The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (29 page)

Despair filled her. The lighthearted moment they'd shared in playing with the children had vanished. She glanced over to see Katherine watching her, Asad asleep in her arms.

"Odd thing for Fatima to say. Why did she?" Jillian asked.

Distress etched Katherine's face. "She was born with a caul. Fatima has the Second Sight. Our shaman says she can see into the hearts of people. Especially those who are troubled."

Chapter Seventeen

After dismissing Katherine's odd remarks, Jillian found herself enjoying the adventure of staying with the Khamsin. She enjoyed talking with Elizabeth. Despite assimilating into the tribe, the woman had maintained her Western attitude. Jillian often saw Jabari looking with loving devotion at his wife. Jillian wished she could inspire the same in Graham.

Two days later, Ramses and Katherine invited them to share what Katherine called "Bedouin English tea." Beneath the shade of an acacia tree, they spread a plush carpet. Katherine boiled water over an open fire, and steeped the tea leaves in a flowered china pot. A plate heaped with scones sat on a low round table. Amusement sparked Ramses's face as he watched his wife pour as formally as if she sat in an English drawing room.

"Do you take milk in your tea?" she asked.

Jillian's brows arched. "What kind of milk?"

"Camel milk," Ramses said, and laughed at her grimace.

"It's quite good," Katherine assured her. "The Bedouin use camel milk to keep alive in the deep desert."

"How do you milk a camel?" Jillian asked.

"Like a cow," Graham cut in, taking his cup from Katherine and nodding his thanks. "Except you stand up, balance the bowl on your left leg and then use your right hand to milk."

Katherine poured a mouthful into a spare cup. "Try it."

Jillian studied the frothy liquid and sipped. It tasted rich and creamy. "It is delicious," she admitted.

"And healthy. On one of my trips to the deep desert, I lived for weeks on nothing but camel milk," Graham said.

"I thought you traveled mainly in the cities, except for visiting this tribe on a brief occasion."

Ramses and Katherine suddenly seemed absorbed in their teacups. A shadow dropped over Graham's face. "Surviving in the desert requires knowledge that will help in an emergency."

"Well, why don't you teach me to milk a camel? I want to be able to help you on the journey."

Graham turned his head, displaying the taut edge of his jaw. "No, Jillian. It isn't necessary. I don't want you milking camels or dressing like a Bedouin woman. You're English."

"And so are you," she said quietly. "Yet you dress like a Khamsin warrior and speak fluent Arabic. It makes me wonder, Graham. Were you truly raised by some doting old English couple?"

The blood drained from his face. Graham's grip on his little teacup tightened. It looked ready to shatter. Like him.

"You're questioning my childhood?" he asked tightly. "If you wish to argue about my past, let's do it in private."

"I won't argue, Graham."

"Nor will I. Excuse me, Katherine, Ramses."

He stood and slipped off, silent. Ramses sighed and followed. Embarrassed, Jillian stammered a polite apology to Katherine. "I just want to help him. How can I?"

The petite brunette looked thoughtful. "Show him you will do anything to go with him. He shouldn't be alone in the desert, Jillian. He needs you."

"How can I change his mind?"

"If he won't teach you to milk a camel, try it on your own. It isn't difficult." Katherine flashed a reassuring smile.

Jillian masked her distress. Graham was more aloof than ever. The change darkening him had become stronger. Her husband was turning into a stranger before her eyes.

Later, as she rested in the tent, fears played over her. Could she do it? Or would she shackle him in her stubborn insistence on accompanying him? The confidence gained in sitting with the great sheikh himself and discussing the tribe's finances faded in light of her ignorance about this hostile terrain. Her fair English skin burned in the sun. Her red hair set her apart. She did not belong here. Jillian didn't know where she belonged anymore.

She rose and freshened up, then went outside. Her husband sat on the ground. An air of fierce concentration shimmered around him as he sharpened his scimitar against a rock. Jillian worked up her courage and approached. He glanced up from his task as she stood over him.

"Graham, we need to talk. You must take me with you into the desert. I'm not staying here."

He could not take her with him.

Graham's chest tightened with dread as he set down the scimitar. In the desert, he would confront her father, and it would finally come to an end one way or another. Nothing remained hidden long in the desert. Wind lifted sand, exposing bones bleached by the sun. There were no shadows or darkness in the unforgiving desert. No secrets.

No, the desert would not allow him to stay hidden. It would leech out his blackness, squeeze it like the last drop of water from an empty goatskin bag. He could not allow her to glimpse that terrible darkness inside him.

"You can't go," he said curtly.

"Because you think I'm incapable of the journey? Or is it my father? He won't hurt me, Graham. He never did. Take me with you. I can be your shield."

Irony quirked his mouth. A shield to stave off the burning sun, to hide the darkness? She did not know what she asked. "No."

"Why is my father after you, Graham?"

In the distance, a sheep bleated. In the spring, the air resounded with the echo of squealing lambs. They castrated select males soon after birth.

"He's after the treasure, Jillian. He has the map and wants the treasure for himself."

His answer seemed to satisfy her. "Then you must take me with you into the desert. I can reason with him, talk to him."

"No," he grated out. "I will not take you with me." Graham paused. He had to tell her something that would push her away. "I can't be burdened by a woman. Stop this nonsense and just give me the directions."

Tears shimmered in her large, green eyes. "Very well. I see you think of me as a liability. I wouldn't wish to encumber you, Graham. I'll draw the map again for you."

