The bucket gleamed wetly. It had been used recently.
There was a long, low trough stretching out from the well, close enough for the bucket to reach. There were several inches of water in the trough and a dozen horses, goats and camels drinking from it.
Basel snorted and snickered. He could smell the water, too.
The people from the camp gathered around the caravan. It sounded as though everyone was talking at once. There were veiled women, children with big eyes and bare feet, turbaned men shouting and laughing.
The caravan nudged closer to the camp, then came to a halt on the other side of the well.
Alim edged Basel out of the line, to a spot twenty yards away. He slid off the horse and took the reins off Basel’s neck. “Here, hold these, or he will bolt for the water.”
Others in the caravan were also spreading out on either side of the file and dismounting. The packs and baggage on the horses and camels were loosened and dropped to the sand.
Sydney slid to the ground and took Basel’s reins. “Where are you going?”
“I must hear the news,” Alim told her. “Someone will pitch the tent where you are and take Basel to water. Stay there.”
He strode over the sand, moving quickly. He was soon lost among the crowd of people standing by the well, talking loudly.
Basel pulled against the reins. Sydney dug in her heels. “Nope,” she told him. “You’ll just gorge yourself.”
Sydney watched the camp build up around her. Men and women worked together, in ages-old routines that required little talking. Even children had their roles, handing out ropes and pegs, holding and retrieving mallets, carrying rolled carpets and small mountains of cushions and cloth.
Four men came to where she was standing, a camel on a rope behind them. The camel was weighed down with baggage held in rope nets, packs and bags that hung over its back in pairs. There were rolls of the thick canvas-like tent cloth. She recognized the stripes. This was Alim’s tent and belongings, then.
One of the men glanced at her, then at Basel’s reins in her hands. He nodded. It was stiff and awkward. Yet it was an acknowledgement.
Clearly, Sydney had been promoted. She was holding Alim’s horse. She was somebody.
The four men encouraged the camel to drop to its knees, then took everything off its back, including the blanket strapped around it to protect its hide. The camel got back to its feet. It was a scrawny thing. Even its hump was a mere bump on its back.
One of the four men came over to Basel and took off the saddle blanket and put it by Sydney’s feet. Then he took Basel’s reins and the camel’s rope and led both animals toward the well.
Sydney could no longer see the well. There were tents in front of it now. She could hear the creak of the windlass, the splash of water in the trough and the snort and slurp of animals drinking.
The other three men built the tent. It went up in fewer than ten minutes, then they spent another five minutes hauling carpets inside and unrolling them. The packs, cushions and bags were the last to be carried in, then the tent flaps were dropped down.
The man who had nodded to her when they had begun, now motioned toward the tent.
She understood. She should go inside.
Sydney ducked under the flap and felt immediate relief from the belting heat of the sun. It was warm in the tent, yet not as stuffy and heated as she thought it would be.
Suddenly, she couldn’t stand the many layers she was wearing. They became intolerable, all at once. She almost tore the clothing from her body. The last layer, the pants and breast band, were soaked with sweat.
Naked, she stood in the dim tent and held out her arms, feeling the tiny movement of air against her skin. It was heavenly. Almost as wonderful as a shower would be, only showers were centuries in the future from here.
When she felt more comfortable, she turned to the packs and searched through them. She was quite sure the chemise she had been wearing would not have been discarded. These people did not throw away anything.
She found the linen shift neatly folded, alongside the three Latin books, and put it on. Then she spread the clothes she had been wearing over some of the cushions, to let the garments air and dry.
The next task was one she wasn’t looking forward to. Working carefully, she tugged and loosened the leather bindings around her hair. There were six of them from the base of her neck to the thick tail of her hair, which was as long as it had been in Mercia and was brushing the top of her ass.
Once her hair was loose, she bent from the waist and ran her fingers through it, her scalp prickling with relief. Staying bent, she worked the tangles free with her fingers. She didn’t have a brush and there had been nothing like a brush or comb in the packs. Even if she had found one, she would have hesitated to use it.
As she stood massaging her scalp, the bottom corner of the tent flap was lifted. A hand pushed a tray through. Sydney could smell mint and the irresistible scent of hot bread.
She straightened and collected the tray. There was a glass of tea and a bowl with what looked like pita bread in it. The flatbread was still warm from cooking. She took the tray over to the pile of cushions, pulled a cushion out and sat cross-legged to eat and drink. The flatbread was thick and chewy and even though it was only a little larger than the palm of her hand, it was completely filling.
The camp grew quiet around her and she realized she was drowsy, too. The heat, a full belly, tea, shade and the absence of constant movement were all having an effect.
She laid out the cushions as Alim had done and settled on them. Sleep was impossible to resist. She would just close her eyes for a moment and drift…
…and opened them again to see through the tent flap that night had almost fallen. The smell of roasting meat was thick in the air. Music made by drums and some sort of stringed instrument beat in the background.
Alim was standing next to her, looking down at her. He had discarded all his clothes except for the undershirt and trousers. Even his head was bare.
