And this was sand. Just lots and lots of sand. And this time Tair didn’t even know she was back. Tair didn’t know she’d decided to return. There’d be no daring rescue now.
Tally exhaled, and pulled a strand of hair from her eyelashes and tried to get more comfortable on her shirt which was protecting her from the burning grains of sand.
This was not the place to be.
She was parched, so thirsty she’d begun to see mirages in the sand. Dancing girls. Swaying palm trees. Robed warriors with swords and whips.
And guns. Or more accurately, one gun.
Tally blinked, looked up against the dazzling sun, head aching from the heat. A man stood in front of her, armed, fierce. Hideous. She frowned irritably, lifting a hand to block the sun and erase the mirage. “If you’re not real, go away.”
She heard a sigh, a very long drawn-out exasperated sigh. The kind of sigh only a man who is very long-suffering can make. “I’m real, and I’m not going away.”
Tally tried to leap up but she wobbled and nearly fell, courtesy dehydration and a nasty case of sunstroke.
With a muttered oath, Tair lifted her in his arms, dropped her on his horse and climbed into the saddle behind her. They rode for an hour or more—Tally couldn’t tell, didn’t even really care—and then they arrived to the most pitiful desert camp Tally had ever seen.
“This place is still pathetic,” she said as Tair swung her out of the saddle and onto the ground.
“We didn’t have time to pick flowers or hang new gingham curtains,” Tair said, circling Tally’s wrist with his hand and pulling her after him.
Tally spotted Tair’s old Berber servant and went to lift a hand in friendly greeting. Tair shot her a hard look. “Don’t,” he snapped. “I’m not in the mood.”
Once in his tent, with Tally sitting on cushions on the carpeted floor Tair demanded an answer. Only he didn’t put it quite that nicely. His request came out more like, “What the hell are you doing here?”
She could be offended. She ought to be offended. But she knew Tair better. “I brought you something,” she said, reaching into her bra and pulling out the warm and very extravagant necklace.
Tair took the glittering emerald and diamond necklace from her. “You came all this way to return jewelry?”
“Yes.”
“What’s wrong with the postal service?”
Outside Tair’s tent the men had begun to lay the fire for dinner and the little three-legged dog came hopping along. Tally looked at the licks of red and gold flames, the flea-bitten dog and Tair’s dark, fierce scowling face.
“I wanted to be sure it’d reach you,” she answered.
He made a rough inarticulate sound. “I take it you’re not fond of emeralds?”
“It’s a beautiful necklace but I’m not going to accept a gift like that. It’s absurd. You send me away—reject me, break my heart—and then give me a necklace worth a quarter of a million dollars?”
The corner of his mouth curved. “How do you know its value?”
“I had it appraised.” She stared him down. “And no, courier companies won’t accept a $250,000 necklace, not if the address happens to be in the middle of the Sahara.”
She snorted. “Can you imagine me trying to give directions? Tell your driver it’s four hours east of El Saroush by horseback, or six if traveling by camel. Somewhere you’ll encounter a riverbed and then you take a left at the wadi. Another hour later, you’ll pass a cluster of palm trees. That’s where you take a right. And then sometime in the next hour—or hour and a half depending on how fast you’re traveling—you’ll veer north and hope to find the rock fortress.”
He smiled. “Your distances are off but the landmarks are good.”
She hardened herself to his wretched barbarian charm. His smile wouldn’t work on her this time, nor his offhand compliment. She knew him too well. Knew exactly how he operated. Bluster, power, intimidation, and sex appeal. A deadly combination if she’d ever heard one.
“The point is,Tair, you can’t sendex-wives gifts like that and not expect them to fly off the handle.”
“You do seem angry.”
“I’m furious.”
“But you’re always furious.”
“Because you’re always trying to pull a fast one on me!”
“And how did I do that this time?”
“The necklace. You’re trying to buy me. You were using emeralds to ease your guilt. You send me a necklace, tell me to have a good life, and you think I’m going to go—ooh! A lovely necklace. That’s wonderful. My husband doesn’t want me, and he won’t love me, but he’s sent me some really pretty jewels!”