Delectably Undone! (24 page)

Chapter Eight

“H
e covets her, Muhsin. And I think she is not indifferent to the Christian dog.” Bassam took a sloppy sip of wine and reclined against the pillows in his brother-in-law’s tent. They were alone in the quiet part of the afternoon and he was free to speak his mind at last. “You have lost your prized horse to the one. If you are not careful, you will lose your houri, too.”

The sheikh shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of nonchalance. “The blond one is cognizant of our ways. He would not dare to intrude in that domain.”

Bassam narrowed his eyes in thoughtful contemplation. “Beneath his robes, behind his flawless command of the language, he is an Englishman. That is a fact best not forgotten.” He studied Muhsin. His brother-in-law was much taken with the blond newcomer and with his dark-haired companion. It was making him careless. “The
moussem
will be over soon and they will go their way,” Muhsin reasoned.

“With your favorite horse.”

Muhsin laughed. “Do you think I’d be sitting here so calmly if I meant to let them actually take the horse?”

Bassam relaxed slightly. That sounded more like the brother-in-law he knew. “And your English houri? Will she stay behind, too?”

Muhsin’s eyes darkened at the mention of his latest acquisition. “I have told her my patience is up. After the
moussem
she is to be mine in truth. She is an untouched gem, all that a virile man desires.”

“Like the houris promised by the Koran in the afterlife,” Bassam mused. “Modest, voluptuous and untouched by another, her body without the blemishes of childbirth.” He eyed Muhsin speculatively. “What if she’s been touched by another after all?”

“She has not. My physician has vouched for her chastity,” Muhsin contested.

“That was months ago.” Bassam played idly with a cluster of grapes. “I did not exaggerate when I said you stood to lose your horse and your houri. Last night, she went to the Englishman’s tent while his friend kept us at cards. She was there a long while.”

The sheikh’s face darkened with anger. “How do you know this?”

“I saw the desire in the Englishman’s face the first night she danced. I had her followed, for her protection, of course, in case the Englishman forced his attentions upon her,” Bassam said slyly. “But last night, there was no forcing. She went to him.”

Bassam watched the implications become clear to Muhsin. After a calculated silence, Bassam spoke. “She has abused your generosity and patience. She has shamed you by giving herself to an infidel.”

The English bitch had shown him nothing but disdain since her arrival in camp, Bassam thought. A woman in her precarious position should have welcomed the bargain he’d been willing to make her. But she’d shunned him just as she’d shunned his powerful brother-in-law. She would soon learn her place. She would soon see that the power of her wiles extended only so far, and that the real power over life and death, freedom and captivity, lay with him. She would regret her choice to go it alone.

Muhsin’s anger grew. “She favors the Englishman over me? She favors a meager
horse trader?
”

“It is perhaps more than that,” Bassam insinuated. The seed of doubt had been planted and he nurtured it with his other suspicions. “The two newcomers are more than horse traders, don’t you think?”

He had all of Muhsin’s attention now. “What do you suspect they’re hiding?”

“They’ve come for her, perhaps? Maybe they have been sent to find out the truth about the entourage that disappeared in the desert? Perhaps they’ve come to finish what the entourage started? They’ve come to ferret out alliances and see where the tribes will side?”

“Spies? Is this what they do in exchange for my hospitality? I have welcomed them into my tent and shared the hookah with them.”

Bassam nodded solemnly. “They have misused the hospitality of the desert quite horribly. Punishment would not be out of order. The
moussem
ends tomorrow, it would be a good time to make an example out of them, to show the tribes what it means to defy Sheikh Muhsin ibn Bitar.”

Muhsin was thoughtful. “Yes, I think you may be right about that. I will start with the captive tonight.”

A wicked gleam lit Bassam’s eyes. “She can be used to draw the Englishman out and force him to perjure himself. If she is known to be in jeopardy, he may show his hand.”

Something was wrong. Susannah stumbled in the sand, fighting against the strong grip of Bassam’s hand about her wrist. He was angry. This was no polite escort and she could only speculate why.

She had danced tonight for the sheikh, as always, had pleased the audience. It was the last time she’d have to dance in that manner. Tomorrow she’d be free. Alex would make his request tonight as the men sat and talked. Had he already made his request? Was that why Bassam had come for her without warning?

