Hot Sahara Wind Read online

  HOT SAHARA WIND

  by

  Emma Wildes

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright ©2006 by Katherine Smith

  ISBN 1-59374-671-7

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Jinger Heaston

  Editor: Giovanna Lagana

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Marianne Muggenburg, with respect for her deep love of reading and escapist soul.

  Chapter 1

  The walls of the dusty, dark cell fairly radiated the despair of those unfortunates who had occupied it in the past. Tiny, with nothing but one high slit for ventilation that let in a little light, it had a dirty stone floor and a small pallet with a very questionable-looking blanket.

  Feeling rather unfortunate herself, Lady Sarah Stewart attempted to pace, though the space was actually too small to do much other than take a few steps and turn around, her silken skirts brushing the filthy floor. This morning, she thought in disbelief over her current circumstances, she had eaten breakfast in bed, bathed in scented water, and had a maid to wait on her hand and foot as she selected a gown and dressed for her outing in the teeming, exotic city. The contrast between her luxurious hotel room and the appalling quarters she was incarcerated in now was almost overwhelming, especially since she had no idea why she had been brought there in the first place. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed, but there was no doubt the horrid interior was growing dimmer, which meant she'd been there for hours and hours.

  Please God, she prayed, a warm tear trickling down her cheek, her throat tight, do not let me have to spend the night in this place.

  As if in answer, the scrape of a key made her whirl gratefully, the hinges squealing as the protesting door swung open. A guard stood there, looking completely impassive, his gleaming sword nearly touching the floor. At any other time, she would have thought his colorful uniform of tunic and turban to be fascinating, another indication she was in a completely different part of the world than her native England, but right now, it simply terrified her. He indicated she should step out, and she did so gladly, guessing from his gesture that he wanted her to precede him down the narrow, dank hallway. Since anything seemed better than being locked away, Sarah complied, making fists of her trembling hands as she walked down the uneven corridor and climbed the stairs at the end.

  After a veritable maze of similar hallways, she was taken to a large square room that actually had a series of high windows letting in the brilliance of the dying sunset. There were at least ten people in the room, all of which turned to stare at her upon her entrance. Most of them were like the men who had seized her while she toured an ancient mosque, robed, dark, and bearded, their openly hostile expressions making her catch her breath. Seated in chairs by a long low table, they appeared to be waiting for something.

  "Lady Sarah.” The only person in the room dressed in a more western style was a slender, fine-boned elderly man who came toward her at once and gave her a courtly bow. “I am Robert Tulane, the English Consul here."

  "Where is my aunt?” she asked, that agonizing question foremost in her mind.

  "Here, also being held.” Grave pale blue eyes surveyed her undoubtedly disheveled appearance. “Prince Ahmed sent word of your plight as soon as he was contacted. I have been here for hours, trying to help you both. But there are ... difficulties."

  To say she was grateful that her captors had understood her pleading insistence of a friendship with their exalted royal family was such a relief that her knees nearly buckled. Her grasp of the local dialect was poor and she wasn't sure they had paid the least attention. “Thank you,” she whispered, fighting the need to collapse in a weeping fit on the floor. “But what exactly is my plight? I don't understand what happened. One moment my aunt and I were with a hired guide, exploring the city, and the next, they were dragging us away. We did nothing."

  Mr. Tulane shook his head slightly. “That was not a guide, my Lady. This is a different world, in some ways very civilized, but in others not at all. He is a wanted man, a trader in human flesh, a predator that steals young women and sells them, no doubt drawn by your unusual blond beauty. I suspect when he realized the guards had spotted him, he took you into the sacred temple on purpose, to distract them.” His smile was brief. “Unfortunately, it worked and he escaped."

  "He wanted to kidnap me?” The day had been too much and she felt ill, remembering the way he had looked at her now in a different light.

  "And instead, he condemned you. No one but the royal family is allowed in the temple. On the penalty, I'm afraid, of death."

  Not quite certain she had heard correctly, Sarah stared.

  The consul didn't flinch, but there was a certain chilling resignation in his eyes. “The fact you didn't know your crime does not matter to these men.” He inclined his head toward the group behind them, who conversed in their native language in low tones. “Most of the officials I spoke with are not inclined to any leniency in this matter, I'm afraid. I have explained that you are of the nobility in your own country, but here, of course, that means little. Religious zeal accounts for a good number of executions. The guard who was supposed to be at his post to keep anyone from entering the temple has already been killed."

  The room swam for a moment before she conquered the wave of darkness, if for no other reason than she was unwilling to give the condemning audience the satisfaction of seeing her faint. “Can Prince Ahmed do nothing to help us?” she asked in a wavering tone, trying to control her trembling. “He is a very good friend of my brother and has even stayed at our home in Berkshire. I remember him to be both intelligent and cultured. Surely he doesn't countenance killing someone for a blunder they didn't even intend to make."

  "The matter is unfortunately, not in his hands, though I suspect he is trying and that is why you haven't been convicted and condemned already. The judicial system here is fierce and swift."

