Claiming His Desert Princess. Marguerite Kaye

* *

      She had completed a full circuit of the circumference of the rock formation, and had just clambered up to examine the entrance to the mine when the flicker of light from a lantern coming from inside the tunnel made her freeze in horror. There was a guard on duty after all. Heart bumping, mouth dry, Tahira turned away, bracing herself to flee down the steep incline towards her camel. He must have moved with the litheness and lightning speed of a sand cat, for she had taken no more than two steps when one very strong arm encircled her waist, lifting her clean off her feet.

      ‘How dare you! Release me at once.’

      She could not decipher the guard’s response, for it was uttered in a foreign tongue, but he set her down immediately before turning her around to face him. ‘A woman! What in the name of the stars are you doing here?’

      He spoke in Arabic now, though his accent was odd. Tahira blinked up at him in astonishment. ‘You are not a guard. What are you doing here, creeping about like a thief in the middle of the night?’

      He laughed brazenly, holding the lantern higher. ‘I might reasonably ask you the same question.’

      He was tall, dressed in dusty, everyday garb, a drab brown tunic and trousers rather like her own, a cloak that might have been white at some point in the distant past, and brown-leather riding boots, but there was nothing at all everyday about the man himself. In fact, Tahira’s first thought was that here was a man one would never forget meeting. Her second was that he was not only memorable, but at a visceral level extremely attractive. His tousled hair gleamed gold in the lantern light. His skin was deeply tanned, he had a strong nose and a sensual mouth, but it was his eyes which drew her attention, for they were the most extraordinary piercing blue rimmed with grey and, even more than the vicious scimitar which hung from his belt, proclaimed him dangerous.

      She shivered as a mixture of fear and excitement coursed through her. ‘You realise that you are trespassing? This mine is the rightful property of King Haydar.’

      ‘As are all the mines in the kingdom of Nessarah, I believe, but it appears I am not the only trespasser.’ He adjusted the lantern so it illuminated her face. ‘I would hazard a guess that you are not a miner, though if you are, you are the most extraordinarily attractive one I have had the good fortune to meet. And believe me, I have encountered my fair share of miners.’

      His supreme self-assurance in the face of what he must realise was a perilous situation was astonishing. And intoxicating. If he showed no fear, why should she? He made no attempt to prevent her leaving. Tahira knew she ought to do just that, but now she was sure she had not been recognised, she didn’t want to leave. She had no reason at all to trust this man, yet her instincts told her he meant her no harm. Besides, she was very curious. And, yes, very attracted too. His smile made her catch her breath. It made her wonder, shockingly, what it would be like to feel his lips on hers—she, who had never in all her twenty-four years been kissed even once.

      ‘Your deductive powers are to be admired,’ Tahira said, unable to resist returning that smile. ‘You are quite correct, I am not a miner.’

      The stranger exhaled sharply. ‘But you are a beauty. What are you doing out here alone in the desert at night?’

      ‘I am quite accustomed to being alone in the desert at night, and until now, have been adept at protecting my solitude.’

      His teeth flashed white as he grinned. ‘Then we are kindred spirits, Madam...?’

      She hesitated, but it was highly unlikely he would make anything of her first name. ‘Given the informal nature of our introduction, I think you may call me Tahira.’

      His eyebrows quirked. ‘A woman of discretion. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tahira. Permit me to introduce myself in a similarly informal manner. My name is Christopher,’ he said, making a flourishing bow. ‘At your service.’

      ‘Christopher,’ she repeated slowly. ‘An English name?’ she hazarded, and when he nodded, added, ‘You are very far from home.’

      ‘I have no home.’ His expression clouded momentarily, but then he shrugged. ‘And you, Tahira, are you far from home?’

      Now it was her turn to shrug. ‘Not so very far.’

      ‘You are mysterious as well as discreet.’

      She laughed. ‘Significantly less mysterious than you, a stranger to these lands.’

      ‘I beg to differ,’ the Englishman said with another of his devastating smiles. ‘Your presence here raises a multitude of questions. What is a beautiful woman dressed in male garb doing examining the workings of a mine, quite alone and in the middle of the night? How did she get here? Where did she come from? Why the disguise? You cannot, surely, expect anyone to be fooled into thinking you a man?’

      Though his tone was teasing still, she had the distinct impression that his questions had a point to them. It was natural enough for him to be curious, she supposed, given her unorthodox appearance, but she could not risk him becoming too curious. ‘My clothes are merely practical, like yours,’ Tahira said.

      She had underestimated him. ‘Made from considerably more expensive material than mine, and considerably less worn too. Proof, if proof were needed, that you are not a miner,’ he said. ‘And yet you knew of the existence of this mine. It has only just been opened up, excavation is in its infancy. How came you by your information?’

      Tahira’s stomach knotted. She shrugged in what she hoped was a careless manner. ‘I could ask you the same question.’

      ‘You could,’ the Englishman responded, ‘but I asked it of you first.’

      There was no change in his tone, which remained pleasant enough, no change either in his expression, yet she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he meant to get an answer. What could he possibly suspect? Instinctively she knew he would see through any lie, but the truth—no, that was impossible. The safest thing would be to leave without comment, but she found she didn’t want to play safe.

      ‘I have no interest in the mine itself,’ Tahira said, opting for a partial version of the truth. ‘I am interested only in the possibility that the seam may have been excavated in ancient times, and that the miners left evidence of their settlement here.’

      She did not expect her answer to have such a startling effect on the Englishman, nor had she truly believed it would distract him from his original question, but it did. His fair brows shot up, all traces of a smile fading. ‘And have you found any such evidence?’ he demanded. ‘Do you have any idea how old such a settlement might be.’

      ‘This is my first visit to this site, but a number of our—of Nessarah’s reserves of minerals and ores have been mined to some degree since ancient times,’ Tahira replied, struggling to understand the change in him. ‘Goodness, is it possible—are you yourself interested in such sites?’

      Her incredulity made him smile again. ‘I am more than interested. In fact, I’m a passionate antiquarian.’

      Now it was her turn to stare in astonishment. ‘Are you teasing me?’

      ‘No, I assure you. For some years now, I have been involved in a number of archaeological digs. Some in Britain, but the majority in Egypt. I have to say, though, that in all my travels I have not encountered a female antiquarian. Are you working alone?’

      ‘I am not working as such. It is an interest with me, that is all.’

      ‘An interest you choose to pursue in the hours of darkness?’

      That look again, it was silly to imagine he could read her thoughts, but it was how she felt. Tahira crossed her arms, meeting his bright blue eyes square on. ‘As you do?’

      ‘As you have already deduced, I don’t have permission from the King to be here, any more than you. I wonder, what is it that drew you here, to this particular mine on this particular night?’

      She couldn’t understand the edge to