Sarah Morgan - Lost to the Desert Warrior

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.