The Sheik and the Runaway Princess

MILLS & BOON

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To Terry who, after reading the first three sheik books, kept saying that there just had to be a bastard brother.

Here he is…enjoy!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

S abrina Johnson had sand in her teeth and a lot of other places sand wasn’t supposed to be.

She’d been an idiot, she told herself as she huddled under her thick cloak and listened to the storm howling all around her. Only someone incredibly foolish would have driven four hundred miles out into the desert by herself, and then left all signs of civilization behind, traveling with only a horse and a pack camel, looking for a stupid, mythical city that probably didn’t even exist.

A particularly vicious gust of sand and wind nearly toppled her. Sabrina clutched her legs more firmly to her chest, rested her head on her knees and swore that no matter how long she lived—assuming she survived her current predicament—she was never, ever going to be impulsive again. Not even a little. All impulse had gotten her was lost and trapped in the middle of a sandstorm.

Worse, no one knew she was out here, so no one would be looking for her. She’d stalked off without saying a word to her father or her brothers. When she didn’t show up for dinner, they would probably assume she was either sulking in her room or had taken off for Paris on a shopping trip. They would never think she was lost in the desert. Her brothers had warned her more than once that her crazy ideas were going to be the death of her. She’d never thought they might be right.

Heat and dryness pressed against her. She coughed, but couldn’t seem to clear her throat. How long would the storm go on and would she be able to find her way when it was over?

She didn’t have answers to her questions, so she tried not to think about them. Instead she wrapped her thick cloak around herself more tightly, staying low to the ground, hoping the storm wouldn’t sweep her up in its power and blow her away. She’d heard stories about that sort of thing. Of course her brothers had been the ones telling the stories and they didn’t always stick to the truth.

After what could have been hours, she thought she noticed a slight lessening of howls. Gradually she became aware that the gusts weren’t quite so strong and that it was getting easier to breathe. A few minutes later she risked peeking out from under her cloak.

There was good news and bad news. The good news was she wasn’t dead. Yet. The bad news was her horse and the supply camel were gone, along with her food, water and maps. Almost worse, the storm had buried the makeshift road she’d been following and had erased all the landmarks she’d noticed on her way into the desert from the outpost where she’d left the truck and horse trailer. The truck that wouldn’t be found until someone else journeyed to the abandoned old building. That event could be weeks or even months away. How would she survive until then?

Sabrina rose and turned in a slow circle. Nothing looked familiar. In the distance, the storm still raged. She watched clouds of sand reach up toward the sky as if trying to obliterate the sun. She swallowed. The sun was surprisingly low in the horizon. It was late. Apparently the storm had lasted longer than she’d realized.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since a very early breakfast. She’d been so eager to get started on her journey that morning, that she’d left the capital city well before dawn. She’d been convinced that she was going to find the fabled City of Thieves she’d been studying for ages, and prove its existence to her father. He’d always teased her about her fascination with it. She’d been so darned determined to have the last word. Instead she’d ended up here.

Now what? She could continue to search for the lost city, she could try to return to Bahania and her life of being ignored by her father and brothers or she could simply stand here and die of thirst. Actually while the third choice wasn’t her favorite, under the circumstances it seemed the most likely.

"I’m not going without a fight," Sabrina muttered as she tightened the scarf tied around her head. She shook out her cloak, then folded it and slung it over one shoulder.

West, she thought and turned so the setting sun was on her right. She needed to retrace her earlier journey by heading south and a little west to find the outpost. There was food and water in her car, because she’d brought more than she’d been able to fit onto the camel. Once she had something to eat and drink, she could think more clearly and figure out what she was going to do.

Ignoring her hunger and thirst, she set off at a steady pace. Fear dogged her heels, like a desert jackal, but she mentally kicked the beast away and reminded herself that she was Sabrina Johnson. She’d faced much worse in her life. She was lying, of course. She’d never faced physical danger before. But so what? There was no one around to point out that fact.

Thirty minutes later she wanted to call a cab. Forty-five minutes later she realized she would have sold her soul for a single glass of water. An hour later, the fear won and she knew she was well and truly going to die in the desert. Her eyes burned from the dryness. Her skin felt as if it were a size too small and her throat was raw and on fire.

She wondered if death in the desert was like death in the snow. Would she simply get tired and go to sleep?

“Not with my luck,” she muttered between parched lips. “My death will be much slower and more painful.”

Still she continued to put one foot in front of the other, ignoring the tempting mirages appearing directly in front of her as the sun slowly set. First she saw a wavering oasis, then a waterfall. Finally she saw a half-dozen men on horses riding closer and closer.