Sydney knew that hot, syrupy expression in his eyes. Every nerve in her body crackled with sudden sensitivity. She made herself stay still. This was not really Alex. This was the man who would become Alex, if she succeeded here. Alim had different expectations. His experience was narrower, less tolerant. He did not know her. He did not know that just looking at her that way could reduce her to a quivering mess.
He lowered himself down and settled on his knees beside her. He moved slowly, as if weighed down by reluctance.
“Alim—” she began.
He pressed his finger to her lips, silencing her. He shook his head.
Sydney held still, all except her breath, that raced along with her heart.
Alim didn’t move. His gaze wandered along her body, absorbing every detail, making her heart pound even harder. She ached for him to touch her. Anywhere.
His hand curled into a fist on his thigh. He was holding himself back.
But…she was a whore in his eyes. Why stop himself? If she lacked all morals, then taking his pleasure would be almost automatic, wouldn’t it?
What is your name?
Zidnay of the Angels.
Truly, you are an oddity among women.
“You see me now, don’t you?” Sydney whispered.
“Yes.” His voice was low.
Sydney trembled. She didn’t know if it was because she had been given a sign that she was succeeding in opening his mind to possibilities, or if it was because of the need running through her. She reached out for his fist and picked it up, then uncurled the fingers. He straightened them, his gaze not shifting from her face.
Sydney pressed his hand against her breast and held it there.
Alim froze for second. Then his breath escaped in a heavy rush and his fingers curled over the curve of her breast.
Sydney couldn’t help thrusting her breast up into his palm. His touch was so familiar.
Her movement, the explicit invitation, triggered him into a
ction. He pulled her up from the cushions, a hand under her shoulders. He pushed the other under the hem of her chemise, finding her knee. His flesh was hot against hers, marking the difference between Alex and this man. He slid his hand along her thigh, bringing the chemise up as he went, until it was over her hips. His thumb pressed into the crease between her hip and thigh, stroking and she gasped.
Alim shoved the cushions out of the way with impatient movements and laid her down once more and rested over her. He separated her knees with his and she realized that he wasn’t just impatient, he was driven. This crude fumbling was far from the consummate seductions that Alex orchestrated.
However, it suited her frantic need.
Alim settled between her thighs and gripped her hips with one hand, planted his hand next to her shoulder. His cock pressed against her. Then, in one hard thrust, he drove deep inside her, burying himself to the hilt.
He held still, tasting the moment. His eyes were narrowed in concentration.
Sydney moaned. There was nothing better than this, unless it was having Rafe in her, too. Of all the sophisticated lovemaking Alex had ever subjected either of them to, nothing surpassed this first simple moment of possession, when her channel opened up to the invasion of their cocks.
Yet the moment never lasted. It couldn’t. Her pleasure wouldn’t let her keep still. Her hips lifted, speaking of her need and she felt Alim’s cock twitch in response.
He thrust again, grinding deep. Then again and he stiffened, coming in hard little jerks, his breath harsh. It did not end there. He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him, shifting her so she was straddling his hips. His cock was still deep inside her, still iron hard.
He lay breathing heavily. “Now, I can think,” he said softly. He pulled at the chemise. “Take this off.”
Sydney pulled the chemise over her head and threw it aside.
Alim rested his hands on her hips. His thumbs stroked over her belly and her muscles quivered in response. Her pussy clenched, too and he breathed deeply in reaction. He moved his hands higher, to her waist, then up, to shape themselves around her breasts.
Sydney tried to keep still and let him explore. The tips of her breasts were molten points, though. She ached for him to touch them.
He let his fingers slide down the slope of her breasts and trip over the hard nipples, one finger at a time. The little jerks and tugs sent a wave of pleasure thrumming through her, directly to her clit, that throbbed in response. Sydney closed her eyes and let her hips rock, trying to relieve the tension.
“Ah, yes, like that,” he breathed, gripping her waist, encouraging her.
Sydney rode him, letting her building pleasure dictate the rhythm of her hips. She wouldn’t last, though. She pressed a hand against her belly, feeling the building orgasm there.
Alim followed her lead. He pushed his fingers between her nether lips and found her clit. Even the first gentle touch of his fingers made her groan, it was that good. Her rocking motion faltered, disrupted by her growing pleasure.
Alim thrust up into her, as her trembling grew to a shuddering. The power of the building orgasm was almost frightening.
The climax stole her breath and her vision. Every muscle seemed to lock taut, straining. Her pussy squeezed and stoked Alim’s cock, making him groan. His hips worked beneath her and he came again, his fingers digging into her hips.
Sydney fell forward, her limbs like jelly. He held her against him, his cock still inside her.
“Are you a witch?” he whispered.
“I am just a simple woman.”
“Yet I am bewitched. I cannot stop thinking about you. I should be out there by the fire, with the other officers. Instead, I found myself here, looking at you.”
“Should you go back, then?”
“Shall I?”
Sydney lifted her head to look at him and shook it.
He smiled and turned her so she was on her back again. “I am not done with you yet, anyway,” he said in agreement and lifted her knee up against his hip and shifted inside her.
