Racing from the tent, Christina found Maidi. She obtained water and fresh towels from her without question, then ran back to Philip. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she cleaned the wound and applied the salve and bandages that she found in the bundle. She was all too aware that he watched her every move as she clumsily wrapped the bandages about his chest and shoulder.
Christina was still deathly afraid of what he was going to do to her. Did he think she had deliberately tried to kill him? Why didn't he say something—anything? Christina didn't look into his eyes for fear of the anger she might see.
When she had finished bandaging his wound, Philip suddenly grabbed her wrists and pulled her down on top of him.
"You must be crazy!" she gasped, struggling to free herself. "You will start the bleeding again."
"Then tell me what I want to hear, Tina," he whispered. "Tell me you enjoy my lovemaking, or I will take you now and prove it on your body again."
His green eyes were glazed from loss of blood, but he had enough determination to carry out his threat.
So this was to be her punishment for hurting him! She must admit that he gave her pleasure. But she would not admit it to him—she couldn't!
The pain she felt in her wrists from his iron grip gave her courage, and she glared at him furiously.
"Damn you, Philip! Why must you hear it from my own lips, when you know the answer already?"
"Tell me!" he demanded harshly.
Christina had never seen him so cruel and merciless before. He gathered her wrists together in one hand and started to pull her skirt up with the other. She realized that if he carried out his threat, he could bleed to death when his wound opened again. Yasir would surely have her killed if he died.
"All right!" she sobbed. "I admit it I admit everything. Are you satisfied now, damn you?"
She rolled to her side of the bed when he released her, and cried softly into her pillow.
"You give in too easily, my love," Philip laughed weakly. "I wouldn't have made love to you, no matter how enjoyable it would have been. I'd rather enjoy all the sweet nights to come than die in your arms tonight."
"Ohl I hate you, Philip Caxton. Hate you, hate you, hate you!" Christina wailed.
He only laughed, and presently went to sleep.
Damn him—damn him to hell, she thought silently, gritting her teeth so she wouldn't scream it out loud. He could so easily make her break all her firm resolutions. She gave in too quickly, as he'd so laughingly reminded her. She should have let him bleed to death! But what would have become of her then? Did she really want to see him dead?
She'd felt utterly sick to her stomach when she saw the scissors slide into his shoulder and thought she'd killed him. But why? Was it fear for Philip, or for herself? She didn't know, but she promised herself that he wouldn't find her so easy to bluff in the future.
Chapter Thirteen
DURING the week that followed the accident, Philip rested in the tent most of the time. Christina became resigned to living with him for a while, and decided to make the best of it. She even began to enjoy Philip's company, since he made no demands on her. He talked with her, laughed with her, and even taught her to play cards. She mastered the art of poker playing quite easily, and soon was able to beat him at his own game.
She began to feel at ease in Philip's presence, as if she had known him all her life. He told her about coming to Egypt to look for his father, and about his life with the tribe. He told her how they had roamed from oasis to oasis on the desert in search of pasturage for the flocks, occasionally raiding caravans or other Bedouin tribes. She asked him why he preferred this way of life, but he said only, "My father is here."
Four days after the accident, Philip became irritable from confinement and inactivity. He began snapping at her for the smallest thing, but she paid no attention to his temper. She'd felt the same way when he'd confined her to the tent at first. When his temper flared, she escaped the tent and went to visit Yasir.
Yasir Alhamar welcomed her visits. His old brown eyes lit up and crinkled with his smile whenever she entered his tent. Yasir was so unlike her own father, who had still been a young and vital man when he died. But she knew Yasir wasn't near the age he looked. Egypt's torrid weather and hardships had aged him early.
Philip's father was dying now. He was pale, weaker than when she had first met him, and his attention often wandered.
Christina read to him from the Arabian Nights, which he enjoyed. But Yasir dozed off after an hour or so, or just stared into space as if she weren't even there.
When she mentioned Yasir's weakness to Philip, he said only, "I know." But she could see sorrow in his dark-green eyes. He knew his father didn't have much longer to live.
On the seventh day of Philip's recuperation, Christina was aroused from a sound sleep by Philip's hand caressing her boldly. She drowsily turned and put her arms around his neck, arching her body against his as she welcomed his kiss.
"No!" she shrieked, when she realized she wasn't dreaming. She tried to push him away, but he pinned her arms to her sides.
"Why not?" he demanded brusquely. "My shoulder has healed sufficiently. You gave yourself willingly to me before making an invalid of me last week. Now I've recovered to my satisfaction, and I've a desire for you that needs quenching." He brought his lips hungrily down on hers, taking her breath away as he kissed her long and hard.
"Philip, stop it," Christina implored. "I gave into you once for a reason, but I won't again. Now let me go!" She tried to pull her arms loose, but it was no use. Philip had regained all his strength.
"So—you were only playing games with me on that beautiful night Well, I won't let you go, my sweet, so fight me if you will. Fight me until you die of pleasure!"
That afternoon, Christina heard angry voices outside. She ran to the entrance of the tent and saw Philip and Rashid arguing heatedly. Three women sat on the ground beside them. Philip suddenly turned from Rashid and strode toward their tent, a dark scowl on his handsome face.
"Get inside, Christina," Philip growled at her when he came into the tent. He headed straight for the cabinet, filled his goblet with wine, and drank it down.
"What's wrong, Philip?" she asked. She wondered what had made him so angry, and hoped that she wasn't the cause. "I notice we have visitors."
"Visitors, ha!" he stormed, pacing back and forth. "Those women aren't visitors. They're slaves Rashid abducted from a slave trader's caravan last night. He plans to take them north tomorrow and sell them."
"Slaves!" Christina gasped, horrified. She ran over to Philip and pulled him around to face her. "You were raised in England. You can't condone the selling of human beings. Tell me you don't!"
"I don't condone it, but that has nothing to do with it"
"You will set them free?" she asked, searching his eyes for assurance. But he only pulled away from her.
"No," he replied curtly. "Damn, I knew this would happen."
If Philip let Rashid sell those women, what was to stop him from selling her? All her hopes vanished once again.
"Why won't you let them go?" she asked quietly.
"Must you always question my motives, woman? The slaves are Rashid's property. He stole them. As I told you once before, I let bim keep what he steals. Do not question me again where he is concerned. Do you understand me?"
"I understand this much," she flung at him. "You're a cruel, merciless barbarian. If you ever put your hands on me again, my scissors will hit a more vital spot!"
She ran to Yasir's tent, and hoped Philip wouldn't follow her there. But Rashid shared the tent with his father, and she ran straight into his arms.