Chapter 8

Elizabeth began to unroll the bedroll that he had brought up. It was a modest pallet that he apparently carried with him and used as a crude bed. There were also two blankets, but no pillow. After William tossed the roll and a large flask into the cave he went back to gather the supplies for the fire.

She opened the flask and sniffed, wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell before replacing the cap. She placed the lighter of the two blankets on top of the makeshift bed and quickly slipped out of her robe. She made an attempt to smooth her hair before lying down and pulling the heavier blanket over her, covering her nakedness. It had been some time since she had seen herself in a mirror and she suddenly felt self-conscious.

William walked back through the entrance to the cave and was momentarily startled. She had opened up his bedroll and was lying there, waiting for him. The worn, shabby blanket that he had slept with so many nights tucked around her obviously nude body. She sat up, onto her elbows and silently watched him as he went about arranging the wood and tinder for their fire. Once the fire had started he stood up and looked at her, hesitant.

“You know,” she said, teasingly, “I’ve already seen you naked.”

“What if this is all a dream?” he asked out loud.

“Well, it’s not my dream! If this were my dream we’d be in a nice hotel, with a big huge bed, a bathroom with a marble tub, and room service,” she said, smiling brightly.

William laughed, a genuine, heartfelt laugh as he considered the paradox that was the woman in front of him. He removed the cloth from around his head, letting it drop, carelessly to the ground. He reached for the flask, loosened the cap, and offered it to her.

“What is it?” she asked cautiously.

“Scotch,” he replied. “Very good, very old scotch. I’ve been saving it, for a special occasion, or my imminent death, whichever came first.”

“Alcohol and I are not very mixey,” said Elizabeth.

“Really?” he asked as he took a sip. “Here, hold this,” he said, handing her the flask as he slipped out of his robes before joining her under the blanket.

She felt suddenly nervous as he began to undress and modestly lowered her eyes. A moment later she felt him lift the side of the blanket and slip in along side her.

“Really,” she said trying to hand the flask back to him. He ignored it and instead laid down.

“What happens when you drink?” he asked curiously.

“I turned into Cave Buffy. It wasn’t pretty. I was impulsive and stupid. I ended up, well, you know, I-” she drifted off.

“Cave what?” he asked reaching for the flask and taking a sip.

“Buffy, nickname from college,” she explained.

“And, what is it that you did exactly?” he questioned.

“I…I had sex,” she whispered.

“You regretted it,” he responded handing the flask back to her.

She looked at him, his expression open and caring as she tilted the flask to her lips taking a sip. As the amber liquid hit her tongue a shudder spontaneously passed through her body. “Blech!” she said, “It tastes like-”

“What?” he asked taking the flask back.

“I don’t know, let me have another taste,” she said.

He smiled and handed the flask back to her, watching with amusement as she took a second sip and again made a face, “Smoke,” she declared. “It tastes like smoke.”

“Yeah,” he said wistfully.

“Don’t tell me you smoke too?” she asked.

“Not here, not now,” he said taking one last sip and replacing the cap.

“Good! Don’t start again. Kissing someone that smokes is yucky,” she declared.

“Yucky?” he asked.

“Are you making fun of me?” she challenged.

“Never!” he promised. “I take you very seriously,” he concluded as he slipped his hand behind her neck and moved in slowly, leaning over her body and brushing his lips with hers, in the sweetest of kisses.

As he languidly explored her lips and her mouth he carefully laid her down onto the pallet. Finally, with a measure of regret, he disengaged from the kiss looking contentedly upon her swollen lips. “I could get so lost in you,” he declared, his voice raspy, reflecting the passion that was building inside of him.

His declaration won her heart. Never had she felt so wantonly in need of experiencing physical passion. Never had the thought of being with someone felt so right. In that moment she needed him like she needed air. She had no fears, no doubts. There was only him. Here. Now.

Elizabeth rose up and flipped them, effortlessly changing their positions. She hovered over his body and gazed down into his surprised eyes. As a smirk formed on his lips he asked her, “Have me where you want me, pet?”

“Almost,” she declared as she moved to straddle his hips.

It was his turn to gasp. His erection was rock hard now. She was sitting forward enough that it was aligned against her backside. The blanket no longer covered her. Now that the splendor of her body was exposed, he couldn’t help but rake over her with his lust-filled eyes.

“Want to touch you,” he said, his voice raw with emotion as his hand hovered over a breast.

“I’m here,” she replied, arching forward so that her breast filled his hand.

He sat up, suddenly and latched on to her right breast. Sucking on her now erect nipple. She rolled her head back and moaned softly. As she did so her long blonde hair grazed his kneecaps. He kissed his way up over the tops of her breasts, her collarbone, and the side of her neck. He could feel her growing wetness against his lower stomach. She leaned back up and met his gaze. Her expressive green eyes locked with his intense blue. Their breathing had at some point become synchronized. As the seconds ticked away they sat there and merely looked upon one another, a slow smile forming on both their lips.

Crawford wrapped one arm around her waist and gracefully swept her off of him, depositing her beside him. He positioned himself over her, her knees parting to welcome him.

“I need you inside of me,” whispered Elizabeth, as he brushed a stray piece of hair out of her eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers.

“Yes. I’m sure about you,” she responded, tilting her hips up slightly, giving him full access to her.

When his velvet head begged entrance she gasped. He leaned down and placed an almost chaste kiss on her mouth. As he did so, he began to glide inside of her, sheathing himself in her warm, wet channel. He pulled back from the kiss and searched her eyes for any signs of doubt or discomfort. There wasn’t any. She had never felt so certain of anything in her life.

“I want to make love to you,” he said out loud as he continued to push inside while searching her eyes.

“I want that too,” she responded, lacing her fingers through his sun-bleached locks while lifting her hips to meet his slow thrusts.

Crawford began to slide in and out of her, struggling to maintain control at first. And then he looked upon her lovely face, now flush with passion. “My God,” he whispered, “you look so beautiful. I don’t want this moment to ever end. You’re so wet, you feel so good, so tight.”

As he spoke to her she found herself flush brighter, embarrassed by his words. “Don’t be embarrassed, luv,” he said, as he caressed the side of her face and leaned down to shower kisses upon it.

Tears filled her eyes as they continued this ancient dance in a painfully slow rhythm. There was nothing in the world but the two of them. Their bodies seeking out pleasure from one another’s; pleasure and comfort. But there was more. This was different, so different than the last time she had been with a man. This was… he was…beautiful.

“Am I hurting you? Shall I stop?” he asked, aware that her eyes were moist with tears.

“No. It’s just that, this feels different than I remember,” she said as she ran her hands down his back and brought her knees up. “You’re so…close to me,” she whispered as she wrapped her legs around his lower back and squeezed the muscles that surrounded him.

He felt her tighten more, and instantaneously closed his eyes in an attempt to regain control. But then he realized he missed her and once again sought out the exquisite vision of the woman beneath him. He watched as a lone tear escaped the corner of her eye. The rivulet snaked down the side of her cheek and disappeared into her hairline. Suddenly he felt an intense ache in his heart, an intense desire to possess her.

“Oh, Elizabeth, I want you so much,” he moaned, resting his forehead against hers.

“You have me,” she murmured back. “All of me.”

He leaned back up, his own eyes now glistening with tears from the intense emotions that seemed to be passing between them. “I’m afraid I don’t deserve you.”

She could feel it building within her. Despite the slow, intimate pace of their lovemaking, her fires were being stoked and restraint was becoming all but impossible. She arched up into him, meeting his last thrust more forcefully as she clutched at his back, scratching it slightly with her nails.

“Keep that up and I won’t be able to control myself, pet,” he warned.

“Who said anything about control?” she asked coyly, pushing up again, even harder this time, as she moved her hands up and into his hair, tugging on the ends.

He smiled down at her in wonder. He had been with many women over the years but never in his life had he felt like this, this intimate connection. Perhaps it was the long period of abstinence, perhaps it was the stress of war, or perhaps it was the possibility that he would never have this again. Or, perhaps it was simply her.

