The Golden Barbarian (Sedikhan #1)

Chapter 3

Galen was gone when Tess awoke the next morning, and she experienced a rush of relief mixed with disappointment. His presence was exciting; he intrigued her mind while inspiring a curious vitality to possess her body. She wasn’t sure she was ready yet to try to understand his effect on her. Last night had been a most unsettling experience. What an unusual and unpredictable man Galen Ben Raschid was proving to be.

She dressed hurriedly in her old dark brown riding habit that she had refused to throw away despite Pauline’s pleas, left the chamber, and started downstairs. She had reached the landing when she encountered a young man wearing a burgundy-and-cream striped robe and flowing white trousers tucked into brown suede boots. His face seemed familiar.

“I was just going to your chamber, Majira.” He bowed politely. “The majiron wishes to depart within the hour. Is it convenient for me to pack your valises now?”

“There’s not much to pack. I saw no sense in having my cases unpacked for such a short stay.” She frowned thoughtfully. “You’re Said, aren’t you?”

He bowed again. “Said Abdul, Majira.”

“I didn’t recognize you at first.” Her eyes twinkled. “You’re wearing clothing.”

He blinked, appearing slightly taken aback, “May I pack for you, Majira?”

Good Lord, he was as stiff and sober as the Mother Superior. “By all means,” she said solemnly. “Where is the sheikh?”

“In the stable. Shall I tell him you wish to see him?”

“No, you go about your business.” She started down the steps again. “I’ll find him.”

“Unescorted?” He looked slightly shocked. “There are men in the stable, Majira.”

She glanced impatiently over her shoulder. “What difference does that make?”

“It is not fitting. You are the majira . It would be unwise for you to—”

“I’ll escort her, Said.” Sacha was standing at the bottom of the staircase. “Get to the packing.”

Said sighed in apparent relief. “As you wish, my lord.”

Tess shook her head as she watched him move quickly away. “He has no humor.”

“Said’s a good man,” Sacha said. “But he does have a highly developed sense of protocol. It’s a different world in Sedikhan.”

“So I’m beginning to discover.” She started down the last few steps. “What’s a majira?”

He grinned. “That’s you. Wife of the majiron . The Tamrovian equivalent would be ‘Your Majesty.’”

“And Galen is the majiron?”

He nodded. “It’s one of his titles.” His smile disappeared as his gaze searched her face. “Are you…well?”

She flushed and avoided his stare. “Probably better than you. You were definitely in your cups last night.” She strode past him toward the door. “I’m going to see Selik.”

“Not your husband?”

She glanced mischievously over her shoulder. “My husband appeared sound in wind and limb when I last saw him. Selik was not.”

“Selik is much better.”

Tess swung around to see Galen standing in the doorway. He gazed at her without expression, but his lips twitched betrayingly. “And I’m glad you found me…fit.”

Tess heard a sound behind her from Sacha that sounded suspiciously like a smothered chuckle.

She flushed as memories surfaced of Galen standing in naked splendor before her, his dark eyes burning, his hair flowing about his shoulders. Her gaze flew to his hair. It was tied neatly in a queue. He was dressed in a black superfine coat and matching trousers, his cravat wound as intricately as the one gracing Sacha’s throat. Somehow that evidence of proper civilized attire restored her composure. “Selik is able to travel?”

He nodded. “But not bear weight. We’ll put him on a lead for a few days.”

“That’s wise,” she commented.

“I’m glad you approve.” He inclined his head in a slight bow. “I’ve purchased a mare from the innkeeper for you to ride to Zalandan. She’s a little long in the tooth, but adequate for the journey. Now, if you please, we’ll break our fast and be on our way. Our escort waits over the border at the Oasis of El Dabal.”

A journey to Sedikhan. Who would have believed she would ever go to that barbaric land? She found she was suddenly filled with eagerness to be on her way. “Let’s go now. I’m not hungry.”

“Nevertheless, you will eat,” Galen said. “We won’t be stopping until sundown, and you must keep up your strength.”

She frowned. “I don’t like orders, my lord.”

His faint smile faded. “Better mine than your father’s.”

“True.” She gave him a veiled look from beneath her lashes. “But if you recall, I usually found ways to circumvent his orders.”

“Those means will not be available to you in Zalandan.” He saw her abrupt stiffening and withdrawal, and his expression softened. “Which doesn’t mean I plan to tyrannize you, only to keep you safe.”

