The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (40 page)

The sheikh gestured to the man positioned behind Jillian, who yanked up his trousers. The other man released her.

Mahjub's hungry gaze caressed Graham. He gestured to the ground. Graham understood. His trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons of his hmisb.

"Go," he said harshly to Jillian, who scrambled to her feet. "Find Solomon. Ride hard and fast to the east to find the Khamsin. And don't look back."

Jillian watched in dumbstruck horror as her husband began to undress. The thin, tall sheikh watched Graham intently, his breath quickening, an odd look in his dark eyes.

Oh God. Suddenly she understood why the sheikh had never raped her. And Graham now offered himself to spare her.

Bile rose in her throat. And she knew then how deeply he loved her. Actions spoke louder than words.

I won't let him do this to you, Graham,
she thought fiercely.
Together we can defeat them.
She remembered the men's fear when they saw her naked body and the red curls covering her sex. One had used the Arabic word for fire, and she knew they were afraid to rape her. Afraid... they would be consumed because she was a jinn? Sudden inspiration struck.

"Go, Jilly," Graham ordered, his voice thick. "I told you to go. Run as fast as you can."

"No," she said in English, "I won't let him do this. At worst we will die together. Graham, remember when you told me how you defeated your Egyptian captor when he was distracted? We can do the same."

Understanding flashed in his eyes.

"Take off your trousers, my love. You will need your legs and arms free," she said softly.

He did so. "When you say now," Graham agreed. He dropped to his hands and knees.

Jillian tore off her turban, shook free her red-gold hair and removed her clothing. She stood before the men fully nude. She screamed the English word. "Now!" Then she made a shrieking sound like that of a desert spirit.

One of the Bedouin glanced at her in terror. "Al-Haiira," he screamed. "Jinn!"

All three stared.

With lightning speed, Graham kicked out, catching the man on his right behind the calves. The raider toppled. Next he lunged upwards, grabbing the man's scimitar. In one expert stroke the man fell silent, scarlet gushing from him. Graham struck the Bedouin on his left, killing him, too.

Alone now, the sheikh stared at Jillian's enraged, naked husband, scimitar in hand. Bloodlust shone in Graham's eyes. Terror shone in the sheikh's. He had made a grave mistake.

The sheikh yanked up his trousers, turned and ran. Graham gave chase. In a minute he was upon him, his sword glinting in the sun.

The sheikh's high shriek was suddenly cut off. Savage, angry grunts issued from her furious husband. Jillian cried out as he continued to strike. Again. Again. Again. Dark blood flowed into the sands, a sluggish stream.

"Graham, stop it Stop it! He's dead. He's dead!"

Panting, Graham lowered the reddened scimitar. Blood had spattered his naked body. He dropped the sword, put a hand to his head.

"It's over, my love," Jillian said softly. "He won't hurt you. No one will, ever again. Come to me."

She held out her arms and he embraced her in a crushing hug. Warmth trickled onto her naked shoulder. Jillian cried out in alarm.

"Your head is bleeding."

She ran to her nearby rucksack, grabbed a towel and ran back. Her shaking fingers held the cloth over Graham's wound.

He said, "We've lost camels, and I don't know how badly they hurt Solomon. We have to find him." He winced at her gentle touch.

She anxiously examined the laceration. "The bleeding's slowed, but I'll have to clean it."

He studied her. "We should put some clothing on first."

Flustered, she glanced at him, feeling horribly shaken. "Oh, Graham, he would have... You were going to let him..."

His mouth tightened. Then he glanced down and smiled. "I wouldn't advise walking naked through the desert. There are some parts of me that wouldn't do well with a sunburn."

Tremendous love for her husband rushed through Jillian, feeling like warm sunshine after a dark, dreary night. He jested after nearly suffering his worst possible nightmare? All for her.

And then she realized the deep inner strength of this man she'd married. This man who truly did love her. Enough to sacrifice himself for her.

Jillian struggled for words. Her mouth worked. Graham touched her cheek.

"Don't say anything. All I ask is for you to give me another chance, Jilly. I love you. I'd die for you."

"Or worse," she whispered.

He nodded. "Or worse."

A somber look covered his face. "Thank you, Jilly. Thank you for saving me. In more ways than one. Do you remember when we saw the pyramid in Giza?" At her shaky nod, he continued. "I told you it represented new life for the pharaohs, and you were just like the pyramid. New life, for me. Your strength gives me strength." Jillian grasped his hand, the momentary rush fleeing her, leaving behind shaky disbelief. She shuddered as she glanced at the Bedouin bodies. "What will you do with them?"

"Leave them for the jackals," he said roughly. "And the desert wind. We need to keep moving if we want to live. We have little water and I don't intend to die out here."

Chapter Twenty-five

At noon two days later, Graham collapsed. Jillian screamed. She slid off her mount and ran to his side. Her husband lay on the sand, prone. He raised his head and moaned.

"My head, it hurts."

She gently examined the healing purplish bruise on his head. The blow must have injured him more than she'd realized.

"Graham," she called. "Graham!"

A deep groan rumbled from his throat. "Must... find help. I think we're lost."

They had recovered two of the Bedouins' camels and a weakened Solomon, who had suffered a gash to his hind leg and limped. The other camels had run off. Graham had not expended precious energy running after them. Now Jillian wished he had. Yesterday one of their two camels had collapsed and died. The other was weakening fast. The iron water tanks were empty, their contents spilled onto the sand.

