyes were fixed on the ground in front of him. ‘I am aware of that. It’s important that Hassan isn’t able to challenge our union so I’ve already familiarised myself with Tazkhan marriage laws.’
Raz found himself intrigued and exasperated in equal measures. ‘So you understand what marriage entails?’
‘You’re referring to the physical side and, yes, I understand that. I know it has to be a full and proper marriage. I accept that. It won’t be a problem.’ She’d dipped her head so that the folds of her robe almost obscured her features. ‘From what I’ve read, it shouldn’t be a problem for you, either. A man doesn’t need love in order to be able to perform the sexual act.’
‘Perform?’ Raz was torn between amusement and disbelief as he stared down at her. Under the protective folds of the robe she was shy, fragile and clueless. ‘What exactly have you been reading? Whatever it is, it sounds an unusual choice for a girl like you.’
‘I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.’
Not yet. The thought flew into his head and he stared at her for a long moment.
‘You are contemplating a lifetime with a man who cannot love you.’
‘But you will respect me.’ Lifting her head, she looked him directly in the eyes. ‘You will respect me for making the decision to do the right thing for Tazkhan. And that is all I need.’
Raz stared at her for a long moment.
Respect.
Was that really all she needed?
It sounded like very little, and yet right now he wasn’t sure he could deliver even that.
Feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like a thousand tons of sand, he turned and strode to the doorway of the tent. ‘I need air.’
* * *
I need air.
Layla sagged. She needed air, too. She couldn’t breathe. She was suffocating under the heavy fabric of the robes and the stifling heat in the tent and she was terrified she’d blown everything by mentioning his wife. And as for the rest of it—she’d never thought talking about sex could feel so uncomfortable. It was a natural act, performed by animals—of which man was one—since the dawn of time. Why a discussion on the topic should leave her hot and shaky she had no idea.
It was him.
There was something about him—a raw physicality that made her understand for the first time why women talked about him in dreamy tones.
Confused, exhausted and desperately worried about Yasmin, all Layla wanted was to strip off the robes she’d taken from her father’s rooms and lie down.
She looked longingly at the low bed covered in richly coloured silks that dominated the far side of the tent.
His bed?
Just for a moment she had an image of him lying there, strong limbs entwined with the beauty who had been his wife, sharing their love. The image shocked her. Apart from images of the sculptures of Michelangelo she’d never seen a man naked, so she had no reason to be imagining one now.
Her body ached from head to foot and she wanted to stretch her limbs and examine her bruises, but she was too afraid to move with the dogs guarding her.
She watched them as she carefully tried to ease herself into a different position.
The bag she’d tied under the robes pressed uncomfortably against her hip and she pulled out the two books she’d taken from the library. One was her favourite—a book she’d read so many times she almost knew it by heart. The other—
‘What is that?’ His voice came from the doorway of the tent and Layla jumped and dropped both books onto the thick rug that carpeted the floor of the tent.
‘Books. Just books. I brought them from home.’
Before she could snatch them back he stooped and picked one up. And of course it was that one.
There was a tense silence while he scanned the title of the volume. Dark eyebrows rose in incredulity. ‘The Kama Sutra?’
‘If I’m proposing marriage then it’s important I have some knowledge of what is required. There is no skill that cannot be mastered with sufficient studying. I’m ignorant, and in my experience ignorance is never bliss.’
She could hear the blood throbbing in her ears. She felt her mouth dry as if she had swallowed all the sand in the desert and her heart pounded like the hooves of the Arabian stallion who had thrown her onto the sand with such disdain.
His prolonged silence was more humiliating than a refusal and she was grateful for the semi-darkness of the tent that gave her at least some protection from his scrutiny.
Her expectations of this encounter had been modest. She hadn’t exactly expected him to embrace the idea of marriage with enthusiasm, but she’d thought he’d say something. She certainly hadn’t expected him to walk out of the tent.
But perhaps the thought of marrying her sickened him. Perhaps people were wrong and Raz Al Zahki wouldn’t do anything that needed to be done for his country. Perhaps even he wouldn’t stoop so low as to marry the daughter of the man who had destroyed his family.
Perhaps he didn’t want a woman whose knowledge of the world had been gained from the contents of her father’s library.
‘You’re not going to need this.’ He handed the book back to her and her face burned like the desert in the midday heat
Tears formed a hot burning ball in the back of her throat and she almost choked on it.
