by Lisa Torquay
Something moved in the distance, half a mile, maybe. She too far discern it. She kept her attention fixed on it as they advanced. A few minutes later she realised it was another caravan coming towards them.
When both caravan heads met, they halted. Tariq and the other caravan’s leader started to talk. They probably exchanged information about the track. The coming caravan wasn’t so loaded as theirs. Was this a common route for merchants? Lucinda wondered. If so, the others headed to Gabes, or any other port, to fetch goods. Or pick them up, for sure. This caravan had women, possibly related of its members. They weren’t tied or something, not slaves, she concluded.
Both leaders gestured as if parting ways. Their camels started walking again, led by the helpers. So did the coming ones.
Lucinda’s mind whirled. Her chance to try an escape right under her nose. She might mingle with the other women, hoping they would accept her as a new traveller. If she managed to go with them, she could find a ship heading to Sicily to sail on credit and pay the passage when she arrived. Her father had given the local bank a letter of credit for her trip. It was her first opportunity in days. She wouldn’t let it slip.
While the second caravan strode by, she set her camel to a slower pace, intending to become the last of their line. When she reached midway back, Tariq turned in her direction to check if she was following. Her eyes stared ahead, face blank, holding the reins loose as if letting the camel go. He turned in front and she sighed in relief. A few yards ahead, she positioned herself behind the last camel and waited for the other caravan to pass.
When the last of its camels brushed past, she waited for a while, until they disappeared behind a dune. To get down the camel without making it lower did not present difficulties. All she had to do was jump. But her feet might make a noise on hard ground. In a few yards, they got to a sandy patch. Her cue, at last. Swiftly, she jumped from the camel, taking her water skin with her and landed on muted feet. Tying her camel to the one in front, she turned and fled, never looking behind for fear someone would sense her stare. In a run, finding purchase on sand and rocks, she reached the end of the other caravan and started walking in pace with them. If she managed being with it, she’d possibly reach the Mediterranean in two days. Food might be a problem, but she would be strong and go two days without it. Or she’d work for it, helping with the goods, the cooking, whatever.
Tariq rode his camel in what had to be the worst mood in his entire life. Incapable of even setting eyes at her because it disquieted his insides. The adjusting her veil had taken all his strained self-control. When he’d covered her face, just her pepper-mint eyes remained uncovered, and it proved more than he could take. Even covered she continued dragging him towards her. What was wrong with him, anyway? So many women willing to be a rich merchant’s concubine! But this forbidden one tested the limits of his sanity. She was a franj for pity’s sake! Forget it! But the vision of her big green eyes above the veil only made him want to unveil her inch by torturous inch. He’d find ultimate release. Ultimate relief.
He must cut these notions though. He didn’t bear the right to dishonour her. A daughter of the British peerage, blue-blood, a noble-woman. He didn’t have the slightest idea of how he’d handle this mess when they arrived in Tunis. One way or the other, he’d strive to reunite her with her family. Unharmed. Worse. Untouched. Desperately so. That’s why it’d be better if he never looked at her impossibly beautiful figure ever again. A herculean task, to be sure. Albeit not impossible.
By mid-morning, Aziz came running. “The girl is gone!” He exclaimed in Arabic.
Tariq turned to the camel line. Hers tied to the last one. A cold wash of fear mixed with blind rage overtook him. Fear for her safety. Rage for her rebel stubbornness. Damn the woman! He made the camel sit, dismounted, loaded provisions on it, and climbed up again.
“Aziz, lead on and make camp at sunset, at the usual place.” He turned his camel. “I’ll be back then.” The caretaker nodded.
It didn’t take him much effort to conclude she’d joined the other caravan. But they had met it hours ago, little after the sun-rise. No caravan stepped on another’s footprint. The round-the-dunes track made the route slightly different every time. He’d have to find and follow their vestiges, which would take longer. And she boasted a good head-start, the chit! His advantage was that being alone, he’d ride faster.
