The Sheik and the Runaway Princess (5 page)

“You and Sabrina have more in common than you realize,” Cala told him. “You would be wise to seek out those things. Also, if she is truly willful, I suspect there is a reason. Much would be gained by finding and understanding her motivation.”

“None of that is necessary.”

“Kardal, your future happiness is at stake. I would think you would be willing to put in a little effort.”

He shrugged. “To what end? Sabrina isn’t the sort of woman who can make me happy.” Except possibly in bed, he thought remembering how she’d looked in the costume he’d made her wear. There she could please him very well.

“A wise man would make peace with his future wife. If she is content, she will be a better mother.”

“If only she were more moldable,” he grumbled. “Why did King Hassan allow her to be raised in the west?”

“I’m not sure. I know that he married Sabrina’s mother very quickly. Theirs seemed to be a match more about passion than affection. I have heard that if not for Sabrina, they would have divorced in a matter of months. Apparently when they did finally end the marriage, Hassan’s wife wanted to take her daughter with her back to
California
and he agreed.”

Kardal shook his head. “Why would a man allow his child to be taken from him? Bahanian law required Sabrina to stay with her father.” While the law allowed for either parent to take custody of the children, in the royal house, the children stayed with the royal parent. Sabrina had been the only exception.

“Perhaps the king was being foolish,” Cala said quietly. “Men act that way all the time. I know of a man who won’t even bother to get to know his future wife. He also assumes they can never be happy together. All this based on a few hours in her company.”

“Imagine,” Kardal said dryly.
“All right.
You have made your point. I will spend more time with Sabrina before I pass judgment on her. However, I’m convinced I will find her wanting.”

“Yes.
Of course.
As long as you keep an open mind.”
His mother gazed at him. “What am I to do with you?”

“Admire me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I see I gave you your way too much when you were young.”

He didn’t doubt that was true, but what he remembered from his youth was his mother’s loving attention. She was devoted to him, always there when he needed her, always stepping back when he needed room to experience life.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Kind, intelligent, wise beyond her years.
Yet she’d lived her life alone.

“Was it because of me?” he asked.

Cala took several seconds to figure out what he meant. She rose and circled the desk, then crouched in front of him and touched his cheek. “You are my son and I love you with all my heart. My reasons for not marrying have nothing to do with you.”

“Then it must be his fault.”

Cala rose and stared down at him. “Kardal,” she said warningly.

He recognized the tone. Restless, he stood and glared at her. “I do not understand why you refuse to see the truth about the man.”

“Because there are things you can’t understand.”

There was no point in arguing about it. They’d had the same discussion dozens of times before. Instead Kardal kissed her cheek and promised to dine with her later that week. Then he left.

But his anger didn’t ease. With each step it grew, opening old wounds that still had the power to make him ache inside. Perhaps it was wrong, but Kardal had always hated his father.

Thirty-one years ago, King Givon of El Bahar had arrived in the City of
Thieves
. Cala, the only child of the Prince of Thieves, had turned eighteen. With no male heir, tradition required her to have a son by the king of a neighboring kingdom. King Givon had been her father’s choice. Her son would then be betrothed to the daughter of the king of Bahania, thereby cementing the relationship between the two countries and the desert city.

Givon had seduced Cala, stayed until she was pregnant and then had abandoned both her and her child. In the past thirty-one years he had never acknowledged her or his son. Kardal had been a teenager before he’d even known the identity of his father. But knowing the truth had only made his situation worse. He’d longed to meet the man, yet had stayed away. King Givon’s behavior had made it clear he had no interest in his bastard son.

Kardal stopped in the middle of the stone corridor. There was no point in visiting these memories again. Nothing had changed. So he forced himself to push down his rage. Over the years, he’d grown to be an expert at ignoring the past.

He continued down the hall, barely noticing the paintings, statues and tapestries that decorated this part of the castle. He pushed through a pair of wooden doors and entered into the “business” side of the castle.

