Desert Hostage

by Diane Dunaway

  Juliette braced for her attack. Outside then there was a shout as Zenobia slapped her across the face and both turned toward the open tent flap as someone shouted a second time, "He comes!"

  Running to the entrance, Zenobia stood silhouetted against the blaze of sunlight as the camp began stirring with new activity.

  "He comes," Zenobia repeated suddenly out of breath.

  Juliette struggled to her knees, her mouth bleeding. No, he couldn't have. He couldn't, and yet the shout was repeated again and the rushing preparations outside told her it must be true even as an inner voice repeated, "He comes! He comes!"

  For a moment her heart lifted with a thrill of soaring joy. He was here! And if he had come for her-if he risked so much, then he must really care. And in the same moment she gasped as something deep in her belly spasmed and drew taut-he would die!

  Zenobia spun away from the door, her black hair swinging out in an arch. "He is here for you!" she said through clenched teeth "You who are fated to bear his son. But this time fate will not have its way." The Arab girl paused. "Come, there is still time," she said, grabbing the lashings round Juliette's wrists and jerking her to her feet. "And I have arranged for you to see your lover meet his end. I don't want you to miss any of the details!"

  Chapter 73

  Everything was happening too fast-the rush of warriors through camp-the hot glare of the sun-Zenobia's merciless fingers cutting into her flesh as she dragged her inside a tent on the outskirts of camp.

  There was a tall thin-lipped Arab inside; too, holding a modern-looking rifle balanced on an upended crate so the long barrel pointed through the lifted tent flap.

  Zenobia indicated him with her chin. "Mohab will not let your lover escape," she said with a cruel laugh as she forced a gag in Juliette's mouth and tied her legs and arms so tight Juliette felt the circulation in her hands cut off.

  Then, like a cat focused on its prey, the Arab girl settled herself to watch through the opening as Sharif topped the last dune outside camp and paused on the crest of a wave of sand, his burnoose billowing like a black sail in the wind.

  The tightness of unshed tears, fear, and horror surged painfully through Juliette as she saw him. He had come and he would die. The sun flashed bright against Fadjar now as the stallion snorted, nervously pawing the air, his black coat gleaming.

  Juliette felt the separate hammering of her pulse at her throat and heart as her hands alternately ached and felt dead. Emotion overcame all reason then and, screaming, she jerked at the stake, though it didn't budge. If only he could hear her! But from behind the gag, her screams were barely audible.

  Mohab paid no attention while Zenobia only glanced at her with sadistic satisfaction before turning back to watch Sharif. And finally, panting, Juliette stopped her useless struggles and, like the others, fixed her eyes on the horseman still paused on the summit of the dune.

  Against the fierce sun, Karim al-Sharif's eyes narrowed as he scanned the stretch of dark tents below. There would be an ambush of course. He had never questioned that. How clever Hussar had been, even instructing him to enter the camp from the west so the sun would be in his eyes.

  Then squinting toward the group of mounted figures gathering at the center of the camp, Sharif scrutinized the three guards and Hussar as they rode toward him now, and particularly the veiled figure that should have been Juliette.

  Carefully he searched the shrouded rider for a gesture he could recognize as hers. But, even if it wasn't Juliette, he told himself, he would have to play this hand out, even knowing Hussar held all the aces. If it was Juliette on that horse, he might have a better chance of bringing her out alive. If not….

  And with a catch in his chest, he urged his horse forward. If she were dead, then it would make his own death-easier, he thought. And again he cursed himself for his own self-deception. He could never have let her go, never, and if he had kept her with him this wouldn't have happened.

  What a hypocrite he had been, an idiot who deserved no more than the mess he found himself in now. If only she were still alive! And training his eyes back onto Abu Hussar with focused intensity, he promised himself that whatever happened, that Arab was a dead man.

  Inside the tent, Juliette's large eyes suddenly froze in her graying face as Mohab's bony finger settled slowly round the trigger and he dropped his head over the weapon, bringing Karim into his sights.

  Mohab licked his lips. Abu Hussar himself had ordered him to shoot if the sheik should retreat and, to his mind, Karim al-Sharif had already paused too long. The knuckles of Mohab's left hand strained as they tightened around the barrel. He remembered hearing that the sheik's life was charmed, and that anyone who brought him harm would die a coward's death.

  But he had never imagined shooting the sheik himself. That hadn't been part of the plan. He was only to act as a "precaution," as Hussar had called it. But what could he do now before fate? If the sheik turned back now, he would fire.

