The Sheik's Lost Princess Read online

  Taking a lot of extra care meant it would be difficult to watch out for the soldiers, too. And if she were attacked, she sure as heck wouldn’t want to grab for the gun while dangling off the side of a boulder.

  Nikki slowed down and took a deep breath. She wasn’t about to quit now. Waiting around to either be killed or rescued by a man who kept deserting her wasn’t an option. But maybe she should do a little more planning before she ran into bigger trouble.

  When raised as a desert warrior, one learned how to track and hunt humans as one would any other animal. Shakir particularly liked hunting at night. But even in the growing light of day, he was enjoying this hunt. The sun made it more exciting as he tracked the cowardly Taj Zabbar soldiers—men who preyed on those weaker and who shot the strong in the back rather than face them in a fair fight.

  He found a set of tracks indicating a squad of four. Four soldiers and one pack mule. He knew exactly which direction they’d been headed. But none of those bastards would reach Nikki. Not while he still drew a breath.

  Instinct told him they would’ve stopped up the trail in the shade of a limestone bluff to rest for the hottest part of the day. But in another few minutes he saw signs that one of them had separated from the others and had gone hunting—probably looking for signs of any strangers. The four-man squad may have even spotted his and Nikki’s tracks near the watering hole and knew for sure at least two strangers were in the area.

  Shakir was admonishing himself to be more careful with their tracks from now on when he heard one of the soldiers. The man was searching in the high rocks. Shakir waited, judging the prey’s proximity by the sounds he made as he huffed down the iron sulphate crevices and then up the smooth shale chutes. In one or two spare movements, Shakir climbed above him and then stepped out onto the ledge as the soldier passed underneath.

  Before the soldier knew what happened, Shakir dropped behind him, hooked a forearm around his neck and twisted. Silent. Fast. Lethal. The guy never made a single sound.

  Shakir slipped the body down a chute between two boulders and then swivelled around to head back up the trail. He wanted to eliminate the pending threat to Nikki—the entire threat—with no fuss. And he needed to accomplish the task before any of the soldiers could signal to their superiors.

  Nikki was exposed high on a trail when she heard a gunshot. Too close. The sound was too close.

  She didn’t think Shakir would’ve been firing a gun. He’d been carrying a knife when she saw him last. Even someone as inexperienced as she was knew that it would be bad to have a gunshot echoing around these rocks for anyone to hear.

  Jumping down into an indentation between two rocks, she tried to find a way off the trail and into a hiding place. But when she landed off balance, her foot slipped into a crevice and her ankle caught. She tried to lift her foot out of the crack. Then she tried twisting it out. But the more she tugged, the worse her foot seemed to be stuck.

  She needed Shakir’s help. Was he still alive? How many soldiers had he found? She had a feeling he wouldn’t be coming to rescue her anytime soon.

  Trembling, she pulled the gun out of her waistband and wedged her back against the rough surface of the boulder behind her. The trail weaved in a tight zigzag pattern around nearby rocks. But she was now stuck in a wide-open spot.

  She hefted the gun in both hands and waited. Terrified. Her heart was beating hard enough that she could feel it all the way to her ankle. Her stuck ankle.

  Minutes went by. She heard nothing. Her palms were growing sweaty as she grasped the handgun’s grip in a death hold.

  Her foot was growing numb. How long had it been? Ten minutes? Thirty? What if no one ever came and she was stuck here until she starved or died of thirst?

  Then she heard a noise.

  Someone was coming. She could hear footsteps against the rocks below as loose pebbles scattered. She held her breath for long minutes, hoping her lungs wouldn’t explode.

  Then nothing. The footsteps stopped as suddenly as they’d begun.

  A slight clunk of a noise, so quiet she might’ve dreamed it, came next. What was that? It sounded like metal on metal. Like someone drawing and loading a gun?

  She swallowed hard and prayed it was Shakir—even knowing that was not the case. He would make no noise. He always traveled like the wind. Silent. Moving like a cat.