She watched him continuing to move above her. He was biting on his lower lip. It was the sexiest thing she had ever seen. He was the sexiest thing she had ever seen. He was thrusting deeper now, faster, and she was climbing with him, to impossible heights. She moaned.

He leaned down, and captured her lips in a searing kiss. As his tongue swept her mouth she sucked on it. His eyes opened in surprise. As he pulled away she was smiling as him, mischievously. “Oh, Elizabeth, you’re going to be the end of me,” he moaned struggling to stave off his rapidly approaching orgasm. He reached down between then, finding her swollen nub and rubbed.

“Oh…what…what are you doing?” she gasped.

“Want you to come with me, luv,” he whispered into her ear, his voice raspy and passion-filled. “Come with me, Elizabeth,” he groaned as he licked along the outside shell of her ear. “Come with me!” he demanded as he bit down on her earlobe, tugging on it with his teeth as he simultaneously pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger.

She wasn’t sure what was happening, she felt like she was losing control of her body. Her inner thighs were quivering and she was flooded with a feeling of panic as breathing became more and more of a challenge. She gasped. She gasped again. “Oh, God!” she moaned, as her vision began to cloud. She closed her eyes trying to guard against the dizziness, trying to hold on.

“No!” he moaned. “Let go! Let go!”

And she did. Her orgasm broke through and as he felt her inner walls begin to tremble. He allowed himself to let go then, thrusting once, twice, three times, deep into her, spilling his seed into her womb.

Neither of them wanted to move. He still hovered over her their bodies connected. As they continued to gaze into each others eyes their breathing slowed. Their bodies were covered with a slight sheen of perspiration. Crawford reached up and swept a stray stand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear before he leaned down and kissed her, tenderly.

“Was…was I…good?” she asked.

“Perfect,” he said. When his forearms started to quiver slightly from the strain of holding himself up he began to pull away from her.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

“Never,” he said as he lay down alongside of her Crawford pulled her against him and wrapped his arms protectively around her. “Never.”

Chapter 9

Elizabeth opened her eyes and sat up, the thin blanket falling down around her waist. “Will?” she called out.

“Here,” he said.

She turned towards the entrance to the cave. She could barely discern the outline of his form, a dark shadow against the backdrop of the night.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“The storm has stopped,” he responded.

“You’re not answering my question,” she persisted.

“I was thinking,” he said softly.

“About?” she prompted.

“Us,” he simply responded. “I wasn’t…prepared for you, Elizabeth.”

“Do you regret making love with me?” she asked, getting up and walking over towards him.

“God, no!” he responded, stepping towards her and enfolding her in his arms. “But, this could get complicated.”

“It could also be wonderful. We could make a fabulous team,” said Elizabeth looking up into his eyes.

Crawford ran his hands, adoringly down the length of her back and in a hushed voice told her, “Our being lovers could be dangerous for you.”

“I’m a big girl. We can be careful,” said Elizabeth.

“It’s not a good idea, luv. You could get pregnant. You could be with child now,” he said, worry evident in his face.

She stepped back and placed a hand over her taut stomach. “I’m not. It’s fine.”

“You can’t know that,” he said as he stepped away from her and leaned over to pick up his robes.

“We’ll think of something,” she replied. “We’ve got a long walk ahead of us, plenty of time to work out a plan.”

“Elizabeth, we’re in the middle of a war here. We’re from two different countries, serving two different masters. This isn’t a fairy-tale. This is real,” he said as he handed her her robe.

“Yes!” she said, snatching the robe from his hand. “This is real. I am real. I am a real woman with real needs. I know I may never leave this place. I know that one of us, or both of us could die here. This could be the end. Or, it just might be the beginning.”

“Beginning?” he asked as he slipped on his robe. “I should never have crossed the line. I took advantage-”

“William Crawford, don’t you dare,” she scolded, advancing on him. She was still nude and had her robe fisted in her hand. “Don’t you for one second pretend that we weren’t both perfectly aware of what we were doing here. We’re both adults. We’re both free-”

He looked up at her, then, a pained expression on his face.

She froze, feeling suddenly like the air had been sucked out of the cave. She turned around, unable to bear his look of shame and regret. She felt nauseous as she slipped her robe over her nude body.

He came up behind her and tried to wrap his arms around her waist. She shrugged him off and moved away, spinning around quickly, fire in her eyes. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I-” he started, but quickly trailed off.

“What? What? Did it just slip your mind?” she accused.

“No,” he said slowly. “It didn’t slip my mind. I just don’t really think of myself as married. But, I am married, sort of.”

“Sort of?” she asked as she began to roll up the pallet. “You know what? Just stay away from me! And…and you can pick up your own stupid blankets!” she yelled as she abandoned rolling up the pallet and instead began to gather up the few belongings she had in the cave. “I’m heading back to camp.”

“You’re cross, I can understand tha-” he began.

“Cross? Cross? You’re married!” she shouted as she stalked over to him, cocked her fist back, and slugged him, right in the nose.

“Ow!” he yelled as he brought his hands up to hold his nose, trying to stave off the flow of blood. “You hit me!”

“Well, you deserved it!” she defended.

“I bloody well did not! Apologize!” he shouted.

“Apologize for having sex with me!” she countered.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head back. She reached down and tore a strip of cloth from the one that had held their bread. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.

“I didn’t have sex with you,” he said, looking at her, pointedly. “I made love to you. There’s a difference. And, I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m not sorry. I am sorry about neglecting to tell you about Drusilla. I should have told you.”

“Yes, you damn well should have!” she agreed, taking back the cloth and dabbing up the trickle of blood that had escaped his nose. “You should have told me.”

“Can I tell you now?” he asked, hopefully.

Elizabeth looked at him, searching his eyes, and asked, “Do you love her?”

“Yes,” he responded, with complete certainty. “And I will always love her, Elizabeth. I will love Drusilla long after I have turned to dust, I will love her for eternity.”

Elizabeth looked away then; embarrassed by the sudden flood of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. How could she have misjudged him so? How could she have been so wrong?

He reached down, grabbed her chin, and tilted her head back up, so that he could gaze into her eyes, “But the fact is, pet, I am not in love with Drusilla. She hasn’t been a wife to me in over nine, almost ten, years.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Drusilla and I, we’ve known each other practically our entire lives. We were friends. Then in our teens we began dating. It seemed natural. We had a lot in common. But, before we even had a chance it all fell apart,” he said as he ran a hand through his hair. “I was 18 and Drusilla was 17, she got pregnant. I married her right away. She was so distressed when she realized it, I couldn’t bear it. I had not one shred of doubt at the time. Drusilla was extremely religious and felt exceedingly guilty. I wanted to make it right. And, I loved her.”

“What happened?” asked Elizabeth.

“She started to unravel. The shame and guilt ate away at her. She went to Mass every day, praying for forgiveness for our sin. It didn’t matter that the priest offered forgiveness. It didn’t matter that he blessed our marriage. Nothing mattered. Then, in her seventh month, she lost the baby. That same day she lost her mind,” he finished.

“Where is she now?” she asked.

“In a hospital, for the past nine years. There was never any reason to divorce her. I never wanted to. There was no one else of consequence, no need,” he explained.

Elizabeth nodded. “Okay,” she said.

“Okay?” he asked, puzzled.

“Okay,” she repeated as she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her forehead against his.

He sighed in relief, releasing a breath that he didn’t even realize he had been holding. “Now, where do we go from here?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, sadly. “But, Will?”

“Yes, pet?” he responded.

“We go together. Agreed?” she asked.

“Agreed,” he said, sealing his promise with a kiss.

Chapter 10

It was mid morning as they approached the camp. Crawford had insisted that Elizabeth ride the camel on the long journey back. They had paused only briefly along the way to rest and drink water.

“Are you ready?” he asked, looking up at her.