Within the walls of a fourteenth-century addition
existed
a modern office complex and security center. A raised tile floor concealed miles of cable, electrical wires and fiber optics. Computers clicked, faxes beeped and telephones rang. He thought about Sabrina in the old living quarters and smiled. What would she throw at him if she knew the truth about this part of the castle? Perhaps if she was very good, one day he would show it to her and find out.

He nodded at his male assistant and stepped into his office. A large L-shaped desk sat in the center. At the far end of the room, French doors opened onto a courtyard.

He ignored the view, the blinking message light and the papers left for him. Instead he crossed to his desk and reached for the phone. He dialed the operator and asked to be connected to the king of Bahania. Even a disinterested father would want to know that his only daughter had survived her time in the desert.

“Kardal,” a familiar voice said as King Hassan picked up the line. “Is she with you?”

“Yes. We found Princess Sabra yesterday. She’d lost her horse and her camel in a sandstorm.”

Hassan sighed. “She took off without saying anything, which is just like her. I’m pleased she is safe.”

Kardal tapped his desk. “She seems to be unaware of our betrothal.”

“Yes, yes, that’s true. When I started to explain that I’d arranged a match for her, she screamed at me and bolted from the room before I could give her any details.” There was a slight pause. “She’s flighty, like her mother.
A woman without great depth or intelligence.
I fear for the minds of her children. I don’t suppose, now that you’ve met her, that you wish to continue the engagement.”

Kardal had heard that the king of Bahania didn’t pay much attention to his daughter, but he wouldn’t have thought the man would insult her so freely. While Sabrina wasn’t what he would have chosen for a wife, he’d seen no sign of her being slow-witted.
Quite the opposite.

He might have toyed with the idea of ending the engagement, but Hassan’s bald assumption that Kardal would dislike his daughter bothered him.

“I have not made any final decision,” Kardal said at last.

“Take all the time you need. It’s not as if we’re eager to have her back at the palace.”

They discussed a minor matter of security,
then
Kardal ended the call. Sabrina had hinted that things were not as she would like them at the palace, but he’d had no idea how her father thought of her. Not that Hassan’s attitude should make any difference. Still, it might explain a few things.

“You’re looking thoughtful. Are we going to war?”

Kardal glanced up at the tall, blond man standing in the entrance to his office. Rafe Stryker, former U.S. Air Force officer and now head of the city’s security, moved forward and took the seat across from Kardal’s.

“No such luck,” he told his friend.
“Although King Hassan is very enthused about the combined air force.”

“Enthusiasm doesn’t pay the bills,” Rafe reminded him.

“No, but the king does.
Do not worry
that there won’t be enough to buy all those expensive planes you covet.”

Rafe grinned. “You want them, too.”

Kardal nodded in agreement. In recent years it had become increasingly apparent that remote security cameras and irregular patrols by the nomadic tribes weren’t enough to keep the desert safe. The oil fields were increasingly vulnerable. King Hassan had contacted Kardal about starting a joint air force. Rafe was in charge of coordinating with the Bahanians.

Kardal knew it was unusual for a man in his position to trust a foreigner with such an important job. Yet Rafe had earned his trust many times over. The blond officer carried a knife scar from a potentially lethal blow meant for Kardal. In return Kardal had permitted Rafe to wear the mark of the prince. As a result, the people of the city accepted Rafe as one of their own—honoring him with the title of sheik.

Today Rafe wore a uniform but just as often he swept through the castle in traditional robes, his blue eyes looking startlingly out of place against his tanned face.

Rafe’s expression changed to one of mild amusement. “There’s a rumor about a slave girl in the palace. The word is you found her in the desert and claimed her as your own.”

Kardal glanced at his watch. “I’ve been back nearly four hours. When did you hear?”

“About three and a half hours ago.”

“Word travels fast.”

Rafe shrugged. “I have good sources. Is it true? I never thought slave girls were your style.”

“They’re not.”