“My father also took precautions to keep me safe. One of those precautions was to try to kill Apollo, who loved me.” She met his gaze directly. “Would you do something like that?”

He gazed at her silently for a moment before he said slowly, “If such a thing became necessary.”

She was startled. It was not the answer she expected. He had saved Apollo. Yet now he looked at her with implacable resolution shining in his eyes. There was no question he meant what he said. She drew a deep, shaky breath. “Then it’s well we come to an understanding.” She made an impatient gesture as he started to speak. “I know I have a certain value to you. I will do nothing to endanger it by damaging myself.”

“I did not mean—”

“Of course you did. I’m no fool. I know what my worth is to you.” She strode toward the common room. “I will eat. Such a small thing does not matter, and I know you must keep me well.” She challenged him with a glance. “But you offered me freedom, and I will not let you have it all your own way.”

“Freedom comes when you leave me.” He smiled. “And I’m very used to my own way in Zalandan.”

“I’m ravenous.” Sacha moved quickly forward and grasped Tess’s elbow, smoothly inserting himself between her and Galen. “If you’re both through throwing down gauntlets, may we eat now? Come along, Tess. You know how conflict upsets my delicate nature.” He heard a disbelieving snort from Galen and glanced over his shoulder with a hurt expression. “Philistine. You’ve never appreciated the sensitivity of my feelings.” He propelled Tess forward. “Besides, neither of you is giving me enough attention. I’m beginning to become bored.”

Judging by the number of tents, Tess would have said a small army occupied the palm-shaded oasis of El Dabal. As she, Galen, Sacha, and Said approached, at least seventy riders, dressed in robes of the same striped burgundy and cream colors worn by Said, thundered toward them.

“Mother of God.” Tess reined in her mare to stare at the cavalcade. “Even His Majesty doesn’t travel with an entourage this large.”

“King Lionel doesn’t have to cross a country torn apart by warring tribes,” Galen said. “An escort isn’t mere panoply in Sedikhan.”

“Not when Tamar claims the border country as his,” Sacha added with a grimace.

“Tamar?” Tess asked.

“Sheikh Tamar Hassan,” Galen said absently as he took off his tailored coat and draped it over the front of his saddle, then removed his cravat, put it carefully on top of the coat, and unfastened the first three buttons of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Tess asked.

“Getting rid of these foolish trappings. I’m home now.”

He smiled recklessly, his white teeth flashing in the bronze darkness of his face. Tess was spellbound. He looked wilder, less controlled than she had ever seen him. The hot breeze lifted his dark hair from his forehead, and barely suppressed excitement glittered in his eyes. She knew he spoke truly when he lovingly called the barren golden sand shimmering under hard blue skies “home.” He seemed one with this merciless, exotically beautiful land.

“Bring her, Sacha. I need to go ahead to meet Kalim.” Galen spurred ahead into a gallop, with Said pounding at his heels.

Tess sat her horse and watched the uproar of greeting as Galen rode into the troop. At first the men stayed still, merely making shrill, loud noises. Then, suddenly, they surrounded Galen. Even at a distance Tess could see that the faces of the men surrounding Galen showed affection and a respect bordering on worship.

“They do care about him,” Tess said thoughtfully.

Sacha nodded. “Of course. He keeps the El Zalan alive and prospering.”

“No, it’s more than that.”

Sacha shot her a thoughtful glance. “Very perceptive, imp. Galen’s a chameleon. He’s taught himself to become whatever he has to be, to adjust to any situation, to give whatever is demanded. He gives the El Zalan what they need, and in turn they give him unquestioning affection and loyalty. I told you he holds great power.”

For the first time since she started the journey, Tess experienced a flutter of uneasiness. If Galen was the chameleon Sacha described, the man she thought she had begun to know might not exist. She suddenly felt very much alone in this wild land.

“It’s too late for second thoughts now,” Sacha said.

She tossed her head. “I wasn’t having second thoughts. Well, only small ones.” She spurred her horse into a gallop. “Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

The tribesmen fell silent as Tess approached; they made her apprehensive, and she was glad Sacha was at her side. Galen was talking with an extraordinarily handsome young man mounted on a superb bay gelding. They were so absorbed in their conversation that Tess again felt estranged…and terribly alone.

“What news of Tamar?” Sacha called as they drew within hailing distance of the two men.

“No sign of him,” Galen said grimly. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not here.”