She fled into the tent. Pain speared him. He was a fool if he followed her. A bigger fool if he didn't.

He followed. Inside the cooling shade, Jillian sat on the thick, jewel-toned carpet, her head buried into her hands.

Sobs shook her shoulders. Graham knelt down beside her. She struggled against his enveloping embrace. He was stronger. She sagged against him, as if weary.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice trembling as he spoke into the silky softness of her hair. "I want you to stay here and stay safe. Because I... care."

"Words, just words. You don't love me."

Graham hugged her tighter. Afraid of letting her close, even more fearful of letting her go.

Two wet emeralds regarded him as she lifted her head. "If you did love me, you'd tell me. You'd open up to me, Graham."

Something inside him stirred. A connection he didn't want. It came anyway.

"Trust me, Jilly," he said softly. "Just trust that I want what's best for you. It's all I ask."

"And all I ask is that you give yourself to me. All of you," she whispered. "If you can't tell me, show me how you feel."

He couldn't give her the words she wanted. He could only speak with his body. Graham lowered his head and kissed her. She hooked her hands into his hair, forcing off the indigo turban. Jillian grasped his hair as they tumbled to the carpet. With desperate need, he clung to her as they tangled together, rolling toward the white sheepskin rug near the table. He felt the wool brush his skin. Arousal fled, replaced by fear.

Her soft, pretty laughter mingled with the increased panting of his terrified breaths. The smell of dirty sheepskins grinding into his nose each night. Low laughter echoing in the tent... Her father's voice: "
Admit it, you like it."

He wrenched away, gasping. Jillian stared at him.

"Graham?"

He stood on shaky legs, his erection softening.

"I promised Jabari and Ramses I'd meet them at the training grounds," he managed to say. Then he dashed out of the tent, fearing she'd hear the panicked thundering of his heart.

He grabbed his weapons, buckled them to his belt. Fighting to regain his composure, he sped through the camp, passed the grazing grounds, smelled the pungent odor of horses and heard the low bleat of sheep. Suppressing an inner shudder, he skirted the mountain of rock until coming to the training grounds. Bare-chested men slashed blades at each other with grim determination. He spotted Jabari and Ramses dueling, and faltered.

He could not do this. He was not a true warrior.
I am not a man
, he thought in agony.
Am I
? But Ramses spotted him and shouted. Reluctantly, he went to them. Graham shed his binish and shirt and unsheathed his scimitar.

"I will take you," Ramses said in English. "Let us see if the English have softened you, Rashid, my friend."

Graham flexed the hard muscles of his biceps. "I am anything but soft, my friend. In the battlefield or elsewhere."

An appreciative laugh escaped Jabari as he stepped back to watch. Graham kept his gaze focused on Ramses. The warrior was shorter, but his fighting skills were legendary among the Khamsin. As the sheikh's bodyguard, he was the best.

As Ramses engaged him, Graham defended himself, feeling confidence flee. All he could manage were weak, flimsy pokes as Ramses took the offensive. Surprise flared in the man's amber eyes. "I don't want to hurt you," Graham said lamely.

"Are you a man or a girl?" Ramses taunted.

Explosive rage erupted. Graham heard the past in a mocking echo. He grunted and lunged forward, filled with violence and the need to crush and pummel and hurt. Surprise flared on Ramses's face, but the warrior recovered quickly, defending himself with adroit skill. Yet the white-hot rage pressed on, until it blazed in Graham's ears with a roaring buzz, blurring his vision as he fought.

"Rashid. Stop it.
Rashid
!"

The loud, commanding voice of the sheikh cut through the reddened haze. Graham lowered his scimitar. Blood darkened the edge. Scarlet dripped down Ramses's thickly muscled arm.

Horrific shame covered him. "Ramses... I'm..."

"Good fighting. I do not think I will call you a girl any longer," Ramses joked, but a questioning look filled his eyes.

Covering his discomposure with a wry smile, Graham nodded. "I had to show you I'm no weak-spined Englishman."

The warrior returned his grin, then bound his cut with the silk sash at his waist. "Do not look so alarmed, Rashid. It is merely a flesh wound."

"His hide is too thick, like his head, for you to inflict any real damage," Jabari added, but he gave Graham the same long, thoughtful look.

Graham nodded respectfully, wiped his scimitar, gathered his clothing and left. Hot humiliation at losing control filled him. He fled to a deep wadi that had served in the past as a place of serenity. But today, peace eluded him. Graham sank to the hot sand and buried his head in his hands, moaning.

I am not a real warrior, or a man, after all.

An hour after his hasty departure, her husband returned. Bare-chested, he strode into the tent, flinging shirt and binish to the carpet. Graham unbuckled his sword and dagger and laid them gently on the table. Jillian studied his tight jaw. Sweat glistened on his powerful chest.

"Did you have a good time?" she asked, uncertain.

He glanced at her and gave a derisive snort. "Warriors don't train for a good time, Jillian."

Filled with enormous daring, she pointed to the scimitar. "Show me how a Khamsin warrior uses that during training."

Startled, he narrowed his gaze. She smiled sweetly.

"It is forbidden for women to visit the training grounds for warriors. They are sacred."

"Then demonstrate it to me here, Graham."

"Do you know why the grounds are forbidden to women? After training, a man is filled with the excitement of battle. The savage need for a warrior to conquer shifts into a different need, in which all he desires is a woman, to feel her soft body beneath his yield in surrender."