Chap 8
"Get up, swine," a hard voice ordered followed by a vicious kick to Nabil's ribs. He doubled up in pain, arms clutching his midsection as his shoulder ached in protest. "We're moving out."
Slowly the Medjai tried to move but found his body stiff and unyielding from the cold night air and he moved too slowly for his enemy's liking.
"I said move." Another kick to the back and Nabil grunted from the pain, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position. Whatever momentum gained was abruptly stopped by a third kick to his wounded shoulder that sent the warrior crashing back down onto the sand in agony. He heard his tormentors laughing at their new sport for the day and vaguely wondered if he would live to see another sunrise.
The torture stopped as quickly as it had started and Nabil peered up through blurred vision to see the leader kneeling down next to him.
"Enough, Jahm wants him alive. Leave him be and mount up," the man ordered and stared at the Medjai with reluctant concern.
"Can you move?" He asked.
Nabil chose not to vocalize his answer but instead slowly and methodically pushed himself upright, a triumph that was marred by his swaying on his feet.
The leader shook his head in amazement. "You know, I wonder about you, Medjai. You're not of the true blood, you should be considered something less, with those eyes of yours. Tell me, aren't you considered a half- breed? You must be an insult to your people."
Nabil remained impassive, his gaze focused on the horizon, ignoring the cruel remarks from his captor. His silence was more effective than any physical blow and Kasim stepped back, an infuriated look on his face, the verbal attack lacking the desired effect. Suddenly with a scream of rage, the man lashed out and kicked Nabil's leg with malevolent glee, watching the warrior tumble to the ground. He leaned down and grabbed the robes, pulling upwards until their faces were inches apart, and Nabil saw his eyes were glittering with an unholy light. Several long tension filled moments passed as Nabil watched the leader struggle to contain his temper while he struggled to remain expressionless. With a snarl, the warrior was thrown back on the ground and the leader slowly stood up, dusting himself off.
"I am Kasim, Second to my leader Jahm and you are my prisoner. Make no mistake, I look forward to when I can kill you." The man paused and looked back at Nabil still lying on the sand. "I've heard stories about you, Medjai. And now, I'm beginning to believe them."
Minutes later, the men were mounted and riding once more towards the main camp.
~*~
He woke up in gradual stages of awareness, his body feeling heavy and lethargic, a dull throbbing in his shoulder that poked at him with razor sharp tenacity and made him squirm in an effort to relieve it.
He tested the rest of his being, flexing and moving each limb, each extremity until he heard a noise from outside, and he immediately stopped moving.
"Someone…is crying," Rick whispered and suddenly, the events of the day past came flooding back to him.
The chest. Nabil. And Ardeth.
"My people mourn their loss," A female voice said softly and he felt the coolness of her hand placed on his forehead.
Rick's eyes fluttered open and focused on the veiled face of a young woman, leaning over him and applying a damp compress to his shoulder.
A single cry of grief was joined with others as the Medjai women continued with their wails of sorrow, and O'Connell found it hard not to give into his own release as it moved through his soul, like a caged animal pacing for freedom. Instead, he swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and pushed it down, into a tight little knot of hurt and focused on something more tangible. Certainly more attainable.
Revenge.
"Where is Quadamah?" he asked hoarsely.
"Speaking with the elders, but he will be here soon. He's been checking on you since dawn." The healer straightened up, and rinsed the compress once more in the basin she had sitting on a nearby stand. "You're still slightly feverish but Nabil was right," she said softly, and Rick caught a glimpse of sadness in her dark eyes at the mention of the missing warrior's name. "You're as strong as a bull, and you will recover quickly."
"Thank you." Was all Rick could manage to say and with a small nod, the young woman left the room.
"I will tell them you're awake," she quietly said as she walked out.
Rick closed his eyes for a moment, the feeling of loss he had been trying to ignore almost too poignant, especially in seeing her sadness and coupled with the sounds of mourning outside. He squeezed them tighter and a lone tear slid down his face and he quickly wiped it away with the back of one hand. His chest heaved a couple of times and when the wailing reached in crescendo, he whispered his own cry of sorrow in one simple sentence.
"Ardeth…..my friend."
~*~
An hour or so before dawn Asiya woke up and was surprised to find herself in her chambers. Memories of how she got there were hazy and she frowned in concentration, ignoring the beckoning softness of her pallet that teased her exhausted body to lie down once more and rest.
The last coherent thought she had was tending to the warrior and suddenly she sat upright on the bed, filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. Something was wrong and she bolted out of her room and ran down the hallway to the other chamber. She came to an abrupt halt in the doorway and braced herself against it.
