Master of the Desert

But as he held that thought Antonia just ducked her head to leave the tent, and now was coming towards him with her head held high and that seemingly irrepressible look of determination and challenge locked in her eyes. She was wearing a serviceable but undeniably sexy outfit. The Bedouin women knew a thing or two about such things. It comprised a robe and a headdress that both protected her and—regrettably, as far as he was concerned—made her seem only too well suited to the hostile environment. She didn’t belong here, and in his opinion the sooner Antonia realised that, the better.

‘Ready?’ she said, taking her revenge cold as she sprang into the saddle of the gelding he was holding for her.

‘Ready,’ he confirmed, handing her the reins.

Far from buckling and demanding a helicopter out of what had to be both an alien and terrifying terrain for her, Antonia had adapted and was still intent on going forward. So be it. He was equally determined that this would be Antonia’s first and last taste of the desert adventure she so foolishly craved.

At least she was clean. The women had allowed her to use their private bath-house, which was basically a tent they had erected over the stream that bubbled up to the surface from some underground keep far below the surface. But never had a bathroom seemed more luxurious to her, or people more friendly and fun as they poured buckets of cold water over her.

It was the first time she had been able to relax in a long time, Antonia felt. The women had made that possible for her with their lighthearted banter and teasing looks through the tent flap, at Ra’id and then at her. She had tried to mime that he was way too important for her, and that anyway she wasn’t interested, but they just laughed at her. And after an hour of constant teasing she found her hunger for Ra’id had only increased.

Black-hearted Ra’id, as she was determined to think of him, was already mounted when she stepped outside the tent. He was holding the reins of her horse with his gaze inscrutable behind the folds of his dark and forbidding headgear. Thankfully, the women had arranged her own scarf so that, just like Ra’id, only her eyes were showing—which meant he couldn’t see her blazing cheeks, or the way her lips had swollen with desire for him. Perfect. She angled her head to give him a glare. She wanted to be sure he could see her resolve, and that she would go on with this without allowing any personal considerations to get in her way.

The fact that she was terrified—of Ra’id, of the desert, of the safety of their unborn child—was something she, like countless women before her, would simply have to take in her stride. There was a job to be done, and only unflinching determination was going to get her through it.

Antonia’s heart sank as their horses slowed to a trot outside the crumbling walls of the ancient citadel. This was not what she had expected at all. Instead of a fine fort sitting foursquare in the desert, the fortress she had inherited from her mother was a sad, run-down place with doors hanging off the hinges and windows boarded up. ‘No wonder you wanted me to see it,’ she said to Ra’id brightly, determined he wouldn’t see her alarm. ‘It’s a blank canvas, isn’t it?’ she said, making the derelict wreck sound like the most desirable real-estate on the face of the earth.

‘It’s a blank something,’ he agreed.

It was just a pity her horizons had been stretched somewhat since arriving in Sinnebar so that now they encompassed doors formed from solid gold, decorated with gem-studded handles. And windows—always made of crystal glass.

She smiled to herself at the irony of it all and was glad of something to cheer her up as she stared at the dried-out skeleton of a once-majestic home. Shielding her eyes against the glare of a sky bleached white by the sun, she tried to sum up her decrepit inheritance. ‘A heap of stones’ was a generous description. ‘Is it safe to go inside?’ she asked Ra’id, who had reined in beside her.

‘I’ll take a look.’

Before she could stop him he had urged his stallion into a brisk canter and was almost instantly swallowed up inside the walls.

Sitting alone on a fidgeting horse, breathing air that was heavy and still, was an unnerving experience. The heat was like a smothering cloth that choked off the last of her optimism, and the silence was overwhelming. There was no birdsong here, no leaves rustling, no sound at all.

Patting her horse, she rested her cheek against the firm, warm neck for comfort. She had never felt the need of a friend more. Had her mother felt like this? Antonia wondered, imagining Helena’s feelings on being moved from one palace to the next by her disenchanted lover. This ancient fortress must have come as quite a shock after the opulent palace in the city. Her gaze swept the pitted stone, lingering on the mean little windows. How oppressive a building could seem, she reflected, remembering Ra’id explaining on the ride that the old fort had originally been built as a defensive outpost to guard the nearby water-supply—water that would now be held from her at Ra’id’s whim.