CHAPTER ONE
The woman was in danger.
Sheikh Riaz Al Shirah stood in front of his tent and gazed across the crowded central courtyard of this ruined desert castle. Beyond the partially broken down walls he could see the desert beyond. This ruined castle which had also been a fort in centuries past, was many miles away from civilization. Right now, it was a hive of activity with dozens of tribesmen milling around, preparing for the important business to come.
He peered at the woman. A hundred meters away, she was busy settling the horse she'd arrived on a short time ago into a shaded corner. Newcomers, from other tribes, were arriving through the broken down entrance to what had once been a fortified castle, but was now a ramshackle collection of collapsed walls and ruined internal buildings.
Riaz sighed and shook his head. He was amazed that the lone woman had made it all the way out here. One of his men had explained to Riaz that she was an American journalist. He wondered how she had made it out to this place.
He narrowed his eyes against the bright sunshine, savoring the site of the elegant woman's tall figure. She was dressed in jeans and white shirt and wore a dark head covering, a protection against the hot sun beating down on this ancient site. She was a fine looking figure, he had to admit. He pushed that thought firmly away as he continued to watch her.
Her features wore an open expression filled with curiosity. Riaz could see could see loose locks of blonde hair curling from beneath the woman's head covering.
He saw her smile from time to time, as if she was trying to engage with the tribesmen who passed by her. But all of the men seemed determined to ignore the outsider. Heads were turned away and eyes averted.
This didn't seem to deter the woman as she insistently tried to talk with the men. She looked eager for information.
Of course, Riaz told himself, she was a journalist. What did he expect? That was her job. He'd been told about her when she had arrived earlier, emerging on horseback out of the desert.
He was sure she could probably hardly believe what she was witnessing. And what exactly was that?
Nothing less than a tribal gathering in an ancient ruined fortress here in the Qazhar wilderness, many days travel from the nearest city.
That was exactly the way he preferred it. Riaz had no time for modern ways.
Riaz drew in a deep breath inhaling the scent of the gathering. His men had erected his own tent amongst the dozen others which had been erected in a line against what was left of the fort's internal walls. External walls were still mostly intact, rising up to almost to fifty meters in parts. But the adobe constructions, ancient living quarters and utility buildings inside the fort had been almost destroyed long ago.
This place had once been the scene of great battles and used as a refuge from the harsh desert. His family had once owned this place but now it was derelict. Abandoned. No-one had lived here for centuries.
But as far as Riaz was concerned, this was a place that represented so much that was important to him. At least now it could be put to use, even if it was temporary. Once a year, tribes who still lived the desert life gathered here as they had once done for centuries before this modern age. Riaz felt the stirrings of his usual reaction to thinking about modern Qazhar.
So much had changed and not for the better, as far as he was concerned.
He sighed heavily and felt a hand on the shoulder.
Riaz turned to see one of the desert sheikhs, a man called Ahmed who Riaz knew well. "She's a fine looking woman, don't you think?" Ahmed asked gazing across at the American.
Riaz peered at Ahmed and smiled. "She shouldn't be here," he said.
"It shows quite a spirit that she is the only Westerner to come to this place," Ahmed said.
Riaz nodded reluctantly. "I suppose so. But still, she does not belong here."
"This isn't the first time we've had intruders," Ahmed remarked.
"Intruder?" Riaz asked. He supposed she was. "But she is the first woman to have done this."
The tribal gathering was held on different days each year and Riaz wondered how she had found out when it was to take place. Maybe he should ask her, he told himself.
Immediately, he rejected that idea. He wanted no contact with the outside world. Or at least he needed to keep that contact to the bare minimum.
He watched the woman. She walked slowly amongst the tribal members examining them as if they were from another world. Riaz smiled wryly. Of course, they must seem alien to her, he told himself. Compared to the world she had come from, all of this must seem utterly unreal.
Ahmed tapped Riaz on the shoulder. "Maybe I should go and talk to her," he said starting to move.
Riaz grasped Ahmed's arm. The man turned to Riaz, brows furrowing. "Leave her alone," Riaz ordered quietly. Riaz saw a flash of annoyance in Ahmed's gaze. It was a familiar look, challenge mixed with indignation. Ahmed moved slightly. "She's already claimed then?" Ahmed asked grinning.
Riaz shook his head. "You forget, Ahmed. Tribal gatherings have rules. And one of those rules is no involvement with women."
"But this is different," Ahmed said grinning hungrily at the American. "She is an outsider. The rules don't apply to her."
Riaz sighed. "I say no," he declared firmly.
Riaz saw Ahmed's jaw tighten. Ahmed knew that Riaz had authority. This fort was sacred family ground for the Al Shirah family. It was a place where Riaz had ultimate claim. That meant a lot to Riaz, even if it held far less significance for his esteemed family members. They had their comfortable lives back in Qazhar city.
