Page 41 of Kismet

“The anasi is not the woman from your past. She did not the pull the trigger the night your brother died.”

With a roar of anger, he lunged toward Jamal with an explosive movement, but the Amazigh was quick and darted out of the way. Stumbling to a halt, he turned to face his tormentor and shook his head.

“You should have left me to rot that day in the desert.”

“That would have made it easy for you, no? Die rather than face the truth about your brother’s death.” Jamal shook his head sadly and remained silent for a long moment.

“We’re done here,” Shaheen rasped as he turned and started to walk away.

“You must release the anasi, Shaheen. Whatever happens to the treaties will happen. It is in God’s hands, not yours. Allegra Synnford bears no responsibility for your past or what happens among the Amazigh.”

He came to an abrupt halt as Jamal’s words pierced him with a keen sense of guilt. His friend was right, he should let Allegra go, but something inside him refused to part with her. He shook his head and glanced over his shoulder.

“Allegra stays.”

“She will come to hate you,” Jamal said with a sigh.

“We shall see.”

With that grim reply, he strode away as if the devil was on his heels. Eager to find a quiet place to think, he left camp and walked the half a mile to the tribe’s primary source of water. Small, yet vital to the countryside, the stream flowed well, thanks to the late winter rains. Rainfall over the past winter had helped to ensure the brook would meet his people’s needs until the winter rains fell again.

He squatted on the edge of the narrow channel to trail his fingers through the cool water. It was a precious commodity on the Moroccan plains, and he understood why the tribes had warred with each other for centuries. Water was the difference between life and death for the Amazigh and other Berber tribes. It had kept him alive the day Jamal had found him in the desert.

If not for his friend, he would have died. He’d not been grateful for the Bedouin’s interference, but over time he’d found ways to keep the past from haunting him. But that had changed the moment he found himself craving Allegra’s touch. There was guilt in that need. A culpability for desiring a woman who symbolized the very thing that destroyed his life and that of his brother.

A cold chill spread its way across his skin as he remembered Frances’s unpleasant laughter when James had found him in bed with the courtesan. He’d dressed quickly, but his brother had disappeared by the time he’d manage to plunge his way out into the snow-covered street. For more than an hour he looked for James.

He’d searched everywhere before returning to the town house they shared to find the household in an uproar. James had tried to kill himself in the study, but the staff had thwarted his efforts. Bleeding from his botched attempt, his brother had staggered out of the house despite attempts to stop him. It hadn’t been difficult to conclude where James was headed, and he’d raced back to Frances’s house.

When he burst into Frances’s bedroom, he’d found James standing over her, spattered with blood. The woman had fallen backward onto the mattress, her head turned toward the door so it seemed as though she were looking directly at him. But her wide-eyed gaze remained unmoving and vacant. Horror, fear, and panic held him in place as he looked at Frances and then his brother. James’s voice filled his head again as if it were yesterday.

“She laughed about it, Robert. She found it amusing that she was fucking the two of us at the same time. She tried to tell me you betrayed me.”

“James, listen to me. You need to put the gun down.”

“You wouldn’t betray me like that, would you?”

“No! You know me better than that. You’re my brother, James, I wouldn’t deceive you. I swear I didn’t know she was seeing anyone else, and certainly not you. I would have finished with her if I had known.” He took a step closer, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. James nodded, his expression one of understanding.

“I told her I didn’t believe her—that she was a liar. I knew you couldn’t betray me. She lied to me, Robert. She said I was the only one she loved.” His brother looked down at Frances with a bitter twist of his lips. “That’s why I had to do it. She lied. I loved her and she lied to me.”

“James, I want you to put the gun down.” He moved deeper into the room, desperate to stop his brother. “We can work this out together, but you need to put the gun down.”

“We both know I can’t do that.” James’s voice held a flat note of resignation. The resolute acceptance on his brother’s features sent panic streaking through him, and he took another step toward him.

“God damn it, James. Put the gun down.”

“I’m sorry, Robert.” Without another word, James swung the gun up to the side of his head and pulled the trigger.

Unable to help himself, Shaheen released a low cry of anguish as the pain of that moment washed over him once again. No matter how many times he replayed the scene in his head, the horror of it was still as vivid as the night it happened. He looked down at his hands, half expecting to see James’s blood on his palms from where he’d held his brother until the servants had arrived with the police.

Springing to his feet, he swallowed the emotions closing his throat. It had been impossible not to blame himself for James’s death. His father had been even less forgiving when he learned his eldest son was dead. He grimaced at the memory of his father’s bitterness. It reminded him of the hostility and resentment in Allegra’s eyes after her punishment.

Shaheen winced. She had good reason to hate him. He’d humiliated her in front of the entire tribe. It hadn’t been his finest hour, and he should have made allowances for her. She wasn’t familiar with the harsh life of the Bedouins or their culture. Could he have avoided all of this if he’d explained everything to her yesterday—the treaties, his cousin—all of it?

With a soft noise of disgust, he shook his head and headed back toward camp. She’d done nothing to prove to him she could be trusted. The memory of how she’d avoided Hakim at the Sultan’s palace made him grunt. It was one instance—she’d done nothing else to inspire his confidence. She was a courtesan. A woman trained in the art of manipulation when it came to her best interests. She’d used those skills last night thinking she could persuade him to send her back to Marrakech. He was a fool to think her anything more than that. But he did.

Allegra was strong, independent, courageous, and honorable. Even her attempt to manipulate him last night had been an effort to regain control of her life. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. Comparing her to Frances was impossible. No two women were ever so different. And there were few women in the peerage who could match her strength of spirit.