“You have defiled yourself with an Englishman, without permission. Now, you will pay.” Bassam jerked her to an abrupt halt outside the sheikh’s tent. His face was close to her. She could smell the residue of spices on his breath, the gaminess of the roasted lamb. She fought the urge to cringe. She could not afford to show weakness in front of Bassam.

He forced himself upon her lips, his mouth demanding she open to him. She struggled against him, twisting her head to avoid contact. She kicked out with her foot, but Bassam was too swift. He pinioned her against him. “You’re a feisty one, and I find I am less discerning than my brother-in-law. I do not care that I have not had you first, only that I have you next and last. I can still save you. Remember that before you lash out.” He bit at her ear, nothing like the loving nips Alex had showered her with. She stifled a yelp against his harsh methods.

Where was Alex now? She hoped he was safe. Somehow the sheikh knew what they had done. Had Alex made his request yet?

Bassam pushed her inside the tent and she scanned the interior rapidly. Alex was there, seated across from the shiekh. He was alone. Crispin was not present. Alex sat erect, his body hard and alert. He was aware that the situation had become hostile. But even so, his presence buoyed her hope. She took courage from his cool assurance as he eyed the sheikh unflinchingly. Alex would not fail her.

“Is this how you treat your guests? I have come to barter with you honestly for a lowly slave in your possession,” Alex charged, taking the offensive as she was thrust into the center of the conversation.

She met his eyes with a quick glance, but he shifted his gaze away. Probably a smart choice. Susannah averted her own eyes to the floor, unwilling to give away more emotion than she wanted. Her freedom lay in the balance, dependent now upon the wits of Alex Grayfield. A wrong glance from her, a wrong word, would seal not only her fate but his. They were now irrevocably linked together.

“You have taken her without my permission. You’ve lain with her and befouled her.”

“And I am willing to do my duty by her,” Alex replied evenly, showing no agitation at the harsh words meant to provoke. “I will take her from your sight.”

“That is not all.” Muhsin held up a hand. “She has committed an act of defiance against me. I have it on good authority that
she
went to you, she sought your bed willingly.” He gave a manly shrug. “If it had been simply a matter between men, we could have settled it between ourselves,” he said benevolently, although Susannah doubted it would have been as simple as he made it sound. “But a woman’s dishonor combined with a slave’s disobedience must be accounted for lest others find me weak and seek to try me in kind.”

The look Muhsin cast her chilled her in spite of the tent’s heat. She heard the implicit deal Muhsin was willing to contract with Alex. She would be made to pay most horribly. If Alex confessed she’d come to him, he could pass unscathed as long as he left.

Alex said nothing, and Susannah breathed more easily. She wanted to trust Alex, but the offer had to be tempting. The sheikh spoke again. “You have in your possession a horse I admire. Relinquish the horse and that would cover any misunderstanding between us.”

Again the implicit opportunity to deny her, to lay the blame entirely at her feet; she had seduced him and he had not understood the inappropriateness of the seduction. Susannah clenched her hands to keep them from trembling. Surely Alex would not betray her? He’d promised. But what did she know of the man? Was he a man of his word or would he seek to save himself at her expense? Her mind warned that she knew nothing of him, a man who had wandered in from the desert two days ago.

But her heart argued otherwise. The man so concerned with her pleasure, who worshiped her body so reverently, was a man of sincerity and honor. Whatever he did with her afterward, he would not leave her here to face a cruel fate at Bassam’s hands. She knew what awaited her if he denied her—public punishment and the private humiliations Bassam would heap upon her. She could imagine, too, what awaited Alex if he did not deny her. At the very least there would be trial by fire, the Bedouin tradition for truth-telling, at the worst he would be ruined as a man unless she could intervene.

“Will you play me for her? She is not one of you. Your codes are not her codes. Whatever she has done, let me at least play for her. I fancy her and, unlike you, I am not repulsed by her sin,” Alex said with cool casualness.

“No cards.” The sheikh laughed, warming to the idea of a competition. “If you’re as good as your friend, it is hardly fair.”

“Weapons then. We are all fair hands with knives,” Alex suggested. “You and Bassam against Crispin and myself.”

“It is dark.”

“The tent is large. We can set targets at the far end,” Alex countered.