“I think so,” she answered.

He raised his scarred eyebrow and looked at her, pointedly. “Luv?”

“Yes!” she said. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Alright, then. We’re agreed. You’ll go directly back to your tent and lay low. I work towards getting an audience with the prince. With luck, by tonight our plan will be set in motion,” said Crawford.

“Will I see you tonight?” she whispered in his ear as he reached up to grab her around the waist and lower her to the ground.

“Absolutely,” he said, huskily, as he pulled her close to him so that she slid down the length of his body, landing softly on the sand.

“Don’t move,” said the gruff voice in a thick accent. And, he didn’t. Crawford could feel the cold, metal blade of an Arabian scimitar jabbing him in the back of the neck. “Step away from my woman.”

Confusion clouded Crawford’s face. Before Elizabeth could open her mouth to speak he silenced her with a stern look. “I think you’ve made a mistake, mate,” he said as he lifted his hands into the air and slowly turned around, looking his attacker in the eye.

“Ahmed!” yelled the prince as he galloped up on his white horse, black robes billowing out around him.

Crawford’s attacker backed up a step and glanced over at the prince. “I have found him, my lord,” yelled Ahmed.

“Ah, Lieutenant, nice to see you! It seems that you have taken some liberties with my generosity,” remarked the prince looking at Elizabeth. “I believe that my offer was for a night, one night.”

“Yes, well, forbidden fruit is the sweetest, is it not my lord?” asked the British soldier with an arrogant grin.

“Don’t be a fool!” growled the prince, as he climbed down from his horse. “Your night is long over. Hessa! Get back to your tent. You must prepare for this afternoon’s festivities.”

Crawford turned around and gave Elizabeth a slight nod of encouragement before once again coolly facing the prince.

“Festivities?” he asked as Elizabeth began to walk past him.

“Yes,” acknowledged the prince, calmly. “I have promised Hessa to Ahmed. He is to take her for his wife.”

Elizabeth stopped dead in her tracks. Crawford saw the look of horror and panic cross her face. As she opened her mouth to shout out in protest he backhanded her, hard, across the face, knocking her to the ground. “I didn’t tell you to leave,” he ground out, staring down at her, anger evident in his eyes.

Ahmed advanced on him, pointing the sharp blade of the scimitar into his throat. “You do not give her orders. You forget yourself.”

“She is mine!” said the soldier, staring the dark Arabian down.

“Enough!” shouted the prince. “Ahmed won her, Lieutenant.”

“Won her?” asked Crawford, his mind racing.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” responded the prince smiling brightly. “I was bored. It was weeks ago, we had a contest and Ahmed won, hands down. The prize was the promise of a wife. It gets boring for the men, Lieutenant. Surely, you can appreciate that. You are, after all, a man who appreciates many things, no?” he asked as he looked down at Elizabeth, who was still sprawled on the ground.

“Yes,” agreed Crawford, looking at Elizabeth himself. He walked over to her, reached down, and offered her a hand up.

“This was not the plan,” whispered Elizabeth.

“I’m improvising,” answered Crawford, quietly after pulling her to her feet.

“When we first found Hessa he chose not to exercise his claim. Instead, he opted to wait a bit, to see if we would find another, more suitable wife. But, since seeing her the other night, he had changed his mind. He came to me shortly after you left to join Hessa that evening and informed me that he wished to exercise his right as champion, explained the prince.”

Crawford walked over to Ahmed and said, “You are the champion?”

“Yes!” he said, proudly “I am the champion!”

“No,” said Crawford, quietly, shaking his head.

“No?” asked Ahmed.

“No,” confirmed Crawford. “You see, I know that you are most definitely not the champion. I know that, because I am the champion.”

“Are you issuing a challenge, Lieutenant?” inquired the prince, amused at this turn of events.

“That’s right,” confirmed the British soldier.

“Why should he agree to fight you?” asked the prince. “He has already won the prize.”

“Because, if he doesn’t agree,” said Crawford, walking up to Ahmed and looking him directly in the eye, “everyone will think he is a coward.”

Crawford looked around at the crowd of onlookers that had formed. Ahmed followed his gaze as it swept over the sea of expectant faces. “You are of no consequence. I can beat you,” said Ahmad, “Then I will marry her and there will be no more challenges.”

“It will be so!” said the prince. “Tomorrow morning, at sunrise, you will fight and the victor will gain a wife.”

Elizabeth glanced, alarmed, at William. He walked over to her, clasped his hand over hers and began to walk with her towards his tent.

“Lieutenant!” called out the prince. “You have yet to win the prize. You should not presume anything Crawford. Ahmed is the finest of swordsman. He will be a formidable enemy.”

Crawford walked back over to the prince, tilted his head to the side and asked, “You know what I find works really well with enemies?”

“No, Lieutenant,” answered the prince, delighting in this show of bravado.

“Killing them,” answered Crawford, matter-of-factly.

“But, Lieutenant, we are at war, we can not afford to lose our best soldiers. Especially over something as unimportant as a woman,” answered the prince. “You may fight Ahmed, but you may not kill him. Understood?”

“Understood,” said Crawford, disappointment evident in his voice, as he turned to walk back towards the tent.

“And, Lieutenant?” called the prince.

“Yes, my lord?” responded Crawford, neutrally, turning one last time to face him.

“Hessa will sleep in the harem tonight. She must be prepared, for her wedding day. There will be no further discussion on this matter,” said the prince, resolutely before walking away, towards his own tent.

The crowd around them watched, in awe, as the British soldier walked back over to the veiled woman, taking her hands in his. “I will win you,” he said, as he searched her eyes. “Believe me. No matter what it takes, I will win.”

“I believe you,” whispered Elizabeth so that only he could hear. He watched overcome with a combination of sadness and fury as she was led away and into the seclusion of the harem

Chapter 11

Elizabeth stumbled, slightly, as she was pushed into the confines of the harem. She fell to her knees onto the lush carpet. Her mind was racing as she angrily ripped the veil from her head and threw it towards the entrance to the tent, back towards the attendant that had so roughly escorted her there. But, he was already gone. She growled in frustration balling both hands into tiny fists and climbed to her feet, ready to run after him.

“Want to talk about it?” she heard a voice say in almost perfect English.

Elizabeth whipped her head around, eyes blazing, and chest heaving from her heated breathing.

“You speak English!” said Elizabeth.

The women smiled at her. “Not that I’m terribly interested, you understand. Mostly, I’m bored.”

“You speak English!” said Elizabeth.

“You’re going to need to do better than repeating the same inane sentence over and over if you are to overcome the boredom of life in the harem,” said the woman.

“I am not living in the harem!” said Elizabeth definitively.

“Seems that you are, Miss, at least for now. And, I can assure you; very few women ever leave under good circumstance. I am called Ilham,” she said.

“Ilham?” but you are not Arabic.

“No, I am originally from Greece. The Sultan, as a gift, gave me to the prince. That’s how it is. Now that you are a slave, you too will learn the ways of Islam,” said the beauty with the long, black hair.

“I am not a slave,” said Elizabeth, indignantly.

“I am rarely wrong,” said Ilham. “My name means intuition. I- see things. You are already his slave, willing to share his heart with another. Just like I share the princes. It is our fate, no?” asked Ilham as she swayed, slightly, bringing her hand to her forehead.

Elizabeth felt her face redden. “What do you mean?”

Ilham smiled knowingly and merely responded, “That’s all for now. He is very angry. He feels very protective of you. I’m afraid I have a headache now. Rand! Share!”

Elizabeth watched as Ilham walked deeper into the dimly lit tent. The floor was covered in lush carpets and the walls were covered in silk. There were ornately decorated sleeping pallets, separated by diaphanous curtains and piled high with richly embroidered pillows. On one such pallet, towards the back were two women. Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she gazed upon them, seeing them clearly through the sheer drapes surrounding them.