On the pallet, the warrior lay unnaturally still and her fear intensified when she began to walk slowly towards him. There was no healer attending him and Asiya felt angry over the lapse in his care. She could see he was resting partially on one side, a hand hanging limply over the edge, his eyes half closed and unfocused.
Trembling, she crept closer, her heart hammering wildly in her chest as she took short, rapid breaths in an effort to remain calm. Her mouth was dry and when she reached the bedside, she found it difficult to swallow past the fear lodged in her throat.
His face looked so peaceful and serene and she concluded that in the past few hours since leaving him, he had passed.
Tears of sorrow filled her eyes over the thought of him alone and in pain when he died and she fell to the floor on her knees and bowed her head in prayer.
She felt defeated and very inexperienced, never having had a patient before and knowing this would remain as a lesson to her, in both life and death that would help mold her into being an exceptional healer. It was a necessary lesson as her mentor had instructed them on many occasions, but Asiya wasn't prepared for her feelings of inadequacy or the intensity of her sorrow over the loss.
She composed herself a few minutes later, wiping her face with one hand and slowly climbed to her feet, accidentally bumping his hand.
Startled, he sucked in a gulp of air, his eyes fluttered open and he rolled over, staring around the room in confusion. Asiya stepped back, amazed that he was awake and impulsively, she reached out to check him for a fever. Her hand lightly touched his forehead and she felt awkwardly shy as his dark gaze centered on her face, studying it with intense scrutiny. When she pulled her hand away, he suddenly grabbed it in a surprising burst of energy and she gasped out loud from the sudden contact.
"Your…your fever has broken," she whispered.
With her hand still held prisoner in his, he gently cradled it and rubbed the pad of his thumb over the sensitive palm, in small yet ever increasing circles that were distracting yet sensual. Asiya felt a blush rise up in her cheeks as she tried to free herself, but the warrior's grasp was firm yet tender. He seemed to be contemplating something as his gaze swept over the long tapered fingers and he gave a slight smile when it seemed he finally remembered.
"Healer." Came the hoarse yet undeniable conclusion.
"Warrior," she replied.
He seemed satisfied with the answer and slowly, he let his hand fall back to his side as he shifted on the pallet.
Asiya knelt by the bedside for a few moments to calm her racing heart and regain some precious composure. She glanced down at her hand, puzzled and amazed that it could still feel the warrior's burning caress from only a few moments ago.
"Where…?" he asked.
Asiya moved away from the bed and told him of the compound, supplying a few more answers to unasked questions to help the Medjai acclimate himself. She walked back holding a small cup of water and bent over him, her unbound hair falling like a silken ebony curtain over one shoulder.
"Sip slowly," Asiya instructed and held the cup to his lips. "Tell me your name, warrior, so we may notify your family and tribe of your recovery."
He shook his head. "No…family."
Asiya caught the fleeting look of sorrow in his dark eyes and wondered if he had truly recovered, or if there were more wounds hidden deep within.
"Then at least give me your name," she coaxed and reached out to caress his face.
He seemed startled at her soft touch and Asiya quickly withdrew her hand only to have it captured again in his strong grip. Emotions as deep and as turbulent as the Nile flowed over his face finally leaving a lingering sadness as he stared at her hand once more.
"My name is Ardeth," he finally whispered and caved into his desire. Slowly, he brought her hand back to his face and kept it prisoner there under his gentle command. His eyes closed, perhaps in remembrance from another time and Asiya felt this simple gesture touch her woman's heart. She whispered her name to him and heard it returned with a sigh before the warrior fell back to sleep.
Asiya stayed by his side, reluctant to remove her hand even though his grip had long ago released it from its tender prison. She fell asleep long before the sun rose to greet the new day.
~*~
"Well?" Qutaybah leaned forward and rested his hands on the tabletop. He swallowed the knot of fear in his throat, lodged there since yesterday when he had decided to take a side trip from Giza.
The chest was safely secured nearby and he let his avarice overrule good judgment. He and a few of his men had gone to a seedy little casbah located near the port and his intentions had been to sell it to the highest bidder. The problem was the few offers he had received were of little value. Now time was running out since he was overdue at Jahm's camp by one full day and he didn't want to feel the full brunt of his leader's anger without being able to appease it with a small fortune in gold coins.
"Will you accept my price?"
The older gentleman sitting across from him shifted uncomfortably in his chair and Qutaybah saw the signs of reluctance show on the his face.
"No," he sighed and slowly stood up, gathering his hat and cane before leaving. "Sorry but the price of ten thousand is too steep for me. Perhaps you can find someone else interested in buying it."
