The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (39 page)

That night they lay together in the narrow bed. He listened to Jillian's anguished sobs. A gulf larger than the Sahara stretched between them. He ached to hold her in his arms and comfort her. Graham turned over. With a trembling hand, he gently touched his wife's shoulder.

Jillian flinched. "Don't," she rasped.

Graham's shoulders sagged. He rolled over, inching toward his edge of the bed, staring into the darkness.

She'd promised she wouldn't leave him, but this limbo was far worse. He had coaxed her out of the grayness of her life, allowing her to see the vibrant living flame inside her, and now the grayness was back. He had a marriage of grayness, as ugly and stark as London fog.

It would almost be better if she left him.

Bitter irony poisoned him. After a lifetime of never trusting anyone, he had become untrustworthy. He couldn't win her back. Sweet Christ, how the hell could he expect her to simply open her arms and welcome him with fervent kisses? Had he been able to forget? Stranton had won after all, in a way. Graham was the one who was ruined.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. For a long time Graham lay there, silently sharing his wife's tears.

The next morning Jillian drowsed in bed. When sunlight speared into the room, pooling on the floor, she sat up and dressed. Abdul's wife told her Graham had taken the camels to water.

Jillian settled herself on a pillow on the floor, and the woman placed a short table before her. It was laden with bread, cheese and honey. A small cup of sweet tea accompanied the meal. Jillian ate quickly, profusely thanking the woman for her hospitality, then went in search of her husband.

She found him at the watering trench. Seeing her, he gave a curt nod. Jillian hovered, uncomfortable with this new tension between them but still heartbroken by his betrayal.

Graham was winding lengths of rope about the feet of their camels, hobbling them. He poured water into the basin used for watering animals, and Jillian watched with avid interest. To her amazement, he crouched by the basin and began slapping the water's surface with the flat of his hand. He sang, making odd smacking noises with his lips.

Goggle-eyed, she stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm encouraging them to drink their fill."

Graham continued his peculiar song, warbling as he stared at the dromedaries. Jillian looked. All three beasts had their ears pricked forward. They began making an odd whining sound, straining toward the water.

"It's an old Bedu trick," Graham explained. "The camels are trained to respond to the song, and the slapping of the water. They know they are to leave for a journey where they will lack water, and they must drink. When they have drunk, I'll let them graze for about an hour, then repeat the same."

Jillian squatted down beside him, smelling the delicious dampness of the fresh water in the basin. She studied her husband, this stranger, yet so familiar to her, with his black beard, penetrating eyes dark as the desert night and his muscled frame hidden by his foreign clothing. He was a man of the desert, at ease with these people who shifted like the sands. A man who had used her for his own means.

She hugged herself, trembling. Oh God, she loved him. But had he ever loved her? He said he did. And yet she had trouble believing him. Actions spoke far louder than words.

Graham unfolded his powerful frame and went to the camels who were whining now and straining toward the water. "Get back or you'll be trampled," he advised as he untied them.

No sooner had she skirted the edge of the basin and stepped away than the beasts raced in and drank with great gulps. Graham joined her by the trench, speaking to the camels in Arabic and pouring water as fast as the level in the basin was lowered.

"How long can camels last without water?"

"Seven or eight days if they've had their fill. They're like walking water tanks. A man could live off of them." His jaw tensed beneath his black beard. She sensed something greater was at stake.

"Graham, what do you mean, live off them?"

He looked somber as he scratched Sheba's long neck. "The Bedu consider the camel their lifeline. If caught without water in the desert, you can survive by slaughtering one and drinking the water it has consumed."

"Goodness," Jillian said. "Are you afraid we're going to have to resort to such measures?"

A reassuring smile touched his mouth. "No." Then he riveted his gaze on the bleak, wide expanse of the eastern horizon. His smile faded. "I hope not."

A few hours later they had saddled the camels and were headed due east. Graham kept them at a steady pace as he and Jillian progressed across the desert. She sensed something dark and forbidden lurking on the horizon.

Jillian adjusted her white scarf more securely across her face. The sun beat mercilessly down upon them. She thought of being stuck out in the vast wasteland and suppressed a shudder. The trip had been a waste. Her father was dead, the treasure lost forever. And she had lost Graham, if she ever truly had him.

They pushed farther ahead, making camp for the night before the great, jagged peaks of several mountains. Jillian watched Graham roast a rabbit he'd caught earlier for their dinner. Conversation between them remained strained. It was as if he had given up and accepted.

Jillian ate the rabbit with her fingers. It was hot and delicious but she had little appetite. She glanced at the flat, barren horizon.

"If we get lost, will the Khamsin come for us?" she asked.

"They're coming already. Jabari gave us twenty days and then said he would send a party of warriors after us."

The thought gave Jillian a little comfort.

The next three days proceeded as smoothly as the first. Jillian felt fresh hope they were going to make it. That hope faded as her husband stopped abruptly. One tanned hand shaded his forehead as he scanned the horizon.

"What is it?" she asked, fearing to know.

"Dust in the distance. Could be another caravan. Or not."

Graham removed the veil covering his face. Cold dread filled her at his expression. He muttered what sounded like an Arabic oath.

And then she saw them, too, approaching fast. Four riders. Her heart slid into her stomach. Dear God. The raiders who had first taken her captive—they had followed.

