LATER, Suliman led Bethsheba out of the temple.
It felt, as they walked through that great stone archway, that it was as it should be, as it would always be, and that she had no choice in what was happening to her.
‘We must sleep out here,’ Suliman said deeply. ‘The temple floor is too hard, and snakes live in the crevices of its walls.’
She controlled a shudder. ‘Poisonous snakes?’
He gave a curt nod, moved to his horse and untied the blanket from the saddle. ‘We will be safer and more comfortable here in the sand. The shade from the rocks will protect us better than any stone walls.’
Bethsheba went to her own horse and untied the saddle-blanket. It was made of rough thread, coloured in dark blue and red; the royal colours.
‘Here.’ Suliman walked in his black robes to a niche of sands enclosed by rough stones. ‘This will be our bed tonight, Sheba.’
She watched him through her lashes. ‘We will sleep together?’
‘How else?’ he said softly, and a smile curved the hard mouth.
The prospect of actually sleeping in his arms all night sent her pulses rocketing. Lifting her head, she walked to the niche of sands and spread her blanket beside his.
‘You may wear your hair loose tonight,’ Suliman told her. ‘It pleases me. But tomorrow you must hide it. It will be a banner to your friend Burton, and I will not have him see it and stop.’
‘I doubt if he’ll follow us,’ she said with a leap of her heart as she remembered Khalisha. Surely she would tell Chris the truth?
‘He will follow us,’ Suliman said flatly. ‘He has tamed the girl in you, Sheba. He knows I will tame the woman, and he will fight to prevent me from doing so. Come!’ He sank down on to the makeshift bed and held out a strong hand. ‘Lie beside me, Sheba, and breathe in the scent of your natural home, the desert, and its prince.’
He looked so handsome lying there, one leg bent and black-booted, spurs gleaming from his heels. He rested on one elbow, the black head-dress and gold iqal giving him that air of Eastern masculinity that made her quiver with electric response just to look at him.
She lay down beside him, went into his strong arms, and felt a wave of emotion so deep, so strong that she closed her eyes and wondered if she was in love with him.
Suliman relaxed against the blankets, holding her against his chest. His breathing began to even out, his heartbeat slow. The arms that held her felt so right, so natural…
‘Suliman,’ she asked as sleep crept up on them, ‘why would Chris want to stop me becoming a woman?’
‘Because he knows he will lose you,’ said the deep voice.
‘But why should he lose me?’ she asked.
‘It is your innocence that ties you to him,’ he said. ‘You are the prisoner of unleashed desire. He will do everything in his power to prevent me from taking you.’
Bethsheba remembered Chris’s rage when he thought Suliman had made love to her, and was silent. Was it possible that Suliman spoke the truth? Even she had seen the fury in Chris’s eyes, and had known instinctively that it was not the jealousy of a man in love. Then what had it been? Certainly Chris had reacted possessively. But was that possessive rage born of love? No. She knew Chris. He was fond of her, enjoyed her company, and respected her work. But he did not love her.
Nor does Suliman, she thought, and pain tore at her heart.
She had wanted him from the minute she saw him. Wanted him in every way—physically, spiritually, mentally, emotionally: and she had wanted his life too. This life—the desert and the douar, the palaces, and the vivid, barbaric luxury of it all.
But why? She had everything she could wish for in the West. Success, money, fame, an exciting career, a lot of friends, and every day filled with appointments and interesting work.
Yet still she yearned for the life Suliman was giving her. For the freedom of the desert, the thrill of walking barefoot, riding bareback, and all with this strong, handsome desert prince at her side, both throwing the confines of civilisation to the wind as they rode across their beloved wilderness together.
Suliman was asleep now; deeply asleep. But Bethsheba was wide awake, and as she raised her head from his chest she sighed, accepting the whirlwind of thought in her troubled mind.
Extricating herself from his arms, she walked softly away from their desert bed. The temple walls rose up before her, but they shimmered, for tears were stinging her eyes, and the carvings wavered like a mirage.
He doesn’t love me! she thought fiercely. Why am I crying?
Leaning weakly against the temple walls, she closed her eyes. She was hurt, and she could no longer deny it to herself. The feelings Suliman aroused in her went deeper than physical attraction—but how much deeper? And what precisely were they?
