Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
B ut those eyes and those lips! Framed by the white keffiyeh and the scarf he’d now pulled off his face, his dark eyes were narrowed and dangerous as he stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at her. It seemed his caring side had vanished along with the sand from her eyes and throat.
His powerful presence filled her blurry vision, and she suddenly thought that while she might have been saved from one kind of experience, she might very well have fallen into another. What was he doing here in this seemingly uninhabited castle? And, more to the point, was she safe with him?
He shook his head in contemptuous disbelief. “What the hell were you doing out there?”
“Trying to hide from the storm.” She tried to clear her croaky voice. “My tour bus left without me.”
He shook his head. “The tour operators have strict instructions that you are to stay together! I will inform the authorities. This is serious. If I hadn’t heard you cry out, you would have died out there.” He muttered something in Arabic, which she’d definitely never heard her grandfather say and which she definitely knew wasn’t complimentary. “They’ll never work again!”
“Oh, no!” she said, remembering how anxious the guide had been that they both behaved and enjoyed themselves. “It was my fault,” she gabbled, remembering the large family the harassed tour guide supported. “No one else’s. My backpack was stolen, and I went running off to find the children who stole it.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Children, you say? What did they look like?” It was less of a question and more of the command.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. They just looked like kids. I only saw them for a split second before I fell and they disappeared.”
He gave a brief nod, and Sarah got the impression that he might know where to find them. “Do you know where they might be? Can you get my backpack back? It has everything in it—my passport, my money, my phone.”
“What?”
He looked at her as if she were the most stupid thing on this earth. She couldn’t help but agree with him.
She bit her lip as she felt a surge of emotion well up within her. She was safe now. At least for the time being, and now that the danger of imminent death had passed, she could see what a predicament she was in. She swallowed hard. Now was hardly the time to confirm his opinion of her and to dissolve into tears.
“It had everything inside.” She shrugged and gave an involuntary sniff. “I thought it was safer than leaving it on the bus.”
He gave another low, derisive noise. He was beginning to annoy her.
“And it would have been safer,” she insisted, “if I hadn’t had to unbuckle it for a minute to get something.”
“No doubt to take a photo of this strange curiosity of a place.” He grunted again. “And those children took advantage of that moment.”
“No, not to take a photo. To look at a photo, if you must know. It’s hardly a hanging offence. I’m not to blame for having my backpack stolen. That’s down to you people.”
He scoffed and looked at her, hands on hips. “ Us people? Us uncouth foreigners, you mean? I hardly think your backpack would have been any safer in your hometown of London.”
He was right, but she would not admit it. “I don’t come from London,” she mumbled.
“I don’t care where you come from, you shouldn’t be here .”
“I don’t want to be here. But I can hardly go out in this sandstorm, can I?”
“Well, on that, we agree. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have rescued you.”
“Is that what you call it?” she muttered grumpily, aware of the cavernous space in which they stood. “Rescued?”
“What would you call it?”
“Manhandled, insulted, and…” All further thoughts vanished as she was suddenly aware of how vulnerable she still was, and how correct he was. Whichever way she looked at it, he had, indeed, rescued her. The surge of anger receded, and she looked up and into those eyes, and swallowed. This wasn’t a man to toy with.
“And?” he asked in a warning voice.
She could have sworn he took a step closer to her, although she didn’t see him move. He filled her vision. There was nowhere else for her to look. She clenched her fists and drew deep for courage. There was nothing for it but the truth.
“And yes, you’re right, you rescued me. Without you, I’d have suffocated out there.”
His triumphant expression was swiftly replaced by a look which, under any other circumstances, she’d have named as interested. It was there in the flare of his nostrils as if he were inhaling her, and in the slight tick in his stubbled jaw, as if he was restraining himself.
She gulped. She was stranded alone with a stranger in the middle of the desert, her clothes and hair in disarray. Her button-through abaya was now button-free after her fall, and she tried to pull it over her tight jeans and revealing t-shirt beneath, aware of the tension in the air which couldn’t be described now as anything but sexual. But her abaya was also torn and provided no cover. She was aware of her breasts rising and falling more rapidly as she reacted to his proximity. His dark eyes—the color of bitter chocolate—held more now than anger. A lot more. And she couldn’t move away.