They were lying, nude, sensuously wrapped around one another, limbs entwined. The hennaed hair of one was fanned out against the emerald green silk of the sleeping pallet. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. In one hand she held a cigarette. As she slowly brought it to her lips, her other hand trailed over the full breasts of the second woman. After taking a deep drag off the cigarette she offered it to her partner who shook her head in refusal. The redhead leaned over; depositing the cigarette in a bowl, then leaned up, holding her breath.

She rolled, effortlessly, exchanging places with the woman who now lay pinned beneath her. She smiled seductively, and then she leaned down, kissing the other woman deeply, releasing the opium tinged smoke into her lover’s mouth.

“Prefer dick myself, but they sure can be fun to watch. Gets my motor going, that’s for sure. Want to play?” asked the voluptuous dark-haired woman who had some to stand by Elizabeth.

Elizabeth turned away, suddenly embarrassed. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“No need to be shy!” said the woman, teasingly as she reached out, caressing the side of Elizabeth’s face.

Elizabeth stepped back, and suppressed the urge to flee. She looked from the dark-haired beauty back to the two on the pallet. The redhead was again on her back. As a narrow wisp of smoke escaped her lips she laced one hand through the hair of her lover, guiding the woman’s head down. Elizabeth looked away as the redhead’s legs opened in wanton invitation.

“Iman, leave her alone,” said Ilham, sharply.

Iman stepped back, tossed her long dark mane of hair over one shoulder and placed both hands on her hips. “You’re just cranky because it’s my turn tonight. You’re afraid I’m going to take such good care of him that he’ll forget all about you.”

“Why they ever named an irreverent bitch like you, Faith, I’ll never understand. It’s an insult to all that is holy,” accused Ilham.

“You know,” said Iman as she opened the curtain revealing the two women, “the road to redemption is a rocky path.” She reached down, took the cigarette from the redhead, and took a long drag before handing it to Ilham. “Take it,” she said. “It’ll help your headache.”

“Hey!” moaned the redhead, “that was mine.”

Iman rolled her eyes as she moved to sit behind the redhead. “Tahra, I thought we agreed to keep her away from that stuff?”

“W-w-we did,” said the other woman, nervously, looking up from between the redheads legs, her lips and chin glistening from her lover’s juices. “But she had to go to him last night, you know how nervous she gets. He gave it to her, to calm her.”

“Did he now?” asked Iman, a slow smile forming on her lips. “Our Angellah has been a verrrry bad boy. I will have to punish him later.”

As Iman got up and began to walk out of the curtained area Rand moaned and reached out for her, “Don’t go!”

“I-I-I may need help with her,” said Tahra, softly. “Last time it took several days to get her over this. I can’t keep her occupied by myself. You know I can’t.”

Iman pursed her lips and appeared to be considering the matter for a moment. Then she shrugged her shoulders, carelessly, “Sure, why not. Not like I have anything better to do,” she said as she slipped back behind the redhead. “Lean back against me, Rand, that’s it,” she said as the redhead sat up so that Iman could cradle her in her arms. Iman licked her fingers, and then reached around, rubbing their moistened tips around Rand’s nipples. Rand arched up and tilted her head back, opening her mouth slightly. Tahra, resuming her ministrations, again began to lap up the flood of juices from between her lover’s velvet folds. A soft moan, almost a whimper, escaped Rand’s lips. Iman leaned down and as she tugged on Rand’s now erect nipples she plunged her tongue, deeply into the redhead’s mouth.

“So! What’s your name?” asked the young girl who was pulling on Elizabeth’s sleeve.

“They were calling me Hessa, but my real name is Elizabeth,” she answered.

“I’m Sahar,” volunteered the girl.

“Dawn in English,” said Elizabeth, a pretty name. “What was your real name?”

“Sahar,” repeated the girl. “I grew up in the harem of the Sultan. I’ve only been with the Prince for a few months.”

“You’ve been in a harem since birth?” asked Elizabeth.

“Yes,” she said, simply.

“How awful,” Elizabeth exclaimed with genuine pity.

The young girl looked at her, confusion evident on her face, “Is it?”

“What? Well…huh?” asked Elizabeth.

“It does not seem awful. I am still here, still alive,” she stated, proudly, “and still a virgin!”

“She is to be a gift to the prince’s son, his first wife,” explained Ilham.

“But you’re so young!” said Elizabeth. “Too young to be someone’s wife.”

“I’m fourteen!” exclaimed Sahar. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” answered Elizabeth.

“Where is your husband?” asked Sahar, curiously.

“I’m not married,” said Elizabeth waving at the smoke that wafted up in front of her face from the cigarette that Ilham was now smoking. The opium was starting to cloud her senses and she shook her head in an attempt to clear it.

“Yet,” interjected Ilham. “You’re not married just yet.”

“Are you to be married soon?” asked Sahar, now bouncing on her toes in excitement.

“Tomorrow, apparently,” said Elizabeth as she walked over and sat down, dejectedly onto an empty pallet.

“Tomorrow?” asked Sahar as she sat down alongside of her.

Elizabeth looked over at her and nodded. “Well! We’ve got some work to do then! This is going to be so much fun! Hey! Did you hear? Listen! There’s going to be a wedding tomorrow!” the young girl gushed as she flitted back and forth from Ilham, over to where Iman, Rand, and Tahra were still locked in passion.

Ilham walked over to Elizabeth and handed her the cigarette, “Looks like you could use some of this yourself,” she said. “Relax, we can help you prepare.”

Elizabeth looked at its smoldering tip, her mind already feeling blissfully fuzzy from the surrounding smoke and she reached for it. She placed it between her lips and inhaled, lightly. As the smoke hit the back of her throat she coughed. The room seemed to shift.She vaguely realized that Ilham had taken the cigarette from her as she spread her arms wide and reclined back into the plush silk pillows that surrounded her.

Chapter 12

“You wanted to speak with me, Lieutenant?” asked Harrhas.

“Bloody, right!” exclaimed Crawford as he stood up and beckoned the servant into his tent.

After Harrhas entered Crawford closed the tents flaps, giving them privacy. When finished, he turned to Harrhas and said, “I have to see her. I need your help. Can you arrange it?”

“What? No!” said Harrhas, backing up to leave. “I am a servant, but I am not your servant, Lieutenant, and I’m not stupid. The prince has spoken on this matter.”

“Pompous, wanker,” growled Crawford as he began to pace back and forth within the small, confined space. “She must be so frightened, Harrhas!” said Crawford, glancing up to see if this had any affect.

Harrhas looked decidedly uncomfortable as he began to shuffle his feet back and forth.

“Imagine it,” continued Crawford. “Young girl in a strange land, lives through one of the war’s bloodies battles to find herself subject to the whims of a madman.”

“The prince is not mad!” defended Harrhas.

“Perhaps not,” conceded Crawford. “But, your ways are not our ways. In our world people marry for love.”

“Never obligation?” asked Harrhas, pointedly. “Or, perhaps for desire of money or status?”

“Point taken,” said Crawford as he ran a hand through his hair. “Can you, at least check on her? Make sure that she’s alright?”

Harrhas nodded, and then asked, “You care for her, Lieutenant?”

Crawford turned his back to the servant and whispered, “Yes,” his voice wrought with emotion.

“Well then, Lieutenant,” started Harrhas. Crawford looked over his shoulder, his intense blue eyes connecting with the other mans soulful brown ones, “Tomorrow you had better win.”

Crawford felt his jaw tighten as he contemplated the battle ahead. He walked over to the camel’s saddle that lay on the floor of the tent to one side. He bent down and picked up the scabbard that leaned against its side. As he pulled the War Economy Wilkinson Sword from its brown leather sheath he vowed, “You can be sure of that, Harrhas. You can be sure of that.”

Elizabeth sat in the middle of the tent in a hot bath, it was early evening and a lingering haze continued to engulf her. The water she was being bathed in was scented with the smell of sweet flowers, or perhaps it was the enduring odor of opium she smelled. Her head lolled back against the edge of the tub.

