The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (20 page)

A while later, when the women had returned to their tents to settle the children, Kenneth sat with Ramses and Jabari. The three studied the stars studding the night sky.

Kenneth glanced at the two men he’d considered brothers, the two he’d grown closer to than anyone else in the world. They had fought together, shed blood together, bonded as warriors in battle and the heat of death. How he wished he could recapture everything with them. Here, the responsibilities of being a duke slid off him like an old skin. Here, he could relax.

Jabari laid his palms upon his knees, face up. Ramses exchanged glances with him.

"Khepri? Do you wish to truly be bonded to us, Khepri? As a brother? Will you accept the blood-brother ceremony?"

The sheikh’s formal tone hammered home the seriousness of the question. Kenneth did not hesitate. He gave a solemn nod.

"So be it."

Bare-chested, clad only in indigo trousers, the trio sat on the pebbled sand at the Khamsin ceremonial grounds. Firelight cast ominous shadows on their faces, which were striped with ash from burnt wood—the ceremonial facial tattoos that warriors donned the night prior to riding into battle.

Kenneth braced himself and stared into the fire as Jabari took the ceremonial dagger and cleaned it. The sheikh raised it to the thick muscles of Kenneth’s left arm.

"Are you certain?" he asked.

Kenneth swung his head around to regard him, unblinking, spine straight and proud. "I’ve never been more certain in my life. I want to be your blood brother."

"Very well."

They settled their palms upon their knees and the sheikh uttered words in a deep, somber voice.

"Blood to blood, brother to brother, the ankh, the symbol of life, binds us together for life. May courage flow through our veins; stout be our hearts and strong be our bond to each other. Even if we lie weak and shattered upon the point of death, our blood flows in each other’s veins, our link of brotherhood remains strong forever."

Kenneth gritted his teeth hard as the knife dug into his flesh. He steeled himself against the pain, breathing evenly as Ramses had taught him in boyhood, to center himself. When it was finished, the sheikh wiped his arm with a cleansing cloth and passed the knife, shimmering with Kenneth’s blood, to Ramses.

Ramses offered a cheerful grin, breaking the solemnity of the moment. "Ah, a first. My sheikh hands me a dagger and instructs me to shed his blood. Perhaps a tattoo is not enough. A decorative symbol? Perhaps your wife’s favorite flower?"

"We could create a map of Egypt so if you become lost, you will always find your way," Kenneth offered cheerfully.

Jabari grunted. "Ramses, get on with it before I carve a permanent smile on your face." The Khamsin sheikh stared grimly into the fire as his guardian created the cut. When finished, Ramses wiped his arm and handed over the bloodied dagger.

The sheikh looked at his guardian pensively. Kenneth saw his predicament and he began to laugh. Ramses heaved a heavy sigh. "Must I receive another?" He held out his arms, each thick as tree trunks, one bearing a tattoo of a falcon, one bearing the intricate symbols signifying his marriage status. "I am running out of space," he complained.

His sheikh arched a black brow. "I can always find room on another body part," he offered helpfully.

Ramses cheerfully cursed him. Kenneth laughed, glad for the companionship and restored friendship. He felt at home at last.

Jabari settled for the space below the falcon tattoo. He finished and held up the dagger to the sky.

"May this dagger, which has shed our blood, serve as the instrument that binds us together as blood brothers, as the sacred ankh on our arms serves as the eternal reminder we are brothers for life."

"Brothers for life," Kenneth echoed solemnly.

"Brothers for life," Ramses repeated.

The sheikh cleaned the dagger and reverently replaced it in its cedar box. Kenneth arched his neck and stared at the sky. His heart felt lighter, and he felt a wholeness that he had missed since leaving.

Ramses nudged him and gestured at the circle on Jabari’s smooth, muscled chest. The almha: It had been tattooed on the sheikh the night before they rode against the Al-Hajid to reclaim that sacred disk.

"Do you remember when he received that?" Ramses asked.

Kenneth gave a solemn nod. Lost in recollection of long-ago, he mused over that night the warriors sang and danced around the fire and the sheikh received the tattoo. He propped his chin upon a fist, staring off into the sand. Finally the sheikh stood. They walked back to the camp, Kenneth wondering where his quarters would be for the night.

To his shock, Jabari halted before Badra’s tent, giving Kenneth an apologetic look. "She is not returning until late tomorrow. Rashid’s quarters are much less comfortable. Since it is late, I thought it would be acceptable. If it makes you uncomfortable ..."

"You can stay with us," Ramses put in.

"No, it’s fine." He gave a small shrug. "Only for tonight. I’ll be on my way at first light."

