‘Very well,’ she said. ‘My name is Ivy Dean. I’ve registered my whereabouts with the British Consulate in Mahassa and they know exactly where I am.’ She forced herself to meet the man’s terrifyingly cold eyes. ‘And if I don’t return within a few days, they’ll also know exactly why.’
He said nothing, continuing to pin her where she sat on the edge of the camp bed with that icy stare, his face betraying no expression whatsoever.
Fine.
‘I’m here because I need to speak with Sheikh Nazir Al Rasul,’ she continued, determinedly holding his gaze. ‘It concerns a private matter.’
The man stood so still he might have been carved from desert rock. ‘What private matter?’
‘That’s between me and Mr Al Rasul.’
‘Tell me.’ There was no discernible change in tone from anything else he’d said, but if his other statements had been orders, this was a command. One that he clearly expected her to obey without question.
She should have been cowed. Any other woman in her right mind would be, especially after standing for hours in the hot sun outside the gates of a desert fortress, waiting to speak with one of the most terrifying men she’d ever heard about.
But Ivy hadn’t spent more than two weeks in Mahassa trying to find a guide who would take her into the desert in search of the mysterious warlord for nothing. She’d spent all her meagre savings trying to find this man and she wasn’t going to give up now, especially when she was so close to her goal.
In fact, if her suspicions were correct, then her goal was standing right in front of her.
Except, she needed to know he was indeed the man she’d been searching for. Because if he wasn’t, this could end up going very badly, not only for her but also for the baby she was currently carrying.
Ivy folded her hands calmly in her lap, pulling on the same practical, steely mask that she used with the most recalcitrant boys in the home. ‘I’ll speak with Mr Al Rasul,’ she said firmly. ‘As I said, it’s a private matter.’
Again, there was no discernible change of expression in his icy gaze and he didn’t move. Yet it felt as if the atmosphere in the guardhouse abruptly chilled. The two guards standing at attention became very still, their agitation apparent.
Apparently it was not done to disobey this man.
A tremor of fear moved through Ivy at the same time as she felt something else, something unfamiliar, flicker in her bloodstream. A small thrill. Which didn’t make any sense. She was a woman alone in a fortress full of men who could kill her easily. And no matter how confidently she’d talked about the British Consulate, they couldn’t exactly help her right now if things went south.
Which they might, if the rumours about the man in front of her were true.
So there was no reason at all for her to feel the smallest twinge of excitement, of...anticipation? The thrill of matching wits with someone as strong-willed and determined as she. Maybe even stronger.
Perhaps it was the pregnancy doing strange things to her. Why, she’d just been talking to Connie the other day about—
Connie.
An echo of grief pulsed through her, but she forced it away. No, now was not the time. Connie’s last wish had been to find Mr Al Rasul, and so that was what she was going to do. Then she could grieve her friend properly, once this was all over.
‘Perhaps you did not understand,’ the man said with icy precision. ‘You’ll tell me. Now.’
Ivy refused to be cowed. ‘This is for Mr Al Rasul’s ears alone.’
Something dangerous glinted in his eyes. ‘I am Mr Al Rasul.’
Of course he was. Somehow she’d known that the second he’d spotted her faking a faint.
Still, one couldn’t be sure. And she had to be very,verycertain about this.
‘Prove it,’ Ivy said.
The atmosphere, already chilly, plunged a few thousand degrees and the two guards’ stares abruptly became very fixed. They were statue still, like rabbits being eyed by a hawk.
The icy kernel in Ivy’s gut got larger, sending out cold tendrils of fear to weave through her veins.
Why are you challenging him like this? Are you insane?
That could very well be. Perhaps she had sunstroke or was on the verge of extreme dehydration. Perhaps the last few days in Mahassa, spent following up leads only to end up in frustrating dead ends and brick walls, had got to her. Perhaps she was now hallucinating.