Desert Wind Read online

  “Semantics,” she said, and smoothed his hair. She wondered why she could not stop herself from touching him.

  “Ever since I got here, I’ve been trying to find a way to get my men out of this gracefully and with as little bloodshed as possible.” He frowned, closing his eyes again. “Such did not happen on the Plains of Kashshapta yesterday.”

  “Had you camped farther south in the caves at Vladjor, there would have been no problems,” she said.

  “Why is that?”

  “The caves there are part of the fortification system built along the old trade routes. The hills are studded with such fortresses carved out of the scarp and were built as resting places for the tribes. Unfortunately for you, you entered sacred ground instead.”

  “One more day and we would have been to the coast and none of this would have happened,” he told her.

  “Why were you going toward the coast? What is there?”

  “Asaraban ships.”

  Sitara’s hands stilled. “You have been retreating?”

  “Not so much retreating as recovering ground on our way back home,” he offered.

  “That is why you did not take your men to the capital,” she said.

  “My people have no business being here,” he said. “We should not have invaded your lands in the first place and once I am sultan, I will see to it those who were taken to Asaraba are returned to Kishnu.”

  “Do you believe your senate will allow that, milord?” she asked.

  “My father,” he said. “My sultan has ruled our lands with an iron hand since long before I was born. His father before him was little different and his father before him was a despot of the highest order. Their desire to conquer, to dominate the world has left a bad taste in the mouths of our people. Many a woman has lost her husband to these insane invasions. Many a father has lost his sons—those who would have carried on the family name and occupation—to the compulsory military service. Our people are tired of war.”

  “Many Kishnu were taken to Asaraba to man the factories. If you send them back—”

  “The factories they man are those that make weapons for war,” Ardalan interrupted her. “Without war, you have no need for weapons. Without a need for weapons, there is no need for those factories.”

  Sitara worked her fingers beneath his head to his neck and frowned at the tight muscles she found there. “Relax, milord,” she said softly. “It will help the headache.”

  “I have lost too many men,” he said as though he hadn’t heard her. “I don’t want to lose any more.”

  “But even if you take your men and leave, will not your sultan simply send them back again since you did not take the capital?” she inquired. “Wasn’t that his intent in the first place?”

  “We don’t have enough men to take the capital, milady,” he told her. “We lost over a thousand men yesterday. It will take time to conscript new recruits, to train and equip them. Hopefully by then I will have overthrown my father and taken control of the empire.”

  A shiver of dread passed down Sitara’s spine. “You are speaking of insurgency,” she said. “Is that not an executable crime in your country?”

  “If I lose,” he said, “my father will take great delight in seeing me hanged, perhaps even drawn and quartered thrown into the bargain to amuse him the more.” He reached up to wrap his fingers around her wrist. “I have no intention of losing, milady.”

  “But will your people support you?” she asked, not understanding the great fear she felt for this man. “Especially if you bring one such as I home as your legal wife?”

  His fingers tightened on her wrist. “Such as you,” he said. “What does that mean?”

  She lifted her arm so that their hands were level with his eyes. “Do you see a difference in my skin and yours?” she asked.

  He opened his eyes and sighed. “You are darker than me, if that is what you mean, but unless you are completely different beneath that beautiful exterior, you have the same organs I have—with the exception of a few female additions—so basically we are the same.” He closed his eyes.

  “Don’t you think your people will see the differences you are ignoring?”

  “If they do, it won’t matter,” he said. “Until the day they are capable of living my life for me, I’ll live it the way I choose.”

  “And what of the woman your father wishes for you to marry?” she asked.

  “Adala?” He snorted. “I’d rather attach myself to a diseased antelope than take her to my bosom.”

  “You don’t like her much, do you?”

  “I despise her,” he said through clenched teeth. “You will too when you meet her.”

  Sitara bit her lip for she had no intention of ever meeting the Princess Adala just as she had no intention of leaving Kishnu with this man—no matter how sensual and intriguing she found him. She knew he would grow to hate her because of their differences and she did not think she could bear seeing such a look in his eyes. Despite the pull of destiny she felt as she touched him, she knew she would have to fight both the attraction and the whisper of fate linking the two of them together.

  Tarik arrived at that moment, bowing slightly as he extended a steaming cup of tea toward Sitara. “I hope this is as strong as you desired, Your Grace,” he said.

  Sitara took the cup and lowered it to Ardalan’s lips. “Drink this as quickly as the heat will allow. It will help the pain.”

  The rosemary was pungent, spicy, but he could smell the bitterness of the vervain hidden within the brew. He wrinkled his nose. “Do I have to?”

  “Aye, you have to,” Sitara said, smiling up at Tarik. “He can be a little boy at times, can he not?”

  “Most of us are that way, Your Grace,” Tarik told her.

  Cautiously sipping the tea, Ardalan winced for the taste was as awful as he feared it would be. Nevertheless, he downed it all, the heat singing his mouth.

  “That’s a good little prince,” Sitara complimented him as she returned the cup to Tarik. “Please prepare another infusion in about an hour, Kiyan.”

  “Ugh,” Ardalan said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m liable to sprout roots with all that crap in my system.”

