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They were offering him a chance to see her returned as if nothing had happened, he understood. If she were assaulted, it would be clear, and Al Sabah, and by extension the new and much-maligned sheikh, would be blamed.
And war would be imminent.
Either from Shakar or from his own people, were they to learn of what had happened under his “watch.”
He made an offer. Every bit of money he had. “I’m not dealing,” he said. “That is my only offer.”
Jamal looked at him, his expression hard. “Done.” He extended his hand, and Zafar didn’t for one moment mistake it as an offer for a handshake. He reached into his robes and produced a drawstring coin purse, old-fashioned, not used widely in the culture of the day.
But he’d been disconnected from the culture of the day for fifteen years so that was no surprise.
He poured the coins into his hand. “The woman,” he said, extending his arm, fist closed. “The woman first.”
One of the men walked her forward, and Zafar took hold of her arm, drawing her tight into his body. She was still, stiff, her eyes straight ahead, not once resting on him.
He then passed the coins to Jamal. “I think I will not be stopping for the night.”
“Eager to try her out, Sheikh?”
“Hardly,” he said, his lip curling. “As you said, there is no surer way to start a war.”
He tightened his hold on her and walked her to the corral. She was quiet, unnaturally so and he wondered if she was in shock. He looked down at her face, expecting to see her eyes looking glassy or confused. Instead, she was looking around, calculating.
“No point, princess,” he said in English. “There is nowhere to go out here, but unlike those men, I mean you no harm.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you?” she asked.
“For now.” He opened the gate and his horse approached. He led him from the enclosure. “Can you get on the horse? Are you hurt?”
“I don’t want to get on the horse,” she said, her voice monotone.
He let out a long breath and hauled her up into his arms, pulling her, and himself, up onto the horse in one fluid motion, bringing her to rest in front of his body. “Too bad. I paid too much for you to leave you behind.”
He tapped his horse and the animal moved to a trot, taking them away from the camp.
“You...you bought me?”
“All things considered I got a very good deal.”
“A good...a good deal!”
“I didn’t even look at your teeth. For all I know I was taken advantage of.” He wasn’t in the mood to deal with a hysterical woman. Or a woman in general, no matter her mental state. But he was stuck with one now.
He supposed he should be...sympathetic, or something like that. He no longer knew how.
“You were not,” she said, her voice clipped. “Who are you?”
“You do not speak Arabic?”
“Not the particular dialect you were speaking, no. I recognized some but not all.”
“The Bedouins out here have their own form of the language. Sometimes larger families have their own variation, though that is less common.”
“Thank you for the history lesson. I shall make a note. Who are you?”
“I am Sheikh Zafar Nejem, and I daresay I am your salvation.”
“I think I would have been better off if I were left to burn.”
* * *
Ana clung to the horse as it galloped over the sand, the night air starting to cool, no longer burning her face. This must be what shock felt like. Numb and aware of nothing, except for the heat at her back from the man behind her, and the sound of the horse’s hooves on the sand.
He’d stopped talking to her now, the man who claimed to be the Sheikh of Al Sabah, a man whose entire face was obscured by a headdress, save for his obsidian eyes. But before she’d been kidnapped...and it surely had only been a couple of days...Farooq Nejem had been the ruler of the country. A large and looming problem for Shakar, and one that Tariq had been very concerned with.
“Zafar,” she said. “Zafar Nejem. I don’t know your name. I can’t...remember. I thought Farooq...”
“Not anymore,” he said, his voice hard, deep, rumbling through him as he spoke.
The horse’s gait slowed, and Ana looked around the barren landscape, trying to figure out any reason at all for them to be stopping. There was nothing. Nothing but more sand and more...nothing. It was why she hadn’t made an escape attempt before. Going out alone and unprepared in the desert of Al Sabah was as good as signing your own death certificate.
They’d been warned of that so many times by their guide, and after traveling over the desert in the tour group on camelback for a day, she believed him.
So much for a fun, secret jaunt into the desert with her friends before her engagement to Tariq was announced. This was not really fun anymore. And it confirmed what she’d always suspected: that stepping out of line was a recipe for disaster.
She was so fair, too much exposure to the midday sun and she’d go up in a puff of smoke and leave nothing but a little pile of ash behind.
So bolting was out of the question, but the fact that they were stopping made her very, very uneasy. She’d been lucky, so lucky that the men that had kidnapped her had seen value in leaving her untouched. She wasn’t totally sure about her new captor.
She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the burn in her lungs, compliments of the arid, late-afternoon air. It was so thin. So dry. Just existing here was an effort. More confirmation on why running was a bad idea.
But she had to be calm. She had to keep control, and if she couldn’t have control over the situation, she would have it over herself.
Her captor got down off the horse, quickly, gracefully, and offered his hand. She accepted. Because with the way she was feeling at the moment, she might just slide off the horse and crumble into a heap in the sand. That would be one humiliation too many. She had been purchased today, after all.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“At a stopping point.”
“Why? Where? How is it a stopping point?” She looked around for a sign of civilization. A sign of something. Someone.
“It is a stopping point, because I am ready to stop. I have been riding for eight hours.”
“Why don’t you have a car if you’re a sheikh?” she asked, feeling irritated over everything.
“Completely impractical. I live in the middle of the desert. Fuel would become a major issue.”
Oh yes. Fuel. Oil. Oil was always the issue. It was something she knew well, having grown up the daughter of the richest oil baron in the United States. Her father had a knack for finding black gold. But he was a businessman, and that meant that the search was never done. It was all about getting more. Getting better.