Suddenly she heard an odd sound—a hiss and slither that made her stiffen. Glancing up sharply through a mist of tears she saw Suliman asleep on the rough blankets in the circle of stone.
A long silver snake was undulating towards him.
Bethsheba froze. She tried to cry a warning, but her voice would not work. Moonlight illuminated the snake, beautiful and chilling in its evil as it moved closer to Suliman.
Adrenalin coursed through her body. She was moving silently towards him, her hand instinctively going to her hip. The hiss of steel as she withdrew the scimitar did not wake Suliman as the snake moved into the circle of stones.
It slowly raised its head an inch from Suliman’s outstretched arm. The sword flashed in the moonlight as Bethsheba severed the snake’s head from its body.
The head flew on to the sand. The body twitched in death-throes and blood spilled out. Suliman woke with a start, staring at Bethsheba as she stood over him in dark red warrior’s robes, the bloodstained sword in her hand.
‘You saved my life,’ he said deeply, and as she looked down into his face she realised she was in love with him.
‘It was going to kill you,’ she heard her voice say.
Suliman got to his feet. Now it was he who towered over her, handsome in the black robes and timelessly desirable. ‘My warrior queen! I was right to bring you here! The temple has brought you face to face with destiny and you can deny it no longer!’
‘I didn’t even know what I was doing,’ she said slowly, wonderingly, staring at his dark, intense eyes. ‘I just took the sword from the scabbard and——’
‘That is the way of kismet. It comes naturally, without thunderbolts or trumpet calls, as it came to you tonight.’ His strong hands touched her waist, drawing her closer as his eyes darkened. ‘Sheba! Truly you are she! Our union will be earth-shattering, and our sons will be warriors indeed!’
Her breath caught at the last words and she said, ‘Sons!’ Her voice was hoarse, her gold eyes wide with incredulity. ‘Suliman! What do you mean—our sons will be warriors indeed?’
‘What else could come,’ he asked deeply, ‘from a union between Suliman and Sheba?’
‘But it’s impossible!’ Panic vibrated in her voice. ‘You must see that!’
‘I see a girl on the threshold of womanhood. And tomorrow night the transformation will be complete when you lie naked and sated in my arms, your innocence a thing of the past.’ His head lowered, and as his mouth claimed hers in a deeply arousing kiss Bethsheba moaned, helpless in her fierce desire for him, her mouth opening beneath his and her eyes closing even as she struggled to come to terms with what he had said.
But his kiss was erasing all memory of words from her mind, and when he pulled her down into the bed beside him she gasped as his mouth found her throat and burnt a trail over the throbbing pulse that betrayed her dark passion.
The scent of him was driving her wild as she kissed him back, her mouth on his flesh, his hair, and the scent of Arabia filling her, of horseflesh and leather and everything masculine.
Suddenly he drew back to look at her. He was breathing harshly, his eyes like dark coals. ‘You are almost tamed, Sheba.’
‘You’ll never tame me!’ she denied hotly, but he just smiled, his hard mouth curving sardonically as he looked at her flushed face and fevered eyes and knew the truth.
‘Come,’ he said, turning her to lie against his chest. ‘We sleep now. Tomorrow you will enter the Great Palace of Suliman, and after that there is no way back.’
Bethsheba lay with her head on his chest, consumed by emotions and self-doubt. Was he right? Was she almost tamed? But how could that be when she fought so hard to protect her innocence?
Because you’re in love with him, a little voice whispered inside her. Angrily, she denied that voice. She refused to think of it! All she felt was physical attraction, and if she ever once allowed that attraction to turn into love she would be lost.
She thought she would never sleep, but of course she did, holding Suliman near as her eyes closed and her breathing slowed…
Bethsheba woke from a deeply erotic dream and turned on to her back with a languorous moan. In her mind, Suliman was still making love to her, his hard body moving against hers as she greeted him with wanton eagerness.
‘Good morning, bint,’ Suliman’s voice drawled from a short distance away. ‘Your dream was satisfying?’
‘Oh!’ Bethsheba’s eyes snapped wide open to stare at him as shame flooded her with guilty colour. ‘What—what makes you think I dreamt at all?’
