Forbidden Chapter 4 – Consequences
She paced back and forth over the entire width of the main room of her father's tent. This was ridiculous. What was taking them so long to undress a man?
By the time they had arrived at the Ninth Tribe, Ardeth had developed a fever. It had probably been coming on for the last few days. She needed to be in there with him. Healing his wounds as the women of the Medjai were taught to do, not waiting outside while they attended to making him decent. He needed help. He was seriously ill!
"Lamis, you may come to him now." Sameh briefly laid his hand onto her shoulder. "Do what you can. I pray Allah you can save him."
So did she. The responsibility weighed heavy on her as she followed the de facto new First Medjai into the room at the rear of the tent. Until Ardeth recovered… she shivered… or not… Sameh would lead the twelve tribes.
Trying to appear stronger then she actually felt she said, "Come on, out… all of you. I need room to work."
Beside her she saw Sameh nod to the other men, who filed past them. Sameh was the last to leave.
"If there is anything you need," he said, "Please send for me."
And then she was alone with Ardeth in a way she would never have been allowed if he were well. The thought reminded her of his peril and she quickly gathered all the herbs and things she would need and knelt at his side to begin to give him what aid she could.
They had dressed him only in a wrap that covered him from his waist to the top of his thighs to maintain his decency because of his many wounds. She swallowed hard; even with his wounds he was simply magnificent.
With a huge sigh, she banished such inappropriate thoughts from her mind and reached for the water to begin washing the badness from the wound in his chest. His skin was burning beneath her fingers, and she feared for him more and more as the moments passed and she continued her ministrations.
Working alternately with the cloth and with a knife sterilised in the fire and then in boiling water, she cleaned out the gore. It was something that, as healer for the ninth tribe she had done a thousand times before. Why then was her hand shaking so much as she did so for Ardeth?
He moaned slightly, the first sound he had made since they brought him in and she reached out a gentle hand to sooth him, running her fingers through his hair, matted through sweat.
"Hush, sweet one," she crooned. "You are safe now."
"No," he whispered. "You can't-"
"Ardeth, ssshhh," she laid the back of her hand onto his cheek. He was worse… the ride had been too much for him and the fever had really got a hold.
"Nadia…" He almost cried out the name. "No!"
She looked up at his face then. It was twisted in an emotional agony that she had never seen on his face before through all the years she had known him. It hurt her to see it, but to know that it was because of a woman… who was Nadia?
She couldn't think of that now. She needed for him to get well. Finally she had his wounds cleaned and covered with dressings infused with camphor, cloves and cinnamon oil. She took up a clean cloth and wet it with the water before she laid it across his forehead.
She had to do something about that fever. Almost running into the other room she snatched up a knife and a nearby pomegranate. She began to shave the rind into a nearby dish.
"In Allah's name, Lamis, is he that bad?" Her father started her and almost made her slip with the knife and cut herself.
"His skin burns my fingers, father." She had not realised she was crying until her father came and took the knife from her hand and wrapped his arms around her. "I fear to lose him."
"You will not," he answered. "If anyone can save him, my daughter, you can."
He let her go then and handed the knife back into her still trembling fingers. Just a little more, she thought as she looked into the bottom of the bowl. Normally the rind of the pomegranate was a mild poison, causing sickness and delirium, but ironically in those already sick and fevered, as was Ardeth, an infusion made from that rind would kill the fever.
She poured what remained of the boiling water over the rind and left it to cool a little, wondering how on earth she was going to get him to drink it.
It was hellish. The heat in Cairo was twice what he remembered and he was starting to feel a little sick as he stood in the brightly painted hotel lobby waiting for his sister and her husband to come down from their room. He didn't much relish the trip to the souk. It would be hot, dusty, crowded, a complete nightmare… and it took him uncomfortably close to the casbah where he spent most of the night pouring out his troubles into the bottom of a bottle of whiskey and to a rather scanty clad belly dancer that was trying to show him another way to forget… and she wasn't talking about the Legion either.
"Uncle Jon!" He jumped as Alex called his name excitedly from half way up the stairs. "This place is amazing!"
"Alex!" A stern figure appeared at the top of the stairs behind him. Jonathan saw him roll his eyes.
"Oh it's all right," he told her, beckoning to his nephew. "Of course he's excited… Warm enough for you… partner?"
As Alex reached his side he playfully thumped the boy on the shoulder.
"Even so, Mr Carnahan," the Governess said in a tone that made him shiver. "Mr and Mrs O'Connell told young Alex to stay in their room."