  Should she call out for his help? No, maybe if she stayed quiet, whoever it was would turn around and miss her entirely.

  She sat, trying to make herself as small as possible.

  The gun in her hands started to shake. She bit down on her lip, willing her hands to steady—

  Suddenly she let out a squeak, sounding for all the world like a trapped mouse, when the silhouette of a man appeared around the bend in the trail.

  Not Shakir. A soldier. He raised his rifle and pointed it at her.

  She fired. And kept firing until her gun was empty. With her fingers frozen and her mind in shock, she kept depressing the trigger while nothing happened.

  “Nikki. It’s over.” Shakir appeared behind the soldier sprawled across the trail, reached down and felt the man’s neck for a pulse.

  Shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, she couldn’t lower the gun.

  “You’re okay. He’s dead.”

  Still terrified, she couldn’t move. Shakir stepped over the man’s body and lowered himself down to her level.

  “Give me the gun.” He held out his hand. “Nikki, it’s okay.”

  Finally she dropped the gun and reached out for him. “He…he…”

  Shakir wrapped his strong, hard arms around her. “He got away from me. I’m sorry. I took care of the others. This one should’ve never gotten this far.”

  She buried her face in his shoulder and wept. “My ankle is stuck. I couldn’t hide. He pointed his gun at me. He was going to kill me.”

  Shakir gathered all his strength to lift the rock pinning her ankle and pull her free. Then he drew her into his arms again and held her close against his chest.

  “You did just fine. Nikki? Are you with me? We have to keep moving. Other soldiers will follow when they don’t hear from this squad.”

  Her whole body was shaking violently and she couldn’t answer. But she held on.

  “I know this was terrible,” he whispered in her ear. “But I’m proud of you. The princess I remember would’ve died here today. But you’re alive. Thank God.”

  She nodded and looked up at him. “I have to save my baby.”

  He thumbed over her cheeks, drying tears she hadn’t known she was capable of crying. “That’s right. But we have to go now. Can you stand? Do you think the ankle is sprained?”

  Loosening his grip, he started to lower her to her feet. But she clung to him. His mouth was inches away. His brown eyes full of concern.

  Stunned by the sensations rolling over her and suddenly desperate to feel alive, she kissed him. Pouring all her terror and relief into the kiss, she gave him everything. Every ounce of gratitude for coming for her. Every bit of pent up longing and desire that she had secreted away in her heart for years.

  Shakir tightened his grip around her and took it all. He returned her kiss with something so full of life and so vital that Nikki knew it was a challenge of sorts.

  Stay alive.

  When he finally pulled back, he met the questions in her eyes with a wry smile and a look packed with sexual heat. She felt the combustion clear to her toes.

  “Perhaps one day…” Then he set her on her feet and straightened his shoulders. “We must go now.”

  Once she’d gotten the feeling back in her foot, the ankle throbbed whenever she put any weight on it. But as she kept walking, the pain lessened.

  As they traveled farther away, she stopped thinking as much about the look on that soldier’s face when her bullet had penetrated his chest. She couldn’t bear to remember his stunned expression and still go on. So whenever that terrible moment came back to haunt her, she would bring her child’s fac
e to mind instead of dwelling on the soldier’s.

  She had done only what she must in that situation. What she would do again if necessary.

  They’d been climbing more on this leg of the journey than they had yesterday. The Taj’s pack mule was in tow behind them. The climb was physically demanding work but she was keeping up. Even in the chilled night air, she felt sweaty and smelly and knew the soldier’s disguise she wore was filthy enough to stand up on its own.

  What she wouldn’t give to have a nice warm shower and clean underwear.

  Walking ahead of her as the trail evened out, Shakir put his hand out to indicate he was stopping and turned to whisper in her ear. “We’re not far from the Bedouins’ camp. I need to warn them about Umar’s edict and the roving soldiers.”

  “Okay.” She was surprised that he would take the time, but was willing to accept his judgment while they were still on the trail. “Will we rest with them for the daylight hours?”