The beautiful young man next to Galen flushed and said quickly, “I searched most diligently, Majiron.”

“That means little. Tamar’s a wily wolf.” Galen turned his head and said something to the man in a low tone.

Tess was irritated by Galen’s ignoring her and then realized how foolish she was being. Nothing in their bargain demanded Galen must stay by her side every minute, and she must see to her own needs. She boldly rode up to Galen and stopped her mare before him. “I’m tired and wish water and food, my lord.”

He looked up absently and gestured casually to the man next to him. “May I present my wife, Kalim? This is my lieutenant, Kalim Ranmir, Tess.”

Surprise and then resentment flickered over Kalim’s classic features. He bowed his head politely. “Majira.”

“My lord Kalim.” She nodded and then looked again at Galen. “As I said, my lord, I’m hungry.”

He caught the hint of defiance in her tone, and his eyes narrowed on her. He saw the lines of tension around her mouth and the arrow-straight rigidity of the carriage of her slight body. He smiled. “Then of course I must supply food to appease you. We’ve already discussed my duty in that regard.” He turned to Said. “Show my lady to my tent, Said, and fetch her whatever she requires.”

“Will you be joining me later?” Tess asked.

He looked a trifle surprised. “Is that your wish?”

“As you like.” She shrugged carelessly, she hoped. “I merely want to know if I am to expect you.” Before he could reply, she turned and let her mare pick her way through the troop of tribesmen, her back very straight, her head high.

“Who is this Kalim?” Tess asked Said as she rode beside him toward a tent in Galen’s striped colors. It was located by a sparkling blue pool that appeared to be directly in the center of the oasis.

“He’s the majiron’s second in command. Kalim’s a very fierce fighter and much respected.”

“I thought Sacha was his second in command.”

“Oh no!” Said shook his head. “That would not be possible. My lord Sacha is an outsider. He is not of the El Zalan.”

Her lips twisted. “Not too much of an outsider to befriend your majiron and fight for your cause.”

Said nodded. “I meant no insult. He is a true friend to the El Zalan. Everyone likes my lord Sacha.”

But they still had clearly not accepted him as one of their own, even after years of service. Her feeling of alienation deepened. “How nice for Sacha.”

“He appears to find it pleasant.” For an instant the tiniest flicker of smile touched Said’s lips. “Our women have a special fondness for him.” The smile immediately disappeared, as if he had been startled by his own outspokenness. “Forgive me, I meant no disrespect, Majira.”

“Of course not.” Tess shot him an exasperated glance. “Let’s come to an understanding, since we’re evidently going to spend a great deal of time together. I’m not like the women of the El Zalan, and I have no intention of behaving like them. I’m more accustomed to the talk in a stable than I am to women’s gossip. I will not become offended if you make remarks you deem indiscreet.” She paused. “And, in fact, such conversation may make me feel less…” She searched for a word that would not reveal her vulnerability and finally ended baldly, “Alone.”

Said’s expression softened as he dismounted in front of the tent and came around to help her down. “You will not be alone. The women of the court will be honored to become friends of Majira . The majiron would not permit anything else.”

“We shall see.” Holding Said’s hand, Tess threw her leg over the pommel and slipped from the sidesaddle. “However, I believe I shall fight my own battles and not rely on your master.”

She turned and strode into the tent.

Said brought water for washing, and after Tess had refreshed herself, he busied himself preparing to serve her meal. He put out a place setting on the intricate beauty of the Persian rug and served her delicately flavored rabbit stew. It was far better than the food at the café the previous night. “Won’t the majiron and my cousin be joining me?”

Said shook his head. “They eat with the men by the fire.”

“Indeed?” Now that she had rested a bit, her first qualms at the extraordinary situation in which she had been placed were disappearing. “Perhaps I’ll join them.” She picked up her bowl and started to get to her feet, but Said was frantically shaking his head, his face horror-struck. “No?”

“The majiron would be most upset with me if I permitted you to leave the tent. It is not—”

“Fitting,” Tess finished for him. “For a barbaric land your customs are annoyingly stringent.”

“Barbaric?” The man was obviously insulted. “The El Zalan are not barbaric. Other tribes are barbaric, but we have the majiron’ s laws.” He frowned. “You will not go to the campfire?”