"Yeah while they made mushy faces at each other," Alex moaned, pulling a face at him.
"Young man!" he voice was like a gunshot and Alex grimaced again in Jonathan's direction.
"They can't make me stay here with her, uncle Jon," he whispered.
"Alex, I hope you're behaving yourself." Before he could answer, Evy came down the stairs dressed for a day in the hot Egyptian sun, complete with what looked like the same straw sunhat that she'd worn the day she had met Rick. Of course it wasn't the same hat, that had been destroyed long ago, but it brought back memories and he couldn't help thinking about all that had passed since then.
His sister had got married; she had a young but far too precocious for his age, son… who was just now turning six. They were well off – their house was amazing and he lived a good life with her. Yet here they all were back in Egypt, and that… well that was all down to him.
He could at least save poor Alex from the harridan of a governess that they had been forced to hire at short notice, when the other one had fallen sick the week before they left for Egypt.
"Erm… Evy?" he said quietly, "Could I have a word for a second?"
The thick, heavy darkness was getting lighter… the weight that was sitting on his chest seemed to have gone and he drifted toward consciousness.
Slowly he became aware of the soft skins beneath him, and the light but warm blankets covering him. There were bandages covering the wounds he had suffered and a sweet but bitter taste in his mouth and there was something in and around his hand.
Slowly he opened his eyes and looked down from the canvass ceiling to the figure whose head was pillowed on the side of his bed, and whose hand it was that was locked around his.
Lamis.
How long had he known the girl? Since he rode with his father as a boy… perhaps even before that. He felt as though he had known her forever. She was his friend in a way that others could not be, because she provided the feminine balance for his masculine, warrior energies. She knew everything about him that he would care for anyone to know – she was always at her father's side and her father was his closest confidant – and now it seemed she had been a part of the chain of people that had saved his life… and the one thing she wanted from him… he sighed… he could not give to her.
She stirred as he sighed, and started to raise her head, not taking her hand from his she rubbed her sleepy eyes with the other.
"Is it so bad that I must be watched every waking moment?" his voice was hoarse, little more than a whisper, but she heard, and her head turned quickly to bring her eyes to meet with his.
"Ardeth!" she gasped.
Even tired, as she clearly was, she was beautiful. He had always thought her beautiful. She had a smooth oval face that managed somehow to convey her deep sense of wisdom without affecting the blush of the innocence of youth, unblemished but for the Medjai sigil of a healer – the tiniest of marks at her left temple, close by her eyebrow, a straight vertical line with a small letter combination that looked like a flat headed serpent with a curve in it's tail. The whole thing was barely a quarter of an inch across and an eighth tall – barely noticeable.
Quickly she slipped her hand from his. It shook, he noticed, as she moved it toward the veil lying across her shoulder.
"Lamis, stop," he breathed on the end of a sigh. She was shaking so much she couldn't find the clasp. "It is all right."
He reached up a hand weakly and grasped the gauzy veil to tug it gently from her unresisting fingers and almost hesitantly brushed the tips of his fingers over her cheek.
"I should go and tell them you are awake," she said.
He shook his head and breathed deeply. "You know as well as I that the moment you tell them they will be here with their questions and demands. At least let me catch my breath first," he asked.
His fingers brushed her cheek again and she closed her eyes and raised her hand to catch his and reluctantly lifted it away. He sighed, and taking back his hand raised it to his aching head to run his fingers through his hair.
"You should drink some water," she said, turning away under his gaze to find a beaker and pour him some.
"How long has it been?" he asked.
"Two weeks. You caught a fever." She moved to kneel closer to his head and supported him while he sipped the water. He was content to acquiesce to her gentle attention.
He had never tasted water that was so refreshing, so sweet. He knew that it was because he had gone so long without consciously tasting it, though he knew she would have been giving him water along with whatever medicine she had made for his fever. He also knew she would not let him take too much and so savoured every drop.
"And that was why you were watching me so closely?" he asked her when she took the beaker.
She nodded slowly but would not meet his eyes. "We were worried that you were not going to wake."
He reached out slowly and turned her eyes up to meet with his, giving her a questioning look.
"I was afraid… that I would lose you," she confessed.
He closed his eyes and sighed. "Lamis, I am sorry."
She pulled back, and turned away again to begin fussing with blankets and dressings as she said, "Anyway… your wounds are healing well, and it looks as if the fever is gone-"
"Lamis…" he tried to reach out to her as she stood. Much as he could understand her reaction he didn't want there to be this awkwardness between them. She was his friend, and he needed her to be his friend.
