Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) (18 page)

"I'm sorry, Michael, but I must refuse."

"You have no choice. If you won't think of your own reputation, think of mine. All England will soon know that you and I have spent nights alone together."

"How?"

"Trust me, they will know. I will ask you again if you will marry me? And don't forget about Prince Khaldun and his people. They have a very strong sense of morality. They will expect us to be married." He smiled at her. "Khaldun already believes that you are my lady."

"Why?"

"Because he fancied himself in love with you. I had to convince him that you belonged to me."

"He did? I never guessed."

"How could you not know?"

Mallory turned away. "I'm sorry if by any fault of mine he was misled."

Michael came up behind her. "Khaldun is happy now. But I wonder if he will ever forget you completely."

"I like him. He seems an honorable man."

"I hadn't thought—is there someone you love in England?"

"No, there is no one."

She turned back to him. "Surely there is some woman in London who would make you a more suitable wife than I?"

Lady Samantha's face came to him, and he dismissed her. She had hardly crossed his mind since he'd left England. He thought of Mallory's adventurous spirit and how bravely she had met danger. Was there another woman with her courage? "There is no one. Doesn't it seem to you that we would deal quite well together?"

Mallory was weakening. "Where would we find someone to hold the ceremony here in the desert?"

"Just leave that to me."

"But I didn't agree—"

"You will, Mallory, you will. You must."

"I'll have to think. Right now, all I want to do is sleep."

She moved into the tent, and Michael watched the gentle swaying of her hips. He felt the blood running hot in his veins, and he knew he desired her.

But there was another reason he wanted her—a reason he could never share with her. She would only despise him if he told her the real truth.

Chapter 20

Michael was sure Mallory would never understand how urgently he needed a wife. If his father was killed, and if Michael was also killed in the conflict with the Turks, there would be no male heir to inherit the duchy. The DeWinter name and Ravenworth would pass to a distant relative.

Long after Mallory had fallen asleep, Michael sat staring into the darkness, trying to decide what he must do. His mind was set. They must be married immediately.

He closed his eyes, feeling like the vilest creature on earth, for he would shamefully use Mallory for his family's sake. He would marry her, and desperately attempt to impregnate her before he left for Caldoia. If he got her with child, he could only hope she would bear his son.

He heard the horses stirring and knew that Fizal was bedding them down for the night.

Michael entered the dark interior of the tent and felt around until he found his bedroll. He had been sleeping in Mallory's tent so he would be close by if she needed him. Wearily, he lay down, thinking she would be well enough so they could resume their journey in the morning.

"Michael?"

"Yes, Mallory."

"I've been considering your proposal, and I can't marry you."

"Why can't you?"

"We don't love each other."

"Does that matter?"

"It does to me. I always thought I'd marry for love."

"A much overrated sentiment. I can think of many reasons for a man and woman to marry, and love is the least of those reasons."

"I don't agree. There must be a man somewhere whom I will love and who will love me in return."

"The woman's argument. Men don't feel love the same way a woman does, Mallory. You would be better off if you married for companionship. In any case, we don't have much choice. We both have reputations to protect."

"Will you ride with the bedouin when they wage war against Sidi?"

"Yes, I will, Mallory." He felt heavy with guilt that he was so shamelessly willing to arouse her sympathies. But he had to, it was his duty to his family. "Can you not find it in your heart to make a man going off to war happy?"

She choked back tears, glad it was dark so he could not see her cry. "I don't understand."

She heard him move closer to her, and she stiffened when he lay beside her. "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be with a man, Mallory?"

"Yes," she admitted with honesty. "I have wondered. I grew up in the country, so I'm not as innocent as you might think."

"But you have never known a man's touch?"

Her voice came out in a painful whisper. "No." She reconsidered. "Well, that's not quite honest. There was a man who lived near us, a Sir Gerald Dunmore. He did put his hands on me once. But I struck him with my riding whip."

Michael chuckled. "I can't imagine a man trying to steal a kiss from you if you had a whip in your hand. It's a notion that would make me tremble with fear."

"Well, Sir Gerald won't ever attempt to touch me again."

Michael's hand brushed up her arm. "Mallory, would you send a warrior off to war without your soft kisses on his lips?"