  It was almost impossible to believe she could actually be sentenced to death, but then again, it was rather hard to comprehend she had been dragged summarily off like so much baggage and tossed into a cell. Women had few rights in this part of the world, she understood that, but the sheer brutality of what might await her and Aunt Gillian was beyond any black nightmare.

  Robert Tulane glanced at the doorway, his expression changing slightly. “Just a moment, my Lady, but that young man is the envoy from the prince, his cousin, no less. Excuse me."

  So stunned and distraught she hardly noticed that a man and a woman had come into the room, Sarah stood there in shaken silence, watching as the messenger approached the table of gathered men. He was young and did resemble the man she remembered from the prince's visit to England, clean-shaven with smooth, golden skin and sleek, black hair, and as he spoke, he gestured freely with his hands. There was no doubt what he had to say concerned her for he turned and looked at her several times, and pointed once at the woman who had accompanied him. Not certain if it was bad or good that a murmur arose the instant Prince Ahmed's young cousin stopped speaking, Sarah waited with dread as she saw Robert Tulane also lean forward and speak persuasively. Several of the men glanced at her, their stares disconcerting as they nodded slowly.

  In fact, they all watched as the young man nodded and turned to approach her. He bowed, saying in heavily-accented English, “Lady Stewart, I am Hamet, a servant to my cousin, the exalted Prince Ahmed. He wishes to apologize that your long-planned visit to his country has begun this way."

  It was a ridiculously polite speech given that a sword hung over head, but Sarah nodded, responding with what she hoped passed for dignity. “I remember your cousin well from his visit to my home.” She added on a s
mall breath, “And to say the least, this is not how I envisioned my tour of your famous city."

  "He also remembers you, my Lady.” Hamet's eyes were very dark, his slight smile reserved. “In fact, he offers a noble solution to your present difficulty. If you but agree to accept his generosity, you and your aunt will be set free and may accompany me back to his home, where he awaits you."

  The horror of the past telling hours lifted like a weight coming off her body. “Free?” she asked with a surge of hope, swallowing hard. “Both of us?"

  "All it will take is for you to submit to an examination, which will be brief.” Turning, he spoke a few quick words to the woman who had entered the room with him.

  "I don't understand.” Sarah frowned as the woman, old and wreathed in enveloping silk robes, came forward and took her arm. Puzzled, but so relieved she felt almost dizzy, she didn't precisely resist, but looked at Hamet in confusion.

  He said urgently, “Lady Stewart, please go with her. It will be private and over quickly. She is a woman of medicine ... one who deals in the matters of—"

  He broke off, a light flush coloring his dusky skin, and Sarah felt a twinge of new apprehension. “Of what?” she asked bluntly.

  "She can determine your purity,” he answered after a moment, his voice low. “Please know, Ahmed did not request this himself, for he entirely trusts your virtue, but his father insisted on that stipulation for this marriage."

  Marriage?

  "What on earth are you talking about?” She stopped, stock-still despite the clawlike clutch of the woman's hand on her arm. “He wants to marry me?"

  Very simply, Hamet said, “Yes. It is the only way to save your life."

  * * * *

  "Have you no respect?"

  Ahmed knew he walked a fine line, adjusting the linen of his cuff. Already his father's ministers were unhappy with his decision to negate the charges against the very lovely but very English Lady Sarah by making her royalty. Wearing the clothing of her native country would not make anyone happier. “This is not about a lack of respect. This is for my future wife."

  "You could have any woman you want. Friendship is to be honored, yes, but marrying this ... this..."

  "Frightened woman whose only real crime is to be so lovely that the instant she set foot on our lawless shores, slave traders began to stalk her?” he supplied ironically, easing into a superfine jacket, the material hugging his shoulders in a perfectly tailored fit. “I hope the familiar European clothes will make me seem less foreign and her circumstances not quite so ... unpleasant. Certainly this country hasn't made the best impression, to say the least."

  "We did not invite her,” his father's old minister, Fahir, said firmly, tapping his cane on the floor. “Why is it she was allowed to travel alone? Where is her father, her brothers? What's more, she should be veiled and covered, her charms concealed, except to the man who has the right to see them. What happened might not be her fault, but it certainly is not ours. I am told her hair is golden and as lustrous as the sun, bared for all to see."

  "Englishwomen do not cover their heads and faces, and you know full well there are European women who live here and do not follow that custom. Also, she is not alone, for she has a duenna, an aunt who acts as chaperone, and it is all very proper."

  Fahir said acerbically, “For them. The Infidels."

  "For them,” Ahmed agreed.

  His advisor was right in one respect. Lady Sarah's hair, Ahmed recalled only too well, was very long, curling in shining golden strands, the texture both silky and intriguing as it fell to her slender waist...

  On his first evening there, when visiting William Stewart back in England, he'd seen her late at night wandering into the library, also obviously unable to sleep. She'd been in her nightdress, a slim wraith with a halo of shimmering blond hair, her delicate beauty stunning and potent. In the daylight, she was no less lovely he'd found, intrigued almost against his will by his friend's younger sister. Her personality was a decided contrast to most of the women he knew, a certain vitality and sense of humor giving her an independent spirit that he admired, her intelligence charming and refreshing. Avidly curious about his travels and his native country, Lady Sarah had asked eager questions and Ahmed had not been surprised to learn she had decided to make an adventurous journey abroad. It would have been better, he acknowledged to himself, if she had traveled with more protection than one elderly woman, but what was done was done.