The sand scorched her toes, she sweat all over. The sand-grains rolling in her sandal minced her feet which dug in the sand, making her strides twice as heavy. Her legs did not expect such strain, and the muscles began to ache. Lazy strolls in the park did not prepare her for this. To give up not a choice, she ignored the discomfort and ploughed on regardless.
The women cast quizzical glanced at her. She wished she spoke Arabic, so she would negotiate the terms of her joining their trip. So far, nobody came to talk to her.
She thanked her dear father for encouraging her towards physical skills, despite the terrain. Even though tiredness threatened, she surely would make it. And how victorious she’d be when she got back and had this adventure to tell everyone. Maybe she’d write a travelling account. She smiled to herself. The first English woman traveller to cross the desert and survive. She’d sign a pseudonym, of course. A noble-woman wouldn’t be able to own up to such honour-tarnishing episode. Such musings made it easier for her to forge ahead.
Tariq got down the camel for the thousandth time since he turned tail to fetch the most infuriating woman on earth. He knelt on the sand to find a thread of a blanket. Yes, her caravan walked here. He mounted the camel again and followed the track.
Her caravan stanched. A woman veiled in black came back from talking to the leader. Lucinda had been discovered. The women circled her, talking in accusing tones. The men came after them. She didn’t understand a single word. She looked at everyone trying to find a way to communicate with them. One of the women tore off her veil. Her glossy dried-dates coloured hair fell in locks to her shoulder. Everybody stopped talking. She took the pause to advocate her intentions. She pointed to herself and gestured ahead of the caravan, meaning she wanted to travel in that direction. A few men started shaking their heads. She made a gesture meaning cook. Everybody shook their heads. Yes, well, they ate very different food to what she usually ate, even if delicious. She wouldn’t tell them she’d never cooked a thing in her life, naturally.
The caravan’s leader took the veil from the woman who’d unveiled her and grabbed her wrist. Fear and adrenalin shot into her. He gave her the veil and pointed to her head. She dressed it as appropriately as her shaky fingers allowed, despite her trembling. Then he took her arm again and made to pull her with him.
At that exact moment, a voice shouted, at her back. Even if she landed on another planet, she’d know who it was. Tariq. Her heart skipped once more. Would the man never let her go, for blast’s sake!
The older man released her and walked to him. The middle-aged man talked in altered voice and in quick gestures. She looked at Tariq. He had a blank expression in his cognac-against-fire eyes, which seemed even brighter in broad day light. Tariq shook his head several times as much as his snowy kaftan swung in the wind. Finally, he took her hand and pulled her to his direction. The middle-aged caravan leader turned and, with him, the others, resuming his way.
Tariq’s and Lucinda’s eyes locked. In fierce battle. “Mount.” He commanded dryly.
A ball of fire and anger exploded in her. “Why did you have to come after me?” She breathed hard. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you!”
Tariq tamped his shameless impolite answer. Never had a woman dismissed him so vehemently. He’d always been the centre of his mother’s cares and his concubine’s lives. That she ordered him away in such a tone was…was… His fists balled and he strove to control his temper. “Mount.” He repeated in un-defying command.
She eyed him in defiance. “No!” and started walking in the direction of the caravan.
And now the
chit turned her back on him! He marched to her and stopped before her. “I said mount!” He lowered his torso, grabbed her legs, lifted her and walked to the camel which sat obedient since Tariq had dismounted.
She thrashed with her whole might. “Put me down now!” Her head upside down over his back, the veil floating in the wind.
“Do you know what Saied wanted?” He asked, referring to the middle-aged leader.
She stopped thrashing. “What?”
“He wanted to buy you.” He sat her on the camel, mounted in front of her and the camel lifted in a wavy move. In the negotiation, he’d kept an aloof countenance. Nevertheless, the man’s proposition made an unwavering possessive trait erupt from the depths of him. An irrational urge to punch the man to a pulp. If he showed any reaction to the proposition, they’d have forced him to stand back, while they took her. Appearing cold was a strain, but he came up on top, in the end.
