Iman opened the curtain, revealing the two women. “You’ll share with me, Rand. Won’t you?” She reached down, seized the cigarette from the redhead, and took a long drag
“That was mine,” Rand said
Iman moved to sit behind the redhead. “Tahra, I thought we agreed to keep her away from that stuff?”
“We did,” Tahra said nervously, looking up from between Rand’s legs, her lips and chin glistening from her lover’s juices. “But she had to go to him last night, you know how nervous she gets. He gave it to her, to calm her.”
“Did he now?” Iman asked, a slow smile forming on her lips. “Our Abdulla has been a very bad boy. I will have to punish him later.”
As Iman got up and began to walk out of the curtained area, Rand moaned and reached out for her, “Don’t go!”
“I may need help with her,” Tahra said softly. “Last time it took several days to get her over this. I can’t keep her occupied by myself. You know I can’t.”
Iman pursed her lips and appeared to be considering the matter for a moment. Then, she shrugged carelessly. “Sure, why not. Not like I have anything better to do.” She slipped back behind the redhead. “Lean back against me, Rand, that’s it.”
Iman licked her fingers, and then reached around, rubbing their moistened tips around Rand’s nipples. Rand arched up and tilted her head back, opening her mouth slightly. Tahra, resuming her ministrations, again began to lap up the flood of juices from between her lover’s velvet folds. A soft moan, almost a whimper, escaped Rand’s lips. Iman leaned down and as she tugged on Rand’s now erect nipples she plunged her tongue, deeply into Rand’s mouth.
“So! What’s your name?” the young girl who was pulling on Lillian’s sleeve asked.
“They were calling me Hessa, but my real name is Lillian.”
“I’m Sahar,” the girl volunteered. “I grew up in the harem of the Sultan. I’ve only been with the prince for a few months.”
“You’ve been in a harem since birth?” Lillian asked.
“Yes.”
“How awful,” Lillian exclaimed with genuine pity.
The young girl looked at her, confusion evident on her face. “Is it? It does not seem awful. I am still here, still alive,” she stated proudly, “and still a virgin!”
“She is to be a gift to the prince’s son, his first wife,” Ilham explained.
“But you’re so young!” Lillian said. “Too young to be someone’s wife.”
“I’m fourteen!” Sahar exclaimed. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Where is your husband?” Sahar asked curiously.
“I’m not married.” Lillian waved at the smoke wafting up in front of her face. The opium started to cloud her senses and she shook her head in an attempt to clear it.
“Yet,” Ilham interjected. “You’re not married yet.”
“Are you to be married soon?” Sahar asked, now bouncing on her toes in excitement.
“Tomorrow, apparently,” Lillian said as she sat down, dejectedly on an empty pallet.
“Tomorrow?” Sahar asked, sitting down alongside of her.
Lillian looked over at her and nodded.
“Don’t worry. We’ll help you prepare.” Ilham took the cigarette from Iman and offered it to Lillian. “Looks like you could use some of this yourself.”
Lillian looked at its smoldering tip, her mind already feeling blissfully fuzzy from the surrounding smoke and she reached for it. She placed it between her lips and inhaled, lightly. As the smoke hit the back of her throat she coughed. The room seemed to shift. She vaguely realized that Ilham had taken the cigarette from her as she spread her arms wide and reclined back into the plush silk pillows that surrounded her.
“You wanted to speak with me, Lieutenant?” Jemal asked.
“Bloody, right!” Jackson stood up, beckoning the servant into his tent.
Jackson secured the tents flaps to give them privacy, then turned to Jemal and said, “I have to see her. I need your help. Can you arrange it?”
“What? No!” Jemal said, backing up to leave. “I am a servant, but I am not your servant, Lieutenant. And I’m not stupid. The prince has spoken on this matter.”
“Pompous wanker,” Jackson growled as he began to pace back and forth within the small, confined space. “She must be so frightened, Jemal!” said Jackson, glancing up to see if this had any affect.
