Page 33 of Kismet

“Perhaps, but I think your past has suddenly become much more difficult to avoid. The anasi has stirred up memories of an old love.”

“The past is dead,” he ground out. “Allegra’s presence here has simply complicated matters with regard to my identity, nothing more.”

Jamal heaved a sigh. “You are even more stubborn than Khalid. It is as if you truly were of his bloodline.”

Shaheen grunted softly at the Bedouin’s words. Sheikh Mahmoud was definitely stubborn, but for Jamal to suggest he was of Khalid’s bloodline was the highest form of flattery the Bedouin could pay him. It was Jamal’s way of saying there was no doubt that he was an Amazigh. Dusk had almost completely replaced the warm light of the sun, and his friend’s face was darker in the dim light. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man turn to face the encampment. In a fatherly fashion, Jamal’s solid hand came to rest on his shoulder once more.

“Remember, Shaheen. No matter what you might think, a father always has need of his son.”

With that the Bedouin walked away, leaving Shaheen to ponder his friend’s words as he stared out at the darkening landscape. Overhead, the purples and blues of twilight danced their way across the sky. The moon was almost full, and it was already lighting up the harsh landscape with a pale glow. He would have to stand guard near the horses tonight. Allegra might understand the treacherous nature of fleeing the camp, but she was stubborn enough to try to escape.

Behind him, he heard the sound of laughter. Turning his head, he saw a spray of embers shoot upward from a nearby fire. His home in England had never felt this comfortable. His head dipped downward so he could study the sandy dirt. Jamal was wrong. The Earl of Pembroke had never had need of him. Not even the morning after James’s death had his father needed him. Rather, the earl had bitterly told him it should have been him who died that night—not James.

Throwing his head back, he stared up at the early evening sky. Pain threaded its way through him as he recalled walking into Pembroke Hall that terrible morning. It had been hard enough making preparations for James’s return to their childhood home. Filled with torment and guilt, telling his father about his brother’s death had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. In the end, his father had emphatically said he never wanted to set eyes on him again.

The guilt of James’s death doubled in that moment. For a second time he’d been responsible for the death of someone his father loved. It became a burden he tried to discard inside bottles of liquor as he stumbled his way out of England and across the continent. His activities had consisted of nothing but drinking, whoring, and fighting for almost a year. The fights had been numerous and bloody with instances of mental jubilation when he was certain he was at death’s door. But death eluded him every time.

It wasn’t until he reached Morocco that he was certain he’d achieved his goal. He’d sought out the worst tavern in Casablanca in search of a fight. In a card game, he’d deliberately accused one of the players of cheating. The end result was a beating unlike any other with his body carried out into the desert plains and left as carrion for the vultures. Jamal had found him instead.

The Bedouin had refused to leave him to die in the desert. There had been little to live for then or for weeks after that. It had been Nassar’s rage that had brought him back to life and given him a new purpose. The attack on Khalid and his family had been an act of barbarism unlike anything he’d ever witnessed. Instinct had driven him forward that early morning as he’d killed the man intent on plunging a sword into Hakim, who was just a toddler at the time. A few yards away, he’d seen Khalid’s wife covering her daughter’s body with her own as Nassar struck her down with one vicious blow of his sword.

From that day forward, Shaheen had been one of Khalid’s trusted warriors, assigned the task of guarding Hakim. Where he’d failed James, he vowed not to fail Hakim. He’d become the uncle Hakim and Laila would never know in Nassar. After the attack, Khalid had been determined to avenge the murder of his wife. And if it hadn’t been for Jamal’s levelheaded arguments, the Sheikh would have gone after Nassar that same day. Jamal had convinced Khalid to consider the welfare of his children over the desire to avenge his wife’s death.

“Shaheen, Shaheen!” The excited cry interrupted his musings on the past.

Turning around, he grinned as Malik sprinted toward him. The boy’s father was one of his regular outriders. Although barely six years old, the boy exhibited the same natural horsemanship his father had. The lad wasn’t even afraid of Ahmar Jinn. That troubled him, because the stallion was still too dangerous for anyone but the most experienced to ride. Swinging the child up onto his shoulders, he walked back toward the encampment.

“Well, little man. Did you watch over the camp while your father and I were gone?”

“Yes, but father told me you gave Abyad to that traitor Nassar.” There was a note of disgust in the boy’s voice. It reflected the loathing the entire tribe shared for the man.

“True, but I had no choice.”

“I think you made a poor trade, Shaheen.”

“A poor trade?” He laughed.

“You gave up Abyad for an anasi.”

“The woman’s name is Allegra, and I gave up Abyad to save her.”

“Why?”

The innocent query made him swallow hard. Answering that question was as difficult as negotiating a complex treaty. It was easy to keep telling himself that he’d saved Allegra because Laila had asked him to do so. He knew better. He knew he would have gone after her no matter who’d asked him.

“She’s Laila’s friend, and Nassar was holding her prisoner.”

“Father says you like her.”

“He does, does he,” he muttered with a frown.

“Yes, he said you called her a helwa jahannam meshsh.” Puzzlement flooded Malik’s voice. “Why would you do that? I thought hellcats were mean and nasty, not sweet.”

The boy’s words caused him to come to an immediate halt just short of Malik’s family tent. Swinging the child down to the ground, he shook his head. “I think it’s time your mother put you to bed.”

“Oh all right, but I still think you made a poor trade,” Malik said with a sad shake of his head as Shaheen gently pushed him toward his family’s campfire.

“Go,” he said. “And let me to worry about whether I made a good trade or not.”