Girl in the Bedouin Tent. Annie West
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image of huge violet eyes flashed into Amir’s head.
She’d been asleep when he left. Dead to the world and looking far too pale. In the dawn light, her face free of make-up, she’d looked young and lovely. Even, if that could be believed, innocent.
Till Amir noticed the way her fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger even in sleep.
Emotion surged through him. Something fierce that rippled like a predator on the hunt. Something that craved blood for what had been done to her.
Yet there was also a disturbing sense of frustration. Of helplessness. Feelings he hadn’t experienced since boyhood. For, though he wished it otherwise, he couldn’t save Cassie Denison yet from the terror that haunted her.
He had obligations to fulfil here. To move precipitately would risk the peace talks and her safety.
Amir’s hands tightened on the reins and his horse broke into a canter. Mustafa slowly followed suit, lumbering along like a sack of potatoes instead of the valiant leader of men he styled himself.
Effervescence fizzed in Amir’s blood as they rounded a mountain spur and the camp came into view. Soon he’d be able to rid himself, for a while at least, of this unpalatable company.
He assured himself it wasn’t eagerness he felt at the prospect of seeing Cassandra.
How many hours had he lain awake watching her? Sifting her words for truth? Letting his gaze trail over skin that he knew was soft as rose petals, hair like rays of sunlight, a delicate jaw that also spoke of obstinacy, and the most passionate mouth he’d ever seen?
Amir stopped his thoughts in an instant, recognising them as weakness.
He did not cultivate weakness. From the age of eleven he’d had to be better, stronger, tougher than his peers. It hadn’t been good enough to succeed—he’d had to excel. That had required absolute commitment and focus.
The women in his life, pleasing through they were, fulfilled a very specific role. He couldn’t remember ever being kept awake by the need simply to watch one sleep.
He’d opened his mouth to suggest to Mustafa that they commence discussions after dinner when a shout rent the air. There was a flurry of movement. Figures converged in the direction of his guest quarters, set away from the rest of the camp.
Instantly Amir was galloping out of the darkness towards the compound, his sixth sense urging speed.
Streaking ahead of the rest of the party, he thundered down, drawing his horse to an impossible shuddering stop metres from his tent, where cloaked figures surged and writhed.
‘Enough!’ The command cut the night air, clearing the space before him. Startled faces peered up and were quickly averted as the men of the camp bowed their way backwards.
Yet the tussle before him continued. Two figures, unevenly matched, grappled right up against his tent. The smaller one fought like a demon, aiming vicious kicks and cleverly leveraging the other’s vast weight against him in a sudden move that almost felled the bigger man. But the hulking guard saved himself at the last moment. There was a gasp of pain and a hoarse chuckle as the smaller of the figures bowed back as if stretched taut.
‘Release her. Now!’ Amir was off the horse and striding forward as the larger of the pair raised a whip in one beefy arm. Fury boiled in Amir’s veins. He came in hard, bringing the big guard down with a sharp punch to the jaw and another to the solar plexus.
Quick. Contained. Lethally effective. Though Amir retained enough control to do no more than stop the aggressor in his tracks. It was more difficult than he’d expected to stifle the urge for violent retaliation. The need to avenge Cassie was a roaring tide in his blood.
The man was easily recognisable as the one who’d led Cassie into the feasting tent last night. The gaoler she’d flinched from. The man who’d left his mark on her skin.
Anger scythed through Amir’s belly.
He gathered Cassie to him. Despite the enveloping cloak it could be no other. Her size and proximity to his tent made it inevitable. Who else would have the temerity to keep fighting so desperately against the biggest, most brutal guard in Mustafa’s retinue?
As he drew her in, close within the curve of his arm, every sense confirmed her identity.
How could a woman he barely knew feel so familiar? It wasn’t merely that she fitted perfectly, tucked under his chin, her arms snaking around his waist as if for support. It was something indefinable that stirred unaccustomed sensations.
A need to protect. A desire to comfort.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was a hoarse gasp that tore at his control. He felt the heat of her heavy breathing through the fine cotton of his clothes and pulled her in tighter.
Nevertheless she stood stiffly, as if poised to repel further attack, every straining muscle tense.
This woman was brave to the point of being foolhardy.
‘What possessed you to leave the tent?’ She knew there were guards. That she’d be stopped if they saw her.
‘It was so late I thought you weren’t coming back.’
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