IN THE SLOW days that followed, Christina and Philip fell into a routine. He took all his meals with her, but left her to herself during the morning and afternoon. He took her to the pond to bathe each evening before dinner and stayed with her after the meal, cleaning his weapons, reading, or just meditating.
Each night Philip made love to her, and each night she fought him until her passions overcame her resistance and swept her away. Christina could not deny that his lovemaking gave her pleasure, but that only made her hate Philip more than ever.
Philip made her feel strangely mixed emotions. She was nervous whenever he was near. She could never predict what he would do next. He made her lose control of herself, sending her into a fit of anger and then turning that anger to fear. And she was afraid of him, for she really believed he would beat her if she provoked him too far.
A week had passed since Philip had brought Christina to his camp. With nothing else to do, she had completed the green silk blouse and two more skirts, but she was tired of sewing. She was tired of being inside the tent all day long, every day.
Philip had left without a word right after breakfast that morning. She knew he was angry with her for not telling him why she had cried the night before. How could she tell him she cried because her body deceived her? She had been so determined to be unmoved by his caresses and to lie placidly beneath him. But Philip patiently brought her to life, snatching away her will as he did every night.
But Philip was not satisfied by breaking her down once. He had asserted his power over her again, mercilessly, and she had loved every minute of it. But when he was finished with her and rolled to his side of the bed, she started to cry.
When Philip tried to comfort her, she just cried harder and told him to leave her alone. She was disgusted with herself for enjoying the act, more than angry at him. But when she wouldn’t explain herself, he became coldly angry. Christina cried until she finally fell asleep.
Now, as the morning wore on, Christina felt stifled by inactivity. She put her sewing aside and walked to the entrance of the tent. The sunlight looked so inviting as it filtered through the juniper trees that Christina forgot her fear of Philip’s reaction to her leaving the tent. She meandered toward the corral, basking in the warmth of the sun.
She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Philip. He was in the large corral with Ahmad, who was astride a beautiful Arabian horse. The other horses were grazing peacefully on the hillside with the sheep. Bravely she continued walking. When she reached the corral fence, the horse shied away.
Philip turned to see what was bothering the animal, and his eyes narrowed menacingly when he spied her. He soothed the horse, then came to her with quick strides.
“What are you doing here?” Philip asked angrily. “I gave you no permission to leave the tent.”
Christina fought to control her rising anger.
“I couldn’t stand it another minute in that tent, Philip. I’m not used to being confined. I need to feel the sun and breathe the morning air. Can’t I stay here and watch you? I’m interested in what you do every day,” she lied.
“I train these horses, among other things,” he said.
“What for?” Christina asked, stalling for more time.
“Do you really want to know, Christina? Or are you playing at another game?”
“I can’t win the game when you are the opponent, as you well know,” she pouted. “I’d really like to know how you train your horses.”
“Very well. What would you like to know?”
“What are you training them to do?”
“To follow directions with the pressure of the knees and not the hands. Sometimes our hands are not free to direct the reins, as in battle or after a raid. Also it serves another purpose, for our horses cannot be stolen unless they are led away. They will not carry a rider who uses the reins to direct them.”
“That’s ingenious,” Christina said, her interest growing. “But how do you teach the horses these pressures?”
“The horse is led in a certain direction, say to the left, while the rider uses the pressure for that direction. We continue with one direction at a time until the horse learns it.”
“How do you stop the horse?”
“Since we don’t ride with saddles, we use our feet to stop him by digging them into his sides. Are you satisfied now?”
“Yes. May I stay and watch you for a while?” she asked meekly.
“If you are quiet and don’t disturb the horse,” he said. He looked at her quizzically for a long moment before walking away.
So—she had won. She was free of that damnable tent for a while. Christina let her mind wander while keeping her soft, blue-green eyes on Philip.
How she wished that she were astride that beautiful animal. Perhaps she could persuade Philip to let her ride one of his horses or, better yet, give her an untrained horse. It wouldn’t be like riding Dax freely through the lush green fields of home, but it would be better than not riding at all.
Christina suddenly realized that she was thinking of a future in this camp. Oh damn, why didn’t John rescue her? But John probably thought her dead already. She had to find a way to escape, but she couldn’t go alone. She must have a guide to help her cross the desert and protect her from outlaw tribes. She must have food, water, horses.
Could she wait until Philip tired of her? How long would that be? And Philip might not send her to her brother when he no longer wanted her. He might sell her as a slave for someone’s harem.
