SILK AND SECRETS (16 page)

But Ross would bear it because he had to; he had always been excellent at doing his duty, and at accepting the inevitable.

Deliberately he set out to calm his unquiet mind, using techniques he had learned at a Buddhist monastary in India. Muscle by muscle, he relaxed, at the same time slowing his breathing. He forced himself to concentrate on the feel of air as it flowed into his lungs, then drifted out again. In, out. In, out. His ribs expanding, then contracting. This, too, shall pass. It was not his maddening, beautiful, infinitely desirable wife lying less than an arm’s length away, but a rude young Targui named Jalal…

It would have been easier to convince himself that fish could fly.

Huddled in her blanket against the wall, it took Juliet a long time to fall asleep. She was a light sleeper at the best of times, and with Ross only an arm’s length away, her nerves were strung as tightly as a drumhead. Finally her weary body succumbed to fatigue, but at first her dreams were troubling ones of panicky flight and wrenching loss.

Yet sometime in the night, her distress eased. As she drifted into the hazy early-morning state that lies between waking and sleeping, she was just conscious enough to know that she was at peace. It was such a warm, comfortable feeling that she was reluctant to make the transition to full wakefulness.

Though it was still dark, she knew that it must be almost time to rise. Still, she let herself savor her lazy contentment, knowing that the least sound or movement would jerk her out of her golden mist. A gentle, rhythmic pulsing filled her awareness, like the touch and sound of a heartbeat…

Bloody hell!
Abruptly she snapped awake, feeling such a profound sense of shock that it was all she could do not to fling her body backward. For she was twined in Ross’s embrace. He lay on his side, his arms loosely linked around her, while her left arm circled his waist, her unveiled face pressed against his broad chest, and her left knee tucked between his legs.

The fact that they were both swathed in layers of heavy fabric made little difference, for the impact such closeness had on Juliet’s disordered senses could not have been much greater if they had been naked. Every fiber in her body vibrated with a reaction that was part physical yearning, part something deeper and more disturbing.

Shaking, she exhaled carefully, terrified of waking Ross. Thank God he had always been a sound sleeper. His breathing was deep and steady and he was obviously unaware that during the night they had drawn together like the opposite poles of a magnet. They had always slept intertwined like this, unconsciously adjusting and moving in harmony so that they were in constant contact. Last night, when their minds submerged in sleep, their bodies had immediately reverted to what had been so natural a dozen years ago.

It would have been rather amusing if it weren’t so profoundly upsetting. Exercising exquisite caution, Juliet backed out of Ross’s embrace. Yet she paused before completing her withdrawal. For the first time since they had met at Serevan, she had the luxury of studying him at leisure.

In the faint predawn light his strongly sculpted features had a mesmerizing masculine beauty. He really was the handsomest man she had ever met, even unkempt and with a hint of beard shadowing his jaw. In some subtle, undefinable way the years had planed down his face so that he looked harder and more formidable than he had at twenty-one. Yet still visible was that basic quality of decency that she had always loved in him. She had had so much, and had thrown it all away.

On impulse she leaned forward and kissed the hollow where his jaw intersected his throat, so lightly that her touch could not possibly disturb him. A prickle of whiskers teased her lips, and a faint taste of salt lingered as she drew back.

The kiss was a mistake, for in spite of her care, Ross’s breathing changed. Worse, she felt a stirring of arousal against her hip, which was still pressed against him. Making slow, languid love in the early morning had always been one of the very best times…

Savagely she bit her lower lip to counter the sensual warmth unfurling deep inside of her. With more speed than caution, she finished the job of disentangling herself from her husband, then promptly rolled over so that she faced the wall. Behind her, Ross sighed and shifted position, still asleep. Thank God for small blessings.

Juliet wrapped the veil back over her face, then settled down to await the dawn call to prayers. Yet even pulling the blanket tightly around her, like armor, could not restore the loss of Ross’s warmth.

Despairingly she wondered why the devil life had to be so complicated.

