you,” Cam said, with a polite smile, “might prefer to discuss the final details of the contract with me instead of his usual negotiator.”
“And why would I wish that?”
Why, indeed? “Because I have his full authority. I can come to agreement on his behalf.” Cam offered a just-between-us smile. “No middleman, as it were, to slow the process.”
The sultan nodded. “An excellent suggestion. As it is, your predecessor and I have had some areas of disagreement. He wanted to make changes in the wording your father and I had already agreed upon.”
Bull, Cam thought coldly, but he smiled again. “In that case, it’s a good thing I’ve come, Excellency.”
“I am sure Adair explained that the gentleman in question has gone to visit the plains beyond the Blue Mountains.”
“He mentioned it.”
“It was my suggestion. I thought it might do him good to get away from the city for a while. Take a break, I think you would call it. The plains are very beautiful, this time of year.”
The lie bore no resemblance to what Adair had said, and ended any last hope that his father’s representative might still be alive. The desire to leap onto the platform and grab the sultan by the throat was fierce.
Cam forced a polite smile. “A fine idea. I’m sure he’s enjoying himself.”
“Oh, I can promise that he’s getting a good rest.”
The son of a bitch grinned from ear to ear at the double entendre. Once more, Cam fought back the desire to go for him. Outnumbered, he’d be dead before he got within ten feet.
“While he rests,” Asaad said, “you and I can finalize things.” The sultan clapped his hands. Adair hurried forward with a pen and a sheaf of papers that Cam instantly recognized. “All it takes is your signature, Mr. Knight. So, if you would be so kind…?”
Bingo. This was why the negotiator was dead—and why Cam was still alive. Asaad needed a signature on the dotted line to move forward with the deal.
“Of course,” Cam said smoothly. “First, though, I’d like to get some rest. It was a long journey.”
“Signing a document is not difficult.”
“You’re right, it isn’t—which is why, surely, it can wait until tomorrow.”
Asaad’s eyes narrowed but his tone remained smooth. “In that case, permit me to ease the stress of your journey. I have arranged a small celebration of welcome.”
“I appreciate the gesture, sir, but really—”
“Surely you will not disappoint me by turning down my hospitality.”
The sultan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Was the so-called celebration part of a plan to lure Cam into compliance, or was it for more sinister reasons? Either way, Cam was trapped. The sultan had planned a party. There was no way out.
“Mr. Knight? What do you say? Will you be my guest?”
Cam inclined his head. “Thank you, Excellency. I would be delighted.”
Three hours later, the festivities were finally drawing to a close.
The evening had started with a feast. Platters of grilled meats, sweets, pastries…and bowls of other things, easily identified and grotesque, eaten by custom in decades long past.
The first time such a course appeared, Cam felt his stomach roll. He managed a polite smile, began to shake his head—and realized that a hush had fallen over the several dozen armed men seated at the long table.
Every eye was on him.
The sultan raised his eyebrows.
“This is a great delicacy, Mr. Knight—but we will understand if you are not prepared to partake of it. Not all men can be like the men of Baslaam.”
Hell. Was this going to be a pissing contest? A Baslaamic version of “I’m tougher than you are”? If so, Cam couldn’t afford to lose. He smiled, leaned forward and scooped a ladleful of the quivering mess on his plate.
“A delicacy, Excellency? In that case, I can’t pass it up.”
He ate quickly, tasting slime and something even worse on his tongue, keeping his gut from rebelling by reminding himself that he’d eaten things as bad in other places. A soldier in the field couldn’t be choosy. Bugs, lizards, snakes… Protein, he told himself, that’s all this was.
There was a perceptible murmur when he swallowed the last of the stuff. Cam smiled. Asaad didn’t smile back. His expression was ugly. The bastard had lost the first round and he didn’t like it.
“Delicious,” Cam said politely.
Asaad clapped his hands. A servant scurried in, carrying an oversize urn. “Since you enjoyed that so much, perhaps you would like to sample another of our delicacies. A drink, made from… Well, I won’t tell you the ingredients but I assure you, it is more potent than anything you’ve had before.” At his nod, the servant filled two cups with a brown liquid. Asaad took one, handed Cam the other. “Unless, of course, you’d rather not?”
It was a pissing contest. Juvenile, even pathetic, but what choice did he have except to accept the challenge? Any show of weakness and he could end up keeping his father’s rep company. Asaad needed his signature but there were ways to get it that didn’t involve pretending they were all one big, happy family.
“Mr. Knight?”
“Excellency,” Cam said, lifting the cup to his lips. The liquid smelled like rotting fish but he’d survived worse one long night in Belarus, when he’d downed endless shots of homemade vodka in a face-off with a thickheaded guerilla leader. He held his breath, tossed his head back and drank the swill in one gulp.
“Great stuff,” he said calmly, and held out his empty cup. Another murmur of approval filled the great hall. Asaad’s face grew dark as a thundercloud.
“Do you ride horses, Mr. Knight?”
Maybe the sultan was thickheaded, too. Asking a born-and-bred Texan if he rode horses was like asking a pigeon if it could fly.
“Some,” Cam said politely.
Moments later they were outside in a vast courtyard lit by torches, racing over the hardpacked sand on the backs of half-wild ponies in a game that involved sticks as thick as baseball bats, a leather ball and a looped rope hanging from a tree. Cam had no idea what the rules were but he stayed on his snorting mount, managed not to get clobbered by men wielding their bats with abandon, and whacked the ball straight through the loop.
The sultan’s men cheered. Asaad’s face turned purple. He shouted for silence.
“You are a worthy opponent,” he said in a voice that made clear the statement was a lie, “and I shall reward you.”
With what? A knife across the throat? A bullet in the head? Lose the game and you were dead. Win, and you were dead, too. Asaad was a psychopath, and capable of anything.
Cam’s muscles tensed and he fought to keep his tone calm.
“Thank you, Excellency, but the only reward I want is—”
The words caught in his throat. Two of the sultan’s men were coming toward them. They were big, bigger than the sultan…
Twice as big as the woman they all but dragged between them.
The first thing he noticed was that her hands were bound.
The second was that she was naked. No. Not naked. It was just that her skin was the palest gold and what little she wore was only a shade darker.
Gold cupped her full breasts; a gold thong rode low on her flat belly. A thin gold chain adorned her narrow waist; slender, twisted ribbons of gold hung from the chain