Courageous

by Dina L. Sleiman

  When at last he caught her gaze, he could no longer deny her meaning. He had never been in love before, had never witnessed true love in the eyes of another, yet he recognized it when he saw it now. Their friendship had grown and strengthened, and the bond between them had become deep and steady. It was warm and companionable, full of trust and understanding, yet there was a spark that simmered beneath it all.

  What more could he ever want?

  And in that moment, every possible answer to that question fled his mind.

  He wanted Rosalind as his partner in life, as his other half. Nothing had ever been so obvious to him.

  Longing to close that slight space of otherness between them and lose himself in her very being, he lowered his lips toward hers. This kiss was nothing like that regrettable one for Leo’s benefit. It was gentle, searching, questioning. It joined their very souls. He wanted nothing more than for his lips to melt into hers and connect them for all eternity.

  But he also desired to look again into her sweet, intoxicating eyes. He pulled back just an inch, in wonder, in delight. But the confusion swirling in her gaze brought him back to reality and hit him like a punch in the gut.

  She could not be his. He had just told himself as much.

  Using every ounce of self-control that had been drilled into him by his firm, cold mother, he placed his hands upon her shoulders and pried them farther apart.

  “I am . . . I should . . . I never . . .” But he knew not what to say. It felt somehow wrong to apologize for such a tender, pure sort of kiss. But it should not have happened. And now he could never unknow the truth that he had fallen in love with Rosalind of Ipsworth.

  She touched a gentle finger to his lips. “Please. Do not say anything. I know we cannot be together. But somehow it brings me comfort to know this is not easy for you either.”

  “I wish it could be different.”

  “Just promise me this,” she said, resting her forehead against his. “Remain open to what God might place upon your heart.”

  “That is fair enough,” Randel said.

  She seemed to float away like an angel and disappear into the cave.

  Her request was fair enough. But what he did not tell her was that his heart was far too muddied by shame to ever hear God clearly. He would always second-guess himself.

  And so he had little choice but to stick with his plan. And to find that inner strength and toughness that he so desperately needed in order to survive the life of a soldier.

  The next morning Rosalind squinted against the sun, peered behind her, and then scanned the rocky hills all around. Though they were far from the beaten path, chills ran up and down her spine every time she thought of the sea of enemy fighters they had spotted yesterday. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the corner of her makeshift Moslem veil and pressed onward.

  Her small horse, which Abu-Wassim had hand chosen for this mission, picked its way nimbly over the shifting terrain, around boulders, and through deep ruts in the earth. The steep incline did not seem to concern the animal. Suddenly she realized how silly she had been to even consider a camel for this journey. From the little she had seen of the animals, they were large, clumsy, and top heavy.

  She patted her horse’s black, wispy mane in appreciation. “You’re a good boy, Rafiq. I could never do this without you.”

  But again, she glanced around. They had all woken before dawn to get an early start. As Wassim suspected, the same search party that had passed them in the afternoon had come by again in the early evening, heading back to Jezeer. No one else had come their way, so the route to the crusader-held territory should be clear.

  Except that the exhausted, heart-weary children had dawdled and bickered and moaned all morning.

  They had resisted packing their bags and seemed to have to stop every few minutes to relieve themselves behind the large boulders or fill their skins with water once again. The children had never fought her and Randel like this. No doubt it was hard for them to first leave their parents behind and then abandon the relative safety of their cave. But they must move onward if they hoped to have even the smallest chance of being reunited with their captured loved ones.

  Finally, Abu-Wassim had taken over with the firm tone of an experienced father who would allow no argument, and for the past hour they had moved as swiftly as the narrow, rugged trail—used only by a few stray goat herders—would permit. This route took them high up the side of the mountain rather than skirting around the edge like the main path. And so far they had not come across a single encumbrance, although she had heard some of those goats bleating at a distance.

  She surveyed the children, also in makeshift Moslem garb. Thankfully their simple tunics and leggings were not too different than the native attire, and they had all grown tan in the bright summer sun. With the addition of veils and kaffiyehs, they could almost pass for Saracens from a distance.

  The girls had been instructed to sweep their veils across their faces if anyone approached, and the boys to lower their headgear and hide their eyes. Though some of the Maronite Christians had blue and green eyes, they were not common among the Saracens and might raise suspicion.

  But hopefully in this remote area they would encounter no one at all. They continued picking their way toward friendly territory as the sun rose high in the sky. No one spoke—whether because of fear of detection or exhaustion from the draining heat, Rosalind could not say. Although they were high above the level of the sea, the summer had continued to grow hotter. Even the mountain temperatures were far warmer than anything she had experienced in northern England.

  If they had stayed on the main path, they might already have been safely to crusader-held territory by now. But in the same time that they might have covered five or six miles on the worn, winding road, she doubted they had gone more than one.

  “Everyone remain calm with eyes forward,” Abu-Wassim barked his command.

  Rosalind recognized the tone as the one Rabia had employed yesterday when the snake nearly attacked Sapphira.

  Danger was afoot.

  “A small troop of enemy soldiers is moving in this direction,” Abu-Wassim said. “They are scouring the mountainside and moving quickly.”