He was standing by his horse and he laughed at her. ‘Your soft moans of pleasure, my dove! And the way you slid yourself against me in the night.’
‘Oh!’ Her flush deepened to burning scarlet. She turned away from him, appalled. Had she really done that? How awful! She could barely meet his eyes.
Suliman watched her in the hot desert stillness. Then he strode slowly towards her, his black robes flickering slightly in the morning breeze.
He knelt beside the circle of stones. ‘Do not turn away in shame.’
She couldn’t look up, her face burning as his shadow fell over her.
He took her face in one hand and turned her to look at him. ‘Sheba,’ he said deeply, ‘you have the right to feel desire. The right to express it. And the right to incite desire in your mate.’
She closed her eyes to his words, his mouth shaking.
‘These are the rights of woman,’ Suliman said, ‘and it is this deep knowledge of the secrets of your sex that Burton is withholding from you.’ He straightened, standing over her, unsmiling. ‘Remember that, should you hear his helicopter fly above you today.’
Bethsheba looked up into his hard tanned face in silence, her shame suddenly forgotten. Chris would come. Chris would save her from the destiny that unquestionably awaited her at the Great Palace of Suliman.
‘Come,’ Suliman said. ’Pick up the blankets. It is time we rode.’ He turned on one dark heel and strode over to the waiting horses. Bethsheba watched him for a second, then got up, rewound the red turban to cover her hair, picked up the blankets, and went to her horse.
Suliman watched her with dark intense eyes. When she was ready he gave a harsh cry and nudged his stallion into a fast canter. Together they rode out of the temple and into the hot golden desert, and the sand flew from the horses’ hoofs.
What if Chris didn’t find them? Galloping alongside Suliman, the wind tearing at her robes, she flicked a sidelong glance at her sheikh. He had said their sons would be warriors. Was he serious? Did he really intend to have sons with her?
When the sun was at its zenith, Suliman indicated they should stop for water and rest. They veered to the left, galloped over a sand-dune, and Bethsheba was astonished to see an oasis ahead.
‘How did you know it was here?’ she asked as their horses walked to the water, green plants and palms flourishing in the heat.
‘I need no city signposts here,’ Suliman drawled coolly, ‘this is my land and the land of my forefathers.’
She smiled, and dismounted, spurs jangling as she landed neatly on the sand. Suliman dismounted too, and unscrewed his water-bottle, drinking thirstily.
‘Drink, Sheba.’ Suliman indicated her water-bottle. ‘We shall not stop again.’
Bethsheba took the water-bottle from her saddle and unscrewed it. ‘How far is the Great Palace?’
‘So we’ll get there in daylight hours?’
Suliman inclined his head and drank thirstily.
Bethsheba watched him through gilt-edged lashes. Suddenly she had to ask, ‘Suliman…when you said we would have sons, were you serious?’
He lowered his water-bottle. ‘Of course.’
‘I might not want to have sons, though,’ she pointed out, keeping her cool.
‘A woman who does not want sons?’ he queried, one dark brow arching.
“Well—in Western society it happens all the time!”
‘Well—in Western society, bint,’ he drawled sardonically, ‘people are brought up to value houses and city streets and jobs. What has this to do with life? With birth and death? With everything that is real and natural? Of course the women choose sometimes to override their instincts. They have been taught to do so.’
‘But, Suliman,’ she said defensively, ‘that’s not the point! I don’t want to have sons with you! I don’t want to go the palace, make love with you, have your sons—or stay in this wretched desert a moment longer!’
‘Sheba,’ he said deeply, stroking her high cheekbone with one tanned finger, ‘you were not born to be kept in dark airless rooms full of recording equipment and money-men. Admit this one truth, and you will be more than meeting me halfway.’
Her face flushed lightly and she said, ‘I—I still don’t want to have your sons, Suliman! And no power on earth can make me do something I don’t want to do!’
‘If you truly do not wish it,’ Suliman said, ‘then it will not come to pass.’ He studied her surprised face for a second, then turned. ‘Refill your water-bottle. We must ride now.’
