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Lost to the Desert Warrior
Sarah Morgan
‘Walking into the lion’s den unprotected, Princess?’For Layla, Princess of Tazkhan, her arranged marriage means one thing – a lifetime of cruelty and captivity. Such an unendurable prospect drives her to throw herself at the mercy of Sheikh Raz Al Zahki – her family’s greatest enemy! Raz demands one thing in return for the safe haven Layla is seeking – this brooding desert king wants to make her his queen!Her freedom might be secured, but now her heart is at risk, for soon she’s lost to the scorching heat of their marriage bed… Except it will take more than fire to thaw her guarded husband.‘The queen of the exotic, I love the way Sarah builds the perfect landscape.’ – Helen, 42, Sales and Logistics Coordinator www.sarahmorgan.com
“Walking into the lion’s den unprotected, Princess?”
For Layla, princess of Tazkhan, her arranged marriage means one thing—a lifetime of cruelty and captivity. Such an unendurable prospect drives her to throw herself at the mercy of Sheikh Raz Al Zahki—her family’s greatest enemy!
Raz demands one thing in return for the safe haven Layla is seeking—this brooding desert king wants to make her his queen! Her freedom might be secured, but now her heart is at risk, for soon she’s lost to the scorching heat of their marriage bed. However, it will take more than fire to thaw her guarded husband….
‘You are reluctant to take off your robe,’ Raz said softly, ‘but once we’re married you are going to be naked when you share my bed.’
Layla felt her stomach curl. Everything inside her twisted and heated. She felt dizzy and strange.
Nerves, she thought. ‘Does this mean you’re agreeing to my suggestion?’
Without warning he lifted a powerful hand and pushed back the swathe 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.
Her heart started to pound. His forefinger traced the line of her jaw.
His eyes dropped to her mouth.
‘You have strength and honesty and I respect those traits.’ He rose to his feet, sure and confident and very much the one in control. ‘There is no time to lose. We will be married within the hour. Oh, and Princess…’ He paused by the entrance to the tent, his eyes a wicked shade of black. ‘You have no need of the Kama Sutra. When the time comes I will teach you what you need to know.’
USA TODAY bestselling author SARAH MORGAN writes lively, sexy contemporary stories for Mills & Boon
Modern
.
RT Book Reviews has described her as ‘a magician with words’ and nominated her books for their Reviewers’ Choice Awards and their ‘Top Pick’ slot. In 2012 Sarah received the prestigious RITA
Award from the Romance Writers of America. She lives near London with her family. Find out more at www.sararahmorgan.com
Recent titles by the same author:
AN INVITATION TO SIN
(Sicily’s Corretti Dynasty)
SOLD TO THE ENEMY
WOMAN IN A SHEIKH’S WORLD
A NIGHT OF NO RETURN
(The Private Lives of Public Playboys)
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Lost to the Desert Warrior
Sarah Morgan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u7cded9ea-2294-5add-b17d-edb126401306)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud1f33897-3fee-521d-a399-aa93163b3f44)
CHAPTER THREE (#u2e421c9f-13e2-59c5-b8fe-3e1898c3a07b)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ubf793f66-6c23-5c4d-8029-8efd49feca44)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
‘The Persians teach their sons, between the ages of five and twenty, only three things: to ride a horse, use a bow and speak the truth.’
—from The Histories by Herodotus, Greek historian, about 484-425 BC
‘SHH, DON’T MAKE a sound.’ Layla slammed her hand over her sister’s mouth. ‘I can hear them coming. They mustn’t find us.’
She wished she’d had time to find a better hiding place. Behind the long velvet curtains in her father’s private rooms hardly seemed like an obvious place for concealment, and yet she knew in some ways this was the safest place. No one would think to look for the princesses here. They were never allowed in his bedroom. Not even today, on the day of his death.
But Layla had wanted to see for herself that the man who’d called himself her father lay cold and still in his bed and wasn’t about to leap up and commit some other sin against her or her sister. She’d stood there, hidden by the curtain, and heard him seal her fate with his dying breath. His last words hadn’t expressed regret for a life misspent. There had been no demand to see his daughters, nor even a request to pass on a loving message to make up for years of cold neglect. No apology for all the grievous wrongs. Just one last wrong—one that would seal her fate forever.
‘Hassan must marry Layla. It is the only way the people will accept him as ruler of Tazkhan.’
Hearing footsteps, Layla kept her hand pressed over her younger sister’s mouth. Her forehead brushed the curtains and she could smell the dust. The dark was disorientating and she held herself rigid, waiting for the curtains to be flung back, afraid that the slightest movement would give them away.
From behind the protection of rich, heavy velvet she heard several people enter the room.
‘We have searched the palace. They are nowhere to be found.’
‘They cannot just have vanished.’ The voice was harsh and instantly recognisable. It was Hassan, her father’s cousin, and if his last wishes were carried out, soon to be her bridegroom. Sixty years old and more power-hungry even than her father.
In a moment of horrifying clarity Layla saw her future and it was blacker than the inside of the curtain. She stared into darkness, feeling her sister’s breath warm her hand, afraid to breathe herself in case she gave them both away.
‘We will find them, Hassan.’
‘In a few hours you’ll be addressing me as Your Excellency,’ Hassan snapped. ‘And you’d better find them. Try the library. The older one is always there. As for the younger one—she has far too much to say for herself. We’re flying her to America, where she will be out of sight and out of mind. The people will soon forget her. My marriage to the eldest will take place before dawn. Fortunately she is the quiet one. She has nothing to say for herself and is unlikely to object.’
