Read Online Laura Kinsale by The Dream Hunter - Free Book Online

bolt of fear, that he would abandon her in the midst of the desert for this boasting simpleton of a Rowalla. But she would not let her fear show in her face or voice, lest the Rowalla pounce upon it. “I say, el-Muhafeh,” she answered bluntly, “that he only wants a rifle of you.”
    Lord Winter gave her a slantwise look, the white drape of his kuffiyah hiding his face from the Rowalla boy. “But every morning you tell me you don’t wish to go south.”
    “I do not, el-Muhafeh. It is a foolish thing to do.”
    “This young Bedu says that he will go willingly, by Allah. Come, how do I know that you will not abandon me in the sands, Selim?”
    “We are rafik. I have sworn I will not.”
    Lord Winter gazed at her, what thoughts he had in his head unreadable on his face. “So is this Rowalla my rafik.”
    “Then let us come to the red sands, O Muhafeh,” she said, “and see which of us goes with you.”
    He smiled slightly. “Inshallah,” he said. “As God wills.”
    “Inshallah,” the Rowalla repeated piously. “We will hire a hundred camels, and cross the nefud, and go to see the emir at ar-Riyadh.”
    “What is this, a hundred camels, by Allah’s beard?” Zenia said. “El-Muhafeh has no need of a hundred camels. He travels under the protection of an evil demon, and needs only myself to serve him.”
    “A demon!” The Rowalla stared. “Haj Hasan, is it so?”
    “It is so, by Allah,” Lord Winter said soberly.
    “Wellahi!” This news appeared to dampen the Rowalla’s enthusiasm for their company considerably. He began to ride a little farther from them, drifting ahead on a pretext of scouting.
    Lord Winter waited until the Rowalla was well out of hearing. “Paltry fellow!” he murmured in English. “Floored at the first blow.”
    “He would not dare cross the nefud sands,” she said sullenly. “He only wants a rifle. If you give it to him, he will find a reason to be gone.”
    “I begin to see how fortunate I am in you, little wolf. That you come with me, under threat of the sands and a bride too.”
    “I do not wish for a bride, my lord.”
    “You confound me. I thought you would be eager. A beautiful girl, with eyes like the gazelle and lips like a rose—such a one does not tempt you?”
    “No, my lord.”
    “Not even for a camel?”
    “Are you wed, my lord?” she asked pointedly.
    He grinned, his light eyes amused. “A direct hit. You force me to confess that I am not.”
    “I wish to be like you. I think girls are silly.”
    “Indeed!” He rode along, looking at her with a strange quirk to his mouth. “I believe you must be younger than I thought.”
    “I do not want to marry, my lord,” she insisted.
    “Yes, we have established that point to our satisfaction. Rifles are as nothing to you, and camels and brides but dust in your mouth.” He smiled at her in a way that made her feel queerly agitated and uncertain. He had admirable strong hands, his fingers resting easily on the gun as he held the rifle upright in one hand, the stock against his knee. “But why the devil England?”
    “It is green,” she said.
    His brows rose. “I see.”
    “Like a garden everywhere.”
    “Who told you this? Lady Hester?”
    “Is it not true?” She turned anxious eyes to him.
    “I suppose it’s true enough the place is green. Extremely green. Suffocatingly green, some might say. But you could see trees in Damascus. You don’t have to go as far as England.”
    “You have promised me!” she exclaimed. “I don’t care about the trees in Damascus!”
    “Peace, little wolf! You’ll see all the British trees you can stand, you have my word on it. I’m only curious as to where you conceived this extraordinary desire to do so.”
    She gave him a hot glance. “You desire to go to the Nejd in disguise, which is stupid and dangerous, and you are quite mad.”
    “I’m in search of a horse.”
    “What horse?” Zenia asked warily.
    “She is called Shajar al-Durr. The String of