“Should we put henna in her hair?” asked Sahar.

“I don’t th-think so,” responded Tahra, as she washed Elizabeth’s hair. “I think that we should braid it though, perhaps in the morning?”

Sahar picked up a pitcher of fresh water and poured it over Elizabeth’s head, mindful of the need to keep the soap out of her eyes. As the clear water washed away the lather a sigh of contentment escaped Elizabeth’s lips. Despite all that she was facing, somehow, in this moment, she was experiencing…peace. She opened her eyes, turned her head to the side, and looked at Ilham.

“It’s going to be alright, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” said Ilham, quietly, honestly. “But, it’s alright for now.”

Elizabeth nodded as the women helped her out of the bath and wrapped her in a swath of red silk. “I think I should sleep now,” said Elizabeth as she reclined on one of the sleeping pallets.

“No!” protested Ilham. “There is still much to do. Anyakalha will be here soon with the rest of the supplies.”

“Supplies?” asked Elizabeth.

“Supplies?” asked Crawford.

“Yes,” nodded Harrhas, “Anyakalha delivered the supplies, for her preparation, to the harem just a short while ago. Elizabeth is fine.”

“Fine?” he asked, skeptical. “What do you mean? What preparation?”

“For her wedding, and I mean fine. Anyakalha said that things were going well, she seemed soothed by the opium-”

“They’ve drugged her!” shouted Crawford as he began to storm out of the tent.

Harrhas grabbed him, “Stop. Think!” pleaded Harrhas.

The British soldier stopped dead in his tracks, “Damn it! What are they doing to her?”

Harrhas looked nervous, unable to look the other man in the eye.

“Harrhas?” coaxed the Lieutenant.

Harrhas looked up at him, red-faced, held up one finger, then fled from the tent.

Crawford had never felt so trapped. He wished to God that the ridiculous duel could take place tonight. He was so fueled by anger that he was certain he could effortlessly win. He slumped to the floor, suddenly realizing that he had never witnessed his opponent fight. “What if?” he thought, fleetingly, before quickly dismissed any doubts.

He looked up as Harrhas re-entered his tent, Anyakalha in tow. “Explain,” said Harrhas to his wife.

Anyakalha looked directly at Crawford and said, “They are preparing her for the wedding.”

Crawford continued to look at her, awaiting more. Anyakalha glanced briefly at her husband. After receiving a nod of consent she said, “She will be bathed and her hair will be cleansed with scented water. Her body will then be massaged with oils until it gleams. They may decorate her face or body with henna paint. Her wedding day clothes will be infused with incense. Her body-hair will, of course, be removed, and-”

“Her what will be….but….why?” Crawford asked, the question escaping his lips before thinking.

Anyakalha continued without pause and matter-of-factly began to response, “For the pleasure of her husband, of course, so that when he uses his mouth and tongue to-”

“Anyakalha!” interjected Harrhas, “I think he understands the, um, advantages.”

Anyakalha continued, “It is tradition. Elizabeth may not be joining the harem, Lieutenant, but since they are preparing her…it is their way. It’s what they know to be proper. I imagine that they are getting close to finished by now. The idea is not appealing to you?”

Crawford rubbed his hand over his face and exhaled, “S’not that its unappealing, it’s just not necessary. There’s just no point putting her through all this. Tomorrow everything will be back to normal and all this will be for not.”

Anyakalha and Harrhas exchanged a confused look before Anyakalha softly said, “Lieutenant, if Ahmad wins, he will expect that she be properly prepared for the wedding. Things will not-”

Crawford approached Anyakalha, eyes flashing, hands balled into fists, “He will not win tomorrow. I will win, and I will give her, her freedom.”

Harrhas walked over to Crawford and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Lieutenant, what do you think is going to happen tomorrow?”

“I’ll beat the ponce with the big curved sword, win the girl, then announce that I grant her the freedom to do as she wishes,” related Crawford with confidence.

“You plan to forfeit the prize? Then why do this?” asked Anyakalha.

“So that she doesn’t have to marry someone against her will?” he asked.

Harrhas smiled, knowingly and shook his head. “Because I can’t stand the thought of that man touching her?” added Crawford.

Harrhas nodded and added, “Be honest, Lieutenant, you want her for yourself.”

“I am already married, Harrhas. It doesn’t matter what I want to happen between Elizabeth and myself,” responded Crawford, disappointment evident in his voice.

“That is of no matter. In Arabia, Lieutenant, a man may have many wives,” answered Harrhas.

“If you do not marry her, you will have no lasting claim on her. Make no mistake about this, she is beautiful and the camp is filled with men who miss having a woman in their bed. If you win only to cast her off, Ahmed will re-assert his claim. If he does, they will marry tomorrow,” explained Anyakalha.

“Can you figure out a way to get me in? To see her?” Crawford asked Anyakalha.

“Probably, but I won’t. It’s too risky for all of us. You, Lieutenant had best concentrate on how you are going to win this challenge. Were weapons specified?” asked Anyakalha.

“Not exactly,” responded Crawford going over the conversation in his mind, “but the prince did say that Ahmed was an excellent swordsman.”

“That’s true,” offered Harrhas, “but if weapons weren’t specified you can use whatever you have to fight him with. He is not good with his fists, for example, many men have downed him in a fist fight.”

“But he will almost certainly use he scimitar,” interjected Anyakalha. “If, somehow, you could disarm him-”

“Okay,” interrupted Crawford. “Let’s talk strategy. I need to know the rules, and I need to know as much as possible about how this bloke fights. There are men in this camp that have bested him?”

“Not with the scimitar,” clarified Harrhas.

“I want to talk to them,” said Crawford. “Can you arrange it?”

“I think so,” said Harrhas. “You want me to bring them here?”

“Yes,” said Crawford, “and Anyakalha?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?” she responded.

“I want my uniform back. I can’t fight in a robe,” said Crawford.

“I will bring them so you, Lieutenant. And, I hope you beat him. I would enjoy seeing him defeated,” she said.

“Because?” asked Crawford.

“He hurt someone, that I cared about very much, once,” explained Anyakalha.

“This is about payback,” reflected Crawford.

“This is about vengeance!” clarified Anyakalha looking determinedly at Harrhas and adding “Help him! I will get the uniform,” before walking out of the tent.

“I will be back, Lieutenant,” said Harrhas as he followed his wife out of the tent.

Crawford’s mind was racing. He walked over to his satchel and pulled out his writing supplies. He had been keeping a journal of sorts, since coming to Arabia. But, this wasn’t going to be just another entry about endless landscapes of sand. This was for her.

Elizabeth,

I feel helpless. Alone. All I have are useless words to wrap around you. My arms ache to hold you again, though they have no right. This world is strange and war has a way of muddling things. I died, pet, so many years ago. I walked like the living, but there was no life left in me. It made me fearless, a good soldier, having nothing to lose. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of, sometimes feeling more like a monster than a man.

And then there was you. When I started this mission I was told I needed to move as quickly as possible towards my objective, towards Angellah, then towards Acaba. Take no prisoners. Somehow I’ve become one. Yours. It’s all twisted, yet it’s all so clear at the same time.

I should have told you. I know that. No excuses. And, I know this, with you, is wrong. I know it. I’m not a complete idiot. You deserve so much more than I can ever give you.

Tomorrow I will fight, I will win, and I will claim you as my wife. An honor I have not earned. I couldn’t possibly. I fully realize that in your heart it will be a claim without merit and thus, in private, rest assured I will demand no entitlements. Despite the ways of this world we find ourselves in, I find that I want nothing more than you are willing to freely give.

I justify imposing this false tether on you, by reminding myself that if I don’t stay this course, you will be forfeited to Ahmed. I say that we’ll be free then to work together, see this through. I tell myself that this is about the mission, that I’m being noble, selfless, that I’m saving the girl. But that’s all a lie.