He was refusing to marry her.
‘I understand. In that case I need to try and find my sister myself, before Hassan does. He is at his most dangerous when he is angry and he will be very angry.’ She struggled to her feet, but her legs cramped from kneeling for so long in one position and she lost her balance.
He caught her and scooped her into his arms.
Afraid of being dropped to the ground for the second time in one day, Layla gripped his shoulders and her fingers dug into an unyielding layer of solid muscle.
In her day-to-day life at the palace she didn’t encounter men like him. Her father had surrounded himself with men like Hassan: men whose flesh was softened from inactivity, sycophants whose purpose in life was to indulge to the fullest.
She doubted Raz Al Zahki had ever overindulged in his life. He was lean, athletic, super-fit—and dangerous in every way.
As she turned her head, her eyes met the fierce black of his. Curiosity turned to fascination. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, now terrifyingly close to hers. Hassan’s mouth was full and fleshy, but this man’s lips were firm and perfectly shaped. His face was beauty blended with hardness. Hardness in the savage slash of his cheekbones and the lean line of his darkened jaw. Hardness in the grim set of his mouth and the glint in his eyes. And that hardness gave him an edge of danger. Even she, with no expertise or interest in men, could see why women might describe him as spectacularly handsome.
Something tightened deep in her stomach. Heat washed across her skin and poured through her veins.
They stared at each other and then his mouth compressed. He strode across the tent and lowered her onto the silken cover draped over the large bed, standing over her, powerful and imposing in every way.
‘Where does it hurt? Explain your injuries.’
That curt command jolted her out of her dreamy state of contemplation.
Layla told herself there was no reason to feel intimidated. He couldn’t help his height. He couldn’t help his powerful build. And she could hardly blame him for not smiling in the circumstances.
He’d asked about her injuries.
All the talk of romance and emotions had stressed her beyond belief, so the practical nature of his question soothed her. She preferred the definable to the indefinable and her injuries were definitely definable.
‘I ache all over, but particularly my legs, my back and my arms. I suspect it’s a mixture of stiffness from unaccustomed muscle use and bruising from the fall. Based on the symptoms, I don’t believe anything is broken.’
His eyes gleamed with irony. ‘Presumably you have studied medical texts along with Aristotle and the Kama Sutra? Your reading matter is diverse, Princess.’
She didn’t tell him she hadn’t even started the Kama Sutra. ‘I read a lot.’
‘You read. Your sister talks.’ He studied her for several long and deeply unsettling minutes. ‘Take the robe off.’
‘What?’ Feeling like a tiny mouse in the sights of a predatory eagle, Layla stared at him. ‘Why?’
‘Because I want to assess the state of your injuries for myself.’
‘I don’t have any injuries,’ she said quickly. ‘Truly, it’s just muscular. Superficial. Nothing for you to worry about but I appreciate your concern.’ She’d been desperate to be out of the robes, but now she was equally desperate to keep them on. The thought of removing them in front of this man unsettled her.
With a sigh he sat down on the bed, his thigh brushing briefly against hers. ‘You say you want marriage and yet you’re afraid even to remove your robe in my presence? Are you proposing that once we’re married we go to bed fully clothed?’
‘No, of course not. That’s different.’
‘How is it different?’
He was testing her. He thought she couldn’t do it.
Desperation blew away modesty. If he refused to marry her she would never see Yasmin again.
‘I will be fine. I will take the responsibilities that come with the role very seriously.’
‘Responsibilities?’
‘Physical intimacy is one of the responsibilities of a wife. I understand that. I understand exactly what is involved.’
‘Are you sure?’ Those dark eyes swept her face with disturbing intensity. ‘How much of the Kama Sutra have you read, Princess?’
If she said she’d read the whole thing cover to cover would he marry her?
Layla opened her mouth and then closed it again, because she knew her skills at lying were on a par with her horse-riding abilities. ‘Not much.’ She hoped honesty wasn’t going to kill her future. ‘In fact just the title so far. But I’m a fast reader,’ she added quickly, afraid that her lack of knowledge might put him off. ‘And you have experience.’
For some reason just saying that made her body warm.
Because looking at his face made her feel hot and uncomfortable she stared instead at his hands, but for some reason that didn’t make her feel any better. She felt as if she’d had a shot of adrenaline straight into the heart.
‘You are reluctant to take off your robe,’ he said softly, ‘but once we’re married you are going to be naked when you share my bed.’
