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He slowed after an hour, knowing the punishing pace was not good for the horses in the rising heat, any more than it was good for his unruly passenger.
She sat stiffly against him, her body rigid with tension even though he could feel how exhausted she was, her ragged breaths making her breasts heave against his controlling arm.
Her silence seemed even more deafening than her earlier shrieks of protest.
But he didn’t care. She could sulk all she wanted. He would have her where he wanted her now. The Zokari gorge would provide a natural shelter from the storms, and he had a lavish, well-stocked encampment there which he used to get away when the pressures of his new position became too much. So they would have peace and privacy for the conversation they needed to have.
He would make her understand he refused to be treated with such contempt. But, more than that, he would show her he was not a man who could be dismissed and discarded.
She still wanted him. He knew that much. And, once she had admitted as much, he would show her how a marriage between them could benefit them both.
‘My father will kill you when he finds out what you’ve done,’ she said finally, on a husky breath of outrage. ‘You have just made a formidable enemy. I hope you realise that.’
‘Your father will thank me,’ he said, not disturbed by her threat. Khan would be furious, but he had only himself to blame for raising such a wayward, unruly child. And if this meant a stand-off between them, so be it. He would not back down again. ‘For teaching you what it means to be a queen,’ he continued. ‘It is time you learned to observe the responsibilities that your position demands, instead of behaving like a wild girl who can do anything she wishes without consequence.’
She remained silent and rigid. An hour later, she began to sink into exhaustion, her body slumping against his despite her best efforts to hold herself apart from him.
A spurt of admiration went through him, despite the trouble she had caused him and the torn skin still smarting on his cheeks and forearm.
For all her wild ways, Kaliah Khan was a fighter.
She had fallen into a fitful sleep, her back resting against his chest, by the time they reached the entrance to the gorge, the rock faces shielding them from the worst of the heat.
He directed Asad up the rocky slopes, over the parched riverbed and into the trees. When they finally reached his encampment, she was too shattered even to lift her head. He carried her into one of the bedroom tents and laid her down on the pile of cushions. She rolled away from him—no doubt deliberately.
He waited until her disdainful shoulder lifted and fell in a steady rhythm again, then strode from the tent to prepare food and tend to the horses. And to clean the scratches on his face.
When she awoke, they would eat, then he would insist she trim her nails. And after that he would leave her alone. Even if it killed him.
Eventually, she would have to come to him—for they would remain here as long as it took for her to see reason.
But as he took the saddles off Asad, then Ashreen, fed and watered them both then cleaned their hooves and gave them a rub down, fatigue began to drag at him too. The adrenaline rush of the journey and the tussle beforehand had subsided to be replaced by a strange sense of uneasiness.
He had never physically manhandled a woman in his life. And, although he had only done what was necessary to bring her to safety and protect her from herself, the unsettling feeling lodged in his gut. Finding meat and a selection of vegetables in the camp’s cold storage, he began preparing a stew for their supper—as the memory of her voice, sharp with resentment and anger but also tinged with hopelessness, pushed at a place he thought he had sealed off long ago.
The place where he had locked the deep sense of injustice which had nearly destroyed him as a boy, when he had been beaten, abused and told he had no right to make choices of his own by that bastard Hamid.
It is not the same.
He sprinkled flour on the meat and set it in the pan over the campfire.
Kaliah Khan has led a privileged, charmed life. She has never had to fight, never had to endure the contempt and disrespect of others. She has always been loved, cherished and indulged. It will do her no harm to be shown she can’t have everything her own way all the time.
But as he watched the stew bubble, and threw in a few herbs and spices, he found himself dwelling on her refusal to look at him, even to speak to him. And the feel of her, so wary, so guarded, so tense and fragile, in his arms.
He was not good at interpreting other people’s emotions because he had never had the luxury of examining his own. And he saw no purpose in regretting actions already taken.
But as the sun sank beneath the cliffs above them and the air chilled, his simple plan to rescue Kaliah, to bring her here and then set about showing her a marriage between them was destined and necessary, didn’t seem quite so simple any more.
CHAPTER SIX
LIAHJERKEDAWAKE, groggy, sore and angry. It took her several moments though to remember why she was not in her own tent at the Aleaza Oasis...and then the memories flooded back. Kamal’s shocking appearance at the pool, the battle to stop him from putting her onto his horse. She’d screamed, kicked, punched and struggled against his hold with every ounce of strength she’d possessed. But he’d subdued her with disturbing ease, and an even more disturbing indifference to her rage.
He’d thrown her over his shoulder, dumped her on his horse—which had nearly thrown her in the process—and swung up behind her, his hard chest pressed against her back like a brick wall, banded one unyielding arm across her midriff and then galloped away with her without a thought to her feelings, her needs, her wishes or desires.
He had treated her like a disobedient child. Maybe he’d been careful not to hurt her and had in no way fought back against her tirade. But so what? She was a grown woman who had the right to make her own decisions. And he’d ignored that.
He’s kidnapped me.
