Diamond in the Desert (10 page)

She had never seen so many stars before, Britt realised, staring up. What a beautiful place this was. There was no pollution of any kind. A sea of stars and a crescent moon hung overhead. And there was no need for panic, she reasoned, turning back to the Jeep. She had water, fuel, and plenty of food. The GPS was up and running, and according to that she was only around fifteen miles away from the encampment. The best thing she could do was wait until the morning when she would try again to wedge the wheels and stop them slipping. As a sensible precaution, and because she didn’t want Jazz to worry, she texted Sharif’s sister:
Flat tyre. No prob. I’ll sleep 4WD then change it am and head 2 camp.

A reply came through almost immediately:
I hve yr coordinates. Do u hve flares? Help o—

The screen blanked. She tried again. She shook the phone. She screamed obscenities at it. She banged it on her hand and screamed again. She tried switching it off and rebooting it.

It was dead.

So what had Jazz meant by that last message? Help was on its way? Or help off-road in the middle of the desert at night was out of the question?

Heaving a breath, she stared up, and blinked to find the sky completely changed. Half was as beautiful as the last time she looked, which was just a few seconds ago, while the other half was sullen black. A prickle of unease crept down her spine. And then a spear of fright when she heard something...the rushing sound of a ferocious wind. It was like all her childhood nightmares come at once. Something monstrous was on its way—what, she couldn’t tell. The only certainty was that it was getting closer all the time.

Her hands were trembling, Britt realised as she buttoned the phone inside the breast pocket of her shirt. Not much fazed her, but now she wished she had a travelling companion who knew the desert. Sharif would know. This was his home territory. Sharif would know what to do.

* * *

The elders had invited him to eat with them around the campfire. The respect they showed him was an honour he treasured. Here in the wildest reaches of the desert he might be their leader, but he could always learn from his people and this was a priceless opportunity for him to speak to them about their concerns. They talked on long into the night, and by the time he left them he was glad he could bring them good news about renewed investment and the realisation of their plans. He didn’t go straight back to his tent. He felt restless for no good reason other than the fact that the palm trees seemed unnaturally still to him, as if they were waiting for something to happen. He had a keen weather nose and tonight the signs weren’t good. He stared up into the clear sky, knowing things could change in a few moments in the desert.

He paced the perimeter of the camp and found himself back at the harem tent where Britt would be housed when she arrived. His mood lightened as he dipped his head to take a look inside. He could just imagine her outraged reaction when she realised where she was staying. He hoped she would at least linger long enough to enjoy some of the delights. The surroundings were so sumptuous it seemed incredible that they could exist outside a maharaja’s palace, let alone in the desert. Like his own pavilion, hers had been cleverly positioned around the underground stream. The water was clear and warm and provided a natural bathing pool in a discreetly closed off section of the tent. Solid gold drinking vessels glinted in the mellow light of brass lanterns, while priceless woven rugs felt rich and soft beneath his sandaled feet. The heady scent of incense pervaded everything, but it was the light that was so special. The candles inside the lanterns washed the space with a golden light that gave the impression of a golden room. It certainly wasn’t a place to hold a business meeting. This tent was dedicated entirely to pleasure, a fact he doubted Britt would miss. He tried not to smile, but there was everything here a sheikh of old might have required to woo his mistress. The older women of the tribe had heard a female visitor was expected and had approached him with their plan; he couldn’t resist.

Would their Leader’s friend be pleased to experience some of the very special beauty treatments that had been passed down through generations?

Absolutely, he had replied.

Would she enjoy being dressed in one of the precious vintage robes they had lovingly cleaned and preserved; a robe they carried with them in their treasure chest on their endless travels across the desert?

He didn’t even have to think about that one. He was sure she would.

And the food...Would she enjoy their food? Could they make her sweetmeats like the old days; the sort of thing with which the sheikhs of old would tempt their...their...

Their friends? he had supplied helpfully.

