Johanna Lindsey - Captive Bride

"Yes."

After looking once more around the main room, she left it quickly. Christina stopped in front of Amine's tent and called her. A few moments later, Amine came outside, and Christina started crying again.

"What is wrong?" Amine asked as she rushed to her friend's side.

Christina took Amine's hand and placed the looking glass in it.

"I want to give this to you. Remember that I love you as a sister. I am leaving, and I came to say good-bye."

"Where do you go? You will be back soon?" Amine asked, but she had already guessed that she would never see her friend again.

"I'm going back to my brother, and I won't be coming back. I'll miss you, Amine. You have been a true friend."

"But why, Christina?"

"It doesn't matter. I just can't stay here any longer. Tell Syed and his brothers good-bye, and tell them I wish them well. Kiss little Syed and the baby for me. I would cry too much if I kissed them myself." She smiled weakly at Amine and then put her arms around her. "I will think of you often. Good-bye."

Christina ran to the corral where Rashid had the horses ready. He helped her mount Raven, and they rode out of camp together. When they were a little way down the hillside, Christina stopped and looked back at the camp. Through tear-filled eyes she saw Amine standing at the top of the hill, waving her hand with the mirror in it.

With a last glance behind her, Christina dug her heels into Raven's sides and urged him into a suicidal pace. Rashid called out behind her, but she didn't stop. She wanted to die. She felt she had nothing left to live for. If she died on Philip's mountain, he might feel guilty for the rest of his life. But why should she let him know she couldn't live without him? It wasn't his fault that he no longer wanted her. And she did still love him. She hoped he'd be happy with Nura if that was what he wanted.

Christina slowed Raven to a steady pace. She'd think of some other way to end her life. But she'd wait so Philip wouldn't find out about it. She thought of Margiana and how she had killed herself because of Yasir. Christina truly understood now the anguish and suffering a woman could feel.

The heat of the desert closed in, but Christina was oblivious to it. Her mind was so filled with misery that she felt nothing. She couldn't understand why this was happening to her.

Night approached and passed, and the sun came again, but Christina could find no peace.

Questions tormented her. She raked her mind to find the answers, but there were none. Why—why didn't he want her anymore? She was still the same person she had been four months ago. Her appearance was the same—only her feelings had changed. Why had Philip done this to her?

Was it because she had given in to him? Had he cast her aside because there was no longer a challenge? But that wouldn't be fair—besides, that couldn't be the reason, or he would have sent her away a month ago.

And what about this last month? It had been so beautiful—so wonderful and perfect in every way. Philip had seemed happy and content, just as she was. He had spent more time with her. He had taken her riding each day. He had spoken to her about his past, had opened up and given more of himself to her. So why was she here now? Why had Philip changed? Why? Why?

The questions would not let her sleep. She lay awake during the heat of the day while they rested, and thought, and thought, but could find no peace. She took the bread and water that Rashid offered and ate mechanically, but her mind kept working—turning everything over and over —trying desperately to find a solution. Dusk always came again, and they rode on.

DAMN, but it's going to be another sticky day, John Wakefleld thought irritably as he sat at his desk sorting out the morning's correspondence. It was winter. It wasn't as hot as when he'd first come to this horrible land, but the days had been warm and humid this last week without rain. The bloody weather was getting under his skin.

At least he could look forward to seeing Kareen Hen-dricks tonight Sweet, lovely Kareen. John thanked his lucky stars he had let William Dawson drag him to the Opera House last week, otherwise he wouldn't have met Kareen.

A cold chill swept over John when he thought of the hell he had lived through during his first three months in Egypt. But everything had changed when he received Crissy's letter—including his luck.

The pounding on John's door broke into his wandering thoughts.

"What is it?" John snapped.

The door opened, and Sergeant Towneson walked into the sweatbox that was John's office. He was a portly man about twice John's age, with curly red hair and a bushy moustache of the same bright red.

"There's an Arab outside who wishes to see you, lieutenant. He said it's a matter of importance," Sergeant Towneson said.

"Isn't that what they all say, Sergeant? I understand we're here to keep the peace, but isn't there someone else these people can go to with their petty quarrels?"

"There ought to be, sir. These darn people don't realize that we're here basically to keep Frenchy out. Should I send this one in?"

"I suppose so, Sergeant. Damn—I'll be glad when I can get out of this country."

"My sentiments exactly, sir," Sergeant Towneson said, and left to summon the Arab.

A moment later, John heard the door quietly close, and looked up to see an unusually tall Arab striding toward his desk. The young man was the tallest Arab that John had ever seen, even taller than his own six feet.

"You are John Wakefleld?" the young man asked as he stood proudly in front of John's desk.

"Lieutenant Wakefield," John corrected him. "May I ask your name?"

"My name does not matter. I have come for the reward you have promised for the return of your sister."

Not another one, John thought miserably. How many more of these money-grabbing opportunists and thieves was he going to have to put up with? He had lost count of the many people who had come to him hoping to gain the reward with false information. Most of them backed down when John told them he must verify their information first He had gone on many wild hunts through the city and desert, all of them fruitless.

