Disclaimer: Stephen Sommers and Universal Pictures own the character of Ardeth Bay. I do not profit from this work.
***
I awoke, disoriented. It was already light outside---I had overslept---my father would beat me---I sat up, panicking, ready to fly into action.
Suddenly the past day's events came rushing back to me. I was overwhelmed once more at the incredible fate that Allah had seen fit to bestow upon me. I closed my eyes, praying silently from my heart. When I reopened them I looked around the tent, and when my eyes caught the sight of Ardeth, I nearly cried out in shock.
He sat, relaxed, leaning against a richly adorned saddle, and he was clad not in the shredded remnants that he had worn on our journey, but instead in a set of fresh black robes. He was clean, his hair combed out and free of dust, falling to his shoulders in a mass of ebony. His mahogany eyes danced; his sensual lips were curved in a small smile amid his neatly trimmed sable goatee. A golden handled scimitar hung from his belt along with a long fringed sash; his feet and calves were encased in a pair of fine leather boots.
"You are awake at last, Beloved," he said, standing up and approaching me. He took my hand in his own, gently kissing it, and his eyes met mine, sending hot sparks through them. "There is food, and fresh clothing. And water, should you wish to bathe. I must speak with my father, but I will return soon." With that he gave my hand one last kiss before he strode across the tent, his black robes swirling, the broad set of his shoulders disappearing through the tent flap.
I sat still for a moment, look around in awe at the finery, the utter luxury of his tent. I had once seen the inside of the shiekh's tent at my camp---in the camp of my father, that was; it was a crude hovel compared to this. Richly embroidered pillows, thick rugs, elaborately detailed lamps...it was as if some djinn had dropped me into the Sultan's palace. I was almost afraid to touch anything, fearing that it would vanish beneath my begrimed fingers. And the chance to wash---it was the most decadent thing I could ever envision. It had always been said that the mountain tribes were rich with water, and now I was seeing it with my very eyes. I approached the large basin, and after taking one careful look around, I disrobed, leaving the filthy, oft-mended garments in a shodden heap. The water was lukewarm, smelling faintly of sweet almonds, and I began to scrub, eager to remove the layers of dust.
Feeling human again, and hungry, I unfolded the robes he had left for me, and was awed. Black, like his, finely woven with tiny silver threads, a shimmering belt made of tiny coins for my waist, a veil so sheer it was nearly transparent. I had never worn anything so beautiful. My eyes welled up with tears as I dressed reverently. The feel of such intricately woven fabric against my flesh---it was exquisite.
I looked at a large silver platter, using it to inspect myself. All that was left now was my hair, still drying; with the aid of a heavy golden comb I succeeded in untangling it, but I did wish for my own comb. I left it loose and unbound, something only a wife can do. I wished to show him the depth of my commitment.
I ate sparingly of the food heaped on a dish, trying not to overtax myself after having gone so long with so little. There were so many delicacies, so many fine exotic foods; I was afraid to sample them all, and instead sat closer to the firepit. The bejeweled saddles were all so obviously costly that I dared not lean against one. I pulled the veil to my face, tucking it behind my ear, and tried to be still, but it was difficult. Always in the tent of my father I was busy, gathering water, caring for the camels, cleaning and cooking. I tried to calm myself, to slow the beating of my heart, to sit peacefully; it did not make a difference. My mind was like an agitated panther, lunging and pacing, unbelieving of what it had found.
The tent flap was thrust aside, and he entered, so beautiful that my heart constricted within my chest. His eyes swept over me, and he smiled. "Already you look Druze," he murmured. His gaze wandered to my long hair, curling under the veil, and he looked surprised. Grinning, he crossed the tent to my side, kissing me passionately. My knees weakened at the feel of him against me, the strong masculine scent of him, the hot pressure of his lips stealing my soul away---the little corner of it left that he did not possess already. He withdrew slightly, his dark eyes looking down into my own, a long-fingered hand stealing up to caress my cheek gently. "Beloved," he said softly.
I leaned forward, kissing him delicately, tasting the sweetness, the lushness of his soft lips. He answered hungrily, gripping me against him tightly, shaking with the intensity of his need. He shifted suddenly and picked me up, carrying me to his bed, where he laid me down and looked at me, devouring the sight of me. I shivered at the sight of those liquid, feral eyes---
I remembered another suddenly, the pain, and the blood, and I was frightened. I took a calming breath and pushed such thoughts out of my mind. This man was Ardeth, and I had crossed the Red Desert to be at his side, I had stolen him away from the tent of my father, I had received him from the outstretched hand of Allah and His infinite mercy.
He must have seen the emotions on my face, because he hesitated for a long moment, and said, "I understand---that you are fearful. The act of love has only been painful to you. I will---I must wait, and let you become more comfortable---"
I could see in his eyes how much he desired me, and I wished him to know that I was his equal in this. "Beloved," I said, and wrapped my arms around him, kissing him again ardently. "You are not that man," I said softly. "He is dead now, and it was many years ago. I have not been touched since." Putting my lips almost to his ear, I whispered, "And I desire you, as a woman desires a man."