In the end, it was he who, with a swish of his robes, turned. The arrogant tilt of the head made her wonder if she’d imagined the sexual energy she’d seen in their depths. There was no trace of it now as he walked over to a table, pulled out a couple of drawers until he found what he was looking for, and then struck a match. He held the match up to a lantern from which light flared immediately, making her realize how dark it was in that vast hall. She stood silently as he walked around the room, lighting one lantern after another. Finally, he came full circle and turned to face her. Yes, she must have imagined the naked attraction she’d felt before, because now his eyes told her nothing.
“There’s no electricity,” he said, as if answering a question she hadn’t asked. “I was about to check the back-up generator when I heard you. It’s too late now,” he said in a chilly, distant tone. She almost missed his previous anger. Almost.
“I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat, forcing herself to shift her thoughts from this stranger’s eyes and what they did to her. “Will everyone be okay?”
It didn’t work because now, when he turned his eyes to her, they glittered with the reflected lamplight, re-igniting the fire within her. “There is no one else. We are quite alone.”
A shiver shot down her spine, sending alarm signals to every part of her body. Telling her to run. To get the hell out. But there was no where to run to. No one to run to. She pressed together her trembling lips, determined that he wouldn’t see her fear, but his eyes flickered around her face, and his lips briefly twitched into a smile before turning away. “It’s lucky for you I am here.”
Lucky? She remembered that adage—out of the frying pan and into the fire. “I guess.” She couldn’t help wondering if she’d landed herself in a worse situation with this strange, hypnotic man than if she’d been alone. Outside, she might have survived intact. But inside the castle with this stranger? Intact wasn’t what sprung to mind.
He raised an eyebrow. “You only guess?” He grunted. “You wouldn’t have lasted many more minutes out there. Listen to it.”
And she suddenly realized the sounds she’d been hearing, which she’d imagined belonged to other people, were the wailing and whining sounds and rattling of the wind as it buffeted the ancient castle. She glanced around the shadowy roof and pillars before looking back at him. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her.
“Will this place hold up?”
“It’s been ‘holding up’, as you call it, for twelve centuries. I think it will withstand this storm.”
He certainly could make her feel stupid.
“Sure, of course.” She looked anywhere but at him. “So, how long do you think it will last?”
“At least twenty-four hours.”
Her gaze shot back to him again. “Twenty-four hours? You’re kidding! But…” She looked around the shadowy hall, for the first time truly absorbing her surroundings. “But I can’t stay here .” She stopped short of saying, ‘alone with you’.
“You have no choice. But you are safe here with me. I will not harm you if that is what you are worried about.”
She shrugged, not wanting to admit that it would take a long time before she forgot the feel of his hands under her bottom, and his breath hot against her neck. It had aroused her in a way it most definitely shouldn’t have. She didn’t want to be aroused in any way whatsoever. She needed to keep things normal. Talk about everyday things. She racked her brains.
She turned to him with a fixed, polite smile. “Do you look after this place all by yourself?”
He answered her smile with an amused one of his own.
“Coffee?”
She nodded. It seemed the answer to her question was so supremely obvious he couldn’t be bothered to reply. Of course, he looked after the place by himself. Otherwise other people would be here.
“Take a seat.”
She did as he suggested, as it was infinitely preferable to standing with half her clothes hanging off while he removed the other half with his eyes. She made herself comfortable among the cushions on the low sofa, dragging her ragged abaya around her body in a vague attempt at modesty.
When she looked up, a small gas flame hissed steadily beneath a Dallah and he was grinding coffee beans in a mortar and pestle. There was something primitive about the scene, yet reassuring, too. She leaned back with a sigh against the kelim rug which was draped over the settle as the wind continued to howl and whine around the castle. She was safe here. Well, she corrected herself, at least she wasn’t going to die here. Or, if she was, she at least wanted to know his name.
“I’m Sarah, by the way.”
He turned to her. “Just Sarah?”
She nodded. She didn’t want to give everything away.
“My name is Kadar.”
“Nice to meet you, Kadar.”
His lips tweaked with amusement before he turned away. “Nice to meet you, too,” he said with obvious sarcasm. “Now, if we’ve done with the charming English manners, perhaps you can find some cups in the cupboard while I get some water boiling.”
“Of course,” she said, opening the first cupboard she came to and plucking out a couple of goblets. She placed them on the worn kitchen table, which dominated the room, and wondered why he didn’t seem to know where the cups were kept. “Will these do?” she asked doubtfully, noting the quality of workmanship on the unusual metal goblets. She twisted them under the lantern light, but they were dull with disuse. “They look pretty valuable.”