"I have to go and tell them you're awake, Ardeth," she said and moved out of his reach, "you know that."
He fell back against the bed and closed his eyes to shut out the flash of emotion that had answered in him at the look in her eyes. He was being unfair. He couldn't love her like that and he knew there couldn't be anything between them beyond their friendship, he'd told her that. But he knew she loved him… she had said – had asked him to make her his wife… and he could not. He was being very unfair.
"What is it my flower, why won't you talk to me?" Melleha turned her head away when Firyal spoke to her.
"I think you know," she said surprising even herself at how angry she still was after two weeks. "Who were those people that came? How did you know where to find them?"
"I told you," Firyal said.
"You told me that your father had been a Medjai warrior; that you'd never seen him and yet you can conjure them up to come and collect one of their injured?" She stood and turned to face her maid. "So either you were lying to me then or you are lying to me now. Either way you are not the woman I thought you to be. Maybe that's why you wanted to see me married off to Far-"
Firyal's slap to her face cut off her tirade and had her fall back into her chair.
"Silly girl!" Firyal snapped. "You have no idea what you're dealing with… who these people truly are. You still have some romantic notion of how honourable and just they are… They kill people, Melleha. People like your father who go hunting after Egypt's treasures… but worst of all, they are enemies with the very people that al-Mahdi would have you married to… so he could not stay here."
"So that justifies lying to me, does it… and lying to him?" she played her ace card. "Who is he anyway, to warrant such concern over one man and whether he got killed… seems a bit odd to me."
"I did not-"
"You did, and you are doing so now!" Melleha accused. "You let him think that it was you that healed him… that saved him-"
"I could not let you be involved in this my flower. With you going to Farhas, the less you know of the Medjai and particularly that Medjai the better."
"Who is he Firyal," she pressed.
"No."
"Tell me!"
"I said no and I mean no!" Firyal snatched up Melleha's head covering and started toward her. She snatched it out of the other woman's hands and tossed it back onto the bed where her maid had got it.
"He speaks English you know," she said, trying to goad Firyal into revealing more about this mysterious man that had captivated her imagination and the first stirrings of her young heart.
Firyal stopped and the look of concerned horror on her face made Melleha's blood run cold.
"Did he see you?" she asked.
"What does it matter, he-"
"Did he see you?" she almost shouted.
"No… yes… I don't know, maybe!" Melleha yelled back. "I don't see what it matters or what business it is of yours if he did. Tell me who he is."
"The Medjai are divided into twelve tribes – and he is their leader, their chieftain." Firyal finally snapped and told her the truth. "And you must forget he was ever here. You can have nothing to do with him or the Medjai. That way only leads to trouble and pain."
"But Firyal-"
"No!" Firyal once again picked up the veil and threw it at Melleha. She caught it and stood staring at it and as Firyal continued her tirade she let her mind drift off, no longer listening to the irritating noise, but thinking about her important and powerful desert warrior.
"Carnahan isn't it?" Jonathan spun round, almost taking Alex's arm out of the socket as the unfamiliar voice behind him said his name. He looked at the ageing man, remembering him at once.
"Yes, that's right," he said as warmly as he could muster. "Francis Gray, right?"
"Yes, old fellow." Gray held out his hand which he took and shook as firmly as he could. "We met at the engagement party."
"May I present my nephew, Alexander O'Connell," he said to cover the disgust that he felt rising at that memory.
"Pleased to meet you sir," Alex said politely. He looked at Jonathan with a puzzled expression and Jonathan shook his head.
"Mister Gray, what a surprise." Evy's arrival saved him from having to say anything more to the man. He saw him frown, no doubt thinking how unladylike it was for Evy to be wandering the markets and the souks.
"No less of a surprise for me, my dear young woman," he said with a tone of disapproval that confirmed Jonathan's supposition. "What are you doing out here?"
"Same as you I expect," she answered, not in the least intimidated. Jonathan smiled, that was his baby sister all right.
"Well that's all settled then," Rick arrived and without even glancing at the man, almost as if he hadn't noticed him, he spoke to Evy. "We can pick them up when we're ready to leave. Alex will have to ride with one of us thought because-"
"Dad!" Alex moaned.
"Don't 'dad' me Alex, those camel can be nasty little critters they… hey, who's this guy?"