Out here was Riaz's domain. Out here he was the sole representative of his family. Ahmed was aware of that fact even if, at times, he seemed to allow his base desires to triumph over his intelligence.
Riaz glanced across at the American woman. Once again he asked himself whether she had any idea of the risks she was taking.
Ahmed gave Riaz one more look, his eyes narrowing. "Maybe you do want her for yourself." He shrugged. "Never mind there is more important business to attend to now that all the tribal leaders are here. What does another woman matter," he added glancing across at the her.
Riaz peered at Ahmed trying to judge whether the man had truly given up his intentions to pester the woman. He doubted it. The man had a reputation. His tastes ran to things that Riaz preferred not to think about. Riaz glanced at the American.
Maybe he would break his rule. Just this once. Perhaps the woman needed to understand the reality of the situation she placed herself in.
***
Eva Braddon walked slowly amongst the dozens of tribesmen, marvelling at this sight that seemed so strange, like something out of a dream. The interior of the walled partially ruined fort was crowded with men in traditional desert garb. The place was bustling with activity and had been since Eva had arrived after her long horse ride across the desert. She'd found a village near the roadside after spending hours driving from Qazhar city. She'd left her car there and hired a horse to make the final leg of the journey across the desert.
She'd come here with only one objective. To find the fabled, annual Qazhar tribal gathering.
She'd heard so much about it. She had a professional duty because she had promised to get a good story about this most strange, archaic event.
But, above all, there was something else she needed to see for herself. One more, very important reason why she'd come this far.
The man at the center of the gathering.
Sheikh Riaz Al Shirah.
Eva tugged at her head-covering, eager to shelter her face from the brutal sun. She felt hot but she knew that uncovering any part of her body would probably step over a line, causing untold trouble.
When Eva had arrived she'd made sure that she was fully covered. She'd made sure she'd been wearing a full covering robe over her jeans and shirt. She knew that her presence here may be a temptation for many of the men. Already she'd been the subject of more than one or two hungry glances. Curious looks; interested glances; occasionally looks that were more than just interested. The men had noticed her. But, right now, she didn't feel that unsafe, she told herself.
Not yet, anyway.
Eva ignored some of the looks she was getting. Being the only journalist here wasn't enough. She was the only woman here.
She dismissed that thought. She was here to do a job. Get the story. And then leave. It was that simple.
Through the milling crowd of men, across on the far side of the wide open space, next to some ruined buildings she saw a line of tents. In front of the tents, one large tent stood out in stark relief. It was as if that particular tent was more important than the others.
She wondered who that tent belonged to. Eva already had her suspicions.
Suddenly, a passing tribesman jostled Eva, crashing into her shoulder. She staggered back and was about to exclaim, but she was prevented from doing so by a loud voice.
"What you are doing there?" a deep, firm voice demanded.
Eva realized English had just been spoken. Momentarily it took her by surprise. The man who had collided with her twisted around, reacting to the speaker's tone of voice, even if the words hadn't been completely understood.
Eva saw the man about to speak, perhaps try to hurl insults at the speaker, but then she saw him freeze, his eyes narrowing, his face becoming suddenly pale.
The man bowed to the speaker and said something in the Qazhar language. Eva detected sudden humility in that tone of voice.
Eva turned to look at the figure who stood glaring down at the tribesman who was quickly backing away, muttering in an obviously conciliatory tone. Moments later, the tribesman had melted into the crowd of other men.
The newcomer watched the tribesman depart. There was a firmness on the man's features. Then he turned to Eva. "Why are you here?" the speaker demanded.
His accent was curiously Western to Eva's ears, not tinged with the usual accent of spoken English she'd heard before during her time in Qazhar.
Eva peered at the tall tribesman dressed in traditional flowing white robes, his head covered, a dark red ring of twisted fabric around the headdress.
She noted his features. His eyes. They were dark, intense pools, their gaze fixed intently upon her. The hood of his garment hung loosely around his head creating a slight, temporary shadow making it difficult for her to make out the exact details of his features.
All she could tell was that he didn't look particularly friendly, Eva told herself. He was demanding why she was here?
"I'm a journalist," Eva declared.
The man's brows furrowed. "I know that. But why have you come here?" he demanded.
Eva ran a gaze around the thronging mass around her. "Isn't it obvious?" Eva stuck out a hand in his direction. "I'm Eva Braddon. Journalist."
The man's gaze dropped to her extended hand and she saw him frown slightly, as if doing that had somehow caused offence.
Eva kept her hand outstretched, determined to force some kind of response from the man. Her curiosity had been stimulated. "And you are?" she asked.