"They probably think we found treasure"—he cast a worried glance at the iron water tankers—"and that we're hiding it inside those tanks. Can't make a run for it. Our camels are tired. We're going to have to face them."

"Where's the rifle?"

"Down in the crevice with your father," Graham reminded her. He slid off his camel and ran over, assisting her down. "Get behind me," he said tightly. He unsheathed his scimitar and stood in a defensive position away from the tanks.

She had to help him. Two against four desert raiders—if she helped, they stood a fighting chance. Jillian's frantic gaze raked the ground looking for any kind of weapon. Nothing but pebbles and stones. She unwrapped her emerald scarf from about her neck and gathered the fist-sized rocks.

He threw her a quick, startled glance. "A sling," she explained. "If you think I'm merely standing here and watching us die, you're quite wrong."

"We're not dying," he replied hoarsely. "Not like this."

The raiders' wild, ear-splitting hoots rose like an angry wind. Jillian clapped shaky hands over her ears as the men dismounted, running toward their camels. Sunlight glittered off their swords as they swung.

Jillian screamed and Graham cursed. Three of their camels screeched in pain and collapsed, their blood flowing into the sand. The iron water tanks one carried hit the ground. Water sprang from the leaking container. Solomon staggered from a glancing blow, but he galloped off.

Graham faced his enemies, his expression fierce, sword held with practiced ease. With whooping screams of triumph, the dirty-robed, dark-bearded raiders rushed forward, swords flashing. Graham did not move. They were nearly upon him when he lashed out with the fury of a boiling sandstorm.

Graham the duke melded into Rashid the warrior, executing deadly moves, whirling and pivoting with lethal grace. Three raiders attacked in violent strokes, but he fought with unwavering resolve, relentlessly dueling his attackers. The fight became a deadly ballet of steel against steel. The harsh, undulating cries of the Bedouin raiders rang in Jillian's ears.

She took a large stone, put it into her scarf and lobbed it. It slammed into one Bedouin's temple. He staggered. In the next instant, Graham's sword struck him down. Now it was three against one.

Jillian danced away and tucked another stone into her scarf. A whistling cut the air as she whirled the fabric then let fly. Whap! It struck a Bedouin on the hand.

Not good enough. He turned and charged, sword held aloft. Graham spun, saw her predicament and raced over. A different Bedouin picked up a rock and threw it. It clubbed Graham on the head with a loud thwack.

"Graham!" Jillian screamed.

Scarlet ribbons of blood streamed down his face. He staggered and the two raiders on him rushed forward. One grabbed his sword. They were trapped.

Jillian rushed to Graham as the last raider approached.

She recognized him—the sheikh who had shown no interest in raping her. Would he do so now, then leave them both in the sand for the vultures?

While the sheikh and another Bedu held swords to Jillian, the third went to the iron water tanks. Disgust filled his face as he kicked at the empty containers.

Mahjub, the sheikh, looked at Graham.

"Since you have no treasure, we will take your woman. She will fetch a good price at the slave market. You fight bravely, son of the desert, and I will set you free. But I will strip you of power. You will return in shame to your people, knowing you were unable to help your woman."

One man slammed Jillian downward. She fell on her back. "Take her," the sheikh ordered. "So he can watch."

Fear blossomed in their eyes. The men looked down at her. "She is fire. I will burn," one protested.

"Do it," the chieftain snapped.

The men exchanged glances, muttered something. One turned Jillian over, forcing her to her hands and knees. The other fumbled with the drawstring on his blousy trousers.

Graham's heart dropped. They were going to rape Jillian. He had never believed in a no-win situation, but never before had he faced such desperate odds. Silently he cursed bringing her with him. If only he had left her back at the village for the Khamsin rescue party to find, then she'd be safe.

Mahjub's dark gaze lingered on him. Something other than triumph flared there. Graham recognized it immediately. He had seen it in the eyes of his Egyptian captor. In Stranton's eyes. No wonder the sheikh wasn't interested in Jillian.

"Yes," the sheikh said smiling cruelly. "You wish to save her, Khamsin? Then take her place."

I can't do it,
Graham thought frantically
. Oh God, I just can't. Not again. Never again. I'm sorry, Jilly. I'm so sorry.

Emotion closed his throat. He clenched his grime-streaked fists. Jillian's terrified eyes pleaded with him as the Bedouin yanked down her trousers, exposing her rounded bottom.

Agonized, he stared at his wife. He knew what this would do to her. Jillian would become a wreck, shutting out everyone, becoming distant. The feelings of shame, bitter humiliation and anger—emotional scars that lashed deep. Darkness would take her, extinguishing the living flame he had helped bring out. He couldn't bear for her to become what he had been.

I love you, he said silently
. I love you more than life itself
. And then suddenly, he knew he must do, despite the terrible price he'd pay....

"Yes. Take me," he said hoarsely, revulsion and nausea rising in his throat. "Take me and spare her."

Lust blazed in Mahjub's dark eyes. "You give yourself willingly? If you do, we will release her and take you to the slave market. A eunuch is worth many camels."

Graham swallowed hard. He knew what they would do to him. He wouldn't die. But he would fervently wish he had.

Yet it meant giving Jillian a chance at survival.

Inhaling a ragged breath, he repeated his words to Lord Stranton twenty years ago: "I will not struggle."