The sheikh glanced at Bassam. “What do you say?”

Bassam grinned. “Take the challenge. If they win, they may take the girl. If they lose, they will leave camp before sun-up, happy to be alive and praising the sheikh’s generosity.”

Susannah fought the urge to seek out Alex’s gaze. Her fate balanced literally and metaphorically on the point of a knife, and she, a woman used to taking care of herself, could do nothing about it but watch and wait.

Chapter Nine

I
t was to be a private competition between the four of them, but it was no less tense for the lack of spectators.

Alex critically watched the targets being prepared by a trusted relative of the sheikh. He resented being unable to go to Susannah, who’d been manhandled roughly to the side to sit under guard.

She’d borne up stoically under the crass negotiations. She’d kept her eyes modestly downcast throughout the transaction, but he knew she’d heard the unspoken messages as well. As Sutcliffe’s daughter she would have been trained to read between the lines. He’d feared at one point she would protest and give herself up out of some misguided effort to save him. Such a sacrifice might have momentarily cleansed the conscience but it would have done little to alter the situation. She’d shown great insight and understanding to know enough to withhold her reaction.

“Is she worth it?” Cris spoke in low tones at his ear, passing him a throwing knife. Crispin Ramsden was a saint among men, Alex thought, a tarnished saint to be sure, but a saint all the same. He’d come without question ready to defend Alex’s interests. Alex knew no finer gentleman than the rough-edged brother to the powerful Earl of Dursley.

“Yes,” Alex replied. Everything was in that answer. He hazarded a glance at Susannah. He had not imagined himself to be a man open to love at first sight. In that regard, he’d believed himself to be much like Crispin, a cynical lover of women, quick to take pleasure but less hasty to bind himself to one in any permanent fashion. Yet a woman like Susannah demanded more, and he found he was more than willing to give it.

She was beauty personified with her pale gold hair and houri curves. But she was more than beauty. Her blue eyes were windows into mystery and intelligence. Without him realizing it, she had become an essential part of his plans for the future.

“We have to get out of here alive first,” Crispin commented. “You’re already planning your life together. Let’s work on the present.”

Alex laughed. “My apologies for being so transparent.”

“A man in love always is.” Crispin hefted a knife, testing its weight and balance. “I’ve seen it before. When my brother fell in love with Tessa, it was fast and deadly.”

“You talk about it as if it’s a disease, spreading like cholera.”

“Well?” Crispin challenged.

“We’ll find you a woman next.”

Satisfied with their weapons, their talk turned serious in the moments they had left. The targets were nearly set.

“What’s the plan if we lose?” Cris inquired, baring his teeth at a glaring Bassam across the tent.

“The same as if we win. It won’t matter to them. They’re not letting us go easily.”

“Is this the ride-like-hell option you spoke of earlier?”

“Yes. Any chance our horses are close?”

“The black is outside. The sheikh thinks I’ve brought him to return him. The other two horses are in the rope pen behind the sheikh’s tent where we left them when we rode in.”

Alex spoke rapidly. “Susannah and I will make for the horse pen. You take the black and ride out. Don’t wait for us.”

Crispin nodded, understanding the necessity. If he rode out on the prized horse, he could be a successful diversion. “I’ll see you in Algiers then, my friend.”

All was ready. The targets were at thirty paces, a distance that would require a strong arm as well as accurate aim. Additional torches had been brought to the tent to ensure quality lighting. The flames also increased the temperature. Alex could feel sweat beading his brow in response to the additional heat.

The rules were simple. Each of them had four throws. The best combination of throws would determine the victor. Bassam threw first, two of his knives finding purchase on the second ring of the target, one of them on the outside ring, the final knife successfully finding the ring closest to the center.

Crispin tossed the man a look of disdain as if to say,
Is that the best you can do?
He stepped up to the line and sighted his target, throwing methodically, his arm in a guaranteed rhythm. Three of his knives gained the closest circle from the center, making the one knife of Bassam’s look like a lucky strike compared to the expert accuracy of his. His fourth knife fell short of excellence and joined Bassam’s in the second outer circle, but he’d still bested the sheikh’s brother-in-law.

