Firestorm (23 page)

Fourteen

Najirah settled her sleeping gown in place and began to comb through her hair in preparation for bed. Bahir hadn't yet returned from the habitual last walk he always made about the camp before retiring for the night. He took his responsibilities as leader of the Tuarets very seriously, especially in the past cycles since he'd finally turned against Malam Vorax.

He was an intense man in the best of times. Now, he bordered on obsession, blocking out nearly everything save what impacted on the continued welfare of his tribe. And since he'd come to the acceptance that his own days were numbered, he'd been even more driven. There was little time anymore in his life for tenderness, for compassion—for her.

She sighed and returning her comb to the small, intricately carved box that held her wedding jewelry and other personal items, closed and latched the lid. Najirah had hoped, in time, that Bahir would come to love her, once the searing pain of Cyra's rejection had healed. Now, she doubted he'd ever have the time to heal.

Sadness welled from that secret place deep within her. A place she never shared with anyone—especially not with Bahir. He was a good man, a decent man, and he deserved a second chance at happiness. Even if it was never meant to be with her. She would sacrifice even that for him. Even that, if only he could be happy again.

The tent flap lifted. A sharp gust of chill air whirled into the tent. Najirah shivered pulled a fluffy shawl woven from the soft, fuzzy undercoat of the male capra about her, and schooled her features into a welcoming smile. Turning, she looked up at her husband.

"Is all well this night?" she asked.

Bahir had a preoccupied frown on his face and didn't answer immediately. Instead he shed his cloak and headcloth, then sat beside her on their sleeping pallet and began to pull off his boots.

"Here, let me help you." Najirah scooted to his feet. Grasping first one, then the other, she deftly tugged off his boots. With the edge of her shawl, she wiped them clean of a light layer of dust, then set the boots aside.

He watched her, his gaze steady, thoughtful. "The camp is quiet, the guards all at their posts."

For an instant, Najirah was puzzled then realized he'd answered her welcoming question. "Good. And now it is time for you to take your rest." She rose up on her knees, bent toward him, and tenderly brushed a dark, wavy lock of hair from his forehead. "I have missed you."

There was no mistaking the sensuous offer in her words. Bahir's blood warmed. His sex thickened. He hadn't tasted of the sweetness of Najirah's body in a long while. He'd neglected her, that he well knew. He wouldn't tonight.

But first, there were other matters to be dealt with, the most important of which was that of Teague Tremayne and Raina. "You were surprised this eve, when you first met Tremayne," Bahir said. "You acted as if you knew him. Do you?"

She lowered her eyes, averted her gaze. She leaned back, drawing away both physically and emotionally. Always, always, the tribe, the political intricacies and machinations, came first with Bahir. "He reminded me of a lad I once met, in the royal city of Ksathra."

"You called him 'lord' " Bahir persisted. "Was he a son of the nobility?"

Reluctantly, Najirah dragged her gaze back up to his. She well knew the impact her revelation would have on Bahir. He lived for and dreamt of the day the old king's son would return to overthrow Vorax and reclaim the throne. This knowledge of hers could stir things to a fever pitch and send them all down the road to outright rebellion. But she couldn't deny Bahir; he was her husband. She'd stand by him, support him, over all others.

"I could be mistaken," Najirah forced herself to reply, "but I thought he was the crown prince. He looks so much like his father."

Triumph and a fierce exultation sprang to Bahir's eyes, warming them to molten honey. His firm, sensual mouth lifted. He smiled, but the action was one of grim satisfaction, not simple joy. "I suspected as much," he muttered half to himself. "There was something about him, about the mysterious way he returned. His destiny called him back to us—to us, Najirah—no matter how desperately the Imperium might also need him."

"What will you do, now that you know?"

Bahir considered her question for a long moment. "Tremayne won't join us willingly. For whatever his reasons, he doesn't wish to involve himself in our plight again."