He hesitated. So far no one knew Sabrina’s true identity and that was how he preferred it. But if she needed protection, there was no one he would trust more than Rafe.

“Her name is Sabrina. She’s Hassan’s daughter.”

Rafe stared at him. “The one you’re engaged to?”

“The same.
She knows about the betrothal, but not the details. I don’t want people finding out who she is.”

“Or her finding out
who
you are?”

“Exactly.”

Rafe whistled softly. “I knew this job would be interesting when I signed on. I can’t wait to meet her. I’ve never seen an honest-to-God princess in person before.”

Kardal knew his friend was joking, but that piece of information didn’t stop the knot from forming in his gut or the sudden heat that filled him. He frowned.
Anger?
At what?
Rafe would never bother Sabrina, and he, Kardal, shouldn’t care if his second-in-command was interested. Sabrina was nothing but a thorn in his side.

“You’re bound to run across her,” Kardal said, rising to his feet. “I’ll instruct her to stay in her quarters. I’m sure she won’t listen. If you find her wandering around, please return her to her rooms.”

“Where are you going?” Rafe asked lazily.

“To prepare to do battle.
If I am going to marry the wayward Princess Sabra, she must first be tamed.”

Kardal entered Sabrina’s quarters around ten the following morning. He’d given her the night to come to terms with her situation, although he doubted she would see reason on the matter. From what he could tell, Princess Sabra could be most willful.

Interestingly enough, he found himself looking forward to their encounter. She would complain and possibly throw things, they would battle verbally, and although he would best her in the end, she would make him work for his victory.

He was still grinning when he pushed open the door to her chambers.
But before he stepped inside, some sixth sense that had saved his life more than once in the past, urged caution.
He hesitated before entering, thereby avoiding a violent thrust of movement.

Sabrina sailed harmlessly past him, her right arm extended, a small fruit knife in her hand. He caught her around the waist and lifted her from her feet.

“Put me down, you great oaf,” she yelled.

Unceremoniously, he carried her to the bed and dumped her on the mattress. Before she could spring back up, he flung himself on top of her, pinning her thighs between his and wrists in his hands. She squirmed, but couldn’t twist free.

“Good morning, my slave,” he said, staring into her flashing brown eyes,
then
pinching her wrist until she released the weapon. “Did you really think you could be rid of me so easily?”

“Obviously not,” she muttered, turning away from him. “It’s a fruit knife, Kardal. I couldn’t have done any serious damage. I was protesting being held prisoner.”

“You could have expressed your displeasure with a sign.
Perhaps a small demonstration or a strike.”

“I preferred the knife.”

She spoke through gritted teeth. He fought against a smile. She had attacked him. He respected that in anyone. She’d known she couldn’t possibly best him and that she might make him angry, yet she’d been fearless…if inept.

He drew in a breath and inhaled the sweet scent of her. As he’d left her with no other clothes, she’d been forced to wear the ridiculous harem outfit he’d provided. How she must hate the scanty clothing.
And how he enjoyed the sight of her breasts spilling out of the too-tight top.

He found himself wondering what she would taste like and how she would feel under him while they made love. His arousal was instant and insistent. Still, he ignored the throbbing in his groin. Taking a princess, even one who wasn’t a virgin, was not something he could do lightly. There was also the matter of their betrothal. If he had his way with her, he would be sealing the match—something he wasn’t sure he was willing to do.

“You are not a very obedient slave,” he informed her.

She glared up at him, still squirming beneath him. He was surprised she didn’t realize the pleasure he found in her movements.

“You didn’t leave me any instructions,” she said tartly. “Therefore I couldn’t have disobeyed that which I hadn’t been told.”

“Not attacking one’s master is implicit in the slave’s covenant.”

“Not from the slave’s perspective.”

He considered her words,
then
released her. “You have a point. From this moment onward I will provide you with detailed instructions. I do not wish you to attack me in any way.”

She waited until he stood away from the bed, then she slid off the side and rose. “I’d rather discuss the disobedient part.”

