"It was a private thing between two sons and their father. Sheik Abu did not want you to be disturbed."
"Where is Abu now?" Christina asked, knowing how he must feel. She remembered the agony she had felt when she lost both her parents. Strange as it seemed, she wanted to comfort Philip, to put her arms around him and share his sorrow.
"When Rashid returned to camp, he said Abu rode off into the desert, and then—then Rashid left, too."
Christina waited patiently for Philip to return. She tried to keep busy so she wouldn't think of Yasir, but it was impossible. She kept seeing his face as it lit up whenever she entered his tent. She kept hearing his voice as he talked fondly about Philip.
The moon floated high over the mountains and cast a soft gray light that filtered gently through the juniper trees surrounding the camp. Philip stood dejectedly by the fire, warming his exhausted limbs.
It had taken him most of the day riding wildly across the desert to come to terms with Yasir's death. He thought now that it was better to have come at last. Yasir had always lived a vigorous life, and the months after his illness had turned him into an invalid charing at his confinement.
Philip wished he had been allowed more time with Yasir, but was grateful for the years he'd had. He had many fond memories to carry with him through the years to come, for he and Yasir had been closer than most fathers and sons; they had been good friends and shared much together.
After feeding and rubbing down Victory, Philip quickly made his way across the sleeping camp to his tent. He was physically and mentally exhausted and was eager to feel Christina close beside him.
Philip went directly to their bedroom, but found it empty. A number of emotions crossed his features—misery, anger, regret, as he wondered why she would choose this of all times to escape him.
Damn, how much more will I suffer before this day ends, he thought. Turning swiftly, he started to run from the tent, wondering how much time Christina had gained. A soft voice halted him before he reached the entrance.
"Philip, is that you?"
Feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest, Philip walked slowly over to the couch. Christina was leaning on one elbow, her feet curled under a heavy sheepskin cover. She was gazing up at him with a worried look on her beautiful face.
He sat down beside her and saw that her eyes were red from crying. She put her hand gently on his and spoke softly.
"I'm sorry, Philip."
"I'm all right now, Tina. I will grieve for a while, but the worst has passed and I must continue to live my life."
As he searched Christina's eyes, he realized that she was grieving, too. He hadn't known she cared so much for Yasir. Philip took her in his arms and held her gently against him as she started crying again.
In the days that followed, the camp was in a strange kind of mourning. All the gay shouts and loud talking had disappeared.
Amine tried in her own way to lift Christina's spirits. Christina was grateful to have a friend she could talk to. If it weren't for Amine and her children, she would really be lonely.
Christina couldn't seem to bring Philip out of the mood he had fallen into. She chatted away about nothing in particular whenever he was about, but he just sat and stared into space as if she weren't there. He answered her questions and greeted her, but that was all. She remembered she had been in the same state after her parents died, but John had helped her through it. She didn't know how to help Philip.
At night when they went to bed, Philip held her in his arms, nothing more. It began to get on her nerves. She constantly wondered when he would take her again. She wasn't pleased with the present arrangement, she told herself, because she wasn't used to the way Philip was acting.
She tried to think of ways to pull him out of his depression, but couldn't. Besides, hadn't she wanted to see him suffer? It was what she'd once wanted, but not anymore. It hurt her to see Philip unhappy, and she didn't know why.
Chapter Sixteen
IT had been five days since Yasir died, and the tension was wearing Christina down. Philip was off hunting somewhere, and she had no idea when he would be coming back. She'd chosen to stay in her tent these last days, but now she just couldn't stand it anymore.
She left the tent, searched out Ahmad, and asked him to make Raven ready for her. Then she quickly donned her robe and breeches, and by the time she reached the corral, Ahmad was ready to go.
"It is good that you resume your activities," he said with a big smile as he helped her mount.
"Yes, it is," Christina returned. But not all activities, she added to herself, thinking of the quiet nights she'd been granted lately.
They rode down the mountainside slowly, but when they reached the bottom, Christina urged Raven into a fast gallop. Ahmad was accustomed to the way she rode and managed to stay beside her.
They had been riding for at least half an hour and were far into the desert when Christina spied four men on horseback coming swiftly toward them. They had come from nowhere, it seemed, and were soon upon them.
Christina slowed Raven and turned to see Ahmad raising his rifle. But before he had time to pull the trigger, a shot rang through the air, and Christina felt sick as Ahmad fell slowly from his horse, blood oozing from his chest.
"Oh, God—no!" she screamed, but Ahmad lay motionless on the hot sand.
Immediately Christina turned Raven and whipped him into a gallop. She wanted to go to Ahmad, but she had to think of herself now. She could hear her pursuers closing in behind her. An arm went around her waist, yanked her from her horse, and threw her across another one. She struggled fiercely and was rewarded when she fell off backward onto the hard sand.
The man who had grabbed her got off his horse and slowly approached Christina. He had an angry, ferocious look on his bearded face.
Christina's heart beat painfully as she scrambled to her feet and started to run, but before she had got ten feet away, the man had swung her around and slapped her brutally across her face, knocking her down. He lifted her up halfway by the front of her robe and hit her two more times, then dropped her as if she were dirt. She was crying hysterically as she turned over on the sand so he couldn't hit her any more.
Vaguely, Christina could hear voices quarreling, but they sounded so far away. She felt dazed, and for a moment she didn't even know where she was or why she was crying. It all came back to her painfully when she cautiously raised her head and saw Ahmad's lifeless body lying some distance away from her.
Oh, God, why did they have to kill him? she thought miserably. A few yards away from her three of the men still sat on horseback, one of them talking harshly to the man who had beaten her.
Amair Abdalla dismounted and walked over to the woman lying on the sand. He felt pity when he turned her over and saw her face, already discolored and swelling. He had been told this woman was a beauty, but now her face was dirty from the sand, with clear streaks running down her cheeks from her tears.
That bastard Cassim! It had happened so fast that Amair had been unable to stop him. They were in a hurry, or he would punish the beast now. Cassim had always been a cruel man. His wife had nearly died twice from his cruelty and beatings.
Sheik Ali Hejaz would not take kindly to the beating of this woman. Christina Wakefield was important to Sheik Ah" in more ways than one, and he had given strict orders that she was not to be harmed.
Cassim would be taken care of when they returned to camp—and he knew it. But now they must hurry. The plan did not call for a confrontation on Sheik Abu's home ground, and Amair didn't want to have a run-in with the big man. It would mean sure death.