‘I’m sure she would,’ he had confirmed. He had yet to meet a woman who would refuse a decent piece of cake.

His acceptance of all these treats for Britt had put smiles into many eyes, and that was all he cared about.

Their final assurance was that if their sheikh would honour them by entertaining a female visitor in their camp, they would ensure he did so in the old way.

Perfect, he had said, having some idea of what that might entail. He couldn’t think of anything his visitor would enjoy more, he had told them.

Imagining Britt’s expression when she was treated as a prized concubine was thanks enough, but there was a serious element to this mischief. The older women guided the young, and it was imperative to have them onside so they embraced all the educational opportunities he was opening up to women under his rule. Kareshi would be different—better for all in the future, and on that he was determined.

The peal of the phone distracted him from these musings. It was his sister Jasmina, calling him to say that Britt had decided not to wait until the morning to travel into the desert, but with all the confidence of someone who believed she knew the wilderness—every wilderness—Britt had insisted on setting out by road, just a couple of hours ago.

Issuing a clipped goodbye to his sister, he went into action. No wonder he’d felt apprehensive. Here with tents erected against the shield of a rock face people were safe, but if the weather worsened out in the desert, and Britt was lost—

All thoughts of Britt in connection with the harem tent shot from his mind. She knew
her
wilderness, not his!

Striding back into the centre of the camp, he was already securing the headdress called a
howlis
around his face and calling for his horse, while his faithful people, seeing that he meant to leave the camp, were gathering round him. They had no time to lose. If a sandstorm was coming, as he suspected, and Britt was alone on treacherously shifting sand, all the technology of a modern age wouldn’t save her.

Calling for a camel to carry the equipment he might need, he strode on towards the corral where they were saddling his stallion. Springing onto its back, he took the lead rope from the camel and lashed it to his tack. He wasted no time riding away from the safety of the camp at the head of his small troupe, into what Britt would imagine was the most beautiful and tranquil starlit night.

* * *

Where had the romance of the desert gone? She had almost been blasted away in a gust of sand in a last attempt to change the tyre. What was it about her and tyres? And this wasn’t fun, Britt concluded, raking her hand across the back of her neck. Sand was getting everywhere. Eddies of sand were exfoliating her face while more sand was slipping through the smallest gap in her clothes.

Did she even stand a chance of being found? Britt wondered, gazing around, really frightened now. Visibility was shrinking to nothing as the wind blew the sand about, and the sky was black. She couldn’t even see the stars. She had never felt more alone, or so scared. Battling against the wind, she made it to the back of the Jeep and locked her tools away. Shielding her eyes, she opened the driver’s door and launched herself inside. The wind was so strong now it was lifting the Jeep and threatening to turn it over. She had never wished for Sharif more. She couldn’t care less about their differences right now. She just wanted him to find her.

She had checked the weather before setting out, but could never have imagined how quickly it could change. There was nothing to see out of the window. She changed her mind about Sharif finding her. It was too dangerous. She didn’t want him to risk his life. But she just couldn’t sit here, helpless, waiting to buried, or worse... She had to remain visible. If the Jeep were buried she would never be found.

There was a warning triangle in the boot—and a spade handle. And the very last thing she needed right now was a bra. She could make a warning symbol. And there were flares in the boot.

Downside? She would just have to brave the storm again.

The wind was screaming louder than ever and the sand was like an industrial rasp. But she was determined—determined to live, determined to be seen, and determined to do everything in her power to ensure that happened.

Once she had managed to get everything out of the back of the Jeep, securing the warning triangle to the handle of the spade with her bra was the easy part. Finding a way to fix it onto the Jeep wasn’t quite so simple. She settled for wedging it into the bull bars, and now she had to get back into the shelter of the vehicle as quickly as she could or she would be buried where she stood.

Closing the door, she relished the relative silence, and, turning everything off, she resigned herself to the darkness. She had to conserve power. There was nothing more she could do for now but wait out the storm and hope that when it passed over she would still be alive and could dig her way out.