She understood only too well what he was up to. "I know what you're doing, Michael. You are taking unfair advantage of me."

He reached out and touched her hair, allowing his hand to drift through the silken curtain. "Possibly. I had rather hoped I could appeal to your woman's heart."

He pulled her head to rest against his shoulder. "Since we left the Iberia, our lives have become entwined. I have come to admire you. I find your kindness refreshing, and you are fearless when danger strikes. I like those qualities in a woman."

Mallory nestled her cheek against his neck. "I have no money of my own, Michael. I fear you would have no monetary advantage in marrying me."

He smiled, thinking how guileless she was. "That's only another advantage for me. I must confess to being extremely wealthy and, therefore, would be able to give you everything you should desire." Suddenly he was serious. "I want to make you happy, Mallory. Give me that right."

She could feel his breath stirring her hair. She wanted to pull away and she wanted to stay. His arm slid around her shoulder and he held her to him. "Sweet Mallory, won't you have me for your husband?" He brushed his lips against hers and heard her sigh. "You want to be my wife—you know you do."

"I... can't."

He caught her chin and brought her face around to him. Dipping down, he covered her lips in a kiss that was soft, then deepened it to a passionate kiss when he felt her hands move around his shoulders. "Say yes," he demanded.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "Yes, Michael. I will marry you, but I want you to know that your money means nothing to me. It would not matter if you were a pauper."

"Dare I hope you marry me for myself?" His words came out as a jest, but she could feel a tenseness about him as if he were anticipating her answer.

When she didn't reply, he shrugged. "No matter, we will be just as married as if we loved one another passionately."

Mallory was afraid to speak, for fear she would cry. She turned her face into his chest, loving the feel of his arms around her.

Michael held her to him for a long moment, feeling a great protectiveness toward her. This was a new emotion for him. He had to put some distance between them while he still had the willpower to resist her.

"I'm getting the best of the bargain, Mallory. All men will envy me for my beautiful wife."

"You don't have to tell me I'm beautiful. I know I am nothing compared to your lady friends in London."

"You have a beauty those women could never hope to obtain. It's a gentle beauty that sneaks up on a man when he least expects it, and has him caught before he can wriggle away."

She was skeptical. "I don't care for pretty speeches. And we both know that no woman would catch you unless it suited your purpose."

He laughed uneasily. She knew him better than he'd thought. "I will take your beauty with me into battle, and use your wit for my armor."

She was disappointed when he untangled her from his arms and stood up. "I think it would be wise if I joined Fizal on his watch tonight."

"Do you expect trouble?"

"Only the kind that lures a man into the silken web of a woman's arms." He stood over her, and she could almost feel his piercing gaze. "I'm glad you agreed to be my wife, Mallory. I hope you never have reason to regret it."

She heard him leave, and she was suddenly lonely without him. She didn't know what had driven him to ask her to marry him, but it wasn't love and it wasn't to save their reputations.

Mallory tried not to think about the danger he would soon face. She would be his wife, if that was what he desired, and she would give him anything else he wanted from her.

Mallory thought of Cousin Phoebe and wondered if she would approve of her union with Michael DeWinter. Yes, she would like him.

She could still feel the warmth of his body and the turmoil of emotions within her own body. What would it feel like to be Michael's wife and have him unleash that passion he'd kept such a tight rein on tonight? She ached with awakening desires that had lain dormant within her, waiting for the right man to bring them to life.

She gasped at her own daring thoughts, and it was a long time before she fell asleep.

The next morning when Mallory awoke, Michael and Fizal had already broken camp. As soon as she came back from washing in the stream, the tent had been disassembled and the packhorses loaded. After she'd eaten the dried meat Michael had given her, they rode down the mountain.

Fizal went on ahead, while Mallory and Michael galloped abreast. He was strangely silent, his gaze continuously sweeping the area, and she knew he was alert to any trouble that might come.

How different he was from the man he'd been last night when he'd asked her to marry him. He seemed cold and indifferent, and she could sense that he wanted to reach their destination as soon as possible. There was an urgency about him that she did not understand.

Her chin went up, and she averted her head. She would not be the one to break the silence between them.

