The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind)

by Vanak, Bonnie

  "She wants to come. She will do as I say and remain here."

  "The lady Jillian does not appear to be the type to meekly follow orders," Jabari observed.

  Ramses stared with rapt fascination at Jillian as she tugged off her perky straw hat, revealing glossy red tresses coiled into a tight chignon. "Al-Hariia," he murmured. "That hair burns like fire. Does she burn inside as well?"

  Graham shifted, narrowing his eyes. He didn't like his friend's interest in his wife. "You'll never find out."

  The warrior looked at him and laughed. Mirth sparked his amber eyes. "Ah, so the fair English lady has caught the aloof panther and ensnared him with her fiery hair."

  A teasing smile quirked Jabari's mouth as well. "It is about time, my friend. I am most happy for you."

  Satisfaction came over Graham as he glanced at his wife and Elizabeth and Katherine. "Enough of me. Tell me of your wives. I see you've increased your family, Rames. And Tarik looks well, Jabari. He's past three now, isn't he? Why haven't you caught up? Wasn't Elizabeth pregnant when I left?"

  Ramses looked uncomfortable. Jabari's jaw clenched as he drew in a deep breath. "Elizabeth... was with child. She lost the baby. It devastated her, but she was eager to try again. She became pregnant. Then she... miscarried again."

  Genuine grief gripped Graham. "I am sorry, Jabari."

  Emotion flashed in the sheikh's dark eyes, then he shrugged. "Allah's will. We will try again, if Elizabeth wants to have another child. I told her having Tarik is enough for me, as long as I have her. She is my greatest love."

  His friend's open honesty stirred Graham. Deep inside, he longed for the same emotional commitment in a marriage. But he knew it meant sharing the deepest, darkest part of himself with Jillian. He could not.

  Relaxing once more, Ramses smiled. "Look at the three of us. Once warriors who roved the sands, free as falcons. Now our wives have captured us and we would do anything for them."

  "Even you, my newly married friend. A woman can be most persuasive when you are holding her in your arms. You will see how easy it is for Jillian to change your mind about accompanying you into the deep desert," Jabari mocked.

  But Graham could not return their smiles. The premonition danced before him: red hair billowing in the relentless clasp of desert wind, his screams echoing over the dunes...

  Graham sat in his tent later, honing his scimitar. The blade was dull from lying in an attic trunk in England. He scraped the whetstone along the edge, remembering his other life. He did not want Jillian to blend as he did. He wanted her to stand out, not be hidden in a crowd.

  For years she'd hid behind gray silk, high collars concealing her swanlike throat. Jillian, the gray shadow he had coaxed from her self-imposed shell, was no longer afraid to argue with him, to express her opinion. He smiled ruefully. She was stubborn as he, and certain to keep arguing with him to take her into the desert.

  Graham realized with a start he had changed. He'd once thought of Jillian as a means to accomplish his ultimate goal. As he had with his family, he'd kept an emotional distance, allowing himself only to be slightly vulnerable when they made love. But now he realized he wanted more. Needed more.

  Bringing her to Egypt had been a mistake and a blessing. Graham felt his dogged loneliness forced back by her sweet laughter, stimulating conversation and eager love-making. Slowly she was pushing away the darkness inside him. It scared him. The darkness was all he knew. He clung to it like sand clung to skin.

  The tent flap opened and Jillian strolled inside. She tossed down her white, floppy hat and twirled, hugging herself. She looked dreamy and delicious and utterly loveable. He wanted to lick every inch of her.

  "I've been analyzing the star charts Jabari drew up for me. Well, Elizabeth drew them; Jabari dictated. It's fascinating how the Bedu can calculate how to return home by navigating the stars each hour. He and Ramses are teaching me how to find my way in the desert should I get lost. Do you know that you can literally find your way out of the desert by analyzing latitude and longitude?"

  "Yes," he said in a husky voice. Watching her emerge from her gray cocoon had been like seeing an iridescent butterfly take flight. The very stars paled beside her beauty.

  Jillian paced, brilliant green eyes afire with excitement. "And the investments the tribe has made—Jabari has the keenest intuition. Yet they could do more. Elizabeth agreed with me that investing in new ventures such as electrical companies will secure the Khamsin's economic future."