“No.” She was too weary tonight to fight the disapproval she would probably meet if she violated the El Zalan’s customs. Besides, she was beginning to like Said and had no desire to get him into Galen’s bad graces. “But it’s too hot to stay in this tent.”

He thought for a moment. “I will spread a rug just outside the entrance, and you may catch the night breeze. We will turn out the lantern so that you can see but not be seen by the men.”

“Is that nec—” She sighed. “Very well. Anything you say. Please do get the rug.”

The breeze was indeed cool on her face as she lounged outside the tent with Said sitting a protective few yards away on his own rug. She didn’t really care about the coolness. She could have borne the heat of the tent, but she could not bear being totally isolated from the activity going on around the campfire across the pool from the tent. The air was alive with laughter and casual talk and the camaraderie of men accustomed to living with one another. She wasn’t the least bit intimidated any longer, and she yearned to join the men.

She caught sight of Galen on the far side of the campfire. Her eyes widened in disbelief. He threw back his head and laughed heartily at something Kalim said. She watched Kalim smile and other men sitting in the circle move infinitesimally closer to Galen, as if being drawn by a magnet. She hadn’t had so much as a glimpse of this side of Galen. Did he reveal his warmth and openness only to his people? No, Sacha must have seen him thus, for he had followed Galen and fought under his banner for six years.

A bittersweet wail, almost human-sounding, made her turn in surprise. Said was playing a reed flute, and the music was inexpressibly lovely, blending with the night, sand, and fire into a harmony that was completely right for the time and place. When he finally took the instrument from his lips, she said, “That was lovely, Said.”

He looked faintly embarrassed as he said gruffly, “The majiron does not mind. It passes the time even though for a protector of the majiron , it is not—”

“Fitting,” Tess finished for him. She was growing weary of that word. “Then it should be fitting. Everything beautiful should be fitting. Play some more.”

“You do not wish to go inside now?”

“No, I want to stay here for a while.” She added quickly, “You were right, the breeze is cooling.” And she wanted to watch Galen’s expressions as he talked to the men around the campfire. If she studied him while he had his guard down, might she see into the man?

Said continued to play his flute, and she settled herself more comfortably on the carpet, her gaze fixed in fascination on her husband.

When Galen left the campfire and strolled around the pool toward the tent, it was nearly ten o’clock. Surprised, he stopped in front of Tess. “I thought you would have gone to sleep by now.”

She scrambled to her feet. “I was tired, but not sleepy.”

“Did Said furnish you with everything you needed?”

“Everything but sociable company.” She added tartly, “Which you and Sacha certainly didn’t deny yourself.”

Galen held the tent flap back, and she preceded him inside. He took off his burnoose and tossed it on the cushions of a low divan. “I’ve been away for almost two weeks. Kalim had much to tell me.”

“You didn’t look as if you were conducting state business.”

He turned to stare at her with raised brows. “That sounded suspiciously shrewish and wifely.”

She flushed. “No such thing. I was curious…well, and bored.” She frowned. “I would have joined you, but the mere mention of doing such a thing sent Said into a tizzy.”

“Quite rightly.”

“Why? When members of the Tamrovian court travel, the women aren’t stuck away in a hot, stuffy tent.”

“You found the tent displeasing?”

“No.” She looked around the tent. A thick, beautifully patterned carpet stretched over the ground, and everywhere her gaze wandered were colorful silk cushions, intricately worked brass lanterns, bejeweled silver candlesticks. “I’ve seen rooms at the palace that weren’t as luxuriously furnished as this.” She went back to the primary subject. “But I don’t like being imprisoned here.”

“I’ll consider ways to make it more palatable.”

“But I don’t want to stay here. Can’t I join you in the evening around the campfire? If the court does not—”

“The men of your court haven’t been without a woman for four weeks,” he interrupted bluntly. “And your Tamrovian courtiers are tame as day-old pups compared to my tribesmen.”

Her eyes widened. “They would insult me?”

“No. You belong to me. They would offer no insult. But they would look at you and grow hard and know pain.”

Her skin burned. “Your words are crude.”

“The fact is crude, and you must understand it. I will not make my men suffer needlessly.”

“You would rather have me suffer.” She scowled. “I would think you’d try to teach your men to control their responses. After all, I’m not that comely.”

He smiled faintly. “I thought we’d settled the matter of your comeliness last night.”

She had not thought her cheeks could get any hotter, but she found she was wrong. “Not everyone would find me to their taste. I think you must be a little peculiar.”

