Lord of the Desert (13 page)

“So Hassan told me,” she returned, nodding when his eyebrows rose. “Yes, I heard all about what happened on the airplane! My Lady is not safely left alone with you,
sidi,
and it will be my chore to keep her chastity intact until the ceremony takes place. Whether you like it or not!”

“I won't like it,” Philippe assured her, but his eyes were twinkling as they met Gretchen's. “Third time lucky,
mademoiselle,
” he added to Gretchen in a low undertone, and chuckled when she blushed.

He left the apartment, and Leila helped Gretchen back into her gown and
djellabah,
frowning. “What means this third time?”

“An idiom,” she told the Arab woman. “And never mind what it means,” she added primly but with a smile.

“That man is a menace,” Leila said, shaking her head. “And to think I trusted him alone with you!”

Gretchen didn't say a word, but she could only imagine how it flattered Philippe to be thought of as a potential seducer. Leila's fierce protection had amused and delighted him, for reasons the Arab servant could never imagine.

Remembering the fierce arousal of his lean body and the increased urgency of his embrace, Gretchen had very little doubt that one day soon she was going to learn all the secrets of the bedchamber. She could hardly wait for the wedding ceremony that would make Philippe her own. If she could seduce him, the mysterious Brianne would never be able to hold his affections. And she was going to seduce him. By any means, by all means, possible!

 

A week went by very quickly while Gretchen learned her way around the enormous palace and got to know the people who served in it. She felt sorry for the poor servants who had to wash down the walls. They used bleach, and it made their hands raw. She complained about this to Philippe, who provided them with rubber gloves. She found one of the women in the kitchen barely able to stand, sick with some female problem, and this problem, too, she insisted on addressing. A doctor was sent for and the woman was treated and given sick leave.

There were other problems she noticed, to the amusement of her future husband. She found the working hours too stringent and the lack of day care facilities and kindergarten worrying. She met with the servants at the end of a particularly long day with a translator Philippe provided, and she listened to their shy requests with patience. Each one was given a chance to speak, even the long-suffering cook who had no modern tools or appliances to produce the delicious French dishes Philippe preferred. The household manager was at first resentful and appalled at the interference of a foreign woman in such business. But as Gretchen accomplished remarkable changes in working conditions, he soon looked upon her as an ally and even conspired with her to have china replaced and new linen ordered for the tables.

Nor did she stop at the household. She found children playing in the dirt with sticks. There were no toys, and there was no place to play. With the translator, she went to the small, meticulously clean houses that filled the kasbah and gathered the mothers together. Most of them worked at making textiles for the palace and its occupants, but there was no one to look after the children. They played outside in the dirt, because there was no other facility. She went back and told Philippe, and asked for a proper fenced playground and a supervisor to watch them while their mothers worked. A kindergarten, she added, was going to be a necessity, and it must have a capable educator to run it.

Philippe agreed, all but shell-shocked at the change in her since her arrival. She seemed to be everywhere, watching, listening, learning. She saw things that needed changing and went right to work changing them. She became mature under his very eyes. She was charming his household. She was charming him, as well. He wanted her more each day, but Leila managed to keep him from Gretchen except for rare occasions in the evenings. And now, she refused to leave the room when he entered Gretchen's apartment.

Philippe glared at the woman with her embroidery in her lap, and said something to her in their language.

Unperturbed, Leila grinned at him and went right on with her embroidery.

“We leave for Wadi Agadir in two days,” he told Gretchen. “By then, the first of your new things should be delivered to the palace. Leila will come with you on the journey.”

“A caravan?” Gretchen asked enthusiastically. “Camels and horses…?”

He chuckled. “A Land Rover,” he corrected. His eyes twinkled at her disappointment. “I am a city man,” he said lazily, darting a warning glance at Leila, whose mouth was open. “Why should I suffer the discomfort of riding on a camel when I can travel in comfort?”

“I read too many novels, and watch too many Valentino movies,” Gretchen confessed sheepishly. “I'm sure that traveling in a Land Rover will be an experience, too.”

“This entire trip will be an experience. One which I expect neither of us will ever forget,” he added softly. He lifted her hand to his mouth. “I must retire. Sleep well.”

