Read Online The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) by Bonnie Vanak - Free Book Online

the apprehension in the young man’s eyes. Hawkins probably feared dismissal for being familiar. It was his fault Hawkins had dared ask questions. Accustomed to the casual familiarity of the Khamsin, Kenneth still found it difficult adjusting to the strict English social classes. But his natural friendliness must be curbed.
    You are Duke of Caldwell now. Khepri no longer .
    But he was lonely. In one year, he had gone from living casually among two thousand people to living alone, with only servants for company in a massive house. His life felt purposeless—until he’d received the cables from Egypt.
    Kenneth’s gaze roved to the highly polished furnishings of his enormous sitting room. On the satinwood desk, two cables lay beside a brass well of India ink and a gleaming gold pen. One revealed exciting news: One of the necklaces of Princess Meret had been found.
    His father’s greatest dream was coming true.
    For years, Kenneth’s father had sought the legendary jeweled necklaces of Princess Meret. When Kenneth was four, his father sponsored a dig at Dashur, certain he would find the entrance to the pyramid and the underlying tombs. Wanting his family to be present at his moment of glory, his father had taken them to Egypt. They’d first crossed the desert to the Red Sea on a tourist jaunt to explore the ancient land.
    That was when the Al-Hajid attacked. The excavation plans had died with him, along with the dream.
    But two months ago Kenneth had allocated an enormous amount of money to continue his father’s work. Jacques de Morgan, Egypt’s Supreme Director of Antiquities, had been excavating. He’d found the entrance to the hidden tombs, and one of the necklaces. Ecstatic, Kenneth had started planning to visit Egypt to witness the dig himself. Then he’d stopped.
    When he’d left last year, he’d vowed never to return. Too many bitter memories lay in sandy Egypt. Resolved to receiving news from afar, he’d ordered his trunks unpacked.
    But now he’d received the other cable. It informed him someone had stolen the necklace. The news released the warrior inside him. Ancient cries handed down through two thousand years resonated through him. The Khamsin war call. His blood rode that fever, clamored for retribution.
    Hawkins finished brushing down his charcoal gray coat and striped trousers. Kenneth reached down to his waist and recoiled. Habits die hard. No scimitar.
    No, he was no longer Khamsin. He felt naked without weapons.
    But at least his goal of finding the thief charged him with fresh purpose. England had the world’s best black market for stolen antiquities. He’d quietly search the shops and look for the missing piece. He relished the challenge. Hell, he needed one.
    Kenneth gave his anxious valet a smile of approval and quietly thanked him. Relief shone visibly in the man’s face.
    "Summon Zaid to me," Kenneth ordered, speaking slowly.
    "Yes, Your Grace." The valet gave a respectful nod.
    Touching the stiff cloth covering him, Kenneth stared at the stranger in the polished mirror. He had everything: wealth, title, respect.
    Yet he had nothing. Emptiness pulled at him. He stiffened his spine, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest.
    "You asked for me, Your Grace?"
    His secretary appeared in the mirror. Kenneth whirled, confused. He hadn’t heard Zaid approach. Had he lost his legendary ability to hear a grain of sand spill to the ground? His priorities had shifted like sand on Egypt’s dunes. Attuned now to English lifestyles, his warrior alertness had faded.
    He studied the middle-aged man standing before him. His grandfather had met this man during a jaunt to Egypt and had rescued him from poverty. Zaid’s skin was the color of rich Arabic coffee lightened with cream. Literate in English and Arabic, he possessed a controlled, intelligent manner. Zaid ran the duchy’s business affairs with quiet efficiency; his grandfather had trusted him absolutely.
    "I told you, Zaid—when we’re alone,