He thrust hard against her. Again and again. Suddenly it was as if a million light bulbs exploded inside his head. He moved like a man possessed, grinding his body to hers, lost in her.
She cupped his face between her hands. She kissed him and took his cry. She said, “Darling. Darling.”
He collapsed over her and held her as if he would never let her go. She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. Everything he had ever dreamed of: lover, companion, friend. She took him to heights of passion he had never imagined existed.
He held her close and his heart beat like the heart of a captured falcon. How can I let her go? he thought. Dear God, how can I ever let her go?
* * *
It was on the same night that the man Abdeslem came calling from outside their tent.
“It is my wife,” Abdeslem said when Kumar threw a robe on and went to open the flap. “She has delivered three children without any trouble, but she is having such difficulty birthing our fourth that I fear for her life.”
“Is there no midwife?”
“Elzaker,” Abdeslem said wringing his hands. “But she is away, visiting a sister who is ill. Your woman has helped you and others in the camp. I beg you to let her help my wife.”
“Of course, I’ll help her,” Josie said, and with Abdeslem leading the way, she and Kumar hurried to the other tent.
The two men waited outside while she examined the woman. The baby had crowned, but the head was too large. She spoke reassuringly to the expectant mother. “I’ll help you,” she said. “Don’t be afraid. But you mustn’t push. You must wait until I tell you to push.”
She held the woman’s hand and showed her how to pant. She asked for boiling water, a knife, scissors, a needle and thread.
“You’ll have to help me,” she said to Kumar. “Bring an extra lantern, I’ll need all the light I can get.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked nervously. And in English, “Is she going to die?”
Josie shook her head. “Not if I can help it.”
Kumar brought the extra lantern. A woman the husband had summoned brought the other things Josie had asked for.
She told Kumar to hold one of the lanterns higher. To the husband, she said, “I’m going to have to make an incision. I want you to hold your wife’s hands.”
He swallowed hard. “It is not proper for Sheikh Kumar or me to be here,” he said.
Josie looked up from his wife and glared at him. As calmly as she could, she said, “Your wife needs you. Without our help she won’t be able to have this baby. You must do as I say for her sake.”
She picked up the knife. “Hold her,” she said, and made the needed episiotomy.
“Push now,” she told the woman. “It’s going to be all right, but now you must push.”
The woman’s face twisted in agony.
“Push!” Josie said again.
The baby came in a rush, and when she held him up and gently slapped him, he howled his “I-wanna-go-back-where-I-came-from” howl.
“It’s a boy,” she told the mother and father. She laid him down on the clean sheet the other woman had ready, and turned to attend the mother.
Kumar watched her. He’d been sure the woman was going to die, and shocked to find that having a baby could be so painful. But Josie hadn’t been afraid, she’d been strong and sure, and she’d surprised him with her skill.
When at last she eased the mother back against the pillows, she took the baby, bathed and wrapped it in a clean white cloth. She held it for a moment then, and kissed its tiny fingers. She looked down at the red face and brushed her fingers across its cheek.
Kumar felt his insides grow weak. In the lantern light her face was more beautiful than it had ever been, her expression so tender he wanted to reach out and touch her.
A little while ago she had been a wanton, now she was a saint, an earth mother bringing a new life into the world.
Who was she? How could he live the rest of his life without her?
At last she handed the baby, almost reluctantly it seemed to him, to the mother.
“You’re going to be all right now,” she said. “But if you need anything or if you want me, send your husband and I will come.”
“Shukran,” the new mother whispered. “Shukran.”
Abdeslem embraced Kumar and kissed him on both cheeks before he, too, said “Shukran,“ and shook hands with Josie.
They were silent for a while on their way back to their tent, but at last Kumar said, “What you did tonight was remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like that before. I’ve never seen a baby born. It’s...it’s like...” He shook his head, unable to find the words.
“A small miracle,” Josie said.
“Yes.” He hesitated. “But is it always that painful?”
“Not always.”
“How do women stand it? Why do they?”
“Did you see the mother’s face when I gave her her baby?”
He nodded.
“Then you know why.”
When they were once again in their bed, he put his arms around her, but he made no attempt to make love. Two things had happened tonight that had somehow changed him. He had to think about them.
Chapter 16
They were asleep when the first shots were fired.
“What is it?” Josie sat up, clutching the sheet to her.
“Get down!” Kumar pulled her off the bed and shoved her onto the rug. Gunfire cracked, men screamed. Just outside their tent came the pounding of horses’ hooves and warlike cries of “Kill! Kill!”
Kumar pulled a robe over his head and grabbed his gun and bandolier. What in the hell was happening? Who was attacking? My God! Where had they come from?
He ran out of the tent. The attackers, black robes flying out behind them like demons from hell, rode headlong at the camp. They fired as they came and their scimitars flashed in the glow of dying campfires.
A rider bore down on him. In the glow of firelight he saw it was one of the men he had seen in Ben Fatah’s tent. He fired; the man clutched his chest and fell. These were Ben Fatah’s men! They had come, as Youssef had said, to strike in the dark of the night.
