effendi,” the man said, then added, “Do not worry. The men will die before they allow anything to happen to Donally Pasha’s family.”
The idea was not comforting. But if he was to have any hope of protecting them, he had to do his job. The caravan leaving from Baharia was over seventy strong. Many were on their annual pilgrimage. Brianna and Lady Alexandra would be with Donally’s returning staff and the physician who would accompany her back.
Out of the corner of his eye Michael caught the movement of the two men dressed in Lady Alexandra’s and Brianna’s clothes. They were talking. He thanked God for thick veils and darkness. The two made the homeliest pair he’d ever seen. But they knew how to use a knife, and that’s why he’d brought them from the outpost.
Michael dropped the tent flap. The faint scent of roses lingered in the tent. A vase of flowers bloomed on the shelves next to the photographs. He held the photograph that Brianna had taken in Giza to the single lamp.
Brianna had not read him as thoroughly as she’d thought. He’d been drawn to Lady Alexandra’s softness and grace. She reminded him of home, of something gentler than he was. But where he was wont to treat the one like a lady, the other made him believe in sin. Some women just knew how to move in their bodies, some innate sense that had little to do with experience and everything to do with lack of inhibition. Brianna Donally was earthy and sensual, a rarity in the western world. He hadn’t expected it from Little-Miss-Spoiled-For-Life-With-One-Kiss.
Smiling to himself, Michael pulled the cork from the wine bottle sitting on the desk. He’d leave the moment Abdul returned with word that the two women were safe. He had business to take care of in El-Musa. And with any luck, he’d be followed all the way there.
Chapter 4
T here was no dawn like the sunrise that rose over the desert. Crisp air still cool from the night swept off the Nile. Michael eyed the mix of mud houses, minarets, and spires that swam in the misty morning light. It seemed that there was something symbolic in the gentle beauty that illuminated the countryside. El-Musa was not an unattractive town, but Sheikh Omar, the governor-mayor of the region, was rotten to his core. He and the governor-mayor were old enemies. Educated in England, the sheikh was related to the khedive, and in usual political proviso, Michael had been warned after past altercations to leave Omar alone. But somewhere here, Michael was sure he would find Donally.
After waiting for his men to secure the perimeter of the house, Michael signaled them to move inside the courtyard. The neo-Byzantine palace belonging to the sheikh stood at the edge of the town, pale pink in the sunrise. Inside, a muddle of English and opulent native furnishings cluttered every room. Michael’s boots made a tap-tap sound on the stone floor as he waded through a cluster of irate servants.
Michael motioned to one of his men to remain on the stairway. A rifle braced across his chest like an Egyptiandemigod, he halted the progression of panicked servants on their way to the upper level. Without breaking stride, Michael entered the master’s chambers, a cavernous room embellished by tapestries, colored marble, and gilt furniture. Red silken drapery the color of blood fluttered in the morning breeze.
Cocking the hammer on his revolver, Michael nudged the sleeping sheikh with the dusty toe of his boot. “Rise and shine, my lord.”
Black hair, black-eyed, his beard streaked with gray, the man on the cushions stirred. A naked girl spooned against him opened her eyes and screamed. Sheikh Omar shot straight up.
“Major Fallon!” He slid back against the plush wall of pillows. “Allah save me from crazy Englishmen. Not again.”
“Where is he?”
“If you mean that madman Donally, he was here when I returned last night from the camel mart, mind you, on legitimate business.”
Michael smiled. “I haven’t slept
The idea was not comforting. But if he was to have any hope of protecting them, he had to do his job. The caravan leaving from Baharia was over seventy strong. Many were on their annual pilgrimage. Brianna and Lady Alexandra would be with Donally’s returning staff and the physician who would accompany her back.
Out of the corner of his eye Michael caught the movement of the two men dressed in Lady Alexandra’s and Brianna’s clothes. They were talking. He thanked God for thick veils and darkness. The two made the homeliest pair he’d ever seen. But they knew how to use a knife, and that’s why he’d brought them from the outpost.
Michael dropped the tent flap. The faint scent of roses lingered in the tent. A vase of flowers bloomed on the shelves next to the photographs. He held the photograph that Brianna had taken in Giza to the single lamp.
Brianna had not read him as thoroughly as she’d thought. He’d been drawn to Lady Alexandra’s softness and grace. She reminded him of home, of something gentler than he was. But where he was wont to treat the one like a lady, the other made him believe in sin. Some women just knew how to move in their bodies, some innate sense that had little to do with experience and everything to do with lack of inhibition. Brianna Donally was earthy and sensual, a rarity in the western world. He hadn’t expected it from Little-Miss-Spoiled-For-Life-With-One-Kiss.
Smiling to himself, Michael pulled the cork from the wine bottle sitting on the desk. He’d leave the moment Abdul returned with word that the two women were safe. He had business to take care of in El-Musa. And with any luck, he’d be followed all the way there.
Chapter 4
T here was no dawn like the sunrise that rose over the desert. Crisp air still cool from the night swept off the Nile. Michael eyed the mix of mud houses, minarets, and spires that swam in the misty morning light. It seemed that there was something symbolic in the gentle beauty that illuminated the countryside. El-Musa was not an unattractive town, but Sheikh Omar, the governor-mayor of the region, was rotten to his core. He and the governor-mayor were old enemies. Educated in England, the sheikh was related to the khedive, and in usual political proviso, Michael had been warned after past altercations to leave Omar alone. But somewhere here, Michael was sure he would find Donally.
After waiting for his men to secure the perimeter of the house, Michael signaled them to move inside the courtyard. The neo-Byzantine palace belonging to the sheikh stood at the edge of the town, pale pink in the sunrise. Inside, a muddle of English and opulent native furnishings cluttered every room. Michael’s boots made a tap-tap sound on the stone floor as he waded through a cluster of irate servants.
Michael motioned to one of his men to remain on the stairway. A rifle braced across his chest like an Egyptiandemigod, he halted the progression of panicked servants on their way to the upper level. Without breaking stride, Michael entered the master’s chambers, a cavernous room embellished by tapestries, colored marble, and gilt furniture. Red silken drapery the color of blood fluttered in the morning breeze.
Cocking the hammer on his revolver, Michael nudged the sleeping sheikh with the dusty toe of his boot. “Rise and shine, my lord.”
Black hair, black-eyed, his beard streaked with gray, the man on the cushions stirred. A naked girl spooned against him opened her eyes and screamed. Sheikh Omar shot straight up.
“Major Fallon!” He slid back against the plush wall of pillows. “Allah save me from crazy Englishmen. Not again.”
“Where is he?”
“If you mean that madman Donally, he was here when I returned last night from the camel mart, mind you, on legitimate business.”
Michael smiled. “I haven’t slept
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