  “Behave and lie quietly to let the brew work,” Sitara ordered him.

  With her fingertips once more on his temples, Ardalan relaxed, his arms to his side, and allowed her to massage the pounding headache that was sending jolts of agony through his head.

  “What do you think your father will say to that pompous…?” He twisted his neck so he could look up at her. “What was his name again?”

  “Who?”

  “The bastard who came here with his stupid smirk.”

  “Prince Sahan,” she replied, trying not to grin at the prince’s words.

  “Why do you think he didn’t tell me you two were betrothed?”

  “He would not have made such a statement even if it had occurred to him to do so,” she answered. “We have been betrothed since birth. He takes the matter for granted as I have been forced to do.”

  “Do you have feelings for him other than fear?” he inquired.

  Sitara’s brows drew together. “Why would you think I fear him?”

  “Because you do,” he answered. “I saw it on your face, sweet one, when you heard his voice and, in my experience, you did not greet him as a betrothed would.”

  “I hardly know him,” she said. “And everyone fears Prince Sahan. He is not a gentle man.”

  “Good thing you won’t be shackled to him then, huh?” When she remained silent, he reached up to tug at her hand. “So what will your father say to my demand for your hand?”

  “He will not be pleased you made such an offer,” she said. “You are an infidel.”

  “It wasn’t an offer, milady,” he reminded her. “It was a demand.”

  “He won’t be pleased you made the demand,” she amended.

  “But he will accede to it.”

  Sitara nodded. “Aye, he wi
ll, for he has no desire to attend my funeral.”

  “You are his eldest daughter?”

  “That I am.”

  “And much loved by him?”

  “And by my mother whom he would not want to see grieving for her child.” She cocked one shoulder. “Besides, she can be very formidable when riled, and he tries to avoid her ire at all costs.”

  “So he will give you to me.”

  “He will.”

  “And that will be that.”

  “No, milord. You underestimate your enemy,” she said. “He may give me to you, but he’ll do everything in his power to keep you from taking me from Kishnu.”

  “He can try. What is mine, I keep.”

  She studied him for a moment. “You are using me as leverage to leave Kishnu. When you have accomplished that, you will discard me.”

  Ardalan blinked. “Is that all you think I am doing?”

  “Aye,” she replied. “I am your hostage, nothing more.”

  Chapter Five

  Ardalan was unaccustomed with women who did not throw themselves at his feet. Even Adala—in her own twisted, warped manner to his way of thinking—had offered herself to him numerous times in an attempt to compromise him and make their betrothal a done deal. To have a woman make it clear to him she did not wish to be with him hurt his pride.

  “Why would you think that?” he asked. “Do I frighten you that much?”

  Sitara smiled at the look of deflated ego on his handsome face. “You don’t frighten me at all, milord. I just have no desire to leave my world.”

  He was glaring up at the ceiling. “You’d rather be a piece of chattel to that ugly Sahan than a cherished bride of mine,” he stated from between clenched teeth. His alpha maleness was asserting itself in abundance.

  “One of many brides I would imagine,” she responded. “Asaraban ways are not Kishnu ways. Our unions are monogamous and for life.”

  “What makes you think I would take more wives?” he countered.

  “Although Sahan does not know the Asaraban tongue, I do,” she told him. “You reminded Captain Halim that you were permitted more than one wife under the laws of your Prophet. If I remember my school days, you can have up to four.”

  Ardalan flinched. “Aye, well, that was to soothe Halim. He can be like an old fishwife at times,” he said. “And certainly what I said to him isn’t written in stone. One wife is more than most men need.”

  She smoothed his lush hair. “You would forego numerous wives for just one?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe that, milord.”

  He moved, coming to his knees in front of her so quickly she gasped, her eyes going wide. When he took her upper arms in his hard hands, she could not stop the wince caused by his closeness and strength.

  “If I could live my life without a wife, I would,” he said, “but as sultan of my people, I must eventually marry and provide heirs for the throne. I am attracted to you and—”

  “You are making the assumption that I am capable of breeding,” she said. “Children of our union would be muwallad, of mixed blood, and your people would never permit such an offspring to sit the throne of Asaraba.”

  “They would if I decree it so, and I would,” he said.

  “You could decree it all you like,” she said, her eyes flashing fire. “But you cannot decree your people love—or respect—your children or their mother. Do you not see the inherent problems in taking a Kishnu woman to wife? Asarabans believe us of a lower caste—”

  “Don’t say it,” he said. “I hate the notion of castes.”

  “That may be true, but your people have long thought of us as inferior. They have their prejudices against us, though few of them have ever taken the time to get to know us or our way of life.”

  He stared into her face for a long moment then slowly nodded. “It is you who is the prejudiced one here,” he said quietly. “You have no desire to mate with a Pale One.”

  Sitara jerked out of his hold. “It is not I who has such prejudices,” she snapped. “My people are taught that all Raishu’s children are sacred in His eyes, no matter the color of their skin. Ours is a religion based upon tolerance, love and understanding.” Her gaze narrowed dangerously. “Your religion is—”

  “My religion does not define me,” Ardalan cut in.

