"I married you for many reasons, Jilly. But yes, to get at your father was a main purpose."
"Did you want to kill him for what he did to you as a boy, Graham?"
A muscle twitched in his cheek. "I wanted to kill him that night at the ball. I had planned as much. But... I saw you and I changed my mind."
Oh God, it was worse than she had imagined. Jillian's lips trembled. How could he have done this to her? "You changed your plans? You wanted to ruin him and I was your pawn? That's why you didn't want me coming here with you!"
Graham looked ashamed. "Yes. I arranged for him to be caught with a young boy. After he was arrested and fled, he left a note swearing revenge. I taunted your father into following me to Egypt. I knew he had the map and could find the cave. He would kill me or I would kill him. But I never meant to hurt you, Jilly. Never."
Two large tears slipped down her cheeks. "But you did. Bastard," she whispered.
He went toward her. Deeply anguished, she put out a trembling palm. "Don't, Graham. You lied to me. You used me—oh God, you used me just as Father did. He didn't really love me and you never did, either. You publicly ruined me by telling everyone I wasn't a virgin, all to trick me into marrying you. You did it for your own vile purpose! You didn't want me to produce an heir, and not even my"—her voice dropped and became a mocking imitation of his—"my intellectual abilities. You merely wanted revenge."
"That was why I married you, but I fell in love with you. I love you now, Jilly."
Jillian presented her back to him. "All I ever wanted was you to share yourself with me, Graham. Not your wealth or your title. I wanted the truth. Even now, you wanted to lie to me about what Father said."
"Forgive me. Please." His voice was broken.
"Forgiving you isn't the problem, Graham. How can our marriage work if I can't trust you? What kind of man are you?"
"Don't leave me, Jilly," he begged. The tremulous note in his voice lashed her as much as his betrayal.
She clenched her hands, and fresh tears flowed. "I promised I'd stay, but I can't ever believe anything you tell me again. You can say over and over that you love me and I'll never know if you really mean it. Never."
Silently she walked to her rucksack and fished for a clean cloth to wipe her face. Her father was dead. Her marriage was dead. She had lost everything.
But she had never really had either of them to lose, had she?
Chapter Twenty-four
Jillian did not talk as they made their way to the oasis village of Farafra. It stood on a small hill of white chalk, surrounded by barren desert and the jagged edges of three mountains. Dominating the terrain was an ancient walled fortress. The village itself appeared quaint and primitive, but Graham barely noticed. In the square, men sat spinning wool and gossiping. All heads turned curiously toward the newcomers. Graham greeted them courteously and asked directions to the home of the family Ramses knew.
The house of Abdul Al-din was stark, its owner courteous and friendly. Abdul's dark eyes lit when Graham mentioned Ramses. He beckoned to his wife to assist them. They were shown to a small room with a low bed and a small table, and given water for washing their hands and faces. Abdul's wife and daughters dragged a large copper hip bath into their room, offering to get hot water from the nearby spring. Graham politely refused and did the task himself. When the tub was filled, he looked at Jillian.
"I'll bathe when you finish," he said quietly.
They were served a delicious dinner of rice, bread and, in their honor, stewed goat. Graham dipped flatbread into a narrow bowl of tomato sauce and ate it. Abdul was eager to hear of his friend, Ramses. Graham made polite conversation, all the while painfully aware of Jillian sitting silently beside him.
The women had crushed flowers and rubbed them into Jillian's hair, scenting it. The fragrance tormented him. Fresh, clean—like her. He longed to bury his face in her hair. He knew he could not.
That night they lay together in the narrow bed. He listened to Jillian's anguished sobs. A gulf larger than the Sahara stretched between them. He ached to hold her in his arms and comfort her. Graham turned over. With a trembling hand, he gently touched his wife's shoulder.
Jillian flinched. "Don't," she rasped.
Graham's shoulders sagged. He rolled over, inching toward his edge of the bed, staring into the darkness.