He chuckled, and his face looked as boyish as it had when he’d laughed and joked with his men. “I assure you that my tastes are not at all unusual. You have a quality I’ve seen in few women.”

She gazed at him warily. “What?”

“Life.” His eyes held her own, and his expression suddenly sobered. “I’ve never met a woman so alive as you, kilen.”

Her stomach fluttered as she looked at him. She tore her gaze away from his face to stare down at the patterns in the carpet. “Your women are without spirit?”

“They have spirit,” he said softly. “But they don’t light up a tent by merely walking into it.”

The flutter came again, and with it a strange breathlessness. “Pretty words. But what you’re about to say is that I must stay in the tent.”

“What I’m saying is that I prefer to save your light for myself.”

Joy soared through her with bewildering intensity. She mustn’t let him sway her feelings like this, she thought desperately. Sacha had said Galen gave whatever was demanded of him. Perhaps he thought this flattery was what she wanted of him. “As I said, pretty words.” She changed the subject as she forced herself to lift her eyes to gaze directly at him. “You look different in your robe.”

“More the barbarian?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said quickly.

“But you thought it.” He smiled bitterly. “I’ve embraced many of your civilized Western ways, but I refuse to give up everything. The material of our robes is thin, comfortable, and the white reflects the sun.” He strolled to the small trunk in the corner. “Which reminds me, you look most uncomfortably hot in your velvet riding habit. I think we must do something about it.” He rummaged until he found another robe like the one he was wearing. “Here, put this on.” He turned and tossed the garment to her. “You’ll find it far more satisfactory.”

“My habit is comfortable.”

“And unattractive enough to satisfy me when you’re out of the tent in the presence of my men.” He met her gaze. “But not when we’re alone. Put on the robe.”

She was to dress herself to please him. She knew wives did such things, but the idea was somehow…intimate. The air between them changed, thickened. She was suddenly acutely conscious of the soft texture of the cotton robe in her hands, the sound of Said’s flute weaving through the darkness, the intensity of Galen’s expression as he gazed at her. She swallowed. “Very well.” She began to undo the fastening at the throat of her brown habit.

He watched her for a minute before he turned and strode toward the entrance of the tent.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, startled. “I thought—” She broke off, her tongue moistening her lower lip.

“You thought I would want to look at you again.” He smiled. “I do. But it was easier last night at the inn, with all the trappings of civilization about me. Here, I’m freer and must take care.” He lifted the flap of the tent, and the next moment she saw him standing outside, silhouetted by the moonlight against the vast dark sky.

He wasn’t going to leave her. The rush of relief surging through her filled her with confusion and fear. Surely, the only reason she didn’t want him to leave was because she had felt so alone in such a strange land, she assured herself. She couldn’t really care if he went back to the tribesmen by the fire.

“Dépêches-toi,” he said softly, not looking at her.

Her hands flew, undoing the fastenings of the habit, and a few minutes later she was slipping naked into the softness of the robe.

It was far too large for her, the hem dragging the floor, the sleeves hanging ridiculously long. On her small frame the robe looked ludicrous and not at all seductive. She strode over to the trunk and rummaged until she found a black silk sash, wound the length three times around her waist, and tied it in a knot in front before rolling up the sleeves to her elbows. The garment was so voluminous she should have felt uncomfortable, but the cotton was light as air compared to her habit. She ruffled her hair before stalking belligerently toward the opening of the tent. “I look foolish. You must promise not to laugh at me.”

“Must I?” He continued to look at the campfire across the pond. “But laughter is so rare in this world.”

“Well, I have no desire to provide you with more.” She stopped beside him and scowled up at him. “I’m sure I don’t look in the least what you intended. But it’s all your fault. I told you that I wasn’t comely.”

“So you did.” His gaze shifted to her face and then down her draped body. His lips twitched. “You do look a trifle…overwhelmed.” He sobered. “But you’re wrong, it’s exactly what I intended.”

“Truly?” She frowned doubtfully. How could she be expected to gain understanding of the man when he changed from moment to moment? Last night he had wanted her without clothing, and now it appeared he desired her to be covered from chin to toes. She shrugged. “But you’re right, this is much more comfortable than my habit.”

“I’m glad you approve.” His mouth turned up at the corners. “I should have hated to be proved wrong.”

“You would never admit it. Men never do. My father—”

He frowned. “I find I’m weary of being compared to your father.”