Alex gave Crispin a grateful nod. Cris had not failed him. They were ahead, three knives to one. But the sheikh remained. Alex had taken his measure carefully during the competitions the day before. Muhsin ibn Bitar was a fine knife-thrower; no one but himself had matched the sheikh. Even then, their competition had been a draw.

Undaunted by Crispin’s excellence, Muhsin toed his mark and sighted the target. He threw slowly and with deadly accuracy. His first knife hit the bull’s-eye and he cast a mocking glance at Susannah. His second knife sliced the ring closest to the center where most of Crispin’s had fallen. But his last two throws were devastating, both of them hitting the center target.

So be it. Susannah was pale on the sidelines. This would be difficult indeed. The problem with throwing last, Alex thought, was that he would know if he’d lost after he’d thrown two knives. If at least one of them was a bull’s-eye, he was still in. If neither hit a bull’s-eye, the other two throws mattered not at all. Alex drew a deep breath. He had his methods and it would not do to deviate now.

Susannah held her breath, marveling at Alex’s calm. In his turban and robes he might be one of them, so seamlessly did he fit in. Only the sharp green of his eyes and the sun-streaked hair that she knew lay beneath the winding wrap of his turban betrayed him as belonging to another world. She tried not to think of that world. It was a world in which she was no longer sure of her place.

Her renowned father was dead. Would she be welcome in his circles abroad? She could perhaps see herself making a quiet home in Italy or in Cairo where her experience in the desert wouldn’t matter as greatly. Or would she be forced home to England and her mother’s people? There would be pity there but no acceptance. They were strict people, doggedly adhering to the moral codes of Society. A Bedouin captive, a woman who’d lived without chaperone in a society they’d deem as immoral would not be suitable to their world. But all that remained to be seen, all of it resting on Alex’s broad shoulders.

He stepped to the mark and stared hard at his target for long moments. All four knives were in his belt and he pulled forth the first one now and tossed it lightly in his hand. The wait was maddening. Without warning, he threw the first one, hard and sure toward the target. In rapid succession he drew the other three. He fired without hesitation. His movements mesmerized. He threw quickly and without thought, unlike the others, who’d deliberated before each throw.

There was no time to think, to register the landing of the knives. Later, she’d realize he’d planned it that way. He’d guessed all along that neither victory nor defeat would matter. The sheikh would not simply let him leave with her if he won. Neither would Alex simply walk away without her if he lost.

The speed of his throws was utterly distracting. He’d moved to her side before anyone realized it. The man in charge of the targets was busy tallying the scores. But Alex was pushing her toward the tent entrance behind them.

Crispin was already there, arms crossed and legs spread, ostensibly awaiting the pronouncement of victory.

Alex had just gently shoved Susannah into the darkness outside when the cry inside erupted.

“We have won, have we not?” Alex heard Crispin’s challenge. “We’re free to go.”

There were harsh words and the commotion of a fight. Alex was torn between the need to go back and assist Crispin or to stay with Susannah. Crispin could handle himself in a fight. His sacrifice would be for nothing if he and Susannah did not get away.

“Quick, the horse pen.” He ushered her forward in the dark, holding her firmly when she stumbled.

In the end, there wasn’t time to get both horses. The animals were skittish with the camels so near them and Alex had trouble calming his stallion down long enough to throw Susannah up. A challenging neigh in the darkness warned Alex Crispin had made his getaway. He swung up behind Susannah and kicked his horse into organized motion, leaning sideways and slicing an exit in the rope pen with a knife he’d secreted up his sleeve. He’d never, ever intended to fight fairly.

The opening in the pen full of camel-skittish horses had the desired effect. The animals spilled out into the camp in a rampage, taking the revelers unawares. But the distraction did not entirely ensure their escape. Bassam sighted them and raised the alarm.

Alex kicked his horse into a gallop, taking his chances with speed. If they could clear the camp, they would make it. But he needed a lead in order to get to the cache he’d stashed earlier in the day. Without those supplies, the desert would finish them off as surely as Bassam’s knife.

Luck was with them. They cleared the camp and the rampaging horses ensured that no one had the speed to follow them into the desert. With more luck, the sheikh would assume they had no supplies, that their flight was precipitous and poorly thought out, and he would leave them to their demise.