So what is true? Why do I choose this path? Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. For the chance to hold you in my arms and once again believe you could be mine. The torch I bear is scorching me. I am drawn to you like a moth to the flame. As I lay here I burn…for you.

William

Chapter 13

Crawford stood, in solitude, looking out towards the tall sand dunes in the distance, the camp to his back. As the sun began to rise he watched it. He breathed in deeply feeling a strange sense of calm while realizing that he had never felt more confident in his life. For a fleeting moment he wondered why, then he shrugged his shoulders and turned towards camp, ready for what was to come.

“What do you mean I can’t watch?” asked Elizabeth.

“It doesn’t work that way,” said Ilham.

“Well, how does it work? Enlighten me! Please!” responded Elizabeth, sarcastically.

“A covered aisle has been erected. You will remain sequestered inside. You will not see the sun again unless your husband permits it, Elizabeth,” said Ilham. “It is shorter than customary, but we will make do. Please let Tahra finish your hair. We will walk with you down the aisle and wait with you in the tent at the end. When the contest is over, the champion will come to claim you.”

Elizabeth walked back over to Tahra and once again sat in front of her. Tahra laid a hand on her shoulder and leaning forward whispered, “I-it’s going to be alright.”

Elizabeth nodded trying her best to hold back tears.

“What’s with the tears?” asked Rand, sitting down in front of Elizabeth. “You’re much prettier when you smile.”

“This isn’t quite how I imagined my wedding,” said Elizabeth, softly. “I can’t marry that man!” cried Elizabeth, looking at the women that now surrounded her.

“We don’t have the power to choose,” said Sahar. “We are chosen. You must follow your destiny.”

“But what about my heart?” asked Elizabeth.

Rand’s eyes connected with those of Tahra and she smiled, sweetly at her. Then she turned to Elizabeth and clasping her hand said, “Your heart is always yours, even if it is inside a body that is owned and used to service another. You may give it freely to whoever you wish.”

“Look,” began Iman, “enough with the tears already. What’s the big deal? They are both perfectly suitable.”

“They are not both perfectly suitable!” said Elizabeth as Rand and Tahra helped her step into her red silk bridal robes.

“Honey, I’ve been with Ahmed. He likes it rough, but I can assure you, he left me more than satisfied,” said Iman.

“A near impossible feat!” added Sahar.

Iman flashed her a smug smile and said, “Hey! I can’t help it if I have a healthy appetite for-”

“Is there something wrong with the Lieutenant? Are you worried that he won’t be able to-” interjected Sahar.

“What? Oh, God, no. No worries there,” said Elizabeth. “Why are we even talking about this? This is not going to happen!”

Rand grabbed Elizabeth and shook her slightly. “It is happening! We are going to walk down that corridor and we will wait with you for your husband to come and claim you. Once that happens there will be only two options for escape and only two. Death or divorce, and only your husband can initiate a divorce. Would you rather die? Give in? Give up?”

Elizabeth swallowed, hard, as she contemplated Rand’s question. She closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath. When she opened them she looked once again at Rand. She stretched her neck first to the right, then the left. Elizabeth then pursed her lips together and exhaled, a look of steady resolve now evident on her face. “Where’s my veil?”

“Okay then!” continued Rand. “Veil!”

Sahar walked up and handed Rand one end of a long red veil. The two women draped it over Elizabeth’s head, mindful of the carefully arranged braids.

Ilham opened the flap of the tent. Through the sheer fabric of the veil Elizabeth could see a narrow corridor stretching out before her, red silk was on either side and pulled across the top. The dawn’s light streamed through the diaphanous fabric, casting a red glow on them as they walked in procession, Sahar, being the youngest, trailing behind.

Elizabeth noticed that the fabric rippled in the early morning breeze. She could see that a crowd had gathered to watch and that some were eagerly walking along with them, towards the tent where she would wait. As they reached the end of the corridor Ilham pulled back the flap of the tent and motioned for Elizabeth to enter. Elizabeth squared her shoulders, and walked, proudly inside.

The interior space was small. Its walls were covered in red silk and the floor with carpets. In the center of the tent was a sleeping pallet covered in white silk sheets.

“A gift from the prince,” said Ilham as she knelt down and ran her hand over the soft material that covered the pallet. “It is customary for the newly married couple to display the sheets for all to see after the wedding night.”

“I’m not a virgin, Ilham,” said Elizabeth. “There will be nothing to see.”

“All women are virgins on their wedding night,” said Sahar as she removed a small vial from her sleeve. “Blood,” she said as she picked up the edge of one of the carpets in the small corner of the tent. “You can pour it onto the sheet, no one will question it,” she added as she buried the vial in the sand.

Elizabeth felt her throat constrict and she was overcome by a wave of nausea. She swallowed down the bile that rose to her throat and pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stave off the tears that suddenly filled her eyes to the brim.

“Don’t cry!” shouted Ilham, alarmed. “The charcoal around your eyes will smudge!”

“What if he loses? I can’t stand not knowing what is going on!” responded Elizabeth, panic and fear evident in her voice.

“Here!” said Iman as she walked to the far end of the tent. Iman extracted a small, delicate knife from her robe. She pulled back a section of the red silk and then used the sharp blade to cut several small slits into the black exterior wall of the tent. Elizabeth was the first to rush over, hoping to get a glimpse of the fight, a glimpse of her fate.

There he was. William was too far away for her to see the expression on his face, but it was clearly he. He was wearing his uniform trousers, like the day she first laid eyes on him. He looked the same, yet different. His shirt was new, white, probably made by Anyakalha. He wore his uniform jacket, but it was left casually open, unbuttoned and unbelted, flapping in the breeze. His cap was also missing. The morning sun lit him from the front, bathing him in light, and making his shock of almost white hair impossibly bright.

Crawford turned to face the camp. In the last several minutes he had begun to hear the predictable sounds that signified the wakening of the tent city. He watched as a couple servants carried a chair towards him, set it in the sand, and then erected a modest cover over it. He watched as the servants returned and began to assemble a small tent about twenty meters from the harem. Supplies were quickly brought inside and then they turned their attention to creating what looked like a tunnel from the harem to the small tent.

Crawford tilted his head to the side. He held his hand up over his eyes in an attempt to shield them from the sun so that he could better see.

“They are moving her into the smaller tent,” said Harrhas, “the victor will go there to claim her.”

Crawford nodded. “Did you get any sleep?” he asked.

“No. You?” responded Harrhas.

“No. I’ll sleep later,” said Crawford. “Let’s do this.”

Crawford took his sword from Harrhas and counted off fifteen paces, walking away from the camp. He wrapped both hands around the handle of the sword, lifted it high above his head, and then with a roar he stabbed it, savagely into the sand. Crawford leaned for a moment on the hilt to force the blade in deeper, and then he fell to his knees before it. He wrapped both hands around the cold steel, leaned his forehead against the handle, and prayed.

Chapter 14

“Are you ready, Lieutenant?” he heard the prince ask.

“Ready,” said Crawford calmly, steadily as climbed to his feet, turned around and slowly walked five paces back towards the camp, towards his foe.

They were separated by about three meters a sharp contrast of light and dark. Ahmed’s long, black robes hung loosely around him. His dark eyes were fierce with determination. Everything about the man, his posture, the way his jaw was set, spoke volumes about his resolve. His very being emanated a sense of purpose. The tension surrounding him was palpable.

“Where is your weapon?” asked Ahmed, confusion clouding his face.

“Weapons?” asked Crawford a cocky grin appearing on his face as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers.“You didn’t say anything the other day about weapons. Do we really need weapons for this?” he asked as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“My lord-” started Ahmed, looking over towards the prince who was seated in his chair.

“I mean,” interrupted Crawford,“I can see why you like weapons, they probably make you feel all-manly. If I had to walk around in a dress all day I’d probably feel the need to reassert my manhood by playing with long, hard, straight, phallic-like objects too. Now, wait a minute, something’s off with that, isn’t it?” he asked the crowd, looking perplexed.