Jemal looked decidedly uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet back and forth.
“Imagine it,” Jackson continued. “Young girl in a strange land, lives through one of the war’s bloodiest battles to find herself subject to the whims of a madman.”
“The prince is not mad!”
“Perhaps not,” Jackson conceded. “But, your ways are not our ways. In our world people marry for love.”
“Never obligation?” Jemal asked pointedly. “Or perhaps for desire of money or status?”
“Point taken.” Jackson ran a hand through his hair. “Can you at least check on her? Make sure that she’s all right?”
Jemal nodded. “You care for her, Lieutenant?”
Jackson turned his back to the servant and whispered, “Yes,” his voice wrought with emotion.
“Well then, Lieutenant, tomorrow you had better win.”
Jackson’s jaw tightened as he contemplated the battle ahead. He walked over to the camel’s saddle that lay on the floor of the tent to one side. He bent down and picked up the scabbard leaning against its side. Pulling the War Economy Wilkinson sword from its brown leather sheath he vowed, “You can be sure of that, Jemal. You can be sure of that.”
Lillian sat in the middle of the tent in a hot bath. It was early evening and a lingering haze continued to engulf her. The water she was being bathed in was scented with the smell of sweet flowers, or perhaps it was the enduring odor of opium she could smell. Her head lolled back against the edge of the tub.
“Should we put henna in her hair?” Sahar asked.
“I don’t think so,” Tahra responded, washing Lillian’s hair. “I think that we should braid it though, perhaps in the morning?”
Sahar picked up a pitcher of fresh water and poured it over Lillian’s head, mindful of the need to keep the soap out of her eyes. The clear water washed away the lather and a sigh of contentment escaped Lillian’s lips. Despite all that she faced, somehow, in this moment, she felt at peace. Lillian opened her eyes, turned her head to the side, and looked at Ilham.
“It’s going to be all right, isn’t it?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Ilham, quietly, honestly. “But, it’s all right for now.”
Lillian nodded as the women helped her out of the bath and wrapped her in a swath of red silk. “I think I should sleep now,” said Lillian.
“No!” protested Ilham. “There is still much to do. Fatima will be here soon with the rest of the supplies.”
“Supplies?”
“Supplies?” Jackson asked.
“Yes.” Jemal nodded, “Fatima delivered the supplies for her preparation to the harem just a short while ago. Lillian is fine.”
“What do you mean by preparation? What are they doing to her?”
Jemal looked nervous, unable to look the other man in the eye.
“Jemal?”
Jemal looked up at Jackson, red-faced, held up one finger, then fled from the tent.
Jackson had never felt so trapped. He wished to God that the ridiculous duel could take place tonight. He was so fueled by anger that he was certain he could effortlessly win. He slumped to the floor, suddenly realizing that he had never witnessed his opponent fight. “What if?” he thought, fleetingly, before quickly dismissed any doubts.
He looked up as Jemal re-entered his tent, Fatima in tow.
“Explain,” Jemal said to his wife.
Fatima looked directly at Jackson and said, “They are preparing her for the wedding.”
“I got that part. What does that mean?”
; Fatima glanced briefly at her husband. After receiving a nod of consent, she said, “She will be bathed and her hair will be cleansed with scented water. Her body will then be massaged with oils until it gleams. They may decorate her face or body with henna paint. Her wedding day clothes will be infused with incense. Her body-hair will, of course, be removed, and—”
“Her what will be… But, why?” Jackson asked, the question escaping his lips before thinking.
“For the pleasure of her husband, of course, so that when he uses his mouth and tongue to—”
“Fatima!” Jemal interjected. “I think he understands the, um, advantages.”
Fatima nodded. “It is tradition. Lillian may not be joining the harem, Lieutenant, but since they are preparing her…Well, it is their way. It’s what they know to be proper. I imagine that they are almost finished by now. The idea is not appealing to you?”