Traveling through endless, trackless desert induced a state of near-meditative blankness that the Arabs called kif. Ross recognized and welcomed it, for kif was the mind’s way of dealing with the great void. Still, one could not stay mindless forever. It was late afternoon and they would stop soon, so he yawned, then slid from the saddle and began walking beside his placid camel. Trailing behind on a lead was one of the two pack beasts.

Four days into the desert crossing, the caravan had settled into a regular routine. During the summer, travelers would set out in late afternoon and continue through the night to avoid the killing heat, but since it was now springtime and temperatures were moderate, they rose before dawn and stopped around sunset. Most men performed their prayers as they rode, as the Koran allowed travelers to do, though some of the most devout stopped to pray, then caught up with the caravan later.

It was necessary to keep moving for twelve to fourteen hours every day, for camels ambled along at the leisurely pace of about two miles per hour. The beasts foraged continuously; although most Europeans thought of a caravan as a sinuous line snaking across the desert, in fact the camels spread out so they could snatch whatever scant mouthfuls of shrubbery were available.

Ross knew dispersion was necessary so the camels could find enough to eat, but the practice made his neck prickle. If Turkoman bandits struck, it would be almost impossible for the caravan to defend itself; the raiders would be able to pick and choose their victims. Apart from the modern rifles he and Juliet carried, the only other weapons in the caravan were knives, swords, and a handful of ancient matchlock muskets.

However, so far there had been no sign of trouble, at least not from raiders. The weather was another story; the second day out from Sarakhs, they had awoken to a mixture of fog and dust so dense that it was impossible to find landmarks, so the caravan had wandered off the regular route and been lost for hours.

Eventually the sky had cleared and the guide had gotten them back on track again. Then the next morning they awoke to find the encampment covered with several inches of snow, which was unusual so late in the season and which delayed their departure.

Ross grinned. Lord, the camels had hated the snow, complaining with raucous bitterness when they were forced to rise and begin the day’s trek. But then, camels complained about everything. Guiltily he gave Julietta a pat on her shaggy neck. She turned and gave him a benevolent glance; she really was sweet-natured, for a camel.

Ross glanced around in one of his periodic checks on his companions. He and Juliet each had two camels in charge, one for riding and one pack animal. Since the pace was so slow, they alternated riding and walking as the spirit moved them.

The fifth camel had been equipped with panniers, a pair of deep riding baskets that hung on each side of the animal. Saleh rode in one, balanced on the other side by Murad. Since neither of the men was an expert camel rider, it had seemed wiser to keep them together; if the beast bolted and one man was unable to control it, perhaps the other one would be more successful. But so far the docile female that carried them had caused no trouble.

Ross next looked at Juliet, who was about a hundred yards away and slightly ahead of him. She walked like a desert prince, long black robes swinging around her long strides and her face completely obscured by her tagelmoust. She was perfect in her role as Jalal; apart from a surly Uzbek camel driver who occasionally heckled her, no one had shown more than a mild interest in the uncommunicative Targui. Certainly no one suspected that she was female and a ferengi. Juliet had proved to be a surprisingly good servant; he suspected that there was a hint of mocking humor in her deference, as if to show that she could take orders when necessary.

His gaze lingered thoughtfully on his wife. There was no question that the most interesting thing that had happened so far had been that night in the caravansary. He had learned to sleep lightly when traveling in dangerous lands, and the hesitant touch on his shoulder had shocked him to instant wakefulness. But to his bemusement, he found not danger but Juliet, who had inched over and was sliding her arm around his neck. When he had turned toward her, she settled her sleeping self against him with a soft sigh of contentment that made him ache with memories.

Relaxing, Ross had put his arms around her and allowed himself to pretend that the last dozen years were a bad dream and that he and his wife were slumbering peacefully in their own bed at Chapelgate. He had refused to go back to sleep, for her closeness was an unexpected gift and he intended to enjoy it for as long as possible.

Through the lovely, drowsy night hours, he did his best to suppress desire, though not with complete success. He could not help wondering what would happen if he kissed her… or caressed her breast… or touched her more intimately. How would she respond, and how long would it be before she awoke? But he had not tried to find out, for he would be a fool to throw away what he had by trying for more.

