Page 5 of Kismet

Chapter 2

Standing in the shadow of a decorative palm tree, Shaheen studied the room and its occupants with guarded interest. Bejeweled mosaics covered the walls of the Sultan’s drawing room and most of the furniture had gold inlays. Although he knew the wealth inside the palace was the accumulation of several hundred years, it was hard to ignore the fact that just one ruby from the wall’s artwork would be enough to feed one of the poorer Bedouin tribes for months.

Rich and opulent, the palace interior was a sharp contrast to the simple tent Shaheen lived in almost year-round. Although his adopted people were quite prosperous, even they had years when the herd was not as good as others and the riches here would ease hardship.

Still, the Sultan, for all his wealth, was a man of simple tastes and he was generous to his people if he saw a need. If Mulay Hassan had any faults when it came to excesses, it was his fondness for the social customs of the British Empire. It explained the abundance of bright red military uniforms and colorful evening gowns filling the room this evening.

It would please the Sultan if he knew this particular affair emulated London society perfectly. Shaheen’s jaw tightened at the remembrances threatening to flood his head. He seldom thought of England anymore, but when he did, the old wounds opened up as easily as if they were fresh cut. He shoved the bad memories aside, burying them as deep as he could. It had been more than fifteen years since he’d left London, and there was little reason to return. The Amazigh were his people now, and his home was here.

He scanned the room for Hakim. The boy had been insistent they attend the reception honoring Major Hastings and his bride-to-be. Shaheen had consented partly because he knew his young charge would enjoy himself. Social events such as these were perfect training for the heir to the largest tribe in Morocco. When Hakim eventually succeeded his father, Khalid, as Sheikh of all the Umayyad Amazigh, the boy would need social skills that only events like this could give him.

After several seconds, he saw Hakim deep in conversation with Major Hastings and the French ambassador. Hastings had been the other reason for attending the dinner party. He’d come tonight out of his respect for the British officer. The man had become a valuable ally in Shaheen’s efforts to negotiate treaties between the different Bedouin tribes in the Sultan’s name.

Thanks to Hastings, the French and Spanish governments had been amenable to the unification of the Bedouins under the Sultan’s rule. More importantly, Hastings’s interventions enabled Shaheen to work behind the scenes without jeopardizing the treaties. He’d been a part of the Amazigh nation for so long that most Bedouins, including himself, had forgotten he was actually British But political repercussions could destroy all his hard work ifsomeone were to raise questions about his nationality.

Arms folded across his chest, he continued his surveillance of the room. It was unlikely Hakim was in danger here in the palace, but vigilance was a habit Shaheen had developed living among the Amazigh. Even Hakim’s ability to defend himself didn’t alleviate Shaheen of his duty. A soft chuckle off to his left made him turn his head. He immediately bowed low as the Sultan stopped at his side.

“Good evening, Excellency.”

“You watch over Sheikh Mahmoud’s son like a worrisome mother hen.”

“It’s important to guard the Amazigh’s future, sire, particularly when he will be a staunch ally of yours, just like his father.”

“True. And you are among my strongest supporters as well, Shaheen.” The Sultan clasped him on the shoulder. “Without your clear-headed reasoning, many of the treaties we’ve made in the last two years would not have been possible.”

“I am honored you think so.” Shaheen bowed his head in a gesture of gratitude and respect. “The well-being of the Amazigh tribes is all I desire.”

“Were there more like you and Sheikh Mahmoud, my friend. Then I would feel more confident that this fragile peace we have would not be trifled with by those who wish more wealth and power.”

The veiled reference to Sheikh Nassar made Shaheen grimace. Nassar was one of the main reasons for the tribes to band together. The man’s lust for power was surpassed only by his unscrupulous nature. It didn’t matter what it was. If Nassar wanted something, he took it, either by force or subterfuge. A leader of one of the larger tribes in the Amazigh nation, Nassar coveted the title Hakim would inherit. It was a title the man didn’t deserve, and Shaheen would give his life to ensure Nassar never possessed it. Beside him, the Sultan released a soft noise of pleasure.

“Ah, I see Major Hastings’s bride-to-be has brought with her the newest arrival to Marrakech.”

Shaheen looked in the direction the Sultan nodded. The sight of a familiar face pulled the air out of his lungs in a quiet rush. He’d experienced the same sensation today at the railway station. He hadn’t liked it then, and he liked it even less now.

His gaze narrowed as he watched her being introduced to Hakim. In the candlelight, gold flecks shimmered in her dark auburn hair. He could only see her profile, but it was all too easy to recall a pair of green eyes slightly tilted up at the corners giving her an exotic look. Then there had been her small, yet plump, mouth. It was the kind that begged a kiss. His jaw grew painfully stiff at the thought.

As much as he hated to admit it, he’d been preoccupied with the thought of tasting those lips for most of the afternoon and into the evening. He saw her smile at something Hakim said, and a pang of irritation nipped at him. She exhibited none of the vulnerability and discomposure he’d seen in her this afternoon. Tonight she was a confident, graceful siren, and men were gravitating toward her like sailors hearing Circe’s call.

Despite his determination to remain unmoved by her, the gown she wore did nothing to aid him in his resolve. Luxuriant blue green silk wrapped its way seductively around her lush figure while accentuating the beautiful line of her neck and soft shoulders. Like this afternoon, he once again noted the fullness of her breasts. She’d be soft and full if she were naked beneath him. He swallowed hard at the vivid image forming in his head and resented the way his cock stirred beneath his loose gambaz. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the Sultan watching him with interest.

“She’s quite lovely,” he murmured with a slight nod.

“Lovely?” Mulay Hassan sent him a look of disgust. “That, my friend, is Allegra Synnford. It is said that one night with her and a man will die a thousand pleasurable deaths.”

“A courtesan?” Tension held him rigid as he studied her closely.

“Ahh, not just any courtesan, my friend. This is a woman of such skill in the art of pleasure that she chooses her lovers. I am told that men vie for her favor as children beg for candy.”

“Then it is fortunate I’m not a child,” Shaheen said as a thread of bitterness wound its way through him. He’d been a child once—tempted by the favors of a woman like Allegra Synnford.

“You disappoint me, Shaheen.” Mulay Hassan frowned. “I would have expected you to find a woman such as this, intriguing.”

“One can be intrigued by a rose, but one must always remember it is laced with thorns.” Shaheen’s gaze narrowed as he studied Allegra Synnford from behind the fronds of the palm tree that partially concealed him and the Sultan. Where courtesans were concerned, thorns could be deadly.

“Come, let me introduce you. Perhaps you will find Miss Synnford fascinating enough to weather whatever thorns she possesses.”

“Thank you, sire, but I think it best I remain focused on my responsibilities where young Hakim is concerned.”