“You, too. Thank you for not minding.”

“Minding what?” he asked, curious.

“I've been making waves around the palace,” she confessed. “I'm sorry I've caused you so much trouble. Perhaps I should have stayed in my quarters…”

Leila was laughing uproarously. So was Philippe.

“The cook makes those little almond pastries you enjoy so much with his own hands—a man whom his underlings call ‘Napoleon.' The washwomen use the most expensive perfumes on your clothing. The children swarm around you whenever they see you. My own valet carried a pot of orchids stolen right out of my father's conservatory—an offense for which he could have been beheaded once—and put them in your sitting room. Trouble? I live in constant apprehension, wondering if a servant who brings your tea late may slit his own throat for fear of offending you!”

“It is so, my Lady,” Leila agreed, chuckling at Gretchen's stunned expression. “The household loves you.”

“They've all been so kind,” she replied. “I felt I must do something for them.”

Leila got to her feet, still smiling. “It is not hard to be kind to such a woman.” She gave the sheikh a wry glance. “I shall have to change my thread. But I will only be gone for a very short time,
sidi,
” she warned firmly.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Then I shall be thankful for even a short time.”

Leila bowed and smiled wickedly at Gretchen as she went from the room.

Philippe held out his arms and Gretchen went into them, pressing close, her ear at his chest, listening to the heavy, hard beat of his heart.

“I have been thinking about this desert trip,” he said at her temple. “Perhaps I should leave you here.”

“But why?” She drew back and looked up at him. “Have you changed your mind, about wanting to get married?”

He touched her soft mouth with his forefinger, watching it intently. “Never that,” he said quietly. “But I have second thoughts, serious ones, about taking you into a situation that may prove more dangerous than I anticipated.”

“I'm not afraid,” she told him.

“Neither am I, for myself. But you would be at risk.”

“Are just the two of us going, then?” she teased.

“Impossible woman!” he said with a mock growl, and bent to kiss her hungrily. “No, my bodyguard will go as well, and there will be many representatives of the tribes in residence. We make a formidable force when we unite.”

She was worried. “You sound as if you're getting ready for war.”

“I may be,” he said, surprising her. His face was unusually somber. “I have spent this week collecting intelligence from my spies. Brauer is in Salid, the country on my northern border. I have proof of it. He has collected a small band of cutthroats who will do murder for a price, and he contemplates his next action camped at my border. I cannot allow him to stay.”

“How will you make him leave?” she asked, worried. “He has automatic weapons and things, doesn't he?”

He nodded. “Plastic explosive, rocket launchers, land mines and grenades. He has friends who owe him favors, and his credit is good with most of the major arms dealers. If he can start a war, he can recoup his losses in commissions for arms sales. With the current political situation, he might just manage it unless I can stop him in time.”

“What can I do to help?” she asked simply.

He brought her forehead to his lips. “If you plan to heft a rocket launcher and march along with me, forget it.”

She chuckled. “I couldn't shoot one, but I can use a rope and shoot. Marc taught me how. And I can ride anything with four legs.”

“Skills that may prove useful,” he agreed. He drew away and searched her soft green eyes. “If only Leila could lose her way here…” He bent to catch Gretchen's warm mouth with his own. He enfolded her in his hard arms and strained her to him, feeling the quicksilver response of his body to her silky warmth. She was already like a part of him.

“And here I have returned,” came a familiar, cheerful voice from the doorway, followed in by its owner.

Philippe glared at her. “After the ceremony,” he informed her, “if you come within a hundred meters of us, I will have you substitute for the target on my firing range.”

“And then who will draw my Lady's bath?” came the amused reply. “And who will arrange her things and care for her wardrobe and make her beautiful for you?”

Philippe touched Gretchen's soft cheek. “She doesn't need to be made beautiful. She already is.”

“She will need her sleep to remain so. Good night,
sidi,
” she said pointedly.

“You forget that I am lord here,” he agreed, staring at her. “My word is law.”

“Indeed it is,
sidi,
in any other part of the palace. But in here, you are a trespasser and the final word is mine, not yours. Good night, my lord!”

Philippe threw up his hands. He glanced at Gretchen with wry resignation and turned, muttering in Arabic all the way out the door.