  Sweat surfaced in beads on Mohab's brow and Juliette stared at his profile as he squinted one eye into a fan of wrinkles while the other waited motionlessly trained down the rifle's spine.

  Zenobia knelt, transfixed, her face white and taut, her hands raised in expectation, her eyes wide and unblinking as the tension reached the breaking point. Each of them held their breath. Then it all happened in a rush of blood and noise and confusion when a stiff burst of wind gusted at the figures coming toward Sharif, and the veils of the last rider were tossed in the air to expose not Juliette, but a youth with a pistol.

  Immediately Hussar was shouting to his men to attack while, Karim was already wheeling his horse in the opposite direction.

  Mohab took quick aim, squeezing the trigger. But in the same moment, Zenobia abruptly snapped out of her motionless trance, and drawing her dagger, leaped onto Mohab's back, knocking the rifle away and stabbing with full force between his shoulder blades.

  Incredulous, Mohab tried to raise, Zenobia still clinging to his back, plunging the weapon in and out, slashing, stabbing, like a creature obsessed.

  With his last strength, Mohab knocked Zenobia onto the floor, the knife skidding across the tent. Then turning, he pointed his rifle against her chest.

  Zenobia's eyes bulged. "Please! Mohab-I love him ..:' But the rest of her words were blotted out by an explosion.

  Juliette couldn't look at what was left of Zenobia, or the bleeding Mohab who fell unconscious across her body. She turned from them, and, crawling sideways to Zenobia's fallen knife, wet and sticky with blood, she manipulated the blade between her feet and rubbed the lashings against it until they split away from her wrists. Then, tearing the gag from her mouth and untying her ankles, she jumped to her feet, tottering on numb legs to the open flap.

  Inexplicably, the camp was full of Sharif's men, a chaos of horses and gunfire and colliding men. She dashed out, keeping her head down and running through a maze of thrashing swords and stray bullets.

  One of Hussar's men charged after her, sword raised. But, ducking behind a tent, Juliette escaped his thrust just as a bullet knocked him from his horse.

  She ran then, stumbling and rising until at last she reached Hussar's tent where a dead warrior lay across the entrance, a revolver still dangling from his stiffening fingers.

  Bending, Juliette picked it up, bringing the weapon to full cock before stepping into the tent.

  Hussar was there, leaning over a large open chest like a pirate, and hastily filling his robe pockets with gems and gold coins. Out of the corner of his eye he must have caught her movement, since his head jerked up, his gaze shifting from her face to the cyclopean eye of her pistol that stared unblinking.

  His fleshy tongue touched the corner of his mouth as he attempted a smile, his voice suddenly as wheedling as a small child's. "So the little pigeon has come to me." A hand indicated the chest of treasures. "All this could be yours. Don't shoot, little pigeon, I would have been kind"

  But then, snatching a revolver from within the c
hest, he swung it toward her.

  It was his last act of treachery. Juliette didn't hesitate as she aimed the pistol's blast directly into his heart. Hussar gasped as he wordlessly tried to speak, his hands reaching to the wound before crumbling to the dirty floor. His body jumped convulsively, and then ceased.

  Tossing the gun away, Juliette stepped over his bulk to rummage through the chest herself and then, more frantically, through the dead man's robes until her searching fingers halted and withdrew the four soiled pages of Anna Phillips's letter.

  Deftly she unfolded it, smoothing it flat and staring at the black ink scratches before resolutely striking a match and touching the small flame to a corner. The yellowed papers browned and curled and flared and she dropped it into a brass basin as the fire traveled quickly over the surface and then enveloped it in a brief burst of flame.

  Juliette smiled slowly to herself. Now it was done. She had burned the secret she would never reveal and, without proof of it, the truth could never be more than a rumor. She would let no one hurt this man, let no one change him. He was a renegade, a product of two worlds, an adventurer, a revolutionary, the man she loved-just as he was Karim al-Sharif, Sheik of El Abadan.

  Outside now Juliette was aware of his voice calling her name, deep and unmistakable over the dying sounds of battle.

  Rushing to the tent flap she answered, "Karim! Karim!" stretching her neck to see above the press of horses.

  She was running then, ducking behind a collapsing tent as a sword struck just behind, "Karim! Karim!"

  The sun was a blinding light as sprays of sand and swords and limbs thrashed past. Then she saw him, a path parting as he came. It was the sound of other, closer, hooves that made her glance over her shoulder in the opposite direction to find three Hussar warriors, swords raised, charging toward Karim.

