Sheikh's Defiant Wife: Defiant in the Desert. Maisey Yates

odd request down to the vagaries of being a princess.

      Now she wrapped a soft, silken veil around her head before peeping out from behind the flaps of the tent, and her heart lifted with relief. All was quiet. Not a soul around. She glanced upwards at the sky. It looked clear enough. Soon it would be properly light and with light came danger. The animals would grow restless and all the bodyguards would waken. She cocked her head as she heard a faint but unmistakable noise. Did that mean one of the guards was already awake? Her heart began to pound. She must be off, with not a second more to be wasted.

      Stealthily, she moved across the sand to where the horses were tethered. The Akhal-Teke palomino she had been riding earlier greeted her with a soft whinny and she shushed him by feeding him a sugar cube, which he crunched eagerly with his big teeth. Her heart was thumping as she mounted him and then urged him forward on a walk going with the direction of the wind, not giving him his head and letting him gallop until they were well out of earshot of the campsite.

      Her first feelings were of exhilaration and delight that she had got away without being seen. That she had escaped the dark-eyed scrutiny of Suleiman and had not implicated him in her flight. The pale sky was becoming bluer by the second and the sand was a pleasing shade of deep gold. Suddenly, this felt like an adventure and her life in London seemed a long way away.

      She made good progress before the sun grew too high, when she stopped beside a rock to relieve herself and then to drink sparingly from her water bottle. When she remounted her horse it was noticeably hotter and she was glad of the veil which shielded her head from the increasingly strong rays. And at least the camel trail was easy enough to follow back towards the airbase. The tread of the heavy beasts was deep and there had been none of the threatened sandstorms overnight to sweep away the evidence of their route.

      Did she stop paying attention?

      Did her ever-present thoughts of Suleiman distract her for long enough to make her stray from the deep line of animal footprints she’d been following so intently?

      Was that why one minute she seemed so secure in her direction, while the next...?

      Blinking, Sara looked around like someone who had just awoken from a dream, telling herself that the trail was still there if she looked for it and she had probably just wandered a little way from it.

      It took only a couple of minutes for her to realise that her self-reassurance was about as real as a mirage.

      Because there was nothing. Nothing to be seen.

      She blinked again. No indentations. No little telltale heaps where a frisky camel might have kicked out at the sand.

      Panic rose in her throat like bile but she fought to keep it at bay. Because panicking would not help. Most emphatically it would not. It would make her start to lose her nerve and she couldn’t afford to lose anything else—losing her way was bad enough.

      She didn’t even have a compass with her.

      She dismounted from her horse, trying to remember the laws of survival as she took a thirsty gulp of water from her bottle. She should retrace her steps. That was what she should do. Find where she’d lost the path and then pick up the camel trail again. Bending, she lifted a small pebble out of the sand. Sucking it would remind her to keep her mouth closed and prevent it from drying out.

      She patted the horse before swinging lightly into the saddle again. It was going to be all right, she told herself. Of course it was going to be all right. It had only been a couple of minutes since she’d missed the path and she couldn’t possibly be lost.

      It took her about an hour of fruitless riding to accept that she was.

      * * *

      ‘What do you mean, she’s not there?’

      His voice distorted with anger, Suleiman stared at the bent head of the female servant who stood trembling before him.

      ‘Tell me!’ he raged.

      The girl began to babble. They had thought that the princess was sleeping late, so they did not wish to disturb her.

      ‘So you left the princess’s tent until now?’

      ‘Y-yes, sir.’

      Suleiman forced himself to suck in a deep breath, only just managing to keep his hot rage from erupting as he surveyed the bodyguards who were milling around nervously. ‘And not one of you thought to wonder why one of the horses was missing?’ he demanded.

      But their shamefaced excuses were quelled with a furious wave of his hand as Suleiman marched over to the horses, with the most senior bodyguard close behind him. Because deep down he knew that he was not really in any position to criticise—not when he was as culpable as they.

      Why hadn’t he been watching her?

      His mouth hardened as he swung himself up onto the biggest and most powerful stallion.

      Because he was a coward, that was why.

      Despite his supposedly exemplary military record and all the awards which had been heaped upon him—he had selected a tent as far away from hers as possible. Too unsure of his reaction to her proximity, he had not dared risk being close. Not trusting himself—and not trusting her either.

      He hadn’t imagined the white-hot feeling of lust which had flared between them last night and he was too experienced a lover to mistake the look of sexual yearning which had darkened her violet eyes. When she was standing in front of him in her embroidered robes—her hair woven with fragrant leaves—he had never wanted her quite so much.

      Hadn’t he wondered whether her western sensibilities might make her take the initiative? Hadn’t he wondered whether she might boldly arrive naked at his tent under cover of darkness and slip into his bed without invitation, as so many women had done before?

      He stared down at the senior bodyguard. ‘You have checked her trail?’

      ‘Yes, boss. She has headed due north—taking the same path by which we came, back towards the airbase.’

      Suleiman nodded. It was as he had thought. She was trying to get back to England on her own—oh, most stubborn and impetuous of women! ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will follow her trail. And you will assign three men to take up the other three points of the compass and to set off immediately. But no more than three. I don’t want the desert paths disturbed any more than they need be. I don’t want any clues churned up by the damned horses.’

      ‘Yes, boss.’

      ‘You will also send someone to find a high enough vantage point to try to get a mobile phone signal. I want the military base informed and I want every damned plane at their disposal out looking for her. Understand?’

      The bodyguard nodded. ‘Understood.’

      ‘And believe me when I tell you that you have not heard the last of this!’

      With his final, angry words ringing Suleiman galloped off at a furious pace, the warm wind streaming against his face as he followed the mixed track of the camels and the newer footprints of Sara’s horse.

      He had already realised that there would be repercussions. By involving the military, word would inevitably get back to the Sultan that the princess was missing. But he didn’t care what criticism or punishment came his way for having lost the future Sultana of Qurhah. They could exile him or imprison him and he wouldn’t care.

      He didn’t care about anything other than finding her safe and well.

      He had never known such raw fear as he travelled beneath the heat of a sun which was growing ever more blistering. Even though she was out of practice, he knew that she was a sound horsewoman—a fact which had always been a source of pride since he had been the one to tutor her, but which now gave him only comfort. And he found himself clinging to that one small comfort. Please let her ride safely, he prayed. Please not let something have frightened the horse so that Sara might be lying there buckled and broken on the sand. Alone and scared while the sun beat down on her and the vultures