Horses? She stopped walking. She blinked, then squinted. Were they real? As she paused, she realized she could feel the thunder of the horses’ hooves on the ground. Which meant there was a possibility of rescue. Or something less pleasant.

Sabrina spent summers in Bahania with her father, supposedly learning the ways of his people. Not that he could be bothered to teach her anything, but some of the servants took pity on her and she’d picked up a thing or two. One tidbit had been that hospitality was guaranteed in the desert.

However, she spent her school years in Los Angeles, California, where her mother’s maid had warned her never to speak to strangers. Especially men she didn’t know. So should she stand her ground or run for the hills? Sabrina glanced around. There weren’t any hills.

She studied the men as they galloped closer and seemed to get larger. They were dressed traditionally in burnoose and djellaba. Their long cloaks swept along behind them. As a way to distract herself from her growing apprehension, she tried to admire the strong yet elegant horses they rode. Bahanian horses, bred for the desert.

“Hi,” she called as the men approached, trying for a breezy, confident tone. Between her dry throat and growing fear, she wasn’t entirely successful. “I’m lost. The sandstorm caught me flat-footed. You wouldn’t have happened to have seen a horse and a camel anywhere would you?”

No one answered her. Instead they circled her, speaking in a tongue she recognized but didn’t understand. Nomads, she thought, not sure if the men being nomads was good or bad for her.

One of the men pointed at her and gestured. Sabrina stood in place, even when several moved their horses very close to her. Should she tell them who she was, she wondered as she turned slowly. Nomads would respond to her father’s name, but what about outlaws? Of course outlaws would want to hold her for ransom and she might impress them by telling them that even though she didn’t look like much, she was actually Sabrina Johnson, aka Princess Sabra of Bahania. Or they might just kill her and leave her bones to bleach in the desert.

“I have want of a slave girl, but I doubt you’d do well at the job.”

She spun toward the speaker. His clothing hid most of his features. She saw that he was tall in the saddle, with tanned skin and dark eyes. Lips curled up in a smile as he laughed at her.

“You speak English,” she said stupidly.

“You do not speak the language of the desert,” he replied. “Nor do you know its ways. She is not a forgiving lady.” The humor fled his face. “Why are you out here alone?”

“That’s not important,” Sabrina said with a dismissive wave.” But maybe you could loan me a horse. Just to get me back to the outpost. My truck is there.”

The man jerked his head. One of the others scrambled off his horse. For a second Sabrina thought she was going to get her wish. The man had actually listened. Most unusual in a Bahanian male. They generally ignored—

The nomad reached for her head covering and pulled it free. She screamed. The circle of men around her grew still. Sabrina sighed.

She knew what they were looking at. Long, curly red hair tumbled down her back, a legacy from her mother. The startling combination of brown eyes, red hair and honey-colored skin often caught people’s attention, but no more so than here.

The men talked amongst themselves. She strained to understand what they were saying.

“They think I should sell you.”

She glanced toward the English-speaker. She had the impression he was their leader. Panic fluttered inside of her, but she didn’t let it show. Instead she squared her shoulders and raised her chin.

“Do you so need the money?” she asked, trying to fill her voice with contempt…or at least keep it from shaking.

“It makes life easier. Even out here.”

“What happened to the hospitality of the desert? The laws of your land won’t let you mistreat me.”

“Exceptions are made for one as foolish as you.”

He motioned to the man still standing next to her. In the split second before he reached for her, Sabrina spun on her heel and began to run. She had no destination in mind, just a burning need to be as far away from her captors as possible.

She heard hoofbeats behind her. Fear added speed, but not enough. She’d barely gone twenty yards when she was swept up onto a horse and held tightly against the hard, unforgiving chest of the nomad.

“Where, exactly, did you plan to go?” he asked.

She squirmed, but he didn’t release her. Instead she found herself getting tangled in his robes.

“If you continue to try to get away, I’ll tie you and drag you behind my horse.”

She could feel the strength of him, and his heat. He was as unyielding as the desert. Just her luck, she thought glumly, and stilled.

Tossing her hair out of her face, she glared at him. “What do you want from me?”

“First, I would like you to remove your knee from my stomach.”

She glanced down and saw that her jean-clad knee was indeed pushing against his midsection. It felt as if she were butting up against a rock, but she didn’t share that thought with him. Instead she shifted slightly, so that she was sitting on the saddle, facing his left.

She sucked in a deep breath. The sun had slipped below the horizon. There was no way she could escape now. Not at night. She was lost, thirsty, hungry and held captive by who knows who. At least it wasn’t raining.