Layla felt her stomach curl. Everything inside her twisted and heated. She felt dizzy and strange.
Nerves, she thought. ‘Does this mean you’re agreeing to my suggestion?’
Without warning he lifted a powerful hand and pushed back the swath of fabric covering her head. His handsome face was taut and unsmiling, as if he were weighing up a decision of enormous importance.
Layla tried not to flinch even though the gentle brush of those strong fingers against her cheeks made everything inside her clench. She told herself he had every right to look at the woman he might marry.
Was he looking to see if she were as beautiful as his wife? Or was he deciding if he could look upon her every day and not see the face of her father and Hassan and think of the destruction they’d caused in his life.
He continued to look, his gaze disturbingly intense as his fingers trailed slowly over her cheek.
She knew her face was flushed. She could feel the heat and knew he would be able to feel it, too, with those fingers that seemed in no hurry to cease their exploration of her skin.
Her heart started to pound.
The seconds passed and a minute became two minutes and longer.
His forefinger traced the line of her jaw.
His eyes dropped to her mouth.
Layla was rigid with discomfort. She had no idea of the correct etiquette in this situation. Was she supposed to do something? Say something? Was it some sort of test?
She remembered Yasmin telling her that his wife had been stunningly beautiful.
Was this all about comparison?
When he spoke, there was something in his tone she couldn’t identify. ‘You are brave.’
Torn between relief that there was at least one thing about her he liked and disappointment that such close examination hadn’t uncovered anything else to commend her, Layla felt obliged to tell the truth. ‘I’m not very brave. I ran away from the palace.’
‘And you ran to me and offered me everything, even though deep down the thought of it frightens you.’
‘I’m not frightened.’
‘So far I believe you have been honest with me. I advise you not to change that.’
She hesitated. ‘I don’t think you’ll hurt me.’
His eyes darkened. ‘I will inevitably hurt you—as you would know if you’d read the book.’
Was he talking physically? Out of her depth in a conversation that felt like a swim in boiling oil, Layla had never felt more mortified in her life. ‘If there is pain then I’ll bear it.’
‘You seem determined to pursue this course, but what you are proposing will tie us together for a lifetime, so I urge you to think carefully and be sure this is what you want.’
‘That’s why I came to you and suggested it.’ Surely the facts spoke for themselves? Why did he keep asking her? ‘The alternative is being tied to Hassan for a lifetime and you must see that lacks appeal for so many reasons.’
There was a glimmer of something in his eyes. It might have been admiration or it might have been pity or even humour.
‘You have strength and honesty and I respect those traits. If respect is truly all you need from a relationship then I can promise you that. It will be done.’ He rose to his feet, sure and confident and very much the one in control. ‘I will send Salem to find your sister and instruct him to bring her here. I agree that there is no time to lose, so you and I will be married within the hour. I will send someone to help you prepare. Oh, and princess...’ He paused by the entrance to the tent, his eyes a wicked shade of black. ‘You have no need of that book. When the time comes I will teach you what you need to know.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘I AM TO search for a princess who talks too much? What sort of a description is that? Every woman I know talks too much.’ Salem sat relaxed on his horse, a look of incredulity on his handsome face as he looked at his brother. ‘If the stallion she stole is the one we think it is, he was bred for speed and endurance. He could have carried her for miles. She could be anywhere. Or lying dead somewhere in the desert.’
‘The fact that she talks too much should make her all the easier to find and we both know that with your abilities you can track anyone.’ Raz rode alongside him, controlling a horse who snorted and pawed at the sand, yearning for speed. ‘Be careful. Hassan will be looking for her and the horse. And also for you.’
‘And for you. You should not be asking me to leave you at this time.’
‘I’m not asking you. I’m giving you an order.’
‘Is it true that you are going to marry the Princess tonight?’
Salem’s voice was soft and Raz kept his hand steady as he soothed the horse.
‘It is the right thing to do. The only thing.’
‘It may be the right thing for Tazkhan, but is it right for you?’
Raz ignored the question. ‘You will do everything in your power to find the younger sister.’
‘You vowed never to marry again.’
No one but his brother would have dared make such a personal remark and the words were like the sharp flick of a whip.
‘There is more than one type of marriage. This will be a marriage of the head, not of the heart.’
‘And the Princess?’ There was a creak of leather as Salem shifted his position in the saddle. ‘She’s young. Is that the life she wants?’