"Wait," Qutaybah called out after him. "I can accept less, I'll take five thousand."
The other man never acknowledged the lower price and Qutaybah sat back, disappointed his chance for wealth was a failure. He toyed with the idea of staying longer but knew it was only prolonging the inevitable confrontation with Jahm and quickly, he signaled to his men that they were leaving.
~*~
"Are you saying there is nothing more you can do?" Allan Merriweather challenged. Since the day of his wife's abduction, he had stormed the office of the constable for Cairo, demanding the men responsible for her kidnapping be found and brought to justice. A task that with each passing hour, seemed more insurmountable given the lack of cooperation he felt he was receiving from city authorities.
"Mr. Merriweather," Constable Harun al-Dawla started to explain yet again to the English gentleman. "As I have told you before, I am a man with limited resources. What men I can spare are investigating the skirmish at Giza and reviewing eyewitnesses."
"Limited resources? Then stop with the bloody interviews and send those men after my wife."
"Sending my men out into the desert after a group of…renegades is not very efficient police work. They already have at least a day's ride ahead of us, not to mention the fact the tracks are probably covered over by wind blown sand."
Allan threaded his fingers through his hair in agitation. "Then what about finding those men in black? You told me one witness claimed they saw one protecting my wife."
Harun hesitated, knowing very well the witness was talking about a Medjai, but explaining the ancient warrior society to the Englishman would not be practical at this point, most likely causing more concern rather than understanding. Harun knew that if a Medjai was protecting the woman, her chances of survival were significantly better since they obeyed the law of the desert.
"Yes I did but so far, our attempts at finding them have come up empty- handed."
"So that's all you can say…everyone is under investigation."
"No, I also say you must have patience. And give me time to find those responsible…"
Allan interrupted the constable with an arrogant wave of his hand. "At this rate, finding those responsible is about as likely as me being crowned Pharaoh of Egypt."
Harun's eyes narrowed over the other man's tactless comment but he refrained from returning any insult. "Then I can only suggest you contact the captain at Fort Brydon. Perhaps he has some additional men who can aid in the search for your wife. Now if you have no further questions, I would like to return to my duties here. There are other matters that also need my attention."
"Of course," Allan walked out of the office, his eyes snapping with anger and his mouth set in a grim line of disappointment. "Bloody hell."
He stopped just outside the building and looked with disdain at the bustling crowd of people that moved through the dirty narrow streets. He had envisioned spending a few lazy weeks here in some of the local casbah's happily immersed in a few games of chance, cheerfully spending his wife's money. To keep her diverted away from his lack of attention, he had thought to send her and Midge on several tours of the pyramids and to Khan Al Khalili, called one of the biggest bazaars perhaps in the world.
Now he was a prisoner, tied to his hotel room as he patiently waited for any word of her rescue. He took a deep breath and walked down the steps, immediately assaulted by determined vendors who out shouted one another in an attempt to sell their wares. Allan pasted a small smile on his face and politely declined each vendor with a firm "La, shukran" as he walked towards the hotel.
His destination was the bottle of liquor he had stashed in the hotel room and considering he had just played the part of the concerned husband so well, he deserved a drink.
~*~
Olivia rode along side Kasim for most of the day, in what she was certain was a blatant show of ownership to his men. She had entertained teasing thoughts of escaping on horseback, but quickly pushed them aside when remembering the promise to trust her warrior. As if sensing her desire, Kasim had taken the lead rope from the horse's halter and secured it around his saddle's pommel, flashing her a knowing smile. Olivia ignored his odd humor and instead kept a silent vigil over the Medjai who was riding nearby, shaking her head in wonder at how the warrior managed to stay in the saddle despite his growing weakness. She couldn't help but speculate how much strength he had left and to her horror, by mid-afternoon she had the answer.
The Medjai suddenly toppled from the horse and Olivia wanted to fling herself from the saddle after him but felt the hard restraining hand of Kasim's on one shoulder. Frantically she pulled against him as the leader barked out a harsh command for his men to check on the fallen warrior. Olivia watched as the men walked over to the prone body and nudged it with their feet, probably speculating amongst themselves that the Medjai was dead.
She turned to Kasim, and tried reasoning with him. "Please let me help him. If he dies, his death will be on your hands."
"His death?" the leader scoffed. "Whether he lives or dies is of no consequence to me. However, my chief wants the Medjai alive for now, to serve his purpose. Go and see if you're puny efforts can delay what may still happen in the end."