Najirah frowned. "He must have suffered greatly, seeing his family die, enduring the tortures Vorax was said to have inflicted upon him, before he was finally freed.

Perhaps he's no longer the right man to reclaim the throne."

"It doesn't matter if he is or isn't." Bahir absentmindedly massaged the site of an old injury to his right shoulder, working the joint with strong, probing fingers as he considered his options. "He's the rallying point, the focus I need to gather the other tribes to our cause. Once Vorax is overthrown, others can rule Farsala through Tremayne. It's been done before. It can be done again."

"And I say that's cruel and ruthless, Bahir." Najirah hated pointing out such a brutal truth, but she'd vowed long ago to be his helpmate in all things. And he seemed always to value that in her. That, and her insights into the hearts and minds of his people. It was why, despite the fact she wasn't Tuaret by birth, despite the fact that she was a woman, he'd named her his second-in-command.

His hand on his shoulder stilled. He cocked a dark brow. "Ruthless? How so?"

"This Teague Tremayne, crown prince of Farsala though he might be, has the right to choose his own course in life."

"Do you truly think so, mirah?" Bahir abandoned his ministrations to his shoulder and leaned back on the cushions piled behind him. "And since when have the nobility had much say in what course their life is to take? They were born to rule. They have a sacred responsibility to do so. I don't see that as much of a choice."

"You would force him to accept that mantle of responsibility then? Force him to reveal his true identity?"

Bahir shook his head. "No. Tremayne is too clever to be overtly manipulated. I thought, instead, to slowly compel him to take responsibility for others. To prod him from the safe little shell he's retreated into. To help him rediscover his heritage, and the debt he owes and will always owe his people."

"A tall order." Najirah poured out a cup of cerevisia from the squat little jug that sat nearby and handed it to him. "How do you intend to go about this?"

"The woman, Raina. She is the key." He accepted the cup and drank deeply. "There is something strong between them, something both fear to examine too closely But something, nonetheless, that will put my plans into action. I must force them to face it as expeditiously as possible."

Puzzlement furrowed Najirah's brow. Unease spiraled within her. "And how do you plan to force them?"

"They claim to be mates, yet I seriously doubt they are truly life-mated. Yet they must become mates. It's :he only way to compel Tremayne to open his heart to lis true destiny. First with one person, then another and mother, until finally he is transformed back into the ruler he was fated to be. Until finally he realizes the inescapable debt he owes Farsala."

Horror filled Najirah, brimming over to rise like bitter bile into her throat. By the firestorms, it was bad enough Bahir meant to use Tremayne! It was cruelty jeyond belief to coerce Raina into enduring another sexual assault.

"You cannot force them to become mates," she heatedly, unthinkingly blurted. "Raina won't stand for another rape. She's been through enough, and—" She caught herself in the unwitting revelation too late.

Bahir's face darkened in anger. He sat up, grasped ler by the arms, and roughly pulled her to him. "You knew her as well, did you, mirah?" His demand was brittle, harsh. "How long did you plan to keep that additional little secret from me?"

Najirah twisted in his grasp, panic threatening to overwhelm her. Never, never, would she betray Bahir in any way, but to hurt Raina . . . "It seemed insignificant, the fact that we were girlhood friends."

His grip tightened. "Nothing is insignificant. Do you hear me? Nothing!"

"I-I beg pardon." She cast her gaze down, inhaled a shuddering breath, then looked back up at him. "What do you want to know about Raina?"

"Who raped her, and when?"

"Malam Vorax raped her, when she refused to wed him. He met her shortly after he usurped the throne, when her father, a man who'd joined forces with him, came to live at the royal palace with his motherless, eleven-cycles-old daughter. Vorax was taken with Raina's beauty even then and demanded her hand. Raina's father agreed to betroth her to him, thinking it would solidify his position of power in the court, but refused to wed her to Vorax until she was fifteen. Malam vowed to take her as his first and primary wife at that time, and set his current one aside. So Raina lived at court for the next four cycles, and we became close friends. I helped her escape after the rape and got her smuggled on a freighter leaving Incendra. I hadn't seen or heard from her until this eve."

