by Emma Wildes
"My blindfold has slipped a bit,” Gillian said calmly, sounding a little hoarse from her earlier screeching. “It appears, my dear, like we are in some sort of storage area. I can see bags and a few crates and there are either mice or rats moving about. Hear them?"
Disliking the idea of rats intensely, Sarah shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor and tested her bonds. “When they dumped us in the wagon and covered us with cloth, I wondered if we weren't being taken back into the city."
"It appears so. The sounds of the streets of this city are unmistakable, and we were not transported far. How tightly are you tied, my dear Sarah?"
Though she was bound, blindfolded, and in an unknown place, Sarah had to stifle a small laugh at Gillian's unruffled tone. “I think,” she replied, twisting one wrist and wincing, “with the loss of some skin, I might be able to get a hand free if I could loosen the bonds just a fraction. How about you?"
"Like a trussed hen, I'm afraid.” Gillian sounded absurdly apologetic. “I barely have circulation. At a guess, we will not be here long."
"I'm surprised they didn't gag you,” Sarah muttered with a hint of amusement. “However, I suppose they assumed that above the din of the streets no one would hear you anyway ... the good news is that I still have my knife. I would guess the last thing our captors expected was for an infidel woman to be armed."
"Their foolish mistake."
"Thanks to Hamet.” Beyond her will, tears filled Sarah's eyes. “Oh, Aunt Gillian, I cannot bear to think of him dead. Ahmed will be devastated, for they are like brothers."
"Your husband will be further devastated to lose his wife as well.” The admonishment was brisk, though there was a tell-tale quiver in that practical statement that showed her aunt was not quite as composed as she sounded. “Now, turn your energy to freeing your hands, child. I fear my posterior is growing numb sitting here."
With a sob lodged in her throat, Sarah obeyed, trying her best to swivel her wrist under the sturdy rope binding her arms. It hurt like the very devil, but Gillian was right, there didn't seem to be a point in simply sitting and awaiting whatever fate was in store for her. Within moments, a fine sweat broke out over her face, but whether the pain indicated progress, she wasn't sure. It wasn't until she felt a trickle of warm wetness over her knuckles that she felt the first slip, her right hand almost coming loose.
"I'm bleeding,” she said through her teeth, tugging with all her might, gaining another crucial half-inch, “and it seems to be helping ... there!"
The very first thing she did was tear off her blindfold, finding out that her aunt was right. They were in a largish room in the dark, the only illumination being the faint line under the door and some small holes up high in the stone walls that might be for ventilation. Aunt Gillian was nothing but a dark huddled form several feet away, half-prone on the dirt floor.
Tugging her knife free, Sarah sawed through the bonds on her ankles and then proceeded to cut the rope binding her aunt. Helping the older woman to her feet in the shrouded gloom, she cast around, assessing the area she could see for possible weapons as Gillian fussily brushed off her skirts. “What now?"
In the dim illumination, Gillian's teeth gleamed in a faint smile. “The door is undoubtedly locked, but we should still try it. Carefully though, for if it is guarded, we will give ourselves away."
Seeing the wisdom in that advice, they both waited, very silent, not hearing any movement outside their dingy prison. Emboldened, Sarah gingerly pushed on the plain wooden door, finding it moved a little, secured by a bar of some kind on the other side that rattled lightly. Perhaps because they were both tied, and also because no one knew she was armed, there seemed to be no guard, and Sarah felt a glimmer of hope as she realized she could actually see the wooden piece that fitted into the brackets and kept the door from opening. Whispering in her aunt's ear, she said, “I think I can slide my blade out far enough to lift the bar. Shall we try it?"
A quick nod. “Absolutely."
It was ridiculously easy to open the door by slipping her knife into the crack and levering up the wooden slat. When it creaked open, they both crept out cautiously into what looked like a dusty hallway lined with similar doors. Both exhilarated and intimidated at the thought of being free, Sarah murmured, “What do we do now? We have no idea where we are."
