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Anger pierced the veil of fear and spurred Abby into retaliatory action. She didn’t pause to consider the consequences of her actions, she just lifted a clenched fist and swung. The man moved at the last moment but she caught his shoulder with a hard blow that drew a grunt of pain from him.
Someone laughed and the initial look of open-mouthed shock on his face morphed into something much uglier. There was no point running. There was nowhere to run to. The determination not to show her fear was suddenly stronger than the fear itself and Abby lifted her chin, clinging to her pride as she drew the tattered shreds of her shirt tightly around her against the imminent threat. The man advanced towards her, snarling angry words she didn’t understand, not that a dictionary was needed when his intent was pretty clear.
He lifted a hand to strike her when suddenly he froze. Everyone did, as a horse with a robed rider galloped full pelt into the semicircle, causing chaos as the men threw themselves to one side to avoid the slashing hooves. Just when it seemed as if man and horse were about to gallop straight into the flames of the bonfire, the horse stopped dead.
The rider, having achieved the sort of theatre-hushed entrance that film directors would have traded a row of awards for, calmly looked around, taking his time and not seeming to be bothered by the guns aimed at him.
After a moment, he loosed the reins and let them fall. The animal didn’t move an inch as his rider casually vaulted to the ground, projecting a mixture of arrogance and contempt.
Any idea that the hauteur and arrogance he oozed had anything to do with his superior position on the impressive animal vanished since, if anything, his air of command was even more pronounced as he began to move with long-legged purpose towards the spot where Abby stood as transfixed as everyone else by the tall figure in the flowing white robes. His elegance liberally coated his every move, oozing a level of undiluted male sexuality that had nothing to do with the way he was dressed or even the fact that, even without the dusty riding boots he wore, he had to be at least six foot six, with the length of leg and width of shoulders to carry off the height.
The rest of the men present wore Arab dress but there the similarity ended. The dregs of humanity who had been part of this degrading scene were bedraggled specimens. This man was...magnificent.
Abby registered this fact while not losing sight of the truth that he was probably just as much of a threat to her...maybe even more so. She ought not to care about such things in her position, but his face had perfectly sculpted features, symmetrical angles and hollows so dramatically beautiful that she experienced an almost visceral thrill of awareness looking at him.
He held the eyes of the man beside her until the man lowered his arm. The stranger gave a curt nod and then his gaze moved on to Abby. His scrutiny lacked the leering quality of the other mens’ but it was equally disturbing, though in an entirely different way. Her tummy fluttered erratically in reaction to his blue-eyed stare.
She lifted her chin and planted her hands on her hips, staring right back until a draught made her realise that her ripped blouse was still displaying a lot of skin. Head bent, cheeks hot, she clumsily attempted to pull the sides closer together across her chest as she awkwardly fastened the buttons with shaking fingers. The top button had gone so she used the one below and, as it was either cover her breast or her midriff, she chose her breast.
She thought she might have imagined the flicker of something close to admiration in the horseman’s lean face before he turned and spoke to the man who appeared to be the auctioneer.
His voice was low, a throaty, abrasive quality giving the deep, velvet drawl texture.
Whatever he said caused one of the men who had been bidding to step forward, shouting and gesticulating in protest. As the shouting man reached Abby she leaned back, her nostrils flaring in distaste as his foul breath wafted over her face. She winced and closed her eyes as he grabbed her hair, steeling herself against the pain she anticipated. But it never came.
Instead, the man’s grip loosened and fell away, the stench receding. Head bent, she half-opened her eyes and saw the man who had grabbed her standing some feet away. He was still close but his focus was not on her, it was on the tall, white-clad figure who stood smiling with his hand curled around the man’s upper arm, seemingly oblivious to the wicked-looking blade pointed at him.
Abby held her breath, her heart continuing to fling itself against her ribcage with bone-cracking force, while this fresh top-up to the adrenaline already flowing through her veins made her head spin.
She felt strangely dissociated from the scene she was watching, as though it were the cliff-hanger in a soap opera finale...but this was real. As was the metallic taste of fear in her mouth.