CHAPTER TEN

D
ISMOUNTING
, S
HARIF
COVERED
his horse’s face with a cloth so he could lead it forward. Attached to his horse by a rope was the camel loaded down with equipment. The camel’s eyelashes provided the ultimate in protection against the sand, while he had to be content with narrowing his eyes and staring through the smallest slit in his
howlis.
His men had gathered round him, and so long as he could see the compass he was happy he could lead them to Britt’s Jeep. When all else failed magnetic north saved the day.

As they struggled on against the wind he sent up silent thanks that Jasmina had been able to text him Britt’s last coordinates, but a shaft of dread pierced him when he wondered if he would reach her in time.

He
had
to reach her in time. He had intended to test Britt as she had tested him in Skavanga when she arrived in the desert, but not like this.

What would she think when he appeared out of the storm? That a bandit was coming for her? It only occurred to him now that she had never seen him in robes before. That seemed so unimportant. He just prayed he would find her alive. He had left the encampment battening down for what was essentially a siege. Custom dictated the tribe pitch their tents at the foot of a rock face to allow for situations like a sandstorm. The best he could hope for where Britt was concerned was that she’d had enough sense to stay inside her vehicle. She wouldn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance outside.

* * *

The scream of the wind was unbearable. It seemed never ending. It was as if a living creature were trying every way it knew how to reach her inside the Jeep. Curled up defensively with her hands over her ears, she knew that the electrics were shot and the phone was useless. The sand was already halfway up the window. How much longer could she survive this?

What a rotten end, she thought, grimacing at the preposterous situation in which she found herself. She could only feel sorry for the person who had to drag her lifeless body out of the Jeep—

She Would Not Die Like This.

Throwing her weight against the driver’s door, she tried to force it open, but it wouldn’t budge—and even if it had, where was she going?

Flares were her last hope, Britt reasoned. She had no idea now if it was day or night, and before she could set off a flare she needed something to break the window.

Climbing over the seats, she found everything she needed. The vehicle was well equipped for a trek in the desert. There were flares and work gloves, safety goggles, a hard hat, and heavy-duty cutters, as well as a torch and a first-aid kit. Perfect. She was in business.

* * *

He had almost given up hope when he saw the flare flickering dimly in the distance. Adrenalin shot through his veins, giving him the strength of ten men and the resolve of ten more. He urged his weary animals on and his brave men followed close behind him. He couldn’t be sure it was Britt who had let off the flare until he saw the warning triangle she had fixed onto the top of a spade handle with a bra, and then he smiled. Britt was ever resourceful, and any thought he might have had about her setting off into the desert at night without a proper guide seemed irrelevant as he forged on, his lungs almost exploding as he strained against the wind. Nothing could keep him back. Sharp grains of sand whirled around him, but the robes protected him and the
howlis
did its job. Just thinking about Britt and how frightened she must be made his discomfort irrelevant. His only goal was to reach her—to save her—to protect her—to somehow get her back to the camp—

If she were still alive.

He prayed that she was, as he had never prayed before. He prayed that he could save her as he sprang down from his horse, and started to work his way around the buried Jeep. The vehicle was buried far deeper than he had imagined, and, worse, he couldn’t hear anything against the wind. Was she alive in there? With not a moment to lose he yanked at the windscreen with his men helping him. Britt had already loosened it to let off the flare—

And then he saw her. Alive! Though clearly unconscious. She had managed to free the rubber seal on the glass and had forced it out far enough to let off the flare, but in doing so had allowed sand to pour in and fill the vacuum, almost burying her. He waved his men back. It wasn’t safe. Too many of them and the Jeep might sink further into the sand or even turn over on top of them, killing his men and burying Britt. He would not let anyone else take the risk of pulling her out.

He dug with his hands, and with the spade he had freed from the bull bars of the Jeep. He was desperate to reach her—frantic to save her. It was the longest hour of his life, and also his greatest triumph when he finally sliced through Britt’s seat belt with the
khanjar
at his side, and lifted her to safety in his arms.