She could certainly understand his distaste. “I’m sorry,” she said earnestly. “I know few men, so perhaps I’m being unfair. I can see how you would object to being tossed in the same stable as my father, for he’s not at all pleasant.”

He started to smile, and then his lips thinned. “No, not at all pleasant.” He reached out and touched her hair with a gentle hand. “But you don’t have to worry about him any longer, kilen.”

“I don’t worry about him.” She shrugged. “It would be a waste of time to worry about things I can’t change. It’s much more sensible to accept the bad and enjoy the good in life.”

“Much more sensible.” His fingers moved from her hair to brush the shadows beneath her eyes. “I drove us at a cruel pace from Dinar. Was the day hard for you?”

Her flesh seemed to tingle beneath his touch, filling her with the same excitement and panic she had known the night before. She had to force herself not to step away from him. “No, I would not admit to being so puny. I did not sleep well last night.” She had not meant to blurt that out, she thought vexedly. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean. I did not sleep well either.” Galen turned her around and shoved her gently toward the tent. “Which is why I pushed the pace today. I wanted to be weary enough to sleep tonight. Good night, kilen.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Presently. Go to bed.”

She wanted to argue, but there was something about the tension of the back he turned toward her that gave her pause. Still, for some reason she hesitated, reluctant to leave him. “What time do we leave tomorrow?”

“At dawn.”

“And how long will it take to get to Zalandan?”

“Another five days.”

“Will we—”

“Go to bed, Tess!”

The suppressed violence in his voice made her jump and start hurriedly toward the entrance of the tent. “Oh, very well.” She entered the tent and then slowed her pace to a deliberate stroll as she moved toward the curtained sleeping area. After all, there was nothing to run away from when Galen was not even in pursuit.

She drew back the thin curtain and the next moment sank onto the cushions heaped on the low, wide divan. There was much to say for barbarism, she thought as she burrowed into the silken pillows. This divan was much more comfortable than the bed at the inn.…

Tess’s curly hair was garnet-dark flame against the beige satin of the pillow under her head. His robe had worked open revealing her delicate shoulder, the skin of which was soft as velvet and even more luminescent than the satin of the pillow below it.

As Galen watched, she stirred, half turned, and a beautifully formed limb emerged from the cotton folds of the robe. Not a voluptuous thigh but a strong, well-muscled one.

Exquisite. He felt a painful thickening in his groin as he stood looking at her. He had deliberately provided her with the oversized garment to avoid seeing her naked as he had last night, but somehow this half nudity was even more arousing.

It was because he was back in Sedikhan, he told himself. It couldn’t be this half-woman, half-child who was causing his physical turmoil. He always felt a seething unrest and wildness when he was on home ground. The memories of his past debaucheries were too vivid to be ignored when he was back in the desert. But the wildness had never been this strong, the urge to take a woman so violent.…

But he could control it. He had to control it.

Why? She was only a woman, like any other.

No, not like any other. She had a man’s sense of honor. She had made a bargain and would keep it. He could have her simply by reaching out a hand. He could put his palm on those soft, springy curls surrounding her womanhood and stroke her as he did Selik. He could pluck at that delicious secret nub until she screamed for satisfaction. He could pull her to her knees and make—

Make . The word cooled his fever for her. Only a true barbarian used force on women.

He stripped quickly, blew out the candle in the copper lantern hanging on the tent pole, and settled down on the cushions beside Tess, careful not to touch her. The heaviness in his loins turned painful. He lay with his back to her, his heart pounding against his rib cage.

He could control it. He was no savage to take—

He felt the cushions shift. The scent of lavender and woman drifted over him, and he tried to breathe shallowly to mitigate its effect.

Then he felt her fingers in his hair.

Every muscle in his body went rigid. “Tess?”

She murmured something drowsily, only half-awake, her fingers caressing his nape.

“What”—a shudder racked through him as her fingertips brushed his shoulders—”are you doing?”

She pulled the ribbon from his queue and tossed it aside. “Wife’s duty…”

She moved away again, and the rhythm of her breathing told him she was sound asleep once more.

Wife’s duty? Galen would have laughed if he hadn’t been in the grip of hot frustration. He would like to show her a wife’s “duty.” He would like to move between her thighs and plunge deep. He would like to take her for a ride in the desert co?t de cheval , cradling her buttocks in his palms, making her feel every inch of him. He would like to—He forced himself to abandon such thoughts and to unclench his fists.