Chapter Fourteen
Alim did not let her go that night, or the next day. When he did not appear at the fireside for meals, food was sent to the tent. It would be pushed inside, the bearer intruding as little as possible.
Alim left the tent once, as the music was reaching its loudest, to return with a cloth held in his hand by all four corners, the middle weighed down by the dry white sand of the desert.
He put it on the floor and bathed her with it.
Sydney had heard of sand baths. Beyond the name, she had little idea how they worked.
While she stood in the small pile of sand, Alim took handfuls of the sand and scrubbed very gently, all over her body. It left a very fine dust on her skin that she could wipe away. Her body tingled afterward.
Then, she did the same to Alim.
Afterward, he poured oil into his hands and spread it over her flesh. With cloth, he removed the excess, leaving her skin softer and clearer than she had ever felt it. When she tried to do the same to Alim, though, she could not complete it, because he pulled her against him, lifted her up in his arms and pushed his cock inside her with a groan.
It was not the only time he interrupted her that night, or the day that followed.
As the torrid day lengthened, Sydney’s wild need subsided a little, letting her think. Alim laid next to her, his head propped on one hand while he played with her hair, holding up locks and letting them slither through his fingers. She reached for the Latin books.
“No, no, I beg you, Xanthe, not now,” he murmured.
“Zanthay?” she repeated.
He tilted his head and smiled. It was pure Alexander Karim and her heart squeezed. “You say you know your Greek.” He lifted her hair and let it fall. “Xanthe. It means—”
“Fair hair,” she finished. “Xanthe. I see.”
“It rolls from the tongue more easily than Zidnay,” he added.
Sydney laughed. She had done that a lot this day, something she would not have predicted a few hours before.
Then, because survival insisted upon it, she pressed the Hippocrates book against his chest. “Have you thought of becoming a doctor, Alim?”
“Doctor?”
“Healer. Surgeon. You are so good at it already. If you sought out greater knowledge your skills would become miraculous.”
“A miracle worker?” he asked, smiling.
“I mean it, Alex. Look at me. I could barely move when they bought you to my tent. I don’t even know how long I slept there before I woke. Only now, two days later, all that is left are shadows and they don’t hurt.” She prodded at her bare belly.
Alim prodded experimentally, too. He was frowning. Then he smoothed his hand across her belly, his touch gentle. “Healing people…” he said, his tone distant. “You mean, to the exclusion of everything else.”
“There will be times when you will still have to be a warrior. Healing people, fixing wounds, though…they seem to be such honorable things to do.” Then, because she knew it would appeal to his intellect, she added; “You would have to learn so much, though. You would have to study, read books wherever you could find them and find mentors who could teach you what they know.”
Alim looked at her, his attention caught. Then he frowned again. “You speak as if my future is set. As if you know it already.”
Sydney quickly reviewed what she had just said. “I meant,” she replied carefully, “that is what I would expect to happen, given the way the world is these days. You are a good fighter. There will be times when it might serve you as much as medicine would.”
“You called me Alex,” he added.
Sydney tried to contain her leaping heart. She had slipped. Then she remembered that he couldn’t hear her heart, not unless he rested his ear against her chest.
“Is it because I called you Xanthe?” he asked.
She relaxed. “Yes. Alexander. The Macedonian.”
“Alexander t
he Great.” He laughed at her expression. “You did not think I knew his other name, did you?” His laugh faded. “Is that what you think of me?”
“If I did, I would be careful to not tell you. It might inflate your opinion of yourself until you are impossible to live with.”
His smile was a weak echo of hers. “In Rashid’s company, that is simply not possible.” Then he stirred and sat up. “I speak out of turn. Forget what I said.” He picked up the Hippocrates book. “Perhaps a short lesson would be appropriate,” he said, flipping it open.
The lesson didn’t last long at all.
* * * * *
Shortly before sunset, one of Alim’s lieutenants came to the tent. He and Alim stood at the opening and spoke. Alim was careful to keep the opening pulled against him at all times, so his officer could not see inside.
When the lieutenant left, Sydney went up to Alim and put her arms around him and rested her head against his bare back. “News?” she asked.
“Rashid wants to travel tonight. There are Berbers in the area, bent on mischief.”
“You just killed one of their generals, didn’t you?”
“Yes, which is why Rashid wants to race home.” He pulled her around so that she was in front of him.
“Cairo is close?” she asked. “I mean, Al-Qāhirah?”
“Less than a day’s travel.”
That explained the well-founded waterhole and the caravan that was already here. This oasis would be a common stopping point.
“If we started at sunset, we would get there before dawn?”
“If we do not stop, then yes, we will.” He looked down at her. “This does not please you?”
Sydney schooled her face into stillness, hiding her shock and her dismay. She had thought there would be much more time, that it would take weeks to reach any sort of civilization. Once they reached Cairo and the troop’s permanent homes, then things would change. She could be separated from Alim…or perhaps he would simply cast her aside, once he was immersed in his normal life and his books once more.
Kiss Across Seas Page 15