* * *

To say she was bewildered would be putting it mildly. She had woken up to find herself transported from a nightmare into a Hollywood blockbuster, complete with sumptuous Arabian tent and billowing curtains, with not a grain of sand to be seen. Added to which, there were women clustering around what passed for her bed. Dressed in rainbow hues, they looked amazing with their flowing gowns and veils. At the moment they were trying to explain to her in a series of mimes that she had been barely conscious when their leader carried her into the camp. At which point it seemed they had to pause and sigh.

She must have been asleep for ages, Britt realised, staring around. The bed on which she was reclining was covered in the most deliciously scented cushions, and was enclosed by billowing white curtains, which the women had drawn back. She felt panicked for a moment as she tried to take it all in. Was this the encampment Jazz had told her about—or was she somewhere else?

And then it all came flooding back. The terrifying storm— The sickening fear of being buried alive. Her desperate attempt to set off a flare, not knowing if anyone would see it—

Someone had. She squeezed out a croak on a throat that felt as if it had been sandpapered, and the women couldn’t understand a word she said, anyway, so the identity of her rescuer was destined to remain a mystery.

The women were instantly sympathetic and rushed to bring her drinks laced with honey, and one of them indicated an outdoor spa, which Britt could now see was situated at the far end of the tent.

And what a tent! It was more of a pavilion, large and lavishly furnished with colourful hangings and jewel-coloured rugs covering the floor. Burnished brass lanterns decorated with intricate piercing cast a soft golden glow, while the roof was gathered up in the centre and had been used to display a number of antique artefacts. She was still staring up in wonder when the women distracted her. They had brought basins of cool water and soft towels, and, however much she indicated that she could sort herself out, they insisted on looking after her and bathing all her scratches and battle wounds.

It was a nice feeling to be made so welcome. Thanking the women with smiles, she drank their potions and accepted some of their tiny cakes, but she couldn’t lie here all day like some out-of-work concubine. She was badly in need of a sugar rush to kick her into gear. And those little cakes were delicious. She was contentedly munching when she suddenly remembered Jazz. Sharif’s sister must be out of her mind with worry—

Thank goodness she had a signal. She quickly stabbed in:
safe @camp. sorry if i frightnd u! lost a day sleeping! talk soon
J

A message came back before she had chance to put the phone away:
relieved ur safe. Look fwd 2 mtg u b4 long!
J

Britt smiled as she put the phone down again. She looked forward to that meeting too. And now the women were miming that she should come with them. She hesitated until they pointed towards the spa again, but the thought of bathing in clean, warm water was irresistible.

She was a little concerned when the women started giggling as they drew her out of the bed and across the rugs towards the bathing pool, especially when they started giggling and then sighing in turn. Were they preparing her for the sheikh? Was she to be served up on a magic carpet with a honey bun in her mouth?

Not if she could help it.

She asked with gestures: ‘Did your sheikh bring me here?’ She tried to draw a picture with her hands of a man who was very tall and robed, which was about all she could remember of her rescuer—that and his black horse. She must have kept slipping into unconsciousness when he brought her back here. ‘The Black Sheikh?’ she suggested, gazing around the golden tent, hoping to find something black to pounce on. ‘His Majesty, Sheikh Sharif al Kareshi...?’

The women looked at her blankly, and then she had an idea. She sighed theatrically as they had done.

Exclaiming with delight, they smiled back, nudging each other as they exchanged giggles and glances.

She left a pause to allow for more sighs while her heart thundered a blistering tattoo. So it was very likely that Emir or Sharif, or whatever he was calling himself these days, had rescued her. Her brain still wasn’t functioning properly, but it seemed preferable to be in the tent of someone she knew, even if that someone was the Black Sheikh.

