Desert Rogues Part 2 (62 page)

“Damn her stubbornness,” he muttered as he quickly pulled on his boots.

Still buttoning his shirt, he hurried to his horse and went after her.

But her head start and her mount's speed meant it would be several minutes before Murat could catch up with her. By then she had already turned toward the east and the rocky part of the desert.

“Do not go there,” Murat yelled into the wind. “Stay on the path.”

But Daphne either could not hear or chose not to listen. Instead of staying on the marked dirt road cut into the desert, she headed directly toward the stables in what she most likely thought would be a quicker route back.

His heart rate increased, and it had nothing to do with the speed of his horse. Instead he watched and worried until fear turned to horror as Daphne's horse came to a sudden stop and she went flying over its head and landed heavily on the hard, stony ground.

M
urat lived an eternity in hell, with time crawling as he raced toward Daphne. He fumbled for his security beacon and pressed it in rapid, frantic movements, signaling an emergency. It seemed that days passed, weeks, until he could vault off his horse and crouch down beside her.

Daphne lay on the rocky ground, her legs bent beneath her, her arm thrown over her face.

He lowered it gently, then sucked in a breath as he saw her still, pale face and the pool of blood on the ground.

“No,” he said to whomever would listen. “You will be fine. You must be fine.”

But she did not respond, and when he touched her cheek, her skin felt cold.

Pain filled him, and fury. That such a simple mistake could cause so much damage. Then he shook off all emotion and quickly went to work examining her.

The only external bleeding came from her head and it had already begun to slow. He could not assess internal injuries but her pulse was steady and strong. If only she would awaken and start yelling at him again. If only…

The distant sound of a helicopter cut through the silence of the desert. Murat rose and waved it in, shielding her with his body when the blades kicked up dust and sand.

“She is injured,” he yelled to his men. “I cannot tell how badly. We'll have to be careful of her neck and spine.”

He waited until the men brought out the emergency equipment and went to work securing her before calling the stable and telling them about his horse and hers. His stallion was trained not to wander far, but her mount could be halfway to El Bahar by now.

When she had been carried into the helicopter, he joined her and took her hand in his.

“I command you to be healed,” he murmured, his face close to hers, his breath stirring her hair. “I am Crown Prince Murat, and I command that you open your eyes and speak to me right now.”

Nothing happened. Murat swallowed hard, then pressed his lips to her cheek. “Daphne,
please.
”

 

Murat paced the length of the main room in the harem. In the bedroom his personal physician recon-firmed what the doctors at the emergency room had told him. Murat tried to find a measure of peace in the knowledge that there were no internal injuries, no broken bones.

“She was very lucky,” his father said from his place on the sofa. “I never thought of Daphne as a foolish young woman. To go riding off like that. You must have annoyed her.”

Murat continued to watch the bedroom door. “I do so on a regular basis. It is one of my great talents.” Only this time it had had too great a price.

Never again, he thought. He would not permit her to act so hastily. Left on her own, she could seriously hurt herself.

“I will stay while the doctor examines her if you wish to shower and change,” the king said.

“No,” Murat said immediately, then drew in a breath. “Thank you, Father, but I will stay. She is my fiancée, my responsibility.”

“I see.”

He doubted the king saw much, and nothing of consequence. This was Daphne. She could not be permitted to die.

At last his doctor appeared. The older man smiled.

“Good news,” he said as he crossed to Murat. “It is as the other doctors told you. She has a mild concussion and some slight trauma to the brain. She will stay unconscious for a few hours, maybe a day. Then she should awaken and begin the recovery process. Within a week she will be as good as new.”

“Is she in pain?” he asked.

“Not now, but when she wakes she will have a bad headache. I've left some medication to help with that. Once she's awake, keep her in bed for a couple of days, then she should take it easy for the rest of the week. I, of course, will be back in the morning and each day until she is fit again.”

Murat nodded. “Thank you.”

The doctor touched his arm. “Your fiancée will live to give you many healthy children, Your Highness. Fear not.”

Murat heard the words, but he could not let the fear go. Not until she opened her eyes and started calling him names again.

He concluded his business with the doctor, wrote down the rest of the instructions, then hurried into the bedroom. Daphne lay in the center of the bed, hooked up to several monitors. A nurse sat in the corner. The king followed.

When Murat nodded at the nurse, she stood and quickly retreated to the living room.

“Daphne will be fine,” his father said. “You heard the doctor. A nurse will be here twenty-four hours a day until she wakes up.”

“No.” Murat moved closer to the bed and reached for Daphne's hand. “I will be here. The nurse can wait in the living room in case there is an emergency. But until she wakes, I will tend to her.”

“Murat.”

He glared at his father. “No one but me.”

The king nodded slowly. “As you wish.”

There was only one wish, Murat thought grimly. That Daphne open her eyes.

Now,
he willed her.
Look at me now.
But she slept on, unaware of his command. Even in illness she defied him. Pray God she lived to defy him another day.

 

Daphne felt as if someone was banging on her head with a frying pan. She remembered a frat party she'd gone to years ago while she'd been in college. She generally avoided loud parties with alcohol, but fresh from her broken engagement, she felt the need to participate in something fun and mind numbing.

So she'd gone with a couple of girlfriends and had stayed up way too late and had had too much spiked punch. In the morning she'd found herself with the mother of all hangovers and had basically wanted to die.

This was worse.

