At The Rancher's Bidding. Charlotte Maclay

Even the thought sent a shudder of revulsion down her spine.

      Her chance to avoid that fate had come yesterday when Leila, her lady-in-waiting, had lost control of her horse while they were riding together. Spooked by blowing dust, the animal had run away with her. A neighboring rancher, Cord Brannigan, had rescued her.

      Saved Leila’s life!

      Sometime during the night, Allie had realized she could take advantage of an ancient Munir custom to gain her liberation—at least temporarily. The possibility inspired her to action now.

      “Rafe! Wait for me.”

      Her brother, looking very distinguished in his white robe, white gutrah and black banded ogal, slowed near the outdoor riding ring and turned toward her. “What is it, Sister?”

      Breathlessly, she came to a halt. “I was wondering if you had made the appropriate arrangements for Leila.”

      He looked at her blankly. “Is there something wrong with her?”

      “No, not at all. I simply assumed you would be honoring our ancient tradition.”

      “Which tradition is that?”

      “You do recall how the Colemans’ neighbor—” she hesitated, as though she couldn’t think of his name “—Brannigan, I believe he is called, rescued my lady-in-waiting.”

      “I am sure she was grateful.”

      “More than grateful, as we should be, too.”

      Impatiently, he glanced over his shoulder toward the stables, then back to her. “Aliah, I don’t know what you are trying to say.”

      In the name of Constantine, she was going to have to spell it out to her brother! Some days he was terribly dense. Perhaps all brothers were.

      “Rafe, the man saved Leila’s life. In order to properly express our gratitude for saving a servant from sure death, we must present Leila to him as a gift. From this day forward, it is right and just that she belong to him.”

      “You must be joking! That custom went out with—”

      “Rafe, you will soon lead our country. There is already talk among our people that you have become too westernized.” That wasn’t true, or at least she had not heard such a rumor. Nor did she intend for Leila to remain in America with Mr. Brannigan. But Allie couldn’t allow her brother to learn her real plan—to stay here herself until either Rafe or the rancher discovered the masquerade she intended. “The gifting of a servant to one who has saved the servant’s life is a tradition our people recognize and respect.”

      “I am not about to leave Leila here against her will.” He walked away from Allie.

      Doggedly, she followed in his footsteps. “But Leila wants to stay. I have already spoken with her.” Another lie, but a necessary one at this point.

      “Why? Have you been cruel to her?”

      “Of course not.” Allie huffed in frustration, having to hurry to keep up with him. “My brother, if you do not support our ancient traditions, our people will respect you less and you will not be able to lead them. Surely there is some way you can follow our customs without offending your own sense of right and wrong.”

      Without slowing his pace, he slanted her a look. “Why is it I think you have some scheme up your sleeve that would not receive my approval?”

      “I have no idea what you mean.”

      He chuckled, a deep baritone laugh much like their father’s, but she could also see he was considering her words.

      “All right, as it happens, Cade Coleman mentioned that one of Mr. Brannigan’s house servants was away for a few weeks. If Leila is agreeable, I will loan her to Brannigan for that period of time.”

      Excitement filled Allie’s chest. She’d been given her ticket to freedom. “Leila will be most pleased, I assure you. If you will make the arrangements, I will inform her of the good news.”

      Without waiting for her brother to change his mind, she raced back toward the main house.

      The sprawling hacienda-style house sat on a hill overlooking a lake that flowed into the Colorado River. At night, Allie, Rafe and their party stayed in a small motel in the nearby town of Bridle. During the day, the Colemans had been gracious enough to allow Allie and her servant to use one of the guest rooms upstairs for rest and relaxation.

      Allie hurried there now.

      “I have wonderful news,” she said, bursting into the room.

      Leila looked up from her needlework. “I hope that does not mean our departure for Munir will be delayed past tomorrow.”

      “You will leave on time, I promise.” Allie paced to the French doors to look outside, wondering how to phrase her plan to gain Leila’s cooperation. At the edge of the veranda a trellis laden with pink-and-white roses stood—her favorite flowers—but today they did little to calm her excitement. “Although I don’t know why you are so anxious to return.”

      “I know I have behaved inappropriately, my mistress. But in the bazaar at home there is a young man….”

      Leila’s admission had Allie whirling around to look at her servant. She was an attractive woman, slightly younger than her own twenty-two years. She had the same dark eyes that were so common in their country, and she and Allie were of the same height and figure. They both wore simple sheath dresses and sandals, although the fabric of Allie’s dress was finer, her sandals a better quality of leather.

      “You have a boyfriend?” Allie asked, surprised by a tug of envy. She’d never been allowed in the bazaar unescorted, and certainly never had the opportunity to attract the attention of a young man.

      “We have only spoken once.” Dipping her head, Leila studied her needlework. “But he does have eyes for me.”

      “You are a fortunate woman, Leila.”

      “I will think of myself as fortunate if I get to return to him soon.”

      Allie knelt beside Leila, taking her needlework from her hands and setting it aside. “You want to go home, and you shall, but I wish to stay in America for a time.”

      “I doubt your brother will permit—”

      “I know. But I have a plan. Because the neighboring rancher saved your life yesterday, the shiekh is going to give you to him as a gift.”

      Leila paled. “You can’t mean—”

      “Hear me out. Please. You will go home as me, and I will remain here as you.”

      “What?” Her servant looked at Allie as though she had lost her mind. “My mistress, someone will notice—”

      “Nonsense. My brother pays me little attention. And this cowboy saw us only when we were properly covered, as women of Munir should be.” Females were expected to wear the cloak and veil in public, and it grated on Allie more than she cared to admit. Her irritation had grown even stronger the longer she remained in America. She envied the freedom women had here, and craved a small taste of that sense of independence.

      “But what would happen if the sheikh discovers—”

      “Are you not willing to risk whatever punishment my brother might mete out in order to see your friend from the bazaar again?”

      Leila hesitated, then responded in a desperate whisper. “Yes.”

      Raising her own fist in victory, Allie began to make plans how they would deceive both her brother and this cowboy, Cord Brannigan. He would be the easiest to fool, she was sure. He had seen neither Leila nor Allie clearly. If she kept her head turned away from her brother, Allie was confident he would not know she had switched places with her servant.

      And then, for however long it took her brother to miss her—which might be a few days or even a few weeks—she would be