Jackson rubbed his hand over his face and exhaled, “S’not that it’s unappealing, it’s just not necessary. There’s just no point putting her through all this. Tomorrow everything will be back to normal and all this will be for naught.”
Fatima and Jemal exchanged a confused look before Fatima said softly, “Lieutenant, if Ahmed wins, he will expect that she be properly prepared for the wedding.”
Jackson approached Fatima, hands balled into fists. “He will not win tomorrow. I will win! And I will give her freedom.”
Jemal walked over to Jackson and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Lieutenant, what do you think is going to happen tomorrow?”
“I’ll beat the ponce with the big curved sword, win the girl, and then announce that I grant her the freedom to do as she wishes.”
“You plan to forfeit the prize? Then why do this?” Fatima asked.
“So that she doesn’t have to marry someone against her will.”
Jemal shook his head.
“Because I can’t stand the thought of that man touching her,” Jackson added.
Jemal nodded. “Be honest, Lieutenant, you want her for yourself.”
“I am already married, Jemal. It doesn’t matter what I want to happen between Lillian and myself,” Jackson responded, disappointment evident in his voice.
“That is of no matter. In Arabia, Lieutenant, a man may have many wives,” Jemal answered.
“If you do not marry her, you will have no lasting claim on her. Make no mistake about this, she is beautiful and the camp is filled with men who miss having a woman in their bed. If you win only to cast her off, Ahmed will re-assert his claim and they will marry tomorrow,” Fatima explained.
“Can you figure out a way to get me in? To see her?” Jackson asked Fatima.
“Probably, but I won’t. It’s too risky for all of us. You had best concentrate on how you are going to win this challenge. Were weapons specified?” asked Fatima.
“Not exactly,” Jackson reviewed the conversation in his mind, “but the prince did say that Ahmed was an excellent swordsman.”
“That’s true,” Jemal offered, “but if weapons weren’t specified you can use whatever you have to fight him with. He is not good with his fists, for example, many men have downed him in a fist fight.”
“But he will almost certainly use his scimitar,” Fatima interjected. “If, somehow, you could disarm him—”
“Okay,” Jackson interrupted. “Let’s talk strategy. I need to know the rules, and I need to know as much as possible about how this bloke fights. There are men in this camp who have bested him?”
“Not with the scimitar,” Jemal clarified. “But with other weapons, yes.”
“I want to talk to them,” Jackson said. “Can you arrange it?”
“I think so. You want me to bring them here?”
“Yes. Fatima?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“I want my uniform back. I can’t fight in a robe.”
“I will bring it to you, Lieutenant,” she promised before walking out of the tent.
“I will be back, Lieutenant,” Jemal said, following his wife out.
Jackson’s mind was racing. He walked over to his satchel and pulled out his writing supplies. He had been keeping a journal of sorts since coming to Arabia. But this wasn’t going to be just another entry about endless landscapes of sand. This was for her.
Lillian,
I feel helpless. Alone. All I have are useless words to wrap around you. My arms ache to hold you again, though they have no right. This world is strange and war has a way of muddling things. I died, pet, so many years ago. I walked like the living, but there was no life left in me. It made me fearless, a good soldier, having nothing to lose. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of, sometimes feeling more like a monster than a man.
And then there was you. When I started this mission I was told I needed to move as quickly as possible towards my objective, towards Abdulla, then towards Aqaba. Take no prisoners. Somehow I’ve become one. Yours. It’s all twisted, yet it’s all so clear at the same time.
I should have told you. I know that. No excuses. And I know this, with you, is wrong. I know it. You deserve so much more than I can ever give you.
Tomorrow, I will fight. I will win, and I will claim you as my wife. An honor I have not earned. I couldn’t possibly. I fully realize that in your heart it will be a claim without merit and thus, in private, rest assured I will demand no entitlements. Despite the ways of this world, I find that I want nothing more than you are willing to freely give.