Leila giggled. “I have been here for many years,” she told Gretchen. “But never have I heard the
sidi
laugh. All the servants speak of this change in him since your arrival, my Lady. You have enchanted him.”

“I'm the one who's been enchanted, I think,” came the absent reply. She was still looking toward the door he'd left through. “It's like a fairy tale come true. I never dreamed that a man like that would ever look twice at someone as plain as me.”

“Plain. Ha! You have the inner beauty as few others I have ever known,” Leila said softly. “And it is this to which my lord responds. You will be a fine wife for him, my Lady. You will give him many strong sons!”

“That would be lovely,” Gretchen said, turning. She would carry on that part of the charade, willingly, but she knew there would be no children. It was sad to think of it. Of course, there were plenty of children at court, and she was going to be very much involved in their care and education. Perhaps it would make up for the lack of them in her own life. The alternative was to leave Philippe and find a man who could give her children, but the thought was unbearable. Whatever happened now, her life was inextricably merged with his. It was truly fate, and she bowed to it eagerly.

T
hree days later, the big white Land Rover was sitting at the side steps to the palace, being loaded by servants with supplies. Behind it were several camels bearing carpets and household goods. Gretchen was almost jumping with excitement, because among those goods was her wedding costume, handmade by the palace seamstresses. She was going into the desert to marry the man she'd never expected to meet, much less to love. Even if the ceremony had no relevance anywhere else in the world, in Qawi she would be Philippe's wife. At least, until he decided to send her away. She wanted so desperately to belong to him, in such a way that he wouldn't be able to let her go, ever.

Philippe, like herself, was wearing khakis. She'd expected him to don traditional robes for the journey, but his eyes had twinkled and he'd informed her that he was much too Westernized to like traditional clothing. One of his bodyguards had almost tripped over his own feet while listening to this remark, but Gretchen's eyes had been on the camels, so she hadn't noticed.

There had also been a heated argument between Philippe and his father. Gretchen had assumed that it was about the marriage. But while the supplies were being loaded, Leila came to tell her that the old sheikh, Philippe's father, wanted to see her. She was faintly apprehensive about it, because she knew he didn't like her. She'd been careful to stay out of his way, although she couldn't resist an occasional trip to see his beautiful orchids—when nobody was looking, of course. She wondered if he knew that she'd been invading his conservatory and was angry.

Leila led her to the huge greenhouse that adjoined the palace. The old sheikh turned at her entrance, his eyes disapproving of her figure-enhancing long tan safari skirt and matching blouse and hat that she wore with knee-high boots. The traveling outfit had been part of the new wardrobe Philippe had ordered for her, and the single ensemble that pleased her most.

“No
aba,
” he said curtly, indicating her lack of the traditional overgarment.

She sighed and smiled. “No. I'm sorry, I forgot. I grew up on a ranch in Texas, you see, so I usually wear jeans and T-shirts. Even this is dressy, for me…”

He said something she was glad she couldn't translate. “You mock me,” he accused.

“No,” she said gently. “Not at all. You don't know me. I'm not sarcastic and I don't try to hurt other people. I was telling you the truth. I'm an absolute dunce when it comes to dress and social behavior. You mustn't worry,” she added solemnly. “Philippe is only marrying me in a tribal ceremony. It won't even be binding, except in your country. He won't be stuck with me.”

“Stuck?”

She shook her head. Nobody in this country understood English idioms. She was going to have to relearn how to speak her own language properly. “He won't have to stay married to me,” she corrected. “I know that he needs to marry a woman of his own background and status when he does it for real.” She colored a little. “He has…other reasons for going through this ceremony with me,” she added, embarrassed.

His eyes narrowed. He still hadn't smiled. “It is not right,” he said shortly.

She shrugged. “You stop him, then,” she said. “I've told him that he doesn't have to marry me.”

“He doesn't listen to me, either,” he muttered. He turned back to his orchids with an odd movement of his shoulders. “Go with him, then.” His eyes caught hers. “But make sure the bodyguards are close by, always.” He motioned her closer, watching warily for any sign of other people before he leaned toward her and spoke earnestly. “One of the servants ran away this morning, one of the household staff assigned to my brother,” he said very quietly. “I think that this is no coincidence. Someone is watching Philippe's movements.”