When Juliet did waken, she went rigid in his arms, and her appalled reaction persuaded Ross that it would be the better part of wisdom to pretend that he still slept. Her gentle, almost affectionate kiss had nearly startled him into betraying himself, but fortunately he had been able to convince her that he was dead to the world. He did not regret his dishonesty, for it would have been vastly embarrassing for both of them to admit what had happened, and the situation was difficult enough already.

Regrettably, there had been no recurrence of the episode; on each of the succeeding nights, Juliet had taken care to sleep a little apart from the three men, and always closest to Saleh. Ross wondered what, if anything, the incident had meant. Perhaps she missed a lover left behind in Serevan and had turned to Ross because he was a convenient warm male body, though he found the thought an unpalatable one. Or perhaps her behavior was just another sign that the bonds of marriage were not easily sundered. Strange how no amount of conscious will seemed capable of severing the subtle connections between them.

Or the not-so-subtle ones. Being so close to Juliet was keeping Ross in a constant, simmering state of sexual tension, even though they had not spoken privately since the night outside Sarakhs. He had thought that the fact that she was virtually invisible would make things easier, but no such luck; imagination easily overcame the barrier of her shapeless, enveloping clothing. In fact, there was something ragingly erotic about knowing precisely what was concealed under those dark robes. Whenever he looked at her, he had a vivid mental image of her slim, supple body, her glorious long legs, the fall of flaming hair over pale, silken skin…

Sharply he turned away, for thinking along those lines would make him a mental and physical wreck in no time.

A few minutes later the caravan leader, Abdul Wahab, came trotting up to Ross. The kafila-bashi rode one of the tough, wiry little desert horses, and during the day he circulated steadily among his charges, checking to see that all was well and lending aid where necessary. As he approached Ross, he called out, “Salaam Aleikum, Khilburn.”

Ross smiled and returned the greeting. “And peace be upon you. Will we make camp for the night soon?”

“Not for a while yet.” The kafila-bashi frowned. “Wandering lost for most of a day was unfortunate, for now the water supply is dangerously low for many members of the caravan. I think it best to push on late tonight, for I will not be easy in my mind until we reach the well of Karagosh.”

Ross gestured toward the northern horizon, where dark storm clouds were visible in the distance. “It might rain soon.”

The other man contemplated the clouds, then shook his head. “It is raining there, but I think we will not be so lucky. Though perhaps God in his mercy will prove me wrong.” Lifting a hand in farewell, he trotted off to check on the next knot of travelers.

Ross understood Abdul Wahab’s concern, for the single most important duty of a caravan leader was assuring that there was enough water. However, Ross himself was not over worried; the water supply might be low, but the mild spring temperatures made the shortage less critical than it would have been during the summer. Even if they did not reach the well tonight, the situation was not yet grave.

Distant flashes of lightning and an occasional rumble of thunder came from the north, but as the kafila-bashi had predicted, the storm did not move in their direction. Since they would not stop for several hours more, Ross dug dried dates from the supply on his pack camel and gave a handful to each of his three companions. As he withdrew to a safe distance from Juliet, he noted how much better she had gotten at eating without removing her veil. Even another Targui would not suspect her identity now.

They were traveling through a region of low sandy hills that were home only to lizards and occasional scrubby tufts of grass. Once they passed an outcropping of rock, and a rude gerbil stuck its head out of its burrow and chattered at Ross. The scene was a peaceful one, with no hint of danger. The loudest sound was the faint tinkle of the bridle bells on the lead camel.

The hills became rougher, channeling the caravan into a more compact group as they followed a ravine that sloped downward. Eventually the track leveled out when it intersected one of the dry riverbeds called wadis. Ross saw that Abdul Wahab had stationed his horse on the far bank and that the kafila-bashi was frowning as he glanced first at the storm clouds in the distance, then at where the wadi curved out of sight a couple of hundred yards away. Turning to the caravan, Abdul Wahab raised his voice in an exhortation to hurry.