  "It sounds... very smart," Graham murmured.

  Once he hadn't cared if she left after their three months were done. Now he couldn't bear to lose her. His thoughts were a maelstrom. Was this love? It wasn't the romance warbled by whey-faced poets. It was burning, like fire. It felt wonderful. And it seared him with pain to think of her leaving.

  She whirled, her skirts spinning out like flower petals. She looked stricken. "Oh, Graham, I'm boring you."

  He stood and went to her, brushing her hand with his lips. "Don't. Look at me, Jilly. I don't want to restrain you. Don't pretend anymore. I won't punish you for thinking aloud, or for knowing more than I do. I'm not your father."

  She seemed to struggle with her emotions. "You know more than I. You can navigate by merely glancing at the stars."

  A crooked grin tugged his mouth upward. "I get lost in my own tent. Navigating the desert at night is an art I have yet to perfect. I tend to wander."

  "That's not you, that's me. An aimless wanderer."

  "You're not an aimless wanderer. You have purpose. Your mind is like an indestructible Khamsin, blowing through life, eager to release itself. But you've been restrained, Jilly. I don't want to rein you in," he told her softly.

  Her rosebud mouth wobbled. "I'm not a conventional duchess. I don't make scintillating conversation—"

  With a finger to her lips, he silenced her. Graham framed her rounded face with his warm hands. "Jillian, I don't want a conventional duchess. Bloody hell, I'm not a conventional duke." He glanced at his indigo binish. "I doubt appearing in Parliament like this would be praised."

  A light laugh rippled from her perfect, pink mouth. "Just as I must appear an oddity here among the Khamsin."

  He shook his head. "Intriguing, yes. But not odd."

  Hope filled her gaze. "Then you have no qualms about taking me with you into the desert?"

  "We'll discuss it later," he said evasively.

  Damn. Somehow he must convince her how dangerous it was for her. But deep down, Graham knew the real danger lay ahead for him. His worst nightmare, coming true.

  He held out a hand. "Come, let's go for a walk and I'll explain some Bedouin customs to you."

  They emerged from the tent, blinking at the bright sunshine. Jillian clasped her husband's hand, wishing he would cease this remoteness. She suspected here, in this camp among friends, the real Graham would emerge. If only she could coax him out.

  Nearby, Katherine's twins, Fatima and Asad, and Elizabeth's son Tarik played in the sand. Fatima glanced up, a cheeky smile on her face. She went to Graham and hugged his knees. "Unca Rashid, play wid us," she said in English.

  Graham grinned. He ducked back into their tent.

  When he emerged, one of the clean white sheets from their bed covered his body, draping down to the sand.

  Jillian laughed. "Playing ghost?"

  "I always scared my brother with this as a child." Graham began waving his arms beneath the sheet and moaning loudly.

  "You're quite scary," she agreed cheerfully.

  "Quiet. You're ruining my act," he replied.

  The children stared, bemused looks on their faces. Jabari and Ramses approached, their brows wrinkling. "Ah, Graham, what are you doing?" Jabari asked.

  "I'm scaring your son," he countered, moaning more.

  "He does not look scared," Jabari observed. "Perhaps if you take the sheet off, he will be more frightened."

  Pulling off the sheet, Graham made an exasperated sound. Ramses chuckled and p
icked up a tiny toy scimitar, its wooden rip rounded. He tossed it over. "Try this instead."

  A high-pitched scream, the same the warriors had shrieked, undulated from Graham's lips as he waved the sword. Asad, the boy twin, screamed and toddled off toward his mother, who scooped him up into her arms. Tarik looked bored. Fatima pulled the toy sword from Graham's loose grasp and poked him in the knees. She made a sound resembling a sick goat in distress.

  Graham laughed. "A new version of the Khamsin war cry? What a little warrior." He clutched his chest. "You got me." Sliding dramatically to the ground on his back, he closed his eyes. Fatima climbed atop him, solemnly regarding him.

  "Unca Rashid crying. Here," she said, touching his chest.

  Graham's eyes flew open with a startled look. Then the little girl promptly laid her head upon his chest and yawned, clutching his binish. Tarik toddled over and joined her, using Graham as a cushion, his arm slung around Fatima.