A woman screamed. Kumar whirled around and saw Zaida running toward the pond. A horseman galloped after her, raised his gun and fired. Zaida ran a few more steps, staggered as if drunk, and fell facedown in the sand. The horseman wheeled, and when he did Kumar shot him.
Then he was in the fray, Saoud beside him, firing at the riders who rode toward him. All around were the cries and shouts of the battling men, the screams of women, the terrified shrieks of children.
Other riders rode in with blazing torches held high above their heads, devils of the night, come to kill and plunder and burn.
Kumar ran forward, gun blazing. A scimitar flashed out, but before the rider could bring down the blade he screamed and fell. Kumar turned. Saoud blew on the end of his gun, grinned and kept firing.
A horseman with a torch raced toward Kumar’s tent. He pulled his arm back to throw and Kumar shot him—just as Josie ran from the tent.
“Get back!” he shouted.
But she stood frozen, looking about her in horror, barefoot, her hair streaming down her back. She saw the fallen men. And Zaida, facedown in the sand. Before Kumar could stop her, Josie turned and ran toward the fallen woman.
“No!” he shouted. “Come back!” He started after her, caught a sleeve of her robe, grabbed her hand.
“It’s Zaida,” she cried, trying to get away from him. “She’s hurt!”
“Josie, no...” A shot zinged past his ear. He whirled and saw Ben Fatah bearing down on him. He raised his gun to fire but the man and horse were too close, so close he could see the maniacal gleam in Ben Fatah’s eyes, the terrified rolled-up whites of the horse’s eyes, and could smell the horse’s sweat.
He let go of Josie’s hand and pushed her out of the way. The horse veered. Ben Fatah bent low in his saddle and with a triumphant cry swept Jo
sie up in front of him.
She screamed and struggled to break free, but he held her tight, jerked hard on the reins and the horse turned and galloped toward the desert.
Ben Fatah! Oh my God! Ben Fatah had taken Josie!
It took Kumar a moment to react. Another rider bore down on him. He reached up and yanked the man down off the saddle and threw himself onto the horse’s back. With a cry he drove the animal through the thick of the battle, through screaming bullets and flashing scimitars, whipping it on toward the edge of the camp.
A terrible madness screamed through his brain. Josie! Ben Fatah had taken Josie!
* * *
It happened so fast she hadn’t had time to think. She’d rushed from her tent into a scene from hell: blazing torches, men shouting, women screaming. Zaida facedown in the sand. She saw the horseman bearing down on Kumar. His eyes were blazing with hellish fury, his gun was raised. But he didn’t fire. He’d jerked the reins and the horse came at her.
Kumar! Had she screamed his name?
She fought her captor, trying to turn so that she could strike out. She raked his face with her nails and he hit her on the side of the head. For a moment everything went black. She struggled for breath and to clear her head. Who was he? Dear God, where was he taking her?
“Let me go!” She struggled against the arm that tightened like a band of steel around her waist. Sand from the horse’s flying hooves stung her face.
“Kumar’s woman!” her captor shouted. “I have taken Kumar Ben Ari’s woman!” He laughed, but suddenly the laughter died. He looked behind him and with a curse he reached for his gun.
She heard the pounding of horses’ hooves. A horse and rider pulled alongside.
“Kumar!” she cried. “Kumar!”
Ben Fatah leveled his gun. Josie shouted a warning and struck his wrist. The gun flew out of his hand.
Kumar reached out and grabbed the reins of the other horse and yanked with every bit of his strength. The animal jerked and reared and when it did Josie slipped from Ben Fatah’s grasp and fell to the sand. Kumar hung on. Ben Fatah’s horse whinnied in terror and came to a sudden stop.
Ben Fatah jumped off, reaching for the jeweled dagger as he slid to the sand. Before he could pull it out of the scabbard, Kumar was on him, grappling, fists flying. Ben Fatah staggered back and they fell together to the sand.
Josie got up from where she’d fallen and ran toward them. The moon had gone behind a cloud and in the desert darkness it was almost impossible to see which man was which. Then the moon came out from behind the clouds and Josie saw Kumar pinned under the other man. She heard their grunts and muttered curses. She saw the other man draw a dagger from his belt.
She ran forward, breath tight in her throat, panting with effort, bare feet sinking in the sand. The man who had captured her raised his arm. She saw the gleam of a knife and without thinking scooped up a handful of sand and flung it in his face.
He cried out and tried to scrub the sand away. Kumar hit him and he fell back. The two of them scrambled on the sand for the fallen knife. Ben Fatah reached it first, grasped it and slashed out. Kumar feinted to one side and grabbed his arm.
The moon disappeared behind the clouds again, but still the two men fought on, cursing, panting with effort. As Josie watched in horror the knife was raised. It slashed down and a terrible cry rent the air.
She staggered forward, calling, “Kumar! Kumar!”
He rolled away from the other man. “It’s...it’s all right.” He got to his feet and she ran to him.
“Is he dead?”
“Yes.” He smothered her face against his shoulder. “Yes.”
He cupped her face between his hands. “Are you all right?”
“Now.” She clung to him. “Now I am.”
