The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (39 page)

"Do you not remember the vow we made beneath the stars, Khepri?" Ramses asked. "Our blood flows in each other’s veins, our link of brotherhood remains strong forever. When you need us, we are there for you."

Deeply moved by their words, Kenneth could not reply. His friends withdrew their
jambiyas
to cut him loose. Jabari arched a dark brow. "I know you wanted to marry Badra, but this is a most peculiar way to tie the knot."

Kenneth groaned and the others laughed. When the ropes finally slid free, he released a grateful sigh and worked his strained muscles. Badra leaned against him, doing the same.

Their attention swung to the floor as Victor awoke with a groan, rubbing his temple. His eyes widened.

"So, coz, did you want to kill me, too?" Kenneth asked.

Victor looked totally abashed as he rose. "I’m sorry, Kenneth," he said brokenly. "I never wanted to hurt you. Zaid promised me the necklaces from the dig site so I could have replicas made. He said he’d return them."

Kenneth picked up the Osiris statue and flipped it into the air. "Cheap replicas you could sell as authentic to ignorant, rich Englishmen? Like these?"

A nod confirmed his suspicion. "But I swear I didn’t know anything about him trying to kill you. I wouldn’t have helped with that!"

"The papers you had me sign. What about them?" Familiar shame coursed through Kenneth. He steeled his spine. "Did you know I can’t read English? Did you try to cheat me, as Zaid did?"

"Good God, no. The papers were telling you the losses. I had to cover the losses at the Cairo store with profits from the London store. I was hoping you’d sign them without reading them. There simply wasn’t any profit. I was desperate for funds and that’s why I started making these duplicates."

Kenneth turned the statue over. "It might briefly pass for authentic, but an expert could see the differences. Tourists would not. Could you produce these in mass quantities and sell them cheap?"

"Yes, but there’s no reason."

"There is now," he said, setting the statue down on a nearby table. "Visitors to Egypt can’t afford real antiquities, which belong in the museum anyway. Tourists wouldn’t mind paying for a duplicate of real antiquities."

Victor’s brow wrinkled. "Produce fakes in Egypt to sell to tourists? What an excellent idea! I’d need plenty of labor, though. And capital to finance it."

"I will finance the expenses. We will split the profits fifty-fifty," Kenneth told him.

Relief showed on Victor’s face. "I can do it. I will do it, by God."

Kenneth raked a hand through his hair. "Zaid will be back soon, to find out if his plan worked. We’d best leave. I’m sure he’s nearby, watching."

"First let me see if the alley is clear," Rashid offered. He left the shop but quickly ducked back inside. "Someone is coming," he rasped. "Hide."

Kenneth retrieved his dagger as Ramses pushed Jabari and Badra toward the shop’s shadowy back room. "In there, where you will be safe," he ordered.

"I will not hide like a girl," Jabari protested.

"I will," Victor offered, grabbing the sheikh’s arm and dragging him and Badra off.

They scattered through the shop, Rashid and Ramses taking up a position in the front behind a large mummy case, Kenneth hiding behind a large stack of wood crates at the back. His half-uncle entered the room, a pistol clutched in his hand. From his vantage point, Kenneth saw Zaid advance. Sweat dampened his palm, making the
jambiya
difficult to hold.

"Kenneth? So, you escaped. I know you are still here. Come out and I promise I won’t hurt you," Zaid called.

"Stay where you are, Zaid. I’m armed this time."

"Come out, Kenneth," the mocking voice whispered. "Come out and let’s talk. I promise I won’t shoot."

"Promises from the man who paid Fareeq to attack the caravan and murder my parents and brother? I think not," Kenneth shouted back.

Zaid fired at the crates. The bullet whistled through the air, exploding into Kenneth’s hiding spot. He had one chance. He emerged partly from behind his cover. Seeing him, Zaid snarled. As the man aimed, a loud ululating sound echoed through the store. Pride filled Kenneth. The Khamsin war cry.

Zaid half-turned, shock registering on his face, swinging his gun toward the source of that terrible cry. It was Rashid, his scimitar held aloft in his right hand.

Kenneth raised his dagger. "Hello, uncle!" he sang out.

