"Did you think that by running away from me, you would make me want you less? Well?" he demanded.
I opened my mouth but dared not speak for the terrible scowl that darkened his visage.
"By Allah!" he cursed. "I would have found you if you had got as far as France. What I have, I keep, until I tire of it—and I have not tired of you yet."
His gaze slid from me, and he resumed his restless pacing, smoking cigarette after cigarette in endless succession. The monotonous tramp to and fro worked on my nerves until I winced each time he passed me. I went to the divan where I huddled, fascinated and fearful. My hands grew clammy, and I wrenched at the collar of my robe with a feeling of suffocation.
He never looked at me again. If he would only speak! His silence was worse than anything he could say. "I cannot bear this any longer, Ahmed." My voice was unsteady and barely above a whisper, but I refused to be cowed or to drop my gaze from his. "Whatever you are going to do, for God's sake, just do it!"
He ventured to the door and looked out upon the desert sky. "You broke your word to me." His tone was alarmingly calm and dispassionate. "You gave no care to anyone but yourself. You placed my most-valued servant in grave peril and are responsible for the loss of a dozen lives. You betrayed my trust, and twelve men died! Not to mention one of my very best horses."
I choked back a sob. "I'm more sorry than I can ever express, but what did you expect when you took me against my will? Did you think me such a spiritless coward that I would do nothing to gain my freedom once I got half a chance?"
"And should I give you the chance again? What then?" he demanded.
I evaded the question. "You say you haven't tired of me, but we both know that isn't true, so why don't you just let me go?"
"You know nothing!" he growled back at me and began walking again. My gaze tracked his tall figure up and down the tent, moving with the long, graceful stride that always reminded me of a wild animal.
I flung out my hands and whispered through dry lips, "Please! What are you going to do with me?"
He halted and gazed at me for a while without answering, and then a mocking look crept into his eyes. "That depends on Gaston."
"Gaston?" I repeated stupidly. "What has he to do with this?"
"Everything," he said sternly. "In your little adventure, you do not seem to have given a thought as to what might happen to him."
It was true. I had precipitated a blood feud between the tribes, and now a dozen men were dead. I had left Gaston far from camp without any thought beyond my escape. I had not considered him at all when I had stampeded his horse and left him on foot. At the time I had only looked upon him as a jailer, his master's deputy. I had not understood the danger to either of us. I had paid no heed to the sheik's warning to stay close to camp, even though I had seen with my own eyes all of the activity that had prevailed amongst the sheik's followers.
He stopped to light a fresh cigarette, and then the covering of the doorway flung open to reveal Gaston himself in the entrance. My earlier relief upon seeing the servant recovered from his sickbed had been enormous, but I now understood that a word against me from Gaston would weigh heavily in my prejudice.
"M-monseigneur has n-need of me?" he stammered. A stream of Arabic followed during which Gaston's gaze roved around the tent to rest on me. In his eyes I saw no resentment, but only anxiety. His hesitating reply was made with his two hands outstretched, palm uppermost in an appealing gesture.
Ahmed cut him short. "Madam is quite safe…for the moment," he added dryly.
He then pushed Gaston gently toward the door with a few more words in rapid Arabic. He stood there for some time, looking out into the night and then lingered unusually over closing the flap. "As before, Gaston is still your willing slave. You are very fortunate that he bears you no malice. Nevertheless, you must be punished." He shook his head. "My men demand recompense, and as their chief, I cannot deny them. I waited for Raoul to depart because he could never understand, but now he is gone." He spun back to me with a glower. "I can postpone this no longer."
My throat was like the Sahara. "Wh-what do you mean by recompense?"
He had exacted a terrible revenge on his enemy. I wondered in growing terror if he would kill me also and how. Was that the reason for his detachment? Had he been planning my execution all this time? Would his long brown fingers with their steely strength choke the life out of me as they had Ibraheim Omair? Unconsciously, I raised my hands to my throat.
"No, ma chère," he spoke almost gently. "I will not strangle you."
He moved over to the writing table, where he tore the wrapping off a box of cartridges to refill the magazine of his revolver, an operation that seemed to take centuries. He did not look up, nor did he speak. I started at each separate click as he loaded the gun, clenching my hands and passing my tongue over parched lips. He dropped the last cartridge into place, examined the revolver, and then laid it down on the desk. Did he plan to shoot me instead? At least that would be quick and merciful. I watched his every deft movement with bated breath until he spoke again.
"You defied my authority in the most blatant manner. A blood feud has erupted because of you. If not for Raoul, I might also be dead. Had I perished, a swift and severe sentence would have already been carried out—death by execution."
I heard his words but could barely comprehend them. I was blind, dizzy, and reeling on my feet. I clutched the divan for support.
"Fortunately for you, I am still the chief, and my word is still law. Nevertheless, I cannot let this matter pass."
"What will you do?"
“Were you an Arab woman, there would be no question of your penalty—you would suffer a painful and public scourging."
"But I am not an Arab," I whispered.