The man continued to ignore her hand of friendship, instead returning his gaze to her eyes. Something shifted inside Eva after that gaze settled on her again. She was aware that her heart had suddenly quickened. Maybe it was the heat of the sun, she told herself.
"Don't you realize you're in great danger here?" he stated firmly.
Eva felt her face flush and saw his brows narrow. Had he noticed her reaction? "What are you talking about?"
"This is not a safe place for a woman," the man said.
Eva's jaw tightened for an instant. "Really," she declared in a flat voice. She looked around the fort. "Doesn't seem dangerous to me."
The man sighed sharply. He took a step closer to Eva. "You don't really know what this is, do you?"
"Of course I do," Eva snapped. "Its the annual Qazhar tribal gathering. Everyone knows that."
"They do?" he said. "And who exactly are they?"
"Everyone knows that this is the former tribal place of the Al Shirah family," she explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Eva saw the man's eyes widen suddenly he nodded.
"Is that so?" he asked.
Eva nodded and looked toward the crumbling walls. "Although there doesn't seem to be much left of the place," she said casually. She tilted her head. "It does still have a kind of quaint romantic charm, though," she added.
She heard the man draw in a sharp breath. His eyes flashed with a sudden and very obvious indignation. "Quaint!" he snapped. He glanced quickly around at the crowd of tribesmen. "Do you know who you're talking to, Miss Braddon?"
Had he just sarcastically spoken her name?
Eva shrugged. "I don't believe you properly introduced yourself."
His eyes narrowed as if he was sizing her up. Then he lifted his hands and drew back the hood of his robe. Eva held back a gasp.
She immediately knew who he was.
Thick dark hair settled down onto his wide shoulders. Even features were crowned by the strong, broad ridge of his brows; his jawline was set in a determined line; full, sensuous lips twisted slightly into a sardonic smile.
The sight of his features had taken Eva by surprise. She could see why people had described him to her previously as one of the most handsome sheikhs in Qazhar.
The man ran his gaze idly around Fort. "This quaint place was once my family ancestral home," he announced.
"You're Riaz Al Shirah?" she asked breathlessly.
He did not say anything in response, merely lowering his head. She was sure there was a hint of quiet victory in that gesture, Eva told herself.
Eva paused and examined Riaz's features. This was the fabled sheikh of the desert? The man who had given up a life of luxury and wealth to come and live his life as a desert chieftain? Eva gazed at him trying to reconcile what she already knew about the him with the man standing before her.
He was the reason she was here. She'd researched him as much as was possible. Dug into the details of his life. His privileged life, now so very different. But he was such a reclusive figure that there were virtually no real images of him. At least no recent ones.
She'd come all the way in search of something unique, something utterly exotic. A powerful man who wanted to reclaim a way of life which had all but vanished. It seemed like she'd found him.
Eva shifted awkwardly. "I'm sorry I didn't realize who you were," she said, knowing that didn't sound too convincing.
The Sheikh shrugged. "Why would you know who I am?"
He sounded suddenly suspicious. Should she tell him he was the reason she was here? How would he react to that?
He also seemed puzzled. As if he did not realize just what a figure of fascination he was to so many people. It was her job to discover his secrets; what had driven him out to this place; the reason why he had made this choice.
"Didn't you know?" she asked. "People are fascinated by your story."
He frowned. "My story? I didn't know I had a story."
Eva gasped. "Of course you do. What you're doing is amazing."
Riaz Al Shirah moved closer to her. Now he was mere inches away from her, she could sense the power of his body, the pent-up energy inside that large frame, inside every one of his muscles. She caught his scent, an instantly enticing mixture of maleness.
Eva forced her attention back to the moment. She saw Riaz's gaze take in her features. What was he thinking? Why had even come to speak with her?
She realized he might be trying to warn her off, even send her away. But she had no intention of leaving. None.
Especially not know that she had met the reason she'd come here in the first place.
"I told you, this place is not safe, Miss Braddon," he said evenly.
"Eva," she corrected, eager to break down any remaining barrier between them.
Riaz's sighed slightly. "Eva, you cannot stay here," he said impatiently. Her name sounded soft on his lips.
"Can't stay? Who says I can't?" she snapped.
"I do," Riaz said, the words containing a bluntness which took her by surprise.
She squinted at him. "You can't stop me from staying."
Riaz leaned his head to one side. "I can. And I will," he said emphatically.
"Haven't you heard of the freedom of the press?" she asked.
His brows furrowed. "Haven't you heard of respecting traditions?"
Eva stiffened. "You want me to leave because if I stay here I'll be somehow offending your sense of honor?" She tried not to sound too incredulous.
Riaz shrugged. "Not just my sense of honor,"" he gazed around. "There are others here, who may not be quite as tolerant as I am."