‘She claims that it is.’
‘Does she know about—?’
‘No.’ Raz interrupted him before he could finish the sentence. ‘But she understands exactly what I am able to offer her.’
‘And you trust her? You can live with her, knowing who she is?’
‘I will learn to live with her.’ He blocked thoughts of her heritage and instead thought of her sitting huddled on his bed, gripping the oversized robe in clenched hands. He thought of the book she’d chosen to bring from the library to equip her for her new role. Thought of the courage it must have taken to come to him. ‘She has very little life experience.’
‘Whereas you have decades too much. You’re not an easy man to know, Raz—are you being fair to her?’
‘I will endeavour to be as fair as possible.’ Frowning, Raz released his hold on the reins and urged the stallion forward. ‘You’re wasting time. The key to my bride’s happiness will be finding her sister safe and well. Make that happen.’
Salem rode away from him. ‘Just watch your back, brother.’
* * *
‘His Highness instructed us to bring you clothes.’ The girl dropped a dress on the bed. Resentment and animosity throbbed from her and it was obvious she wished she had not been the one chosen for the task.
‘Thank you.’ Having washed away the dust from her fall in the water that had been hastily provided, Layla stared at the exquisite fall of silk, caught at the waist with a silver belt. ‘I didn’t expect a dress.’ Especially not a dress like this one. A romantic dress. Where had he found it?
She remembered his comment about romance and felt a flash of panic that Raz Al Zahki would think she was secretly nurturing dreams about their relationship, and then remembered that he was the last person to encourage such a delusion.
He didn’t want this any more than she did.
‘You cannot marry His Highness in dusty robes that swamp you. You have to look your best on your wedding day.’ There was censorship in her tone and something else. Jealousy?
Feeling desperately alone, Layla missed her sister more than ever. She suppressed the urge to point out there was no reason for anyone to feel jealous. That this marriage was driven by loyalty to his country and no other emotion.
Surely it was obvious?
‘The Sheikh and I met for the first time a few hours ago.’
‘But you have been chosen as the one to warm his bed and his heart.’ The girl removed the bowl of water that she’d placed by Layla’s feet. ‘You carry a big responsibility.’
The words did nothing to ease the churning in her stomach. Layla knew she’d warm the bed simply by lying in it, but she also knew that wasn’t what the girl meant. She did not feel it appropriate to point out the absurdity of being chosen to warm his heart when his heart was in his thoracic cavity and more than capable of maintaining its own temperature. No, what the girl was really pointing out was that she was filling the gap left by his wife. Suddenly Layla realised that it was all very well to speak blithely of a different sort of marriage but in the end this union was about a man and a woman spending their lives together, and she had no idea if he would even be able to treat her with civility, given everything that had happened.
But what difference did it make? Her alternative was marriage to Hassan and nothing could be worse.
Rationalising that, Layla only half listened as the girl braided her hair and continued to praise Raz in terms close to hero-worship. She was aware of the worsening throb in her head and the steady gnawing of anxiety about her sister. And beneath all that there was anxiety about herself. About what lay ahead. About him.
It was all very well to state bravely that this was what she wanted. Quite another thing to contemplate the reality.
I will inevitably hurt you—as you would know if you’d read the book.
‘The book’ was safely tucked away in her bag, along with the other book she’d smuggled out of the Citadel. Raz had told her she didn’t need to read it but she couldn’t think of anything worse than relying entirely on someone else for information.
She wished she could have time alone to study it before the wedding, but there seemed to be no chance of that and she couldn’t argue with his decision to proceed as quickly as possible.
Hassan would be out looking for her. And for Yasmin.
She winced as the girl’s fingers encountered a fresh bruise.
‘His Highness told me you fell from your horse. It’s a shame that you can’t ride because he is a magnificent horseman.’
The implication being that he couldn’t have picked a worse match in her.
Her confidence plummeting as each of Raz’s qualities was revealed, Layla sank into gloom. She was starting to wonder if this might not have been the worst idea of her life.
And then she heard noise from outside the tent and sat up, clutching the towel, terrified that Hassan might have found them. ‘Who is that?’
‘The wedding guests. A Bedouin wedding gives everyone a chance to dress up and celebrate. Word has spread that His Royal Highness Raz Al Zahki is to marry Her Royal Highness Princess Layla of Tazkhan.’ There was a brittle note to her tone. ‘Even though it is short notice, he wants as many of the local people here as possible. It’s important that it is witnessed.’