She'd promised she wouldn't leave him, but this limbo was far worse. He had coaxed her out of the grayness of her life, allowing her to see the vibrant living flame inside her, and now the grayness was back. He had a marriage of grayness, as ugly and stark as London fog.
It would almost be better if she left him.
Bitter irony poisoned him. After a lifetime of never trusting anyone, he had become untrustworthy. He couldn't win her back. Sweet Christ, how the hell could he expect her to simply open her arms and welcome him with fervent kisses? Had he been able to forget? Stranton had won after all, in a way. Graham was the one who was ruined.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. For a long time Graham lay there, silently sharing his wife's tears.
The next morning Jillian drowsed in bed. When sunlight speared into the room, pooling on the floor, she sat up and dressed. Abdul's wife told her Graham had taken the camels to water.
Jillian settled herself on a pillow on the floor, and the woman placed a short table before her. It was laden with bread, cheese and honey. A small cup of sweet tea accompanied the meal. Jillian ate quickly, profusely thanking the woman for her hospitality, then went in search of her husband.
She found him at the watering trench. Seeing her, he gave a curt nod. Jillian hovered, uncomfortable with this new tension between them but still heartbroken by his betrayal.
Graham was winding lengths of rope about the feet of their camels, hobbling them. He poured water into the basin used for watering animals, and Jillian watched with avid interest. To her amazement, he crouched by the basin and began slapping the water's surface with the flat of his hand. He sang, making odd smacking noises with his lips.
Goggle-eyed, she stared at him. "What are you doing?"
"I'm encouraging them to drink their fill."
Graham continued his peculiar song, warbling as he stared at the dromedaries. Jillian looked. All three beasts had their ears pricked forward. They began making an odd whining sound, straining toward the water.
"It's an old Bedu trick," Graham explained. "The camels are trained to respond to the song, and the slapping of the water. They know they are to leave for a journey where they will lack water, and they must drink. When they have drunk, I'll let them graze for about an hour, then repeat the same."
Jillian squatted down beside him, smelling the delicious dampness of the fresh water in the basin. She studied her husband, this stranger, yet so familiar to her, with his black beard, penetrating eyes dark as the desert night and his muscled frame hidden by his foreign clothing. He was a man of the desert, at ease with these people who shifted like the sands. A man who had used her for his own means.
She hugged herself, trembling. Oh God, she loved him. But had he ever loved her? He said he did. And yet she had trouble believing him. Actions spoke far louder than words.
Graham unfolded his powerful frame and went to the camels who were whining now and straining toward the water. "Get back or you'll be trampled," he advised as he untied them.
No sooner had she skirted the edge of the basin and stepped away than the beasts raced in and drank with great gulps. Graham joined her by the trench, speaking to the camels in Arabic and pouring water as fast as the level in the basin was lowered.
"How long can camels last without water?"
"Seven or eight days if they've had their fill. They're like walking water tanks. A man could live off of them." His jaw tensed beneath his black beard. She sensed something greater was at stake.
"Graham, what do you mean, live off them?"
He looked somber as he scratched Sheba's long neck. "The Bedu consider the camel their lifeline.
If caught without water in the desert, you can survive by slaughtering one and drinking the water it has consumed."
"Goodness," Jillian said. "Are you afraid we're going to have to resort to such measures?"
A reassuring smile touched his mouth. "No." Then he riveted his gaze on the bleak, wide expanse of the eastern horizon. His smile faded. "I hope not."
A few hours later they had saddled the camels and were headed due east. Graham kept them at a steady pace as he and Jillian progressed across the desert. She sensed something dark and forbidden lurking on the horizon.
Jillian adjusted her white scarf more securely across her face. The sun beat mercilessly down upon them. She thought of being stuck out in the vast wasteland and suppressed a shudder. The trip had been a waste. Her father was dead, the treasure lost forever. And she had lost Graham, if she ever truly had him.
They pushed farther ahead, making camp for the night before the great, jagged peaks of several mountains. Jillian watched Graham roast a rabbit he'd caught earlier for their dinner. Conversation between them remained strained. It was as if he had given up and accepted.