  "Nap time," Ramses said cheerfully. "She often falls asleep on me like that. Stay there. This is the first my daughter has been quiet all day."

  Graham did not smile. He gently stroked the little girl's head with a somber look.

  Ramses picked his daughter up and she snuggled into his arms. Jabari did the same with his son. Slowly Graham arose, brushing off his binish. The smile he offered Jillian seemed tight.

  "I need to check on the camels, Jilly. Why don't you visit with Katherine and Elizabeth a while?" And before she could reply, he strode off, his jaw set.

  Despair filled her. The lighthearted moment they'd shared in playing with the children had vanished. She glanced over to see Katherine watching her, Asad asleep in her arms.

  "Odd thing for Fatima to say. Why did she?" Jillian asked.

  Distress etched Katherine's face. "She was born with a caul. Fatima has the Second Sight. Our shaman says she can see into the hearts of people. Especially those who are troubled."

  Chapter Seventeen

  After dismissing Katherine's odd remarks, Jillian found herself enjoying the adventure of staying with the Khamsin. She enjoyed talking with Elizabeth. Despite assimilating into the tribe, the woman had maintained her Western attitude. Jillian often saw Jabari looking with loving devotion at his wife. Jillian wished she could inspire the same in Graham.

  Two days later, Ramses and Katherine invited them to share what Katherine called "Bedouin English tea." Beneath the shade of an acacia tree, they spread a plush carpet. Katherine boiled water over an open fire, and steeped the tea leaves in a flowered china pot. A plate heaped with scones sat on a low round table. Amusement sparked Ramses's face as he watched his wife pour as formally as if she sat in an English drawing room.

  "Do you take milk in your tea?" she asked.

  Jillian's brows arched. "What kind of milk?"

  "Camel milk," Ramses said, and laughed at her grimace.

  "It's quite good," Katherine assured her. "The Bedouin use camel milk to keep alive in the deep desert."

  "How do you milk a camel?" Jillian asked.

  "Like a cow," Graham cut in, taking his cup from Katherine and nodding his thanks. "Except you stand up, balance the bowl on your left leg and then use your right hand to milk."

  Katherine poured a mouthful into a spare cup. "Try it."

  Jillian studied the frothy liquid and sipped. It tasted rich and creamy. "It is delicious," she admitted.

  "And healthy. On one of my trips to the deep desert, I lived for weeks on nothing but camel milk," Graham said.

  "I thought you traveled mainly in the cities, except for visiting this tribe on a brief occasion."

  Ramses and Katherine suddenly seemed absorbed in their teacups. A shadow dropped over Graham's face. "Surviving in the desert requires knowledge that will help in an emergency."

  "Well, why don't you teach me to milk a camel? I want to be able to help you on the journey."

  Graham turned his head, displaying the taut edge of his jaw. "No, Jillian. It isn't necessary. I don't want you milking camels or dressing like a Bedouin woman. You're English."

  "And so are you," she said quietly. "Yet you dress like a Khamsin warrior and speak fluent Arabic. It makes me wonder, Graham. Were you truly raised by some doting old English couple?"

  The blood drained from his face. Graham's grip on his little teacup tightened. It looked ready to shatter. Like him.

  "You're questioning my childhood?" he asked tightly. "If you wish to argue about my past, let's do it in private."

  "I won't argue, Graham."

  "Nor will I. Excuse me, Katherine, Ramses."

  He stood and slipped off, silent. Ramses sighed and followed. Embarrassed, Jillian stammered a polite apology to Katherine. "I just want to help him. How can I?"

  The petite brunette looked thoughtful. "Show him you will do anything to go with him. He shouldn't be alone in the desert, Jillian. He needs you."

  "How can I change his mind?"

  "If he won't teach you to milk a camel, try it on your own. It isn't difficult." Katherine flashed a reassuring smile.

  Jillian masked her distress. Graham was more aloof than ever. The change darkening him had become stronger. Her husband was turning into a stranger before her eyes.

  Later, as she rested in the tent, fears played over her. Could she do it? Or would she shackle him in her stubborn insistence on accompanying him? The confidence gained in sitting with the great sheikh himself and discussing the tribe's finances faded in light of her ignorance about this hostile terrain. Her fair English skin burned in the sun. Her red hair set her apart. She did not belong here. Jillian didn't know where she belonged anymore.