"Rick, you remember Francis Gray," Evy said smoothly. "Celia's fiancé."
Jonathan cringed to hear those words spoken together.
"Yeah, right, sorry." he turned to include the man and held out his hand. "Just a little distracted."
Gray took his hand and shook it. "Going out on a dig, O'Connell?" he asked.
"Yeah, nothing too taxing, just assisting in Karnak. Bit more like a vacation than anything," Rick answered, he nodded toward Alex, "Hence the…"
The older man nodded knowingly and looking up at the sun in the sky over head he pulled out both a handkerchief and a pocket watch he mopped his sweaty brow and consulted the watch for the time.
Jonathan half turned away, still fighting with boiling feelings of disgust and jealousy. Maybe he should just call Ardeth right away and send him in like an avenging angel to rid Celia and himself of the disgusting tower of a man.
"Tell you what, O'Connell, why don't you and your family come to dinner. Tell the truth it would do Celia good to have some female company for a while," he nodded toward Evy. "She's seemed a little delicate lately. I think it's this filthy heat."
Jonathan squeaked and tried to gesticulate subtly to Rick that it would be a bad idea.
"We'd like that." Rick said, "Wouldn't we honey?"
"I think it would be wonderful to see Celia again. We used to spend so much time together as children and then lost touch when I came to Egypt with my Mother and Father." She smiled.
"Well that's settled then," Gray smiled a huge patriarch smile. "See you at, um… shall we say seven?"
"Seven it is," Rick smiled and put an arm around Evy's shoulder. He frowned at Jonathan in puzzlement. He groaned and all but threw up his arms, shaking his head.
"Marvellous!" Gray pronounced and started off calling in a terrible Arabic accent to his servants. "Utalu… Yallah!"
After two weeks of fighting she still had her head but she had never been more afraid that now.
From the window space of the harem she could see the many men patrolling around the walls of Farhas' compound. It was the only evidence that they were at war at all. At first the fighting had been close enough to the compound for her to see the fires, the camps of the bands of warriors that were attacking the Farhaseed… her people.
Ilham sighed and turned away from the window that was bringing in the night air. Too many years looking out of the same window dreaming of freedom dragged the sigh from deep down in her soul.
She walked to the three small beds in the corner of the harem that she had made her own, to look on her children. She loved them all dearly, in spite of their sire. Sitting down beside the bed she ran her fingers gently through the dark curls on the head of her son. At four and a half he was still young enough to be with her… but the time was coming, and it would not be long, when Farhas would demand him to be with the men of his household, with his other sons… and then she would lose him. Farhas would turn him against her.
She pressed her hand to her heart and tried to suppress the sob that was rising. "Be strong Medjai brothers," she whispered. "Finish this for me."
She curled herself around her son and bone weary soon fell into a fitful sleep… a fitful sleep that was rudely interrupted by the sudden screams from the other women and the growl that was accompanied by a pain as she was hauled away from her son by her hair.
She couldn't suppress the cry of pain and reached up a hand to grasp his wrist.
"Please, my lord," she begged. "Not in front of the children!"
He just growled in answer and drew his knife. She cowered as much as his hand in her hair would allow.
"No," she sobbed, hearing the children behind her crying out for her. "Farhas please… I beg of you not here."
"Where are they?" he demanded, at last letting go of her hair, but punching her in the side of the face. She felt to the floor and did not have time to scramble away before he was on her, astride her and pinning her to the hard marble floor. "Tell me!"
"Who?" she wept.
"Don't play games with me, woman!" He hit her again and she bit her lip and tongue, drawing blood. "I may lose my son tonight because of the bastard sons of whores that spawned you and your kind!"
Her heart fell through the floor. She knew there would be no way she could calm him… either she would have to tell him the location of the Medjai encampment or she would have to endure whatever punishment he saw fit.
"Where are they?" he roared again, grabbing her by the throat and pressing the knife hard against the side of her neck.
"I cannot," she squeaked, trying the one thing that he might actually believe. "I was barely more than a child myself when I was sent to you. I fear I would get you lost in the desert."
He growled in irritation, but evidently believed her because he let go of her neck and climbed off her, though not before he deliberately nicked the side of her neck.
"Get up," he commanded.
Shakily she got to her feet only to almost walk into the flying back hand slap that almost knocked her back down again.
"By the time I'm finished with you, woman, you will beg for me to give you the chance to try and show me," he said. "Get yourself to my chambers. And make sure you are waiting for me on your back, Medjai bitch!"