Eva thought he was being pretty intolerant and pretty arrogant congratulating himself like that, she told herself. Maybe what they had said about this man was true.
Maybe he was proud and arrogant.
And dangerous.
Eva folded her arms and glared at him. "Is that a threat?"
Riaz shook his head. "No threat. Merely advice. Let's say, I am not the only person here who has taken note of your presence."
Eva tensed. "It is a threat," she blurted out. She twisted her booted foot impatiently into the sand covered ground. "I don't think you've got the right to tell me what to do," she said defiantly. Eva saw his gaze darken, a dangerous look suddenly in those dark pools.
"Have you already forgotten?"
"What?" she said facing him directly.
He gestured with his hand. "This place belongs to me," he said casually. "Belongs to my family."
She snorted. "From what I've heard, it seems you and your family don't quite see eye to eye on anything."
He gave her a harsh look. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't they call you the black sheep of the family?"
He seemed momentarily surprised that she would know that about him. Didn't he realize she'd done her research before coming out here?
"A foolish name," he replied dismissively.
"Isn't it true?"
"The fact that I have chosen this life is something which some find amusing. And mystifying." He shrugged. "Be that as it may."
Riaz peered into her eyes. Once again, she felt her pulse quicken. This man's effect on her was surprising. Even within such a short time since meeting him, she could sense the power in his personality.
He looked at her, a steely determination in his gaze. "I still insist that you cannot remain here, Miss Braddon."
She noted the sudden change in his manner of addressing her, as if he was trying to distance himself from her again. This was a man who probably kept everyone as far away from him as possible, she told herself.
Eva sighed. "I can't exactly just up and leave, Sheikh Al Shirah."
She saw that he'd noticed the way she'd matched his formality of addressing her.
"I came prepared for a stay," she explained. She pointed toward the corner of the compound to where her horse was tied up alongside some other horses and camels.
The sheikh peered over toward the gathering of animals. His brows furrowed.
"I brought my pack, my sleeping bag." She tilted her head at him and smirked. "Everything a gal needs," she added.
"Except what you need to ensure your safety," he answered.
Eva tightened her features. "I've been in worse situations than this, Sheikh Al Shirah," she explained.
He looked doubtful. She thought about the war zones in this region where she had worked. Much more perilous places than this, she told herself.
"I have no doubt you are experienced, Miss Braddon," he said with an acid tone.
She felt herself bristle. What exactly was he suggesting?
Eva glared at him. She was about to let loose one more defiant remark when he took a step back from her.
"I can see you are indeed a woman with a mind of your own," he said.
Eva wasn't quite sure how she should take that at first, but she decided to let it go.
He continued: "In any case, this gathering will be over by midday tomorrow. I suppose if you wish to sleep under the stars amongst a rabble like this," he said looking around at the men walking by, "then I'm not the one to prevent you."
She wanted to press him for more details of what would happen during the coming night and morning, but she saw that he probably wouldn't tell her, even if she dug further. Maybe there would be time for that later.
"I'd like to ask you some questions," she pressed, sensing he wanted to walk away.
His eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Really? Why would I want to answer your questions?"
Eva shrugged. "I don't know. Give people a chance to understand you."
His gaze became hard and steady. "I don't need anyone to understand anything I do," he snapped.
Eva took a small step back. She'd felt the force of that statement. She'd definitely touched a raw nerve, she told herself.
Riaz sighed and seemed to regain his composure. He lifted a hand to his chest, a gesture of supplication, even of regret at his outburst.
"I must beg your humble pardon, Miss Braddon. I spoke with unnecessary harshness. It was unbecoming of me."
Eva nodded her head once, but really didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure he was being genuine.
He paused for a moment appearing to consider his next words. "If you would honor me, I would be delighted if you would grace me with your presence for the evening meal."
Riaz turned and gestured toward the tent which stood in front of the line of others. The largest tent. The most prominent one.
Of course, she told herself. His would take pride of place before others.
Eva glanced at the sheikh. "Okay," she said curtly.
He seemed pleased, but then he turned quickly and started to walk away from her. He paused and turned around. "The meal will be served at sundown," he said. "You know where I am."
"Indeed I do, Sheikh Al Shirah," she responded.
He smiled. "Please. Call me Riaz. It is so much more civilized if we are on first name terms, don't you agree, Eva?"
Was he teasing her? It certainly felt like it.
"Until sundown, Riaz," she replied.
And then he walked away. She watched him until he entered his tent, closing the large flap behind him. There was a flurry of activity amongst what was obviously his retinue of servants, she supposed.
Eva turned away and breathed out a sigh, feeling all the tension drain from her body.
So this was the sheikh of the desert?
Tonights meal promised to be very interesting.