The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (37 page)

Kenneth waited until she fell asleep, then eased her from his tender hold. Badra’s skin was damp with perspiration from the frenzy of their lovemaking and he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek one last time.

"Good-bye, my love," he whispered.

One last kiss. He stroked Badra’s silky tresses. How could he bear to leave her? She was his very life, his spirit. Leaving wrenched him in two. Yet instinct to protect her overrode all else. Until he knew she was safe, he had no choice. Someone had tried to kill him and had targeted Jabari as well.

Kenneth battled with a desire to tell her and to enlist Jabari’s help. But he couldn’t risk their lives. Someone wanted him dead and had nearly succeeded in killing both Badra and Jabari. He must lay a trap for his assassin alone.

"Khepri," she whispered drowsily. "I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered back, watching her surrender to sleep.
I will never stop loving you
. He traced the curves of her face with one trembling finger, memorizing each. She was his life. His heart and soul. But he could not have his enemy use her as a pawn.

"Badra, I must leave you now. If ... if I never see you again, know this. My love for you will never die. And if our child grows inside you, tell him this story someday. About how a Khamsin warrior who became a wealthy duke found the most precious treasure of all, the woman he thought he had lost forever."

Thickness clogging his throat prevented him from saying more. Kenneth kissed her forehead lightly and struggled to leave the rumpled bed. He dressed quickly and stole one last glance. A soft smile touched her sleeping face.

He left the bedroom, quietly closing the door. In the hallway, Kenneth pressed a palm against the wood, anguish knotting his chest.

"Khepri. What are you doing?"

He whirled and saw Badra’s falcon guard looking at him without his usual scowl. Without waiting for his answer, Rashid opened the door. Kenneth trailed him into the bedroom. A protest on his lips died as Rashid silently observed Badra sleeping on the bed. His gaze flicked to Kenneth’s rumpled clothing.

Without words, Kenneth left the room, and the warrior followed him into the hallway. There Kenneth faced him with a defiant look. "Yes, it’s true. We’re lovers."

Rashid gave him a thoughtful look. "Why did the eunuchs try so hard to kill you, Khepri? And then focus on Jabari?"

Kenneth’s shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. "I don’t know."

"You do," Rashid said softly. "Someone is trying to kill you. Perhaps the same person who trapped Badra by luring her there with her daughter—and maybe even who lured you there, too. A man who ordered his men to kill the Khamsin sheikh because Jabari is your brother, the person closest to you."

Kenneth tensed. "I will deal with this, Rashid. Alone. That is what I’m—"

"No, Khepri," Rashid said quietly. "You cannot do this alone. I will help you."

Dumbstruck, Kenneth stared. "I can’t risk it. I will not risk anyone else’s life but my own."

A grin stretched over Rashid’s face. "You have no choice. I will stick to your side like wet sand."

"Why?" Kenneth blurted.

The smile faded. "Perhaps because you returned for me at the brothel, Khepri. Perhaps because you love Badra, and because you are not the no-good lecherous bastard I thought you were."

Kenneth studied the man. "I could use your help," he admitted. "But you must do as I say. Listen to me, carefully ..."

Kenneth emerged onto the famous terrace of the Shepherd’s where men sipped afternoon tea. He had asked Victor, de Morgan and Zaid to join him. Victor, who would have inherited all had Kenneth not been found. Had he not lived.

But did the man want him dead?

"Pull up a chair, Kenneth," Victor said, puffing away on a cigar.

De Morgan rubbed his waxed mustache. "About the excavation, Your Grace. The jewelry we found has been loaded onto a barge and is headed here now. Do you wish to store it in a museum until the contents can be fully catalogued and assessed?"

"No. I’m going to have it shipped to England for my personal collection. All of the jewelry. There will be no division of the treasure."

De Morgan’s face turned beet red.

"That was not our agreement. You planned to allot me a portion of the finds," the director sputtered.

‘True. However, it is my money that paid for the whole dig, so I have the right to change my mind." He added the final twist certain to puncture the archaeologist’s hopes. "Upon my return to England, I will dictate a paper detailing the find for the London Times. I will mention you, of course. And you will receive a small bonus for helping me. In English pounds."

Daggers shot from de Morgan’s eyes. Interesting. Kenneth quietly assessed the look, then turned to Victor. "I’ll need some things from your shop before I depart for England. I’ll be there in, say, half an hour?"

Victor gave an abrupt nod.

His cousin’s shop was in an isolated, deserted alleyway lined with alcoves and shadows—a perfect spot for an assassin. The bait was proffered, the destination selected, and the trap set. Now all he needed to do was walk into it and face his killer.

She’d lost her love, her warrior protector.

The large, expansive suite felt as welcoming as a tomb. Her tears burned as they dripped down her face. Badra sat on the soft bed, trying to understand. Kenneth had coaxed her into passion, claimed her body, loved her with the sweet intensity of a man who adored a woman, freed her from the demons of her past ... then left. Why? The words he’d said while he thought she slept indicated he might never see her again. Ever.