The few that understood him laughed and quickly translated for the others. Murmurs and chuckles rippled through the crowd.

“You insult me? I’ve had enough with your mindless chatter, Lieutenant. Get your weapon and get ready to lose. And, just for the record, mine’s bigger. And it’s not straight, Lieutenant, it’s curved,” finished Ahmed as he ran his hand over the thick curved blade of his scimitar.

“You see?” Crawford asked the crowd amusedly before turning an icy stare towards Ahmed.“You know, that Sigmund Freud follow would have a field day with you. You want to see who has the biggest wrinklie? Step on up.”

“You need a weapon!” said Ahmed, clearly frustrated.

Crawford rolled his eyes,“Alright, if you insist. Lets just get this over with, shall we? I’m bored,” he said as he reached behind his back and pulled out his Mauser C96 Broomhandle.

“You can’t use a gun!” gasped Ahmed, his eyes widening comically.“My lord, tell him he can’t use a gun,” said Ahmed, turning towards the prince.

“Alright, Nancy, we’ll do it your way. No gun. No need to get your knickers in a twist said Crawford as he tossed the gun over to Harrhas while rapidly advancing towards Ahmed’s back.

Ahmad turned back to face the British soldier and was greeted by a strong right cross to the jaw, followed by a swift and powerful roundhouse kick. The unanticipated assault caught him off guard and he stumbled, catching his foot in his robes and falling onto the sand, his scimitar inches away.

“See, now that’s the problem with weapons, you have to reach for them. I’ve always got mine,” finished Crawford, glancing down at his hands. Ahmed rolled towards the scimitar. As his fist curved around the base of the handle Crawford kicked him again, this time in the stomach. But, Ahmed absorbed the blow. As he climbed to his feet he swung his heavy blade in a wide arch, forcing Crawford back. The tip of its cutting edge grazed the British soldier across his chest. Ahmed smiled, a sense of satisfaction and confidence washing over him as he saw dots of bright red blood start to seep through the white cotton of Crawford’s torn shirt.

Crawford stepped back and removed his coat. He seemed oblivious to his injury as he rolled first one sleeve up, then the other. Ahmed rushed towards him, a feral yell emanating from him as he knocked Crawford to the ground.

Crawford lay there, submissively, as Ahmed straddled his hips and rested the razor-sharp blade of the scimitar across his throat.

“Somehow I knew you’d insist on being on top,” said Crawford with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“You joke even now?” asked Ahmed.“The slightest amount of pressure is all it would take, Lieutenant.”

“You can’t have her,” said Crawford quietly.“It will never happen.”

Ahmed’s eyes opened in alarm as he stared down into Crawford’s eyes. The expression on the young soldiers face remained unchanged. Ahmed swallowed hard and forced himself to remain calm and focused. He forced himself to ignore the sharp steel blade that was pressed against his testicles, at the base of his scrotum.

“You wouldn’t,” whispered Ahmed, managing for now to keep his voice steady.

Crawford smiled,“You have no idea what lengths I would go to, mate, to keep her.”

“I have clearly won,” replied Ahmed.“Forfeit!”

“Um, let me think for a minute...No!” said Crawford.

Ahmed pushed down a bit harder on the blade. Crawford watched as beads of sweat began to form on his opponent’s forehead.

“You don’t have the stones,” said Crawford.“You could kill me, yeah. But you won’t, because you fear Angellah,” said Crawford. Then he glanced down towards Ahmed’s groin and continued,“And, you would have to face the humiliation of being a eunuch, not that it’s not a respectable profession, mind you. Just wouldn’t be my first career choice.”

Crawford could tell that he almost had him. Almost. He pressed him further,“Now me? I don’t give a fuck. Fact is, it’s been awhile since I’ve killed a man, or tortured a man for that matter. Gosh, those were the good old days. Forced myself to stop, I did. And, do you know why?”

Ahmed shook his head.

“Because,” continued Crawford, gazing coolly into Ahmed’s eyes,“I was starting to enjoy it too much. You see? It would bring me great pleasure, Ahmed, to bathe in your blood. Great pleasure.”

Ahmed swallowed and Crawford added, an evil glint in his eye,“Don’t underestimate me. I could slice you, starting here,” he said, jabbing the knife for emphasis,“all the way up to that black heart of yours. Then you know what I’d do? I’d pluck your heart from your body as cleanly and easily as I would a fruit from its vine. Then I’d wring from it your lifeblood. I’d pour it into a chalice and drink it during my wedding feast. Mmmmm. I can almost taste it. It is red with gazelle, right?” finished Crawford licking his lips.

“You are mad!” whispered Ahmed.“Have you a demon inside of you, Lieutenant?”

“Here’s the plan,” began Crawford.“You back away, we throw down our weapons and we fight. I’ll win, of course, but you’ll escape...intact. I’ll let you keep your dangly bits. Maybe even your heart and soul.”

“Do you forfeit, Lieutenant?” asked the prince, who now stood above them.

“No,” said Crawford adding pressure to the blade that he held in his hand.

Ahmed jumped back, suddenly, as he felt the tip of the knife begin to penetrate the sensitive skin of his scrotal sac. As he tossed his scimitar to the side, a collective gasp traveled through the crowd. Crawford swiftly climbed to his feet and threw his knife. He watched as it spun, handle over blade, in the direction of the prince’s chair.

“Present, my lord,” announced Crawford as the blade imbedded itself in the back of the chair that the prince had previously occupied.“A thank you from myself and my new bride. It’s served me well in many battles. Now, it will serve you well.”

The prince folded his arms across his chest and looked over towards his chair.“You forfeit, Ahmed?” asked the prince.

“No,” responded Ahmed.

“Right then!” said Crawford as he released a right uppercut to the Arabs jaw quickly followed by a left cross. He heard the bone crack as his fist connected with Ahmed’s nose and he stumbled backwards a few feet. But Crawford didn’t stop, not for a second. As Ahmed instinctively reached for his nose to stave off the flow of blood he left his torso wide open. Crawford ran towards him, leapt up into the air, twisted his body and landed a powerful kick into Ahmed’s mid-section.

Ahmed flew backwards, as the wind was knocked out of him. Crawford landed, facing away from him, in a crouch. The British soldier looked back over his shoulder, his face speckled with his enemy’s blood. He narrowed his eyes as he turned around and slowly stood. Crawford stalked towards the fallen man, like a tiger on a hunt, his stride graceful, powerful, assured. He reached down, ripped off the cloth that covered the Arab’s head, grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked, forcing Ahmed to look him in the eye.

“You know what I think?” asked Crawford as he kneed his opponent in the chest, breaking a rib. Crawford leaned down and whispered,“I don’t know your feelings, big guy, but to me, a tussle like that... is good for the soul.” Then he cocked his right fist back, let go of Ahmed’s head, and landed one final blow, knocking the man out and to the ground.

Crawford wiped his arm across his forehead then inspected the sleeve of his shirt. It was spattered with blood. He quickly removed the shirt and used it to wipe the remaining blood from his face. He walked towards Harrhas as he dabbed at the slice across his chest.

“Jacket,” he demanded.

Harrhas handed him his coat and in a surprised tone said,“You won!”

“Well, yeah. That was the plan, right?” responded Crawford.

“Yes, but-but, you actually won!” answered Harrhas.

“Thanks for the show of confidence, whelp!” said Crawford as he playfully hit Harrhas on the shoulder.“Now, as much as I would love to hang around and chat, there is some place I’m supposed to be,” finished Crawford with a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows.“And I want a bath!” he shouted over his shoulder towards the prince.“I want a bath with hot water!”

“Make it so,” said the prince to Harrhas, with a casual wave of his hand as he walked over to the British soldier.“You are quite talented, Lieutenant, a fierce fighter!” complimented Angellah.“You really think we can capture Acaba?”

“Yes, my lord, I do!” said Crawford with utter confidence.“But, not tonight. Tonight my talents are already spoken for,” he added before walking off towards the direction of the tent, towards her.