  "Stay down!" Karim commanded as he engaged them, the horses spinning round in thick clouds of dust as the men tried to maneuver Sharif between them.

  But controlling his stallion with only his knees, Karim stayed out of their trap as he swung his sword at the men and Fadjar lashed out with teeth bared, foam dripping from his mouth.

  Juliette screamed as one of the warrior's swords caught Sharif leaving a line of red across his chest. Because he had concentrated too long on the other warrior, Sharif was taken from his blind side but, wheeling Fadjar, he brought the hilt of his sword under his assailant's chin, knocking him from his horse and under Fadjar's smashing hooves.

  Rashid was suddenly there, too, taking his place at Karim's back and quickly dispatching the other warrior with a deft decapitation. Then once more Fadjar was galloping closer and closer, finally drawing alongside her. Then, as he reached down, she leapt up, so in a single sweep of his arm, she was brought to rest across the pommel of his saddle, and Fadjar's huge bounds were speeding them away.

  He carried her out of camp before pulling the stallion to a halt with such suddenness Juliette was thrown against him in the manner she had once hated. But now she clung closer, seeing in his face a look she had one day hoped to see, a look free of pretense. His eyes held a penetrating light that saw into the depths of her soul and wanted her with all the power of his man's heart.

  "Juliette." His whisper was deep and there was a catch in it for all his casual manner. "Here you are at last, my love."

  Elation swept her, giving wings to her being. His touch was the thrill of soaring, the energy of life.

  "I thought they would kill you," she began. "I didn't know before .., not how much I . . ."

  Tears clouded her vision and emotion surged upward, closing her throat so words became impossible and instead she only buried her face against his bleeding chest in a gesture that said all her words and more.

  It was a dream after that, Karim's arms, his kisses, his declarations of love. And later, when the victorious warriors gathered round them, and they headed toward El Abadan, it was a ride of perfect bliss, nestled in the arms of her beloved, the stallion carrying them powerfully over the sand, a warm breeze dancing in the desert twilight and caressing her face like a velvet glove.

  Her heart sang. "He loves me! He loves me!" with growing belief and piercing happiness.

  And hours later, when they rode through the gates of El Abadan, the people were already gathered in the streets to greet them, smiling, cheering, waving as together-they rode to the courtyard outside the palace.

  EPILOGUE

  Life is made of two parts, that which is past-a dream; and that which is to come-a wish. -Old Arabic Proverb

  A southern wind raced across the desert, swirling sand about the walls and gardens and minarets of El Abadan, blanketing the city in rippling white, and rising upward to pelt the windows of its highest tower with the sound of a thousand tinkling bells.

  The tower of El Abadan was an ancient structure, its interior reached only by a spiraling stairway through its center to a single circular room used for centuries to sight both caravans and enemies miles beyond the city. But tonight no guards stood watching at the arching windows, and instead the room was hung in silk and ornaments of silver and gold and scattered with pillows colored as brightly as jewels. The air smelled lightly of perfume and, here and there, around the bed, white wedding garments lay where they had been discarded, one by one, in a timeless dance of love. In a circle of amber lantern light, Juliette and Karim lay entwined on silken sheets.

  "Juliette, my love, my greatest treasure, my wife. How long I've waited to hold you like this." A long finger traced a line along her jaw before he pressed a kiss to her mouth, savoring her petal-soft lips like a man long famished.

  With the tips of her fingers, Juliette touched his forehead, the birthmark behind his ear, the crisp hair curling at his neck, as the heart-shaped ruby ring sparkled on her slender hand.

  "We've wasted so much time," she whispered. "How could I have ever thought that I hated you when now I know I've always loved you? If only I had married you that first night you asked me, we would have never hurt one another the way we did."

  Karim laughed softly. "But now all the past is behind us, and tonight the seed of the future will take its life-a child to stand astride two worlds and conquer them both."

  Juliette smiled with joyous eyes. "But it might not be so simple. It might take nights and nights to create such a child."

  Karim's eyes shone in the lantern light. "Indeed, nights and nights," he repeated, pulling her pale body tight to his bronzed one.

  Then, bending, he kissed her with a tender passion that erased any memory of time. And as the wind whirled clouds of sand around the tower of El Abadan', like a cocoon locking away a caterpillar to dream of becoming a butterfly, it was already easy to see that days would come and go before the storm would pass and the city would awaken again