“I’m sure you would. But instead, I would request that you serve me. You need a lesson in subservience.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t think so.”

He walked to the far wall and pulled a cord hanging there. “I would like a bath.”

She blinked. “You taking a bath
is
supposed to make me subservient? What? You’re going to make me drink the bathwater or something?”

“No. I’m going to make you bathe me.”

Her eyes widened and color drained from her face. She took a step back, which caused her to bump into the bed. She dropped into a sitting position,
then
quickly bounced back to her feet.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

She opened her mouth again, but didn’t say anything. Kardal studied her startled expression. She couldn’t possibly be as shocked as she seemed. His gaze dropped to the curve of her breasts, then lower to the sweep of her hips and her long, nearly bare legs.

No woman
raised
as she had been raised, with such an attractive face and body could possibly be innocent. Sabrina thought to play him for a fool. Fine, he thought as there was a knock on the door. He would go along with her game…for as long as it suited him.

Sabrina told herself this wasn’t really happening. No way was she dressed like an Arabian
nights
call girl, with Kardal insisting that she bathe him. Yet even as she inched her way toward the rear of the room, Adiva appeared in the doorway and nodded as Kardal instructed her to have a bathtub and hot water brought to the room.

It was all so fourteenth century, she thought, unable to believe there really wasn’t running water for bathing in the castle. There had been a surprisingly modern toilet in a small room off her bedroom, but instead of a sink, there had been a basin and a drain, along with some handmade soap. Yesterday, she’d used a tub filled with water brought by several servants.

“Kardal, you can’t be serious,” she told him.
“About the bath.
You look really clean.”

Kardal actually winked at her. “Come now. Don’t play the shy virgin with me. I’m not going to insist that we become
lovers, just that
we play a little. You’ll enjoy it.” He lowered his voice. “I promise.”

Her throat tightened until it was difficult to speak. “Did it ever occur to you that I wasn’t playing? You can call me anything you’d like but that doesn’t change my reality.”

His eyebrows
raised
slightly.
Great.
The man didn’t believe her. She stalked to the window. “Figures that you’re just like everyone else,” she complained, studying the view of the courtyard below without actually seeing it. “The horrible things they say about me in the tabloids and newspapers are a whole lot more interesting than the truth.”

Kardal didn’t answer. A few minutes later she heard the door open and several people came in with large buckets of steaming water. An empty tub was placed in front of the tiled fireplace across from her bed. Water filled the tub, and then they were alone.

“I am ready,” Kardal announced.

“That makes one of us,” she murmured under her breath, not moving from her place by the window.

“Sabrina, do not make me angry with you.”

“Or what?
You’ll beat me? Tie me in chains? Starve me?”

“I have no desire to physically abuse you, but if you try my temper, I will be forced to remind you that you are my possession. I am a fair master, but I expect obedience from my subjects.”

Her eyes burned, but she refused to give way to tears. They wouldn’t do any good and she wouldn’t give Kardal the satisfaction of knowing that he’d won. If he wanted a bath, she would give him a bath. If he tried anything, she would fight and claw and scream until he was sorry he hadn’t left her to die in the desert.

With her shoulders back and her head held high, she marched over to the tub and stood next to him. “What do you want me to do?”

He smiled. “Nothing until I’m undressed.”

Her resolve dissolved like sugar in boiling water. Instinctively she stepped back,
then
averted her gaze as he reached for the buttons on his linen shirt.

He chuckled. “Surely even the great virgin princess has seen a man’s bare chest before.”

“Yes, of course.” But not while she was alone in the room with him, she thought,
then
forced herself to look at him.

He removed the shirt slowly, as if she would find the process appealing. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Her desire was for him to get it over with so she could be done and he would leave her alone.
But no.
Inch by inch he slid the material down his arms.

She took in the impressive size of his muscles and the way they rippled with each small movement. There was an interesting scar on his left shoulder, and another along his rib cage.

“Another assassination attempt?” she asked, pointing to a mark on his midsection.