He had put his wild days behind him. He could no longer take with reckless abandon. He must think, consider, wait.

Dear God in heaven, he was hurting.

“Scream and I’ll slit your pretty throat from ear to ear.”

The voice was guttural, jarring Tess from sleep. Her eyes flew open, but she could see only a shadowy face above her in the darkness of the tent.

And the gleam of the steel of the dagger pressed to her throat!

She was going to die. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to die just as life was beginning to be so interesting.

“Where is he?”

He was talking about Galen, she realized with a wild surge of relief. Which meant he must not have killed Galen yet. The knife bit into her flesh, and she could feel warm liquid flow down her neck.

“Where?”

“Here!” A dark shape appeared suddenly behind her assailant, and she saw the glint of steel as a dagger was held to the man’s throat. “Get off her, Tamar.”

The man on top of Tess froze. “I can slit her throat before you can draw another breath, Galen.”

“Why bother? You wouldn’t live to enjoy your victory.”

The man hesitated, and then, incredibly, he threw back his head and laughed uproariously. “Ah, Galen, you always did have a persuasive tongue.” The dagger moved slowly away from Tess’s neck. “Put away your dagger and we’ll talk. It’s over.”

“I think my steel is more persuasive than my tongue,” Galen said dryly. “Throw away your knife.”

The man carelessly tossed the dagger aside.

“Now, get off her—slowly.”

“With great regret. I’ve always admired your taste in kadines.” The man swung off her. “Why don’t you light the lantern so I can get a better look at her?”

“You light the lamp. I want my hands free.”

“Distrustful bastard.” The man Galen had called Tamar moved toward the gleaming copper lantern hanging from the tent pole a few yards away. “I told you it was over.” A moment after the sound of flint on stone a flame flickered in the copper lantern.

Tess could see Tamar’s face now. He was young, no older than Galen, with a black beard, cropped close, flowing black hair, and dark eyes. He stood a little above average height, and his handsome features lit with a flashing smile as he turned to face Galen. “Very good, Galen. When I heard you had a woman with you, I was sure you’d be sleeping the sleep of a dead man tonight.”

Galen shrugged into his white robe, covering his nakedness, the dagger still in readiness in his hand. “You made so much noise cutting through the tent wall you’d have wakened the dead, Tamar.”

Tamar grimaced. “You were always the panther-footed one, not me.” He chuckled. “Do you remember the night you crept into the harem of that old—”

“That was the past.”

Tamar shook his head mournfully. “Ah, how I miss those days. What times we had.”

“Why are you here?”

Tamar raised his brows. “Why, I came to see my old friend Galen Ben Raschid.”

“Why?” Galen repeated.

Tamar shrugged. “I was curious.”

“And did you kill any of my men while you were making your way through the camp to satisfy your curiosity?”

Tamar shook his head. “No one got in my way.”

“I wonder if you’re lying.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“If it suited you.”

“True, but in this case it’s not necessary. I killed no one.” His glance turned to Tess. “My sentries told me she had red hair.” He studied her critically. “Wonderful skin, but she’s not your usual kadine , Galen. I think I must examine her more closely to see what drew you to her.”

Tess scrambled to a sitting position. “Galen, may I be told who this person is?”

“Her accent is strange,” Tamar noticed. “Have you been raiding outside Sedikhan?”

“The woman has just come from France. I found her in a café in Dinar.”

Startled, Tess stared at Galen.

“I should have known. You always did like the Frenchies.” Tamar strolled toward Tess. “Is she good?”

“Good enough.” Galen glanced at Tess and then stiffened as his gaze fell on her neck. “You son of a bitch, you’ve cut her.” He strode across the tent and fell to his knees beside Tess and asked her, “Are you all right?”

Tamar frowned. “What’s wrong? It’s only a little nick.”

Galen didn’t look at him. “You’ve outstayed your welcome, Tamar.” He touched the tiny cut on her throat with a gentle finger. “Don’t be frightened.”

“I’m not frightened.” She glared at Tamar. “Why should I be afraid of a man who slithers like a snake in the dark to attack a sleeping woman.”

Tamar flushed, and his lips took on an ugly twist. “Shall I show you, whore?” He gazed at her defiant face for a moment before he said flatly, “She needs teaching. I believe you must give this one to me, Galen.”

“When have I ever given you anything belonging to me?”