"No, you are not. Thus, I have meditated this matter at great length. You have accused me many times of tyranny and despotism, but Western notions of mercy are regarded as weakness here. My people only understand absolutism. They must be governed with a strong hand. It is only by their fear and respect of my strength and authority that this tribe stays together."
He spoke the hard truth. I had lived amongst them long enough to know the harsh reality. He ruled with an iron fist. It was what they expected, and they worshiped him for it. He would not shirk his responsibility, but I could see how heavily the burden weighed on him. He once again wore the trademark scowl on his brow.
"There can be no pardon for you. My tribe must know that I have carried out my duty to them." He waited for my response, for my acknowledgement, but my throat was too dry to speak. I nodded dumbly instead.
He continued, "Our custom dictates that blood must always be repaid in blood. If I ignore this, there will be anarchy. You must pay in kind. Do you comprehend?"
"Blood for blood? How do you mean?" I closed my eyes, my fingers spasmodically clenching and unclenching on the armrest.
"You will suffer twelve lashes—one for every death."
I stifled a gasp. "You intend to whip me? This is your barbaric expression of justice?"
"On the contrary, my dove. Only death would be justice. This is my barbaric expression of mercy." He continued with a mocking twist of his mouth, "And since I am such a compassionate chief, I have decided that your unique…status…allows for a special dispensation." He paused. "I shall allow a proxy to take the flogging in your stead."
"A proxy? I echoed incoherently. "Do you mean a whipping boy?"
He shrugged. "As you will. I had first thought of Zilah, but there are some who believe they might incur my favor by taking this punishment in your stead." Ahmed gave a small smile. "Yusef understands my reluctance to mar your perfect white flesh and has volunteered for the honor. It is why he came to me this evening."
I was speechless.
"You will, of course, be required to watch."
"No!" I cried. "I will not have it!"
His expression darkened. "Perhaps you do not understand? I shall give you the benefit of one nigh
t to reconsider. Please think very carefully before you refuse my singular act of mercy, my dove."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I suffered a restless night with brief snatches of sleep interposed with night terrors. I was bound to a medieval whipping post with my back laid bare for the lash of a cat o’ nine tails. Ahmed, in his black burnous, held the whip. Ahmed the Punisher had cold rage in his eyes and a cruel smile on his lips, but as he raised the whip for the first strike, another Ahmed stayed his hand. This one wore a white burnous. His expression was equally harsh but somehow different. I knew him at once as Ahmed the Protector. He cut me free, tore off his thawb, and wrapped his arms about the post in my place. I watched in horror as the whip tore into his flesh, shredding the skin and sinew before my eyes. It was on the tenth lash that I suddenly awoke to the smell of Gaston's coffee.
I didn't move for the longest time, but lay still in my bed with racing heart and sweat-dampened brow. The dream had presented a vivid picture of the man with two faces, the punisher and the protector, the Janus that was my sheik.
I had never understood him until that very moment, but it was now crystal clear to me that he was half devil and half avenging angel. He would never be all of one or all of the other, for his essential makeup was comprised of these two opposing forces that made the whole man.
Ahmed the Punisher was bound by unfailing duty and fierce loyalty to do whatever was necessary for the good of his people, yet Ahmed the Protector had wanted to spare me in whatever way might be achieved. The whipping proxy was his unique solution to meet both of these contradictory needs. He had given me the night to consider this, and I knew he would expect an immediate answer from me. Yet even as the horrible dream lingered, I still could not bear the idea of anyone taking my place.
Marshaling all of my courage, I rose and padded to the outer room. He had not gone out to ride as expected, or perhaps he had already gone out and come back, because he sat on the divan sipping his coffee and waiting for me. His eyes slid slowly and deliberately over me when I entered. I had not dressed for the day but wore only a wrap of thin silk that hid little from his gaze. The flare of sexual interest was strong, but he made no move toward me.
"Café, madam?" Gaston asked.
"Thank you, Gaston." I inclined my head and then sank slowly onto the divan as far from Ahmed as I could manage.
"You have decided?" Ahmed asked without preamble.
"I have," I replied.
He nodded. "It must be done swiftly then. I shall call Yusef." He made to rise.
I stopped him with a word. "No."
"No?" he repeated, his gaze widening in an atypical show of surprise that transitioned in a flash to a glower. "Think what you say, Diane! My mercy cannot extend to my hold on the whip. There will be twelve bloody lashes. Only blood may atone for blood."
"Then I must decline your mercy altogether." I gave a blithe shrug, as if it were nothing to me, but my show of bravado was absolutely false. The thought of the whip terrified me to the core, but it seemed time for such desperate measures. I had tried to escape, and he had risked his life to bring me back. He had professed love in his fit of delirium, but his attitude and all of his subsequent actions only bespoke antipathy and contempt. Now I would literally force his whip hand, but in doing so I meant to compel his acknowledgement of what was between us.
He closed his eyes and shook his head on a stream of murmured Arabic. I did not understand the words, but I knew he deeply resented what I was doing. He opened his eyes again and stared into mine. His expression and voice were both fierce, but I could see the flicker of pain behind his eyes. "Why must you persist in this accursed obstinacy?"