  She rose and freshened up, then went outside. Her husband sat on the ground. An air of fierce concentration shimmered around him as he sharpened his scimitar against a rock. Jillian worked up her courage and approached. He glanced up from his task as she stood over him.

  "Graham, we need to talk. You must take me with you into the desert. I'm not staying here."

  He could not take her with him.

  Graham's chest tightened with dread as he set down the scimitar. In the desert, he would confront her father, and it would finally come to an end one way or another. Nothing remained hidden long in the desert. Wind lifted sand, exposing bones bleached by the sun. There were no shadows or darkness in the unforgiving desert. No secrets.

  No, the desert would not allow him to stay hidden. It would leech out his blackness, squeeze it like the last drop of water from an empty goatskin bag. He could not allow her to glimpse that terrible darkness inside him.

  "You can't go," he said curtly.

  "Because you think I'm incapable of the journey? Or is it my father? He won't hurt me, Graham. He never did. Take me with you. I can be your shield."

  Irony quirked his mouth. A shield to stave off the burning sun, to hide the darkness? She did not know what she asked. "No."

  "Why is my father after you, Graham?"

  In the distance, a sheep bleated. In the spring, the air resounded with the echo of squealing lambs. They castrated select males soon after birth.

  "He's after the treasure, Jillian. He has the map and wants the treasure for himself."

  His answer seemed to satisfy her. "Then you must take me with you into the desert. I can reason with him, talk to him."

  "No," he grated out. "I will not take you with me." Graham paused. He had to tell her something that would push her away. "I can't be burdened by a woman. Stop this nonsense and just give me the directions."

  Tears shimmered in her large, green eyes. "Very well. I see you think of me as a liability. I wouldn't wish to encumber you, Graham. I'll draw the map again for you."

  She fled into the tent. Pain speared him. He was a fool if he followed her. A bigger fool if he didn't.

  He followed. Inside the cooling shade, Jillian sat on the thick, jewel-toned carpet, her head buried into her hands.

  Sobs shook her shoulders. Graham knelt down beside her. She struggled against his enveloping embra
ce. He was stronger. She sagged against him, as if weary.

  "Listen to me," he said, his voice trembling as he spoke into the silky softness of her hair. "I want you to stay here and stay safe. Because I... care."

  "Words, just words. You don't love me."

  Graham hugged her tighter. Afraid of letting her close, even more fearful of letting her go.

  Two wet emeralds regarded him as she lifted her head. "If you did love me, you'd tell me. You'd open up to me, Graham."

  Something inside him stirred. A connection he didn't want. It came anyway.

  "Trust me, Jilly," he said softly. "Just trust that I want what's best for you. It's all I ask."

  "And all I ask is that you give yourself to me. All of you," she whispered. "If you can't tell me, show me how you feel."

  He couldn't give her the words she wanted. He could only speak with his body. Graham lowered his head and kissed her. She hooked her hands into his hair, forcing off the indigo turban. Jillian grasped his hair as they tumbled to the carpet. With desperate need, he clung to her as they tangled together, rolling toward the white sheepskin rug near the table. He felt the wool brush his skin. Arousal fled, replaced by fear.

  Her soft, pretty laughter mingled with the increased panting of his terrified breaths. The smell of dirty sheepskins grinding into his nose each night. Low laughter echoing in the tent... Her father's voice: "Admit it, you like it."

  He wrenched away, gasping. Jillian stared at him.

  "Graham?"

  He stood on shaky legs, his erection softening.

  "I promised Jabari and Ramses I'd meet them at the training grounds," he managed to say. Then he dashed out of the tent, fearing she'd hear the panicked thundering of his heart.

  He grabbed his weapons, buckled them to his belt. Fighting to regain his composure, he sped through the camp, passed the grazing grounds, smelled the pungent odor of horses and heard the low bleat of sheep. Suppressing an inner shudder, he skirted the mountain of rock until coming to the training grounds. Bare-chested men slashed blades at each other with grim determination. He spotted Jabari and Ramses dueling, and faltered.