And that was how she’d met Sheikh Tariq. It was how she’d ended up in Shakar, and then, in Al Sabah.
Oil was the grandaddy of this entire mess.
But it would be okay. It would be. She thought of Tariq, his warm dark eyes, his smile. The thought of him always made her stomach flip. Not so much at the moment, but given she was hot, tired, dusty, and currently leaning into the embrace of a stranger, thanks to her klutzy dismount, it seemed understandable.
She straightened and pushed away from him, heart pounding. He was nothing like Tariq. For a start, his eyes were flat black, no laughter. No warmth. But so very compelling...
“Where are we?” she asked, looking away from him, and at their surroundings.
“In the middle of the desert. I would give you coordinates, but I imagine they would mean nothing to you.”
“Less than nothing.” She squinted, trying to see through the haze of purple, the sun gone completely behind the distant mountains now. “How long until we reach civilization? Until I can contact my father? Or Tariq?”
“Who says I’ll allow you to contact them? Perhaps I have purchased you for my harem.”
“What happened to you being my salvation?”
“Have you ever lived in a harem?” He lifted a brow. “Perhaps you would like it.”
“Do you even have a harem?”
“Sadly,” he said, his tone as dry as the sand, “I do not. But I am only just getting started in the position as sheikh, so there is time to amass one.”
She nearly choked, fear clutching at her. “I am...stranded in the middle of a foreign desert....”
“It’s not foreign.”
“Not to you!” she said.
“Continue.”
“I am stranded in the desert with a stranger who claims he’s a sheikh, a sheikh who bought me, and you are joking about my future! I have no patience for it.”
She had no patience left in her entire body. At this moment, she had two options: get angry, or sink to the ground and cry. And crying was never the preferred option. No, the schools she’d attended, the ones she’d been sent to after her mother left, had been exclusive, private and very strict. She’d been taught that strength and composure were everything. She’d been taught never to run when she could walk. Never to shout when a composed, even statement would do. And she’d learned that tears never helped anything in life. They didn’t change things. They hadn’t brought her mother back home, certainly.
So she was going with anger.
His manner changed, dark brows locking together. His black eyes glittering with dark fire. He tugged at the bottom portion of the scarf, which had kept most of his face hidden until that moment, and revealed his lips, which were currently curled into a snarl.
“And you think I have the patience for this? These men are playing at starting a war between two nations simply to keep their petty ring of thieves intact. They are trying to buy my loyalty with blackmail. Because they know that if your precious Tariq finds out you were taken by citizens of Al Sabah, or God forbid, they find out the Sheikh of Al Sabah possessed you for any length of time against your will, that the tenuous truce we have between the countries will shatter entirely. How do you suppose my patience is?”
She blinked, feeling dizzy. “I...I’m going to start a war?”
“Not if I play it right.”
“I imagine putting me in your harem wouldn’t defuse things.”
“True enough. But then...perhaps I want the war.”
“What?”
“I am undecided on the matter.”
“How can you be undecided on the matter?”
“Easily,” he said. “I have yet to have a look at any of the papers left behind by my uncle. I have had limited contact with the palace since finding out I was to be installed as ruler.”
“Why?”
“Could have something to do with the fact that my first, albeit distant, act was to fire every single person who worked for my uncle. Regime changes are rough.”
“Is this a...hostile takeover?”
“No. I am the rightful heir. My uncle is dead.”
“I’m sorry.” Her manners were apparently bred into her strongly enough that they came out even in the middle of a crisis of this magnitude.
“I’m not. My uncle was the worst thing to happen to Al Sabah in its history. He brought nothing but poverty and violence to my country. And stress between us and neighboring countries.” His dark gaze swept over her. “You are unfortunate enough to have become a pawn in the paradigm shift. And I have yet to decide how I will move you.”
CHAPTER TWO
FOR ONE MOMENT, Zafar almost felt something akin to sympathy for the pale woman standing in front of him. Almost.
He had no time for emotions like that. More than that, he was nearly certain he had lost the ability to feel them in any deep, meaningful way.
He’d spent nearly half of his life away from society, away from family. He’d had no emotional connections at all in the past fifteen years. He’d had purpose. A drive that transcended feeling, that transcended comfort, hunger, pain. A need to keep watch over Al Sabah, to protect the weakest of his people. To see justice served.
Even at the expense of this woman’s happiness.
Fortunately for her, while he imagined she would be delayed longer than she would like, he had a feeling their ultimate goals would be much the same. Seeing her back to Tariq would be the simplest way to keep peace, he was certain. But he had to figure out how to finesse it.
And finesse was something he generally lacked.
Brute force was more his strength.
“I don’t like the idea of that at all,” she said. “I’m not really inclined to hang around and be moved by you. I want to go home.” She choked on the last word, a crack showing in her icy facade. Or maybe the shock was wearing off. It was very likely she’d been in shock for the past few days.
He remembered being in that state. A blissful cushion against the harsh reality of life. Oh yes, he remembered that well. It had driven him out into the desert and the searing heat had hardly mattered at all.
He hadn’t felt it.
He was numb. Bloody memories blunted because there was no way he could process them fully. Deep crimson stains washed pink by the bone-white sun.
If she was lucky, she was being insulated in that way. If not...if not he might have a woman dissolving in front of him soon. And he really didn’t have the patience for that.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Right. War. Et cetera.”