“Do you think the servant might be connected to the man Philippe helped put in prison?” she asked. “The man Philippe told me about?”

“Kurt Brauer,” the old man agreed coldly. “Very possibly. He lost money and prestige and he seeks to regain both at my son's expense. I have tried to convince Philippe that the army and our long-range weapons are best suited to deal with this border dispute, but he will not hear me. He said that Brauer could use it against him if he sent the army and remained behind. The rural clan chiefs might see it as a sign of weakness and join the invaders.” He raised a hand when she opened her mouth. “And he is right. I withdrew my objections, but not my concern. He is lax about his personal security. You tell Bojo that I want my son watched night and day, regardless of what he says!”

“I will,” she promised, and her eyes narrowed. “Can someone loan me a pistol?”

His eyebrows arched. “Mademoiselle?”

“I'm a dead shot,” she explained, recalling that she'd lied about that once to Philippe. “My brother is in law enforcement. He taught me to shoot. If all else fails, and Philippe won't let Bojo keep close, I'll sit up every night at the end of Philippe's bed and guard him myself.”

He didn't speak for so long that she wondered if he might not have heard her. He was studying her intently, his heavy white brows drawn together in a puzzled frown. Suddenly the frown vanished, and his whole expression softened. “You love my son,” he said slowly.

Her faint color was betrayal enough without the immediate averting of her eyes. “I'm fond of him,” she corrected gruffly.

“You love him.” He drew in a slow breath. “I have misunderstood everything,” he said after a minute. “It all begins to make sense to me, now. I had wondered, you see,” he added when she glanced at him quizzically, “why a young American woman would be so eager to go along with a rather shameful charade that would put her moral character at risk. But if you love him,” he continued softly, “and he is willing to risk a war to keep you with him…”

“Risk a war?” she interrupted.

“My brother has threatened him with civil war if he goes through with this wedding ceremony, but Philippe will not hear of canceling it, even of postponing it.” He began to smile as her eyes widened with surprise. “And he wants you. Perhaps there are forces at work here that medical science cannot explain, hmm?”

She went scarlet, and the old man began to chuckle. “Go to the desert and get married,” he murmured. “All the doctors in Europe could not cure him, but I think that you will.” He shook his head. “And I thought he was out of his mind.”

“He still is,” she said. “Listen, you can't let him do this if it will cause a war. I won't be responsible for people getting killed!”

“It was a bad joke. Nobody will get killed,” he told her. “My brother makes a great deal of noise, but he is frightened of my son. As most of the tribal leaders are,” he added. “Few have dared to provoke his anger in recent years.”

“Philippe?” She frowned. “But he's such a gentle man…why are you laughing?”

“He may be gentle with you, my girl,” he said gleefully. “Ask him sometime how he came to happen upon that land mine in Palestine.”

She blinked. “I did. He told me it was an accident. He just stepped on it while he was there on a business trip.”

He gave her a wise, steady look. “And you think a man on a business trip to the city would walk over a land mine on the sidewalks, I suppose?”

That had never occurred to her. Many cities suffered war damage, but it would be difficult to lay land mines on sidewalks. Why hadn't she questioned that when Philippe first told her about it?

A horn sounded impatiently. “Your intended grows impatient,” the old sheikh said with a smile. “One moment.” He raised his voice and called to a servant, spoke to him rapidly, and sent him running. That servant spoke to another, and he went toward the entrance. Seconds later, the first servant came running back with a bundle of cloth.

The old sheikh took it, unrolled it, and produced a Colt .45 single action revolver, fully loaded, and a box of cartridges. He wrapped it back up and handed it to Gretchen. “A present from one of your heads of state, who never imagined that it would ever be put to such a use,” he chuckled. “Go with God, child.”

“I will. And I'll take care of your son.”

He pursed his lips. “You think he requires a nursemaid, hmm?”

She shrugged and smiled a little sheepishly. “Well, he's not really the rugged sort. He's a sophisticated city man. And I shoot straight.”

The old man's dark eyes were dancing with glee. He looked as if he could barely contain it. “Go,” he said, waving her away. “When you return, we will speak of orchids, at great length. I think by then you will have a good knowledge of how deceptive appearances can be.”