Melleha sat with her eyes downcast toward the table top, but watched from the corner of her eyes as Adham rose to greet the woman that walked into the room as though she were the queen of Egypt herself.
She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. Her long, blunt cut black hair hug around her shoulders, a raven frame for a face that though beautiful, was cruel and knowing. It was something in her eyes.
She looked over Adham's shoulder and met Melleha's eyes.
"What is she doing here?" she demanded. "I would have thought that desert animal would have her by now."
"There was trouble," Adham answered, gesturing toward a chair. "With the Medjai. Farhas did not want his bride harmed in the conflict."
"Looks like the Medjai earned you a reprieve, girl," the woman addressed her directly as she sat down at the table. "But I wouldn't get too comfortable just yet. If I have my way, you will be in Fahas' arms before you can snap your fingers."
The thought made Melleha feel quite sick… the stench of his sweat and of his breath against he neck, hot and foul… his hardened fingers against her soft flesh. She shuddered.
"Now you understand," The woman smiled a sarcastic smile, as though she had read Melleha's thoughts.
"Now Meela, you'll frighten the girl," Adham said with a wicked smile. "And you don't want her refusing to go."
"Oh she'll go even if I have to drag her there myself," Meela answered. "I need to get to Hamunaptra, and I need Farhas distracting the Medjai for that."
"Aren't they already distracted?" Adham asked.
"I need to be sure he won't renege on the arrangement and let them through. She," she pointed a Melleha, "is the only guarantee of that."
Melleha gasped. She had always known she was being used, but to be sold like that… to appease one of Adham's many clients in the antiquities market, she felt suddenly nauseous and began shaking, wanting to be anywhere than there.
"Whatever is wrong?" Adham snapped, noticing the way she'd paled and was shaking.
"I feel unwell," she heard herself saying and tears came to her eyes. "May I be excused?"
"Go, as you wish!" he waved her away as the unimportant object that she was, and she barely made it from the room before she began to cry.
The moment he set eyes on her he almost leaped up and throttled Gray. It was not like Jonathan to be so physical, to respond so positively, but the sight of Celia, pale, tired and looking as though she had spent the afternoon crying moved him to want to act, to almost need to act.
Her hand twitched at her side, the palm facing downwards. It was a clear sign to him to behave, to remain calm and not to show that anything was anything other than he expected it would be.
Evy however was not so restrained and Jonathan cringed.
"Good God woman, you look like death!" She fixed the prospective husband of her once childhood acquaintance with a fierce look that would have stopped most men in their tracks. Not so Francis Gray. "What has he been doing to you?"
"It's this wretched heat," Celia said, sounding as wan as she looked. "I almost can't breathe sometimes in the day, and then at night I freeze. It's a wonder I've not caught my death of consumption or some such other dreadful sickness."
"Never mind, my Lilly," Francis Gray moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulder in a possessive manner. Jonathan saw her cringe and had to catch a hold of his temper once more. "A few nights out in the desert - out in the fresh air, you'll soon be right as rain."
"I rather doubt that," she said, moving away to sit on the couch demurely, "I should be dreadfully worried about getting attacked by some tribe of desert nomads or something."
"Oh I shouldn't worry about that," Jonathan piped up perhaps a little too quickly. He cursed inwardly as Gray turned an almost suspicious look his way.
"What my brother-in-law means," Rick said, "Is that the Tuareg and Bedouin tribes mostly keep themselves to themselves. This time of year they're normally more concerned about their animals."
"There you see, my dear." Gray nodded appreciatively in Rick's direction. "There speaks the voice of experience. Spent a little while in the Legion, hey O'Connell."
"A while," Rick answered and Jonathan could tell that he was more than a little uncomfortable at the admission.
"I'd really rather not talk about such things," Celia said, locking her eyes for a moment with Jonathan's wide eyed stare.
"Well then we shaln't." Evy came to sit beside her and took her hand. Jonathan looked away rather than see how limp it was. "But my dear you must tell me, are you eating properly. You do look dreadfully pale."
"Can hardly keep a thing down," Celia answered.
"I was rather afraid of that." Evy stood up and turned to face Gray with a determined look on her face. "Mister Gray, you really must try and get your hands on some of the mint tea that the desert tribes drink. It's very good for settling the stomach. Otherwise I fear you might just have to abandon your expedition on account of your fiancée's sickness."
"Stuff and nonsense, my good woman," Gray came right back, still not cowed by Evy's attitude. "Nothing a few more days getting used to the place and some fresh desert air won't solve."
