The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story (3 page)

Dabir cocked his head, studying her, his gaze understanding, his smile congenial. “Dear, sweet Rahab. I am not a man who pays a drunkard for time with his wife.” He lifted a hand toward her, but she took a step backward. He lowered his arm, accepting. “But you . . . you, my dear, are a treasure Gamal should not own, a woman of passion and beauty. The mere thought of you has often robbed me of sleep and invaded my dreams.”

“Men visit the harlots at the temples to appease their dreams, or go to the gaming houses for the women of the night, but that doesn’t mean I want to be one of them.” Her shaking grew.

His soft chuckle incensed her. “My darling Rahab, you are much too beautiful to be a common harlot.”

She looked away, all comments frozen within her.
Your daughter is very beautiful, my lord.
Gamal did not say those things now. His lack of desire for her had caused her to fear she had lost her beauty due to her barrenness, that she now appeared gaunt, like the ones at the edge of Sheol.

“If you have not paid my husband for a night with me, why are you here?”

“I think you know the answer to that question, Rahab.” And she did know, but she did not want to face it.

“Am I to become mistress to the king’s advisor to repay my husband’s debt?” She was alone with him, unprotected. How could she stop him from doing as he pleased?

“Not if you do not want to.” He lowered his dark head, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly in a gesture of defeat.

She watched him, pulled in a long breath, and slowly released it. She swallowed, summoning courage. “You would leave if I asked it of you?”

He lifted his gaze again, and she sensed his power . . . and his vulnerability. “I would not force you.”

So he did not purchase her, and he was not forcing Gamal’s debt on her.

Dabir’s rich robes swished as he took two steps closer to her. He stopped, stretched one ringed hand toward her. “I would give you myself, Rahab. I would show you all the pleasures Gamal has forgotten.”

She looked from his outstretched hand to his aristocratic face. The lines along his brow showed concern, his strong jaw determination.

“I will not allow Gamal to hurt you ever again.” His promise held a tiny thread of hope, and yet what could he do but cause ill to her husband?

“I would not have you harm him.” She searched Dabir’s face and did not pull away as his fingers slowly encased hers.

“I will not harm him.” He tugged her closer. Exhaustion filled her, and she did not have the strength to resist. His arms came around her, and his kiss barely skimmed her lips.
Gentle fingers rubbed circles at her back, and his kiss slowly, tenderly deepened. “Come with me, Rahab.” His feet moved in the rhythm of a dance to the door of her chambers. With the ease of a warrior, he lifted her into his arms.

Common sense whispered warnings.
Fight back. Flee.
But he had captured her with kindness, leaving all courage behind her.

Dabir stood over her some time later, tying the belt of his robe. She lounged among the bed pillows, feeling warm, accepted. She folded her hands beneath her chin, a smile ghosting her lips. Longing rose to ask him to stay, to come again. But one glance at the moon’s bright glow through her window told her Gamal would soon return, fall into bed with her, and assume she slept.

She clutched the sheets to her and sat up. “Please, my lord, would you hand me my robe?” He had tossed it onto a nearby chair.

He looked at her and chuckled. “You weren’t so shy an hour ago, my love.” He cupped her cheek and bent to kiss her. “Get it yourself.”

She balked at his tone, uncertain. But she did as he said, dressing quickly.

She walked with him to the door. When would she see him again? But she could not ask it. Dare not think it. He had come, and she had given him what he wanted. That was the extent of it.

He pulled a small packet from the pocket of his robe and handed it to her. “For you. Don’t show Gamal.”

She took it but did not undo the strings to the wrapping.

“Open it.”

She searched his face, saw him smile again in that gentle, coaxing way.

She fumbled with the strings until his hands came beneath hers to steady them. At last she pulled free the finest length of scarlet fabric she had ever seen. Never in her lifetime could she duplicate such richness.

“I cannot accept this,” she said without thinking.

His frown made her stomach flutter. “Of course you can. It is a gift.”

“But I did nothing to earn it.”

“Precisely why it is a gift, my dear.” He tipped her chin. “But you did earn it.” He smiled down at her with the gaze of one who has known more than he should. “Keep it.”

His parting kiss left her shaken.

2

T
he comb shook in Rahab’s clenched hand the following afternoon as she pulled it through the flax spread over the bed of sharp nails. Once the flax was combed, she would at last be able to spin the fibers into linen threads. But her nerves were as brittle as the drying stalks had been, and the sunlight warming her back where she sat in the house’s inner courtyard could not curb the chill rushing through her at Gamal’s frantic pacing. He knew. Somehow he had discovered her night with Dabir.

His silence as he paced only confirmed her thoughts.

She watched him from the corner of her eye, forcing herself to continue the task, feeling as though the air around her might snap and break into tiny shards like broken pottery. He whirled again, this time stopping to place a clay tablet in front of her.

“Have you seen this?”

She stopped her work to glance at the royal seal on the clay. The pictures were clear. It was a royal summons with her husband’s family crest in the request section. “Is this not the
summons that came earlier this week? Prince Nahid wants an accounting. But you still have three days.”

He stared at her. “Are you blind? Did you not hear the knock on the door or see the king’s messenger? Look at the number stamp. The request is for today.”