She didn’t miss the iron quality of his deep voice. And froze. She understood what this meant: this Saied would have taken her as his slave if Tariq hadn’t shown up here. As the leader, she predicted he had precedence over the others. As Tariq himself in his caravan. There, no man so much as looked at her, because they considered her Tariq’s woman. The experience of being treated as goods not pleasant at all.
Thinking of it, she wasn’t sure if in England it differed so much. Husbands had prerogatives over their wives’ bodies, dowry and freedom. An English lady couldn’t do anything without her father’s or husband’s permission. The only power a wife had was to manage her husband’s home, with a budget approved by him. Massively advantageous for a woman, she scorned inward.
A gust of hot wind blew her veil. Tariq turned to the east and what seemed an imprecation left his sensuous lips in Arabic. “What is it?” She asked.
“A sandstorm. And it will hit us rather soon.”
She gazed at where his attention lay. A huge greyish cloud elevated from the ground and nothing would be seen beyond it. Per the travellers, if taken unaware, a sandstorm might kill. They usually lasted from a few minutes to hours on end and held the power bury a person alive.
His eyes scanned the surroundings, and he directed the camel towards west, forcing it to a gallop.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find shelter. Hold tight.”
She circled his taut body with her arms as the wind grew more intense. Her whole upper body glued to his, it made her acquire this safe sensation. She hid her face on his back and hoped she’d emerge from this alive.
This did not list as the first or second sandstorm Tariq caught. Used to them, he had ample experience of how to survive. He only needed time. Her tight embrace so incredibly reassuring. As if she trusted him and it made him proud to be able to protect her.
Tariq located a rocky hill not far ahead. He rode to it, dismounted even before the camel stopped and helped her to the ground. “Climb the hill to that point there.” He instructed her. This time she didn’t discuss and struggled with the rocks. He took the camel’s reins and guided it up the hill.
A sandstorm would place a layer of sand on the lower ground, that’s why it was important to find a place higher, to avoid burial. Blankets and canvas helped to protect the body from the stinging grains.
Tariq found a place behind the hill which would shield the storm. He tied the camel firmly to a salience on the rocks; and worked quickly untying his provisions and the water skin she brought. He placed a blanket on her back and took a piece of canvas. To tie it on the camel’s back and head. The animal would try to break free because it’d sense danger. It had to be very well secured, or it would perish and leave its owner on foot.
He found saliencies on the rock and tied the other piece of canvas, improvising a tiny tent for them. Delicately, he made her lean against the rock. And they waited, in the dimly lit space.
His gaze found her. Veil dishevelled by the wind; she turned her head about her with anxiety in her wide open green eyes.
“We are safe. Don’t worry.” He tried to comfort her. Her enormous eyes darted up to his. They held each other’s stare for a long moment, his reassuring. She nodded, inhaling and exhaling large gulps of air, after which she seemed calmer. He offered her water and took a swig himself.
And then the storm broke upon them. Strong winds flapped the canvas violently with a shrilling noise. Grains of sand flew inside and Lucinda closed her eyes. The camel outside emitted high-pitched bleats, its hooves struggling against the rocks.
Lucinda’s guts churned with fear, without even noticing it, she clutched Tariq’s upper arms and hid her face on his wide muscled chest, covered by his white kaftan. Tariq held her tight against him, trying to reassure her.
The wind yowled and yowled a scaring sound, bringing a shower of sand with it. The air oppressively warm, they were immersed in a dark-grey atmosphere. Her only safe place was Tariq’s broad shoulders enveloped in soft cotton. She buried her face deeper in him and he embraced her tighter, his chin touching her silky hair.
The storm roared and blew outside with all its fury, flogging the flapping canvas mercilessly. The poor camel stamped its hooves and bellowed desperately. It threatened on and on, and Lucinda lost track of time.
Next moment an eerie stillness befell the surrounding desert, the storm passed as suddenly as it came. The world became silent, so silent she heard her own fast breathing. A greyish light still hovered outside, the camel quieted.