Graham promised they could make it. But as time wore on, Jillian had begun to wonder. The trail he followed meandered, plus the sun's position seemed wrong. But what did she, an Englishwoman, know of desert travel and following camel tracks in the sand? He was an experienced desert traveler, and, doubting herself, she had said nothing. Now she sorely regretted not speaking her mind.

Jillian glanced up. All she could see was a wide horizon of burning white sand. Disoriented from his injury, Graham had surely miscalculated their route and gotten them lost. Lost in the desert, with only half a goatskin of water.

Katherine's advice came back to haunt her. "If you're struck in the heat and later have a headache and disorientation, stop and rest. It could take three to five days to clear."

Three days of rest when they barely had two days' worth of water? Jillian acted quickly. She unfurled a blanket on the hot sand and rolled Graham onto it. Next she erected a small tent to shade him from the broiling sun. She touched his cheek, feeling the skin hot beneath her fingers.

Rescue was on the way. Surely the Khamsin could find them. The Bedouin could track a camel in a sandstorm. But they were running out of water. By the time their rescuers arrived, she and Graham could be dead. She knew what she must do.

She had to leave him, had to go alone and find her way back to the main trail of Darb Asylt and leave a sign for their rescuers to follow. Jillian thought frantically. The raiders had stolen her compass when she was first captured. She sucked in a breath. Jabari and Ramses had taught her how to find her way in the desert. Her sense of direction was excellent. She must finally believe in herself. No choice left. Stay here and die of dehydration, or try to find the caravan route and leave a sign for the Khamsin.

All around her lay open terrain. No landmarks. They had wandered south, but she wasn't sure which direction to head. If she could find her way north, Jillian felt confident she could find the caravan trail. But which way was north?

She remembered what Ramses had explained. With a twinkle in his amber eyes, he had said, "Jillian, my friend tends to get lost. He has the sense of direction of a blind camel. I'm entrusting you to show him the way, should this happen."

Then the Khamsin warrior had proceeded to show her how to figure out direction by using the sun.

Recalling his words, Jillian fetched the camel crop and spade and dug a small hole. She plunged the crop into the hole. The long pole made a distinctive shadow on the rough ground. She marked the spot with one of the wood matches. This was west.

Next she fished a hair ribbon from her rucksack and tied it to the crop's bottom, and drew in the sand with Graham's blade a circle exactly the radius of the shadow the pole cast on the ground. Jillian retrieved one of the wooden matches and marked the spot on the circle of the shadow. Consulting the little watch pinned to her robe, she waited fifteen minutes.

Jillian checked the shadow and marked the new position. Then she drew a straight line between the two marks. East-west. Standing, she positioned the west mark to her left. West to her left, north to her front. Her eyes scanned the horizon, looking for markers. A distant clump of rock hovered ahead to the northeast. Of course. The route.

Hesitating, she glanced at the resting camel. Weakened from blood loss, Solomon might die if she took him with her. If she left him here, as a last resort for Graham, for life... The thought was too terrible to bear.

Gulping back tears, she gave the camel a reassuring pat and went to her rucksack. She scribbled a note on the back of the map tracing, and tucked it beneath Graham's sleeping body. Then Jillian emerged from the tiny, makeshift tent. Squinting at the burning sun, she wrapped the emerald scarf about her face, leaving only a slit for her eyes. She took one quarter of the water, leaving the rest for Graham, kissed his cheek and mounted the last Bedouin camel.

Ramses had told her a man could live without food for weeks, without water for only three days. With dogged determination, her throat parched and dry, she pushed on. Jillian rationed the water she'd brought with her, taking only sips. She navigated at night by studying the stars as Jabari had taught her.

Late the second day, she came upon the unmistakable signs of camel tracks leading in an east-west direction. The caravan route. She slid off the camel, licked her parched lips and began piling stones into a cairn, forming an arrow pointing in the direction she had come. Her bones ached and her throat cried out for water. When she finished, despair flooded her. How would the men know it was them? She needed another marker. Her scarf.

Jillian tore off the emerald garment. It hung from her fingers, fluttering in the wind like a flag.

Her scarf, the one Graham had purchased in the souk in Cairo. "Green as the quiet grasses in an oasis, quiet pools of refreshment." He had given a self-mocking grin at his poetry. He had told her she should always wear jewel colors to complement her spirited nature. "You're not gray, Jilly. You're flame, the energy of roaring fire. You're verdant grasses. You're the deep blue of a turbulent ocean. But you're not the gray of silence anymore."

Emotion clogged her throat. She unwound the scarf and secured it to the stones, praying the Khamsin riders would see it before the desert wind carried it off and left only their bones bleaching under the sun's relentless lash. The endless wind slapped it like a Bedouin woman pounding dust from a rug. Would frayed tendrils remain a month from now, if no one came and she and Graham died out here?

The thought was too horrible to bear. Jillian fisted away sudden tears springing to her eyes. She blamed the wind and sun, and began the journey back to her husband. When the Bedouin's camel collapsed, Jillian struggled on alone, staggering back to Graham while the sun beat mercilessly down upon her.

* * *

Sick with worry, Graham scanned the horizon. The note Jillian left increased his anxiety. While he had slept, she'd been trying to find the caravan route to leave a marker.

He saddled Solomon and urged the beast on, groggily following her tracks. He wanted to race after her, but prudence checked him. Solomon was severely weak and limped. His wife's tracks in the sand were difficult to follow, and if he lost his head, he'd be wandering in circles, never finding her.