Held him to her, to the kiss. Anchored him within the whirlpool of passion they’d unleashed.

His hands slid over her, learning, needing to know, wanting to possess.

That she was with him was never in doubt. Her lips were as hungry as his, her mouth as demanding. She pressed herself to him, flagrantly imprinting her flesh on his, the giving tautness of her belly impressing itself against his aching erection.

No invitation had ever been so explicit.

Then she made it more so.

She reached between them, and touched, stroked.

He shuddered-and couldn’t recall ever shuddering in quite that way at any woman’s touch before.

Her touch…he craved it. Craved her in a way that shocked even him.

Filling both hands with the lush promise of her bottom, he lifted her against him, shifted his hips evocatively, provocatively, and sensed her aroused gasp.

Holding her there in one arm, locked helplessly against him, he sank his free hand into her hair, palmed her skull, and kissed her-voraciously.

He tensed to turn, to press her back against something solid…

There wasn’t anything solid around.

“The night air is fresh and cool, don’t you think?”

The words, uttered in Anya’s calm voice, hauled them both from the kiss.

Lifting their heads, they stared, first at each other, then out along the gap between the tents, toward the voice.

But there was no one there.

“Perhaps the miss is still walking around the tents-she might be on the the other side.”

“Katun,” Emily whispered. Licking her lips, swollen she was sure, she looked into Gareth’s face. “I have to go.”

He nodded.

He set her down, but the reluctance with which his hands released her told its own story-one that gladdened her heart.

She shook out her skirt, resettled her makeshift shawl. Looked up at him, then stretched up and brushed her lips across his. “Until next time.”

With that, she stepped out from between the tents, looked, and saw the two older women strolling slowly, their backs to her. Dragging in a breath, feeling her head clear, she set out in their wake.


They’d guessed, of course. Anya and the other older women eyed her with bright-eyed interest as they all settled in their customary sleeping positions around the large tent.

“That major-he is a handsome one.” Bersheba made the comment to the tent at large, but her eyes were on Emily, carefully folding her skirts and blouse before snuggling into her blankets.

Marila snorted. “He is courageous-that is more important. You heard the sheik-the major is a great warrior.”

Emily could feel Dorcas’s and Arnia’s gazes, equally intrigued, join the older women’s, all trained on her face.

“But men are men, great warriors or not,” Katun stated. “They need to have their…egos stroked. Frequently.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Anya said, “if after the battle today, in which he and my Ali-Jehan led our men to victory, the major was in need of a degree of stroking. Men, after all, are very predictable in their ways. They crave having their bravery acknowledged.”

“Especially by those they seek to protect,” Girla put in.

“Especially if those are also ones they seek to impress,” Katun stated. After a heartbeat, she added, “With their prowess.”

Emily wriggled into her blankets. “I daresay you’re right. Good night.”

She laid her head down, tugged the blankets over her shoulder, and prayed the dark had hidden her flaming cheeks. Older women, it seemed, were incorrigible the world over. What was rather more interesting was that male behavior seemed equally universal.

Seven

26th October, 1822

Early afternoon

Anya’s tent in our camp at a desert oasis

Dear Diary,

We arrived at the oasis just after noon. There’s a clear lake, somewhat larger than I expected. It must be spring fed, and is surrounded by palms and various plants that form a ribbon of greenery around its shore. There are two other caravans, both smaller than ours, also camping here, but there is more than enough lakeshore for all. I gather it is customary to spend a few days here, allowing both animals and humans to recoup before trudging out across the desert once more.

The respite is welcome. I swear I sway to Doha’s rhythm even when I am not in the saddle. Even more wonderful there’s water enough to bathe, something I intend to take full advantage of. Despite the tribulations, I must admit I have found living among the Berbers easier than I’d thought.

Likewise, it has, apparently, been easier than I’d expected to make up my mind about Gareth. Given my behavior last night-and I would behave the same given the same opportunity-I have to conclude that my mind has made itself up and is convinced beyond doubt that he is my “one”-the gentleman for me.

No matter that rationally I feel I should be cautious, with respect to him there is nothing of caution in me. After our interlude in Cathcart’s salon I felt sure I would need time to consider before taking the next step-that step which, once taken, cannot be undone-but no. As was made transparently clear to me-and to Gareth-last evening between the tents, I am ready and willing to lie with him.

Not that that is something that can occur while we travel with the caravan, but I had thought it would take more than watching him fight in my defense to convince me.

Apparently heart is not necessarily dependent on mind in this matter.

E.

When she emerged from Anya’s tent, Emily discovered that most of the men of their party had decamped, leaving only a small number on guard.

She paused beside Arnia and Dorcas, where they sat on rugs helping some of the other women prepare the evening meal. “Where are they?”

She didn’t need to specify who “they” were.

Arnia snorted, an eloquent sound. She didn’t look up as she replied, “The major sent scouts out. They returned to report there was another band of Berbers, of the same tribe that attacked us yesterday, camped a little way ahead, and they have more cultists with them.”

“Naturally,” Dorcas said, slicing a cleaned yam into a pottery bowl, “our men were all keen to turn the tables and attack the others before they can attack us.” She looked up at Emily. “That’s where they’ve gone.”

Emily frowned. “It’s almost like a game to them. A chess game, perhaps, but a game nonetheless.”

“Our men, their men.” Arnia shrugged. “All are warriors. They live to fight.”

