Heather Graham (20 page)

The desert is getting to me, he told himself. Alex Randall was just a woman, albeit an extraordinary one. But she was his responsibility, as of that morning, and he owed her more now than he ever had when she had just been James Crosby’s daughter.

It wasn’t a matter of debt; he had agreed to protect her and more than any true Arab sheikh before him, Dan felt a killing rage. But he had to control it. He had no doubt that he was furious enough to leap at Haman and kill him outright. But then he might lose Alex altogether and put Ali and his riders in grave danger. The Bedouins would arise to avenge Haman; he was their sheikh even if he was nothing but a fat caricature of a man, and both desert and Muslim justice called for an eye for an eye. He would create a slaughter if he acted out his primal and instinctive vengeance.

A few seconds later Dan had himself under control. He looked up at Haman and waited for a break in the ostensibly casual conversation that he was carrying on with Ali on the benefits of a certain strain of sheep. When there was a lull Dan said very casually, “Did you hear that there was an American woman with hair the color of the sun and the moon combined who stays with Ali?”

Haman stiffened; he definitely became even more tense. A bead of perspiration broke out upon his fleshy upper lip.

Ali was staring at Dan as if he had gone crazy, his expression implying he was an idiot to mention Alex to this man with the insatiable appetite for women.

“No …” Haman began, but then shrugged and tried to smile innocently. “Wait—yes, perhaps I did. One of my cousins works in Abu Dhabi on the road systems they wish to improve. I believe he did mention that an American woman had arrived and was seeking Sheriff.” He glanced guilelessly at Ali. “Then she did arrive?”

“Yes,” Ali, lost, murmured.

“Ah,” said Haman with a wide, beaming smile as his tent flap opened. “Here is Zaid. Now he will answer all your questions.”

Dan noticed that the unusually tall Arab had fresh scratch marks across his face. He felt his muscles heat and tense again.

He rose. “Ali, I will leave the discussion with Zaid to you.” He inclined his head politely to the Arab. “I believe that my horse was going lame. I need to check on him.”

“There is no need of that,” Haman said graciously. “You are welcome to any of my mounts, and my stables are as fair as those of my friend Ali Sur Sheriff.”

“I am sure that is true,” Dan said politely through clenched teeth. “But this horse is very special to me. He is an especially noble and valiant steed, and I would check on him myself before leaving.”

Ali was staring at him as if he had indeed gone entirely berserk and was ready for a padded cell. They had ridden all this way to find out about Crosby and they were learning more than they had ever hoped. And Dan was walking out on the information.

Before Ali could protest, Dan bowed his way out of the tent. So as not to create suspicion, he sauntered straight down the trail that led to the corral where the horses and camels had been taken to be cooled and watered. Ali’s riders were seated idly about the fence. Dan joined them and made a show of checking his horse.

Ali’s nephew, Ahman, was among the riders. For the benefit of any of Haman’s men who might have followed him, Dan spoke loudly to Ahman, beseeching him to come to the horse. When Ahman was bent beside him, studying the Arabian stallion’s hoof, Dan began to whisper. “I have reason to believe that Haman has stolen Alex. I’m going to try and find her. There are, I’m sure, only two of Haman’s keepers here at the corral. You must engage them in conversation so that I can slip away.”

Ahman’s dark eyes first registered surprise, then understanding and dark fury. Though women were second-class citizens, they were also very prized possessions. Ahman took the abduction personally, since Alex had been accepted by his sheikh and was thus a possession of his tribe.

He wasted no words with Dan but nodded, his expressive eyes grave. He began speaking once more about the horse, then turned and found the two horse tenders with his eyes. He somehow relayed the message silently to his comrades, and as Dan watched covertly, Haman’s two men were drawn into deep conversations with Ali’s riders. Dan whipped across the sand and grass-tufted trail to disappear into the maze of tents.

At first he had the overwhelming feeling that he was looking for a needle in a haystack. The tents seemed to stretch forever. But with his dark robes it was easy enough for him to lower his head and begin a brisk walk among them. His naturally tan complexion had been darkened by the sun, and his eyes were as dark as those of any Arab’s. Unless he was accosted straight on, he could probably move about unnoticed. But he had to move fast. One way or another, he would have to return to Haman’s tent soon.