Alex spotted the formation he’d used to mark his cache. He pulled the horse to a halt and slid off. “We made it.” He grinned up at Susannah, pale but game on the back of the stallion, her hair a tumble of gold in the moonlight. She’d never looked lovelier to him.

“We won’t survive without water. It’s days back to Algiers,” she said matter-of-factly.

Alex’s grin widened. “I left supplies here today, in anticipation of our flight tomorrow. It’s a good thing I plan ahead.” He dug in the soft sand until he came up with wineskins and saddlebags of food. He passed them up to her and watched her settle them across the horse’s withers.

She smiled, and he noted her tension had seeped away at the sight of water. Alex swung up behind her, ready to ride again. There was still distance to put between them and the camp. “Once we’re safely away, I have some other plans I’ve made for you,” he murmured in her ear.

She pressed her back against him and he savored the feel of her body nestled against him, close and intimate, her buttocks to his groin. He felt himself harden instinctively, but that would have to wait.

He urged his horse to a trotting pace. If they traveled by day they’d have to walk to save the horse from sweating too much, but in the cool of a desert night, they could manage the speed and right now they needed it.

“Will Crispin be all right?” Susannah asked when it became apparent he wasn’t joining them.

“Crispin’s always all right. He has a stash, too. He’ll see us in Algiers,” Alex answered confidently.

She sighed, her head moving sleepily against him. “You won, you know. All four knives were bull’s-eyes.”

She drowsed against him and Alex welcomed her weight. She was his. Just as soon as they reached Algiers, he’d make it legal.

Somewhere between the last of the night and sunrise, he found a cave with enough room for the horse to be comfortable during the hot day. It would do, for his horse and for him. The excitement of the evening’s events and the woman he carried with him still fired his loins, seeking relief.

Inside the cave, he made their meager encampment, laying down a blanket for their bed. He laid Susannah gently upon it and she stirred at the movement, looking up at him through sleepy eyes. She reached for him. “Come to bed, Alex.”

Four simple words, and yet the most powerful aphrodisiac he’d ever experienced, the words of a woman inviting a man to bed.

In a swift movement, he shrugged out of his robes and fell naked beside her in acceptance of the invitation. She snuggled beside him, her sleepiness disappearing. “You saved us, Alex.” She kissed him hard on the mouth, a hand dropping low between them.

Alex groaned appreciatively. Her hand moved to stroke his length, massaging, arousing, if it was possible to be aroused further. Suddenly, she rolled over and straddled him. “I was thinking about this as we rode tonight,” she whispered, letting her hair fall forward and tickle his nipples. “I was thinking that I could ride you like a horse, like a stallion.”

“You could.” Alex grinned as she teased.

“And I was thinking,” she continued, bending to kiss him on the mouth, “that while I was up here, I could do…other things….”

Alex’s reply was hoarse. “You could,” he managed. But his permission was hardly necessary. She’d already started the journey downward, trailing kisses down his chest, her breath feathering his navel, her lips pressing either side of his thighs and then finally reaching their destination.

She tested tentatively at first, her lips a mere flutter on the sensitive head of him. Then firmer as she took all of him, sucking and licking until Alex cried out into the night. This was an ecstasy beyond words and he reveled in her boldness.

When he could stand it no longer, he urged her head up and pulled her above him, letting her take his length inside her and begin to ride toward fulfillment. As the sun rose outside the cave, Alex took them both to completion, her body collapsing against him, satiated.

They spent the day in the cave. The sun was too hot to make travel worthwhile. There was little to do but make love and talk, not that Alex minded. When he was with Susannah, he was discovering he wanted to do little else.

“Where will you go when we reach Algiers?” Susannah asked, playing idly with the flat of his aureole.

“Cairo. My family lives there, and you’ll want to meet them. But there will be reports to make in Algiers. We’ll be there awhile.”

“We?” Susannah lifted her head, her sea-blue eyes curious.

“Us.” Alex smiled softly. “I plan to marry you once we reach civilization. If you’ll have me?” He levered up on one arm. “Susannah Sutcliffe, will you marry me? I cannot guarantee a life rich in wealth, but I can promise a life rich in adventure.”

She laughed, but turned her gaze away. “The sun has touched you, Alex. You hardly know me and you must know that no one will consider me suitable. I’m damaged goods.”