  “These are my mother’s people, Nikki. But…” The look in his eyes stopped her cold. Apprehension. Anguish. “But they’re nomads—desert warriors. Uh…they’re not like anyone you’ve ever met. I spent my teenage years with them—before I met you. They don’t know much about modern conveniences. And they—”

  She put her hand on his arm and purred. “They can’t be any worse than that horrible Taj elder Umar and his guards. I promise I won’t judge them. Or you.”

  “It’s not that,” Shakir hedged. “You might be in some danger. You could remain here with a weapon while I go into the camp, but I would rather not leave you alone again.”

  She didn’t want that, either. “Can they do the same things you can? For instance, since you can feel their camp ahead, do they already know we’re here, too?”

  “I have little doubt that they’ve already sensed our presence.” He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re right. You can’t stay behind. But you must not leave my side once we move into the camp. Your disguise will throw them at first, but I’ll come up with an explanation. After they learn you’re a woman, things will get really touchy.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. But Shakir seemed willing to take the chance.

  He didn’t seem willing to do it recklessly, however. He pulled the compact rifle off its place on the pack mule and proceeded to lock the stock into place. Next he loaded the magazine and then tucked the rifle under his arm, ready to pull the trigger at a second’s notice.

  Nikki swallowed hard at the sight of the desert warrior she saw in him. Six feet four inches of tightly coiled concentration and sheer muscle. With the knife strapped to his thigh and the rifle under his arm, what a picture he made. His swarthy skin and the two days’ growth of beard reminded her of the fantasy sheiks of her childhood memories.

  A tingle of pure lust rode down her spine. But she knew this was no time to lose self-control. It was merely one more test of her resolve that she needed to pass in order to reach her baby.

  Shakir pulled her to his side and enveloped her with his free arm. “Stay close. Don’t make a sound. No matter what happens.”

  He needn’t worry. She was glued to him. Not knowing what on earth to expect next, she matched his steps as they followed the trail around a limestone boulder—and walked into her destiny.

  Shakir wasn’t sure his kin would recognize him. He’d changed a lot in the ten years since he had last traveled with them.

  Before he and Nikki could enter the wide flat mesa where the nomads were making camp, ten Bedouins appeared out of the rocks and pointed weapons straight at their hearts. He called out a greeting in their language. That seemed to confuse the warrior guards because so few outsiders ever learned the true language of the desert.

  “What do you want?” one of them asked carefully.

  “I have come to trade.” Trade was the only thing besides armed conflict that the Bedouin respected. “I wish to trade with your sheik for safe passage beyond your camp.”

  Despite giving Nikki and the mule a few narrowed and disparaging looks, the warriors lowered their rifles and placed them loosely in the crook of their arms the same way he carried the one at his side. Then the armed warriors showed the travelers into their camp.

  After they’d walked past several smaller tents, the whole group arrived at what Shakir recognized as an elder’s tent. “We’ve got a little problem,” he whispered to Nikki, letting no one else hear. “You must not enter this tent. It’s men only. And I can’t leave you alone outside with the mule.”

  “What’ll we do?”

  “I have an idea. Say nothing.” He sure hoped he was betting right. Surprise usually trumped mild irritation when one was in a tight situation.

  He stood at the tent’s entrance and called out in Bedouin, “I address my cousins, the Bedouin princes of the desert. I walk in your trail and drink from your well for the first time in many years.”

  Shakir checked his peripheral vision and was grateful to see a crowd gathering. He twisted his arm around and in one flamboyant move pulled the soldier’s kuffiyah off Nikki’s head. A thick fall of her honey-blond hair cascaded down to her shoulders. The crowd gasped.

  “I have brought my first wife to introduce to my cousins. And I come to trade information for passage.”

  Standing in the open air in the dawn’s growing light and yelling as though one was screaming war whoops was considered quite impolite in Bedouin society. But Shakir thought if he could bring the elders outside, he and Nikki might have a better chance of leaving here alive.

  All he needed was for one elder’s curiosity to get the better of him and bring him out.