“Ah,” he said softly. “So you can be reasoned with. A most pleasant attribute in a woman. And rare.”

“You mean beating all your wives doesn’t keep them in line? What a surprise.”

She glared at him as she spoke, telling herself that she didn’t care if his gaze narrowed slightly.

His features were dark and hard, like a rock shaped by the blowing winds of the desert. His headdress covered his hair, but she suspected it would be dark, perhaps to his collar, perhaps a little shorter. He had broad shoulders, and he carried himself like a man used to the weight of many burdens.

“For a woman completely at my mercy, you are either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish.”

“You’ve already accused me of being foolish,” she reminded him. “Rather unjustly if you ask me.”

“I did not ask you. Besides, what would you call someone who heads out into the desert without a guide, or even the most basic of supplies?”

“I had a horse and—”

He cut her off with a slight tilt of his chin. “Or the skill to keep them,” he finished.

Rather than answer, she glanced over his shoulder. The men he’d left when he’d chased her had started to set up camp. Already they had a small fire burning and were setting a pot to boil.

“You have water?” she asked, licking her dry lips.

“Yes, and food. Unlike you, we kept possession of our supplies.”

She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from the liquid being poured into the pot. “Please,” she whispered.

“Not so fast, my desert bird. Before you partake of our meager offerings, I want to make sure you don’t fly away again.”

“As you already pointed out, where would I go?”

“Not having a destination didn’t stop you before.”

He dismounted. Before she could slide to the ground, he pulled a length of rope from his voluminous robes and grabbed her wrists.

“Hey,” she protested, tugging against his actions. “You don’t have to do this. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I intend to make sure of that.”

She tried to pull her arms away so he couldn’t reach her wrists, but he moved too quickly and tied her. Then she shifted too far back in the saddle and started to slide off the horse. The man caught her by the front of her shirt and pulled her toward him. She lost her balance and fell heavily against him. He didn’t even grunt.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, he lowered her to the ground. While she was still trying to catch her breath, he secured her ankles together, then straightened.

“Wait here,” he told her and led his horse toward the makeshift camp.

“What?” she yelled, wiggling on the ground, unable to get up on her own. “You can’t leave me here.”

He studied her with his dark eyes, then smiled. “I would say that I can.”

Stunned by disbelief, Sabrina watched as he joined the other men. He said something she couldn’t hear and they chuckled in response. Anger replaced the fear burning in her chest. She would show him, she vowed, tugging on her fastenings and kicking at the sand. She would get free and find her way back to Bahania and have him shot. Or hanged. Or maybe both…at the same time. Her father might not pay much attention to her but he wouldn’t be happy about her being kidnapped.

Unable to free herself, she shifted until her back was to the camp. Bad enough that she could smell them cooking dinner, she didn’t want to have to watch it, too. Her mouth and throat felt so dry, they seemed swollen. Her stomach had never been so empty. Was the stranger just tormenting her or was he really not going to give her dinner? What kind of monster was he?

The desert kind, she told herself. Men like him didn’t see women as anything but chattel.

“I would have been better off with the troll prince,” she muttered.

Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to give in to them. She never showed weakness. What was the point? Instead she vowed to stay emotionally strong enough to survive, so that she could take her revenge. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself somewhere else.

As the smell of the food continued to drift toward her and her stomach clenched painfully, she couldn’t help wishing she was still at the palace. Okay, so her father rarely noticed she was around and her brothers ignored her, except when they were teasing her, but was that so bad?

She remembered her rage the previous day when her father, the king of Bahania, had announced that he’d betrothed her. Sabrina had been in shock.

“You can’t be serious,” she’d told her father.

“I am most serious. You are twenty-two. More than of an age to marry.”

She’d glared at him. “I turned twenty-three last month. And this is the modern world. Not medieval Europe.”

“I am aware of the time and the country. You are my daughter. You will marry the man of my choosing because you are a Bahanian princess and alliances must be made.”

The man didn’t even know how old she was, so why on earth would she trust him to pick out a husband? She could only imagine the horrible old man with three wives and bad breath whom King Hassan would consider suitable.

For the past twenty-three years her father had been content to ignore her. While she’d spent every summer in the palace, he’d rarely spoken with her. Although he took his sons on trips, she had been left behind. And when she spent the school year with her mother in California, he never phoned or wrote. So why would he think that she would do what he wanted now?

Rather than stay and meet her troll prince, she’d escaped, hoping to find the City of Thieves. Instead she’d been captured by nomads. Maybe the troll prince wasn’t so bad.

“What are you thinking?”

The voice startled her. “That I need a vacation and this isn’t what I had in mind.”