  “It defines your people,” she argued. “They look down on the people of my race because our flesh is dark, our hair wiry and our noses broader than their own. To them, we are substandard and good for nothing save slave labor.”

  They were kneeling there on the pallet facing one another when Halim came back to tell them Prince Sahan had returned. For a moment neither moved, but then Ardalan sat back on his haunches. “That was a quick trip,” he said.

  “The hills around us are ringed with men,” Halim said. “I saw which way he rode and it was to a group of men carrying long blue and white banners with the royal seal painted upon them.”

  “My father is here,” Sitara acknowledged. “Those are his personal tankas.” At Ardalan’s frown, she told him the word meant banners.

  “That says something for the force of his troops that he would venture beyond the walls of his palace,” Halim said.

  “It also says the men we had stationed there to keep him in have met their fate,” Ardalan said in a defeated voice.

  “Shall I send the prince in to you?” Halim asked.

  Ardalan held Sitara’s gaze. He thought he saw fear in her beautiful dark eyes and he did not miss the slight tremor upon her lips. “Aye,” he said. “Send him to me.”

  Halim bowed slightly then turned to go.

  “Let Prince Sahan take me back with him to my father,” Sitara asked. “I will speak with my father and make him understand you did not know these caves were sacred. I will tell him you have no other desire than to be allowed to return your men to Asaraba.”

  A slow, tired smile stretched Ardalan’s lips. “If I were to allow you to leave with your prince, your father’s troops would descend on these caves and tear my men to shreds.”

  Sitara shook her head in denial. “They will not venture into these sacred caves after you.”

  “No?” he asked. “Then they’ll just wait us out until we slowly starve to death here. Is that a better assessment of the situation?”

  “I don’t believe for one moment you would allow your men to stay hidden inside the caves,” she replied. “You would have them engage my father’s men in combat until there are none of you left.” She held a hand out to him. “I am offering you a way to save the lives of your soldiers.”

  “How kind of you,” he said in an ice-cold tone, “but I’ll pass on your offer.” He said the word as though it offended him.

  Sitara lowered her hand and her head.

  Prince Sahan came strutting into the room as though he owned it. His dark scrutiny flicked across Sitara then settled on Ardalan with contempt. “His highness has agreed to your terms, although he bids me tell you he does so under duress. He will not allow his warriors to attack you on Kishnu land, but he wishes for me to make his assessment of the situation clear to you. His highness believes to use a woman as a shield is dishonorable and he wishes you to know he has no respect for you. Additionally, you are not of our faith so therefore you are not entitled to the bride’s dowry and will not receive one.”

  Halim’s hand went to the dagger at his waist but Ardalan held up his hand to stay the captain’s. “What your maharaja thinks of me makes no difference and I don’t need her damned dowry. As for respect, you may tell him I have no respect for a man who would force his daughter to join with a male who cares so little for her he cannot be bothered to fight for her honor.”

  Sitara lifted her head. Her hands were clenched into fists on her knees and when she glanced at Sahan, she could see her fellow Kishnu was struggling to control his temper. Sahan was a man her people regarded as the future maharaja of Kishnu since Sitara’s father had no sons to carry on his lineage. In marrying Sitara, Sahan wo
uld assume control of the country. If the marriage did not take place, Sahan would be asked to take Vinata, the next daughter in line.

  Sahan’s cold smile did not reach the burning heat of his gaze. He stood there rigidly, his backbone straight, shoulders back and looked down his long nose at Ardalan who was still kneeling on the cave floor.

  “It is good you are on your knees to me, Pale One,” Sahan said. “When I am maharaja, I will hunt you down and you will crawl to me on your belly like the worm you are before I throw you to my tigers for their amusement!”

  Ardalan got to his feet slowly, his glower never leaving Sahan’s dark face. “Go back to your maharaja and have someone else return here with one of your holy men to perform the ceremony,” he ordered in a low, deadly voice. “If you come back, you won’t live to leave again. When Sitara is legally mine, remove your men from the hills and allow us to pass through to the coast unscathed. If even one of my men is attacked, the princess will not live to see the next dawn.”

  Sahan flicked his stare to Sitara, held her gaze for a moment, then turned his back on the Asaraban prince and walked away with his head high. Halim—frowning and with his hand still on his dagger—left with him.

  “You have made a vicious enemy of Sahan,” Sitara warned. “He will make good on his promise to come after you.”

  “Let him,” Ardalan said. He walked over to her and held out his hand. “You know I have no intention of allowing any hurt to come to you, don’t you?”

  “Aye, but this is a dangerous game you have set into motion, Jaleem,” she told him.

  “Perhaps, but I’ll see it to its end.”

  Sitara sighed and reached out to take his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. She was unprepared for him to pull her into the circle of his arms. For a brief moment she was stiff as she stood there held against him then she relaxed, laying her cheek and the palm of her right hand to his broad chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart, feel the slight dampness of his bare skin through his garment, and inhaled a natural manly scent that was playing hell with her libido. Not once in all the time she’d known Sahan had he ever held so much as her hand. No other male—save her father—had ever held her in his arms, and it was a heady experience that set her heart to pounding and her blood to racing.