Lost to the Desert Warrior. Sarah Morgan

of the wind and protecting them from prying eyes.

      The boy was on his knees in the furthest corner of the tent, his hands still tied.

      Raz studied him for a moment and then strolled over to him and cut the rope with a swift movement of his knife. ‘Stand up.’

      The boy hesitated and then stood in a graceful movement, only to fall again a moment later.

      ‘I don’t think I can stand—’ The words were uttered through clenched teeth. ‘My legs are stiff from riding and I injured my ankle when I fell.’

      Raz looked down at the slender body bowed at his feet. ‘Tell me why you’re here.’

      ‘I’ll talk to Raz Al Zahki himself, and no one else.’

      ‘Then speak,’ Raz commanded softly, and the boy lifted his head in shock.

      Under the concealing robes, dark eyes widened. ‘You’re him?’

      ‘I’m the one asking the questions.’ Raz sheathed his knife. ‘And the first thing I want to know is what a woman is doing creeping around my camp in the middle of the night. What are you doing walking into the lion’s den unprotected, Princess?’

      * * *

      Layla was in agony. Physical agony from her fall from the horse, and emotional agony from the knowledge that her sister was missing and alone in the vast emptiness of the baking desert and it was all her fault.

      She was the one who had suggested this stupid, crazy plan. She, who never did anything stupid or crazy. She, who studied all available evidence before she made a decision, had acted on impulse. Which just proved that a cautious nature wasn’t to be mocked.

      It would have been better had Hassan sent Yasmin to America. At least then Layla would have known she was alive.

      As it was, Yasmin was lost, and she was now a captive in the desert camp of Raz Al Zahki, a man who had more reason to hate her than any other.

      A man who knew who she was.

      Staring into those cold black eyes, she suddenly knew the meaning of the phrase ‘between a rock and a hard place.’ If her cousin was the hard place then this man was the rock. He stood legs spread, handsome face unsmiling as he stared at her. His body had the muscular structure of a warrior’s, his shoulders broad and hard. She knew he had suffered terribly and yet there was no sign of suffering in face. This man wasn’t broken, he was whole and strong—at least on the outside. There was nothing soft about him. Nothing vulnerable. Even before he’d revealed his identity she’d sensed his place at the head of the pack. He had the confidence and authority of a man born to lead others, and even though Layla had expected nothing less still he intimidated her.

      ‘You knew who I was the whole time?’

      ‘Within five seconds. You have a memorable face, Princess. And very distinctive eyes.’

      It was the first personal comment anyone had ever made to her and it took her by surprise.

      She’d studied him on paper and committed all the facts to memory, from his year and place of birth to his impressive military career and his degree in engineering. She knew he was a skilled rider and an authority on the Arabian horse. She knew all that, but was only just realising that facts could only tell you so much about a man.

      They couldn’t tell you that his eyes were darker than the desert at night or that the power he commanded on paper was surpassed a thousand times by the power he commanded in person. They couldn’t tell you that those eyes were capable of seeing right through a person to the very centre of their being. They couldn’t tell you that meeting those eyes would make your heart thunder like the hooves of a hundred wild horses pounding across the desert plain.

      She was fast realising that a list of dates and qualifications didn’t convey strength or charisma.

      Unsettled that the facts had given her such an incomplete picture, Layla remembered what her sister had said about the rumours. That Raz Al Zahki was a man who knew women. Before he’d fallen in love he’d been wild, and afterwards he’d locked it all away. Every emotion. Every feeling.

      ‘How do you know me?’

      ‘I make a point of knowing my enemy.’

      ‘I am not your enemy.’ And yet she could hardly blame him for thinking that, could she? His family had suffered terribly at the hands of hers. They stood on opposite sides of an enormous rift that had divided their families for generations.

      ‘Which brings me to my second question—where is Hassan? Or is he so lacking in courage he sends a woman with his messages?’

      Layla shivered, but whether it was his tone or his words that affected her she didn’t know.

      ‘I’m not here because of Hassan. I was with my sister, Yasmin, but I fell from the horse.’ She saw his beautiful mouth tighten. ‘I’m sorry—I—you have to help me find her. Please. She’s alone in the desert and she won’t have a clue how to survive.’ The thought filled her with despair but still he showed no emotion. No sympathy. Nothing.

      ‘So where is Hassan?’

      ‘He could be back at the palace, or he could be out there looking for us. I don’t know.’

      ‘You don’t know? And yet this is the man you’re supposed to be marrying in a matter of hours.’

      And if Hassan found Yasmin first—

      His words slowly seeped into her numb brain. ‘You know about the wedding?’

      ‘I know everything.’

      ‘If you think I want to marry Hassan then clearly you don’t know everything.’ The tent was dimly lit, but there was enough light for her to see the flash of surprise in his eyes.

      ‘How did you leave, if not with his consent?’

      ‘We escaped. My sister loves horses. She took the fastest horse in the stables. Unfortunately she omitted to tell me she couldn’t control him.’ Layla rubbed her palm across her bruised back. ‘He proved too much for both of us.’

      ‘Both of you?’ A dark eyebrow lifted. ‘You rode one horse?’

      ‘Yes. We’re not that heavy and we didn’t want to be separated.’ Layla didn’t tell him that she’d never ridden before. This man was renowned for his horsemanship. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be impressed by the fact she knew everything about the breeding history of the Arabian horse, but nothing about the reality of riding one. ‘Something scared him and he reared up. I fell and he bolted with Yasmin on his back. She won’t be strong enough to stop him. She’s probably fallen, too.’ Panicking, she tried to stand up again, but her body protested so violently she sank back onto her knees just as two large dogs bounded into the tent.

      Terror sucked the strength from her limbs. She was at eye level with the two beasts as they came to a standstill, teeth bared.

      Raz said something to them and they whimpered and sank down to their bellies, huge eyes fixed on him in adoration.

      ‘Saluki?’ The fear was so sharp Layla could hardly breathe. ‘You own Saluki?’

      ‘You recognise the breed?’

      ‘Of course.’ Her mouth felt as if she’d swallowed all the sand in the desert. If dogs could smell fear, she was doomed. ‘The Saluki is one of the oldest breeds in existence. They have been found in the Pyramids of Egypt, mummified alongside the bodies of pharaohs.’ She didn’t reveal that her familiarity with the breed came from a darker, more personal experience. An experience she’d tried to block from her mind.

      ‘You said you were escaping. What was your destination?’

      ‘You. You were my destination.’ Reminding herself that the dogs were unlikely to attack without provocation or command, Layla kept utterly still, watching the animals. ‘We were trying to find you.’

      ‘On