Taken by Storm (ROMANTIC REALMS COLLECTION) (12 page)

“Let me go! Just let me go,” Bashea cried, her tears finally taking her. She broke free and ran to her tent.

Jahmeel stood, too.

“You go find Ladarius and make sure he knows we are not happy with him,” Bagrat told him. Jahmeel grunted his understanding. “I think I need to go and apologize to Prince Tahj.”

* * *

Tahj sat on the edge of his cot, elbows on his knees, fidgeting with a signet ring on his finger, sliding it up and down in an agitated manner.

“Prince Tahj?” a voice called from outside of his tent
. Tahj recognized it as belonging to Bagrat.

“What do you want?” he said darkly, continuing to stare absently at the ring.

Bagrat pulled the tent flap back and entered, glancing around the tent, anywhere, but into Tahj’s eyes. “I’ve come to…apologize.”

Tahj looked up. This was interesting. “Apologize for what?”

“For encouraging Ladarius to…to…” He gestured vaguely, moving his hands in wide circles.

“To what?” Tahj asked, confused.

“What are your intentions toward my little sister?” Bagrat blurted.

“My intentions toward…” Tahj repeated slowly.

“Your intentions toward my sister. What are your intentions toward my sister?” Bagrat repeated, irritated and seeming a bit uncomfortable with the conversation now.

“I…” Tahj drew the word out thoughtfully, stalling for time. “I have no idea.”

Bagrat laughed heartily. “Well, I guess that’s an honest enough answer.” He came and sat down next to Tahj on his bed, within the circle of the light from his lantern, which sat on an upended crate nearby. “But what are your feelings toward her? Surely you can describe those?”

“I think she’s great. I think she’s wonderful. She’s beautiful…” Tahj saw Bagrat’s eyes narrow at that, and decided to move on to other territory. “She’s strong-hearted-I admire that.” The more he talked, the more Tahj warmed to his subject. “She cares deeply for others. She can make me crazy, though,” he said, almost without thinking. He looked up quickly.

Again Bagrat laughed, long and low, slapping Tahj’s knee. “You are saying nothing that I do not already know. I have lived with her for many years.” He chuckled. “She’s a tough one, to be certain.” He paused, contemplating. “She makes you crazy,” he repeated. “I used to say the same thing about my Dara. Still do, in fact.” He winked at Tahj and rose to leave. He stopped in the doorway. “You won’t hurt her?”

“I’ll do my best not to,” Tahj answered quickly.

“Good, good,” Bagrat answered, his face more relaxed than Tahj had ever seen it. “Because if you did—”

“You and Jahmeel would have to kill me.”

“Exactly.” He paused. “You know what? I like you,” he added. “And, even though it made me as mad as a jackal, walking around for an hour and a half in the midday sun searching for lost lambs which weren’t lost at all, I thought that was funny, what you did today.”

Tahj grinned. “Thanks.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good then, good night.”

“Good night, Bagrat. Bashea is lucky to have a brother like you.”

“Hmph.” He grunted. “I doubt that is true after all she has been through.” And with that he ducked under the flap of the tent and left Tahj to his own thoughts.

Tahj lay back in his bed, resting his head on folded arms, feeling better than before. So it would seem Bagrat put that fellow up to what he did. Although Tahj was certain Bagrat would not approve of his exact actions. That meant Bashea, perhaps, hadn’t encouraged it.

He closed his eyes, thinking about the magical way Bashea’s hips moved as she stood in front of him, her eyes aglow. He could almost hear the beat of the music again, like a charm, seducing each sensuous movement she made out of her, wrapping around each lovely curve of her body and swaying with her compellingly. He was pretty sure Bagrat wouldn’t approve of the thoughts he was having now, but Bagrat wasn’t there anymore.