She wanted to ask what he meant, but the horn sounded again. She made him a neat bow, turned, and ran toward the side entrance with her bundle held tight under one arm.

“Where have you been?” Philippe demanded hotly. “We must make the oasis before the sun is high.”

“Sorry,” she said, indicating the bundle. “Forgot my undies.”

His expression was priceless. She tucked the bundle in her bag and got into the Land Rover beside him in the back. Bojo gave them both a grin as he got in under the wheel, with “Elvis” at his side. They were all wearing khakis and black boots. Philippe's hat matched hers. Bojo and “Elvis” were wearing skullcaps. Everyone had sunglasses, even Gretchen. Philippe had ordered designer ones from America, and she wore them with a flair. She wondered what her brother Marc would think if he knew she was riding shotgun for a sheikh with a borrowed Colt .45 in a Land Rover. She had to fight laughing out loud at the absurdity of it. She must be careful not to let Philippe think she was protecting him, of course. She didn't want to embarrass him.

 

“Where were you?” Philippe asked when they were underway.

“Your father wanted to tell me something,” she said. “One of the household servants, one of your uncle's, ran away this morning. He thought it suspicious.”

He lifted an eyebrow and exchanged a complicated look with Bojo in the front seat. “My uncle is fond of creating complications. This one could be the undoing of him,” he added in a softly menacing tone. He snapped something at Bojo in Arabic and gestured with one lean hand.

Bojo produced a cell phone and tossed it to him. It didn't look like the phones Gretchen had seen at home. It had all sorts of buttons and two screens. He pushed a button, noticing her puzzled look.

“GPS,” he said. When she frowned, he added, “It contains a global positioning function. With this, I can find my exact location wherever I am, even in the high desert. It enables me to send targeting coordinates to a remote outpost, in case Brauer has more sophisticated equipment than I give him credit for.”

“Targeting coordinates.” She nodded, but she wasn't getting it at all.

“Gretchen,” he said patiently, “I can call an air strike if I have to. We do have an air force here, and long range missiles, even if our military lacks the sophistication of the United States.”

“Oh!” She laughed with pure embarrassment. “Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking.”

He shook his head and punched buttons on the unit. “Now, I can triangulate on the oasis…here…and get an estimate of travel time. Yes, we should make it there on schedule.” He shot another question at Bojo, who replied in Arabic. Philippe nodded and tossed the cell phone back to him. Bojo caught it neatly without even looking at it.

Something was definitely going on. She wondered if Philippe was already in contact with his military forces and planned to let them attack Brauer, while making it appear that he was going there to do it himself. If so, there must be someone watching them even now. She felt cold chills run down her spine. She glanced toward Philippe. Well, one thing was for sure. She wasn't going to let anything happen to him, if it meant sitting up for a week with that Colt in her hands!

“There has been another development, one I haven't shared with you,” Philippe said a few miles down the road. “Brauer sent an assassin to Paris and an attempt was made on the life of Brianne Hutton.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “The woman you told me about, the one with the little boy?”

“Yes,” he said through his teeth. “I only learned of it this morning. I have sent a small unit to accompany her and the child here while Hutton and his security chief round up the would-be assassin.”

“Wouldn't the police be the people to do that?” she asked.

“I trust no one with her life. Not even her husband,” he said shortly. “He was reluctant to let her come, but he knows she and the child will be safer with me than with him at the moment. The palace is all but impregnable. I can protect her.”

“Should we be going into the desert now?” she asked, her heart sinking at the thought of Brianne in residence in Qawi. Knowing how Philippe felt about the woman, she knew that her own place in his life would be insignificant after this trip. Ceremony or not, she would be no match for the beautiful, elegant Mrs. Hutton.

“She arrives in five days,” he said. “It will take that long to make the proper arrangements. Hutton is taking no chance with transport. He's having one of his own jets, and his bodyguard, bring her here. But first he wants to eliminate any chance of sabotage, so there will be elaborate details.” He looked worried. “I sent members of my own bodyguard to assist them. Hutton has a new security chief and I don't know him. I'm sorry Tate Winthrop left, but his wife was uneasy having him in the middle of firefights, especially since the birth of their son.”