Aunt Gillian squared her shoulders, her lined face alight. “If we can get outside, my dear, without alerting our captors to the fact we have escaped, we can find the palace. Even I know how to say that word, and you can do even better since your lessons with dear Hamet. Surely there can't be more than one golden-haired princess in this city and most of the people here seem to adore your handsome, young husband. Someone will help us."
"If we can get out of this ill-smelling place,” Sarah repeated grimly. “Which way?"
"When in doubt,” Gillian announced with a mischievous grin, “go right, I always say."
"Since when?"
"Since I was abducted by dissolute brigands in the middle of a desert."
Glancing down the dark hallway, Sarah nodded and suppressed a hysterical giggle. “Right it is."
* * * *
The man bowed, his sunburned face bearing traces of chagrin. “I am sorry, my Lord, but there were too many. They first ambushed and then surrounded us. Those of us they did not kill, they robbed and tied, leaving us to die in the desert."
The light of the torches played over the faces of the guards who had not been shot outright. Ahmed and the search party he had summoned quickly upon his return with Hamet had stumbled upon the men not two miles from the point where Sarah and her aunt had been abducted. “What do you know of them? Who are they?"
One of the men, a broad-shouldered youth with a scar down one cheek, spoke up. “They are mostly criminals, my Lord. Smugglers and traders in forbidden items and products not allowed past our borders before the new treaties."
Men, Ahmed realized with angry comprehension, who would have a vested interest in causing him grief over ruining their formerly profitable circumvention of the law. “I see."
"They did not kidnap the princess for themselves, Your Highness. I heard them talking. They were acting on the orders of someone who offered them both monetary exchange and revenge."
The wind sighed low and sweet, a desert wind that carried the scent of the dust of centuries. Sitting on his restive horse, worried and frustrated over each passing moment with his wife in the clutches of some unknown villain, Ahmed felt his face tighten. “A coward,” he spat out with uncharacteristic harshness, “who refuses to challenge me directly but uses an innocent woman for his retribution. When I find him, I will carve out his heart. Tell me, where did they take her?"
All the men could do was shake their heads. “We do not know, my Lord,” the scarred man slowly said. “She was bound and blindfolded, as was the old woman."
"Who cackled like a mad chicken,” one of them added darkly. “I would not want to travel with that one."
Considering darkness had fallen, it seemed folly to try to continue to search such a vast area when it was impossible to see signs of the passage of Sarah's abductors. The guards they'd found needed shelter and sustenance after being confined for so many hours without food or water. Reluctantly, Ahmed said, “We will go back to the city and resume the search tomorrow. I do not know what else to do.” There was an edge of despair in his voice that he couldn't have hidden if he tried.
"Yes, my Lord."
* * * *
Suppressing a yawn, Sarah reached for her cup of sweet hot coffee. Her left temple throbbed with a headache undoubtedly caused by fear and fatigue. “It seems ridiculous after all that has happened to be so sleepy, but I swear I could nod off at any moment. Do you think they understood my request to send a message to Ahmed?"
Sitting across from her, looking both dusty and disheveled, her gray hair a wild halo from being tied and transported in a wagon, much less the vegetable cart they had found to take them within walking dist
ance of the palace, Gillian said wearily, “It's late, child. Good heavens, we were kidnapped hours and hours ago. And as for understanding you, I am not sure, but certainly it is known you are here at the palace and did not arrive at all in the usual way. Even if they didn't understand a word, you would think they would send for your husband."
"Perhaps, but I wish they would hurry it on a bit. I want a bath and to go to sleep."
Her aunt admitted, “That does sound fabulous. Desert ruins are fascinating and all, but a good night's sleep is even better at my age."
The room they sat in was lovely and formal, some sort of receiving room, Sarah guessed, for esteemed visitors. A guard, impassive and unmoving, stood by the door. She and Gillian sat on low divans, and though a glass of water would have been preferable, when a tray of hot coffee had been delivered, she had greeted it gratefully. Taking another sip from a delicate cup, she glanced up as a man entered the room. She was relieved to see Robert Tulane. The British Consul looked as immaculate as ever, even in the middle of the night, and his bow was courtly, despite the surprise she could see in his eyes. “Princess,” he said formally, “perhaps you will relate to me how you came to be on the palace doorstep at such a late hour?"