  No movement from inside the tent. Not even a whisper of a breeze stirred the flimsy covering over the entrance.

  Shakir wished he had something else to trade. Something flashy. Then it hit him. He did have something.

  Digging into his vest pocket, he pulled out his butane lighter. Saying nothing, he reached down and picked up the head scarf that Nikki had been wearing.

  With as much flourish as he could muster, he held both the scarf and the lighter high above his head and then flicked the lighter to life. These people were used to matches, though they didn’t get their hands on them every day. But the quick flash of flame from his hand drew their united attention. Every eye was on him as he lit the scarf and it burned brightly.

  “Very amusing, cousin. Entertaining the savages?” A man about his own age appeared at the tent’s entrance and spoke in English.

  Shakir dropped his hands and extinguished the fire. Then he looked over at his second cousin as a broad smile broke out on his face.

  “Kalil?” He could scarcely believe his eyes. The young warrior he’d ridden with and who’d taught him how to hunt and fight in his youth now wore the robes of the sheik, a prince of the desert.

  Kalil put a hand on his forearm. “Welcome to the camp of your ancestors, Shakir.” His gaze raked over Shakir’s T-shirt and black pants and then flicked toward Nikki. “I think there must be an interesting story that accompanies you this day.”

  Shakir introduced Nikki and then said, “I have information to trade, Kalil. But first, my woman is in need of rest. May she sit in the female tent?”

  “She looks in need of more than rest. And that Taj soldier’s uniform offends me.” Kalil snapped his fingers and two women appeared out of the crowd. “We will provide you both with hospitality and enough water for your animal. But first you must bring me up-to-date.”

  Shakir turned to Nikki. “I don’t know what languages they speak besides Bedouin. Do you think you can communicate with the women?”

  Nikki flipped a flyaway strand of hair back off her forehead and glared at him. “Don’t worry about me. We women have a language all our own.”

  “Would you like a bath and a change to more appropriate clothing, madame?” one of the Bedouin women asked politely in French.

  Nikki’s eyes lit up like fireworks. She threw a sarcastic look back at Shakir as she put an arm around th
e old woman’s shoulders. “You go do your man things, Shakir. I’m just fine.”

  Watching her walk away swinging those curvy hips, he chuckled to himself. Yeah, she was fine all right. Very, very fine. And all his thoughts were becoming very, very bad.

  Chapter 7

  When the reckless and selfish Bedouin youth named Matin spotted the odd-looking woman’s honey-gold hair, greed quickly replaced his shock. He’d been suffering for a long time. Everything was against him. Even the small goats his clan had used for trading were gone. They’d been casualties of the lack of grass for feed.

  Kalil had explained to him the reason for not finding enough grazing spots this year. He’d said it was because the Taj had planted poppies in a nearby valley and then diverted the precious water needed to make even meager grass grow. But Matin wasn’t sure about that reasoning. What did plants have to do with water from the mountains?

  At times it seemed as though he must be cursed. Bad luck shadowed him like a dark cloud. He needed a chance to make his own luck for a change. He deserved a break.

  A beautiful woman like the one with honey-colored hair could be the chance he needed. She would be useful as barter. Matin had heard rumors about the Taj buying women as wives. He knew little of the ways of other peoples, but his tribe had crossed into the land of the Taj many days ago. It was also said the Taj had gold. Gold and goods.

  Matin knew he was not strong enough to force the honey-haired woman from her warrior protector. The male Kalil had addressed as Shakir was too tall, too broad and too healthy for Matin to fight. But perhaps the Taj Zabbar might still be willing to trade a little gold for information.

  He checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching and then sneaked behind the elders’ tent. Lowering himself to the sand and crawling low, Matin searched for a good spot to listen. If he could get close enough, perhaps he would hear something useful. Something to trade.

  “I appreciate your warnings, cousin, but I wonder where you are planning to travel from here?” Kalil’s voice was low, easy, though Matin could clearly hear his words. “If strangers to the Taj are in danger here, why did you not leave Zabbarán at the first opportunity?”