She struggled through what felt like miles of thick, sticky water, before finally surfacing. She felt bruised and sore everywhere, but it was her head that got her attention the most. Even her eyebrows hurt.

She was also, she realized, starving and in bed. The thing was, she didn't remember going to bed. She didn't remember much of anything except…

The horses. She'd been riding. She'd been angry at Murat and she'd gone on ahead, determined not to speak to him again, and then she'd been flying through the air and falling and falling and…

She opened her eyes to find herself back in the bedroom she'd been using in the harem. The walls were familiar, as was the furniture. Lamps illuminated the large space.

She glanced around, relaxing as the rest of her memory returned, only to stiffen when she saw a strange man dozing in a chair next to her bed.

He was big—tall and powerful—-she could tell that even while he slept. But his hair was mussed and dark stubble darkened his jaw.

A quick glance at the clock told her the time was two. The lamplight made her think it was probably two in the morning, and turning her head increased the pounding to the point of being unbearable.

She sagged back against the pillow and studied the man. In a matter of seconds she recognized the shape of his firm jaw and mouth, the breadth of his shoulders.

“Murat?” she whispered.

Was it possible? In all the time she'd known him, both ten years ago and present day, she had never seen him anything but perfectly groomed. Why did he look so mussed, and why did he sleep in a chair beside her bed?

One of his hands lay on the blanket. She reached out and rested her fingers against his palm.

He woke instantly and glanced at her. His eyes widened.

“Daphne?”

“Hey.”

He leaned forward and studied her anxiously. “How do you feel? Your head will hurt—the doctor warned me about that. I have medication for you. And if you're hungry, you can eat, but only lightly for the first day or so. You are not to get up, either. I know you can be stubborn, but I insist you follow the doctor's orders. Rest for two days, then you may begin to resume your normal activities through the end of the week. I will not accept any arguments on this matter.”

Despite her aching head, she couldn't help smiling. “Of course you won't. Because this is all about you, right?”

He took her hand in both of his and kissed her fingers. “No. It is about you getting well.”

His tenderness made her want to cry, which only went to show that her head injury had affected her brain.

She squeezed his hand. “How long have I been out?”

“Thirty five hours and—” he glanced at the clock “—eight minutes.”

“Wow. What happened?”

“You were thrown from your horse.”

“I remember that.” She reached up with her free hand and gingerly touched the raised bump on her scalp. “I guess I fell headfirst.”

“You did. I was concerned you had hurt yourself elsewhere, but you are fine. No broken bones, no internal injuries.”

She returned her attention to him, then pulled her hand free and rubbed his cheek. The thick whiskers there grated against her skin.

“You look terrible.”

He smiled. “For a good cause.”

She studied his shirt and pants. “You were wearing those clothes when we went riding.”

“Yes.”

“You haven't showered or shaved since?”

“I wanted to be with you.”

She blinked. “I don't understand.”

“I have been here, with you, since we returned from the hospital.”

Her head felt as if it might explode, yet she didn't feel disconnected from the conversation. Which meant she should understand what Murat was saying.

“In that chair?” she asked, trying not to sound incredulous.

“Yes.”

“Beside me.”

“Yes.”

“Because you were…”

“Worried.”

He kissed her fingers again.

Something warm and bright blossomed in her chest. Murat didn't have to stay here to watch over her. She was in his palace and completely safe. He could have an entire hospital medical team at his disposal and yet he'd stayed with her himself.

“I don't know what to say,” she admitted.

“Then do not speak. There is a nurse in the other room. Let me call her to bring you the medication for your headache.”

Her stomach growled.

He smiled again. “And perhaps some soup.”

He rose and crossed to the doorway. As she watched him go, Daphne had to admit that she might have been a little hasty in her judgment of Murat. Sure he acted all in charge and “my way or the highway” but his actions told her something far different and far more important.

He
cared
about her. When he thought she might be in danger, he stayed by her side. What about his meetings? His princely duties? Had he neglected them all while she'd been out of it?

She relaxed back against the pillow and sighed. She'd been so busy resisting his demands that she'd never taken the time to get to know the man inside. Maybe it was time to change that. Maybe—

The nurse appeared in the doorway. She listened while Murat spoke, nodded and left. Seconds later she reappeared with a small plastic container in her hands.

“Take two,” she said. “I will order the soup.”

Murat carried the medicine over to the bed, then helped Daphne into a sitting position. She felt her head swim, but forced herself to stay upright long enough to swallow the pills. He eased her back onto the bed.

“You will feel better soon,” he told her.

“Thank you.”

He resumed his seat and took her hand again. “My father was here for a time. He, too, was worried.”

“That was very nice of him.”

The nurse walked back into the room. “I have ordered a light meal,” she said. “It will be here in about ten minutes.”

Daphne winced. “I just realized the time. You had to wake someone, didn't you?”

The nurse, an attractive woman in her late forties, only smiled. “The staff was delighted to hear you are awake, Your Highness. No one minded the late hour.”

“You're very kind, but—” Daphne froze as her mind replayed the woman's words. “I'm sorry. What did you call me?”

The nurse frowned slightly. “Your Highness.” She glanced at Murat. “I was sure that was the right address. Am I incorrect, sir?”

He shook his head. “You did well. Now if you would please go wait for the meal?”

“Of course.”

The woman left.

Daphne stared after her. A thousand thoughts bombarded her bruised brain and made it impossible for her to think clearly.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Murat,” she began.

“Do not trouble yourself,” he told her. “All will be well.”