Disclaimer: Stephen Sommers and Universal Pictures own the character of Ardeth Bay. I do not profit from this work.
I slept for a very long time in a dark and dreamless world. When I finally awoke the sun had already traversed a long way; I emerged from the tent, yawning widely, to find him standing, staring pensively off into the distance, the long lines of his body emanating power. His arms were crossed and he did not look my way as I foraged through the saddle bags for my other set of clothing. I changed and sat down within the tent, quickly absorbing myself in the lengthy task of pulling my waist length hair out of its six braids and combing it. My fingers worked slowly, the camel bone comb waiting on the rug.
Unexpectedly he entered the small tent and sat down, watching silently. As my fingers struggled with a particularly stubborn knot he suddenly took the comb and commenced to untangle it himself, ignoring my protests. His long fingered hands moved through my hair with such care that I simply succumbed to the sensual pleasure of the delicate pull on my scalp. He was exceedingly gently, letting his hands entwine themselves and rebraid the locks into an unfamiliar single braid. Each movement sent tiny frissons of pleasure through my body. No one had ever been so kind to me before. I felt embarrassed.
"You are very different," he said softly once he had finished the braid. "I have never met any like you."
I opened my eyes, but I was afraid to turn around. "What do you mean?" The sun blazed upon the open sands.
He was silent for a moment, and I tensed, expecting ill. "You are so strong," he said finally. "We have ridden for days in the heat at a pace that would humble even the best of my warriors. Yet you stay in the saddle without complaint...you endure...you trust in Allah and free a stranger, taking him into the desert, away from all you have known, though it means your death if you are found. You are honest, courageous, brave...Your eyes are as dark as the night..." His voice trailed off.
I sat, quietly stunned. Did he mean these things? These fine words, I felt unworthy of them. His hand was on my shoulder, pulling me around, and I could not help myself, I had to look into his eyes, his soft mahogany eyes that stared at me with such intensity that for a moment I could not draw breath.
"Tuema," he said, his voice tight with emotion. He made as if to rise but suddenly leaned forward and caught my lips in his own. I was frightened, but his free hand gently caressed my cheek as he kissed me deeply, his mouth warm and moist against my own. His hand tightened on my shoulder and then he abruptly ended the kiss, his eyes searching my face.
I sat, frozen. I had seen women killed for less, for a rumor that they had entertained a warrior in his tent late at night. He seemed to sense the struggling feelings within me, because he pulled away and left the tent. I could still feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder; the hot pressure of his lips lingered. My hands were shivering with the intensity of the desire and the fear inside me. Unsteadily I would my kuffiyah about my head and began taking the tent down.
He helped me resaddle the camels in silence, the hot sun upon us both. Once we were mounted, he looked at me, unveiling his face. Though his expression was unreadable, his eyes were like liquid onyx, filled with an emotion I was unready to identify.
"Where will you go now?" he asked quietly, maneuvering his camel so close to mine that our knees almost touched.
It was the question I dreaded. "I---I do not know."
"Will you travel with me?" His eyes, so close, pleaded with me.
I fell silent. To travel alone was dangerous. To travel farther with him was even more so. I closed my eyes, blotting out the sight of his elegant tanned face, and listened to the stillness of the desert. My treacherous heart urged me to stay by his side. I prayed to Allah and that was when I remembered the amulet. If this was where it led, then I must push down my childish wishes and follow. A lifetime of servitude to the Druze was better than a single day of slavery with al-Rashid. I thanked Allah for his mercy. "Yes," I said, opening my eyes and drinking in the sight of his grin.
"Twelve more camel rides to my father's camp," he said, his grin widening. "And then I can show you my full appreciation for saving my life. I owe you a blood-debt." He replaced the veil of his kuffiyah and swung his camel's nose northward.
I was lucky that my own kuffiyah hid my expression. How could he claim me, a woman, as his blood-brother? This was not possible. Even though the Druze were different, they surely would not stoop so low. I was little better than a slave, ill-suited to have someone so fine indebted to me. Allah preserve me, I whispered. Keep my path clear. I ask for so little; a warm bed, food, time to rest. For this I shall work, gratefully, and spend the rest of my energy in Your service.
***