Desert Rogues Part 2 (67 page)

D
aphne awoke the next morning with the sense of being one with the world. She could hear the birds outside and the low voices of people in the encampment. The smell of cooking made her mouth water, and the sounds of laughter made her smile. She had a feeling that when she climbed out of bed, there was a very good chance she would float several inches above the carpeted tent floor.

What a night, she thought as she pushed her hair out of her face and sat up. Murat was long gone. She vaguely recalled him kissing her before he'd left their bed sometime after dawn.

They'd continued to make love, each time more passionately than the time before until she'd been afraid she would never be able to recover. Her body ached, but in the best way possible. Her skin seemed to be glowing, and she knew she would be hard-pressed not to spend the entire day grinning like a fool.

Everything had been perfect. Except…She pressed her hands to her flat stomach and wondered if they'd made a baby last night. She and Murat had made love several times without any kind of protection. The thought had never crossed her mind. She knew the price of having his child—she would never be able to leave.

Now, in the soft light of the morning in the beautiful tent, she wondered if perhaps she should make her peace with all that had happened. Was his behavior really that horrible? He'd only—

“Earth to Daphne,” she said aloud. “Let's think about this.”

Rational thought returned, pushing away the lingering effects of the night of pleasure. Of course she couldn't give in. Even if she wanted to stay married to Murat, she would still need to make him understand that he couldn't have his way in everything. That for their marriage to be a happy and successful union, they both had to make decisions, and he couldn't simply bully his way into what he wanted.

Which meant getting pregnant was a really dumb idea. She was going to have to avoid his bed.

She stood and faced the rumpled sheets. It was a very nice bed and the man who slept in it was nothing short of magical when it came to making love. Still, she had to be strong. At least until she knew if she were pregnant.

She washed using the basin of water on the dresser, then pulled on the garments that had been left out for her. Murat had mentioned something about a tribal council today. He would assemble the leaders from the various tribes and then hear judgments and petitions from the people. She'd agreed to attend.

Intricate embroidery covered her robes. In place of a headdress, a small diamond-and-gold crown sat on a pillow.

Daphne stared at it. While she knew that Murat was the crown prince and that he would one day be king, she never really thought about it all that seriously. But now, staring at the crown, she felt the weight of a thousand years of history pressing on her.

She carefully brushed her long, blond hair until it gleamed, then she set the crown on her head and secured it with two pins. She checked that it was straight, all the while trying not to notice she actually had it on her head, then left for the main part of the tent.

One of Murat's security agents sat waiting for her. When she approached, he stood and bowed.

“Good morning, Princess Daphne,” he said. “The judgments are about to begin. If you will follow me.”

He led her outside into a beautiful, clear morning. The camp was nearly deserted, but up ahead she saw a huge covering that would easily hold a thousand people. They walked toward it, avoiding the main entrance and instead circling around to the back.

She ducked under a low hanging and found herself behind a dais that held several ornate chairs. Murat approached and took her hand in his.

“We are about to begin,” he said with a smile.

He spoke easily, but his eyes sent her another message. One that reminded her of their night together and all that had happened between them.

She wanted to tell him they couldn't do that again. Not until things were straightened out between them, but this was not the time or place.

She followed him up onto the dais and sat in a chair just to the left and slightly behind his. On his right sat the tribal council. In front of them were hundreds of people sitting in rows. A few stood on either side of the room, and an older man with a parchment scroll stood in the center.

He read from the ancient document in a language she didn't recognize. She remembered enough from her previous time in Bahania to know he called all those seeking justice to this place and time. That the prince's word would be final. Judgments against those charged with crimes were covered in the morning, while petitions came in the afternoon.

Several criminals were brought forward. Two charges were dismissed as being brought about by a desire for revenge rather than an actual crime. One man accused of stealing goats was sentenced to six months in a prison and a branding.

Daphne winced at the latter and Murat caught the movement.

“It is an old way,” he said, turning toward her. “A man is given three chances. The brand allows the council to know how many times he has been before them.”

“But branding?”

“He stole,” Murat said. “These are desert people. They exist hundreds and thousands of miles from the world as you know it. If you steal a man's car in the city, he can walk or take a bus. You steal a man's goats or camels in the desert and you sentence him and his family to possible death. They may starve before they can walk out of the desert or to another encampment. They would not be able to carry all their possessions themselves, so they would be discarded. The youngest children might die on the long walk to safety. Stealing is not something we take lightly.”

His words made sense. Daphne understood that where life was harsh, punishment must be equally so, but the whole concept made her uncomfortable.

Several more minor cases were brought forward. Then a man in his late twenties was walked in front of the dais.

The guards took his left arm and held it out for all to see. Three brands scarred his skin. Daphne sucked in a breath.

“He is charged with stealing camels,” a member of the council told Murat.

“Witnesses?”

Five people stepped behind the men. Two were his accomplices, while the other three—a father and two sons—had owned the camels. The father spoke about the night his camels were taken. He had a herd of twenty, and this man and his friends took all of them. He and his sons went after the thieves only to find that one of the camels had gone lame and the thieves had slit its throat.

