The Sheikh's Captive Mistress (10 page)

Naseem grinned, and it made his long nose seem even more pronounced. “But Basheera and I are loyal to both you and Emma. She is good to you, makes you smile and your heart light in a way I’ve never seen, my sheikh.”

“But you’re not spies!”

“We have our ears to the ground, though,” Basheera corrected. “Naseem, tell Munir all that you know.”

The older man’s smile grew deeper. “The old citadel…that’s where we’ll rescue Emma from, right now.”

***

Emma eyed the gruel Kashif set before her with suspicion. It was green gray and oddly lumpy. Though she was hungry and had been long before the sunset, she had no intention of eating that. She wasn’t even sure what it could possibly be made of. Hell, as she leaned over and gave it a small sniff, she recoiled at the nasty scents assaulting her delicate nose. Her horse had smelled better after long hard training sessions and gallops than that stinking concoction before her, while presumably “fresh.”

But it was far worse that Kashif had come himself, that he hadn’t sent an underling.

Worst of all, he wasn’t leaving, just sitting next to her, eying her and licking his lips.

“I don’t want this,” she said, turning the bowl up and flinging the gruel…porridge…
whatever
onto Kashif.

He swore lividly and slapped her cheek. It was a sharp blow that made her gasp at the tinge of pain it sent shooting across her face. “Munir may find your defiance attractive, bitch, but I do not.”

“I don’t give a shit what you find attractive. I’m not going to eat poisoned cat guts.”

“It is a lamb intestine dish.”

“I’m not eating it and, knowing you, you must have poisoned it. All I want is to speak to Munir. Surely he can be allowed to visit.”

“And risk he might steal you away once he knows where you’re kept. Father’s people are clucking to mine already. Munir is threatening to sign a terrible treaty inside of six hours, one that give the infidels everything they want if I don’t return you.”

She gulped. If even the original sheikh, even if old Shadid had demanded her release, then why was she still trapped in a dungeon alone with Kashif. Despite the manacle’s heavy presence, she worked to curl in on herself, to protect her body from Kashif as best she could. He was playing at something, and she was terrified that she knew exactly what it was.

“Then you’re here to release me. I said we could figure something out. I’ll go home, you get the right treaty concessions signed, and Munir…” she sighed and forced her voice to remain even. “We can’t always have what we want.”

“I can. I don’t give a toss about what Father wants or Munir. The old man will be dead inside of six months and Munir about as soon.”

Her heart was pounding again, and she bit back her bile. She wasn’t hearing this. “You’re going to kill him.”

“Not now, not until after Father passes. I need to make it look less obvious, like a tragic car accident on the way back from Father’s burial. Then I emerge as the lone heir of the House of Yassin and my country mourns for me, yet rallies around my courage and indomitable spirit.”

That was enough. He was not going to threaten Munir and get away with it; he was not going to keep her here with impunity.

Leaping across the expanse, getting close to the end of the iron tether, Emma struck out and dug her nails into the soft skin of Kashif’s cheek. He howled at the pain, and she was satisfied when he pulled away, when she could see the fully ruined left side of his face. It looked like raw hamburger.

“Tell me again how easily you’ll do anything. Munir will come or Daddy will nuke you, but you’ll never be anything, Kashif. You’re the wannabe, the pretender to the throne.”

“Enough!” he shouted, jumping to his feet and pacing. “You’re here and you’re my prisoner. Mine to do with just as Munir had his way. It’s my turn to see what is so wonderful about your fat ass, American bitch.”

Emma’s veins turned cold with ice. Surging to her feet, she tried to run, but was both too weighed down by her iron manacle and too hungry to have much energy. It was all a miscalculation. Kashif was on her then, tackling her to the ground. She screamed and bucked against him, even as he held her down with his knees on her legs and one hand pushing her shoulders down, keeping them clamped on the floor. The other hand was running through her hair roughly and pulling out the occasional strands with his rough manhandling.

“No! Stop!” she screamed, snapping at him, trying desperately to bite him again.

“Perhaps I need a fancy tub and sweet words to win you,
sheikha
,” he snorted, digging against her.

She froze, not quite believing this violation was about to happen. “Fuck you, Kashif. I’ll never care about you, not ever.”