* * *

Sometime later, Tahj awoke in the dark. The flapping of his tent door created a loud noise, and a stiff breeze had blown his lantern out. As he lay trying to fall back to sleep, he was disturbed by the sound of the sides of the tent, whose violent vibrations were created by the wind’s gusts. As nasty as a sand storm could be in the desert, a storm in the mountains could be murderous as well. He heard a crash somewhere in camp and recognized the sound of glass breaking. He decided to get up and see if anyone needed help.

As he stepped out into the night, Tahj realized the storm was a lot worse than he’d imagined from the relative protection of his bed.
This was more than your common desert storm. Anything that hadn’t been battened down was being tossed about and thrown against rocks and the sides of tents, or anything else hindering its progress. The rain was being held at bay at present, but Tahj imagined when it was released it would drive into the hillside like hurled spears.

Tahj leaned into the wind and fought his way forward, noting piles of broken crates leaning against his neighbor’s tent and firewood yards from where the fire had been set up. Luckily the tribesmen always made certain the fire was totally out before going to bed, in the event something like this should happen. The wind was sharp and stung his face, and muscles screamed as he struggled ahead, already fatigued from the day’s work.

Over the howling of the wind, he heard a couple of men shouting orders to each other as they tried to secure the sides of a larger tent near the center of camp. He heard the sound of a baby crying and saw a colorful blanket take flight ahead of him. Moving as quickly as he could against the force of the gale, Tahj was able to snatch the blanket from where it got hung up on the top of a tent stake before it took off again. He recognized one of the blankets they’d bought for Bashea in Shiraz.

Shielding his eyes against the bits of debris being hurtled about, he searched out and located her tent, pushing to reach it. One of her tent’s ropes snapped about like a writhing serpent and bit into his arm as he tried to catch it to tether it down.
He tossed the blanket inside the opening so he could have his hands free to battle the tent. Even so, just as he secured it, two more popped out of the ground like toddlers playing a game, and a large section of the tent came loose, flailing so he had to jump to reach it. Tahj grabbed a hold of the canvas and fought it downward, finding himself on the inside of the tent, lying on top of it to keep it from flying away again.

Tahj rolled over on his back, panting from both exertion and the sheer power of the wind to take his breath. Weary, he rolled his head to one side, searching for something to use to hold the canvas down other than his body. Just feet from him a couple of crates stood. Were they filled with something heavy enough to hold the canvas down? Carefully, he rolled, making certain enough of his weight was distributed to keep the cloth down, and reached for the crates. The side of the tent began to thump and loft, quivering, but not pulling entirely away. He rocked the crates in his direction, jig-jawing them by walking one corner at a time toward him. They were plenty heavy.

By the power of utter determination, he was able to replace his weight with the crates’ and spread them far enough apart to counteract the pull of the wind. Realizing it was just a matter of time before more stakes were jerked up, he decided to be proactive and worked his way around the tent, weighting down the edges. Like his own, the tent was large, and mostly empty. Tents this size were generally used for families, but it would seem there were some perks allowed you when you’re the chief’s daughter.

He was just standing back to admire his handiwork when a lantern blazed to life. He whipped around in surprise to find Bashea squinting at him through sleepy eyes, sitting up on one elbow, holding the lantern aloft in the other hand to try to illuminate the room, her midnight-black hair wild, but, he thought, incredibly sexy. She lay on a wide mattress covered in vibrantly colored, silken layers of cloth and mounded with pillows. A background as sumptuous as its occupant.

“What…are you doing?” she asked quizzically, a hint of amusement creeping into her tone.

“I…uh…” Tahj found himself at a loss for words. “The wind was blowing and…this part of your tent came loose and I, well…fixed it.” As if to support his stance, the wind howled around the tent, circling it like a wild animal searching for a way in.

Bashea swung the lantern around and took in the books and boxes and rocks and other paraphernalia haphazardly placed around the periphery of the tent to hold it in place.

“I see.” She sat up in her bed a little. “And how are you going to get out?” she asked teasingly, lifting an eyebrow.