  “I told you boys to hurry!” Lillian shouted at her brothers. “Why do you never listen to me?”

  “Cease.” Abu-Wassim took command again. “We have no time for blame. Do your best to appear a group of Saracen nomads, and do not draw undo attention. Rosalind and Randel, move closer to me.”

  Without appearing to hurry, Rosalind urged her horse forward and around the children. She schooled her features to remain calm but could not convince her pounding heart. Tugging her veil farther over her face, she caught up with the men.

  “What do you suggest?” Randel asked.

  “We could do all of the talking and try to pass you off as our family,” Abu-Wassim said, “but if they are looking for a group of children, as Wassim overheard, that is not likely to work.”

  “We could try to outrun them.” Hassan gripped his reins tightly. “But I saw them too. They were expert horsemen, likely Druze.”

  “The men yesterday were from a foreign troop. But if these are Druze, they might know these passages as well as we do,” Wassim said.

  “Perhaps we should hide again and hope they are in too much of a rush to stop and search.” Abu-Wassim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Each of the options comes with some risk. Sir Randel, you must be the one to decide.”

  That haunted look flashed through Randel’s eyes only for the briefest second, and then the strong warrior Rosalind admired filled his being. He sat forward on his horse and scanned the area with a keen eye. “Are there any caves nearby?”

  “I know of a small one.” Wassim pointed ahead and up the mountain. “We can get there in a few minutes, if we can get the children to hurry.”

  “I say we hide there,” Randel said. “If they find us, your family will go meet them while the rest of us remain
hidden. How many did you see?”

  Abu-Wassim clenched his jaw. “Less than ten, I would say.”

  “Those are reasonable odds.” Randel turned to the children. “We must hurry. All of you, stay close.” He yanked at his reins and kicked his horse. In one fluid motion they lurched in the direction Wassim had pointed.

  “Trust your horses,” Abu-Wassim said. “Just hold tight and let them lead the way. Do not fight for control.”

  Rosalind gave Rafiq another pat and urged him forward, gripping tightly with her legs and loosely with her hand. She gave the horse its way, and sure enough it hurried up the mountain at nearly a trot.

  “I am so scared,” she heard Issobelle whisper behind her.

  “Shh,” said Sapphira. “Just hold on and pray.”

  A good reminder. Rosalind resisted the urge to close her eyes as her horse skid on the loose rocks, but the animal knew its own limits, and after a few minutes, gained her trust. Looking back, she spied a glimpse of an enemy soldier. And she suspected he had caught a glance of her as well.

  Chapter 23

  Randel peered from the cave out into the scorching sun. They had managed to make it this far safely, but the enemy search team had definitely spotted them and closed the gap. He drew in slow deliberate breaths to keep himself calm and battle ready.

  As the group of Druze crested the hill, he winced and clenched tighter to the hilt of his sword. “Everyone, try to appear relaxed. Do not stare at them,” he said in a low voice.

  With his free hand, he pulled loaves of pita bread from the sack and passed them around. “Remember, we just stopped here to eat in the shade.” This cave was barely recessed into the side of the mountain. Although they were deep in the shadows, they were not out of view.

  His group responded admirably. Despite the fact that they had behaved like a group of spoiled children that morning, when faced with true danger, their training took over. He used the excuse of distributing food to turn and watch the encounter about to unfold.

  Abu-Wassim nodded to Randel as he and his eldest son stood and leisurely walked toward the invaders.

  “Rabia and Hassan, chat in Arabic. And the rest of you. Make some noises, but only murmurs and grunts and Arabic words that you have learned.”

  “What of you?” Jervais whispered.

  “I will only speak if I must command you. Here they come.”

  The men were now within earshot, and the children ate and chatted. Sapphira and Rosalind had evidently picked up the most Arabic, for they mumbled comments about the food and the weather. Hassan kept up a running monologue, a story perhaps, and Rabia responded at regular intervals.

  They would appear a group of Saracen nomads, just as they intended. Randel only wished they had more animals along to complete the ruse. But Abu-Wassim planned to say that their goats had escaped while they slept, and that they had climbed the mountain to catch them.

  It just might work.

  Abu-Wassim greeted the enemy strangers warmly with his hands outstretched. He talked to them for a few minutes. But the man in charge kept pointing to the cave. Several times he went to step in their direction, and Abu-Wassim blocked his path with more animated chatter.

  “They want to see us,” Hassan said under his breath. “They have been commanded to check every person for white hair and blue eyes. Father is arguing that we are mostly women and he must preserve our modesty. Rabia and Garrett, come with me.”

  The three of them, who would best pass as nomads, stepped out of the cave. Hassan held up his hands, clearly asking what the problem was. Perhaps they would waylay suspicion, but Randel would not count on it.

  “Sadie, Rosalind, Sapphira, and the rest of you boys, ready your swords but do no more.” He kept his voice low and spoke in English.

  Beyond the cave voices raised to shouts. Men on both sides of the confrontation gestured wildly. Their group had clearly formed a defensive line now to block the cave, but the others were growing more aggressive.

  Abu-Wassim punched the leader of the enemy group in the nose, but as yet swords had not been drawn. For now their ruse as a group of nomads protecting their women persisted. But the Druze seemed determined to complete their mission.

