Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem: Christmas at the Castello(2)

The old stranger leaned towards one of the other men, who then  dismounted slowly from his horse. Of medium height and build, the  younger man squared off in front of Zach, his legs braced wide. Zach  kept his expression as impassive as he'd held it the whole time. If they  were going to try and take him one at a time, this was going to be a  cakewalk.

Then the other eighteen dismounted.

Okay, now that was more like it. Pity his weapons were in the car.

* * *

Farah Hajjar woke with a start and then remembered it was a full moon.  She never slept well on a full moon. It was like an omen and for as long  as she could remember she was always waiting for something bad to  happen. And it had once. Her mother had died on the night of a full  moon. Or, the afternoon of one, but Farah had been unable to sleep that  night and she'd railed and cried at the moon until she'd been exhausted.  Now it just represented sadness-sadness and pain. Though she wasn't  twelve any more, so perhaps she should be over that. Like she should be  over her fear of scorpions-not the easiest of fears to overcome when you  lived in the desert where they bred like mice.                       
       
           



       

Rolling onto her side to get more comfortable, she heard the soft whinny of a horse somewhere nearby.

She wondered if it was her father returning from a weeklong meeting  about the future of the country. Now that the horrible King Hassan was  dead it was all he could talk about. That and how the dead king's son,  the autocratic Prince Zachim, would probably rule the country in exactly  the same way as the father had. The prince had led a fairy-tale  existence, if the magazines Farah had read were true, before moving back  to Bakaan full-time five years ago. As nothing had really changed in  that time, she suspected her father was right about the prince-which was  incredibly demoralising for the country.

Yawning, she heard the horses gallop off and wondered what was going  on. Not that she would complain if her father would be gone for another  day or two. Try as she might, she could never seem to get anything right  with him, and Allah knew how hard she had tried. Tried and failed,  because her father saw women as being put on the earth to create baskets  and babies and not much else. In fact, he had remarried twice to try to  sire a son and discarded both women when they had proved to be barren.

He couldn't understand Farah's need for independence and she couldn't  understand why he couldn't understand it, why he couldn't accept that  she had a brain and actually enjoyed using it. On top of that he now  wanted her to get married, something Farah vehemently did not want to  do. As far as she could tell there were two types of men in the world:  those who treated their wives well and those who didn't. But neither was  conducive to a woman's overall independence and happiness.

Her father, she knew, was acting from the misguided belief that all  women needed a man's protection and guidance and she was fast running  out of ways to prove otherwise.

She sighed and rolled onto her other side. It didn't help that her once  childhood friend had asked if he could court her. Amir was her father's  right-hand man and he believed that a marriage between them was a  perfect solution all round. Unfortunately, Amir was cut from the same  cloth as her father, so Farah did not.

To add insult to injury, her father had just banned her from obtaining  any more of her treasured Western magazines, blaming them for her  'modern' ideas. The truth was that Farah just wanted to make a  difference. She wanted to do more than help supply the village with  contraband educational material and stocks of medical supplies. She  wanted to change the plight of women in Bakaan and open up a world for  them that, yes, she had read about-but she knew she had zero chance of  doing that if she were married.

Probably she had zero chance anyway but that didn't stop her from trying and occasionally pushing her father's boundaries.

Feeling frustrated and edgy, as if something terrible was about to  happen, she readjusted her pillow and fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

The sense of disquiet stayed with her over the next few days, right up  until her friend came racing up to where she was mucking out the camel  enclosure and made it ten times worse.

'Farah! Farah!'

'Steady, Lila.' Farah set aside her shovel while her friend caught her breath. 'What's wrong?'

Lila gulped in air. 'You're not going to believe this but Jarad just  returned from your father's secret camp and-' She winced as she took in  another big breath of air, lowering her voice even though there was no  one around to hear her but the camels. 'He said your father has  kidnapped the Prince of Bakaan.'





      CHAPTER TWO

FEELING HORRIBLY GUILTY that she had been enjoying her own time while  her father was away, Farah raced to the ancient stables and saddled her  beloved white stallion. If what Lila said was true then her father could  face the death penalty and her heart seized.

As if he could sense her turmoil, Moonbeam whinnied and butted his head  against her thigh as she saddled him. 'It's okay,' she said, knowing  she was reassuring herself more than the horse. 'Just go like the wind. I  don't have a good feeling about this.'

Riding into the secret camp a short time later, she reined in Moonbeam  and handed him off to one of the guards to rub down. As it was dusk the  camp was getting ready to bed down for the night, the tarpaulin tents  shifting and sighing with the light breeze that lifted her keffiyeh. The  camp was set up with mountains on one side and an ocean of desert on  the other and she usually took a moment to appreciate the ochre tones in  the dying embers of the evening sun.

Not tonight, though. Tonight she was too tense to think about anything other than hoping Lila was wrong.                       
       
           



       

'What are you doing here?' Amir asked curtly as she approached her  father's tent, his arms folded across his chest, his face tense.

'What are you?' She folded her arms across her own chest to show him  she wasn't intimidated by his tough guy antics. He'd been her friend  once, for Allah's sake.

'That's not your concern.'

'It is if what I just heard is true.' She took a deep breath. 'Please tell me it isn't.'

'War is men's business, Farah.'

'War?' The word squeaked out of her on a rush of air and she let out a  string of choice words under her breath. Amir looked at her with the  disapproving frown he wore ever since he had asked her father for her  hand in marriage; the boy she had once played with, and who had taught  her to use a sword when she'd been twelve and full of anger and despair  over the death of her pregnant mother, seemingly long gone. 'So it's  true.' Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. 'The Prince of Bakaan is  here?'

Amir's lips tightened. 'Your father is busy.'

'Is he in there?'

She'd meant the prince but he'd misunderstood. 'He won't want to see you right now. Things are...tense.'

No kidding. You could have cut the air in the camp with a knife. 'How  did this happen?' she demanded. 'You know my father is old and bitter.  You're supposed to look out for him.'

'He is still leader of Al-Hajjar.'

'Yes, but-'

'Farah? Is that you?' Her father's voice boomed from inside the tent.

Farah's insides clenched. As much as her father's controlling and  chauvinistic ways chafed-a lot-he was all she had in the world and she  loved him. 'Yes, Father.' She swept past a disgruntled Amir and entered  the plush interior of her father's retreat, lit from within by variously  placed oil lamps.

The roomy tent was divided into sleeping and eating areas with a large  bed at one end and a circle of cushions at the other. Worn rugs lined  the floor to keep out the night-time chill and silk scarves were draped  from the walls.

Her father looked tired as he sat amongst the cushions, the remnants of his evening meal set on a low table before him.

'What are you doing here, girl?'

Looking out for you, she wanted to say but didn't. Theirs had never  been an overly demonstrative relationship even when her mother had been  alive. Then, though, at least things had been happier and she'd tried so  hard to get that feeling back in the years since.

Frown lines marred his forehead and his hands were clasped behind his  broad back, his body taut. If she'd been a boy she would have been  welcomed into this inner sanctum but she wasn't and maybe it was time  she just accepted that. 'I heard that you have the Prince of Bakaan  here,' she said in a 'please tell me it isn't true' voice.

He stroked his white beard, which she knew meant he was thinking about whether to answer her or not. 'Who told you?'

Farah felt as if a dead weight had just landed on her shoulders. 'It's true, then?'

'The information needs to be contained. Amir, see to it.'

'Of course.'