The crowd gasped. Daphne knew that to kill such a useful creature because it had gone lame was considered an abomination.

The cohorts spoke of the crime. They had already been charged and had confessed. Each had a fresh brand—their only brand. But the leader had three.

Murat listened to all the evidence, then turned to the council.

“Death,” each of them said.

When it was his turn to speak, he said, “You decided not to end your thieving yourself. We will do it for you.”

The criminal dropped his head to his chest. “I have two children and no wife.”

Murat nodded for the children to be brought out.

A boy of maybe fourteen stepped forward, holding on to the hand of a much younger girl. The boy fought tears, but the little girl seemed more confused, as if she didn't understand what was happening.

“What of this?” Murat asked the boy. “Do you have a brand on your arm?”

The teenager squared his shoulders. “I do not steal, Prince Murat. I protect my sister and honor the memory of my mother.”

“Very well.” Murat turned his attention to the crowd. “Two children of the thief.”

There was a moment of silence, then a tall man in his early forties stepped toward the dais.

“I will take them,” he said.

Murat was silent.

The man nodded. “I give my word that they will be treated well and raised as my own. The boy will be given the opportunity to attend college if he likes.”

Daphne glared at the man and raised her eyebrows.

He caught her gaze and took a step back. “Ah, the girl, too.”

“Better,” she murmured.

“She-wolf,” Murat whispered back. But he sounded pleased.

Still Murat did not speak to the man making the offer. At last the man sighed. He called out to the crowd. Several people turned to watch as a young girl of eleven or so stepped out and walked to the man.

“My youngest,” he said heavily. “The daughter of my heart. I give her into your keeping, to ensure the safety of those I take in.”

The girl stared up at him. “Papa?”

He patted her head. “All will be well, child.”

Murat rose. “I agree,” he said. “The children of the thief will enter a new family. Their pasts will be washed clean and they will not carry their father's burden.”

He walked to Daphne and held out his hand. She stood and took it, then followed him off the dais, toward the rear of the tent.

“What was all that?” she asked. “Why did that man bring out his daughter?”

“Because she is insurance. We will check on the condition of the two children he is taking in, but here, desert traditions run deep. Should he not treat them well, they will be removed from his care, along with his daughter. She gives him incentive to keep his word.”

She'd never heard of such a thing. “An interesting form of foster care.”

“It is more than that. He will take those children into his home and treat them as his own. I meant what I said—they will not bear the stigma of their father's crimes.” He urged her toward their tent. “It is often this way with the children of criminals. They are taken in and given a good home. I have never heard of one of them being ill treated. I know the man who claimed them. He will be good to them.”

She ducked into the tent and found lunch waiting for them. “I guess it really does take a village.”

“For us it does.”

He held out her chair, then took the seat across from hers. A young woman carried a tray of food toward them.

“What happens this afternoon?” Daphne asked as she served herself some salad. “More criminals?”

“No. The petitions. Anyone may approach me directly and ask me to settle a dispute.”

“That must keep you busy.”

He smiled. “Not as busy as you would think. My word is law, and I have a reputation of being stern and difficult. Only the truly brave seek my form of justice.”

“Are you fair?” she asked.

He shrugged. “The fate of my people rests in my hands. I do not take that responsibility lightly. I do my best to see both sides of the situation and find the best solution for all concerned.”

He wasn't what she thought. At first she'd described Murat as being just like her family—friendly and supportive as long as he got his way. But now she questioned that. He wanted to be a good leader. A good man.

How did she reconcile that with what he'd done to her? What was the solution to her dilemma? How did she show him that they had to be honest with each other before they had any hope of a relationship together?

 

After lunch Murat met with his tribal council, and Daphne went for a walk. She strolled by the makeshift stables and stopped to watch several children play soccer. A young woman approached and bowed.

“Greetings, Princess,” she said. “I am Aisha. It is a great honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine,” Daphne said with a smile.

The girl was maybe sixteen or seventeen and incredibly beautiful. In the safety of the camp, she left her head uncovered. Her large brown eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as if she found life amusing. Her full mouth curved up at the corners. Jewelry glinted from her ears and caught the sunlight.

“I must confess I sought you out on purpose,” Aisha said. “I have a petition for the prince, but I dare not deliver it myself.”

“Why?”

The girl ducked her head. “My father has forbidden me.”

Daphne didn't like the sound of that. “He forbids you to seek justice?”

She shrugged. “He has offered me in marriage to a man in our tribe. The man is very honorable and wealthy. Instead of my father having to provide me with a dowry, the man will pay
him
the price of five camels.”

This would be the part of the old-fashioned desert world Daphne didn't like so much. “Is your potential fiancé much older?”

Aisha nodded. “He is nearly fifty and has many children older than me. He swears he loves me and I am to be his last wife, but…”

“You don't love him.”

“I…” The girl swallowed. “I have given my heart to another,” she said in a whisper. “I know it's wrong,” she added in a rush. “I have defied my father and dishonored my family. I know I should be punished. But marriage to someone so old seems harsh. Please, Princess Daphne, as the wife of the crown prince you are entitled to plead on my behalf. The prince will listen to you.”