Olivia didn't question Kasim's sudden generosity and dismounted. She ran over to the warrior and knelt by his side, almost gagging from the strong metallic smell of the blood that covered his robes and ran down one side, like a long scarlet ribbon. In her heart she knew she had to try everything she could to save him but in her mind, her knowledge was little defense against the very real fear that she would prove to be less than the need demanded. Olivia knelt down and ripped away more material from her tattered hemline, and gingerly pressed it against the shoulder wound, hating the low moan of agony that filtered from the warrior's lips. She watched his eyes flutter open and leaned down, one hand gently brushing away a few strands of dark colored hair from his face, an unexpected act of tenderness that surprised them both.
"Should I tell…you now where…it hurts?" he murmured, a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.
"No," Olivia said softly with a bittersweet smile. "Save your strength and tell a real doctor when we get to Cairo."
The warrior closed his eyes for a moment and Olivia panicked when she saw the look of resignation pass over his face. She knew that look all too well, having seen it on the face of her father when he learned of his incurable illness, and on the face of her mother after his death. It was the acceptance of one's fate, and the lack of desire to change it that bothered her; she had the same look on her face when she married Allan.
"In shaa' allah …you will get to Cairo," he murmured. "I fear I may not…"
"Poppycock and nonsense," Olivia scoffed. "You said your people are coming, so we'll somehow keep you alive until then."
She reached up again to brush his forehead but her hand stopped when she could feel the tacky warmth of his skin. A fever brought on most likely by the untreated bullet wound. By no means a medical expert, Olivia knew the dangers of high temperatures as a body fights infection just as she knew if left untreated, it could result in death. And the warrior held the same knowledge.
"Ya soghairi, listen to me…there isn't much time," he suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her closer, until their faces were just inches apart. Olivia gasped at the close intimate contact, the feeling of her breasts crushed against his chest and under different circumstances; perhaps she would have allowed herself to give into the traitorous feelings in her heart.
Kasim suddenly called out to her, and Olivia could hear a taint of jealously in his voice.
"Whatever they say…you must obey without question," the warrior quickly whispered. "Do you understand?"
"Yes but…"
Kasim called for her again.
"Do not argue, just…listen," he continued impatiently. "It will keep you alive…even when I am not there to protect you. Forgive me for I have failed you."
Olivia wanted to respond but felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder and painfully pull her back away from the Medjai. Kasim's eyes were narrowed in rage, but it looked like he maintained a thin thread of control over his emotions and knelt down in the sand.
"I wonder, what did this Medjai do for you to inspire such loyalty?" he asked. "For you to disobey me even after I thought the lessons were learned, I truly wish to know."
"He saved my life." Olivia said quietly.
Kasim gave a small bark of laughter. "And you thought to repay that kindness by saving his?"
"It's the least I could do," she remarked dryly.
"Then it ends here," he declared and grabbed her arm, pulling Olivia to her feet. He shoved her towards her horse. "His fate is in the hands of Allah now; there is nothing more you can do. Instead, I suggest you look towards your own future especially since your fate hangs in the balance."
He barked a command and several men came over and lifted the semi-conscious warrior back onto his horse, tying his hands around the animal's neck. Olivia was also ordered to mount and once seated, Kasim walked over and laid a hand possessively on her knee.
"Soon we will reach the camp, most likely by sunset. After you and the Medjai are presented to Jahm, then I will take you back to my tent," he caressed her leg, rubbing his hand suggestively up towards her thigh. "I eagerly look forward to instructing you on further lessons of obedience."
Olivia hid her revulsion as best she could and met his leering gaze with one of feigned indifference. Inwardly, her fear of not being rescued came back with a vengeance and for a brief moment, she wondered what had possessed her to listen to the warrior's instructions. Time was running out and rational thought of survival became focused on fleeing, no matter the consequences of riding in the desert. Death in the Sahara was preferable to being raped by a mad man and Olivia almost gave in to her panic, wanting to kick her heels and spur her horse into a gallop. She glanced over at the warrior, her heart aching when she saw his body slumped over the horse's neck, his hands tied underneath. She accepted the grim truth; Olivia couldn't leave the warrior to his fate. A twist of fate had thrown them together for a reason and while at the moment, she couldn't possibly fathom why, the thought of his needless death was more unsettling than she cared to admit. Dim memories of Allan, her boring, steadfast and gambling husband had somehow paled in comparison to the Medjai. The warrior was mysterious, honorable and she reluctantly admitted…exciting. Scandalous thoughts for a newlywed made even more so with her sudden decision. He must have felt her gaze and he slowly raised his head, his eyes reflecting more than just regret.
"Forgive me for I have failed you."
Kasim gave the command to ride and when Olivia rode past the Medjai, she quickly turned her head and whispered a reply.
"But I won't fail you."