He was near the area where the two tents were down. Glancing surreptitiously around, he decided no one was near and stooped to stare at the fallen skins. Hoofprints marred them. Perhaps Haman hadn’t been lying; it appeared a horse might have gone berserk. That didn’t particularly matter. He was holding the earring that could only be Alex’s.

From his stooped position he heard the sound of feminine laughter coming from his right. Moving stealthily, he followed the sound. Cautiously he tested the tent flap.

There were several women in the tent, but none of them was Alex. He smiled dryly as he realized he had come across Haman’s harem, reportedly one of the finest in all the Arabian countries. For a second he was tempted to explore his find, but he reminded himself that no woman was worth his neck.

Except the one that he had somehow become saddled with, the one who had become an obsession for him. The one he had discovered he simply had to have because he had become so physically bewitched that his need to possess her was like the need for water to a body burning with fever.

He ducked away from the harem tent. Deeper into the scattered rows of tents, he could see that the majority of them were strung with laundry. Haman, he was sure, would not tolerate laundry strung from the tent where he would keep his blond prize—and come to claim her.

And then Dan knew exactly where he would find her. There was only one tent in the quiet camp with a man stationed in front of it.

Dan skirted quickly from tent to tent until he was behind the one he sought. Then he followed the circumference silently until he was directly behind the Arab guard. Slipping the knife he always carried while in the desert from its sheath at his calf, he sprang at the guard, one arm holding the man in a viselike grip while he brought the knife to the Arab’s throat. “One word,” he whispered in Arabic, “and your blood will run.”

The Arab, his dark eyes rolling with fright, barely nodded for fear of slicing his neck on the blade.

“Is she in there?” Dan demanded.

Again the Arab gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Has she been touched?” Dan unintentionally brought the blade closer to the man’s flesh as his muscles knotted with tension.

“Min fadlak,
” the man whispered.
“Min fadlak
…”

Dan pulled the blade away, and the terrified Arab let out a spew of information like a fountain. “No, no, she has not been touched. She is like the cobra, that one, she has caused nothing but disaster! The entire harem was in shambles, and then she made chaos out of the animals and the tent and the tribe! Even Haman is wondering what he has gotten himself into—Zaid bears the scars of her fury upon his face.”

All of a sudden Dan felt a lightness sweep over him, and he was tempted to laugh. He didn’t dare. He had to put the fear of Allah into the man before him. “I am going to let you live—for the moment,” he told the Arab tersely. “But”—he pressed his fingernail firmly into the Arab’s neck and prayed his absurd story would be believed—“I have just injected you with a new American weapon. It is a poison that will kill you slowly and agonizingly if it is not properly removed within thirty minutes. Now you will stand here and not move, not speak to anyone except in casual greeting, until I say so. Do you understand?”

The Arab was shaking like a leaf blown in winter. He nodded, his eyes dark with a terror that reached his soul. Satisfied, Dan left him and slipped inside the tent.

He paused as soon as he entered, covering his mouth as a wide grin split across his features despite the situation.

She was tied to the bed and gagged, but not even her circumstances kept the gold blaze from her eyes as she studiously wriggled her wrists and impatiently tapped a foot at the same time against the canopy column.

She should have been in tears; she wasn’t.

Certain now that he could make things work out, Dan approached her slowly. She was still so undaunted and defiant that he couldn’t resist the temptation to tease.

She saw him, and her eyes widened and her frame began wriggling in a new fury for release. Dan crossed his arms over his chest and allowed her to see his smile.

“You know,” he told her, sitting idly on the bed at her hip, “I think Haman might be the one man to have the right idea. This is the quietest I’ve ever seen you—and the first time you haven’t been causing trouble!”

Her muffled murmurings beneath the gag became heated. Dan assessed her slowly from head to toe. She certainly had the body for light and sheer silks. Even with the gag around her mouth she looked stunning and exotically desirable. Rage shot through him again as he thought of Haman, but he studiously tempered that rage. He couldn’t provoke a slaughter.