Tahj looked around. “Uhh…I didn’t…exactly…think about that,” he said slowly, as if in a daze. After an awkward pause in which Tahj stood feeling both uncomfortable and foolish, he again found his voice. “I can move away a small section, and you can move it back after I’m out.” The wind roared again, this time sounding like a momma panther whose babies were being threatened.

“As you wish,” Bashea replied, scrambling hastily to her feet as if to escape the wrath of the wind outside. The bed projected into the room, but the canvas near her head was the only barrier between her and the thrashing night. The light of the lantern she returned to the top of a crate beside her bed cast an enigmatic glow about her which seemed to shimmer and grow with her movements. She was wearing a sheer, white gown with billowing, translucent sleeves, pleated from the bodice down and tied high on her waist, making her look so light and airy he almost expected her to take flight. She reached for a matching, sheer robe at the foot of the bed, which tied with a satiny ribbon trailing almost to the ground.

Tahj was transfixed as she moved toward him, but then, without warning, everything changed. With a mighty rush the wind gusted, forcing its way into the room like a jealous lover, come to catch his spouse in the act. One side of the tent gave way, several sections he had secured going together as stacks of books and crates flew simultaneously into the room. As Tahj took his eyes from her to look in their direction and assess the damage, he saw one of the support posts behind Bashea teeter. Like in a dream, his eyes returned to her, checking to see if she was in the line of fire, but even as he did, the post gave way and was swept forward.

His scream mingled with the sound of the wood crashing into Bashea, sending her sprawling. It bounced off her body like a rubber ball and flew with equal force into his shins, knocking his feet out from under him, and then everything went dark and oddly quiet beneath the folds of the collapsed canvas.

Dazed, Tahj pushed to his hands and knees, praying the lantern was truly out and not about to start a fire. He pushed through the heavy layers of the tent, calling out Bashea’s name, though knowing the muffling nature of the canvas and the still-raging winds outside would surely prevent her from hearing him. He strained his own ears for any sound of her presence—a cry, a movement—but he heard none. He felt around at his feet for the post and managed to move it in front of him to use it like a spear, pushing the canvas outward and upward and struggling to rise to his feet. He raised the post, straining against the weight of the canvas, and opened up the room before him as he pushed forward, aiming for the place he thought the post had been. As the tent rose, he saw Bashea lying on the floor, unmoving.

“Oh, Bashea!” he cried out. He stopped, longing to drop the post and rush to her side, but he knew they would be smothered again, so he diligently worked to get his post in place, trying to hold it steady and sink it into the hole in the ground it had shot out of.

He heard a moan and swiveled his head to see Bashea stirring. Feeling a small amount of relief, he turned back to his task, finding it difficult to both keep the pole straight and aim it for the small opening in the ground while still fighting the wind. All of a sudden, he felt weight taken off the post as Bashea joined him, leaning her body forward to push the pole upright. With her clasping the pole up higher, Tahj lowered himself, guiding the end of the post with his hands into the hole. It clunked into place, but they found their work was not done.

About halfway from the corner they had just secured,
down the right side of the tent a long, jagged rip in the canvas had the side of the tent whipping back and forth madly as rain now began to blow inside in torrents. Lightning flashed, a silver zigzag outlining the growling storm clouds in the night sky, and was followed shortly by the mighty crash of thunder. The air smelt burnt, wet, and heavy. Bashea and Tahj yelled over the storm.

“What should we do?” Bashea asked, holding one side of the tear as Tahj jumped to grab hold of the corner of the canvas on his side of the rip. Her hair and gown now stuck to her, as the rain drove at her face, stinging her eyes. She blinked away the water uselessly.

He played with the idea of binding the ends together somehow with rope, but finally discarded the idea as impractical. “We’ll just have to secure each end as best as we can, as close together as possible,” Tahj shouted in reply. With the next flash of lightning he noticed, with some alarm, a rivulet of blood trickling down the right side of Bashea’s forehead. He paused in his struggle. “You’re hurt!”

“What?” she screamed back, unable to hear above the chaos.

“Are you in pain?” Tahj gestured with his head to her forehead.