“Nevertheless, during the journey I’d rather you not come on deck without an escort.”
“Very well, if you insist,” she gave in. “I was just thinking how strange it is that there are no other officers on board. I thought replacements usually traveled together.”
“They usually do. I was wondering the same thing, but I won’t know the answer until we reach Cairo.”
“Maybe they want you for something special!” Christina ventured.
“I doubt that, Crissy, but we’ll find out when we land.” John put his arm around Christina’s shoulder, and they watched England fall behind them as the ship sailed out to sea.
It was a long, boring journey for Christina. She hated confinement, and the ship offered few pastimes. She made friends with her cabinmate, a Mrs. Bigley. Mrs. Bigley had been visiting her children at school in England, and now was returning to Egypt. Her husband was colonel of the very regiment where John was posted. But Mrs. Bigley couldn’t tell Christina why her brother was being sent to Cairo. She knew only that the other replacements wouldn’t be leaving for a month.
Since there could be no answers until the journey was over, Christina put the mystery out of her mind until then. She spent much time reading in her cabin or on deck. When she had exhausted all the books she had brought with her, she made frequent visits to the ship’s small library.
Christina attracted three young gentlemen admirers early in the voyage who did their best to monopolize her time.
One was an American. His name was William Dawson, and he was a nice young man with soft gray eyes and dark brown hair. His face was lean and rugged, and his voice was very deep, with the strangest accent. Christina could sit and listen to him for hours as he told her exciting tales of the wild western frontier.
Though she liked Mr. Dawson, Christina wasn’t interested romantically in any of her three beaux. She had decided that most men were alike; they only wanted one thing from a woman. None seemed willing to respect her as an equal.
The days rolled slowly by without incident. Christina could hardly believe it when they finally reached Egypt. The weather had turned much hotter as they moved south, and she was grateful for the summer clothes she had brought. John had sent for the rest of their clothes, but the trunks wouldn’t arrive until next month.
Their ship docked in Alexandria the following morning. Christina couldn’t wait to put her feet on solid earth again, but the dock was so crowded with Egyptians that disembarking passengers had to fight their way through the crowded mass.
John and Christina were standing on deck with their luggage when Mrs. Bigley came up and took Christina’s hand. “My dear, do you remember when we discussed your brother’s orders at the beginning of our voyage? Well, it has puzzled me ever since. My husband, Colonel Bigley, will be meeting me here, and it will be the first thing I ask him. If anyone knows why your brother was sent here early, my husband does. If you care to stay with me until I locate him, then you can learn the answer, too.”
“Yes, of course,” said Christina. “I’m dying to know, and I’m sure John is, too.”
Mrs. Bigley waved to a portly gentleman in his late forties who must be her husband, the colonel. They walked down the gangplank toward him, and he met them on the dock. He embraced his wife and kissed her full on the lips.
“Godawful lonely here without you, love,” the colonel said, holding his wife closely.
“I’ve missed you, too, love. I would like you to meet Lieutenant John Wakefield and his sister, Christina Wakefield.” She looked to her husband. “Colonel Bigley.”
John and the colonel saluted each other. “What on earth are you doing here a month early, Lieutenant? The replacements aren’t expected to arrive until next month,” Colonel Bigley said.
John said, “I was hoping you could answer that question for me, sir.”
“What? You mean to tell me you don’t know why you’re here? Do you have your orders with you?”
“Yes, sir.” John pulled his orders from the inside of his coat and handed them to the colonel.
After Colonel Bigley read the orders, he looked at John with a puzzled expression on his sunburned face. “Sorry, son, but I can’t help you. All I can tell you is, we didn’t send for you. Do you have any enemies in England who might have wanted you out of the country?”
John looked shocked. “I hadn’t thought of that, sir. I have no enemies I know of.”
“This is most unusual, but now that you’re here, you must join us for some refreshment,” Colonel Bigley said, drawing his wife’s arm through his. “The train for Cairo doesn’t leave for another two hours.”
Colonel Bigley led the way through the crowd to a small café. They had a leisurely lunch in an open patio, and then left for the station.
William Dawson was there to say good-bye to Christina. He would call on her when he came to Cairo in a week’s time, he said, and asked her not to promise all her time to other swains.
The train ride was hot and uncomfortable. It amused Christina that, with all the trains in England, she had had to come halfway across the world to ride on one. She much preferred the cool comfort of a coach, however, though it was a bit bumpy at times.
Mrs. Bigley and Christina shared a seat in the overcrowded salon. “I’ve heard there are many dangerous outlaws in the desert. Is it true that the Bedouin tribes make slaves of their captives?” Christina asked Mrs. Bigley nervously.
“It’s all quite true, my dear,” Mrs. Bigley returned. “But don’t worry about it. The outlaw tribes fear Her Majesty’s Army, as well they should! They hide in the Arabian Desert, which is quite far from Cairo.”
“Well, that certainly is a relief,” Christina sighed.
The train pulled into Cairo before nightfall. The Bigleys showed Christina and John to a hotel.