She watched him take the reins of his black stallion and mount it, sitting astride it, handsome and clever and strong, his regal profile turned from her, the gold iqal on his head-dress gleaming in the sun. He won every argument, no matter how hard she fought, and she wondered for a moment whether she would ever understand him. He had moved heaven and earth to get her by his side, to have her riding with him to the palace of his ancestors. Yet now he appeared to be placing it all in the lap of the gods! He just did that to win the argument, she told herself angrily, and strode to the oasis to replenish her water.
They rode out into the desert together. Refreshed, their horses galloped faster than ever, their sleek black coats glistening. The sun was fierce, and Bethsheba was glad of the protection her turban gave her.
It was an hour later that they heard the helicopter.
Chris! Bethsheba’s gold eyes flicked up as she and Suliman galloped across the open desert terrain. The shadows fell over them like a giant black hornet, the sound of the blades scaring the horses.
‘Your friend Burton!’ Suliman shouted as he rode beside her. ‘Let us hope he passes these two nomads by!’
But she knew he would not, and her heart contracted with a worrying mixture of pain and excitement. Chris would take her home! Angrily she pushed the pain aside—what did she care for Suliman? Why should she feel this deep sense of loss?
The helicopter was circling, its engine vibrating, and Suliman’s jet-black eyes were narrowed with anger. Suddenly the helicopter started to descend on them, deliberately barring their way.
The horses rose up in frightened protest. Sand flew everywhere, stinging Bethsheba’s face and eyes. Her horse veered, as did Suliman’s, and they fought for control, their robes billowing as the helicopter landed with a soft thud on the sand.
‘Dismount!’ Suliman bit out as he saw Bethsheba’s horse trying to rear up. ‘Dismount!’ He leapt off his horse, seeing her fear, and tore the reins from her hands, his black robes billowing as he held hers steady.
Chris was opening the helicopter door as Bethsheba leapt from her horse and fell on Suliman, her hands gripping his strong shoulders for support. Chris’s eyes flashed open in angry surprise, but he did not falter, walking towards them in jeans and a white shirt.
‘Suliman,’ he shouted angrily, ‘I’ll have you thrown in gaol for this!’
‘You are not in London with your money and your lawyers now, Burton!’ Suliman shouted back angrily, holding the rearing horses while Bethsheba clung to him and sand whirled around them. ‘This is the desert, and here we settle our scores man to man!’
‘I can take you to court in Tangier or Marrakech or Rabat!’ Chris shouted, blue eyes furious.
‘I am a prince of the desert!’ Suliman bit out. ‘My power and my money are stronger than yours here. If you try to fight me in the cities you will regret it!’
‘I’m Christopher Burton!’ The helicopter engine was winding down, the blades slowing, the sand settling. ‘And this is my star—Bethsheba Lyon! You have no right to take her from me!’
Suliman smiled as the horses began to quieten. ‘She came willingly.’
‘Then why did you drug me last night?’
‘I thought you needed the rest!’ he drawled mockingly.
Chris stepped forward, furious. ‘Beth is coming back with me.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Suliman said softly.
‘Beth!’ Chris flung out a hand to her, his eyes vivid blue and angry as he looked at her.
She swallowed on a dry throat, then broke from Suliman and ran to Chris. Her soul was screaming even as she did it, but, feeling unable to do anything else, she flung herself into Chris’s arms and buried her face in his neck.
‘It’s all right,’ Chris murmured, holding her, ‘you’re safe now.’
‘Let her go,’ Suliman’s dark voice said from a short distance away, and she heard a tortured note in it which made her soul cry out in agony even as she fought to be indifferent. ‘Let her go, damn you!’
‘Go to hell!’ Chris bit out, and turned with Bethsheba in his arms to move back to the helicopter.
Suliman moved suddenly, his long-legged strides carrying him to block their path. ‘Let her go!’ he bit out thickly, barring their way with masculine arrogance, hands on hips, every inch a legend in those black robes.
‘Look, it’s over!’ Chris said tightly. ‘She doesn’t want you! It was all great fun for a while, but now it’s over!’
‘Not until she tells me so herself!’ Suliman bit out.
Bethsheba couldn’t look him in the face. She hung her head, staring at his black leather riding boots, at the spurs glittering gold in the sun, and at the long, muscular legs.
‘Beth, for God’s sake, tell him!’ Chris muttered furiously.