Jillian ate the rabbit with her fingers. It was hot and delicious but she had little appetite. She glanced at the flat, barren horizon.
"If we get lost, will the Khamsin come for us?" she asked.
"They're coming already. Jabari gave us twenty days and then said he would send a party of warriors after us."
The thought gave Jillian a little comfort.
The next three days proceeded as smoothly as the first. Jillian felt fresh hope they were going to make it. That hope faded as her husband stopped abruptly. One tanned hand shaded his forehead as he scanned the horizon.
"What is it?" she asked, fearing to know.
"Dust in the distance. Could be another caravan. Or not."
Graham removed the veil covering his face. Cold dread filled her at his expression. He muttered what sounded like an Arabic oath.
And then she saw them, too, approaching fast. Four riders. Her heart slid into her stomach. Dear God. The raiders who had first taken her captive—they had followed.
"They probably think we found treasure"—he cast a worried glance at the iron water tankers—"and that we're hiding it inside those tanks. Can't make a run for it. Our camels are tired. We're going to have to face them."
"Where's the rifle?"
"Down in the crevice with your father," Graham reminded her. He slid off his camel and ran over, assisting her down. "Get behind me," he said tightly. He unsheathed his scimitar and stood in a defensive position away from the tanks.
She had to help him. Two against four desert raiders—if she helped, they stood a fighting chance. Jillian's frantic gaze raked the ground looking for any kind of weapon. Nothing but pebbles and stones. She unwrapped her emerald scarf from about her neck and gathered the fist-sized rocks.
He threw her a quick, startled glance. "A sling," she explained. "If you think I'm merely standing here and watching us die, you're quite wrong."
"We're not dying," he replied hoarsely. "Not like this."
The raiders' wild, ear-splitting hoots rose like an angry wind. Jillian clapped shaky hands over her ears as the men dismounted, running toward their camels. Sunlight glittered off their swords as they swung.
Jillian screamed and Graham cursed. Three of their camels screeched in pain and collapsed, their blood flowing into the sand. The iron water tanks one carried hit the ground. Water sprang from the leaking container. Solomon staggered from a glancing blow, but he galloped off.
Graham faced his enemies, his expression fierce, sword held with practiced ease. With whooping screams of triumph, the dirty-robed, dark-bearded raiders rushed forward, swords flashing. Graham did not move. They were nearly upon him when he lashed out with the fury of a boiling sandstorm.
Graham the duke melded into Rashid the warrior, executing deadly moves, whirling and pivoting with lethal grace. Three raiders attacked in violent strokes, but he fought with unwavering resolve, relentlessly dueling his attackers. The fight became a deadly ballet of steel against steel. The harsh, undulating cries of the Bedouin raiders rang in Jillian's ears.
She took a large stone, put it into her scarf and lobbed it. It slammed into one Bedouin's temple. He staggered. In the next instant, Graham's sword struck him down. Now it was three against one.
Jillian danced away and tucked another stone into her scarf. A whistling cut the air as she whirled the fabric then let fly. Whap! It struck a Bedouin on the hand.
Not good enough. He turned and charged, sword held aloft. Graham spun, saw her predicament and raced over. A different Bedouin picked up a rock and threw it. It clubbed Graham on the head with a loud thwack.
"Graham!" Jillian screamed.
Scarlet ribbons of blood streamed down his face. He staggered and the two raiders on him rushed forward. One grabbed his sword. They were trapped.
Jillian rushed to Graham as the last raider approached.
She recognized him—the sheikh who had shown no interest in raping her. Would he do so now, then leave them both in the sand for the vultures?
While the sheikh and another Bedu held swords to Jillian, the third went to the iron water tanks. Disgust filled his face as he kicked at the empty containers.
Mahjub, the sheikh, looked at Graham.
"Since you have no treasure, we will take your woman. She will fetch a good price at the slave market. You fight bravely, son of the desert, and I will set you free. But I will strip you of power. You will return in shame to your people, knowing you were unable to help your woman."
