had no idea where she was going, though what she’d murmured just now clarified things somewhat. She’d obviously been looking for the man currently slung over Jaziri’s horse.
Tariq had been hoping she’d turn around and make her way back over the border again, ensuring that she wasn’t his problem any more, but she hadn’t. She’d spotted them instead and had just stood there, watching him approach her as if he was her own personal saviour.
Given that she was clearly suffering from heatstroke and advanced dehydration, she wasn’t far wrong.
He didn’t touch her just yet, though, because you could never be too suspicious of lost foreigners wandering over his borders—as the incident with the man who’d been armed and hoping to ‘free the people of Ashkaraz from tyranny’ had proved only the week before. One of his border guards had been severely injured and Tariq didn’t want that to happen again.
It was probably why Faisal—his father’s old advisor, who’d now become his—had been unhappy about Tariq approaching this woman himself rather than letting one of his guards do it. But protecting his subjects was his purpose, and he didn’t want another injury simply because one guard had been a little careless when dealing with an outsider.
Tariq knew how to deal with them; his guards generally did not.
Especially a woman. They could be the most dangerous of all.
Except this woman didn’t look very dangerous right now, crumpled as she was on the sand. She was dressed in a pair of stained, loose blue trousers and a long-sleeved white shirt, with a black and white scarf wrapped around her head, which was paltry protection from the desert sun.
She did actually seem to be unconscious, but since it could be difficult to tell, and Tariq was naturally suspicious, he nudged her experimentally with the toe of his boot. Her head rolled to the side, her scarf coming loose and revealing a lock of hair pale as moonlight.
Yes, very definitely unconscious.
He frowned, studying her face. Her features were fine and regular and, though he preferred women with stronger looks, she could be said to be pretty. Currently the fine grain of her skin was flushed bright red from the heat and burned from the sun, making the pale arches of her eyebrows stand out.
English, no doubt, given the sunburn. Certainly when she’d spoken he recognised that cut-glass accent, which meant the man they’d picked up was likely English too.
He gave her another assessing look. Neither she nor the man were carrying anything, which meant their camp, or wherever they’d come from, couldn’t be far away. Were they part of a tour party, perhaps? Although tour parties generally didn’t come this far into the desert—they stuck to the edges, where it was cooler, safer. From where they could easily get back to the air-conditioned luxury of their hotels and away from the sun and the heat and the rumours of a closed country where men patrolled the borders wearing swords.
‘Two foreigners in the same stretch of desert,’ Faisal said dryly from behind him. ‘This cannot be a coincidence.’
‘No, it is not. She saw the man on Jaziri’s horse. She said something about her father.’
‘Ah...’ Faisal murmured. ‘Then we can safely assume she is not a threat?’
‘We assume nothing.’ Tariq let his gaze rove over her, scanning for any concealed weapons just to be sure. ‘All outsiders are a threat, unconscious or not.’
And it was true—they were. That was why his father had closed the borders and why Tariq had kept them closed. Outsiders were greedy, wanting what they did not have and uncaring of who they destroyed to get it.
He’d seen the effects of such destruction and he would not let it happen to his country. Not again.
There were always a few, though, who thought it fun to try and get inside Ashkaraz’s famous closed borders, to get a glimpse of the kingdom, to take pictures and post them on the internet as proof of having got inside.
There were some who couldn’t resist the lure.
They were always caught before they could do any damage. They were rounded up and had the fear of God put into them before being sent on their way with tales of brutality and swords—even though his soldiers never actually touched any of the people they caught. Fear was enough of a deterrent.
Though not enough of a deterrent for this woman, apparently.
‘If she is a threat, she is not much of one,’ Faisal observed, looking down at her. ‘Perhaps she and her father are tourists? Or journalists?’
‘It does not matter who they are,’ Tariq said. ‘We will deal with them as we have dealt with all the rest.’
Which involved a stint in the dungeons, a few threats, and then an ignominious return to the border, where they would be summarily ejected into one of their neighbouring countries and told never to return again.
‘This one in particular might be difficult,’ Faisal pointed out. His tone was absolutely neutral, which was a good sign that he disapproved of Tariq’s decision in some way. ‘She is not only a foreigner but a woman. We cannot afford to treat her the way we treat the rest.’
Irritation gathered in Tariq’s gut. Unfortunately, Faisal was right. So far he’d managed to avoid any diplomatic incidents following his treatment of outsiders, but there was always a first time for everything—and, given the gender and nationality of the person concerned, Ashkaraz might indeed run into some issues.
England wouldn’t be happy if one of its own was roughly treated by the Ashkaraz government—especially not a woman. Especially not a young, helpless woman. The man they might have got away with, but not her. She would draw attention, and attention was the last thing Tariq wanted.
Then there was the issue of his own government, and how certain members of it would no doubt use her as ammunition in their argument on how closed borders didn’t help them remain unseen on the global stage, and how the world was moving on and if they didn’t have contact with it, it would move on without them.
Tariq didn’t care about the rest of the world. He cared only about his country and his subjects. And, since those two things were currently in good health, he saw no need to change his stance on reopening the borders.
His vow as Sheikh was to protect his country and its people and that was what he was going to do.
Especially when you’ve failed once before.
The whispered thought was insidious, a snake dripping poison, but he ignored it the way he always did.
He would not fail. Not again.
Ignoring Faisal’s observation, Tariq crouched down beside the little intruder. The loose clothing she wore made it difficult to ascertain visually whether she carried weapons or not, and since he had to be certain he gave her a very brief, very impersonal pat-down.
She was small, and quite delicate, but there were definite curves beneath those clothes. There were also no weapons to speak of.
‘Sire,’ Faisal said again, annoyingly present. ‘Are you sure that is wise?’
Tariq didn’t ask what he meant. He knew. Faisal was the only one who knew