They stopped only to rest the horses, and at those times, both Michael and Fizal were watchful.

At last, she blurted out, "Are we being followed?"

Michael handed her a waterskin. "There is always that danger. Sidi would give much to have my head, especially now that I have taken you away from him. By now, he will have sent men to search for us. We must make it to Kamar Ginena before nightfall."

After taking a drink, Mallory handed Michael the waterskin. "But Prince Khaldun said only his people knew of this mountain pass," she reminded him.

He took a deep drink and hooked the waterskin on his saddle. "The desert has many tongues, and we cannot be sure in what direction they will wag."

Mallory stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time. There was nothing of the English nobleman about him. He was more like an Arab, and that somehow frightened her. She remembered when those green eyes had danced with humor. Now they were watchful, hard, and somehow cruel. She shivered, wondering what had happened to change him.

She mounted her horse and stared ahead. "You do not have to slacken your pace because of me, my lord. I can keep up with you."

He nodded. "That's good, because we are coming out of the mountains, and if we are going to be ambushed, here we are the most vulnerable."

The swift Arabian horses never slackened their pace as they emerged from the mountain pass and entered the barren, inhospitable desert.

Michael shoved his robe aside and placed his hand on the gun that was strapped around his waist, while Fizal cradled his rifle across his arm.

Dark clouds loomed in the distance, and when the clouds passed overhead, it began to rain. Mallory was grateful for the cooling shower. But it soon dissipated, and the puddles rapidly disappeared into the thirsty sand.

When they neared the farmlands, several Jebeliya warriors rode out to meet them. They crowded around them, laughing and talking to Michael in their language. Mallory saw the admiration in the dark eyes when they looked at Michael, and she realized that they had a great respect for him.

As they neared the gates of the city, Prince Khaldun rode forward and conversed with Michael in quiet tones. He then turned to Mallory.

"My brother, Lord Michael, has given me the privilege of speaking to you, Lady Mallory. My wife, Princess Yasmin, eagerly waits to help you prepare for your wedding." He smiled widely. "It is Allah's wish that you and my brother should be husband and wife. You are truly worthy of this great man."

Mallory could only stare at him. "Thank you," she murmured, her eyes searching Michael's.

As they rode through the gates of the city, Mallory moved her mount closer to Michael. "Surely we are not to be wed here?"

He glanced down at her and spoke as if he were conversing with a child. "You must understand that I have no time to travel to a city where we might find a Christian minister. We will be married in the tradition of the Jebeliya. Have no fear, the marriage will be binding."

Mallory was having doubts that she wanted to marry him. Last night in the dark tent, he had been so kind, now he appeared cold and indifferent. He appeared as uncivilized and hard as any of the men that surrounded them.

"Are you certain we must marry?"

"I thought we had that settled."

"Yes, but—"

"Cover your face," he urged. "Quickly."

In confusion, she drew her headdress across her face, wondering if he intended her to live like an Arab woman. Well, she refused, she thought stubbornly. But she kept her face covered all the same.

Mallory was amazed by Kamar Ginena. It was modern and pristine. She had never expected to find a civilization so advanced here in the desert. She had thought all Bedouin were nomadic and lived in tents.

She raised her eyes to the palace and wondered what manner of people the Jebeliya were that they had carved a kingdom out of the wilderness.

When they dismounted at the palace steps, Michael turned to Mallory. "I have been informed that our wedding will take place tonight. Have you any objections?"

"Yes! Surely that is too soon."

"I will be leaving for Caldoia before daybreak tomorrow. The desert people, who are loyal to Prince Khaldun, are already massing along the eastern wall of the city."

She wanted to cry out to him and beg him not to go with them into battle, but she kept her silence. He must try to rescue his father. "Is Caldoia a walled city like this?"

"I am told it is even more of a fortress."

She stared into Michael's eyes and found him watching her as if he expected something of her. "I will marry you tonight," she agreed, knowing she would rather have only one night with him than a lifetime with any other man.

Mallory had been bathed and perfumed. Her hair was braided and entwined with jasmine blossoms. Princess Yasmin, who spoke English haltingly, supervised the servants, lending her help and advice whenever needed.