"And her father? What did he do when he learned Vorax had assaulted his daughter?"

"Raina's father?" Najirah's soft mouth twisted in derision. "He was too afraid of Vorax, too fearful of losing the man's favor. He told Raina to wed Vorax. She was ruined at any rate."

"A most doting and compassionate of sires." Bahir released her and leaned back on the cushions. "Two strangers come to Incendra," he muttered thoughtfully. "Two people of noble birth, who have both been foully treated by Malam Vorax. And fate has delivered them into my hands."

"Have a care, Bahir," his wife cautioned. "These people aren't objects to be manipulated to your will. They are living beings, with needs and desires, and a right to determine their own fates."

He graced her with an irritated look. "I know that. I'm not a heartless, manipulative monster. In most cases, I'd honor their right to choose their own destinies. But not this time. Not with the fate of Farsala, even Incendra, hanging in the balance. Tremayne owes Farsala far more than he wishes to give, which is presently nothing. And as far as Raina goes,"—he sighed—"well, I'm sorry if she must be a pawn in all this, but if she must, she must."

"Bahir, please. I—"

"No, mirah." He held up a silencing hand. "You've given me your advice, and it is duly noted. But it changes nothing. I need your support in this. Will you help me?"

She hesitated for the span of an inhaled breath. As harsh as his plan seemed regarding Teague Tremayne and Raina, Najirah knew she could never refuse Bahir. His decision to use them was cold-blooded and manipulative, but his ultimate intent was good. And he didn't do it for himself. He did it for Farsala.

Never, ever, for himself, she thought with a bittersweet pang. Bahir never took anything for himself. Or at least, not since Cyra had left him.

With a soft sob, she nodded her acquiescence. "Yes, you know I'll help you. You are my husband. What is it you wish for me to do?"

Bahir studied her for a long moment, imbibing deeply of her sweet face and the brown hair that tumbled in riotous curls about her shoulders and down her back. Through the thin fabric of her sleeping gown and the loosely woven shawl, he could make out the dark mauve of her nipples. Her full breasts strained against the cloth, taunting him, beckoning to him.

A hunger welled within Bahir for a soft, yielding woman in his arms. For a tight, feminine sheath clamped about his rigid sex. For a wild wanton female crying out her need her ecstasy, as he thrust hard and passionately into her.

For Cyra.

Pain, fiery and acrid scorched through him. Savagely, Bahir thrust the traitorous yearning aside. Najirah was his wife, his first and only wife now, though he'd taken her to him solely out of pity when she'd staggered into camp one day, begging for shelter and his protection after Vorax had executed her husband. It was the right, no, the duty of a leader to do such a thing.

But Cyra wouldn't, couldn't ever understand. Though she'd never vented her anger against him on sweet, gentle Najirah, she'd also never forgiven him for taking a second wife. And now . . . now all he had was Najirah.

"I have a plan," he rasped "but it can wait until the morrow. The time is better spent in loving you, mirah." He made a sharp gesture with his hand. "Disrobe. I've a need to see your woman's body. It's past time you have a man atop you, inside you again."

A flush heating her body, Najirah did as he'd requested. The shawl fell; the sleeping gown was shoved first off one, then the other shoulder, sliding down to pool at her knees. The chill night air wafted over her, tightening her nipples to pouting, deep-burgundy-colored buds. She shivered, but remained as she was, allowing Bahir to take his fill. He was her husband. She would deny him nothing.

Nothing . . . though she knew he looked at her nakedness and wished she was another.

***

The next two days passed in peace and relative harmony. Bahir insisted that he and his men required a short respite back in camp before setting out once more for the firestorm caves. Though neither Raina nor Teague was pleased with the delay, there wasn't much they could do about it. Bahir might have played the most ingratiating of hosts, but there was always an underlying message to all his hospitable actions and smiling explanations. They weren't leaving without him or his consent.

