Crowned At The Desert King's Command. Jackie Ashenden
the bad times, when Ashkaraz had been fought over and nearly torn apart following Catherine’s betrayal, and they wouldn’t be so lenient with a foreign woman again.
Not that he would be lenient either. She would soon get a taste of Ashkaraz’s hospitality when she was taken to the capital of Kharan. They had a facility there especially for dealing with people who’d strayed into Ashkaraz, and he was sure she wouldn’t like it.
That was the whole point, after all. To frighten people so they never came back.
His men watched silently as he carried her over to his horse and put her on it, steadying her as she slumped against the animal’s neck. Then he mounted behind her and pulled her back against him, tucking her into the crook of one arm while he grabbed the reins with the other.
‘Continue with the patrol,’ he instructed Faisal. ‘I want to know where this woman comes from—and fast.’
The other man nodded, his gaze flickering again to the woman in Tariq’s arms. Tariq had the strangest urge to tuck her closer against him, to hide her from the old advisor’s openly speculative look.
Ridiculous. The doubts Faisal had would soon be put to rest. Tariq was a different man from the boy he’d once been. He was harder. Colder. He was a worthy heir to his father, though he knew Faisal had had his objections to Tariq inheriting the throne. Not that Faisal or the rest of the government had had a choice in the matter since his father had only had one son.
Still. He had thought Faisal’s scepticism long put to rest.
It is the woman. She is the problem.
Yes, she was. Luckily, though, she would not be a problem much longer.
‘You have objections?’ Tariq stared hard at the older man.
Faisal only shook his head. ‘None, sire.’
He was lying. Faisal always had objections. It was a good thing the older man knew that now was not the time to voice them.
‘As my father’s oldest friend, you have a certain amount of leeway,’ Tariq warned him. It would do him good to be reminded. ‘But see that you do not overreach yourself.’
Faisal’s expression was impassive as he inclined his head. ‘Sire.’
Dismissing him, Tariq nodded to Jaziri and a couple of the other guards in unspoken command. Then, tugging on the reins, he turned his horse around and set off back to base camp.
CHARLOTTE WAS HAVING a lovely dream about swimming in cool water. It flowed silkily over her skin, making her want to stretch like a cat in the sun. It moved over her body, sliding over her face, pressing softly against her lips...
There was a harsh sound from somewhere and abruptly she opened her eyes, the dream fragmenting and then crashing down around her ears.
She was not swimming in cool water.
She was lying on a narrow, hard bed in a tiny room, empty except for a bucket in the corner. A single naked bulb hung from the ceiling. The floor was cracked concrete, the walls bare stone.
It looked like a...a jail cell.
Her heartbeat began to accelerate, fear coiling inside her. What had happened? Why was she here?
Her father had wandered away from the dig site and she’d gone to find him, only to get lost in the desert. Then those men on horseback had turned up, with her father slung over the back of a horse, and there had been that other man in black robes. That powerful man with the golden eyes, watching her. Tall and broad as a mountain. He’d had a sword at his hip and his gaze had been merciless, brutal...
A shudder moved down her spine.
He must have rescued her after she’d fainted—though this wasn’t exactly what she’d call a rescue. He might have saved her life, but he’d delivered her to a cell.
Slowly she let out a breath, trying to calm her racing heartbeat, and pushed herself up.
This had to be an Ashkaraz jail cell. And that man had to have been one of the feared border guards. And—oh, heavens—did they have her father here too? Had they both joined the ranks of people who’d crossed into Ashkaraz, a closed country?
And you know what happens to those people. They’re never heard from again.
Charlotte moistened her suddenly dry mouth, trying to get a grip on her flailing emotions. No, she mustn’t panic. Plenty of people had been heard from again—otherwise how would anyone know that the country was a tyranny run by a terrible dictator? That its people lived in poverty and ignorance and were terrorised?
Anyway, that line of thought wasn’t helping. What she should be concentrating on was what she should do now.
Pushing aside thoughts of dictators and terror, she swung her legs over the side of the horrible bed and stood up. A wave of dizziness hit her, along with some nausea, but the feeling passed after a couple of moments of stillness. Her face stung, but since there was no mirror she couldn’t see what the problem was. Sunburn, probably.
Slowly she moved over to the door and tried to open it, but it remained shut. Locked, obviously. Frowning, she took another look around the room. Up high near the ceiling was a small window, bright sunlight shining through it.
Maybe she could have a look and see what was out there? Get a feel for where she was? Certainly that was better than sitting around feeling afraid.
Charlotte stood there for a moment, biting her lip and thinking, then she shoved the bed underneath the window and climbed on top of it. Her fingers just scraped the ledge, not giving her nearly enough leverage to pull herself up. Annoyed, she took another look around before her gaze settled on the bucket in the corner.
Ah, that might work.
Jumping down off the bed, she went over to the bucket, picked it up and took it back to the bed. She upended it, set it down on the mattress, then climbed back onto the bed and onto the bucket. Given more height, she was able to pull herself up enough to look out of the window.
The glass was dusty and cracked, but she could see through it. However, the view was nothing but the stone wall of another building. She frowned again, trying to peer around to see if she could see anything, but couldn’t.
Perhaps she could break the glass?
Yes, she could do that, and then...
A sudden thought gripped her. Carefully, she examined the window again. She was a small woman, which had proved useful on many occasions, such as in hiding from her parents when the shouting had got too bad, and maybe it could be useful now?
Or maybe you should just sit and wait to see what happens?
She could—but this wasn’t just about her, was it? She had her father to consider. He might be in another jail cell somewhere or he could even be dead. Dead and she would never know.
You really will be alone then.
Cold crept through her, despite the sun outside.
No, she couldn’t sit there, helpless and not knowing. She had to do something.
Decisive now, she stripped off the white shirt she was wearing—her scarf seemed to have disappeared somewhere along the line—and wrapped it around her hand. Then she hammered with her fist on the glass. After a couple of strikes against the crack already running through it, the pane shattered beautifully.
Pleased with herself, she made sure that there were no sharp shards there, waiting to cut her, and then before she could think better of it she wriggled through the window.
A large man wouldn’t have made it. Even a medium-sized man would have had difficulty.
But