  The beautiful Sarah would have protection now. As his wife, she would be guarded night and day.

  As his wife, it would be her duty to let him freely use her body to indulge his lust. Though he had tried to put her from his mind in the two years since he had last seen her, it hadn't worked. His lower body tightened just thinking about the night ahead, his erection swelling slightly at the notion of possessing her.

  Turning to the man who had been his advisor since he was eighteen, Ahmed lifted a brow and said coolly, “I am not my father's successor, not with three brothers ahead of me, so do not worry about eventually having a light-skinned king on the throne."

  The old man grumbled, “That is something, though I still say you would make a better king than any of your worthless siblings."

  Ahmed sighed. “Come, Fahir, be as progressive as my father and see the diplomatic benefits of this union, and how it is another step toward our society becoming more modern and adaptable to the outside world. A royal princess of English blood, one who is from a wealthy noble family, will help our relations with her country. You may take my word that she is beautiful, refined, and will breed me strong, healthy children."

  Seated on a low carved chair, Fahir shook his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. He stroked his long beard and muttered, “What I see is male eagerness in your eyes, Your Highness. I knew you desired the English girl from the way you spoke of her upon your return from her unholy country, and now I suppose, you will have her. But the price is high for you both ... she will be bound to you forever, to a life she did not choose. And you will struggle with teaching her new ways, making her fit to serve in her role at your side. She does not even speak but a few words of our language, I am told."

  Ahmed looked forward to teaching his bride many things, starting in his bed, but Fahir was right, she might be happy to escape death, but who knew how she would feel about being suddenly tied to a foreign country and a man she had not even seen in two years. She had been too innocent to sense his interest back in England, so other than polite conversations and an occasional stroll in the garden together, they did not know each other.

  "There are challenges in every marriage,” Ahmed said firmly, “and since fate has given me this gift, I cannot refuse it. Now, come, my bride awaits me."

  Chapter 2

  She was trapped in some sort of bizarre exotic fable, Sarah thought, looking around the courtyard. Flickering torches illuminated the intricate pattern of tiles on the floor, a fountain splashed musically in the center, and a soft floral scent wafted from the miniature trees blooming in huge ceramic pots set at intervals around the walls. Above, the night sky was brilliantly lit with a million stars, their fierce brightness as unfamiliar as the surroundings.

  Her clothing, too, was not at all what she was used to wearing, borrowed, she supposed, from someone the prince knew for not even he could order a seamstress to whip up a dress for such a hasty and unorthodox wedding. The material was very soft and draped her body in graceful folds of cloth, gathered at the waist by a belt of gold and what had to be precious stones, and they had given her sandals instead of shoes. Incongruous to that, Ahmed had worn very traditional and formal English attire for the ceremony—of which she had barely understood a word. He had changed before joining her for dinner, which still lay in front of them—dishes of spiced meats and vegetables in small bowls, rice, tiny white beans swimming in oil, steamed fish—the variety was almost staggering and she was used to formal dinners with endless courses.

  Well aware of the hovering serva
nts in the background and even more aware of the man sitting on a divan across her, Sarah sipped her wine slowly as she studied him from under the fringe of her lashes. Her memory of him hadn't quite done him justice, she thought, and though back home, she had thought him handsome in an interesting way, she hadn't been quite as ... impressed by his good looks. His coppery skin and ebony hair were striking, his features clean but undeniably foreign in cast—a straight nose, finely-modeled cheekbones and mouth, and his eyes so black they were almost unfathomable under a thick edge of lashes. Perhaps it was the clothing, for now that he had changed into some sort of loose, wide-sleeved shirt and light trousers, his attire as casual as his relaxed pose; he looked every inch the wealthy, powerful, royal prince.

  And was now her husband.

  "You did not eat much,” Ahmed said softly, interrupting her inner musing so that she started a little. “Was it not to your taste?"

  Sarah set aside her wine very carefully, hoping he wouldn't see how her hand shook. “I had a somewhat interesting day, Your Highness.” A small laugh, edged with just a bit of hysteria, escaped her throat. “Forgive my loss of appetite. I am still waiting to wake up, for this surely must all be a peculiar dream."

  "The events were a little unusual for me, as well,” he admitted, a small smile curving his well-shaped lips. “I am also bemused at this twist destiny has tossed our way, but it has happened and what comes next is up to us to shape and mold. This morning, I was not even aware your ship had docked and you were here, and now you are my wife by the laws of man and our gods—whichever one you follow."

  Though she was bewildered and stunned over this sudden turn her life had taken, she was not unaware of the sacrifice this man had made for her. “You have most certainly exceeded the bounds of any friendship,” she said thickly, her throat tight. “William already respects and values your acquaintance, speaking highly of you always. I do not know that he would expect such selfless loyalty, but he will be grateful for your intervention on my behalf, as am I. More than words can say."