Call of the Trumpet (32 page)

She wanted him. Oh, God, how she wanted him! Raising upward in more of a spasm than a consciously controlled movement, she reached for him and tried to pull him over her body. But he resisted her, sitting upright himself, pulling her hips into his lap.

They came together then, his every nerve in tune with her writhing body. And together they rode the swelling, drowning sea of their desire.

The morning dawned in eerie silence. They were awakened simultaneously, the bright, unfiltered light of the sun stealing through the tent flap to pry their eyes from sleep.

Matthew was the first to move. Gently removing his arm from beneath Cecile’s head, he rose and pulled the flap aside. Sunlight streamed on the clear, pure air.

There was no need for words. He did not have to tell her it was time. Cecile rolled from the quilt and neatly folded it away. She dressed with her back to him, not with shyness, but in anguish. Their time together was done. Had she won him? Would he make her his only wife?

When she turned, she found him cloaked once more in his flowing white robe, dagger at his waist. They breakfasted on the remains of their dinner, still no word spoken. The silence was crushing. It was almost a relief to pack away the rest of their goods and strike the small tent.

The she-camel seemed no worse for her ordeal. During the night she must have wandered away to graze in the wind-lashed desert, and now she knelt complacently at her master’s command. It took only moments to repack the saddle.

Matthew hesitated, his hands still gripping the cinch. It seemed there should be words to say, emotions to express. But what? What could he say that he had not already whispered with the caress of his lips against her flesh? He had done all he could to win her. When they returned to camp, she would remain at his side, or she would not. With a solemn gesture, he beckoned her forward and helped her into the saddle.

The camel’s rolling motion was all too familiar. Matthew walked ahead, and she watched him as he plodded steadily onward, leading the camel through the newly sculpted dunes. The journey continued in silence, monotonously, and Cecile hardly noticed when Matthew halted and looked about as if lost, searching the sea of dunes for a landmark he might have missed. She was aware of nothing until the camel knelt, front legs first, and she was pitched sharply forward.

Matthew composed himself before he turned to her. He did not want her to be afraid. She would need every ounce of courage she possessed to sustain her during the trek that now lay before them.

For the wind and sand had done what he feared, and the well, the nomads’ tenuous, life-giving link to the underground sources of water, had been covered, rendered totally useless. Trying to hide his dismay, his fear for her life and safety, Matthew walked slowly back to her side.

Cecile experienced an emotion deeper than fear as she gazed into the depths of Matthew’s clear, blue eyes. No words had been spoken all morning, and none were needed now. She knew. And turned to look at the once-recognizable landscape.

The camp was gone.

T
HE SUN WAS LOW ON THE HORIZON.
A
NY MOMENT
now there would be nothing left of it but a glow in the west, soon to be swallowed by the onrushing night. When darkness had fallen and the night wind blew, it would be time to travel again.

Cecile crouched by the tent flap and resisted the temptation to lie back down at her lover’s side. If she did she might wake him, and waking, he would see the sun had set. Then they would strike the tent and pack the camel and set off in search of the camp. In a few days, if they had not found it, they would die.

Death. Cecile shuddered and turned her thoughts from herself to the people of the camp … Jali, Hagar, Ahmed, Aza … What emotions tormented them? Did they think, perhaps, that El Faris and Al Dhiba were already dead, victims of the
Shamal
‘s fury? Or did they think the two had simply disappeared together, abandoning them altogether?

No, that is not what they would think. Matthew would never abandon anyone. Nor would he succumb to the violent desert wind. Which was why someone, Ahmed probably, had left behind the water skin. Without the well to sustain them, the camp could not wait for its leader. But they knew he would have survived the storm, and that he would follow them.

So they had left the skin. With what they had already, there was enough for three, perhaps four days. Surely that was time enough to catch up with the caravan.

A faint stirring distracted Cecile’s attention, and she looked toward the she-camel. The animal was restless, no doubt sensing the time for their journey had arrived. The sun had disappeared, and twilight was fast fading. Reluctantly, Cecile reached to touch Matthew’s arm.

He came awake instantly. His senses were alert, his eyes focused, but his mind remained fuzzy. He looked up at Cecile, her long braids just brushing his chest, and remembered only how she had felt in his arms a few short hours ago. Her fragrance lingered in his nostrils. She smiled at him.

Memory returned in a rush, jarring him. The camp had been forced to move on in search of water. They were stranded in the heart of the mighty Sahara with only a skin of water and his knowledge of the desert to sustain them. Though his lore was considerable, so were the odds against them.

Matthew straightened his robes, wondering what, and how much, he should tell Cecile. He didn’t want to frighten her, but … “Dhiba,” he began. Then he looked at her and found he could not continue.