One man slammed Jillian downward. She fell on her back. "Take her," the sheikh ordered. "So he can watch."
Fear blossomed in their eyes. The men looked down at her. "She is fire. I will burn," one protested.
"Do it," the chieftain snapped.
The men exchanged glances, muttered something. One turned Jillian over, forcing her to her hands and knees. The other fumbled with the drawstring on his blousy trousers.
Graham's heart dropped. They were going to rape Jillian. He had never believed in a no-win situation, but never before had he faced such desperate odds. Silently he cursed bringing her with him. If only he had left her back at the village for the Khamsin rescue party to find, then she'd be safe.
Mahjub's dark gaze lingered on him. Something other than triumph flared there. Graham recognized it immediately. He had seen it in the eyes of his Egyptian captor. In Stranton's eyes. No wonder the sheikh wasn't interested in Jillian.
"Yes," the sheikh said smiling cruelly. "You wish to save her, Khamsin? Then take her place."
I can't do it, Graham thought frantically. Oh God, I just can't. Not again. Never again. I'm sorry, Jilly. I'm so sorry.
Emotion closed his throat. He clenched his grime-streaked fists. Jillian's terrified eyes pleaded with him as the Bedouin yanked down her trousers, exposing her rounded bottom.
Agonized, he stared at his wife. He knew what this would do to her. Jillian would become a wreck, shutting out everyone, becoming distant. The feelings of shame, bitter humiliation and anger—emotional scars that lashed deep. Darkness would take her, extinguishing the living flame he had helped bring out. He couldn't bear for her to become what he had been.
I love you, he said silently. I love you more than life itself. And then suddenly, he knew he must do, despite the terrible price he'd pay....
"Yes. Take me," he said hoarsely, revulsion and nausea rising in his throat. "Take me and spare her."
Lust blazed in Mahjub's dark eyes. "You give yourself willingly? If you do, we will release her and take you to the slave market. A eunuch is worth many camels."
Graham swallowed hard. He knew what they would do to him. He wouldn't die. But he would fervently wish he had.
Yet it meant giving Jillian a chance at survival.
Inhaling a ragged breath, he repeated his words to Lord Stranton twenty years ago: "I will not struggle."
The
sheikh gestured to the man positioned behind Jillian, who yanked up his trousers. The other man released her.
Mahjub's hungry gaze caressed Graham. He gestured to the ground. Graham understood. His trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons of his hmisb.
"Go," he said harshly to Jillian, who scrambled to her feet. "Find Solomon. Ride hard and fast to the east to find the Khamsin. And don't look back."
Jillian watched in dumbstruck horror as her husband began to undress. The thin, tall sheikh watched Graham intently, his breath quickening, an odd look in his dark eyes.
Oh God. Suddenly she understood why the sheikh had never raped her. And Graham now offered himself to spare her.
Bile rose in her throat. And she knew then how deeply he loved her. Actions spoke louder than words.
I won't let him do this to you, Graham, she thought fiercely. Together we can defeat them. She remembered the men's fear when they saw her naked body and the red curls covering her sex. One had used the Arabic word for fire, and she knew they were afraid to rape her. Afraid... they would be consumed because she was a jinn? Sudden inspiration struck.
"Go, Jilly," Graham ordered, his voice thick. "I told you to go. Run as fast as you can."
"No," she said in English, "I won't let him do this. At worst we will die together. Graham, remember when you told me how you defeated your Egyptian captor when he was distracted? We can do the same."
Understanding flashed in his eyes.
"Take off your trousers, my love. You will need your legs and arms free," she said softly.
He did so. "When you say now," Graham agreed. He dropped to his hands and knees.
Jillian tore off her turban, shook free her red-gold hair and removed her clothing. She stood before the men fully nude. She screamed the English word. "Now!" Then she made a shrieking sound like that of a desert spirit.
One of the Bedouin glanced at her in terror. "Al-Haiira," he screamed. "Jinn!"
All three stared.
The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) Page 26