"Francis please," Celia said, "don't let's argue. I really don't think the O'Connells came here to be brow beaten into agreeing with your opinion of everything and I do wish you'd listen sometimes to other people. The O'Connells have so much more experience out in the field than we do. We should value their opinion, not poo poo it."
"Of course my dear," Gray agreed, but not before Jonathan saw the flash of annoyance that passed across his eyes at being spoken to in such a manner Celia. "Let's just try to enjoy the evening. Shall we?"
He swept his arms in the direction of the dining room and took Celia's hand to help her to rise before leading the others in. Jonathan could only walk at the back of the small group, watching in growing hatred as Celia was paraded by Gray as little more than his possession.
As he watched she turned her head to find his eyes. It was a despairing look she gave him; a request for salvation and inside him the smouldering embers found that spark that ignited them into flame. First thing in the morning, he vowed, he would find one of the Medjai if it killed him, and have Gray dealt with once and for all.
The light scratching at her window started her toward waking, and then the cold night breeze breathed a light caress over her skin. A warm hand over her mouth startled her awake.
"Be still, you are quite safe." The voice was smooth and rich, the accent heavy. "Do you understand me?"
He eased up the pressure but did not remove his hand, not until she nodded did he move his hand away and allow her to sit up. She pulled the comforter with her.
"Forgive my intrusion," he said. "I had to see you."
"Are you well now?" she asked and boldly reached out a hand toward his chest, where he had been injured when he left two weeks ago.
He caught her hand and caressed it briefly before he brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers. She blushed and tried to pull away the hand, but he held it fast, and pressed it against his chest, against the beat of his heart.
"Thanks to you," he answered at last, trapping her hand under his and moving closer. "This heart still beats. Tell me your name?"
He reached out and caressed her face, she moaned at the exotic and forbidden touch and then whispered her own name.
"Melleha," he echoed. "Mellehai, my Melleha…"
"Oh God, please…" she breathed.
"What?" he murmured. He moved a little more and slipped his arm behind her, to pull her against him, into his arms. The handles of his blades pressed against her breasts. "Tell me what it is you want?"
"You…" she whispered, trembling. "To be with you. Please take me away from here. He means to marry me away to-"
"Hush, my heart…" he stroked her hair and wiped away tears she didn't even know were falling. He crooked his finger beneath her chin to raise her face still further until she was lost in his deep brown eyes. "You're safe, I promise you."
She closed her eyes as his lips pressed to hers and felt a thrill in her heart at the kiss.
She came awake with a start. It was dark and she was still dressed. The shutters were firmly closed. Disappointed, she touched her fingers to her lips. She had never been kissed, never felt the press or another's lips to hers… she wondered what it might be like, were he to kiss her as he had done in her dream.
It was a cold night, colder than usual… or perhaps that was just her perception. The sky was clear, the stars bright, and Ardeth was well and truly healing from his injuries and his fever was gone. She should be happy that she had been the one to accomplish that. She had saved him.
She sighed and blinked back tears. Saved him only to say goodbye to him again.
She couldn't put her finger on exactly when it was that she realised she felt more for him that just friendship, but things had been so difficult for her since then.
Always when he visited her father privately, he would laugh with her… tease… and sometimes even hold her if she were low, or tired. Knowing that he did so only out of friendship hurt, but still she wouldn't have made him stop, because at least it was something.
But then it wasn't enough. It didn't soothe the ache in her heart that often woke her at night. Or the dreams of much more intimate moments, that she could only imagine, but often did…
"No," she whispered. She had to stop. She was going to drive herself crazy with it. She had no choice but to accept his reasons, his explanations and his wishes. To do otherwise would only cause trouble between then and would mean she would be without even his friendship. She couldn't bear that…
Tears burned at the back of her eyes as she remembered the time she almost had. When she had made such a fool of herself and tried to throw herself at him…
"You are avoiding me, Ardeth," He looked up and her and quickly came down the side of the dune to meet her and draw her into the privacy in the shadow of the rear of the tents. She thrilled at his touch… that he would want to be in private with her and reached up to draw down her veil. Then she saw the look in his eyes and almost turned right that moment and fled back to the village. This was not HER Ardeth. This was the Medjai Chieftain, the warrior pledged to keep his people safe.
"Lamis, what do you think you are doing?" he said, his voice a low and urgent whisper. "You should not come out here unescorted, it is not safe."