She was murmuring herself hoarse, and he knew she was demanding that he free her. He cooled his rage with a dry laugh. “I can’t untie you. I have to go demand that you be returned to me. But don’t worry—we will bring you back.” He ran his hand along her ribs, left bare by the harem outfit, to the little gold chain she wore around her waist. “Do you think,” he murmured huskily, “that any self-respecting man would allow his number-one woman to be touched by the likes of Haman?” At that moment he was struck with a deep pain himself that wound heatedly inside him. A flash of fire seemed to sweep through him. He wanted her as he had never wanted a woman before. It was a gnawing that ate at his insides, and it was compounded by the suggestive beauty of the way she was garbed. The Arabs, he thought wryly, did have marvelously erotic customs.

He stood quickly, reminding himself that he had to get her out of there. The murderous rage in her eyes made him chuckle softly again. “Just think of how good I’m going to look to you tonight in comparison!”

If eyes could really shoot daggers, Dan thought dryly, he would have been cut to ribbons.

He ducked swiftly out of the tent and confronted the guard again. The man kept touching his neck, his eyes still wide with terror.

“That woman is mine,” Dan said sternly. “And I intend to get her back without bloodshed. You will not mention that I have been here. Do you understand? When she is returned to me, I will see that you do not die.”

The Arab shook his head fervently up and down. “I will never, never breathe a word. Haman has no right to steal a woman; he has more than Allah allows to begin with. But he is my sheikh; I must obey.”

“I understand,” Dan said grimly. “But this time you will keep quiet.”

The Arab was still nodding his head as Dan walked away. He was, Dan thought dryly, probably furiously counting the minutes.

Dan didn’t bother to return to the corral. He stalked straight for Haman’s tents and. belligerently cut through the quiet conversation going on between Ali, Zaid and Haman.

He was glad of his height at that moment, as he was able to stare furiously and menacingly down upon the fat sheikh with his arms firmly crossed over his chest. He knew he appeared threatening.

“Omar Khi Haman! I believe that you are holding the American woman. She is my fiancée—intended to be my number-one wife—and I demand that she be returned to me immediately.”

Haman’s dark skin paled to an ashen color. Ali spun about in righteous fury.

“Haman! Is this true?”

Haman stuttered. Actually, he held the cards; Ali had ten men counting himself and Dan, while Haman had his entire tribe. But looking at Dan D’Alesio, Haman feared for his own life. What was the vengeance of his tribe if he lay in a pool of his own blood?

“I did not know that she was to be your wife, Dan D’Alesio,” Haman said quickly. “I would never have taken her. And of course, now that I know she is intended to be your wife—”

“Number-one wife!” Dan roared in interruption, knowing he must still remember where he was.

“Yes, yes,” Haman simpered. “Number-one wife. I will, of course, make restitution.” Resentment touched his eyes for a moment. “I return her to you gladly, D’Alesio, for that one, she is nothing but trouble! Since she has been here she has disrupted my entire harem and caused great destruction. You are welcome to her.”

Dan was ready to laugh again. Haman was right; he was no match for Dr. Alexandria Randall! But he retained his stern expression and demanded, despite his knowledge, “Has she been touched?” It was a point of honor, and retribution had to be handled so.

“By Allah, I swear it, no,” Haman assured him a little wistfully. “Please, I will return her with a flock of my finest sheep, and ten proven camels of the most pliant of dispositions.”

“Twenty camels,” Dan bartered.

“Fifteen,” Haman bargained in return. “She is a beautiful and unusual woman, but she is also old.”

Anything over eighteen would be old to Haman. Dan didn’t correct him. “All right,” he agreed, feigning a certain disgruntlement. “I will accept fifteen camels. But you will bring my woman to me now.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Haman then glanced nervously at Ali, who was awaiting his next offer. “I invaded your oasis, Ali Sur Sheriff,” the fat sheikh said humbly. It was a grave crime to invade the lands of another sheikh—and get caught red-handed. Especially when that sheikh was as powerful as Ali. “And for that I ask Allah’s forgiveness, and yours. Please accept from me another twenty camels—”

“Twenty-five,” Ali said firmly.

“Twenty-five,” Haman agreed, “and ten of my finest stallions.”

“Ten stallions,” Ali mused. Then he bowed gravely. “When the woman is returned, untouched, I will accept your gifts.”