The Desert Lord's Love-Child: The Desert Lord's Baby. Кейт Хьюит
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no alarm. Probably because he transmitted none, and Mennah seemed to fear nothing in his arms. Carmen interpreted the din only when he released her from his focus, turned it toward the source.
Her reaction still lagged until he said, “Here they are.”
It was the pleasure and affection in his voice that made her follow his gaze toward a helicopter the like of which she had never seen, a matte-black majestic alien lifeform.
In seconds it landed a few dozen feet from them in a storm of sound and wind, deafening her, sending her hair rioting, her loose clothes slapping against her flesh. Farooq and Mennah were all smiles as he pointed out the chopper to her, their hair flapping like raven wings. She heard Mennah’s screeches of excitement only when the rotors winded down as both doors opened and two bronze colossi descended and started toward them.
Both Farooq’s height, one maybe even taller, in body-molding casual chic, one in blacks, one in grays, they looked like the embodiment of the forces of darkness and twilight, modern-day gods descending from the heavens to rule the earth.
And she wasn’t being fanciful here. Not by much. She bet they inspired such hyperbole in everyone. She’d bet everyone felt everything holding its breath, slowing down like in movies to emphasize the gravity of their approach.
As the sun slanted golden light and shadows on them, worshipping every sinew of their bodies, every slash of their faces and strand of their hair, it was clear they didn’t possess only the same physical blessings and impact as Farooq, but like him they had power and the entitlement of an ancient birthright encoded in their genes. The same genes. Though they resembled him only vaguely, it was unmistakable that they were his blood.
And it was as unmistakable that they were both staring at her, giving her what felt like a total body and mind scan.
She found herself groping for Farooq, this time sagging into him when he contained her in the curve of his body.
As the two men came to a stop at arm’s length, they had mercy, terminated their visual and spiritual incursion of only her and instead took in the image of the nuclear family they made.
Did they know how far from the truth this image was?
They had eyes only for Mennah now, who was looking back at them with fascination. And excitement.
A shard of mortification drove in her heart.
Had Mennah’s agitation in the presence of strangers been her fault? Had she infected her daughter with her own fear, of losing her, transmitted her distrust of everything and everyone? Had she been influencing her into developing neuroses without knowing?
If she had, that was over now. With Farooq’s appearance in her life, Mennah had learned fast that she had a defender for life, one with the power to wrestle the world to its knees.
Gray man looked at Farooq before his gaze was dragged back to Mennah. But it was enough. In that moment as obsidian eyes had melded with gold ones, she’d seen a lifetime of understanding, of unbreakable loyalty and unshakable love. Though she’d never had anything like that in her life, she recognized the connection, understood its significance. Even had Farooq not told her about this meeting, she’d have known. This had to be his brother.
Curious about him now she was certain of that, she examined him as he initiated interaction with Mennah, an approach of both eagerness and sensitivity, which the baby responded to wholeheartedly.
He was Farooq’s height, with the same daunting proportions, but his face was more symmetrical, his hair a longer sweep down his collar, a rainfall of deepest black with strands kissed by indigo as if manifesting his electric aura, deepening the impact and darkness of his eyes. The eyes of a hypnotist.
He let out a harsh sigh, his rugged face becoming etched with tenderness and wonder as he flicked a finger down Mennah’s velvet cheek. “Ya Ullah, ma ajmalhah.”
Farooq exuded pride and pleasure as Mennah rewarded the ragged comment with a “squee” and a grab of the exploring finger. “Naffs kalami bed’dubt lamma ra’ait’ha.”
My exact same words when I first saw her.
“Mafi shak, hadi bentak.”
No doubt, this is your daughter.
Those words, spoken in a bass voice that was even deeper than Farooq’s, brought her eyes to the man in black. She’d been avoiding looking at him. Of the three of them, he unsettled her most.
He was taller than Farooq, maybe by an inch or so, but that wasn’t why he overwhelmed her. It was his face, his eyes, what radiated from him, similar to Farooq and the man in gray, but laced with more harshness and danger. The slashed angles and hewn planes of his face were more merciless, the night of his hair total, the trimmed beard deepening the impression of ruthlessness, echoing the desert and its raiders, his eyes that of a lone wolf, hard and unforgiving.
“W’hadi maratak?” he said without looking at her.
And this is your woman?
And she found herself saying, “If you’re speaking Arabic to exclude me from this exchange, I’ll be courteous and tell you it won’t work and warn you not to say anything not meant for my ears. According to Farooq, my grasp of Arabic is ‘impressive.'”
Four sets of eyes turned to her, three of them boring into her with reactions comparative to each man’s character. Farooq’s vacillated between that humor he kept losing control over and his intention to add this to her running tab. Gray’s was the surprise of someone who couldn’t believe he’d mistaken a tigress for a housecat, both amused and intrigued by his faux pas. Black’s was unimpressed, his eyes telling her he was quick to judge and impossible to budge. No one got a second chance with him, and she was another false move away from eternal damnation.
But since she was already eyes-deep in it, what the hell.
She shrugged. “I see Farooq has no intention of introducing us. But you know who I am, and, while your identities seem to be need-to-know info he evidently thinks I don’t need to know, they’re not hard to work out. You must be Shehab and Kamal. And here I have to ask, is this what I should expect from now on?”
Farooq cocked an eyebrow at her. “What is ‘this'?”
“This.” She swept a gesture from him to Shehab and Kamal. “Are all Aal Masoods like this?”
“Like what?” he persisted.
“Larger-than-life? Description-defying? Will meeting you in your masses be like stumbling into a superhero convention?”
His lips tilted at the corners, his eyes crowding with a cacophony of emotions. She was surprised to feel amusement ruled them all. “Are you flirting with my brothers, Carmen?”
“I’m not even flirting with you. I’m stating facts. The three of you are the biggest proof of how grossly unfair life is. Giving you all that must have created severe deficiencies elsewhere. Your personal assets could be divided among three hundred men and they’d still be damn lucky devils.”
Gray threw his head back, gave a hearty guffaw. “B’Ellahi, I’ve made up my mind. I like you already, Carmen.” She looked at him, unable to hide her gratitude at finding one among the hulks surrounding her who wasn’t impossible to reach. He extended a hand to her. Her hand rose automatically, trembled as his closed around it. His smile turned assessing at feeling the tremors arcing through her. He shook her hand slowly, the fathomless black of his eyes brimming with astuteness and good nature. “I’m Shehab. Second son. Kamal is our baby brother.”
Said baby brother shot her an implacable look, not following his older brother’s example and extending a hand of acceptance.
Gathering the rest of her courage, feeling Farooq’s eyes burning the skin off the side of her face, she turned to Kamal. “I’m Carmen. And you don’t look like anyone’s baby brother.”
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