  Randel counted nine enemy soldiers. Not the best odds, as they only had four actual men, but they had seven more trained fighters and the rest of the girls to provide archery support. “Archers, stand one by one and move slowly to the rear. Prepare your bows.”

  Sapphira nearly froze with fear. Ever since the Druze had begun chasing them up the mountainside, she could not shake the image of the snake from her mind. His evil, narrow eyes seemed to follow her everywhere, bent on her destruction. His hiss resounded in her ears. The enemy of her soul sought her destruction. She had angered him, and now he was determined to remove her.

  But her logical mind yet knew truth. Her God was bigger than the enemy of her soul. He was bigger than the entire Saracen army. He had created each of them, and this mountain that held them, and the earth and sky and sun. He held the whole world in His hand, and she was His own dear child.

  With greater determination than ever before, Sapphira sought to still her mind, to calm her breathing and slow her heartbeat. She sought that kingdom of God deep within her, and all the peace and beauty and joy that dwelt there. She was not strong enough on her own. She did not have the courage to continue, but she knew where she could find it.

  The children remained huddled, immobile.

  Randel watched and waited. Could they handle such an imminent threat? They had done well enough in Jezeer from a distance, but this was a different situation entirely. His battle training had kicked in from the first moment of threat, but would theirs?

  Then Sapphira began a prayer, and they all shifted to the positions he had given them. With the shouting outside, no one hesitated to take up the whispered chant along with Sapphira. Thank the good Lord. They might yet have a chance.

  “Rosalind, Jervais, Sadie, and I will attack first, and only if swords are drawn. The rest of you be ready to protect yourselves.” He glanced about. Sapphira and the twins did not weigh a hundred pounds each. “On second thought, maybe the rest of you should start with archery.”

  “I do not wish to sit here and wait for all of you to die.” One of the twins stood now, his face bright with determination.

  His matching brother joined him. “We shall never survive on our own. Our best chance is to attack all at once. I want to join you.”

  “Me too,” Sapphira said.

  More blows erupted between the men from behind Randel.

  “Fine. All of you, but be careful. And girls, do not shoot unless you have a clear view of the enemy or they are coming at you. We do not want anyone caught in the crossfire.”

  Everything was ready. The prayers continued.

  And then an enemy fighter drew his sword.

  “Now!” Randel shouted.

  Before the enemy could register the threat, the entire scene shifted to a battlefield. Seven of them rushed at the Druze fighters before they could even think to draw their swords. Abu-Wassim, his sons, and Garrett had all been on high alert, and were fighting before most of the soldiers could even respond and find their weapons.

  Determination filled Randel as he struck at a man who was unsheathing his sword. Blood pounded through Randel’s veins at a frightening speed. His vision grew sharp and focused. He managed to slice deep into the fellow’s arm. The man pulled out his sword with his left hand, but Randel quickly dispatched him.

  Responding to the faint swish behind him. Randel caught a blow coming at his side, and engaged another fighter. With the quickest glance he spotted several enemy soldiers on the ground. Others fought the men of their group, but seemed confused by the extra swords coming at them from low angles.

  Another man came rushing at him, but he managed to sidestep and give him a shove. As the man stumbled apart from the fray, an arrow struck straight and clean into his chest.

  Randel spun to su
rvey the scene. Five fighters remained, but they were fierce. Swinging and slashing with the desperation of men who knew they were outnumbered. He dove into the action and managed to draw a fighter away from the smaller Hassan.

  Although she was barely an adequate swordsman, Sapphira fought with all of her might.

  Their attackers seemed confused by the presence of so many women and children circling about like a swarm of pesky insects, and so focused on fighting the men.

  But Sapphira watched for strategic opportunities to distract them and to offer supportive strikes. Even now, she noticed a tall man knock Abu-Wassim to the ground. Before he could harm her friend, Sapphira ran at the Druze. He turned toward her, but was caught off guard by her left-handed swipe of the sword.

  Her weapon cut into his side, not deep enough to kill the man, but enough to double him over in pain. She would not stop, could not stop to think about the feel of her sword meeting human flesh.

  Abu-Wassim jumped to his feet and continued the fight.

  Sapphira glanced about the chaotic scene. Her head grew swishy and her stomach heaved. But lives were at risk, so she pressed on.

  There. Wassim appeared to be struggling. But just as she dashed his way, the enemy soldier plunged his sword deep into Wassim’s chest. All she could do was call out to God yet again for strength and mercy.

  After a few moments of dodging and parrying, slashing and striking, Randel managed to disarm his opponent and send his sword flying across the clearing. As the man tried to run away, Garrett tossed his weapon like a javelin and brought the man down, then quickly fetched his sword.

  Randel took a breath as he debated his next move. That is when he spied the blood covering Jervais’s arm. The boy continued to fight bravely, but his opponent stood several inches taller and had a clear advantage. Randel intervened, pushing his way between them.

  This fellow was tough. He bandied sword strokes with him, taking his measure, but saw no clear weakness. Meanwhile at least two more bodies littered the ground, but Randel could only pray they were not his people.