The silent war of attrition lasted a few seconds before the lesser man’s eyes widened and he turned his head and slid the blade back into the concealed sheath on his robe.
He had lost face and he was not going to retire gracefully. He began to gesticulate angrily as he shouted, but Abby noticed that the few growls of agreement from the audience of watching men were subdued. Clearly in the ‘lay it on the table and measure it’ stakes he had lost out big time.
The tall horseman appeared oblivious to the growing tension as he addressed his soft comments to the man who had been in charge of the flesh auction.
Her would-be purchaser bent in to listen and threw up his hands, turning to his audience and inviting them to share his contempt. The response was a low growl.
For his part, the tall stranger seemed utterly oblivious to the threat that lay heavy in the air as he held out a hand and slid a ring off one long, brown finger, dropping it into the palm of the waiting man’s extended hand, then sliding a metal-banded watch from his wrist and adding it to the auctioneer’s spoils.
The man produced a flashlight from his pocket and turned away, his shoulders hunched as he examined his haul. Without another word he nodded and called out something to another man, who came across holding a rolled-up sheet of paper. He unrolled it and laid it on top of a crate that was acting as a table.
Was it a bill of sale?
The idea filled her with a mixture of revulsion and disbelief. This could not be happening; it was too surreal.
Without even looking at her the horseman took her arm and tugged her with him to the makeshift table. He took the offered pen and wrote what she presumed was his name on it.
He then turned and held the pen out to Abby, who stared at it as if it were a striking snake before she shook her head and tucked her hand behind her back.
‘What is it?’
The music being blasted from several of the trucks that had masked the noise of his arrival came to Zain’s aid again, covering his murmured response.
‘You can read the small print later,’ he said, his words betraying an urgency suggesting the odds of them getting out of here diminished the longer they remained. ‘If you ever want to see your home and family again sign it right now, you little fool.’
Her eyes fluttered wide as they flew to his face—she had not expected a reply to her question, let alone one in perfect English.
She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. Why was she even hesitating when the alternative was even more grim? Abby gave an imperceptible nod. The words on the paper blurred as she bent towards it and the pen that had been thrust into her hand trembled.
She would have dropped it but for the steadying grip of the long brown fingers that curved over her hand and guided it to the paper.
She looked from the big hand that curved her trembling fingers around the pen to her shaky signature appearing on the paper but felt no connection to it.
She stood there like a statue while the horseman physically took the pen from her fingers, conscious of a low buzz of argument just to her right that became loud and a lot angrier as the horseman rolled up the paper and put it inside a pocket hidden inside his robe.
* * *
The girl looked up at him with glazed green eyes—shock, he diagnosed, stifling a stab of sympathy. He pushed it away; empathy was not going to get them out of here. Clear thinking was. There was nothing like the danger of a life and death situation to focus a man, Zain thought with a smile. A bit of luck thrown in would also help.
In the periphery of his vision he was aware of the argument that was escalating, fast becoming a brawl...others were drifting towards it and sides were being taken.
‘Come on,’ he said through clenched teeth.
As his fingers curved around her elbow he could feel the tremors that were shaking her body. He pushed away a fresh stab of sympathy. His priority right now was getting out of this camp before someone recognised him and realised that he was worth more money than any girl, even one with flaming hair, curves and legs... He cut short his inventory and lifted his gaze from the shapely limbs in question.
‘Can you walk?’ There wasn’t a trace of sympathy in the question.
Ignoring the fact her knees were shaking, the woman lifted her chin and responded to what he could admit had been a cold, vaguely accusing question.
‘Of course I can walk.’ She was unsteady but she fell into step beside him. It was clear that he was still a danger in her eyes but she clearly saw he represented her way out of this awful place.
‘We don’t have all day.’ Behind his impassive expression he was impressed that she was still walking, and she wasn’t having hysterics... This was going to be easier if she was not having hysterics.
‘Keep up.’