She opened her eyes and saw her captor standing in front of her. He’d removed his headdress and outer robes. Dressed only in cotton trousers and a tunic, he should have looked less formidable. Unfortunately he did not.

He loomed like a deity, silhouetted by a beautiful, inky-black night sky. While she might not be completely comfortable in Bahania, she’d always admired the perfection of its stars. But tonight something other than twinkling lights captured her attention.

The man was tall. His thick dark hair was short and layered. In the darkness of the evening, his features blurred, although she saw a flash of white teeth when he smiled.

“You have the courage of a camel,” he told her.

“Gee, thanks. Camels aren’t brave.”

“Ah, so you know that much about the desert. Fine. How about the courage of a desert fox.”

“Don’t they run away all the time?”

He shrugged. “You see my point. Good.”

She had the most childish urge to stick her tongue out at him. Instead she took a deep breath and smelled something wonderful. Her stomach growled loudly as she realized he held a plate in one hand and a cup in the other.

“Dinner?” she asked cautiously, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

“Yes.” He crouched in front of her and set the plate and cup on the sand before helping her into a sitting position. “But can I trust you enough to untie you?”

It was all Sabrina could do not to throw herself at the food and start eating directly from the plate. Her mouth watered so much she had to swallow twice, and her throat ached at the thought of water.

“I swear I won’t try to run away.”

He settled next to her on the sand. “Why would I trust you? I don’t know anything about you except you have the sense of a flea.”

Her gaze narrowed. “I really hate all these animal comparisons. If you’re discussing the fact that I misplaced my horse and my camel, it’s not my fault. I tried to tether them when the sandstorm approached. I covered myself with a thick cloak and stayed low to the ground. I would say the fact that I survived the storm at all is a testament to my good sense.”

He did not appear the least bit impressed by her argument. “What about the fact that you’re in the desert by yourself?” He picked up the cup. “Or would you rather discuss the fact that you lost both your horse and your camel?”

“Not really,” she muttered, then leaned forward to sip from the cup he held out to her.

The water was cool and clean. She swallowed greedily, taking in the life-giving moisture. Never had anything tasted so sweet, so perfect.

When she finished the cup, he put it on the ground and picked up the plate.

She looked from the strips of meat and pieces of vegetables to his hands. “You aren’t seriously considering feeding me, are you?” She held up her bound wrists. “If you don’t want to untie me, at least let me feed myself.”

The thought of him touching her food was too weird. Although she was pretty hungry and he looked clean enough. Despite the heavy robes and the heat of the desert, the man in front of her didn’t smell.

“Allow me the privilege,” he said mockingly, and picked up a piece of meat.

She probably should have been brave and stubborn and refused. But her stomach was so very empty. Instead she leaned forward and took the meat from him, making sure her mouth never touched his fingers.

“I am Kardal,” he said as she chewed. “What is your name?”

She took her time in replying. After she’d swallowed, she licked her lips and stared eagerly at the plate. For reasons that weren’t completely clear to her, she didn’t want to tell him who she was.

“Sabrina,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t connect that name with Princess Sabra of Bahania. “You don’t sound like a nomad,” she said in an effort to distract him.

“Yet I am.” He offered her another piece of meat.

“You must have gone to school somewhere else. England? America?”

“Why do you say that?”

“The way you speak. Your word choices and syntax.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “What do you know of syntax?”

She chewed and swallowed. “Despite what you think, I’m not an idiot. I’ve studied. I know things.”

His dark eyes seemed to take possession of her soul. “What things, my desert bird?”

“I, ah—”

She was saved from having to answer by him feeding her a grilled bit of vegetable. This time, however, she wasn’t so very cautious and the side of his index finger touched her lower lip. At the moment of contact, something odd shifted inside of her. Food poisoning, she told herself. No doubt he’d laced the food with something horrible.

But she was hungry enough not to care. She continued eating until the plate was empty, then drank the second glass of water Kardal gave her. When they were finished, she expected him to return to the men sitting around the small fire. Instead he continued to sit across from her, studying her.

She wondered how bad she looked. Her hair was a tangled mess and she was sure she had smudges of dirt on her face from the sandstorm. Not that she wanted to be attractive for her captor. This was generic female vanity—nothing specific about the man in front of her.

“Who are you?” he said quietly, staring into her eyes. “Why were you alone in the desert?”

With food in her belly, she felt a little less vulnerable and scared. She thought about lying, but she’d never been very good at that. Refusing to answer might be an option, except there was something compelling about Kardal’s steady gaze. The easiest course of action was to tell the truth. Or at least part of it.

“I’m looking for the lost City of Thieves.”