“I don’t need you to care about me; I just need to sample what has my brother so turned around.”

Closing her eyes, Emma forced her tears away. “Munir’s a million times the man you are, and that’s why I love him.” She kept her eyes clamped shut, terrified of the pain that Kashif could and would inflict on her, unwilling to watch any violation of her person.

Except, suddenly, he was knocked off of her.

Confused, she looked up and wanted to cry. Munir was there, along with Naseem and Basheera. The older woman had already pulled out a hair pin and was working to undo her manacles. Once Emma was freed, Basheera pulled off her shawl and draped it over her chest. Looking down, Emma realized her shirt had been torn, leaving her exposed.

In more ways than one.

“Shh, dear girl, we’re here now,” Basheera cooed.

Over her savior’s shoulder, Emma watched slack-jawed as both Naseem and Munir fought with Kashif. Her lover’s half-brother had a long switch blade that he was brandishing at both men. As Naseem rushed forward, Kashif was able to stick him. Blood poured from the old servant’s side and he fell to his knees, his breath labored and irregular. Emma screamed and tried to rush to his side, but Basheera clamped her hands on her shoulders. When the older woman spoke, her voice wavered.

“You can’t do that. It’ll distract Munir, and he needs to win.”

“But Naseem needs help!”

“He’ll make it, and I promise you it will be alright,” Basheera said, even as her own eyes shone with tears.

Munir was circling Kashif now, and his fists were held up high in front of him. He was taller than Kashif, but he wasn’t as thick, built more lean like a swimmer than the massive football build that Kashif had. She’d had that rancid man slam into her and knew exactly how strong he was and how badly that kind of force could hurt. Besides, Kashif had a weapon.

“Brother, drop it and I will let you face your justice with honor,” Munir said, side stepping a crazed lunge from Kashif.

“And if I don’t?” the other asked nicking the fabric of Munir’s shirt as he aimed a strike at his brother’s chest. Munir had spun away at the last minute to avoid full contact, but it had been close.

“I won’t kill you.”

“More of that weakness of yours,” Kashif countered, delivering an uppercut with his free fist that sent Munir reeling.

Emma and Basheera both surged toward the fight, but they hesitated when Kashif rounded on them, his knife held high.

“Oh, you traitorous bitches, you’ll have time for yours soon enough.”

“Good,” Munir shouted, ploughing into his brother and tackling him to the ground. “Because that means you have time for me!”

The two brothers twisted on the ground for a while, wrestling for control. In Munir’s tackle, Kashif had lost his blade, so now it was just the two brothers, neither really gaining in the match. Every time Munir seemed to have Kashif pinned, his brother would buck him off and deliver a crushing punch to his face or solar plexus. Similarly, when Kashif seemed to gain the upper hand, Munir would wriggle out from hold and pile drive his brother into submission. Finally, Kashif rolled and held his brother still, his hold strong enough around Munir’s throat that the sheikh’s thrashing grew weak and his skin grew blue and distorted.

“No!” Basheera screamed. “Kashif, stop!”

He glared up at the old woman, and Emma saw her chance. Rushing forward, she grabbed the blade and dug it into the man’s shoulder.

“That’s for touching me!” she shouted before reaching back and slugging him.

Maybe she shouldn’t have done that part.

She didn’t know how to land a punch properly and, even though Kashif spit out a tooth from her blow, she was reeling, as well, pulling a sore hand to her chest.

It was enough to let Munir rise to the advantage, though. Spinning around, he pinned his brother to the floor, face down, and clamped on a vice-like chokehold until Kashif passed out. The sheikh didn’t rest then, not until he had the thick manacle clamped around his brother’s ankle.

Basheera was over, cradling Naseem on her lap and singing something sweet to him in Arabic. He was conscious, but just barely, and his wound was still bleeding.

Munir looked around at all that had happened and seemed to spare one more moment to regard his so-called brother. “You could have stayed by my side, Kashif, but look at all the damage you’ve wrought. Look at it!”

Kashif’s breath gurgled oddly, but he still laughed. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, brother?”

“Then revel in it for eternity. Your sentence is to stay here forever, the only prisoner of the citadel with only your own shit and the rats for company.”