Today? Her stomach knotted, and bile rose up the back of her throat. This was Dabir’s doing. But what did they want with Gamal so soon?

“He never sends an official summons,” Gamal said, pacing away from her once more. “He
always
sends a messenger who stays long enough to tell me where to meet him.”

It was forever
never
and
always
with him. Neither of which were true, proven by the first edict the prince had sent only a few days earlier. “Are you ready for this meeting?” She picked at the flax again and drew in a steadying breath.

“Of course I’m not ready.” Even his limping strides were too long for the narrow court, and he cursed as he turned, heading back her way. “If you had done as I asked last night, I would have enough to pay down the debt today. But you failed me, Rahab, and my luck didn’t hold. So now where am I supposed to come up with so much silver?” His look pierced her.

Done as he asked? About the silver or . . . what? But he had not sent Dabir or he would mention it now. She pictured the scarlet cloth now tucked safely away with her hoarded silver and bronze and felt suddenly ill with the weight of choice. Did she have the right to hide such things from her husband? Did not everything she earned belong to him?

But you did earn
it.
Dabir’s words mocked her.

I’ve had men
ask after you.

Her head throbbed with confusion. If she gave Gamal the
scarlet cloth Dabir had given her, he could sell it to appease the prince. But then he would ask where she got it. He would know her work was not nearly as good as the fine linen that belonged in kings’ palaces.

“Prince Nahid has not pressed you for payment before,” she said, trying to stall his rising anger. “Perhaps this accounting is to compare your records with his. Perhaps he can even be persuaded to postpone the debt.”

“I don’t want it postponed, Rahab. I want it canceled outright.” Gamal stopped in front of her again, towering over her where she sat, his tall form dwarfing hers, his dark eyes simmering with pride and arrogance.

“Why would the prince cancel such a large debt?” She kept her voice even but scooted back from him just the same.

He studied her, as Dabir had done the night before, and she was sure he could read into her heart. Could he see the guilt she was trying desperately to hide?

“He wouldn’t,” Gamal said at last. “Not without a good reason.”

The crimson cloth flashed in her mind’s eye again, and this time she sensed it was some kind of omen or direction from the gods. “I may have something that will persuade him.” She stood before she could change her mind and rushed to her bedchamber, closed the door, and quickly retrieved the jar from the hole in the floor beneath the mat. She tucked the cloth in the pocket of her robe and hurried to right the mess she had made. She would not give him everything. But the cloth should fetch a large sum, if Gamal was shrewd enough to barter for the highest price. She returned to the courtyard, her heart racing with uncertainty, silently praying that Gamal would believe her.

“And just how can you help me?” His scowl showed deep lines along his forehead, and she realized in that moment how much the years and the strong drink had aged him.

“I’ve been working day and night to finish this. It isn’t as big as I wanted, but the color is perfect and should fetch a high price in the market.” She held out the cloth to him, tasting the lie’s bitterness, and sank to the bench, her energy spent.

He snatched it from her and slowly turned it over in his large hands. Her heart beat double time, and she studied her feet, not daring to more than glance into his startled face.

“You
have
been holding back on me, wife.” His sneer held a triumphant edge as he turned the cloth over in his hand. “With cloth of this quality”—he looked at her—“we will make our fortune yet.”

She swallowed the solid lump that had formed in her throat. “It takes a long time to make such fine quality.” Her words were barely above a whisper, but she knew even if she shouted he wouldn’t hear her.

He bent low at her side and touched a strand of her silken hair that had slipped from beneath her headscarf. “You are the only good thing the gods ever gave me.” He cupped her cheek, tilting her chin up. “So beautiful . . .”

Her stomach knotted to hear him say such things. Did he really think so? And here she had given herself to another man in his absence, throwing his love aside without forethought.

He gently touched her swollen, purpling cheek. “I should not have slapped you.” His voice choked, as though his heart were breaking with the weight of his admission. He coaxed her to meet his gaze. “I won’t do it again, my love. I promise.”

She nodded, unable to speak, equally unable to keep the tears from slipping from her eyes. He brushed them away
with his thumb and leaned close, his breath smelling of garlic and herbs, not the usual wine or strong drink he carried even on his clothes.

“I will make it up to you, my love.” He kissed her softly, his words full of promise, filling her with guilt. She should tell him the truth. Tell him the cloth was not hers. Tell him of Dabir and how the cloth was payment for her “services.” Though even she could not believe that had been Dabir’s true intent. He cared for her. She sensed it.

Gamal stood then, still clutching the cloth. “I will be back in time to take the money this will bring to the prince,” he said, his smile warm, inviting. He offered her a hand. She took it and stood, allowing him to encase her once more in his arms. “So gifted,” he whispered against her ear.

“Gamal, I—” But he hushed her with a finger to her lips, then gave her a parting kiss.

She touched the place where his lips had been and watched him limp through the gate. She had almost told him everything. In her effort to thank him for his kindness to her, she had nearly ruined the moment.

A deep sigh escaped, and her body involuntarily shook. What would happen if Dabir found out she had given Gamal the cloth? And how on earth would she make anything so fine to appease Gamal in the future?