Clearly unused to looking up at many people, the woman tilted her chin to lob a look of resentment at his patrician profile. ‘I’m trying,’ she muttered between clenched teeth.
‘Then try harder before they realise they could attempt to retake you despite the bride price I paid.’ His glance travelled from the top of her flaming head to her feet and all the lush curves in between before trailing to his own hand, which looked oddly bare without the ring he had worn since his eighteenth birthday. ‘Or me,’ he added softly.
Luckily, he was the spare and not the heir.
Through the dark screen of his lashes he calculated how many people could get between them and the waiting horse. It was encouraging to see that most had moved to join in the fracas they were swiftly moving away from. Zain was content for the men to fight amongst themselves. It was the possibility of their stopping long enough to unite against a common foe—namely himself and the redhead—that bothered him.
None of the thoughts passing through his head showed in his body language, however, as he had learnt a long time ago that appearances did matter. It wasn’t about a macho reluctance to show weakness; it was common sense. Weakness would always be exploited by enemies, and that went pretty much double when the enemies in question were carrying weapons.
A spasm of impatience flickered across his lean features as the girl slowed and came to a nervous halt when they got within a few feet of the stallion.
‘He won’t bite...unless you annoy him.’
* * *
Abby’s experience of equines had until this point in her life been restricted to a donkey ride on the beach. Even at eleven, her long legs had almost touched the floor as she straddled the little donkey, who had plodded along and looked at her with sad eyes. This animal, with his stamping feet, looked about ten feet tall and his rolling eyes were not kind.
‘I don’t think he likes me.’
The mysterious stranger ignored the comment and vaulted into the saddle before reaching down and casually hauling her up before him.
Landing breathlessly, Abby clutched at the first thing that came to hand, which was the horseman, seizing on cloth. His body was hard as rock with zero excess flesh.
It wasn’t until the horse had stopped dancing like a temperamental ballerina and she had not fallen off that the comment hit her. ‘Bride price...?’
‘Can you do something with that hair? I can’t see a damned thing...’ Holding the reins in one hand, he pushed a skein of her copper hair away from his face and urged the horse into a canter. ‘Yes, we just got married.’
She turned her head to stare in wide-eyed alarm as he urged all several hundred pounds of quivering, high-bred horse flesh underneath them into action, and the animal hit full gallop in seconds.
Her shriek was carried away by the warm air that hit her face. Abby tightened her white-knuckled grip and closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer...or maybe not so silent. She felt rather than heard his heartless laugh as the sting of sand hitting her face made her turn it protectively into his broad shoulder.
‘Just hang on.’
She had no intention of letting go or, for that matter, opening her eyes again as her stomach lurched sickly. She couldn’t see a thing anyway as they left the lights of the encampment behind. It was pitch-black. How on earth could he see where they were going?
Where were they going?
And were they really married?
The horse’s thundering stride didn’t falter. In fact, after a short time, the rhythm of its hoof beats seemed to have a soothing effect on her. Although perhaps that was too strong a word to describe the calm, almost hypnotic sensation allowing the rigidity of terror to slip from her body by degrees, allowing her to even lift her face from the man’s shoulder.
‘Are they following us?’
‘Maybe. I only managed to disable half the engines before—’ He cut off abruptly as he felt an echo of the swell of rage that had consumed him when he saw the guy raise his hand. ‘Did they...hurt you?’
‘Not in the way you mean.’ She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. It wasn’t fear that kept her eyes closed now but the fact that the mere effort of lifting her eyelids was a struggle.
But she had to try—there were questions she needed to ask. Not deep, meaningful stuff, just the basics, like who was he and where were they going?
‘This is mad,’ she said as another yawn escaped her. She felt weirdly numb and even her bitten arm seemed to have stopped hurting. Eyes closed, hurtling along like this felt strangely like flying, the hand that was looped casually around her ribs keeping her safe.
* * *
‘No, it’s physiology. Shock releases chemicals.’
And never underestimate the power of chemicals, he thought, the memory of the burst of raw rage that had hit him like a tsunami when he had seen the redhead paraded like a piece of meat for the benefit of the pack of rabid scum still fresh in his mind.