Teague seemed to take the enforced stay better than Raina. She paced the confines of the camp until she knew where each and every guard was situated and knew as well that she and Teague could never escape unnoticed. To ease the frustration and restlessness, she took to accompanying Najirah as she went about her seemingly endless round of daily chores.

And chores there were aplenty. In the light of the next day, Raina discovered that the Tuaret camp consisted of only about twenty childbearing females, thirty-five children of various ages, and ten older couples. The rest were men—most of them unwed.

The realization made Raina decidedly uneasy, as did the lustful if well-schooled glances that followed her wherever she went. She recalled Bahir's abiding interest in whether she and Teague were truly life-mated or not. She understood better now the basis for that interest. His men needed mates.

"Where are all the women?" She finally broached the subject the afternoon of the second day in camp, as she helped Najirah dig up the starchy tubers of the asphodel bushes that grew in dense profusion on the desert floor beneath the Tuarets' rocky fortress. "For so many men, there seems a definite dearth of mates."

The brown-haired woman straightened from her bent position over one of the spiny-leafed plants, arched her back to ease her tense muscles, then cast a glance over her shoulder. The men Bahir had set to guard the women in their labors were well out of earshot.

"When Bahir led the Tuarets in rebellion against Vorax," she explained, "many women refused to follow them into exile."

Raina's auburn brow rose a fraction. "Tuaret women refusing to follow their men? Strange behavior, especially for desert people."

"Much has changed, become corrupted, since Vorax took power," Najirah muttered bitterly. "He seeks, with his deceitful, underhanded ways, to undermine the fabric of our society. He knows it to be the surest route to total control. In the guise of granting more rights and privileges to the women, he has slowly eroded the influence of the husbands and the family."

"Incendra has never been particularly generous when it came to the freedom of its women," Raina dryly offered.

"Agreed." Najirah leaned down and began hacking at the tuberous root of yet another asphodel. "But Vorax's motives have never been to help women, or anyone else save himself. He has done nothing but create chaos and dissension among his subjects. The women are only part of the problem."

She looked up and cocked a brow. "Did you know the Incendarian attraction was always a fabrication, fostered by Vorax and the many rulers before him as just another ploy to keep us from co-mingling with off planet visitors? To keep us from learning more of their worlds, and wanting what they had?"

Raina frowned. "I don't understand."

"Think about it. Bahir fell in love, wed and mated with an off planet woman. When Vorax found out, he ordered Bahir to give Cyra up. Bahir refused. It was the start of the feud between them and the cause of Bahir finally turning outlaw."

"This is most upsetting," Raina murmured.

"What? The reason for Bahir turning outlaw?"

"Y..yes," Raina stammered, distracted with her own thoughts. She hadn't been thinking about Bahir at all, but about the Incendarian attraction. If it couldn't be blamed for her sudden and intense affinity for Teague, not to mention for her recent discovery of her love for him, what could? And just when she'd managed to justify her strange emotions as yet another manifestation of that archaic but long accepted sexual magnetism.

"Vorax also stirs ancient blood feuds among the desert tribes, to keep them constantly at odds," Najirah continued, blithely unaware of the unsettling questions she'd stirred anew in her friend. "It is why Bahir is having such difficulty uniting the twelve tribes."

"And why Vorax remains in power," Raina finished for her, grateful for the diversion from her troubled thoughts.

Najirah nodded. "The Katebs are the worst offenders of all. In the best of times, they were the laziest of the desert tribes, preferring raiding over hard work to obtain whatever they needed. Now Vorax keeps them in his pay and sends them out whenever needed to stir the feuds anew. Of late, the Katebs disguise themselves as Tuarets, so the blame is laid at our feet. Thus, though Bahir has fought tirelessly to dispute the accusations, most tribes still don't trust him. Vorax has been that good at manipulating the hearts and minds of the people."