"Get up, swine," a hard voice ordered followed by a vicious kick to Nabil's ribs. He doubled up in pain, arms clutching his midsection as his shoulder ached in protest. "We're moving out."
Slowly the Medjai tried to move but found his body stiff and unyielding from the cold night air and he moved too slowly for his enemy's liking.
"I said move." Another kick to the back and Nabil grunted from the pain, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position. Whatever momentum gained was abruptly stopped by a third kick to his wounded shoulder that sent the warrior crashing back down onto the sand in agony. He heard his tormentors laughing at their new sport for the day and vaguely wondered if he would live to see another sunrise.
The torture stopped as quickly as it had started and Nabil peered up through blurred vision to see the leader kneeling down next to him.
"Enough, Jahm wants him alive. Leave him be and mount up," the man ordered and stared at the Medjai with reluctant concern.
"Can you move?" He asked.
Nabil chose not to vocalize his answer but instead slowly and methodically pushed himself upright, a triumph that was marred by his swaying on his feet.
The leader shook his head in amazement. "You know, I wonder about you, Medjai. You're not of the true blood, you should be considered something less, with those eyes of yours. Tell me, aren't you considered a half- breed? You must be an insult to your people."
Nabil remained impassive, his gaze focused on the horizon, ignoring the cruel remarks from his captor. His silence was more effective than any physical blow and Kasim stepped back, an infuriated look on his face, the verbal attack lacking the desired effect. Suddenly with a scream of rage, the man lashed out and kicked Nabil's leg with malevolent glee, watching the warrior tumble to the ground. He leaned down and grabbed the robes, pulling upwards until their faces were inches apart, and Nabil saw his eyes were glittering with an unholy light. Several long tension filled moments passed as Nabil watched the leader struggle to contain his temper while he struggled to remain expressionless. With a snarl, the warrior was thrown back on the ground and the leader slowly stood up, dusting himself off.
"I am Kasim, Second to my leader Jahm and you are my prisoner. Make no mistake, I look forward to when I can kill you." The man paused and looked back at Nabil still lying on the sand. "I've heard stories about you, Medjai. And now, I'm beginning to believe them."
Minutes later, the men were mounted and riding once more towards the main camp.
~*~
He woke up in gradual stages of awareness, his body feeling heavy and lethargic, a dull throbbing in his shoulder that poked at him with razor sharp tenacity and made him squirm in an effort to relieve it.
He tested the rest of his being, flexing and moving each limb, each extremity until he heard a noise from outside, and he immediately stopped moving.
"Someone…is crying," Rick whispered and suddenly, the events of the day past came flooding back to him.
The chest. Nabil. And Ardeth.
"My people mourn their loss," A female voice said softly and he felt the coolness of her hand placed on his forehead.
Rick's eyes fluttered open and focused on the veiled face of a young woman, leaning over him and applying a damp compress to his shoulder.
A single cry of grief was joined with others as the Medjai women continued with their wails of sorrow, and O'Connell found it hard not to give into his own release as it moved through his soul, like a caged animal pacing for freedom. Instead, he swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and pushed it down, into a tight little knot of hurt and focused on something more tangible. Certainly more attainable.
Revenge.
"Where is Quadamah?" he asked hoarsely.
"Speaking with the elders, but he will be here soon. He's been checking on you since dawn." The healer straightened up, and rinsed the compress once more in the basin she had sitting on a nearby stand. "You're still slightly feverish but Nabil was right," she said softly, and Rick caught a glimpse of sadness in her dark eyes at the mention of the missing warrior's name. "You're as strong as a bull, and you will recover quickly."
"Thank you." Was all Rick could manage to say and with a small nod, the young woman left the room.
"I will tell them you're awake," she quietly said as she walked out.
Rick closed his eyes for a moment, the feeling of loss he had been trying to ignore almost too poignant, especially in seeing her sadness and coupled with the sounds of mourning outside. He squeezed them tighter and a lone tear slid down his face and he quickly wiped it away with the back of one hand. His chest heaved a couple of times and when the wailing reached in crescendo, he whispered his own cry of sorrow in one simple sentence.
"Ardeth…..my friend."
~*~
An hour or so before dawn Asiya woke up and was surprised to find herself in her chambers. Memories of how she got there were hazy and she frowned in concentration, ignoring the beckoning softness of her pallet that teased her exhausted body to lie down once more and rest.
The last coherent thought she had was tending to the warrior and suddenly she sat upright on the bed, filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. Something was wrong and she bolted out of her room and ran down the hallway to the other chamber. She came to an abrupt halt in the doorway and braced herself against it.