Chapter 15

“Elizabeth!” shouted Ilham, but it was too late. Elizabeth bolted from the tent, lifted the red drape that composed the tunnel wall, and ran.

Crawford saw her as she emerged from the tunnel, a vision shrouded in sheer red silk. As she rushed towards him the breeze caught the edges of her veil. It billowed about her as she ran, the wind finally lifting it from her head, carrying it away. Elizabeth’s feet kicked up the sand as she flew across the short expanse of desert and into his waiting arms.

She was barely aware of the shouts of warning from the other women as she fled the tent, she didn’t care. All she knew was that she needed to be with him; feel him. She knew the second he saw her. His face lit up with a smile that melted her heart and fueled her passion. She flew at him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her off the ground and swung her around. “I’m going to get blood all over you,” said Crawford as he sat her back, carefully on the ground.

“I don’t care,” said Elizabeth, close to tears. “And, what were you doing out there letting him hold that sword to your neck?” she said accusingly as she stepped away.

“Gee, honey, thanks for fighting to protect my virtue and save me from the horrid fate of having to spend the rest of my life with tall, dark, and beaten to a bloody pulp over there!” said Crawford, annoyed.

“Oh my God, you’re hurt,” she said stepping closer to him her anger dissipated.

“I’ll be fine,” said Crawford. “I’ve had worse.”

Elizabeth reached out and tentatively brushed her fingertips over his cut. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I owe you a huge debt of gratitude.”

“You owe me nothing, Elizabeth, nothing,” he said as he reached out grasped her hand, lifted it towards his mouth, and kissed the inside of her wrist. “I need to clean these wounds so that they don’t get infected. Harrhas is going to fix a bath. I want you to know that when we are alone, in private, you are free to do as you wish. But, as far as they are concerned,” Crawford said looking back towards the on-lookers below, “you are mine, got it?”

Elizabeth nodded as she felt him lace his fingers through hers. “You look tired,” she noticed.

“Didn’t sleep a bloody wink last night,” said Crawford.

“Bath first, sleep second,” said Elizabeth as they walked hand and hand back to the tent. As soon as they lifted the red curtain the women of the harem greeted them.

Sahar ran up to Elizabeth, wrapped her arms around her in a hug and whispered, “Don’t forget the blood.”

“We must get back,” interrupted Ilham.

“See? Everything worked out!” said Rand cheerfully as she reached for Tahra’s hand and walked out of the tent.

As Sahar released Elizabeth from her grasp Iman walked over to Crawford. She brazenly raked her eyes over his naked chest. “Well, hello!” she said.

“Hello,” said William politely before turning to Elizabeth. “I’m starving. Think we could scare up something to eat?”

“Isn't it strange how fighting always makes you hungry and…well…you know,” said Iman as she stepped closer to Crawford and reached out to touch his bare chest. “If you ever get bored or need a change of pace, I’m could convince Angellah to share. I’d make it worth his while,” she said seductively moving in even closer. “I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up. I've got muscles you've never even dreamed of. I could squeeze you until you pop like warm champagne and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little bit more.”

“Tempting as that offer sounds pet, my dance-card is full, I’m afraid,” said Crawford as he stepped back, wrapped his arm around Elizabeth’s waist, pulled her in close and began swaying in time to imaginary music.

“Well,” said Iman with a shrug, “there’s always later. You know where to find me.”

“No offense, luv,” said Crawford as he spun Elizabeth around, “but it’s not going to happen. I’m afraid I’m gonna be too busy dancing with my wife, all night, every night.”

As he pulled Elizabeth back into his embrace she looked searchingly into his eyes. “Is this real?” she asked, quietly, once the women cleared the tent.

“Do you want it to be?” he responded.

“I want you,” she answered honestly.

“You have me,” he said as he lowered his mouth to hers. “I missed you,” he murmured before kissing her, tenderly.

As he pulled back he heard her say, “I missed you, too.” But, before he could move in for a second kiss there was the unmistakable sound of someone clearing his throat outside the tent.

“Come in, Harrhas,” said Crawford.

“Your bath, Lieutenant. May we bring it in? The water will take a bit of time to heat, but-” started Harrhas.

“Hot water?” squealed Elizabeth, excitedly, as she kissed him quickly on the cheek. “You didn’t say anything about hot water!”

Elizabeth pushed back the flap of the tent and waved in Harrhas, “Come in! Come in!”

Harrhas held his hand up, indicating that the two men holding the bath should wait and he walked into the tent and up to Crawford, “She speaks!”

“You noticed that, did you?” asked Crawford with a quick glance over towards Elizabeth.

Crawford noticed that Elizabeth looked momentarily panicked. He pulled Harrhas further into the tent and said in a hushed voice, “Best not to call attention to it. That first night she spent with me, she mumbled a few words. The next night, she said a bit more. She’s coming out of it Harrhas, a bit more every day. And I’m going to help her heal. I just need a little time, not a lot, a little.”

“I don’t understand,” said Harrhas.

“I want to postpone the wedding feast,” said Crawford, quietly. “She’s been through a lot. I want to let her rest, ease her into this. She’s still fragile. I want you to explain to Angellah-”

“Oh, no! No! Not me,” answered Harrhas. “You tell him.”

Crawford turned and walked over to Elizabeth. He caressed the side of her cheek, leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be right back, darling.” Then he softly whispered, “Going to lay some groundwork, sweetest.”

Before Elizabeth could respond Crawford walked out of the tent. Harrhas emerged after him. He took a moment to wave the men with the bath in, then hurried after Crawford. “You really mean to speak with the prince about this?”

“Yeah!” said Crawford, looking the man squarely in the eye. “And you’re going to get me in.”

Harrhas nodded, then walked off ahead. Within a few minutes Harrhas returned. “He will see you.”

Crawford walked through the tent’s entrance. Angellah was reclining against a saddle, “Surprised to see you, Lieutenant.”

“My lord,” started Crawford. “There is something I though you should know.”

Angellah sat up, his attention peaked, “And that would be?”

“Hessa,” started William. “I believe she is American. That first night, she cried out in her sleep. I suspected. Then, that second night it happened again. She woke screaming, crying. She spoke, my lord.”

“What did she say?” asked Angellah climbing to his feet.

“It had been a dream, about Wadi Turras,” Crawford began to explain. “But, it wasn’t the first time. The first time she had the dream was the night before it happened. She thought nothing of it at the time, thought it was just a horrible nightmare. The following day she went to explore the caves about the camp, as she had planned. But it happened, Angellah, it happened. It frightened her beyond belief. And then, there was the guilt of course. She let it all spill out to me in the darkness, along with her tears. Then come morning, again she said nothing.”

“She had a vision?” asked Angellah.

“I think so. Maybe. I don’t know,” answered Crawford.

“I knew it!” said Angellah. “I knew there was something special about her.”

Crawford nodded, “Thing is, I think she had another dream, just last night.”

“Another dream?” asked Angellah. “What happened?”

“Don’t know, she was too afraid to talk about it, but I’ll find out,” answered Crawford.

“Do you need help, getting her to talk?” asked Angellah.

“No!” said Crawford a little too quickly. “No. I just need a little time.”

Angellah smiled. “You’re fond of her,” he said. “Very well, do it your way, but find out.”

“I want to put off the wedding feast until tomorrow night. We’re both tired. We need, I need time. I don’t want to insult anyone my lord, it’s just that,” Crawford trailed off.

“Go, Lieutenant. Sleep. Spend time with your new wife. Tomorrow night we will all celebrate. Until then, enjoy your own private celebration. I will send food and drink to your tent. If there is anything else you need, let Harrhas know,” agreed the prince.

“Thank you, my lord,” said Crawford bowing before the prince before backing away towards the entrance of the tent.

“Crawford?” called Angellah.

“Yes, my lord?” he answered.

“Keep me informed,” demanded Angellah.



CONTINUED...