Page 71 of Kismet

“Charles . . .” Allegra’s voice was little more than a whisper as she looked at Shaftsbury. “Hurry.”

His cousin circled past her as he hurried away, but he saw the possessive way Shaftsbury touched the side of her cheek as he’d left. Jealousy twisted inside him, followed by a sharp edge of guilt for not protecting Hakim well enough that he would have been here when Khalid had fallen. He’d failed again.

“Nassar . . . dead?”

“Yes,” he bit out as Khalid offered him his hand.

“You . . . are . . . good friend.” A sigh rumbled in his friend’s chest, and he recognized it as a death rattle.

“Save your strength.” He squeezed Khalid’s hand gently.

Where the hell was Hakim? The boy’s father wasn’t long for this world. At the sound of running feet, he saw the Amazigh heir charge into the open area. The young heir’s shoulder had been bandaged, but the strips binding his wound were already dark with blood from racing to his father’s side.

Eyes dark with fear, Hakim hurried to Khalid’s side. Making way for the boy, he rose to his feet and stepped aside as the young man knelt next to his father. In painful silence he watched Khalid weakly raise his hand to touch the side of his son’s face. With equal measure of love and grief, Hakim covered his father’s hand with his own. The sight of their affection for each other cut deep. His father had never loved him. The earl had always hated him for taking his wife from him, and when James had died, his sins had multiplied as far as his father was concerned.

He couldn’t hear what Khalid was saying, but he saw Hakim nod his head. Another rattle sounded from Khalid’s chest, and his hand slowly fell from his son’s face. Grief swallowed his heart as he heard Hakim offer up a shrill howl of sorrow. Over and over again, the boy cried out his pain. Across from him, Allegra sat with her eyes closed, the mask she wore devoid of any emotion. It was as if she were a marble statue, oblivious to the pain and sorrow surrounding her.

Then he saw it. A single tear slid out of the corner of her eye to trail slowly down her cheek. God, what had he done to her? To them? Khalid and Jabbar had arrived only hours after he’d sent her away. It was because of Allegra that they’d attacked Nassar’s camp tonight. If they’d waited, would things have turned out differently?

It was like reliving the night James had died all over again. The questioning, the agony of second-guessing himself. It was excruciating in its intensity. He’d done all of this when James had died, and now he was doing it again. The steady hand on his shoulder made him jerk. He turned his head to see the sorrow in Jamal’s eyes.

“He would not want us to grieve. He’s with her now, and he’s happy.” There was a heartrending truth to Jamal’s words that tore at his gut.

“Yes.” He nodded his belief that the Bedouin was right. There was work to do, and their grieving had to wait. “We need to take him home. There are arrangements to make.”

“I’ll see to a litter,” Jamal said quietly and walked away.

Not moving from where he stood, his attention returned to Hakim sobbing over his father. Allegra gently stroked his head as he cried, although she didn’t say a word to him. Gently, she shifted Khalid’s head out of her lap and onto the ground. Before he could move forward, Charles was already beside her to offer her his hand. As Allegra rose to her feet, she uttered a low cry of pain. Alarmed by the sound, Shaheen strode forward until he was standing in front of her.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” she said in a cold, unemotional voice.

He almost believed her until he saw the dull, listless cloud darkening her gaze. For the first time, Shaheen realized she was in a state of shock. When he’d stopped her from attacking Nassar her reaction had been one of fury and outrage. But he didn’t recognize this lifeless creature standing before him, and fear clutched at his gut. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his cousin look down at Allegra’s back. A look of horror crossed the man’s face.

“Good God, you’re bleeding, Allegra.” At Shaftsbury’s words, she swayed slightly, her hand going to her forehead.

“Am I?” Again that lifeless note in her voice. It scared the hell out of him.

“Let me see,” he said with a gentle ferocity as he turned her around to examine her back. Stripes of blood had soaked through her gambaz, and he frowned. He couldn’t tell where she was injured. Fear rising in his throat, he quickly yanked her shirt up to her neck. The moment he did so, she screamed a sound of agony that chilled his blood. To his horror, he realized the cloth had adhered itself to her injuries in the form of a scab. His action had literally torn open her wounds. Remorse sliced through him with a sickening lurch as he stared down at the thin stripes of blood crisscrossing her back. For a moment, he didn’t understand what he was seeing. It took several seconds for the full impact of her injuries to sink into his head. When it did, rage flooded his body. Christ Jesus, the bastard had whipped her. He’d beaten her with a whip. His hands shook as he gently turned her to one side so he could see the wounds better in the moonlight. God, he wanted the bastard alive again just for the sheer pleasure of torturing the man. A shudder rocked through him as his hand touched her shoulder.

“Shaftsbury, we need to get her to a doctor.” He motioned to her back with his head as his cousin shifted his position to see what had been hidden by Allegra’s shirt.

“Sweet Jesus,” his cousin hissed.

“Charles?” Her voice was weak and weary, and his cousin quickly moved around to face her. Her hand stretched out to touch his chest as she swayed on her feet. “I want to go home. I want to go home to England now.”

Her words were physical blows to his body, and his hand released her as if he’d been burned. She wanted to go back to England with Shaftsbury. The anger and hate he’d seen in her eyes earlier had been real, not a figment of his imagination. Despair tightened around his chest like a vise until his breathing was labored.

“Allegra, we need to get you back to the camp. We need—” Shaftsbury protested with a shake of his head.

“No.” Her voice was strong and sharp. “Tonight. Now. I want to go home, now.”

“But you can’t—”

“Fine, I’ll get there . . . on . . . my own.”

With a vicious sound of disgust, she jerked away from the two of them, her gambaz falling down to cover the marks on her back. She had only taken two steps when she swayed on her feet. Leaping forward he caught her as her legs gave way and she fainted. A grimace twisted his lips as he cradled her close to his chest, all too aware of her blood seeping through the material that covered his arm. He stared down at her pale features. He’d denied her so many times in the past he didn’t have the strength to deny her this time. If she wanted to go home, then he’d make it happen. His eyes met Shaftsbury’s worried gaze.

“Where the devil are you going to take her?” Charles growled angrily.

“We’ll ride to Othmane. I believe there’s a noon train to Safi, which will give us time to find a doctor to tend to her back.”

“For God’s sake man, she’s in no condition to travel.”

“What do you propose, cousin?” he snarled as he glared at the man opposite him. “Whether we take her to Othmane or back to the camp, the distance is the same. In Othmane, there’s a doctor and a train that will take her home. I’ve refused her too many times before. I’ll not do it again. If she wants to return to England, I intend to see to it that she does.”