Zaid looked back for just an instant. Kenneth hurled his
jambiya
. Badra’s former captor yelled as the knife sank into his back, and he dropped his gun. Rashid raised his scimitar, fury contorting his face, and he charged.

The death blow was delivered swiftly. The fury faded on Rashid’s face, replaced by an odd look of peace, as if the demons riding him had quieted at last.

Kenneth stood as Badra and Jabari rushed into the room. Kenneth grabbed Badra, hiding her face against his chest to shield her from Zaid’s body. "Don’t look," he whispered.

His gaze locked with Rashid’s. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"I heard what you said about ... about how he arranged to have the caravan attacked and your family killed."

Rashid’s voice shook. He wiped his scimitar, sheathed it, then looked at Kenneth with a tormented expression. He unraveled his turban and shook out the fabric, covering Zaid’s body with it.

"It’s done now," Kenneth said.

Badra tore away from his chest. "Is he truly gone?" she asked. A tremulous note filled her voice.

"Yes, my love. He will never hurt you or me again. My uncle is dead," he assured her.

Victor finally emerged from the back room. He shuddered as he looked at the covered body. "Zaid was your uncle?"

As Kenneth explained, fury tightened Rashid’s face. He kicked the body with the toe of his boot. "God rot your soul, you evil bastard. I hope you burn in hell."

The warrior’s behavior perplexed Kenneth. It seemed very ... personal. "Rashid? Are you all right?"

The man’s large, dark eyes met his. "There is something you should know, Kenneth. I need to confess something. Something very important, to settle peace upon my
leb
." He stared at the ground. "It is about the loss of your family. You thought yourself the sole survivor. But there was one other."

Rashid spoke so quietly that Kenneth strained to hear. The delicate hairs at the nape of his neck rose as a suspicion began to assert itself. He untangled himself from Badra and stepped forward, toward the warrior he’d once thought wanted to kill him.

The warrior he’d thought hated him.

The warrior he’d thought he had nothing in common with.

"One other?"

"Your brother. Your brother who was too big for your parents to hide in a basket, but who was taken by Fareeq."

The anguish on Rashid’s face twisted Kenneth’s heart.

"Your brother who was raised as an Al-Hajid."

It all made sense. The gingerbread Rashid had gobbled down at his house in England. His expert whistling, when whistling was considered impolite in the Arab world.

"Oh, dear God," Kenneth rasped. "Graham. My brother."

The two men stood motionless as alabaster statues, chests heaving with the intensity of their emotions.

"Rashid is your brother?" Badra asked. Jabari and Ramses stared in open-mouthed shock. Victor made a strangled noise.

Kenneth did not respond. Suddenly he felt the pressure of his past crush him like heavy stones, and he stepped forward. Hesitated. Wanted so much to embrace him. Feared there had been too much hostility between them to reconcile.

Rashid took two steps forward. "Can you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive," Kenneth replied.

The two brothers, who had been separated for years, hugged each other fiercely. Tears burned Kenneth’s eyes when they finally pulled away, and he saw moisture sparkle in Rashid’s. Graham’s eyes. They looked just like their mother’s.

"When did you find out?" he asked hoarsely.

"I did not know you survived until last year when Katherine announced she’d found our grandfather. Then I knew."

"Why?" Frustration gripped Kenneth and he slammed a fist into his thigh. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why keep it a secret?"

Graham kept looking at Ramses and Jabari, who still looked shocked. He gripped the hilt of his scimitar so tightly his flesh was white. Kenneth sensed he had something deeply private to share that he could not reveal to the other warriors. He cleared his throat, but Jabari interceded.

"We will step outside, Kenneth, to give you time to become reacquainted," he said tactfully.

"Badra can stay," Graham said quickly.

Jabari did not look surprised. When he, Ramses and Victor left the shop, the white-knuckled grip Graham had on his scimitar eased. "I could not return with you to England. I knew I had to keep my identity concealed." His voice dropped to a bare whisper. "I was jealous. You survived the attack and were treated as an honored son by the Khamsin. And you could slip into the English life as easily as your totem sheds its skin. I could not."

Anguish twisted his face. He bent his head. "I could not face the shame, the scandal should someone find out ... what had happened to me when I was taken prisoner. Taken by one of Fareeq’s men, who liked boys. I was afraid others would discover ... that I am not a man after all." He turned away, his face flaming.

