Possessed by the Sheikh. PENNY JORDAN

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      It was now dark and lanterns had been lit to illuminate the scene that to Katrina looked like something from another world.

      The light from one of the lanterns glittered on the daggers as they were raised in clenched hands, and the sickening sounds of human combat echoed the thuds of bare feet on sand.

      She heard a low grunt of pain and heard the watching men roar in approval; above their heads she could see the hand holding a dagger aloft, the light catching the tiny droplets of blood that fell from it. Her stomach heaved. Was the man with the golden eyes badly wounded? Ridiculously, given all she already knew about him and all that she didn’t, her anxiety and concern were not for her own plight and safety, but for his, and she knew that had she been able to do so she would have rushed to his side.

      She heard another groan and another roar of approval, but this time it was the name ‘Tuareg’ the watching men were calling out in praise.

      The fight seemed to go on for ever, and Katrina was becoming increasingly sickened by the thought of such violence and cruelty. She was simply not programmed to find anything about physical violence acceptable, Katrina acknowledged. Her initial anxious need to see what was happening had been overlaid by relief that she was spared witnessing such a loathsome spectacle.

      But at last it was apparently over, the watching men cheering loudly as she was pulled through their ranks to where the two antagonists stood in front of El Khalid.

      Only one of the three men commanded her attention, though, and her stomach churned with a mixture of nausea and guilty relief as she heard the crowd chanting ‘Tuareg’ and saw that in his hands he was holding aloft both of the daggers, whilst his opponent slumped despondently beside him.

      But then he turned round and Katrina sucked in a shocked breath as she saw the blood-beaded wounds on his flesh. One had slit the taut skin of his face along his cheekbone and dangerously close to his eye, another was carved just above his heart, and blood was dripping from a third on his upper arm.

      A feeling of sick dizziness began to threaten her, but she ignored it, dragging her gaze away from the sweat-gilded expanse of taut male chest in front of her. Sulimen, in contrast, did not appear to have any wounds at all, which puzzled Katrina a little since ‘Tuareg’ was obviously the victor.

      ‘Here is your prize,’ she heard El Khalid telling him. ‘Take her.’

      Was it her imagination or was the slight bow her captor made in El Khalid’s direction more cynical than respectful? If so, no one else seemed to have thought so.

      He still hadn’t so much as acknowledged her presence, turning to toss El Khalid’s dagger back to him, and then turning back to lean forward and scoop up his discarded tunic.

      Out of the corner of her eye Katrina saw Sulimen go to sheathe his own dagger, but then terrifyingly, instead of doing so, he lunged violently towards her captor’s unprotected back, the dagger clenched in his raised hand.

      Katrina heard her own sharp sound of shocked warning, but it seemed something else must have alerted ‘Tuareg’ to the danger because he had already whirled round, and in a movement so fast that Katrina’s eyes could not follow it he had kicked out at Sulimen’s raised hand, dislodging the knife.

      Immediately three men seized Sulimen and dragged him away. As though nothing at all out of the ordinary had happened, her captor picked up his tunic and pulled it on before indicating with a brusque inclination of his head that she was to join him.

      ‘Come,’ he said peremptorily. He took such long strides that she had difficulty in keeping up with him, but the moment she reached his side he stopped walking and turned to look down at her.

      ‘You will not walk at my side, but behind me,’ he told her coldly.

      Katrina could hardly believe her ears. And as for walking behind him! The traumas she had endured were forgotten, in the full fury of her outraged female pride.

      ‘I will do no such thing,’ she refused hotly. ‘I am not your…your chattel…And besides, in Zuran men walk alongside their partners.’

      ‘This is not Zuran, it is the desert, and you are mine to do with as I choose, when and how I choose.’

      Without giving her the opportunity to answer him, he turned away and continued to walk swiftly towards the pitched tents, which were cleverly concealed from view in a protective natural enclosure of steep-sided rocky outcrops.

      Several fires had been started in a clearing in front of some of the tents and dark-robed women were stirring the contents of cooking pots. The rich smell of cooking food made Katrina realise just how long it was since she herself had eaten, and her stomach growled hungrily.

      Predictably, she felt, the tent her captor had led her to was set apart from the others.

      A battered-looking utility-type vehicle was parked alongside it and behind that his horse was tethered, happily munching on some food, watched over by a young boy. But Katrina wasn’t given any time to study her surroundings; a hard hand in the middle of her back was already pushing her into the tent.

      She had of course seen similar tents set up for display and educational purposes on a cultural education site in Zuran City, but she had never imagined she might occupy one of them! Several lamps cast a soft glow over the tent’s main living area, with its richly patterned carpets and traditional divan. There were several cushions on the floor and a low wooden table with a coffee pot on it.

      All at once the events of the day caught up with her and reaction swamped her, causing exhausted tears to fill her eyes.

      ‘What are you crying for? Your lover? I doubt he is wasting any tears on you, to judge by the speed with which he abandoned you.’

      Katrina stared at him. ‘Richard is not my lover! He’s a married man…’

      ‘But of course. Otherwise, why would he bring you to such a remote place?’ A cynical smile hardened the narrowed eyes.

      ‘I did not allow him. He…he forced me…’

      ‘Of course he did!’ he agreed mockingly.

      Katrina lifted her head and looked challengingly at him.

      ‘Why are you pretending to be a Tuareg when it is obvious that you are not—?’

      ‘Silence!’ he commanded her angrily.

      ‘No. I will not be silent. I remember you from the alleyway in Zuran City, even if you don’t.’

      She gave a small breathless gasp as his hand closed hard over her mouth, a menacing look glittering in his eyes as he bent towards her and said softly, ‘You will be silent.’

      Katrina had had enough! She had been kidnapped, bullied, threatened, and now this! Angrily she bit sharply into the hand covering her mouth, more shocked by the salt taste of his blood than by the savagery of the oath he uttered as he wrenched away from her.

      ‘Woman, you are a hell-cat!’ he stormed as he frowned down at the tiny pinpricks of blood on the soft pad of flesh just below his thumb. ‘But no way will I allow you to poison me with your venom! Clean it.’

      Katrina stared at him in disbelief, her face starting to burn. What СКАЧАТЬ