"How could he leave me?" she whispered.

Perhaps the clash of their cultures had proven too much. The wealthy duke who would be forced to socialize in strictly English circles had realized he could not marry an Egyptian girl who’d once been a concubine. But she did not understand. Were the sweet words of love he had whispered, the assurances and promises, all lies?

Badra hugged herself. Her emotions battled with her confusion. After making love, Kenneth had whispered about marriage and creating lots of bouncing, chubby-cheeked babies. What had changed his heart? Kenneth, the Cobra, had slithered free of his Khamsin warrior role into the skin of a wealthy English nobleman absorbed into a polished, sophisticated world. Had his declarations of love simply been a ploy to finally claim her body?

But he loved her for what she was, a Bedouin girl with sun-tinted skin, who drank camel’s milk and lived in a tent. She believed that.

"You are all the stars blazing in Egypt’s night to me, my love," his husky voice had whispered as they made passionate love, writhing and coiling together, tangling like snakes in a desperate attempt to become one.

I have lost him
, she mourned. Then Badra sat up, fury and resolve replacing her despair.

No! I will not let him discard me! I deserve a better explanation. What about what I want?

Having discovered passion and fulfillment as a woman in his arms, Badra wanted more. No more meekly shrinking away from her needs. It was about time she finally seized all that life had to offer. All love had to offer.
I deserve it.

If Kenneth, the arrogant duke, would not have her, she’d bargain. Khepri, the fierce warrior, she knew loved her. If the urbane duke doubted a simple Bedouin girl could fit into refined English society, she’d prove she could.

"I will not leave until he accepts me, on whatever terms," she whispered. "I love him too much to merely walk away."

She sprang off the bed and bolted to the mirror. She began brushing her hair to a glossy sheen. Her gaze fell on the
jambiya
on the dresser. Kenneth’s dagger. The dagger she’d retrieved after he left it in the sand and went to England.

Badra weighed it in her hands. She would return it to him as a symbol, cutting them free of past hurts and starting anew.

Lifting the hem of her indigo
kuftan
, she strapped the dagger to her thigh. Then, when her other preparations were finished, she slipped out of the hotel room.

Her step firm and assured, she went to Kenneth’s door and knocked firmly. No answer. Surely he had not left Cairo already.

"He’s not there." The voice made her jump. Badra whirled and saw Kenneth’s cousin standing behind her. "I’m going to meet him at my shop. Care to come along?"

She hesitated. But time was running short and she must face Kenneth before losing all heart. Badra nodded.

The shop was a walk from the hotel, he informed her. "I’m afraid it’s not in a very good section of the city, but I’m just starting out. I plan to move to a better location as soon as funds are available," he explained.

As they walked through the city, Victor asked about the sketches she had done, praising the quality of her work. They traversed thickets of people making their way to the marketplace. Cairo’s labyrinth of streets and alleys became more and more confusing, and Badra tried desperately to get her bearings.

Victor turned a corner and they pressed deeper into the Old City. A faint prickling rode her spine as the area became seedy. Stains covered the facades of several buildings. Piles of rotting refuse cluttered the gutters. On a badly tilting balcony, someone had attempted to cheer the surroundings by placing a wilted geranium on the cracked concrete. A white cat sat unblinking, in an open doorway.

Cats, guardians of the afterlife
, Badra thought dimly.

They arrived at a shop, its single windowpane smeared with grease. The sign in Arabic over the doorway read "Antiquities." The shop had an air of forlorn neglect.

Victor politely held open the door, ushering her inside. The air smelt of dust, disuse and age. She squinted in the gloom, taking in the dusty statues cluttering the table. A tarnished silver mirror hung on one wall. The gold had chipped on a figurine of Osiris, god of the afterlife, showing wood underneath. Even her inexperienced eye knew these antiquities were fake.

Her breath hitched. Was Victor dealing in fraudulent artifacts? Like the statue of Osiris, she suspected a sparkling layer hid the real, more ominous facade of Kenneth’s cousin.

Noise sounded from the back of the shop. Kenneth emerged from the gloom, his white suit gleaming in the dimness like a sunrise. Color drained from his face as he spotted her.

"Badra, what are you doing here? Get out," he said brusquely.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she drew in a steady breath. "I came because you left me. You thought I slept, but I heard each word. What about your promises? You said you loved me." Her mouth worked violently. "I let you walk away once before because of my shame. I can’t do so again. I love you."

"Oh, dear God," he whispered, his broad shoulders sagging visibly. "Your tenacity ... You always did pursue something you wanted with all your heart—as fiercely as a Khamsin wind roars through the desert ..."

"You lucky bastard." Victor shook his head. "I wish I had a woman who loved me this much."

The small silver bell over the doorway tinkled again. Badra and Victor turned. All thoughts fled, replaced by numb horror. It could not be.