He held her close. I’ve killed a man, he thought. And I would do it again. I would do anything I had to to protect her.
He tightened his arms around her and held her as if he would never let her go.
“I love you,” he said against the tangle of her hair. “Dear God, Josie. I didn’t know. I didn’t know how much.”
He kissed her closed eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, and his eyes misted with all that he was feeling. He had almost lost her and the thought of that filled him with a fear unlike anything he had ever known.
* * *
Now that Ben Fatah was dead there was little fear that his men would attack again. But the camp was in shambles. Some of the tents had been burned, men had been killed, more had been wounded. Zaida was dead.
The next few days passed in a blur of activity. A tent was set up for the wounded. Pots of water were put to boil. White robes were torn into strips for bandages. There was no time for Josie to think of what had happened, no time to remember her fear or the words of love Kumar had spoken. Men and women were injured, she had to take care of them.
A modern hospital, any hospital, would have been appalled at the conditions under which she worked. God knows she would have been called before a board of inquiry for doing the work only a doctor should do.
But there was no one else if lives were to be saved. She stitched sword wounds, dug out bullets and sewed a half-severed ear back on.
She comforted the women whose husbands had been injured and held the hands of a dying man. She sat beside little Rafi, whose shoulder had been shattered by a bullet, and told him stories about planes and trains and cars, and promised that when she took him back to the city so that his shoulder could be properly repaired she would make sure he had a ride in Kumar’s private plane.
In the back of her mind, as Josie worked with what little she had, she thought about what she could do at the hospital once she returned to Bir Chagga. The operating room there should be expanded. More trained professionals were needed. She’d already made a vast improvement, but there was still so much to be done. In addition there were the clinics she wanted to set up all around the country, so that rural people could have the same care as those in the city.
So much to do.
If she stayed.
Little by little as she took care of them, these people became her people and she knew that when it came time to leave the Bedouin camp she would not want to go.
Because of the demands on her time, she’d had little opportunity to think about the new phase in her relationship with Kumar. There was a part of her that was grateful she didn’t have to. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to deal with it yet.
She was glad that at night when she returned to their tent all she could think about was getting a few hours of sleep. She fell into bed so exhausted she could do little more than whisper “‘Night,” before she fell asleep in his arms.
But at odd times during the day, when she was taking care of a patient or telling a story to Rafi, she would suddenly think, Kumar loves me. He told me he loves me. She would relive again that terrifying ride across the desert and remember the fear she had known when the two men struggled on the sand.
And later the words, Kumar’s words: “I love you.”
They hadn’t talked about it. He was as busy preparing the men for battle as she was tending the wounded. But he came to the makeshift hospital whenever he could, to see if he could help.
“Are you all right?” he asked again and again. “You’re worn out. You need to rest.”
A week passed before Josie’s patients were well enough for their wives and the other women to see to some of their care. Late one afternoon, when she knew that her patients were out of danger and that they would be taken care of, she left the tent and walked out toward the rise of dunes. She needed to sleep, but even more than sleep she needed to be alone for a little while.
It was that time just before sunset when she climbed to the rise of a dune and looked out over the desert. It was a quiet, almost holy time of day. The sky caught fire in a blaze of breathtaking colors—blue mingled with flamingo orange, and a red so brilliant it hurt Josie’s eyes. As she watched, the darker blue changed to a softer blue tin
ged with green and stripes of pink, and the sands of the desert turned to gold.
Below lay the city of black tents and the people who were Kumar’s people. Kumar, her desert sheikh. A man different from any other man.
As she watched, she saw him striding toward her through the sand. His dark robe billowed out behind him and his midnight black hair was ruffled by the breeze that always came this time of day.
“I saw you from below,” he said when he reached her. “Why did you not come to the tent?”
“I needed a walk.” She reached for his hand and faced the setting sun. “I love this time of day, Kumar. The heat lessens, a soft wind comes off the desert and everything is so quiet, so peaceful.”
He put his arms around her waist and she leaned back against him. “There’s no sunset quite like the sunset on the desert, is there?” she said.
“No, laeela.“ He kissed the top of her head and held her for a long time without speaking. But finally, because he knew she had to be told, he said, “I’ve had word from my father. Azrou Jadida has invaded our borders. They’re marching toward the city.”
“You’re going to leave.”
He nodded. “I’ve sent word to the other desert tribes. As soon as they come we’ll leave for Bir Chagga.”
She turned so that she could see his face. “Am I to go with you?”
“No, Josie. You’ll wait here in the camp with the other women until I return.” He touched her hair. The last rays of the setting sun had turned it the color of fire. He stroked it and gently kissed her. “Do not look so,” he said. “I will go, but I will return.”
“You’re going into battle.” She clutched the front of his robe and fought for control. “I know you have to go, Kumar, but I don’t want you to. The thought of you being in danger...” She leaned her head against his chest so he wouldn’t see the fear in her eyes.
“When the war is over I’ll come back for you. We have many things to talk about, yes? And many decisions to make.”
He had not spoken of the words he had uttered the night of her abduction, but now he must speak of them. He must speak to her of many things.
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