“An encounter in the desert.
I was young and foolish and riding out alone. I was trapped by an unfriendly group. They thought killing me would be great sport.”

He spoke easily, but his words made Sabrina shudder. Whether or not he was simply recounting a story or warning her about the dangers of the desert, she got the point. While most nomads were honorable and attacked only when provoked, there were renegades who cared naught for the laws of the desert. Those dangerous few killed with the ease of a horse using its tail to swat flies.

“You survived,” she said, trying to act casual as he stepped out of his shoes.

“Don’t sound so sad,” he told her. “You may yet find a use for me.”

“I doubt it.”

He reached for the waistband of his trousers. Sabrina instantly turned away. She busied herself rearranging the bowl of fruit on the table and it was only when she’d heard the splash of him stepping into the water that she dared to turn back.

But she’d looked too soon. Kardal had not submerged himself in the tub. Instead he stood naked in the water.
Facing her.

Sabrina blinked and tried to turn away, but she couldn’t seem to make her feet obey her. Nor could she tear her gaze from him.

He stood casually, as if nothing of great import had occurred, arms relaxed, one leg slightly in front of the other. She told herself that if she couldn’t seem to look away, she could at least look at something else, but no. Her attention was firmly fixed on that most male part of him. The part that had, until now at least, been a complete mystery to her.

His hips were narrow, his legs long and powerful. Dark hair bisected his belly, drawing her attention to that which she most wanted to avoid. His, ah, maleness seemed much as she had observed on various statues and in old paintings, although it looked more threatening in person. And it was getting bigger by the minute.

So that part of a man was supposed to fit inside of her. Sabrina squinted slightly, hoping to make it look less imposing. She considered herself a modern woman, quite clear on the ways of the world. But there was something about being a virgin and looking at a naked man for the first time. She felt…intimidated.

“Perhaps I should have specified a cold bath,” Kardal drawled as he lowered himself into the tub. “You may begin bathing me whenever you would like.”

“That may be never,” she answered before she could stop herself. Bathe him? He had to be kidding. She couldn’t touch him. Not while he was naked and certainly not there.

“Let me change my instruction. Sabrina, I wish you to bathe me now. Pick up the washcloth and begin immediately.”

She sighed. He had ordering people around down to an art form. She eyed the distance to the door. She could probably make it out of the room before he could jump out of the tub. However, she didn’t doubt that he would come after her, naked or not, and that he would catch her. There would be trouble after that. Besides, even if she got away from him, no one was going to help her. She would be left wandering the castle, dressed like a stripper sing-o-gram.

“I wish you’d left me in the desert,” she grumbled. “I would have been fine.”

“You would have been dead.” He glanced at her. “Tell the truth. You would rather be my slave than dead.”

“Maybe.”

She picked up the washcloth and soap Adiva had left on a small table next to the tub,
then
moved to stand behind his head.

“Lean forward. I’ll do your back.”

“But that is not the part that most interests me.”

“I’ll bet, but it’s the part I’m going to do first.”

“Ah.
Anticipation.
How well you play the game.”

This wasn’t a game to her and she wasn’t playing. Nor could she prevent herself from blushing.

She dipped her cloth into the warm water,
then
rubbed on soap. Kardal obliged her by leaning forward and she ran the cloth up and down his back.

“If you joined me, you would find the job easier,” he told her.

She had a sudden image of herself as naked as him, stepping into the water. A shiver rippled through her. Something warm and sort of melty filled her chest and made her squirm.

“If this is your best material, I’m not impressed,” she said, trying to sound calm.

Kardal surprised her by laughing. When she finished with his back, he leaned against the tub and held out his left arm. “You may not be a well-trained slave, but you do entertain me.”

“Oh, joy.
Because I live to serve.”
She ran the washcloth along the length of his strong arm. “While we’re chitchatting about my place in your world, let’s talk about my clothes. Can’t I wear a dress, or even jeans? Where on earth did you find this costume?”