the heavy robes and the heat of the desert, the man in front of her didn’t smell.
“Allow me the privilege,” he said mockingly, and picked up a piece of meat.
She probably should have been brave and stubborn and refused. But her stomach was so very empty. Instead she leaned forward and took the meat from him, making sure her mouth never touched his fingers.
“I am Kardal,” he said as she chewed. “What is your name?”
She took her time in replying. After she’d swallowed, she licked her lips and stared eagerly at the plate. For reasons that weren’t completely clear to her, she didn’t want to tell him who she was.
“Sabrina,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t connect that name with Princess Sabra of Bahania. “You don’t sound like a nomad,” she said in an effort to distract him.
“Yet I am.” He offered her another piece of meat.
“You must have gone to school somewhere else. England? America?”
“Why do you say that?”
“The way you speak. Your word choices and syntax.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “What do you know of syntax?”
She chewed and swallowed. “Despite what you think, I’m not an idiot. I’ve studied. I know things.”
His dark eyes seemed to take possession of her soul. “What things, my desert bird?”
“I, ah—”
She was saved from having to answer by him feeding her a grilled bit of vegetable. This time, however, she wasn’t so very cautious and the side of his index finger touched her lower lip. At the moment of contact, something odd shifted inside of her. Food poisoning, she told herself. No doubt he’d laced the food with something horrible.
But she was hungry enough not to care. She continued eating until the plate was empty, then drank the second glass of water Kardal gave her. When they were finished, she expected him to return to the men sitting around the small fire. Instead he continued to sit across from her, studying her.
She wondered how bad she looked. Her hair was a tangled mess and she was sure she had smudges of dirt on her face from the sandstorm. Not that she wanted to be attractive for her captor. This was generic female vanity—nothing specific about the man in front of her.
“Who are you?” he said quietly, staring into her eyes. “Why were you alone in the desert?”
With food in her belly, she felt a little less vulnerable and scared. She thought about lying, but she’d never been very good at that. Refusing to answer might be an option, except there was something compelling about Kardal’s steady gaze. The easiest course of action was to tell the truth. Or at least part of it.
“I’m looking for the lost City of Thieves.”
She expected a reaction of interest or disbelief. What she didn’t expect was for him to lean his head back and laugh. The low chuckling drifted across the desert. The men at the fire turned to look at them, as did the horses.
“Laugh all you want,” she snapped. “It’s true. I know exactly where it is and I’m going to find it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “The city is a myth. Adventurers have been searching for the city for centuries. What makes you think one slip of a girl will find it when they have not?”
“Some of them have,” she insisted. “I have maps, diaries.”
He lowered his gaze to her body. She wore a T-shirt and jeans, along with hiking boots. Behind her, on the sand, lay her cloak. She would need that cloak later. Already the temperature was dropping from stifling to pleasantly cool.
“Where exactly are these maps and diaries?” he asked sounding oh so polite.
She gritted her teeth. “They’re in my saddle bags.”
“I see. On your runaway horse?”
“Yes.”
He paused. “You do realize it will be more difficult to find this fictional city without the maps.”
She curled her fingers into fists. Irritation swelled inside of her. “I’ve already figured that out.”
“Yet you continue to seek the city?”
“I don’t give up easily. I swear I’ll come back and find it.”
He rose to his feet and stared down at her from his rather impressive height. “How determined you sound. But your plans are based on an interesting assumption.”
She frowned, barely able to see him in the darkness of the night. “What’s that?”
“For you to return anywhere, I must first let you go.”
Chapter Two
K ardal kept his eyes closed, trying to ignore the squirming of the woman next to him. The ground beneath was hard, but not uncomfortable, although he doubted Sabrina would appreciate that fact. While he’d unbound her feet, he’d kept her wrists tied and connected to a rope anchored to the belt around his waist. He knew that without a deterrent of some kind she was impulsive enough to try to escape in the night.
She was less than amused by their sleeping arrangements.
“This is ridiculous,” she hissed, her words barely audible over the snores of his men. “It’s the middle of the night in the middle of the desert. Where exactly do you think I’m going to go? Untie me at once.”
“How imperious you sound,” he replied, not bothering to look at her. “If you continue to speak, I’ll put a gag in your mouth. I assure you, after a time it grows most unpleasant.”
He heard her sharp intake of air, but she didn’t talk anymore, for which he was grateful.
She shifted again, drawing her thick cloak more tightly around her. The night temperature continued to drop. Kardal knew that in time she would welcome the heat of his body next to hers. Left on her own, she would be shivering by dawn. But he doubted she would thank him. Women were rarely sensible creatures.
As for trusting her enough to release her—he would rather trust his fortune to a gambler. He couldn’t believe she’d been foolish—or foolhardy—enough to be traveling by herself in the desert. Didn’t she realize how dangerous the vast emptiness could be?
Obviously not, he thought, answering his own question. At first he’d been shocked to see a lone traveler in the distance. He and his men had quickly changed course to offer assistance. As they’d approached, he’d realized the traveler was a woman. And then he’d seen her face and known exactly who she was.
Sabrina Johnson—otherwise known as Princess Sabra, the only daughter of King Hassan of Bahania—was everything he’d feared. Willful, difficult, spoiled and lacking the intelligence the good Lord gave a date palm.
He supposed the sensible course of action would
