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Despite his supposedly exemplary military record and all the awards which had been heaped upon him—he had selected a tent as far away from hers as possible. Too unsure of his reaction to her proximity, he had not dared risk being close. Not trusting himself—and not trusting her either.
He hadn’t imagined the white-hot feeling of lust which had flared between them last night and he was too experienced a lover to mistake the look of sexual yearning which had darkened her violet eyes. When she was standing in front of him in her embroidered robes—her hair woven with fragrant leaves—he had never wanted her quite so much.
Hadn’t he wondered whether her western sensibilities might make her take the initiative? Hadn’t he wondered whether she might boldly arrive naked at his tent under cover of darkness and slip into his bed without invitation, as so many women had done before?
He stared down at the senior bodyguard. ‘You have checked her trail?’
‘Yes, boss. She has headed due north—taking the same path by which we came, back towards the airbase.’
Suleiman nodded. It was as he had thought. She was trying to get back to England on her own—oh, most stubborn and impetuous of women! ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will follow her trail. And you will assign three men to take up the other three points of the compass and to set off immediately. But no more than three. I don’t want the desert paths disturbed any more than they need be. I don’t want any clues churned up by the damned horses.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘You will also send someone to find a high enough vantage point to try to get a mobile phone signal. I want the military base informed and I want every damned plane at their disposal out looking for her. Understand?’
The bodyguard nodded. ‘Understood.’
‘And believe me when I tell you that you have not heard the last of this!’
With his final, angry words ringing Suleiman galloped off at a furious pace, the warm wind streaming against his face as he followed the mixed track of the camels and the newer footprints of Sara’s horse.
He had already realised that there would be repercussions. By involving the military, word would inevitably get back to the Sultan that the princess was missing. But he didn’t care what criticism or punishment came his way for having lost the futur
e Sultana of Qurhah. They could exile him or imprison him and he wouldn’t care.
He didn’t care about anything other than finding her safe and well.
He had never known such raw fear as he travelled beneath the heat of a sun which was growing ever more blistering. Even though she was out of practice, he knew that she was a sound horsewoman—a fact which had always been a source of pride since he had been the one to tutor her, but which now gave him only comfort. And he found himself clinging to that one small comfort. Please let her ride safely, he prayed. Please not let something have frightened the horse so that Sara might be lying there buckled and broken on the sand. Alone and scared while the sun beat down on her and the vultures waited to peck out her beautiful violet eyes...
He sucked in a breath of hot air which felt raw as it travelled down his throat. He should not think the worst. He would not think the worst. Think positive, he told himself. At least no snake or brown scorpion could touch her when she was high up on her horse.
But knowing that did not help him locate her, did it?
Where was she? Where was she?
His eyes trained unblinkingly on the ground before him—he saw the exact point where her path had veered off from the main route. Had something distracted the horse? Distracted her?
He pushed forward now, letting the powerful stallion stream across the sands until Suleiman urged it to a halt and then opened his mouth to call across the desolate landscape.
‘Sara! Sa-ra!’
But the ensuing response was nothing but an empty silence and his heart gave a painful lurch.
He forced himself to take a drink from one of the water-bottles he carried, for dehydration would be good for neither of them if he found her.
When he found her.
He had to find her.
The position of the sun and his wristwatch told him that he had been searching for her for over four hours. He could feel his heart pumping painfully in his chest. The heat of the midday sun was a tough enough combatant but darkness was a whole different ball-game.
He thought of the nocturnal creatures which came out in the cold of the desert night—dangerous animals which populated this inhospitable terrain.
‘Sara!’ he called again and then the horse’s ears pricked up and Suleiman strained to hear a sound that was almost lost in the distance. He listened again.
It was a sound. The smallest sound in the world. The sound of a voice. If it had been anyone else’s voice, he might not have recognised it—but Suleiman had heard Sara’s voice in many guises. He’d heard it as a child. He’d heard its hesitancy in puberty and its breathlessness in passion. But he had never heard it sound quite so broken nor so lost as it did right now.
‘Sara!’ he yelled, the word spilling from his lips as if it had been ripped from the very base of his lungs.