He shrugged. “They’re gold. From around the fifteenth century, by the look of them.”
Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked from the gold to him. Why was this palace caretaker able to access such treasures?
He was watching her too, and she blushed and looked away, uneasy under that intense stare. Could he read her mind? She hoped not.
“I’m sorry, I’m just surprised. Where I come from, such objects are kept under lock and key.”
“And where exactly do you come from, Sarah? You just don’t look like a Sarah from the English suburbs, or cities come to that.”
She frowned. She’d been hearing that all her life.
“No, my family isn’t from England originally. Anyway,” she said, determined to head him off from any interrogation into her background. “ You don’t look like what you are, either.”
“And what exactly do you think I am?” His lips twisted with an amusement he appeared to be trying to suppress. She sensed he didn’t smile much.
She shrugged. “You’re alone in a castle in the middle of nowhere. I guess you’re some kind of live-in caretaker-handyman. And yet you don’t talk like a man who lives alone, looking after a castle deep in the desert. And yet you are.”
“And yet I am,” he repeated slowly. “It is hard to know what to believe, sometimes, isn’t it, Sarah?”
A shiver ran through her body by the way he said her name. The sibilance sounded like a caress.
He took a step closer to her. “Should we believe what we think we know?” He tapped his head. “In here? Or should we believe what we feel?” He tapped his gut. “In here? Instinct. Which do you think?”
Think? There was no way she could think at all with him standing so close to her, his intense gaze fixed on her.
She shook her head to rid it of the ridiculous fantasies which had suddenly sprung up in her mind. “I think…” She licked her lips, and she noticed his gaze drop to her mouth. She shivered. “I think,” she said more strongly this time, “that the coffee has just boiled.”
His lips tweaked. “Of course. I should have known.”
She frowned at his strange response. “Should have known what?”
He glanced at her, but continued to make the coffee. “That such a conversation would be too revealing for an Englishwoman.” He turned and leaned against the table. “You prefer to speak without saying anything of meaning, do you not?”
“No!” she said, wondering if he was, in fact, correct.
“Then tell me the truth. Who are you? You understood some of my Arabic earlier. Not the kind of thing a guidebook would help you with. You don’t look English. And you’re here, in Sirun.” He narrowed his gaze. “What was your surname again?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t give it.”
She didn’t know why, but she felt a strange reluctance to tell him exactly who she was. Knowledge was power, and she certainly didn’t want to give him any more than he already had.
He poured coffee into the cup and handed it to her. His gaze looked more thoughtful now. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, as if he’d had second thoughts. “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head. “I think I’ve eaten enough sand to fill me up,” she said with a half-smile. Food was the last thing on her mind.
“Then we will drink our coffee and then I will take you to the bedroom.”
“The bedroom?” she repeated faintly.
“Yes. There is only one prepared. I’ll sleep down here.”
She exhaled a held breath. “Right.” She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved.
“The bathroom is also there. I’m sure after your ordeal you’d like to bathe while I find us something to eat for dinner.”
“Right,” was all she could say. “I mean, yes, thank you.” She took another gulp of coffee and examined the goblet. Yes, definitely gold. It seemed first impressions were definitely deceptive here.
She raised her gaze to him. Her first impressions of Kadar had been one of strength and power, and she’d been scared by the way he’d taken control. Even if that had led to her safety. And now? He was still taking control, but she was no longer scared. She found she wanted to confide in him a little more. She found she wanted him to know her.
“You wanted to know my full name. It’s Sarah Albright. My grandfather—he died recently—was from Sirun. That is why I don’t look like I’m from England. Because I’m not.”
Kadar immediately looked away from Sarah. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her ever since he’d carried her into the castle, out of the storm. But now he could. As he busied himself turning off the gas beneath the Dallah, his mind raced.
He’d come to the castle alone to have time to think—a brief respite before he did as his vizier advised and declared war on the one tribe who threatened his reign and the peace of his country—the Al-Barraq tribe. And then she appeared out of nowhere, like an answer to a prayer.
Albright was the English transliteration of Al-Barraq.
It all made sense now. From the first moment he’d clapped eyes on her, he’d thought she looked familiar. And it turned out he was right. But it wasn’t any particular person she resembled, it was a tribe. And not just any tribe. A tribe that his vizier advised he should declare war on. He’d wanted a more peaceable solution. And, he thought, he might have just found one. Especially as she seemed to have no idea of her true identity. Which was even better.