She was so beautiful. The gaze she turned on him was so serene, so full of trust. How could he tell her of the dangers they faced? What good would it do to mar what might be their last few days together?

Decision made, Matthew crouched and returned Cecile’s gentle smile. “You’re right, it’s time.” He let his fingers brush her cheek. “We must move swiftly tonight.”

His gaze lingered a moment, eyes filled with an expression Cecile did not recognize, though it filled her with warmth. She longed to kiss the fingertips that trailed along her jaw. Then, in one swift motion, the spell was broken, and he was gone, disappearing through the tent flap into the gathering dusk.

It didn’t take long to repack their few belongings. In minutes the camel had been readied. Matthew motioned for Cecile to mount, and as she did so, he wondered briefly if he should spare the animal and walk. But the
dahlul
was fresh, and the sand, not to mention the temperature, was still hot. He decided to conserve his own strength. While he could.

Cecile felt a melting thrill as Matthew mounted the saddle behind her. His chest pressed to her back, his legs nestled to hers. She closed her eyes and prayed for the uncomfortable pounding of her heart to cease.

“Are you all right?” Matthew breathed in her ear. “I apologize for the crowded conditions.”

“I’m fine.” Her eyes remained closed as the camel lurched forward and up, throwing Matthew even more tightly against her. Then they were on their way, moving at a rolling jog across the darkening sands.

For the first time, Matthew found he was glad of his
dahlul
‘s jerking, rhythmic gait. It forced him to concentrate and helped to lessen the sensuous pleasure he felt at the nearness of Cecile’s body. Pleasure was the last thing that should presently occupy his mind.

Out of habit, Matthew tuned his senses to the night wind. It blew softly, steadily, with no hint of storm behind it. Thank Allah. But things changed rapidly on the desert. What if the
Shamal
returned tomorrow, or the next day? What if the water holes on their route had been filled? Ahmed would leave signs of which direction the camp had gone in search of water, of that Matthew had no fear. His only fear was not catching up with them in time.

Time. It was running out.

But he would not think about it, not for awhile. For a time he would think of nothing but the trail he must carefully follow, and try to ignore the distracting, warm press of Cecile’s body against his.

Daylight approached. The sands lightened, taking on color. Any moment now the sun would burst upon the horizon, and the crest of the distant dunes would shimmer beneath its heat. It was time to stop and take shelter. And pray that while they slept, the wind remained quiet. As gently as the night breeze had blown, it had still eroded the tracks he followed, and as yet he had not seen a sign that Ahmed might have left.

Cecile did not realize she had been dozing until the camel lurched to its knees. When she saw the glow of the sun to the east, she was surprised morning had come so quickly. It seemed mere minutes ago she had allowed her tired eyes to close. When had Matthew slipped from the saddle? From the look of him, he had walked many miles.

“We must hurry to get in the shade of the tent,” he said. “The sun rises swiftly.”

He did not have to add why. Cecile knew. Every drop of moisture in their bodies was so precious. They must avoid the sun’s rays.

They worked silently and efficiently, and Cecile savored each moment. This was their time together. “There’s little food left,” she said when their tiny camp was complete. “But I could make a simple breakfast.”

Matthew debated, wondering if the grain should be conserved. But thirst would claim them long before hunger. He nodded.

Cecile used no fire and only a few drops of water to moisten the ground wheat, the last of the stores. They ate silently, and when they had finished, Matthew thanked her.

“It was my pleasure,” she replied, and reached for his wooden bowl. But Matthew gestured her away.

“There’s no need to clean these. We won’t be needing them anymore.”

She watched as he lifted a corner of the blanket and buried the bowls in the sand. Then he uncorked the skin and handed it to her. “Go ahead. Drink deeply. You must replenish what you’ve lost.”

“But …”

He silenced her with a wave of his hand. “It’s all right. Trust me.” Matthew smiled. “The camp isn’t far ahead.”

Cecile was not fooled. Nevertheless, she drank until her thirst was quenched. There was no sense in dying by degrees. They would find the camp in time, or they would not.

In his turn, Matthew, too, drank deeply. When he had finished, he carefully recorked the skin and set it aside. “We must try to rest.”

Cecile obediently lay down at Matthew’s side, but she was unable to sleep. She could not even close her eyes. Tomorrow or the next day they would find the camp. Or they would die. Either way, she might never know the delights of his body again, nor experience the violently exquisite storm he caused in her own.

It happened before Cecile fully knew what she was doing. She stripped off her dusty
towb.
What harm was there in tempting him to her arms one last time? Holding her breath, Cecile gently touched his shoulder.

Matthew wondered if he had fallen asleep without realizing it. He reached to touch the glowing golden skin … and he knew he was awake.

She knelt beside him, glorious hair swinging free, arms outstretched. “Dhiba,” he murmured, and pulled her down upon him.