He bid them good-night, removed his boots and stepped inside the black tent. An oil lamp flickered on a sandalwood table. Kenneth made his way toward a bedroom curtained off from the main section and halted.

Badra’s bedroom. He smelled her scent, the fresh jasmine. A silver hairbrush sat on a wood table before an oval mirror. The large, comfortable bed, neatly made with clean sheets, was piled high with silk pillows.

She always had enjoyed sleeping with many pillows.

Spellbound by memories, he closed his eyes, remembering the first time he had saved Badra from the Al-Hajid, when he’d lost his heart to her. When he had shed his blood for her.

He lifted the tent flaps to allow a soft breeze through; then he washed, dumped the dirty water into the container used for irrigating the herb garden, and tumbled into Badra’s soft bed, falling into a sleep deeper than he ever had in England. The Duke of Caldwell, former Khamsin warrior, began to dream of jasmine and a shy, alluring smile.

Home at last.

Badra had pushed them at a breakneck pace back to camp, for she needed to return to Dashur as quickly as possible. Moonlight pooled silver upon the pebbled sand as she and Rashid made their way quietly through the tents.

She went into her own, heading for the bedroom, smiling at someone’s thoughtfulness. They had partly rolled up the flaps, allowing moonlight and a fresh desert breeze to spill inside. Undressing in the moonlight, she did a quick wash, donned a soft cotton nightdress she’d bought in England. Badra stroked the material wistfully, feeling a small connection to Kenneth and his native land—her one concession to relishing the tiny dream that she could have been his wife. She would have worn this to her marital bed, watched Kenneth’s face glow with pleasure as he gently tugged it off her and let it pool around her feet as he advanced on her, hunger flaring in his eyes. He’d trap her beneath his heavy weight, the gleam of desire turning to the madness of lust as he pinched her, pushing himself crudely inside her—

Badra shivered. She went to her bed, lifted the sheet and slid onto the mattress. A tiny sigh of regret fled her lips. Would it truly have been that revolting to share her body with Kenneth? What if she had allowed him to continue to make love to her? If only she wasn’t so afraid.

The odd scent of sandalwood and soap teased her nostrils. Kenneth’s scent. She was so enamored of him that her mind played tricks! But suddenly she became aware of steady, even breathing. A hard male body pressed against hers. Muscles and sinew molded themselves to her soft curves. She froze in panic, her mouth opening to cry out and summon Rashid and a horde of warriors, when a sleepy male voice spoke:

"Mmmmm. Badra."

Kenneth?

She lay perfectly still, shock replacing her fear as he snuggled against her. A warm hand skimmed her rib cage and slid upward to cup one breast. His forefinger and thumb took her nipple and gently kneaded it. An odd tingling pooled in her loins. He buried his face in her hair, his warm breath feathering her nape.

She whimpered with pleasure. He uttered a soft groan. She realized he was sleeping, dreaming of her.

She did not move one rigid muscle as he molded his body firmly against her, the hard ridge of his arousal nestling against her bottom. Memories of Fareeq surfaced. She fought them.

The feather-light caresses continued, sending fire through her veins. Caught in a quandary, Badra lay still. If she startled him into waking, he might awaken others. She did not want a scene.

And delicious sensations pooled through her as he gently caressed her breast, filling her with pulsing yearning. She waited, arching against his touch as he murmured sleepily.

Suddenly he rolled away. Badra slid quietly from the sheets and stood, gazing at him. Moonlight exposed the sharp edges of his profile, his sensual mouth parted slightly as he breathed. The sheet was pulled only waist high, revealing a naked chest covered with a wealth of dark hair. The cobra tattoo showed in stark blue on the sculpted bicep of his right arm.

He dreamt of holding her in his arms. She could only imagine the courage it would take to fall into his welcoming embrace. A piercing regret stabbed her as she padded out of the bedroom to sleep in the corner of the tent’s main room.

Before the first gray streaks of dawn stole into the tent, Kenneth awoke, the fragrance of jasmine lingering in the air. He inhaled the scent seeming to dust his hands. Was it a dream? Had he held Badra in his arms? Had his tender caresses caused sighs of pleasure to ripple from her sweet lips?

After dressing, he looked around the bedroom in speculation. He lit a lamp and silently padded over to the curtain separating the room from the main chamber. Lifting the fabric, he knew already what he would find.

Badra lay on the floor, curled into a tight ball, fast asleep. It had been no dream, then.

He looked at her a long minute, studying the delicate curves of her cheeks, her lush lips, her long, slender neck and rounded hips. So beautiful. Then he turned and headed back to her bedroom to gather his things. Dawn crept over the horizon, promising another cloudless, brilliant blue Egyptian sky.

Kenneth saddled his camel and slipped away from the Khamsin camp as silently as his cobra totem.