She opened her mouth but no words came out. She wanted to say the words—they burnt in her mind, but inside…inside, her heart was twisting, her soul tearing in two, and as she raised her head to force herself to look at Suliman she met his fierce, passionate black eyes and caught her breath, thinking, I’m in love with him!
‘Tell him!’ Chris bit out, furious.
She flinched, looked at the sand and said thickly, ‘It’s over. Leave me alone, Suliman.’
There was a long silence.
‘Right.’ Chris relaxed, moving forward with her in his arms. ‘Now—get out of the way, Suliman and——’
‘You do not leave this place with her!’ Suliman bit out, barring their way. ‘She wants to stay!’
‘You just heard her say she didn’t!’ Chris was absolutely livid. ‘I’ve come hundreds of miles to get her, and I am not leaving without her!’
‘Then you will fight for the privilege!’ Suliman leapt at him, his strong hand gripping Bethsheba’s arms and pulling her away from Chris, ignoring her angry cry as he thrust her aside and moved towards Chris. ‘You will fight like a man or go home with your cowardly tail between your legs!’
‘Cowardly!’ Chris stared at him. ‘Now just a minute, you bloody desert——’ He leapt at Suliman in a burst of rage and punched him in the jaw.
Suliman’s head jerked back. His eyes blazed, his fist shot out, and Chris sprawled back in the sand with a thud, blood on his mouth.
‘No!’ Bethsheba ran to stop them as Suliman leapt at him. ‘Don’t fight! I want to go back with Chris! I want to! I want to!’
‘Stay back!’ Suliman bit out, turning to stare at her.
Chris took advantage of the moment. He seized the hilt of the scimitar at Suliman’s hip and pulled it from the scabbard. Standing, he backed away, the sword flashing in his hand.
‘Chris…’ Bethsheba’s blood ran cold as she stared ‘…put the sword down! There’s no need for this…’
‘Stay out of this!’ Chris flung angrily, and the steel of the scimitar glittered wickedly in the sun. ‘She’s mine, Suliman!’ he shouted. ‘I made her what she is, and she made me! I won’t let you take her—even if I have to kill you to keep her!’
‘No…’ Bethsheba whispered, trembling. Chris knew how to use that sword, all right. He was an expert fencer. Every drama school in the world taught its students to fence, and Chris had trained at RADA. He had played Mercutio, Hamlet and every classical role that demanded a perfectly executed sword-fight. Even now he stood in the correct pose: his feet planted firmly on the sand, one turned out, one forward, ready to dance out of the way should Suliman attempt to get near him.
Suddenly Chris flicked the sword in one hand and cut Suliman’s black robes open at the shoulder. Suliman sucked in his breath, a hand clamping on his wound as blood ran between his fingers.
‘Stop it!’ Bethsheba screamed, running forward.
‘Get back from him!’ Chris moved forward, too, his sword pointing at Suliman’s throat. ‘Now—get in the helicopter, Beth!’
‘But I can’t just leave and let you——’
‘Get in the bloody chopper!’ Chris bit out.
She stared, sweat on her upper lip, her heart hammering in fear. ‘He’s unarmed, Chris.’
‘He wanted to fight, didn’t he?’ Chris said under his breath, and his sword slid across Suliman’s throat, grazing the skin. Suliman didn’t even flinch, but his eyes blazed with dark rage.
‘I demanded of you that you fight like a man,’ Suliman said contemptuously, staring arrogantly down that curved steel blade at Chris, ‘not like a bandit!’
‘But this is the desert, isn’t it?’ Chris sneered. ‘And there are no rules!’
Anger rose in Bethsheba. Suddenly she found herself unsheathing her own scimitar, and as the steel hissed and flashed in the sun both men turned to look at her.
‘No rules, Chris,’ she said under her breath, and flung the sword at Suliman. ‘No rules!’
Chris stared at her, his face draining of colour.
Suliman caught the sword with one hand, gripping the black handle. He gave a cry of dark triumph, turning on Chris, the blade flashing, and, as Chris danced out of the way, Suliman made an expert thrust, grazing his forearm and drawing blood.
Bethsheba watched in an agony of tension. The clash of steel rang out in the hot desert air. The sheikh was forcing him back, his face tense with primitive rage, and his sword moved faster and faster as Chris retreated, parrying desperately, his eyes wide with shock.