"Well then all will be well, because I am not unescorted." She pouted at him. They were alone and he did not need to keep up the hardened edge with her. They were friends. He could be open with her… Her heart fell, unless there was something wrong. "Come back with me Ardeth – they miss you."
"You miss me," he said softly, and his expression softened. A look almost of regret came into his eyes and she knew what he would say next and did not want to hear it. "Lamis, it is for your own good."
Chilled, in spite of the gentle way he was rejecting her she wrapped her arms around herself, fighting to keep the tears from her eyes, but knowing that he would see the trembling of her lips. He turned his head onto the side slightly and reached out to caress her arms, as he often did when he knew she was upset.
"I am sorry, truly, but we have been through this. There can be nothing beyond the friendship that we have and I need you to understand that."
"I saw you with the child tonight," she said, moving away from his light caress and turning to face him.
"Most of the tribe saw me," he answered. "Lamis, stop this, please."
"Ardeth…" She hadn't meant to press him, but truly, seeing him with her new born nephew had completely stolen what little restraint she had remaining. She had seen the spark almost of pride and perhaps love in his eyes, that his friends only son had born a child… she wanted to be the one to give him that… for himself.
"No!" he said forcefully. He took a step forward, but startled she backed away. The hem of her dress caught around her boot as the sand shifted beneath her feet, making the ground uneven. But for his fast reflexes she would have fallen, and for a moment she resisted his touch, but then she remembered the hundred or so times he had saved her and never even known about it… Kept her sane with the way he treated her as an equal and not just a woman, as too many of the other men did… sat with her through the night her mother had passed away… prayed with her when her father had been sorely hurt or her brother wounded in battle… in a sudden rush of needful affection she threw herself forward against his chest and pressed her cheek against the heartbeat she could feel.
"Ardeth, please-"
"Listen to me," he tried to prise her away from him, but she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Let go. Stop this!"
"I love you!" The words escaped her before she could stop them and she started to shake. This was not something that was done… it was not the way to go about these things, feeling everything slipping away from her, she started to cry.
Crying was not something that she usually did… she saw it as weakness, but she couldn't help herself. The thought of having ruined everything with Ardeth brought them from her as surely as if she had just been told of his death.
He gently pulled her back to arm's length and cupped her chin in his hand to bring her eyes up to meet his. "And I you, as a friend, a sister, but 'we' cannot be."
"But why?" her voice wavered on the edge of fresh tears.
Ardeth sighed. "Because I was born on a twelfth year."
"Wh… what?" she stuttered, shocked.
"The woman I am to marry cannot be from any of the twelve tribes. She will not be Medjai."
"Ardeth…" she broke down then. She had never before imagined that Medjai Law would be the thing that kept them apart. She sobbed his name and after a while he drew her closer and enfolded her in his arms.
"Hush, Lamis," he soothed gently, "It is all right. You will always be in my heart."
"But I don't want to be your little sister…" she wept and once against pressed him when she should have left well alone. "You could take a second wife, Ardeth please."
He laid his cheek on the top of her head and, rocked her from side to side, "Lamis, you know that's not who I am. You know me better than any woman because you are your father's daughter. You know that when I marry, it will be for love."
"But how will you find that love, if with a woman you have never met before – never even seen?" She asked, still crying hard into the front of his robe.
"I do not know," he sighed and eased her out of his arms once more. Then more firmly he said, "No more tears. You must forget about me and look to your future with a husband that loves you and will always be there for you."
She tried to stop crying then, but so desperately wanted to hold on to the moment as he almost tenderly brushed away the teardrops from her cheeks. Foolishly she looked up into his eyes, and on reflection of that tenderness she asked, "Will you at least say goodbye with a kiss?"
He shook his head and it broke her already aching heart in two, but his next words and actions threw the two halves to opposite sides of the oasis.
"It would not be right or proper," he said and picked up the veil, to fix it back into place before he continued, "And if you cannot accept me as your brother then I must behave as any other warrior and expect that you keep yourself covered in future. Go back to the fire Lamis."
He turned his face away, and in the wake of that, utterly crushed she couldn't contain the sob that burst from her as she turned and fled.
It was a stupid thing to have done. She knew that now and her face was wet with embarrassed tears as the memory returned. She wished she could take it all back… continue as before instead of laying open her heart to him when both now knew he could not give her what she could not give up, no matter how hard she tried.
She loved him, more than life… and she didn't think anything would ever be able to change that, and so she had to fight with herself to find a way that she could live with it.