On the pallet, the warrior lay unnaturally still and her fear intensified when she began to walk slowly towards him. There was no healer attending him and Asiya felt angry over the lapse in his care. She could see he was resting partially on one side, a hand hanging limply over the edge, his eyes half closed and unfocused.
Trembling, she crept closer, her heart hammering wildly in her chest as she took short, rapid breaths in an effort to remain calm. Her mouth was dry and when she reached the bedside, she found it difficult to swallow past the fear lodged in her throat.
His face looked so peaceful and serene and she concluded that in the past few hours since leaving him, he had passed.
Tears of sorrow filled her eyes over the thought of him alone and in pain when he died and she fell to the floor on her knees and bowed her head in prayer.
She felt defeated and very inexperienced, never having had a patient before and knowing this would remain as a lesson to her, in both life and death that would help mold her into being an exceptional healer. It was a necessary lesson as her mentor had instructed them on many occasions, but Asiya wasn't prepared for her feelings of inadequacy or the intensity of her sorrow over the loss.
She composed herself a few minutes later, wiping her face with one hand and slowly climbed to her feet, accidentally bumping his hand.
Startled, he sucked in a gulp of air, his eyes fluttered open and he rolled over, staring around the room in confusion. Asiya stepped back, amazed that he was awake and impulsively, she reached out to check him for a fever. Her hand lightly touched his forehead and she felt awkwardly shy as his dark gaze centered on her face, studying it with intense scrutiny. When she pulled her hand away, he suddenly grabbed it in a surprising burst of energy and she gasped out loud from the sudden contact.
"Your…your fever has broken," she whispered.
With her hand still held prisoner in his, he gently cradled it and rubbed the pad of his thumb over the sensitive palm, in small yet ever increasing circles that were distracting yet sensual. Asiya felt a blush rise up in her cheeks as she tried to free herself, but the warrior's grasp was firm yet tender. He seemed to be contemplating something as his gaze swept over the long tapered fingers and he gave a slight smile when it seemed he finally remembered.
"Healer." Came the hoarse yet undeniable conclusion.
"Warrior," she replied.
He seemed satisfied with the answer and slowly, he let his hand fall back to his side as he shifted on the pallet.
Asiya knelt by the bedside for a few moments to calm her racing heart and regain some precious composure. She glanced down at her hand, puzzled and amazed that it could still feel the warrior's burning caress from only a few moments ago.
"Where…?" he asked.
Asiya moved away from the bed and told him of the compound, supplying a few more answers to unasked questions to help the Medjai acclimate himself. She walked back holding a small cup of water and bent over him, her unbound hair falling like a silken ebony curtain over one shoulder.
"Sip slowly," Asiya instructed and held the cup to his lips. "Tell me your name, warrior, so we may notify your family and tribe of your recovery."
He shook his head. "No…family."
Asiya caught the fleeting look of sorrow in his dark eyes and wondered if he had truly recovered, or if there were more wounds hidden deep within.
"Then at least give me your name," she coaxed and reached out to caress his face.
He seemed startled at her soft touch and Asiya quickly withdrew her hand only to have it captured again in his strong grip. Emotions as deep and as turbulent as the Nile flowed over his face finally leaving a lingering sadness as he stared at her hand once more.
"My name is Ardeth," he finally whispered and caved into his desire. Slowly, he brought her hand back to his face and kept it prisoner there under his gentle command. His eyes closed, perhaps in remembrance from another time and Asiya felt this simple gesture touch her woman's heart. She whispered her name to him and heard it returned with a sigh before the warrior fell back to sleep.
Asiya stayed by his side, reluctant to remove her hand even though his grip had long ago released it from its tender prison. She fell asleep long before the sun rose to greet the new day.
~*~
"Well?" Qutaybah leaned forward and rested his hands on the tabletop. He swallowed the knot of fear in his throat, lodged there since yesterday when he had decided to take a side trip from Giza.
The chest was safely secured nearby and he let his avarice overrule good judgment. He and a few of his men had gone to a seedy little casbah located near the port and his intentions had been to sell it to the highest bidder. The problem was the few offers he had received were of little value. Now time was running out since he was overdue at Jahm's camp by one full day and he didn't want to feel the full brunt of his leader's anger without being able to appease it with a small fortune in gold coins.
"Will you accept my price?"
The older gentleman sitting across from him shifted uncomfortably in his chair and Qutaybah saw the signs of reluctance show on the his face.
"No," he sighed and slowly stood up, gathering his hat and cane before leaving. "Sorry but the price of ten thousand is too steep for me. Perhaps you can find someone else interested in buying it."