Even though he had received Crissy's lettter from a young Arab who'd just handed it to him and run off, he still had not given up looking for her. He wanted to believe that she was happy where she was, but he had to find out for certain. After all, it could have been a lie. She could have been forced to write that letter. He would dearly love to get his hands on the man who had abducted Crissy, and who kept her as his mistress instead of marrying her. John would force the cad to marry herl

"Do you not want your sister back?"

"I'm sorry," John said. "I was lost in thought Do you know where my sister is?"

"Yes."

"And you can take me to her?"

"Yes."

This man was different. He didn't hesitate with his answers as the others had. John saw a glimmer of hope.

"How do I know you're telling me the truth? I've been tricked many times."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How do I know you will give me the money after I take you to your sister?"

"A good question," John said grimly. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and lifted out a small, heavy sack. "I've had this money ready and waiting ever since Christina was abducted. You may count it if you wish, but the total sum I promised is here, and it's yours if you're telling the truth. The money doesn't matter to me. I just want Christina back." John paused a moment, studying this young man. "Tell me—how do you know where my sister is?"

"She has been living in my camp."

John stood up so fast that his chair fell over behind him. "Are you the man who took her?"

"No," the young man replied simply, not wavering under the stormy blue eyes that glared at him.

John calmed down when he saw that he would not have to do battle.

"How far is it to your camp?"

"We will not have to travel to my camp."

"Well, then—"

"Your sister is outside."

"Outside!"

"We have traveled many days. She is asleep on her horse. You can see her from your window."

John rushed to the window overlooking the street. After a moment, he turned back to the Arab with anger showing on his tanned face.

"You lied! There's no one out there except an Arab boy leaning over a horse. What did you expect to gain by this trick?"

"Ah—you English are so skeptical. Did you expect your sister to be dressed as was her custom? She has been living with my people and has dressed as they do. If you will go outside, you will see the truth of my words," the Arab replied, then turned on his heel and left the room.

It was too simple to be a trick, John thought. All he had to do was walk outside and see for himself. Why was he still standing here? John picked up the sack of money and followed the Arab outside. It had to be true.

Outside in the sun-baked street, John ran to the two horses tethered in front of the building. He stopped beside the silky black Arabian with the dusty, black-robed figure on its back. If this was another trick, he was afraid he might tear the young Arab standing beside him limb from limb.

If this was Crissy, all he had to do was lift the black kufiyah covering her face, and find out. It was that simple.

Just then the horse moved, and the sleeping figure slowly started to fall. John caught her in his arms. As he did so, the kufiyah fell back to reveal a dirty, tear-streaked face that he would have recognized anywhere.

"Crissy! Oh, God—Crissy!"

Christina opened her eyes for a moment and whispered John's name, then sagged against him, her head nestling against his shoulder.

"As I said, she has gone two days and nights without rest. All she needs is sleep."

John turned to look at the young man who had brought his sister back to him.

"I owe you an apology for doubting you. I am eternally grateful for what you have done. If you will take the money from my hand, it's yours."

"I am more than happy that I could do this service for you. I will go now, but when Christina wakes, tell her I wish her well."

He took the reins of the black horse, mounted his own, and rode off down the street.

John looked down at Christina sleeping peacefully in his arms. Thank God, he thought. Please help me make it up to Christina for what she has suffered.

John carried Christina inside. He sat down in the chair across from Sergeant Towneson's desk, still holding Christina tenderly.

"Lieutenant! Did she faint in the street? You had better set her down, sir. The dust on her robe is dirtying your uniform."

"Stop your babbling, Sergeant. I will do no such thing. But I will tell you what you are going to do. First, have my carriage brought around to the front. Then you can inform Colonel Bigley I'm leaving for the day."

"Leaving? But what if the colonel asks why?"

'Tell him I've found my sister and I'm taking her to my quarters. Do you think you can manage that, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir. But you don't mean to say that this girl here is your sister?" The sergeant was sorry he'd asked when he saw the cold glint in Lieutenant Wakefield's eyes.

"You will have my carriage brought around at once, Sergeant. That's an order!"

It was nearing noon when John reached home. He managed to get the door to his apartment open without disturbing Christina, but as he headed for the spare bedroom, Mrs. Greene, his housekeeper, stopped him.

"What on earth are you doing home in the middle of the day, John Wakefield? And what have you there?" she asked disapprovingly.

"This is my sister."

"Your sister?" Mrs. Greene was shocked. "You mean this is the little girl you've been searching for high and low? Well, why didn't you say so? Don't just stand there, take your sister into the bedroom."

"That was where I was going until you stopped me, Mrs. Greene," John said. He walked into the room that contained all of Christina's possessions, and laid her gently on the bed.

"Is she hurt—how did you find her?"

"She just needs to sleep, that's all," John said. He looked down lovingly at Christina. "Perhaps you could take off her outer robe so she will be more comfortable, but try not to wake her."