“After you get settled in your quarters, I’ll show you the city in its entirety, and we can go to the Opera House,” said Mrs. Bigley kindly. “Did you know that it was right here that the famous opera Aida was first produced, to celebrate the opening of the Suez Canal?”
“I didn’t know, but I haven’t read too much about this country,” Christina replied. She was too tired to be overly interested in anything tonight. She and John thanked the Bigleys for their kindness, and bade them goodnight. John ordered a light supper, but Christina could eat very little, and retired early.
Her room was at the opposite end of the hall from John’s, and a hot bath awaited her. She quickly shed her clothes and slid into the tub. This is heaven, she thought! The heat and crowded railway car had made her feel sticky and dirty. But now she luxuriated in the steaming hot water.
She lay there for an hour before rinsing off and donning her nightdress. The hot water had relaxed her, and she had no trouble falling off to sleep.
SOMETIME IN THE middle of the night Christina was awakened from a peaceful sleep by a noise in her room. She opened her eyes to see a tall figure standing above her. Christina wondered what on earth John was doing standing beside her bed looking down at her in the dark. But then she realized it couldn’t be John. This man was taller than John, and he had something covering his face.
She started to scream, but before she could make a sound, a huge hand clamped down over her mouth. She tried to push him away, but the man was too strong for her.
Suddenly he pulled her to him and kissed her painfully, crushing her body against his and running his free hand boldly over her breasts.
My God, she thought frantically, he’s going to rape me! Christina started to struggle violently, but her attacker dropped her back onto the bed and quickly bound a gag over her mouth, tying it tightly behind her head. He pulled a sack over her head and pushed it down over her body, tying it around her knees. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
Christina tried kicking her feet to throw him off balance, but he bounced her up in the air, so that the breath was knocked out of her as she landed back on his shoulder. She could tell he was walking,
and she heard the bedroom door open and close.
They seemed to be descending stairs, and then she felt a slight breeze touch her bare feet. They must be outside. Oh God, what is this man going to do with me? Did I come to this Godforsaken country just to die—and how will I die? Will I be raped brutally first? Why did I ever leave England? Poor John, he will blame himself for my death. I have to get away!
Once more, Christina kicked and squirmed, but the man crushed her to him to still her efforts. He walked faster for a few minutes, then suddenly stopped. He spoke in the native language, then threw her over something. Christina squirmed, but stopped when she felt a painful whack across her buttocks.
A different voice muttered something, followed by a loud burst of laughter, and Christina felt herself bounced up and down. She knew then that she was lying across a horse, like a sack of potatoes. She almost laughed hysterically when the man pressed a hand into her back. Was he afraid she might fall off and hurt herself before he could hurt her?
Christina’s heart was beating so fast she was afraid it would burst. Where is he taking me? she wondered, and then it dawned on her. Of course—they would be going into the desert. What better place to rape a woman than the desert—where her screams could not be heard. And there seemed to be several men riding with them. How many rapes would she have to endure before they killed her?
They rode for hours, but Christina lost track of time. Her hair was tangled over her face, and her stomach ached from the position she was in. She couldn’t understand why they were taking her so far into the desert. Then they stopped.
It’s going to happen now, she thought frantically as she was lowered to the ground. When she felt no hands on her she tried to run, but she forgot the sack was tied about her knees and fell forward onto the sand.
This was all the humiliation she could stand. She began to whimper. She would have been crying hysterically if she hadn’t had the gag in her mouth. Someone picked her up and put her on her feet again. Her toes sank slowly into the cold desert sand.
Christina felt the rope being untied at her knees, and she lunged forward again. But she was pulled back and caught to a man’s broad chest. He held her imprisoned in his powerful arms for what seemed like an eternity, then chuckled deeply. He lifted her up onto the horse, then mounted behind her. It seemed the man was at least going to let her ride upright with some dignity.
But why were they riding again? Why hadn’t they done anything to her? Did they think to make her suffer more by keeping her in suspense? Then it came to her. Maybe they weren’t going to kill her after all. Maybe they would sell her as a slave after raping her. Of course. She would probably bring a handsome sum at a slave auction. She would make an unusual attraction, with her long blond hair and slim white body. That was probably it, she thought miserably. They will use me and then sell me for a profit. That would be worse than dying.
Christina always said she would be a slave to no man in marriage. But now she would be a real slave—to a master who could do anything he wanted with her. She would have no say in the matter. She prayed they would kill her instead, for she couldn’t bear to be a slave.
The hours dragged on slowly until Christina began to see light through the rough material of the sack and knew it must be dawn. She thought of John and of his misery when he found her gone. She doubted he would ever be able to find her, for they had been riding all night.
Where were they taking her? Christina could feel the sweat pouring down her sides and legs as the day grew hotter. She would curse this bastard to the devil if only he could understand her. She was exhausted.
Finally they stopped, but Christina didn’t care anymore—she didn’t want to think anymore. She was lowered to the ground again, her legs crumpling under her. She wasn’t giving up, but she knew it was useless to run. The sun blinded her for a minute as someone dragged the sack up over her head. When she could see again, a short native was standing in front of her. He handed her a robe and a square piece of cloth with a cord, which was for the Bedouin headdress.