Tamar looked at him in surprise. “She is only a woman. We have shared women before.”

“I’ve not had her long. She still entertains me.”

“I’ll make a bargain with you. Give me two nights with her and you’re free to travel across my territory with no interference.”

“It’s not your territory.”

“It is if I say it is.”

“Not if I say it isn’t. Words mean nothing.”

“But blood means all,” Tamar said softly. “And you know how I love the taste of blood.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But no more than you,” Tamar said. “You go berserk when the battle fever hits you.”

“Then you should be cautioned about rousing that fever,” Galen said wearily.

Tamar gazed at him, a multitude of emotions flicking across his face. “Are you challenging me, my friend?”

“I’m warning you, Tamar.”

Tamar’s glance went to his dagger lying on the carpet.

The muscles of Galen’s thigh pressed against hers and now Tess felt them tense, as if preparing to spring.

Then Tamar’s teeth bared in a grin. “Not tonight, Galen. I have a raid planned against the El Kabbar in two days’ time.” He bowed mockingly. “So keep your woman. I’ll find plenty to amuse me in the El Kabbar camp.” He glanced around the tent. “Now, give me a goblet of wine, and I’ll leave you.”

Galen looked pointedly at the cut on Tess’s throat, and his lips tightened. “No wine under my roof, Tamar.”

Tamar frowned, then shrugged. “Oh, very well. Then just give me my dagger.”

“You’ll find it sticking in the big palm by the pool after we leave tomorrow. I’ll not risk you slitting one of my sentry’s throats simply to ease your frustrations.”

“How well you know me.” Tamar chuckled. Then his smile faded. “But you don’t know yourself, my old friend. Come back to my encampment with me, and I promise you will learn.”

“Good-bye, Tamar.”

“Until next time.” Tamar tilted his head at Tess. “She is too skinny, but I like them small. It makes a man feel powerful as a bull to gore the little ones.” He bowed to her. “At our next meeting I’ll be delighted to teach your lady to have a more docile tongue.” He strode out of the tent.

Tess let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “That was…interesting.”

“Interesting? I’ve noticed you have a passionate fondness for that word.” The surprise in Galen’s expression was wiped away by respect. “But yes, you might call Tamar interesting.”

“What else would you call him?”

“Murderer, rapist, bandit. There’s no more vicious sheikh in Sedikhan than Tamar.”

“He spoke as if he knew you well.”

“We grew up together in Zalandan. For a time his father’s tribe and the El Zalan were joined by a treaty. When Tamar came to power, the treaty was broken, and he returned to the north.” He stood up, walked over to the tent pole and blew out the lantern. “You can go back to sleep now. He won’t return.”

“Why did he come? I could make no sense of him.”

Galen shrugged out of his robe and moved back toward the divan. “Who knows why Tamar does anything? Whim directs him.” He lay down on the cushions and stretched out his big limbs. “He’s a lawless brigand, a total savage.”

“But you were once friends.”

“Once.”

He fell silent, but Tess could still feel the tension emanating from him.

“Why did you lie to him about me?”

“It was best. Tamar has no desire for Sedikhan to be united. He enjoys his life exactly the way it is. He might have been much more determined to have you if he’d known you were part of my plan.”

She suddenly remembered the word Tamar had used in referring to her. “What is a kadine?”

“A woman of pleasure.”

“Couldn’t you have named me your wife and still kept my identity a secret?”

“Perhaps, but he would have been suspicious. Tamar knows I have no desire to wed.”

A strange pain rippled through her at his words. She swallowed. “Of course, I understand.” She lay still, pondering the extraordinary events of the last quarter hour. After a time she spoke again. “You say no one knows why Tamar does anything, but I think you do.”

“Yes, I’ve always been able to gauge what Tamar was going to do next.”

“How?”

He was silent so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Because he’s my mirror.”

“What?”

“He’s what I was. He’s what I could become again.”

Startled, she blurted, “But you said he was a vicious bandit.”

“Yes.”

“A brigand and a rapist.”

“Yes.”

She became conscious of the waves of emotion radiating from his rigid body. She could sense violence, controlled with difficulty, within, but no trace of the malice that Tamar had exuded. “You’re wrong. You could never be like him.”

“I’m not wrong,” he murmured almost inaudibly. “But it won’t happen. Not if I’m strong. Not if I fight it. Not if I’m vigilant…”