Resignedly, Sarah said, “I am sorry they sent for you, Mr. Tulane. I thought I made myself clear enough. All I wished was to send word to Ahmed of my whereabouts, so he could escort me home."
"You will have to forgive the king, Your Highness, but when he is informed that his daughter-in-law has arrived on his doorstep, injured and obviously distraught, bearing word that his nephew has been murdered, he wishes to find out exactly what has occurred. No one else here could translate accurately except your husband, and he, it seems, is out scouring the desert for you and your aunt."
She couldn't help it, her eyes filled with tears at the mention of Hamet, one drop traitorously escaping and snaking down her cheek. The consul, looking alarmed, took her hand and gently patted it as she swallowed and said brokenly, “Hamet died defending us. We were ambushed on our return from a tour of the ancient mosque ruins at the edge of the desert. Several guards were shot. My aunt and I were bound and transported back to the city and imprisoned in some sort of old building ... I admit, I am not sure where. We escaped and pleaded with an old man on the street to bring us to the palace.” With a slight catch in her voice, Sarah finished miserably, “And we have been waiting here quite a while. Is it not possible for me to go home?"
Taking in the gory abrasions on her wrists, the ligature marks vivid with dried blood and already showing deep bruising, he looked both shocked and dismayed. “My dear Princess, that is not up to me, of course, but I am sure the king will sympathize with your ordeal. Please—"
There was a small commotion at the door. Rapid-fire questions were asked in a familiar voice, the guard's answer lost as a tall man strode swiftly through the door. His dark hair loose, his clothing dusty, a very wicked and businesslike sword strapped to his lean waist, her husband looked both formidable and strained. “Sarah!"
Not certain which one of them moved faster, Sarah found herself suddenly halfway across the room and in his arms, swung into his embrace, her face buried against his broad chest. His heart beat fast under her ear, the sound strong and wild, and his arms held her almost painfully tight. “Oh, Ahmed,” she said, clinging to him. “Thank God, you are here."
His mouth tenderly brushed her hair. “When I returned home and got the message you were safe, I fell on my knees in gratitude. Tell me, beautiful Sarah, did they harm you?"
"No,” she gulped, “but Hamet ... oh, I am so sorry. He was foolishly brave, I'm afraid, and—"
"Shhh ... he lives, but barely. I found him, and he is being cared for.” Her husband kissed her forehead tenderly, cradling her in his arms like a child, his dark gaze holding hers. “We will pray for him together. Those men ... they are outlaws, criminals ... my sweet wife, how did you escape?"
Hamet was alive—the relief of that revelation was staggering. Suddenly so tired she felt she could drift off right there—in the middle of the room with people watching them—if only Ahmed would continue to hold her like he never wished to let her go. She mumbled, “It is a long story. Can I tell you in the morning?"
* * * *
The vague hint of dawn colored the sky with tints of rose and violet. Ahmed rose quietly and donned his clothes, his hair still not quite dry from his bath a few hours before, the ache of fatigue balanced by his relief over having his wife back safe in his bed. Sarah slept trustingly on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek. He could see the dark blue damage on her slender wrists where she had struggled free from her bonds. Golden hair tumbled across the disordered bedclothes, her shoulders ivory in the growing light, those long, lush lashes pillowed on her cheeks. Her breathing was even and light and she looked both peaceful and infinitely lovely.
She was his life, he thought, not at all certain how to handle the myriad of emotions of the past afternoon and evening. He could not ever remember before in his life being truly frightened, much less so helpless ... and it had been his intrepid young wife and her elderly aunt who had actually saved themselves. Standing there, he had to stifle the urge to lie down again beside her and take her in his arms, knowing she needed the rest after such a harrowing experience.