He wanted rumour spread. He wanted Hassan to hear and be afraid.
‘Even when I’m married to Raz Al Zahki, Hassan is unlikely to step aside.’
‘His Highness will know what to do.’
Layla was surprised by how much faith people seemed to have in him. She was used to living in an atmosphere of negativity and resentment, not of trust.
Nothing about this new life seemed familiar, and certainly not the dress.
She had never worn anything so beautiful. Her hair, now shiny and clean, was concealed by a veil and her eyes had been accentuated by kohl. The shiny gloss the girl applied to her mouth felt sticky and strange and Layla felt utterly unlike herself.
Any hopes she’d had of being able to sneak a look at the Kama Sutra died as she was immediately led outside. It seemed that she and Raz Al Zahki agreed on at least one thing, and that was that the marriage should take place as fast as possible.
And clearly he had also decided that there should be as many witnesses as possible, because a surprising number of people had poured into the desert camp in the time it had taken her to wash and change.
The wedding itself was a blur, conducted with an urgency driven not by feelings of sentimentality but by the knowledge that any delay could give Hassan an advantage.
Layla kept her gaze focused ahead of her, aware of what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes fixed on her—some curious, others with unconcealed hostility.
And all the time she was aware of Raz next to her, tall and powerful, doing his duty for the good of his people, his own personal wishes set aside.
The event held no emotional meaning for either of them, but they stood side by side, spoke the words required of them, and Layla felt a rush of relief that came from the knowledge that no matter what happened now Hassan couldn’t make her his wife.
As Raz turned towards her relief was washed away by reality.
She was now living in the enemy camp with a man who had no reason to feel anything but animosity and contempt for her.
The fact that this was a marriage of expediency didn’t seem to bother the guests, who danced and celebrated until Layla was almost dropping with exhaustion.
And he noticed, of course, because it seemed he noticed everything—from the slightest change in the wind’s direction to a child who had wandered off unattended.
‘Come.’
Just a single word, but delivered with such authority that it didn’t occur to her to contradict him. Or maybe it was that she was too preoccupied with what lay ahead.
She hoped the physical side of their relationship didn’t require too much input from her because she was fairly sure she was going to fall asleep the moment she lay flat.
They were halfway towards the tent when there was a sound in the distance. She heard horses and shouts and Raz tightened his hand over hers and hauled her close to his side. Moments later two men she recognised from her arrival at the camp galloped up with the Sheikh’s stallion—that same huge black beast that had become as much of a legend as its master.
Layla strained her ears to catch what they were saying and then gasped as firm hands grasped her and swung her onto the back of the animal. Less than thrilled at being back on a horse so soon after her last experience, she clutched at the stallion’s mane feeling unbalanced and horribly unsafe.
Moments later Raz vaulted on behind her and locked his arm around her waist.
‘I’m sorry to do this to you when you’re still bruised after your last encounter with a horse, but Hassan has discovered your absence.’ His mouth was right by her ear. ‘Right now he is doing everything in his power to find you. It isn’t safe to stay. We must move on.’
‘But now that we’re married—’
‘That does not make it safe. No matter what circumstances led to our marriage, you are mine now and I will protect you. You have my word on that.’
Layla heard the steel in his voice and wondered if he were thinking of his wife.
Did he blame himself for not preventing the accident that had killed her?
Had she given him yet more responsibility to add to the load he already carried?
‘Could we use a different mode of transport? I’ll slow you down. I can’t ride.’
‘I am the one doing the riding. You are merely the passenger.’
‘I’ll fall off.’ She glanced down and then wished she hadn’t. It was a long way to the ground. The stallion was enormous and she felt the power of him beneath her, felt the quivering suppressed energy, and remembered how the horse Yasmin had taken from her father’s stables had shot forward like an arrow from a bow, leaving her in an aching heap on the sand.
His arm tightened around her. ‘I will not let you fall.’
‘Can’t we use a helicopter or a Jeep or something?’
‘One of my men is flying the helicopter and another is taking a Jeep to provide a decoy. They will not expect us to be on horseback. It is the safest way.’
Thinking that he had a very different idea of the definition of ‘safe’, Layla gripped tightly with her legs and felt the warm flanks of the quivering horse pressing against her bare thighs. ‘I’m not dressed for this.’
Even as she said the words a cloak was wrapped around her and he said something to someone close by.