I justify imposing this false tether on you, by reminding myself that if I don’t stay this course, you will be forfeited to Ahmed. I say that we’ll be free then to work together, see this through. I tell myself that this is about the mission, and that I’m being noble, selfless, but that’s all a lie.
So what is true? Why do I choose this path? For the chance to hold you in my arms and once again believe you could be mine. The torch I bear is blinding in its intensity. I am drawn to you like a moth to the flame. As I lay here I burn…for you.
Jackson
Chapter Five
“What do you mean I can’t watch?” Lillian asked.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Ilham said.
“Well, how does it work? Enlighten me, please!” Lillian responded sarcastically.
“A covered aisle has been erected. You will remain sequestered inside. You will not see the sun again unless your husband permits it, Lillian,” Ilham said. “It is shorter than customary, but we will make do. Please let Tahra finish your hair. Then we will walk with you down the aisle and wait with you in the tent at the end. When the contest is over, the champion will come to claim you.”
Lillian walked back over to Tahra and once again sat in front of her.
Tahra laid a hand on her shoulder and leaning forward whispered, “It’s going to be all right.”
Lillian nodded trying her best to hold back tears.
“What’s with the tears?” Rand asked, sitting down in front of Lillian. “You’re much prettier when you smile.”
“I can’t marry that man!” Lillian cried, looking at the women now surrounding her.
“We don’t have the power to choose,” Sahar said. “We are chosen. You must follow your destiny.”
“But what about my heart?”
Rand’s eyes connected with Tahra’s. She smiled sweetly at her, then she turned to Lillian and clasping her hand said, “Your heart is always yours, even if it is inside a body that is owned and used to service another. You may give it freely to whoever you wish.”
“Enough tears,” Iman said. “They are both perfectly suitable.”
“They are not both perfectly suitable!” Lillian said as Rand and Tahra helped her step into her red silk bridal robes.
“Honey, I’ve been with Ahmed. I can assure you, he left me more than satisfied,” Iman said.
“A near impossible feat!” Sahar added.
Iman flashed her a smug smile and said, “Hey! I can’t help it if I have a healthy appetite for—”
/> “Is there something wrong with the Lieutenant? Are you worried that he won’t be able to perform?” Sahar asked.
“What? Oh, God, no. No worries there,” Lillian said. “Why are we even talking about this? This is not going to happen!”
Rand grabbed Lillian and shook her. “It is happening. We are going to walk down that corridor and we will wait with you for your husband to come and claim you. Once that happens there will be only two options for escape and only two. Death or divorce, and only your husband can initiate a divorce. Would you rather die?”
Lillian swallowed hard as she contemplated Rand’s question. She closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath. When she opened them she looked once again at Rand. She stretched her neck first to the right, then the left. Lillian then pursed her lips together and exhaled, a look of steady resolve now evident on her face.
“Where’s my veil?”
“Veil!”
Sahar walked up and handed Rand one end of a long red veil. The two women draped it over Lillian’s head, mindful of the carefully arranged braids.
Ilham opened the flap of the tent. Through the sheer fabric of the veil Lillian could see a narrow corridor stretching out before her, red silk was on either side and pulled across the top. The dawn’s light streamed through the diaphanous fabric, casting a red glow on them as they walked in procession, Sahar, being the youngest, trailing behind.
Lillian noticed the fabric rippling in the early morning breeze. She could see a crowd had gathered to watch and that some were eagerly walking along with them, towards the tent where she would wait. As they reached the end of the corridor Ilham pulled back the flap of the tent and motioned for Lillian to enter. Lillian squared her shoulders and walked inside.
The interior space was small. Its walls were covered in red silk and the floor with carpets. In the center of the tent was a sleeping pallet covered in white silk sheets.
“A gift from the prince.” Ilham knelt down and ran her hand over the soft material covering the pallet. “It is customary for the newly married couple to display the sheets for all to see after the wedding night.”
The Soldier & The Spy Page 5