"Wait," Qutaybah called out after him. "I can accept less, I'll take five thousand."
The other man never acknowledged the lower price and Qutaybah sat back, disappointed his chance for wealth was a failure. He toyed with the idea of staying longer but knew it was only prolonging the inevitable confrontation with Jahm and quickly, he signaled to his men that they were leaving.
~*~
"Are you saying there is nothing more you can do?" Allan Merriweather challenged. Since the day of his wife's abduction, he had stormed the office of the constable for Cairo, demanding the men responsible for her kidnapping be found and brought to justice. A task that with each passing hour, seemed more insurmountable given the lack of cooperation he felt he was receiving from city authorities.
"Mr. Merriweather," Constable Harun al-Dawla started to explain yet again to the English gentleman. "As I have told you before, I am a man with limited resources. What men I can spare are investigating the skirmish at Giza and reviewing eyewitnesses."
"Limited resources? Then stop with the bloody interviews and send those men after my wife."
"Sending my men out into the desert after a group of…renegades is not very efficient police work. They already have at least a day's ride ahead of us, not to mention the fact the tracks are probably covered over by wind blown sand."
Allan threaded his fingers through his hair in agitation. "Then what about finding those men in black? You told me one witness claimed they saw one protecting my wife."
Harun hesitated, knowing very well the witness was talking about a Medjai, but explaining the ancient warrior society to the Englishman would not be practical at this point, most likely causing more concern rather than understanding. Harun knew that if a Medjai was protecting the woman, her chances of survival were significantly better since they obeyed the law of the desert.
"Yes I did but so far, our attempts at finding them have come up empty- handed."
"So that's all you can say…everyone is under investigation."
"No, I also say you must have patience. And give me time to find those responsible…"
Allan interrupted the constable with an arrogant wave of his hand. "At this rate, finding those responsible is about as likely as me being crowned Pharaoh of Egypt."
Harun's eyes narrowed over the other man's tactless comment but he refrained from returning any insult. "Then I can only suggest you contact the captain at Fort Brydon. Perhaps he has some additional men who can aid in the search for your wife. Now if you have no further questions, I would like to return to my duties here. There are other matters that also need my attention."
"Of course," Allan walked out of the office, his eyes snapping with anger and his mouth set in a grim line of disappointment. "Bloody hell."
He stopped just outside the building and looked with disdain at the bustling crowd of people that moved through the dirty narrow streets. He had envisioned spending a few lazy weeks here in some of the local casbah's happily immersed in a few games of chance, cheerfully spending his wife's money. To keep her diverted away from his lack of attention, he had thought to send her and Midge on several tours of the pyramids and to Khan Al Khalili, called one of the biggest bazaars perhaps in the world.
Now he was a prisoner, tied to his hotel room as he patiently waited for any word of her rescue. He took a deep breath and walked down the steps, immediately assaulted by determined vendors who out shouted one another in an attempt to sell their wares. Allan pasted a small smile on his face and politely declined each vendor with a firm "La, shukran" as he walked towards the hotel.
His destination was the bottle of liquor he had stashed in the hotel room and considering he had just played the part of the concerned husband so well, he deserved a drink.
~*~
Olivia rode along side Kasim for most of the day, in what she was certain was a blatant show of ownership to his men. She had entertained teasing thoughts of escaping on horseback, but quickly pushed them aside when remembering the promise to trust her warrior. As if sensing her desire, Kasim had taken the lead rope from the horse's halter and secured it around his saddle's pommel, flashing her a knowing smile. Olivia ignored his odd humor and instead kept a silent vigil over the Medjai who was riding nearby, shaking her head in wonder at how the warrior managed to stay in the saddle despite his growing weakness. She couldn't help but speculate how much strength he had left and to her horror, by mid-afternoon she had the answer.
The Medjai suddenly toppled from the horse and Olivia wanted to fling herself from the saddle after him but felt the hard restraining hand of Kasim's on one shoulder. Frantically she pulled against him as the leader barked out a harsh command for his men to check on the fallen warrior. Olivia watched as the men walked over to the prone body and nudged it with their feet, probably speculating amongst themselves that the Medjai was dead.
She turned to Kasim, and tried reasoning with him. "Please let me help him. If he dies, his death will be on your hands."
"His death?" the leader scoffed. "Whether he lives or dies is of no consequence to me. However, my chief wants the Medjai alive for now, to serve his purpose. Go and see if you're puny efforts can delay what may still happen in the end."
