Page 21 of Kismet

As her story tumbled out of her, what he heard sent dread slicing through him with the sharpness of a razor. If Nassar really had taken Allegra, she was in grave danger. The bastard had never liked being challenged, and from what he already knew of Allegra, she would defy the man. At least until Nassar had broken her. The thought of what the man would do to her made him grow cold. Perhaps Laila was mistaken.

“How can you be certain it was Nassar’s men who took her?”

“It was them I tell you. They wore the crescent over a scarab on their forearms,” she said with heated bitterness. “It was the same mark I saw as a child when Nassar killed my mother.”

Her words tightened the knot in his stomach as his fear for Allegra’s safety deepened. The powerful memories of that fateful day in the desert made him turn away from the pain in Laila’s eyes, to stare down into the small fountain.

Water spilled out of the fount, making a musical sound as it tumbled into the basin. The cheerful noise taunted him as he dipped his hand in the cool liquid and allowed it to flow out of his palm. His eyes focused on the droplets rolling off his hand, but it wasn’t water he saw—it was blood.

The carnage that day, more than fifteen years ago, was something he hoped never to see again. It was why the treaties were so important. Men, women, even children, had been cut down with calculated ruthlessness by Nassar and his men, all in the name of vengeance. That terrible day was as much a part of him as it was of Khalid and his children. It was also the day the Viscount Newcastle had died, and Shaheen of the Amazigh had been born.

“Please, Shaheen. You must save her.” Laila’s hand clutched at his arm.

He nodded with understanding as he looked down at the pleading expression on Laila’s lovely face. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d managed to wheedle everything she could out of him and anyone else who loved her. But this was one time when her pleading was unnecessary. He wasn’t about to let Allegra, or any woman for that matter, suffer at the hands of a man like Nassar.

Even a whore?

The mocking voice was quickly silenced as the sudden image of Allegra in front of Nassar filled his head. With a muffled expletive, he began to pace the courtyard’s stone floor. Allegra’s trail was growing cold with every minute that passed, and he needed to move fast if he was going to have any idea what direction her kidnappers had headed. How to free her would have to come later. Right now, he needed more information.

“Where are Kasim and Ali?” he bit out as he stopped his prowling to face Laila.

“I sent them to see if they could find out anything about Allegra and where Nassar might have taken her.”

“Was her maid with her?”

“Yes, but she refused to wait for you to return.” Laila nodded her head. “The woman doesn’t speak French, and you know my English is not very good. She said something about a Viscount Shaftsbury.”

“Christ Jesus,” he ground out between his clenched teeth. As if things weren’t bad enough. The last thing he needed was Shaftsbury interfering in tribal matters. The man could easily make matters worse. For whom? A voice deep inside him questioned. What did it matter if Shaftsbury found out who he really was?

It mattered because he’d built a new life here in Morocco. A life that could easily come to an end if his true identity became known. His ability to negotiate treaties between the tribes was a valuable one, and he’d earned the respect of not only the different Bedouin tribes, but the Spanish and French governments that controlled the Moroccan Sultanate. If any of them discovered who he really was, there would be hell to pay.

No, it was vital that Shaftsbury not discover that Robert Camden, Viscount Newcastle and Shaheen of the Amazigh were the same man. It could hurt those he now called family, and he had no wish to revisit the pain and guilt that had brought him to the desert to die, only to find a new life among the Bedouins.

“Who is this Viscount Shaftsbury?” Laila eyed him with the same perceptive gaze as her father’s. Brushing the subject aside would only increase her curiosity.

“A distant cousin.”

“From England,” she murmured with a nod of understanding. “And you don’t wish him to find you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Would it be so terrible if he did? Perhaps someone is ill. At the very least I’m sure your family misses you.”

“The Amazigh are my family now. There is nothing for me in England,” he growled with a bitter harshness that made her flinch.

He knew she wasn’t accustomed to him using such a sharp tone with her, but he had no intention of discussing his past with her. She nodded her head and worry darkened her expressive brown eyes again

“How will you get her back when you find her, Shaheen?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Nassar isn’t one to give up his playthings easily.”

Finding the bastard would be easy compared to securing Allegra’s freedom. Nassar would want something in return. He simply had to figure out what the man wanted more than Allegra. The thought made him wince. It wouldn’t be easy convincing Nassar to give her up. Particularly when Shaheen was the trusted friend of the man Nassar hated with a passion that had lasted for almost twenty years.

The carpet smelled of sheep and stale sweat. The stench reassured her that she was still alive. That and the jerky rocking motion of the cart she was in. She wanted to retch, but the cloth gag in her mouth prevented her from doing so, and she forced back the bile rising in her throat.

What little air she had was hot—barely breathable. It was the reason she’d been drifting in and out of consciousness. She didn’t have any idea how long she’d been wrapped in the rug, but she was certain several hours had passed since her capture. Through the layers of the carpet, she heard the muffled sound of voices speaking in that odd Berber and French mixture that the Bedouins spoke.

The gist of the conversation was lost to her because she found herself incapable of moving past the words enchères d’esclave—the slave auction. Dear God, were they taking her somewhere to sell her to the highest bidder? Tears stung her eyes as the darkness of the past clawed at her with a vicious tenacity. The memories aroused a sickening helplessness inside her, and the bindings around her wrist bit into her skin the same way her mother’s hand had done the day of her fourteenth birthday.