Nan Ryan (6 page)

Her guides did not obey.

Baffled, Temple glanced anxiously at Sarhan. The giant Arab hadn’t so much as picked up his rifle. He stood there by the smoking brazier, empty-handed, watching calmly as the fast-riding robbers closed in.

“Damn you, Sarhan!” she shouted angrily, fists clenched. “What do you think I hired you for? Don’t just stand there and let them steal everything we have!”

No reply.

The bearded one-eyed guide acted as if he hadn’t heard her. He never turned to look at her.

Confused and angry, Temple lifted her clenched fist and shrieked oaths at the armed trespassers as they swooped down upon the camp like a great flock of black-winged carrion.

“You’ll get nothing here!” she screamed at the destructive trespassers. “Do you hear me? We’ve nothing for you to steal! Nothing!”

Fearful yet furious, she stood her ground as the mounted men thundered toward her. They crashed through the camp, their horses snorting and kicking, sharp hooves wrecking everything in their path. A slashing sword sliced through the square tarpaulin raised for shade, while a horse’s lathered fetlock knocked down one of the tarpaulin’s supporting poles.

In the midst of shouting threats at the barbarous horsemen, Temple wailed in shock and outrage when a turbaned, bearded bandit leaned down, grabbed her, and hauled her up onto the saddle before him. Squirming furiously in his muscular arms, she kicked and screamed like a madwoman until her captor pulled her back against his chest with such force that she momentarily lost her breath.

Gasping, eyes rolling, she fought for oxygen as her callous abductor wheeled the dark stallion about so swiftly, she would have fallen if not for his arm clamped firmly around her waist. Shouting commands to his tribesmen, he put his horse into a fast gallop and headed east.

Although she’d regained her breath, Temple’s eyes were watering and her heart was slamming against her ribs. She twisted about and saw, over the Arab bandit’s broad shoulder, the camp being left behind. The guides all stood there calmly, not moving a muscle to help as she was carried away by these dark demons of the desert.

Enraged, Temple watched as the camp and the cowardly guides became smaller and smaller. And finally disappeared completely as the snorting mount on which she was atop galloped over a high dune and down the other side.

Swallowing convulsively, Temple continued to stare over the Arab’s shoulder—watching, waiting, hoping that by some miracle Sarhan and the others would come to their senses and rescue her.

Long minutes passed with no sign of salvation.

Temple was forced to face the terrible truth. They weren’t coming. No one was coming. She was on her own. She would have to save herself from these swarthy Barbary corsairs.

Slowly she turned back around, looked at the bearded, hawk face of her captor. She swallowed hard, then shouted to be heard, “What do you want with me? Where are you taking me?”

And promptly realized that she might as well have been talking to the wind.

For the next terrifying twenty-four hours Temple was taken farther and farther into the desert by her captors. She had no idea where they were taking her or what they intended to do with her. She could get nothing out of them. When they spoke it was only in Arabic, and she couldn’t understand a word.

They rode steadily toward the southeast throughout the long, hot afternoon. The moon was high in the desert sky when finally they stopped for the night. A terrible dread overcame Temple as the robed men went about making camp. They built a fire for cooking and rolled out rugs for sleeping.

She refused to eat. She refused to lie down on the rug meant for her. She stubbornly sat before the fire, staring into the flames, her arms wrapped around her knees. She fully intended to sit there all night, unless the opportunity presented itself for her to get away.

She experienced a measure of relief when she was not made to lie down and sleep beside one of the bandits. For that she was extremely grateful. But she quickly learned there would be no chance to get away. A lone guard stood watch all night, a rifle resting across his robed knees, his dark eyes watching her across the fire.

Deep in the dead of night, Temple could no longer hold her eyes open. Frightened though she was, she was bone tired and so sleepy that she couldn’t stay awake. Glancing at the armed sentinel, she slowly scooted away from the fire, lay down on her side with her knees raised, and folded her arms beneath her cheek.

She was instantly asleep.

When morning came and Temple realized she hadn’t been harmed by any of the desert pirates, she felt a glimmer of hope. But it evaporated as once again she was thrust upon a horse and carried deeper into the desert.

She imagined the worst.

And then found out that the worst was even worse than she’d imagined.

At straight up noon with the burning desert sun at its zenith, her burly, bearded captor abruptly pulled up on his stallion, bringing the big snorting beast to a sand-flinging stop. Without a word he put his hands to Temple’s waist and lowered her from the saddle. The minute her booted feet touched the sandy soil, he wheeled his big mount about and rode away. The others followed, leaving Temple standing there alone on the desert floor.

Confounded, frightened, Temple stood there for only a second, then foolishly began running after them.

“Please,” she called out to them, “come back! Don’t leave me here! Come back! Come back!”

She ran until her breathing was labored and she had a painful stitch in her left side. She was still running after them when they disappeared among the dunes. And still she ran, holding her side and gasping for breath.

At last she slowed and stopped.

Wind tears stung her eyes as she bent over from the waist, holding her side with both hands and trembling with exertion. Her head bowed, her long perspiration-dampened hair falling around her flushed face, she licked her dry, chapped lips and tried to swallow. After several attempts she was successful.

Temple straightened and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She tried to think. More confused and frightened than ever, she knew she wouldn’t last long in the searing desert heat. She had no water. No food.

She would die in this desolate place and never know the reason.

Swallowing the fear that threatened to choke her, she told herself she had to keep her wits about her. She turned round and round in a circle, trying to decide in which direction to head. Biting her bottom lip and shading her eyes with a raised hand, she tried to determine where the nearest village would be. The closest desert well? A cooling oasis with shade trees? People? Friendly Arabs who would help her?