Munir hesitated then, having pulled his leg back to kick his brother in the face. “I…”

“I can handle this,” Emma interrupted, snuggling up next to him. “This is for all of us,” she shouted before landing a punishing kick to his chin, using all her muscles built up from years of horseback riding for good use. “Rot in hell, Kashif. It’s where you belong.”

Basheera had one car drive her and Naseem directly to the local hospital. The Yassin family had a suite there, and the best doctors would attend to Naseem’s wound. Munir embraced both of his old friends and kissed Basheera on the cheek. “Take good care of him. You’re the most trusted advisors I have.”

She grinned and squeezed Naseem’s hand. “You mean we’re your only advisors.”

“There is that, but safe travels to both of you, and rest up. We have a lot of house cleaning to do at the palace.”

Naseem wheezed, but sat up just enough to look at both him and Emma. “We plan to do it, my Sheikh and Sheikha. There are still far too many vermin within the palace’s walls.”

“But,” Emma added, kissing Naseem’s scarred cheek and Munir smiled at the kindness of his intended bride. “We have the best advisors available. Take care, Naseem, and thank you for helping to save me.”

They both stepped back to the curb and waved as the Lincoln town car disappeared into the distance. Munir was not worried about Naseem’s safety. The best doctors would tend to his wounds. The palace guards who were unquestionably loyal to him were also going to be stationed in the hospital. No one would get to him. That was, of course, even considering if Kashif, chained as he was in an abandoned citadel could summon any help. Munir shook his head as he thought about his brother. So much potential there, yet wasted away. It wasn’t what he’d wanted, but there was truly a black heart there, fed by his mother’s cruel nature and their father’s tendency toward hardline extremism.

There was nothing left to do but continue onto his life and celebrate what he could with the woman he loved by his side. Speaking of, Munir took Emma’s hand as they eased into the limo. His security detail sat in front and separated behind barricade of bulletproof glass in the backseat.

Emma was a mess. Her clothing reeked of sewage and the mold of the water from the cisterns leaking into the ancient citadel’s basement. The make-up she must have applied that morning in Dubai was smeared, especially around her eyes. Her hair was knotted and a few places clearly looked as if Kashif had torn at it, just a few stray patches that looked hurt. Her t-shirt was still torn, and he could catch glimpses of her bra from under his flak jacket. She shivered from the air conditioning in the car being a shock to both their systems after standing outside in the hot and swirling Yomani sands. Still, he was sure part of it had to be from the trauma his beast of a brother almost inflicted on her.

Reaching down, he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and used his other hand to stroke her soft, yet matted hair. He would see to it she was restored and also pampered silly at the castle. Basheera would come home and bathe her in the richest oils; he’d summon the best stylists, and everyone would restore the luster and shine to her light blonde locks.

“I love you more than my life,
habbibi
.”

She blinked up at him and frowned. “Do you think I could ever doubt that now? Kashif almost killed you!”

“And you had some mean tricks of your own, beloved. I saw such fierceness in you. As I suspected, you would always make a magnificent sheikha. Hell, you’d make a better guard than half of my team. Still,” he said, trailing off and stroking her cheek. “It is unacceptable what he did to you. I cannot bear to kill another, especially my own blood, but I shall think of fiendish tortures to subdue him.”

She smiled, even though he could tell it didn’t meet her eyes. It wasn’t the look of sunny awe that lit her up in Dubai on the ski range. “Get a TV and blare infomercials for days. Ooh, you could make him rewatch
Star Wars: Episode I
on a loop. Jar Jar Binks for weeks!”

“You,
habbibi
, are nothing short of diabolical.”

Emma nodded and snuggled in deeper to his side. The warmth of her body was intoxicating, but it was far from the thing he wanted right then. Alright, that wasn’t completely true. He was always hard for his wife-to-be, but now was not that time. Now, all he wanted to do was snuggle in her arms, squirrel her away and keep her protected forever, but that was not always the life they lived. Yoman was a dangerous place. There were the bombings that accidentally bled onto the land by the Americans, the rebels that often created problems in the Northern Lands, and even the threat of war from neighboring nations. She might always be a target as a sheikha. He now had no doubt she could physically handle herself, and beautifully he might add, but he was terrified that she might not be able to keep up with the emotional toll.