“Kufiyah,” he said, pointing to the cloth. He untied the gag from her mouth and walked away.
There were three of them. Two medium-sized young men, and one huge man who was watering the horses. The young man who gave her the robe and kufiyah came up again, smiling sheepishly, and handed her some bread and a skin of water. She was very hungry, for she had eaten little the night before.
When Christina finished eating, the big man came toward her and took the waterskin from her, tossing it to one of the other men. His kufiyah covered the lower half of his face, so she couldn’t see what he looked like.
He was a big man for an Arab. She thought that Arabs were generally small, but this man dwarfed the other two.
He helped her on with the robe and pulled back her hair, which was hanging to her hips. At least he was helping her dress instead of taking her clothes off. He arranged the kufiyah on her head, then led her into the shade of a rock outcropping and pushed her down onto the cool sand.
Terrified, Christina shrank from him. But the big man just laughed harshly and walked away to help the others with the horses. They removed the rough blankets from the horses, rubbed them down, and left some grain for them in the shade. The shorter Arabs ate a little and lay down to rest, completely hidden under their black robes.
Christina looked around and saw the tall man climbing up the rocks, rifle in hand, to stand guard. She could not escape. She let her exhausted body relax, and slept.
The sun was low on the horizon when Christina awoke. The horses stood ready, and the tall man swung her up onto the horse in front of him.
Christina could see mountains in the far distance and an ocean of sand in front of them. She gave up and leaned on the man behind her. She thought she heard him laugh, but she was still too tired to care. She slept again.
They rode three more nights, resting during the hottest part of the days. Finally they started to climb out of the desert. Christina could see trees around them, and she felt the air becoming cooler. They must be climbing high into the mountains if it was getting colder, she thought.
She wished desperately that this living nightmare were truly just a bad dream. Soon she would wake up at her home in Halstead to the cool morning breezes, have breakfast, and then go for a leisurely ride on Dax. But she knew that it wasn’t a dream. She would never see Dax or her home again.
A fire blazed up ahead of them. One of the men with her shouted something, and then they rode slowly out of the trees that had shrouded them and into an encampment. There were five tents, one larger than the rest, circled around the fire. The fire was the only source of light, and it cast dancing shadows upon everything within its reach.
Four native men with smiles on their dark faces approached, and all started talking and laughing. The women of the camp came out of their tents with curiosity shining in their eyes, but they hung back from the group of men.
Christina was lifted to the ground. She realized that she must be at the end of her journey. She had to try to save herself from the fate that awaited her. Perhaps she could hide in the mountains and then somehow find her way back to civilization.
More men joined the group by the fire. They all crowded around her tall captor, talking and gesturing. Christina was momentarily standing alone. Did they expect her to stand there calmly and await her fate?
Lifting the robe and nightdress up to her thighs, Christina started to run. She ran for her life, with a speed she didn’t know she had. She didn’t know if they were chasing her. All she could hear was the loud pounding of her heart. The kufiyah came off her head, and her hair flew wildly in the wind behind her.
Christina stumbled and fell headlong. She looked up and saw two feet straddled in front of her. She threw herself on the hard earth and started to cry. She couldn’t help her tears, but hated to show this man her weakness. He had won a victory by making her cry. He pulled her roughly to her feet and dragged her back into camp.
&nb
sp; Christina was taken into the largest of the tents and deposited unceremoniously on a backless couch with low, rounded arms at each end. She immediately tried to compose herself, pushing her tangled hair away from her face and wiping the tears from her cheeks.
The tent was quite large inside and was curtained on three sides with a sheer material through which the fire outside brightly illuminated the room. Multicolored rugs covered the floor, and the fourth side of the tent was of a heavy material. Christina could see another room where the material was drawn aside.
The main room was sparsely furnished. Another light-blue-velvet couch faced the one she was sitting on near the back of the tent, with a long, low table between them. A small cabinet stood in one corner at the back of the tent, with a single jeweled goblet and a goatskin bag on top. Many small pillows in bright colors were scattered on the two couches and on the floor beside them.
Christina watched her captor. The tall man had his back to her as he removed his kufiyah and robe. He laid them on top of the cabinet and poured something from the goatskin into the goblet. He wore knee-length suede boots, a short tunic, and loose-fitting trousers tucked inside his boots.
Christina was startled when the man spoke to her in perfect English.
“I can see that you’re going to be very difficult to manage, Tina. But now you’re here and you know that you belong to me, perhaps you will not try to run away so often.”
Christina couldn’t believe what she heard. The man turned around to face her. Her eyes widened in shock, and her mouth fell open.
He burst out laughing. “I’ve waited a very long time to see that expression on your face, Tina, ever since you left me that night in London.”
What was he talking about? He must be crazy!
Her cheeks flushed red with anger, and her body shook with rage. “You!” she screamed. “What are you doing here, and how dare you kidnap me and bring me to this God-forsaken place? My brother will kill you, Philip Caxton!”
Captive Bride Page 4