For a man who had always taken his ability to approach problems from the vantage point of cool detachment, the knowledge that his struggle to control the initial primal instinct, the rush of visceral hatred, to rush in without considering the consequences when it could have gone either way was disturbing.
‘I’m not in shock,’ she told him, a hint of challenge in her voice as she prised her eyelids apart and gave her head a tiny shake.
He flashed a look downwards at the woman who sat in front of him. The angle meant her face was hidden from him and he could only see the top of her glossy head and the angle of her jaw. It was a stubborn angle, but it had taken more than stubbornness to stand there and throw a punch. It was stupid, yes, but also just about the gutsiest thing he had ever seen.
‘The danger is over and your adrenaline levels are dipping.’
Abby gave a tiny choking laugh, as if she thought the idea she was out of danger was funny.
‘You’ve found something to laugh about in this situation?’
‘I can have hysterics if you prefer,’ she said with annoyance, a strange look coming over her face. Then, ‘I feel sick,’ she warned him suddenly.
‘Don’t be,’ he said, knowing it was an unfeeling response but also knowing they couldn’t stop now. It wasn’t safe.
Luckily for them both her nausea passed, but the bone-deep exhaustion didn’t as he felt her fight the losing battle to stay awake. At last she gave in and when her head next slumped against his chest it stayed there, her breathing deepening and her body relaxing into his.
Zain dragged her soft, limp body in closer, giving the powerful animal free rein, and found the quiet place in his head that had eluded him all day. It turned out that all it took was being fired at, giving away a priceless gem that had been in his family for generations, and having a beautiful, albeit filthy and bedraggled, woman snore softly in his arms. Just when he’d thought life was getting predictable.
His narrowed glance moved once more towards the east, where he could see a ribbon of distant lights that indicated they were being pursued, but they had had a head start and if he made a detour to the Qu’raing oasis their paths would not cross.
The danger was over...so why did he feel as if he was about to face another?
CHAPTER THREE (#ue1deef32-c2f9-5481-af0d-ca4083691d58)
‘TIME TO STRETCH your legs.’
Abby murmured sleepily and ignored the voice but couldn’t ignore the creak of leather and the abrupt removal of the hard warmth she had been pressed against—as illusions of security went, this one was on an epic scale.
Abby fought her way through the layers of sleep and blinked... The ground was a long way off and the horse she sat astride was stamping and snorting restlessly.
She’d been asleep. How on earth had she actually slept?
She arched her back to stretch out the cricks in her spine and felt herself slip, so she grabbed the first thing that came to hand—a piece of horse mane—to regain her balance. Feeling slightly more secure, she risked letting go for a moment to brush away the hair that had fallen across her face, effectively blinding her.
She was half-inclined to pull the silky curtain back in place when her eyes connected with those of the tall man standing, arms folded across his chest, watching her.
Of their own volition, her eyes made the journey up from his dusty boots to the edges of the gold embroidery along the traditional gown he wore. Her throat drying as they reached his face, she lost interest in moving away. He was beautiful in a sharp-intake-of-breath, tummy-clenching way. The carved symmetry of his dark, dramatic features framed by the pale head-covering was riveting.
She quickly shook off her rapt expression, looking away and silently blaming her fascination with the carnal curve of this man’s mouth on the situation... Everything that had happened felt more akin to an out-of-body experience than reality.
‘I’d prefer not to stop,’ she said.
‘Is that a fact?’
His tone made her flush. ‘I just meant...the thing is... I wasn’t alone when they—’ She stopped as, without warning, a wave of revulsion tightened like a fist in her stomach, an echo of the fear she had felt when she had been thrown in the truck. It took her a couple of swallows to regain enough composure to finish huskily, ‘When they took me.’
He watched her thoughtfully as she fought for control.
‘They, the rest of the group I was travelling with, are stranded—we have to...’ She stopped, frustrated because he didn’t seem to grasp the urgency.
‘They are three grown men.’