"It seems a hopeless cause," Raina murmured. She paused to drop a plump tuber into the woven reed basket. "Why does Bahir fight on?"

"Because he's a man of honor." Her friend leaned back and shot her a fiercely defiant glance. "But he needs help, desperately so. Will your mate help him, or not?"

Taken aback by the sudden, vehement demand, Raina stared at Najirah for a long moment. "Bahir knows about Teague, I take it?"

Najirah tossed a sweat-damp lock of hair out of her eyes. "Of course he does. I still believe in loyalty to one's mate."

"As do I, to mine," Raina dutifully replied. "But I also will not ask Teague to do what he doesn't wish to do."

"But our people need him!" the other woman cried. "Bahir hasn't long to live. Someone must take up the cause when he is gone!"

"What is wrong with Bahir?" Raina asked, suddenly uncomfortable with the issue of Teague and grateful for the opportunity to divert the course of the conversation. "Except for the strange illness he had back at the oasis, he seems quite healthy."

Najirah shot her an anguished look. "His line is cursed with a wasting brain disease that eventually destroys the mind and severely damages the brain, while leaving the rest of the body perfectly healthy and intact. Bahir had hoped he'd escaped the curse—both his father and grandfather died of old age without sign of the illness—but in the past five cycles . . ." She inhaled a tremulous breath and lowered her head. "He worsens of late. The spells visit him more and more frequently now."

"How long? How much longer does he have?"

Najirah lifted tear-filled eyes. "It's difficult to estimate. Perhaps a few more weeks to a month or two."

"I'm sorry." Raina reached out and grasped her friend's hand. "I'll admit I don't particularly like Bahir, but I don't wish him harm. And most of all, I don't want you to be sad."

"Then help him, Raina!" The brown-haired woman dropped the small hand spade she'd been using and turned toward her. "Find some way to convince your mate to join with Bahir to reclaim his throne. That's all Bahir wants. That's all he's ever wanted."

"Vorax's overthrow is Bahir's dream, not TeagueV Bahir has no right to force that decision or burden' onto anyone else. Teague has been through enough. Besides, it's a hopeless cause. The sooner Bahir realizes that, the sooner he can get on with fully living whatever time is left him. The sooner he'll wake up to the fact that he has a mate who loves and needs him."

Najirah reared back, her eyes wide and moisture-bright. "What are you implying? Bahir is a good husband."

"Is he, Najirah?" Raina laughed disparagingly. "I've watched him with you in camp. He treats you like one of his men. Never once have I seen him touch you, hold you, or even spare you an affectionate glance."

"Bahir isn't a man to parade his affections in public!"

Nor in private, either, Raina thought sourly, noting the embarrassed flush that colored her friend's cheeks. "Then why do you follow his every move with such heartbreaking longing? Why is any and every scrap of attention he deigns to cast your way snatched up with such hunger? Tell me that, Najirah."

"Is it that obvious?" She hung her head, her long brown locks tumbling down into her face. "Ah, gods, what must all the others in camp think of me?" Her hands fisted. She slammed them down on her bent thighs. "Ah, the shame. The shame!"

Raina hesitated, not certain what to say or do. She had no experience with love, or how to navigate the complex courses of the heart. She could barely admit to her own feelings for Teague, much less advise another. %it Najirah was in pain. Somehow, in some way, she must help her.

I'Thi shame lies with Bahir," she said flatly. "Not with you, Najirah. He's your mate, yet in all ways that matter, he has betrayed you."

"B-betrayed me?" Bright blue eyes, swimming with tears, lifted to hers. "How can that be?"

"Bahir has abandoned you emotionally. He cares for nothing save this hopeless quest to defeat Vorax. He sees nothing save what is expedient to achieve that goal. And because of that, people—you—will be hurt."