Lucinda lifted her head and tilted it back. Her eyes met Tariq. He looked down at her, intent. Her lips parted, her gaze frightened.
But Tariq continued to stare at her. Something in her eyes shifted, the fear vanished, her breath caught. A warm sensation spread in her body. Her eyes darkened. Mesmerised, her nipples pebbled, and a heaviness settled in her breasts.
Without a warning, his mouth fell on hers, invading, exploring, avid, demanding. His kiss unlike any other she’d experienced. The kiss of a man who wanted everything from her. And would have it. She would give it. Whatever he demanded was his to take. For she had no forces to resist for the life of her. His three-day stubble tickling her lips intensified her reactions to him. She followed him, kiss for kiss and reciprocated, gave all she had. Hot arrows crossed her body, making her franticly eager for higher levels of pleasure. Her hands slid from his chest to his sleek dark hair, so…so silky. She embroiled her fingers in it, revelling in its thick smoothness.
Tariq sank further in her mouth as he dreamed of doing with her body. Never so incandesced like this with a simple kiss. Not a kiss, no. An explosion of fire and craving. He held her tighter by her waist, her blanket falling to the ground. His other hand on her head, angling her for him. His tongue strolling, seeking, entangling with hers in a dance of give and take older than time.
He stretched his arms putting her a little away from him. Panting, breathless, they glared at each other, bewildered by what they did to each other. No thought thrived, no conjectures, no refrain. Their desire broke loose there and then, impetuously.
They stared foggily at one another. And their mouths glued again, for more searing kisses, their bodies touching everywhere now, desperately seeking satisfaction. It transcended any limits. Their minds blurred, their bodies embracing, their hearts racing. It was as if their souls and their blood entwined in a pulp of surrender.
He left her mouth to trail agonizing fire down her neck, putting the veil away, tickling her with his stubble, making her body gather lava in its core. She gasped and her hands caressed his muscled arms, chest, neck urgently. He moaned. His voluminous bulge sought attention on her belly and she imagined it might be what her traitorous body starved for so shamelessly.
The camel rumbled. The sound banned them from their trance-like, molten joining.
“Heavens, Lucinda!” He groaned in her ear. “What are you doing to me?”
In a haze, her head fell back, eyes closed. “No more than what you’re doing to me.” Her mutter breathy. The movement made his stub
ble graze her throat, driving him insane.
Hearing it from her must be perdition. His body ready for her, he wanted to take her, make her his. Hell and damnation! It wasn’t possible. “We aren’t supposed to be doing any of this!” He walked away from her. Her legs wobbled and her body leant on the rock, slack.
He looked at her leaning on the rock, messy veil, tunic marking all her hour-glass figure, lips parted, breathless. So sensuous, so…irresistible. In utter frustration, he raked his hand in his silky obsidian hair and rushed out of the shelter.
He loaded everything back on the camel as fast as possible; and they resumed their way, to use what remaining daylight they still had.
The sitting space of a camel wasn’t large. To be behind Tariq without touching him, with the camel’s sway, on top of that, virtually impossible. And he rode fast to reach camp before dark. Their lengths grazed helplessly and Lucinda had no ability to block the sensations her insides insisted in manifesting.
The ride advanced tense and silent. Each one with their own thoughts. Tired as she might be, Lucinda didn’t regret anything. Their kiss deflagrated as an outburst! If nothing else, this would be a memory she’d take back to England. A witness of something that would never happen to her again. Better this than nothing. Marriage and passion didn’t match, she understood it. When the time came, she’d accept a marriage offer and know it didn’t include passion. Or anything else for that matter.
By the time they arrived at camp, the last sun rays had been gone. Dinner ready and the tents in place. Too exhausted, she fell asleep soon after eating.
CHAPTER SIX
Tariq woke in the middle of the cool darkness with a sense of well-being foreign to him. Half-smiling, he came back to consciousness. His arms held her, and she snuggled against his chest, the perfume of sun on her glossy hair. He arranged her closer to him with a sense of…contentment. And fell back asleep.