She sighed heavily with frustration. She had no idea which way to go and no map to guide her. But she had to do something. To go somewhere. She couldn’t simply stay here and perish. She had to at least try to save herself.

Wishing she had her sun helmet, but thankful at least that she was wearing breeches and boots and a long-sleeved shirt, Temple set out in a northerly direction. Her chin lifted in determination, she walked directly toward a line of distant mountains, their thrusting peaks barely visible on the northern horizon.

She had no idea where she was or how far away from the sea, but she hoped that the Mediterranean might lie on the other side of those faraway mountains.

The pitiless sun beat down with a vengeance, reflecting off the burning sands she trod. The shimmering mountains in the distance began to look like a beautiful golden city of promise and pleasure that she would never reach.

More than once Temple blinked and squinted when she spotted a sparkling pool of water ahead, the ripples on its surface winking in the sun like thousands of priceless diamonds. But each time she neared the pond of cool, clear water, it evaporated before her burning, bloodshot eyes.

The mirages continued to torment her cruelly as a tired, thirsty Temple struggled across the scorching desert. Her face red and flushed with heat, her lips painfully sunburned, her white blouse soaked with perspiration and sticking to her prickled skin, she staggered forward on weak, trembling legs. She stumbled and fell, rose and labored on again, her throat so dry it hurt, her head throbbing with pain.

She kept going when she felt as if she could no longer put one foot before the other. She kept going when she thought she might faint from the horrible heat. She kept going when she became so weak and dizzy that her vision blurred and she was half disoriented. The endless sands swam before her eyes, rising and falling like waves on an ocean.

Refusing to be beaten, she reeled drunkenly on, wondering how many miles she had gone. How many more she had yet to go.

Temple fell, got up, and pressed on several times before, choking with thirst and burning up from the relentless heat, she finally could go no farther. She had to rest. She fell to her knees, fighting the tears of defeat and despair filling her stinging eyes. Dashing away the unwanted tears with the back of her hand, she sank back on her booted heels and looked around at mile upon mile of nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing but sand and sun and heat and … death.

Half dazed, Temple continued to stare out upon the great sea of sand surrounding her. Not a sound in the silence. Not a breath of wind stirring the tiny grains of sand.

Transfixed, she knelt there in the middle of that golden sea of sand and spotted, far out on the eastern horizon, behind a high dune, a faint plume of sand rising from the desert floor.

She blinked to clear her tear-blurred vision, raised a hand to shade her smarting eyes, and watched entranced as suddenly the sand exploded from the dune and a horseman vaulted into view.

For a second the snow white horse was suspended gloriously against the clear blue sky, the rider’s ivory robes billowing out like giant snowy wings.

Temple’s lips fell open in a mixture wonder and horror. Automatically she rose to her knees as the lone horseman rapidly approached.

Too weak and too transfixed to rise, Temple knelt in the sand as the rider bore steadily down upon her. The great galloping stallion halted abruptly only a few short feet away from her. The white-robed rider leaned down and extended a lean, tanned hand.

On the third finger of that hand was an enormous blood red ruby.

Temple didn’t hesitate
.

Barely managing to stifle a sob of relief and gratitude, she laid her trembling fingers on the palm of this white-robed horseman she looked on as her savior. He drew her to her feet, leaned down, and put strong hands around her waist. Easily he lifted her and placed her astride the saddle in front of him. Immediately he spurred the white stallion into motion.

Exhausted, relieved, Temple thanked him with her eyes. She didn’t try to speak. Wasn’t sure she could. She simply sighed and sagged gratefully back against the rider’s broad chest. After a moment she turned her head slightly, and raised her stinging eyes to his face.

She could see almost nothing.

A white turban completely covered his head and was wound around the lower half of his face, concealing his nose and his mouth. Only his eyes were visible. Temple stared at the dark, luminous eyes that were focused straight ahead. Gazing at those long-lashed, night black eyes, she was struck by the insane thought that they were the most mysterious, the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.

Without glancing at her or slowing the stallion’s rapid pace, the Arab reached inside his white robes and withdrew a shiny silver flask. He held it out to her. Not knowing or caring what was in the flask, Temple seized it.

Fingers shaking, she unscrewed the lid and tipped the flask up to her badly chapped lips. Overjoyed to find it contained cool, clear water, she drank greedily. Wrapping both hands around the silver flask and leaning her head back, she tilted the flask almost straight up. She swilled the water down so rapidly, she couldn’t quite swallow fast enough. Water spilled from the sides of her mouth and trickled down her chin.

She never noticed.

She frowned and groaned in protest when the Arab took the flask from her after she’d drunk only half the contents. He paid her no mind. She tried to talk, to tell him she was still thirsty, but she had difficulty speaking. Her throat was sore and scratchy, her voice hoarse.

He shook his head to silence her. Nodding, she obeyed. But she continued to eye the half-full flask, hoping he’d allow her another drink soon.

He held the silver flask in his right hand, resting it lightly atop the saddle’s pommel, his long, tanned fingers wrapped loosely around it. Eyes focused there, Temple noticed the enormous ruby ring on his finger just as the magnificent stone caught the sun, reflecting a six-rayed star. Automatically she shut her eyes against the ruby’s blinding radiance.

So her eyes were closed when the Arab lifted the flask directly above her head, turned it upside-down, and emptied it.

“Ooooooh!” Temple gasped in shocked surprise, her eyes flying open as the cool water saturated her limp blond hair and trickled down over her face. “Ahhh, yes!” She lifted her hands to smear the cool water over her feverish cheeks, her dusty throat, the sticky back of her neck. “Mmmmmm,” she sighed as her soaked white blouse stuck to her flushed skin, cooling her.