"He cannot help it!" Najirah cried, rushing once more to her husband's defense. "At least he cares, at least he tries to do something to remedy the sorry state the realm has fallen into."

"But what of you, in the meantime? What of your life together? Your love?" Raina shook her head, exasperated. "It's wasted on Bahir."

"No, Raina, it isn't." A soft, knowing smile slowly lifted Najirah's lips. It illuminated her countenance, making her beautiful. "It isn't wasted. I give my love freely, without expectation of recompense, because Bahir is a good, honorable man, because I cannot do otherwise. Love isn't something you can measure, something you only dole out in equal parts to what you receive. It must be given because to do any less is to not live fully, to not be the person you were meant to be."

Raina was tempted to tell her friend of the message Bahir's first wife had given her to deliver to him. That might well have shattered the idealistic little world she seemed to live in. But that also would have been pointless, and unnecessarily cruel. Instead, Raina gave a disdainful snort. "Well, I, for one, have no wish to pine over a man who doesn't love me."

"Bahir loves me in his own way. It's enough until the day he finally comes to terms with his first wife's betrayal, and his own part in that betrayal. Only then can he finally heal and go on with his life—with loving." She cocked her head in a sad, considering gesture. "Would you desert your mate in his hour of need, just because he turned from you for a time?"

The question startled Raina. How could she truthfully answer it? She and Teague didn't even have the bonds of a life-mating to link them. And he was vowed to his Order. Though she loved him, was determined to support him in every way on this mission, she entertained little hope of ever becoming his mate.

If the truth be known, she wasn't all that certain she wanted to be his mate. But then, she wryly admitted, when it came to the enigmatic Teague Tremayne, there wasn't a whole lot she was certain of.

"No, I wouldn't desert him," she finally replied. "But I'd also have to know that he still loved me through it all. I suppose I haven't your courage, and I certainly don't have your trust—especially in men."

Najirah picked up her spade and turned back to her work. "A strange thing to say, when you're life-mated," she said, casting Raina a sideways glance.

The fine hairs stood out on the back of Raina's neck. Gods, how was she to extricate herself from that careless statement? She wagered that Bahir had shared his suspicions regarding their life mating with his wife. Had he also set her to searching out the truth?

"I haven't had your more pleasant experiences with men," she forced herself to reply. No answer would've been more incriminating than any excuse she might devise. "Though I trust Teague above all others, there's still—and may always be—a part of me that remains wary around him." To avoid direct eye contact, Raina resumed her own work of digging up another asphodel tuber. "It may sound hard to you, Najirah, but it's the best I can manage."

"The old pain goes deep, doesn't it, my friend?"

"I don't know what you mean." Raina refused to look at her.

"You speak always of Vorax, and what he did to you," her friend said softly, "but I think the true betrayal was what your father did. I think that is why the pain, the wounding, lies deeper, lasts longer."

Raina's head jerked up. She riveted a furious pair of eyes on her friend. "Leave my father out of this. He's beneath contempt, or any caring or concern on my part."

"Yes, he was beneath contempt." Najirah paused once more in her work. "He traded you for a position of power with Vorax. And then, when Vorax misused you, your father was so fearful for his life, he sacrificed you once again. He was a pitiful, weak man."

A tight little knot formed in the center of Raina's chest. "You speak of him as if he no longer lived."

"Didn't you know?" Compassion gleamed in Najirah's eyes. "I guess you wouldn't have. He killed himself a few months after you left Incendra. I suppose his conscience, whatever there was left of it, finally gained the upper hand." She sighed. "Poor, unfortunate man. He was never able to summon the courage to overcome his weaknesses until it was too late. Until he'd lost his daughter, and what little was left of his self-respect."

"Don't waste your pity on him!" Raina spat out the words, angry and frustrated that she'd lost the opportunity to avenge herself against her father. One of the two men who'd harmed her had already slipped from her grasp. Vile, sniveling little coward. He couldn't even be man enough to live until she returned to kill him!