Olivia didn't question Kasim's sudden generosity and dismounted. She ran over to the warrior and knelt by his side, almost gagging from the strong metallic smell of the blood that covered his robes and ran down one side, like a long scarlet ribbon. In her heart she knew she had to try everything she could to save him but in her mind, her knowledge was little defense against the very real fear that she would prove to be less than the need demanded. Olivia knelt down and ripped away more material from her tattered hemline, and gingerly pressed it against the shoulder wound, hating the low moan of agony that filtered from the warrior's lips. She watched his eyes flutter open and leaned down, one hand gently brushing away a few strands of dark colored hair from his face, an unexpected act of tenderness that surprised them both.
"Should I tell…you now where…it hurts?" he murmured, a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.
"No," Olivia said softly with a bittersweet smile. "Save your strength and tell a real doctor when we get to Cairo."
The warrior closed his eyes for a moment and Olivia panicked when she saw the look of resignation pass over his face. She knew that look all too well, having seen it on the face of her father when he learned of his incurable illness, and on the face of her mother after his death. It was the acceptance of one's fate, and the lack of desire to change it that bothered her; she had the same look on her face when she married Allan.
"In shaa' allah …you will get to Cairo," he murmured. "I fear I may not…"
"Poppycock and nonsense," Olivia scoffed. "You said your people are coming, so we'll somehow keep you alive until then."
She reached up again to brush his forehead but her hand stopped when she could feel the tacky warmth of his skin. A fever brought on most likely by the untreated bullet wound. By no means a medical expert, Olivia knew the dangers of high temperatures as a body fights infection just as she knew if left untreated, it could result in death. And the warrior held the same knowledge.
"Ya soghairi, listen to me…there isn't much time," he suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her closer, until their faces were just inches apart. Olivia gasped at the close intimate contact, the feeling of her breasts crushed against his chest and under different circumstances; perhaps she would have allowed herself to give into the traitorous feelings in her heart.
Kasim suddenly called out to her, and Olivia could hear a taint of jealously in his voice.
"Whatever they say…you must obey without question," the warrior quickly whispered. "Do you understand?"
"Yes but…"
Kasim called for her again.
"Do not argue, just…listen," he continued impatiently. "It will keep you alive…even when I am not there to protect you. Forgive me for I have failed you."
Olivia wanted to respond but felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder and painfully pull her back away from the Medjai. Kasim's eyes were narrowed in rage, but it looked like he maintained a thin thread of control over his emotions and knelt down in the sand.
"I wonder, what did this Medjai do for you to inspire such loyalty?" he asked. "For you to disobey me even after I thought the lessons were learned, I truly wish to know."
"He saved my life." Olivia said quietly.
Kasim gave a small bark of laughter. "And you thought to repay that kindness by saving his?"
"It's the least I could do," she remarked dryly.
"Then it ends here," he declared and grabbed her arm, pulling Olivia to her feet. He shoved her towards her horse. "His fate is in the hands of Allah now; there is nothing more you can do. Instead, I suggest you look towards your own future especially since your fate hangs in the balance."
He barked a command and several men came over and lifted the semi-conscious warrior back onto his horse, tying his hands around the animal's neck. Olivia was also ordered to mount and once seated, Kasim walked over and laid a hand possessively on her knee.
"Soon we will reach the camp, most likely by sunset. After you and the Medjai are presented to Jahm, then I will take you back to my tent," he caressed her leg, rubbing his hand suggestively up towards her thigh. "I eagerly look forward to instructing you on further lessons of obedience."
Olivia hid her revulsion as best she could and met his leering gaze with one of feigned indifference. Inwardly, her fear of not being rescued came back with a vengeance and for a brief moment, she wondered what had possessed her to listen to the warrior's instructions. Time was running out and rational thought of survival became focused on fleeing, no matter the consequences of riding in the desert. Death in the Sahara was preferable to being raped by a mad man and Olivia almost gave in to her panic, wanting to kick her heels and spur her horse into a gallop. She glanced over at the warrior, her heart aching when she saw his body slumped over the horse's neck, his hands tied underneath. She accepted the grim truth; Olivia couldn't leave the warrior to his fate. A twist of fate had thrown them together for a reason and while at the moment, she couldn't possibly fathom why, the thought of his needless death was more unsettling than she cared to admit. Dim memories of Allan, her boring, steadfast and gambling husband had somehow paled in comparison to the Medjai. The warrior was mysterious, honorable and she reluctantly admitted…exciting. Scandalous thoughts for a newlywed made even more so with her sudden decision. He must have felt her gaze and he slowly raised his head, his eyes reflecting more than just regret.
"Forgive me for I have failed you."
Kasim gave the command to ride and when Olivia rode past the Medjai, she quickly turned her head and whispered a reply.
"But I won't fail you."