“That is truth.” One of the Berber women nodded sagely. “Any fight is welcome to them, but they are happiest when they fight to defend us.” She, too, shrugged philosophically. “What would you? It is their role, so they are pleased to be useful.” With a gesture, she encompassed the circle of women happily preparing the meal. “As are we. We are not so different in that.”

Emily hadn’t thought of the matter in that light. After a moment, she nodded in acknowledgment, and moved on, strolling along the lake’s edge to where Anya and the older women-the dowagers-sat on rugs in the shade of a palm grove.

Anya waved her to join them. She sank down onto a rug next to Girla, whose fingers were busy knotting a fringe. Emily sat with her arms around her drawn-up knees. Resting her chin on them, she gazed out over the lake, gently rippling in the faint breeze, and let her mind wander.

After a time, Anya said, both voice and face serene, “If, as we must hope, our men return victorious, there will be celebrations again tonight.”

The other women nodded. Katun said, “They will expect it-it is their due, after all.”

That, Emily could understand, but…“Why is it that men seem to believe that protecting a woman somehow makes her…theirs?” She felt a blush heat her cheeks, but persisted. “They protect you, defend you from attack, and then growl and scowl if you do something they don’t like.” She glanced around the circle, saw no one laughing, not even smiling. All were listening, some nodding in understanding. “It’s almost as if once they’ve fought for you, they’ve won you-that after that they somehow, in some unspecified way, own you.”

Her heart may have made up her mind regarding Gareth, but she hadn’t forgotten his dog-in-the-manger behavior over Cathcart, something she’d been reminded of only a few hours before, when they’d arrived at the oasis and Gareth had once again transformed into a bear, dispersing the young Berber men who had gathered around eager to help her from Doha’s saddle.

She didn’t like being treated in such a patently possessive way.

Katun heaved a huge sigh. “It is the bane all women must bear.”

Anya’s lips lightly curved. “All women whose men are warriors, at least.” The others nodded. Anya’s old eyes met Emily’s. “It is the price one pays to have a warrior as your mate. He will protect and keep you safe, but in return…” Her smile widened. “They are, in truth, such oddly vulnerable creatures, at least where their women are concerned.”

“Their woman becomes their one true vulnerability,” Girla offered, “so as warriors to the core, of course they guard her most fiercely.”

“From anything and everything-real or imagined.”

The others laughed and nodded at Katun’s bald statement.

“It is truly said,” Anya concluded, “that the true value a warrior places on his woman is revealed by the depth of his…what is the word?”

“Possessiveness?” Emily suggested.

Anya pulled a face. “I was thinking of protection, but possession? That is true as well, I suppose. It is the other side of the coin, no?”

Emily thought, then nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Where one ends and the other begins…with warriors, the line is blurred.”


On top of a dune some miles from the oasis, Gareth, Ali-Jehan, and Mooktu passed Gareth’s spyglass among them as, on their bellies in the sand, they assessed the strength of the band of Berbers and cultists gathered in the dip below.

“There are many more of your cultists than I had expected to see.” Frowning, Ali-Jehan lowered the spyglass. “If they had such numbers, why did they not make a better show against us yesterday?”

Gareth had been wondering the same thing. There were significantly more cultists than tribesmen below. He took back the spyglass, again assessed the numbers. “In light of what we’re seeing, I suspect yesterday was a feint-a battle they never expected to win, but one to make us feel they pose no real threat. That’s why the other Berbers left so abruptly-they were committed only while the cultists were there to see. Once the cultists fell, they didn’t need to remain.”

“So it was by way of a charade, in the hope we would…what is the phrase, let down our guard?”

Gareth nodded.

“There’s too many of them,” Mooktu murmured. “And those cultists down there-most have the look of assassins.”

Gareth had noted the same worrying facts.

Ali-Jehan frowned. “We might be able to take them, yet…” He waggled one hand. “With my mother and the other women in the camp”-he looked at Gareth-“and your women as well, I would prefer not to engage this group. I know my cousins the El-Jiri, and they are fierce warriors. If you say those others are also very able, then…”

When Ali-Jehan unexpectedly fell silent, Gareth glanced at him. “Can we avoid them?”

Ali-Jehan met his eyes, pulled a face. “No. The El-Jiri know my routes well, and they know the area around here as well as I.” He looked down at the camp. “Nearby is a fine place for an attack.”

Gareth hesitated. He and Ali-Jehan had got on well from their first meeting. They were much of a kind, warriors in more or less civilian guise, responsible for a band of civilians who traveled with them. They were of similar age and, Gareth judged, not all that dissimilar in character. With that last in mind, he ventured, “Is there any way we can contact your cousins down there-some way that won’t alert the cultists?”

Ali-Jehan looked at him, then looked down at the camp, surveying the outer edges, the horse and camel lines. “Perhaps.” He turned back to Gareth. “Why?”

Gareth explained his thinking, his putative strategy. A smile slowly spread across Ali-Jehan’s face. At the end, he nodded. “This we will do.”

They scrambled back down the dune, then Ali-Jehan picked two men, two of his extended family, and carefully explained what he wanted them to do.

Gareth and Ali-Jehan resumed thir position on the dune, and watched, patient and still, while the two tribesmen successfully carried out their mission.

It was another hour before the leader of the El-Jiri Berbers walked into their midst. He and Ali-Jehan exchanged elaborate greetings at some length, then set formality aside and got down to business.