The old man hadn’t even glanced in her direction yet. He was still eating his meal, so Christina looked about the tent. A few pillows were scattered about, and she saw a large chest in one corner, but there were no chairs to sit on or rugs to cover the sand.
When Christina looked back at the old man, he was dipping his fingers into a small bowl of water, as she had done many times after finishing a meal with Philip. He looked up at her then, and his brown eyes widened in anger at the sight of her bruised face. She jumped when his fist slammed down on the table, making all the bowls clatter.
He was dressed in a colorful robe andkufiyah, and she noticed that his feet were bare beneath the table. When he stood up, he appeared to be no taller than herself, but when he spoke, he commanded authority.
He spoke harshly to the young man with Christina, and she surmised he must be the sheik of this tribe. Heated words passed between them that Christina couldn’t understand, and then the young man led her behind a curtain in the corner of the tent.
The small space was barely big enough for her to lie down. There was a sheepskin on the sand, and Christina was deposited there, then left alone.
A few minutes later, an old woman opened the curtains and brought in a tray with a large bowl of food and a glass of wine. The woman set the tray down on the sand, handed Christina a wet towel, pointing to her face, and left Christina alone again.
She washed her face with the towel, but couldn’t remove all of the dirt around her painfully swollen eyes. The food was greasy, but was luckily soft, for it also hurt her to chew. The wine tasted wonderful, but she felt strangely tired after she finished drinking it. Christina fought to stay awake so she could be prepared for what would happen next, but she couldn’t manage to keep her eyes open or think coherently, and presently she fell into a sound sleep.
When Amair Abdalla left the woman in Sheik Ali Hejaz’s tent, he stopped long enough to tell Cassim that Sheik Ali wished to see him, then he went directly to his father’s tent. He did not feel sorry for Cassim, for whatever befell him was of his own doing. Sheik Ali was angrier than Amair had expected, and Cassim would probably die for his deed.
“Amair, did everything go well?” his father, Cogia Abdalla, asked when Amair walked into the tent that they shared.
“Yes, father, all went as planned,” Amair replied distastefully. He sat down on the sheepskin that was his bed, and grabbed the goatskin of wine beside it. “But I will tell you this—I do not care for what I was ordered to do. That woman has done nothing, and she should not be made the pawn for revenge. Already she has suffered, for Cassim beat her before I could stop him.”
“What! That no-good—”
“Don’t you see, father?” Amair cut in. “None of this should have happened in the first place. Cassim shot the man Christina Wakefield was riding with. I pray that he is found before he dies, for he is Ahmad, the brother of Amine’s husband. If Ahmad dies, then Syed will hate us and we will never be able to see my sister, Amine, again.”
“I should have known this plan would come to no good.” Cogia hung his head dejectedly. “I should never have agreed to let you take part in it. I only want this hatred to come to an end so I can see my daughter again. Amine must have children now, and I have never seen them. I might never see my grandchildren!”
“But even so, father, you should never have agreed to this plan. Sheik Abu had nothing to do with what happened all those years ago. He was across the seas then. I do not think he should be made the target for Sheik Ali’s revenge now that Sheik Yasir is dead.”
“I know, my son, but what can we do now? Perhaps Sheik Abu will not come,” Cogia said. He looked out of the open tent. In the center of the camp three little boys were playing with a baby lamb. Cogia ached with wanting to see his own daughter and her children.
“He will come,” Amair replied. “And if he brings the men of his tribe, there will be much useless bloodshed for something that happened twenty-five years ago. And not one man who will die had anything to do with it.”
And Philip did come, less than an hour later. He came alone and cursed himself for doing so when he realized the danger he was up against.
Philip had returned to his camp and was told that Christina had gone riding with Ahmad. He was glad she’d decided to resume her daily rides, and realized it was time to break out of his own depression. His father was dead, but he still had Christina.
Thoughts of Christina went through Philip’s mind as he paced the tent waiting for her to return. But when the sun went down and there was still no sign of her, a sickening dread came over him. He ran from the tent and, seeing Syed by the corral, told him to follow.
Philip broke out in a sweat as they galloped down the hillside, Syed desperately trying to keep up with him. After riding some distance in the direction Christina usually took, Philip saw two horses standing close to each other. The color drained from his face when he came closer and saw a body lying on the sand.
He jumped from his horse and ran to Ahmad. The wound was in the lower part of Ahmad’s chest; he had lost a lot of blood but was still alive. Syed arrived, and they forced some water down Ahmad’s throat. He finally opened his eyes. He looked from Philip to Syed and tried to sit up but was too weak from loss of blood.
“Can you talk, Ahmad?” Philip asked. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Ahmad looked at Philip through glazed eyes. “There were four desert men riding toward us at a fast speed. I—I raised my rifle to fire, but they shot me. That is all I can remember.” Ahmad strained to look about, and when he saw Christina’s horse he sank back onto the sand. “They have taken her?”
“It looks that way,” Philip replied. His body was tense, ready to do battle. He looked to the older brother. “Syed, you take Ahmad back to camp. Maidi will know what to do for him. I don’t know how long I will be, but do not follow. I will find Christina, and the man who shot your brother will die.”
“Allah be with you,” Syed replied as Philip mounted his horse.
The tracks from the kidnappers’ four horses could still be seen, since there had been no wind to cover them with sand. Philip followed the tracks with a speed Victory had never reached before. He kept seeing Christina’s frightened face, and he prayed that he could find her in time, before the men raped and sold her.
He should never have let her ride on the desert. If he had limited her to the camp, she would be there now. And he wouldn’t be fearing for her life. Please, God, let him find her in time!
Philip had a sick feeling in his heart as he tried to imagine what his life would be without Christina. He pictured the empty bed that he had shared with her, the empty tent that he had always been eager to enter, her beautiful, soft body that could tempt him so easily. How could another woman ever take Christina’s place? He couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her again.
He must love her if he felt this way!
Philip had never believed he would fall in love. What a fool he had been! But what if he couldn’t find Christina? Worse, what if she didn’t want to be found? Well, he would find her or die trying, and he would force her to go back with him. He would rather live with her hate than live without her. Perhaps someday she would grow to love him in return.