She allowed the women to lead her into the bathing pool. She didn’t want to offend them and what was the harm of refreshing herself so she could start the new day and explore the camp? The women were keen to pamper her outer self with unguents, and her inner self with fresh juice. One of them played a stringed instrument softly in the background, while the scent rising from the warm spring water was divine. Relaxing back in the clear, warm water, she indulged in a little dream in which she was a young woman lost in the desert who had been rescued by a handsome sheikh—

She
was
a young woman lost in the desert who had been rescued by a handsome sheikh!

And however she felt about him, the first thing she had to do was thank Sharif for saving her life. She had to forget all about who had done what to whom, or how angry she had been about his people’s interference in the business, and start with that. She could always tell him what she thought about his high-handed ways afterwards. Sharif had risked his life to save her. Compared to that, her pride counted for nothing.

The women interrupted her thoughts, bringing her towels, which they held out like a screen so she could climb from the pool with her modesty intact. They quickly wrapped her, head to foot, and she noticed now that the sleeping area had already been straightened, and enough food to feed an army had been laid out.

Was she expecting visitors?

One visitor?

Her heart thundered at the thought.

As they led her towards the bed of cushions she caught sight of the lavender sky, tinged with the lambent gold of a dying sun. The women insisted she must lie down on a sheet while they massaged her skin with soothing emollients to ease the discomfort of all the cuts and bruises she had sustained during her ordeal. The scent of the cream was amazing and she couldn’t ever remember being indulged to this extent. Being prepared for the sheikh indeed...

She was a little concerned when, instead of her own clothes, the women showed her an exquisite gown in flowing silk. ‘Where are my clothes?’ she mimed.

One of the women mimed back that Britt’s clothes were still wet after having been washed.

Ah... ‘Thank you.’

She bit her lip, wondering how the rest of this night would play out, but then decided she would just have to throw herself into the spirit of generosity being lavished on her by these wonderful people. And the gown was beautiful, though it had clearly been designed for someone far more glamorous than she was. In ice blue silk, it was as fine as gossamer, and was intricately decorated with silver thread. It was the sort of robe she could easily imagine a sheikh’s mistress wearing. But as there were no alternatives on offer...

One of the women brought in a full-length mirror so Britt could see the finished effect. The transformation was complete when they draped a matching veil over her hair and drew the wisp of chiffon across her face, securing it with a jewelled clip. She stood for a moment staring at her reflection in amazement. At least she fitted in with the surroundings now, and for perhaps the first time ever she felt different about herself and didn’t long for jeans or suits. She had never worn anything so exotic, or believed she had the potential to project an air of mystery. I could be the Sheikh’s diamond, she thought with amusement.

She tensed as something changed in the tent...a rustle of cloth...a hint of spice...

She turned to find the women backing away from her.

And then she saw the man. Silhouetted with his back against the light, he was tall and powerful and dressed in black robes. A black headdress covered half his face, but she would have known him anywhere, and her body yearned for her lover before her mind had chance to make a reasoned choice.

‘So it was you...’ Even as she spoke she realised how foolish that must sound.

His Majesty, Sheikh Sharif al Kareshi, the man known to the world as the Black Sheikh, and known to her before today as Emir, loosened his headdress. Every thought of thanking him for saving her life, or condemning him for walking out on her without explaining why, faded into insignificance as their stares met and held.

‘Thank you for saving my life,’ she managed on a throat that felt as tight as a drum.

She was mad with herself. The very last thing she had intended when she first set out on this adventure was to be in awe of Sharif. She had come to rail at him, to demand answers, but now she was lost for words and all that seemed to matter was that they were together again. ‘You risked your life for me—’

‘I’m glad to see you up and well,’ he said, ignoring this. Removing his headdress fully, he cast the yards of heavy black silk aside.

‘I am very well, thanks to you.’

Dark eyes surveyed her keenly. ‘Do you have everything you need?’

As Sharif continued to hold her stare her throat seemed to close again. She felt horribly exposed in the flowing, flimsy gown and smoothed her hands self-consciously down the front of it.