"Oh, Rashid," Badra managed to say, tears streaming down her face. She turned to Kenneth. "I heard what happened to him. When you announced your departure, I told him what Fareeq did to me. We made a vow to pretend we were courting, so we could escape the scrutiny of others who inquired why neither of us wished to marry. That was why I asked him to become my falcon guard."

Kenneth felt raging, violent desire to murder Fareeq with his bare hands for the abuse his brother had suffered. And for Badra. He fervently wished the sheikh alive so he could make him suffer as the two people he loved had suffered.

"What made you come forward now?" he asked quietly.

Graham’s tormented gaze flicked to Badra. "When you told me of your plan to buy Badra because you loved her, I realized what courage it had taken to trade herself for her daughter and become a slave again. And if she could have such courage to face the fears of her past, then perhaps I could as well."

Kenneth went forward, placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders, forcing him to face him. "You have that courage, Graham. You survived and became an honorable, fierce warrior as well. This courage will serve you when we return to England. You must return to England and assume your rightful place."

Horror flared in his brother’s dark eyes. "Never," he said tightly. "I will never return to England."

Confused, Kenneth studied him. Slowly Graham began to talk about the redheaded Englishman.

"I was eight, Khepri. I saw him and begged him to slip out a message of how I was held prisoner. I told him my name. I promised him riches, if he sent someone to rescue me. He told me delivering such a message came with a different price."

Raging anger filled Kenneth as he learned the truth. He calmed, for his brother’s sake.

"Afterward, the redheaded Englishman laughed. He warned me never to tell anyone, for he would deny it and blame me. I begged him to free me. I begged and waited, hoping he would tell someone where I was. I waited. But help never arrived."

Resolve pooled inside Kenneth. He put a calming hand on Graham’s shoulder. "You are no longer that little boy, Graham. You will not return to England alone. I will be with you. Our family’s property in Yorkshire is remote. We’ll go there instead of London. You must come with me."

Hope flared briefly in Graham’s eyes. Then it faded.

"Come. Please. I will be at your side to help you. Please. Now that we’ve found each other, I can’t bear to lose you."

Graham sought Badra’s gaze. She gave a small nod. "He’s right. You can do it," she said.

Graham heaved a deep sigh. Mischief suddenly danced in his eyes. "Only if you return as Badra’s husband."

Kenneth glanced at her hopeful face. But before he could sink to his knees and take her hand, Badra surprised him by doing just that. She stared up at him with large, dark velvet eyes.

"I know you asked me to be your wife and I refused three times. It is my turn now. Will you marry me?" she whispered.

Pulling her to her feet, he kissed her gently. "I love you, Badra. I never stopped loving you. I would be honored."

She touched the necklace she still wore. "This means I’m your slave."

Kenneth smiled as he removed the pectoral. "No, it means the opposite. This is Amenemhat II’s cartouche. That’s why I placed it around your neck in your room at the Pleasure Palace. I gave you the power to enslave my heart, my love. Zaid mixed up the cartouches."

He pocketed it. "The best place for this, and all the jewelry from the excavation, is a museum."

After he called in the others and told them the news, Jabari smiled at Kenneth. "I am happy for you, Khepri, that you have a real brother. Blood relatives are most important."

"So are relatives of the heart, Jabari," Kenneth responded, glancing around. "Badra, the sister you took in when she came to you as a frightened concubine. Me, the brother your father rescued from death. That’s what a real family is, Jabari. People who come together, despite the circumstances, and support each other through good times and bad. I could discover I had ten brothers I never knew about, but you’ll always be one who was most important in my life, Jabari. You were there for me when I needed a family the most."

Emotion shone in the sheikh’s dark eyes. "And I will continue to be, if you need me, Khepri."

Kenneth gave his old cocky grin. "I’ll need you to perform a small wedding ceremony. Would you?"

The sheikh glanced at Badra’s shining face. "Of course. But I doubt it will be a small ceremony, Khepri. The entire tribe will wish to attend. The Khamsin are your family."

"There’s one relative I don’t think will be present," Graham said, nodding to Zaid. Kenneth grimaced.

At last, their parents’ deaths were avenged. There remained only one problem. They glanced at the body.