‘There is no time to change. You will be fine. Trust me.’
Layla was about to point out that she didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her, but the horse sprang forward and she squeezed her eyes shut.
‘Is it wise to ride at night?’
‘No. Which is why Hassan will not look for us on horseback.’
‘Is that supposed to be comforting?’ She thought she heard him laugh but decided it must have been the wind, because who could find such a dangerous situation amusing?
‘I know this area as well as you know the palace. We are following the stars and the riverbed. Now, relax and go with the rhythm of the horse. You are very tense and that will make the whole thing more uncomfortable,’
Go with the rhythm of the horse...
She told herself that last time she hadn’t had a skilled rider in control or a strong male arm wrapped around her.
‘Pull the scarf across your mouth.’
She released her rigid grip on the horse’s mane to do as he instructed.
She wanted to ask where they were going, but knew the question was not only superfluous but also potentially hazardous because the hooves of the horses sent sand flying into the air and she only had a thin layer of scarf protecting her. So she kept her mouth closed and tried to remember what she’d read about riding, and then realised it didn’t matter because he knew and was driving the horse forward, controlling the animal with one hand on the reins while the other remained firmly locked around her waist.
She was aware of the dull thud of hooves on sand, of the feel of Raz’s thighs pressed hard against hers and the brush of the cool night air on her face. A sensation tore through her that she didn’t recognise and it took her a few moments to realise it was exhilaration. With the responsibility for controlling the horse in someone else’s hands, the ride on the back of this powerful animal was the most exciting, breathtaking experience of her life. In her restricted, regimented life this was the closest she’d ever come to freedom, and it felt so good she smiled behind the protective covering of the scarf. She couldn’t remember when she’d last smiled, but she was smiling now as each pounding stride of the horse took her further away from Hassan. It felt like the end of something—and then she remembered that Hassan was unlikely to give up that easily.
And Yasmin was out in the desert alone and lost.
Her smile faded.
She hoped Salem’s knowledge of the desert was as good as it was reputed to be and that he’d find her sister quickly.
They rode for several hours, until time blurred and sleep overcame her. Several times she was jarred awake as her head hit his shoulder, and eventually he shifted position to give her somewhere to rest her head.
‘Sleep, Princess.’
And she did, because her body gave her no choice, exhausted by the exertions of the past twenty-four hours. Her last coherent thought before her brain shut down was that sleeping against his chest like this was the safest she’d felt in her life.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE WAS SNUGGLED against him, lulled to sleep by the movement of the horse.
The closeness of her disturbed him as much as the realisation that she was nothing like he’d imagined her to be when people had spoken her name. He’d visualised someone pampered and privileged. Someone spoiled and entitled. When he’d first seen her in his tent he’d assumed she was an opportunist, switching sides to protect herself before the inevitable shift in power.
At some point from her arrival in the camp to her falling asleep against him his view on her had become clouded, and now he was forced to admit he didn’t know what he was dealing with.
Dawn rose over the desert, and in the distance he saw the familiar shape of trees and tents clustered around the small, lush oasis that marked one of his favourite places on earth.
His heart clenched as it always did when he arrived here.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought her, but what choice did he have?
Alerted to their presence, people emerged from tents. The rising sun glinted off the dunes and Raz brought his horse to a halt.
‘Princess?’ He spoke the word softly and she stirred against him, her hand locked on the sleeve of his robe.
Raz looked down at that hand. Her fingers were slender and he realised this was the first time he’d seen any part of her other than her face. ‘Layla!’ He used her name for the first time and she came awake with a start, her eyes blurred with sleep as she tried to focus and orientate herself.
‘I fell asleep?’
‘For several hours.’ He held the stallion steady and then dismounted in a smooth movement. ‘Swing your leg over the saddle and I’ll help you down.’
She did it without fuss, but the moment her feet touched the ground she winced and gripped the horse for balance. They’d ridden for hours and she was already aching and bruised from her ride from the Citadel. He knew virtually nothing about her but suspected only dire need would drive her to steady herself against his horse.
The stallion gave a snort of disapproval and threw up its head in disgust.
Raz put his hand on his horse’s neck and spoke calmly. ‘Your muscles will soon become accustomed to riding.’
‘I’m fine, really.’
‘You are hoping never to see another horse in your life,’ he said dryly, ‘but horses are an essential part of my life. I own several stud farms. Two in the US, one in England and one here in Tazkhan.’

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