Time was short. The others had gone to look at a number of small artefacts that had been found at Gray's dig site, leaving Celia and Jonathan mere moments alone.
It was awkward, it felt really awkward.
"How've you been… really?" Jonathan broke the silence at last.
"Jonathan," she breathed, "I hate this… I hate being here with him."
"Are you really so sick?" he asked, crossing the room to crouch in front of her. When she didn't answer he continued, "Celia?"
She shook her head. "I'd hoped it would keep him away from me."
He took her hand when she reached out to him and brought her hand to his lips to kiss her fingers. She sighed his name, almost tearfully and freeing her hand from his, she caressed the side of his face.
"He's not…" Jonathan hesitated. He hated the thought of Gray and his filthy sweaty hands on Celia, "He's not hurt you, has he? Touched you?"
"No," she whispered. "But I keep my door locked at night. I don't trust him. The way he looks at me, now that he has me away from my father."
"Sweetheart, listen to me." Jonathan moved up to the couch beside her, taking a risk, because the others could return at any moment. He put an arm around her and she laid her head on his shoulder. "I can help you, but the friend I need to get in touch with… I've not been able to yet. I need you to just hang in there for me."
"I'll try," she whispered.
"But if he touches you, Celia… if he even tries-"
"Don't." she breathed. "I don't want to even think that he might. I fear it so much."
He turned his head and kissed her lightly on the temple. She ran her fingers up his arm, as though she was trying to be sure that he was real. Taking a greater risk he gently turned her face toward him and lightly kissed her lips, he almost lost himself in the sensation of his lips caressing hers.
She moaned softly and almost leaned in to him before she snatched herself away from him. "Please don't…"
"Celia, I-"
"And please don't say you're sorry." She touched his lips with her fingers before she stood and moved away, to stand beside the ornamental fireplace.
"How long before you leave?" he asked after several more moments of awkward silence. "For Luxor, I mean. You are starting out of Luxor?"
She shook her head again. "He means to go from here… by boat down the Nile to Thebes and then across he desert to Esna. He says it will take him the week to get equipped. What about you?"
"By train," he said, hearing the others return. "To Luxor, and then under our own steam to Karnak."
"I see…" she started, but he waved her to silence.
"Tell me quickly," he said, "Are you able to get away?"
"I don't know, why?"
"I'd like to see you."
"Jonathan," she looked at him with the most painful expression on her face. Need and fear combined. "I want to but-"
"We're at the Excelsior Hotel," he told her. "Leave me a message if you can."
They took her back as the sun started rising over the desert. Literally took her back, because she could not walk, and tossed her through the door to the harem. He had never before used her as brutally as he had the night before. She was cut, and bruised and ached in places that she had never before felt such pain. Barely conscious she cried out hoarsely as she fell to the cold marble floor.
"Merciful Allah," the voice that gasped in shock was far away. "Sumayyah, take her children out of here. They must not see their mother this way."
"Zahra?" she murmured through her swollen lips.
"Hush, Ilham," the voice said. "I will take care of you."
She couldn't help herself, she began to cry as the older woman, with the help of another picked her up and carried her to one of the beds at the rear of the harem and began to undress her. Each time they gasped, she sobbed a little more. Ashamed of what they must be seeing… the bruises, the bites and cuts.
Zahra cursed softly, and smoothed back her hair as she sent the other woman for warm water and cloths. "What did he do to you?"
Ilham forced her red and swollen eyes, both from crying and the many blows he had given her, to open and saw the First Wife nod to the other woman that had brought the things she would need, and then wave her hand to send her away.
"I don't… remember… most of it," she sobbed, her answer broken with tears and pain. "Just… it hurts…"
She winced as Zahra gently dabbed at the cuts on her face, and her split lip with a wet cloth, and closed her eyes again, not wanting to see the stain of her blood.
Zahra had seen the results of his temper before, but never like this, never so vicious.
As gently as she could, she cleaned the cuts to her face, and the bites to her neck and breasts. She hesitated at the bruises she could already see forming on the girl's sides and carefully rolled her onto the less injured side, to view the mass of purple welts on her back.
He had beaten her, Allah only knew with what, and when. And if he had done that…
"Ilham, I do not wish to ask you this, but I must know," She hesitated, gently laying her back again. "Did he?"
Ilham's moan, primal and lost stopped the question that had been poised on her lips. The scratches she saw on the insides of her thighs when she moved to bathe the injured woman's sex answered the question.