Suddenly, Chris’s sword flew out of his hand. With a cry, he stumbled backwards and fell on to the sand. Suliman stood over him, his sword pointing to his throat.
‘You are beaten, English!’ the sheikh said with dark mockery.
Chris shook with rage but could do nothing to alter his humiliation.
‘Don’t hurt him!’ Bethsheba ran forward. ‘Please! He lost his head! He didn’t know what he was——’
‘I will not hurt him,’ Suliman said tightly, ‘on one condition.’
‘Well?’ Chris breathed thickly, hating him, lying helplessly at his feet, the sword at his throat.
‘You get back in your helicopter and fly back to Tangier alone,’ Suliman said flatly. ‘Agree to this and you will go free—unharmed.’
‘That’s my decision, not his!’ Bethsheba protested angrily.
‘I hold the sword at his throat, and we have fought for you,’ Suliman said harshly. ‘He will obey my demand, or pay the penalty!’
‘Demand it of me!’ Bethsheba said furiously.
‘Not here,’ Suliman said tightly. ‘Not now. You will obey the decision that is made here, bint, and come with me to the Great Palace of Suliman!’
‘I will not!’ she said fiercely, eyes blazing gold.
‘Well?’ Suliman pressed the sword harder against Chris’s open throat. ‘What is your decision, English?’
‘I want her to come with me!’
‘You have fought and lost!’ Suliman said bitingly. ‘Are you a man of your word—or a snake that crawls on its belly?’
‘You bastard!’ Chris’s mouth shook with fury. ‘You know very well I have no choice!’
Suliman’s hard mouth twisted in a smile. ‘Then go.’ He stepped back, the sword at his side.
Chris scrambled to his feet, brushing sand from his clothes, his eyes furious as he moved back to the helicopter.
‘Chris, no!’ Bethsheba stared to run, panic flaring in her.
‘Leave him!’ Suliman’s voice cracked like a whiplash as his hand shot out to take her arm, yanking her back angrily. ‘Do you want to humiliate him beyond endurance?’ he demanded, eyes fierce. ‘He has fought and lost. Let him go to lick his wounds in private—he will be back, of that you can be sure.’
Bethsheba stood speechless with despair and fear as Chris slammed the helicopter door, his face averted, and the blades were already whirring noisily, sand spinning up as they gathered speed. When the helicopter lifted from the ground and flew above them she hid her face from the sandstorm and thought, I had my chance to escape! I had my chance and let it go!
But he might have killed Suliman! And the sheikh had been unarmed—how could she have stood by and done nothing? She had had to throw that sword and stay with them rather than run to the helicopter and make good her escape.
When the helicopter had disappeared from sight, and the desert was silent again, Suliman drew back to look at her.
‘So, Sheba,’ his voice was as dark and seductive as his eyes, ‘you chose me, after all.’
‘I didn’t choose you!’ she denied hotly. ‘I chose justice! I couldn’t just stand by and let him wound you seriously—or worse!’
Suliman’s hard mouth moved in a smile. ‘How you lie to yourself, Sheba.’ Suddenly he frowned, and his hand moved to his shoulder, feeling the cut.
At once she looked at the cut, concern in her eyes. ‘He hurt you!’
‘A scratch,’ Suliman said coolly, watching her.
She ignored his male pride and studied the wound with concern. ‘It isn’t deep, but it must be cleansed.’ Quickly she moved to her horse, took the water-bottle, and tore a piece of cloth from her turban, dipping it in water and tenderly bathing Suliman’s wound.
‘My warrior queen excels as a nurse, also,’ Suliman drawled softly, watching her with a wry smile as she attended to his wound.
‘All women do,’ she said coolly. ‘That is their tragedy.’
Suliman laughed under his breath, and said, ‘Tonight, Sheba, in the Great Palace of Suliman, you will be taught how a woman really excels—in the arms of a man who desires her above all others!’
Her eyes flicked up in a heart-stopping moment of panic and excitement. ‘I should have let him kill you! I should have got on that helicopter and left you!’
‘But you did not, Sheba,’ he said under his breath, ‘and tonight shall you be rewarded in my bed!’