He didn’t even know her name, Layla thought numbly, let alone her view on the world. She was ‘the eldest’. ‘The quiet one’. She doubted he knew or cared what she looked like. He certainly didn’t care what she wanted. But then neither had her father. The only person who cared about her was currently shivering in her grasp.
Her young sister. Her friend. Her family.
The news that they were planning to send Yasmin to America intensified the horror of the situation. Of everything that was happening, losing her sister would be the worst.
‘Why rush into the marriage?’
Hassan’s companion echoed Layla’s thoughts.
‘Because we both know that as soon as he finds out about the old Sheikh’s death he will come.’
He will come.
Layla knew immediately who ‘he’ was. And she also knew Hassan was afraid. So afraid he couldn’t bring himself to speak the name of his enemy. The formidable reputation of the desert warrior and rightful ruler of the wild desert country of Tazkhan frightened Hassan so badly it was now forbidden to speak his name within the walled city. The irony was that by banning all mention of the true heir to the sheikdom he had increased his status to that of hero in the minds of the people.
In a small moment of personal rebellion, Layla thought the name.
Raz Al Zahki.
A prince who lived like a Bedouin among the people who loved him. A man of the desert with steely determination, strength and patience, who played a waiting game. Right now he was out there somewhere, his exact whereabouts a secret known only to those closest to him. The secrecy surrounding him increased tensions in the Citadel of Tazkhan.
Footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the bedroom.
As the door closed behind them Yasmin pulled away, gasping for air. ‘I thought you were going to suffocate me.’
‘I thought you were going to scream.’
‘I’ve never screamed in my life. I’m not that pathetic.’ But her sister looked shaken and Layla took her hand and held it firmly as she peeped around the heavy velvet curtain.
‘They’ve gone. We’re safe.’
‘Safe? Layla, that wrinkled, overweight monster is going to marry you before dawn and he’s going to send me away to America, miles from home and miles from you.’
Layla heard the break in her sister’s voice and tightened her grip on her hand. ‘No, he won’t. I’m not going to allow him to take you away.’
‘How can you stop it? I don’t care what happens, but I want us to stay together. It’s been the two of us for so long I can’t imagine any other life. I need you to stop me opening my mouth when I should close it and you need me to stop you living your life in a book.’
Her sister’s voice was soaked with despair and Layla felt crushed by the weight of responsibility.
She felt small and powerless as she stood alone against the brutal force of Hassan’s limitless ambition.
‘I promise we won’t be separated.’
‘How can you promise that?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I’m thinking...’
‘Well, think fast, because in a few hours I’ll be on a plane to America and you’ll be in Hassan’s bed.’
‘Yasmin!’ Shocked, Layla gaped at her sister, who shrugged defiantly.
‘It’s true.’
‘What do you know about being in a man’s bed?’
‘Nowhere near as much as I’d like. I suppose that might be one of the advantages of being banished to America.’
Despite their circumstances, a dimple flickered at the corner of Yasmin’s mouth and Layla felt a lump in her throat. No matter how dire the circumstances, her sister always managed to find a reason to smile. She’d brought laughter to places without humour and light into the dark.
‘I can’t lose you.’ She couldn’t even bear to think of that option. ‘I won’t lose you.’
Yasmin peered cautiously across the room. ‘Is our father really dead?’
‘Yes.’ Layla tried to find some emotion inside herself but all she felt was numb. ‘Are you sad?’
‘Why would I be sad? This is only the fifth time I’ve ever seen him in person and I don’t think this one counts so that’s only four times. He made our lives hell and he’s still making it hell even though he’s dead.’ Yasmin’s unusual blue eyes darkened with fury. ‘Do you know what I wish? I wish Raz Al Zahki would ride into the city on that terrifying black stallion of his and finish off Hassan. I’d cheer. In fact I’d be so grateful I’d marry him myself and give him a hundred babies just to make sure his line is safe.’
Layla tried not to look at the figure on the bed. Even dead, she didn’t want to see him. ‘He wouldn’t want to marry you. You are the daughter of the man responsible for the death of his father and his beautiful wife. He hates us, and I cannot blame him for that.’ She hated herself too, for sharing the blood of a man with so little humanity. For sharing in his shame.
‘He should marry you. Then no one would be able to challenge him and Hassan would be finished.’
The idea was so outrageous, so typical of Yasmin, Layla’s instinct was to dismiss it instantly and preach caution as she always did. But how was caution going to help them when her marriage was only hours away?
Her mind picked at the idea gingerly. ‘Yasmin—’
‘It is said he loved his wife so deeply that when she died he made a vow never to love again.’ Yasmin spoke in an awed whisper. ‘Have you ever heard anything so romantic?’
Layla’s courage evaporated along with the idea. She couldn’t do it. ‘It’s not romantic. It’s tragic. It was a terrible thing.’
‘But to be loved that much by a man as strong and honourable as him—I want that one day.’
Yasmin stared into the distance and Layla gave her a shake.
‘Stop dreaming.’ The whole thing was alien to her. The only love she knew was her love for her sister. She’d never felt anything remotely romantic when she’d looked at a man. And nothing she’d read on the subject had led her to believe that would change in the future. She was far too practical a person, and it was the practical side that drove her now. ‘If they take you to America I’ll never see you again. I’m not going to let that happen.’
‘How can you stop it? Hassan is at his most dangerous when he’s afraid and he’s terrified of Raz Al Zahki. He won’t even allow his name to be spoken in the city. But everyone does speak it, of course. Especially the women. I’ve been listening.’