The courtyard was deserted but the servants were up for he could see a thin coil of smoke rising from the back of the house where the kitchens were located. Letting himself through the gate into the garden, he found Fahir in his usual spot at this early hour, smoking a thin long pipe, one gnarled hand resting on his knee. His old advisor took in his clothes and riding boots, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “So,” he asked calmly, “you are going after your brother, I see. It is about time."
"How long have you known he was lining his coffers by smuggling forbidden goods out of this country?” Not certain how foolish he should feel, Ahmed stood on the path, looking at the man he considered near a father. A bird fluttered in a tree nearby, keening a tentative song into the morning air.
"I have suspected for some time. I didn't know for certain until I heard just who he enlisted to abduct your wife.” Blowing out a puff of smoke, Fahir shook his head. “Omar will be more unstable than ever to realize she has escaped and foiled his revenge. In fact, I do not think it is even a good idea for you to venture into the city looking for him."
A little incredulous, Ahmed said heatedly, “You think I am not capable of finding him and settling this between us?"
The older man smiled then, a cynical twist of his mouth. “Do not bristle up like an angry lion cub, Your Highness. I suggested nothing of the kind. I am simply observing that your older brother has been slowly losing his ability to make rational decisions. His hatred is deep ... and he is certain harming your wife is the best way to make you suffer. Not only have you always supplanted him in your father's affections, but now he is exposed as a criminal and traitor, not to mention having lost his illegal means of business. All of this, in his demented mind, is because of you."
"Therefore the necessity of finding him and ending it. I cannot let Sarah endure being a virtual prisoner in our home, nor can I rest easy allowing her to leave. Men were brutally and viciously killed yesterday, and Hamet—who is more my brother than Omar has ever been, still hovers near death. It is up to me to not allow this situation to continue."
Fahir looked bland. “I do not argue that point, my Lord. However, do you not think that he will come to you?"
"Come to me? Man against man, warrior to warrior? Think about it, Fahir. He must know I realize he engineered Sarah's kidnapping and am incensed. If she were not so resourceful and brave, I might still have lost her.” It was difficult to think about, much less admit out loud, and even in the warmth of the rising morning sun, Ahmed felt a chill finger run up his spine.
"Your English bride has proven herself,” Fahir said gruffly, his lined face wearing an almost pained expression at the admission. “She is both courageous and cle
ver. Even her aunt, though she is unbecomingly outspoken, has commendable bravery."
"Yes, but they should not have to fear any longer, my friend. I will answer to my father when the deed is done. Omar's disappearance alone is damning evidence of his involvement in yesterday's cowardly attack."
"His disappearance certainly supports our accusations ... yet I don't like it. You would serve your bride better, my Lord, to stay close, and when Omar crawls from his hole like the snake he is to strike, you can be close at hand to destroy him."
Staring, Ahmed asked slowly, “You believe that my brother is demented enough to come for Sarah here?"
"His time runs short. Already he is a hunted man, for your father, as well, wants answers for what happened yesterday.” Fahir puffed thoughtfully, tendrils of smoke drifting upward in the growing brightness of the peaceful garden. “He will do one of two things. The prudent thing is to board one of his ships used for carrying contraband goods and sail away forever. Though our king has always turned a blind eye to Omar's faults, he cannot ignore murder and thievery. The other, less rational, possibility is to conceal himself here in the city and continue with his twisted plan of revenge."
"Since I would choose the former if I were in his shoes, I suppose I should assume he will pick the latter. We have never thought alike.” Ahmed grimly rubbed his jaw. “If your theory is correct, Fahir, maybe it would be best to thin the guards as if I believe my brother has run and am out searching for him. I want to draw him out, like poison from a wound."
"It has festered,” his advisor intoned, his gaze heavy and grave, “too long already."
Chapter 10
Sarah slipped into the warm water gratefully, feeling it lap over her bare skin. She ached in a dozen places and her wrists stung painfully, though Halide had promised a salve that she said would work wonders. The most healing and uplifting news of all was that Hamet had lived through the night, and the physicians now seemed to cautiously predict a recovery, despite horrendous wounds to his abdomen and shoulder.