"Isn't this exactly what you want, Ahmed? Isn't it why you took me to begin with? To punish me for the accident of my birth? To make me suffer in the fulfillment of your curse?"
"Yes!" he snarled. "I indeed took you to satisfy the beast of vengeance in me."
"Do you truly despise me just for being English, Ahmed? Or should I say Lord Caryll?"
His pupils flared and mouth compressed in cold rage. "Damn that accused name and damn your entire race! That traitorous dog Raoul had no right to speak of it!"
"He is your friend and only wanted me to see you as he does. He wanted me to understand the hatred you harbor, the loathing that I could not comprehend. He showed me the compassion that you refuse."
He caught my shoulders and jerked me against him with bruising strength. I felt like a fragile reed in his strong grasp, a reed he could crush without an effort, and yet for months I had fought him, matching his determination with a courage that I knew had won his admiration even as it enraged him.
"While Raoul was here, I was a model of self-restraint, but he is no longer here, and you are pushing me too far." His fiery gaze scorched me even as his fingertips bored into my flesh. "I have offered you compassion," he spat the word, "only to have you throw it in my face."
"What can you do to me that you have not already done? What are a few lashes to my body in comparison to everything else?"
He glowered down at me with the face of a devil. "By Allah! You are wrong if you think I will not do it."
"I know you will, and this opportunity should delight you beyond measure."
"You know it brings me no delight!" he growled. "I swore only days ago in a jealous rage to make you suffer, but now the thought gives me little pleasure."
"Doesn't it? But it seems the only form of torture you've withheld. You have killed my pride, humbled and humiliated me by varying degrees. You have even made me love you when weeks ago I only wished you dead. What is left but to beat me?"
"I warned you about pushing me too far, ma belle. Now you will get your wish."
Until this moment he'd evinced every sign of reluctance, but I had indeed gone too far. Perhaps I was a fool. His determination was a rock against which I had been broken too many times not to know its strength.
He rose abruptly, clapped his hands to summon Gaston, and then barked a command in rapid Arabic. A few minutes later the servant returned with Yusef, who bore a camel flogger. The sheik held out his hand. Yusef and Gaston both regarded me with expressions of abject pity. More swift words followed. "S'en aller," the sheik commanded with an imperious wave and then advanced upon me slowly, flogger in hand.
I stared in horror at the long-handled whip from which sprouted numerous snake-like strips of thick leather. I thought I could endure this, but my knees quivered, and I found myself backing away from him. I bit my lips. My courage was failing fast, but he remained wooden and unfazed.
"But it is what you wanted, ma chère. You insisted upon it even when I gave you every chance. Now it is too late. I have, however, spared you the ultimate humiliation. You will receive your lashes in private with only Gaston and Yusef as witnesses."
I felt the curtain at my back, but my mind was going numb. He leaned over my shoulder to push it aside with a mocking gesture of invitation. "After you, mademoiselle."
A paralysis of panic came over me when he secured the silken hobbles he had once used on me to the bed post. "You will bare yourself to me and face the post."
I could not move. I could not speak. When I didn't obey, he came behind me. With a single yank on the thin silk, he stripped me of my robe, baring me to the waist. "You will raise your arms." Once more he acted for me, pulling them above my head and securing my wrists to the post. "Voyons. All is ready." His hot breath caressed my hair, and his voice rumbled low in my ear. "I regret that you challenged me, my dove. In spite of what you believe, I take no pleasure in this."
"N-no? Then why don't you just let me go?" I could hardly speak for the chattering of my teeth. My mind was racing and my heart pounding in an almost-fever pitch.
"I have told you. I have not tired of you yet." His words were followed by the soft brush of his lips on my neck and then from shoulder to shoulder before he stepped away.
He kissed me even as he would beat me? I found the act baffling in the extreme. Woul
d I ever understand his complex nature?
The curtain swished softly, followed by a brief but low command in Arabic before he returned. His next words were spoken in French for my benefit. He instructed Gaston and Yusef to turn their backs to protect my modesty.
My knees already sagged, and I clung to the bedpost, hugging it for support. My eyes were squeezed shut, and my teeth pierced through my lip, drawing the metallic taste of blood. I was petrified with terror at his trial snap of the flogger. I cringed in anticipation, but no strike followed. "Please!" I cried, no longer able to stand the agonizing apprehension. "Just get this over with!"
"As you wish ma chère," he replied with a note of regret.
The next time I heard the lash, it connected almost instantly with my flesh, stinging and burning. The sharp slap of leather on skin was echoed by a shriek that I realized dumbly had ripped out of my own throat—proof that I was far less stoic and stalwart than I had believed myself to be. A scorching flood of tears erupted from me—tears of self-pity, of rage. Tears of heartbreak at the realization that my love was meaningless to him. My starved heart ached for what he withheld from me, and for want of any outlet, my emotions burst all restraint.
For the first time in my life, I wept, racking and hiccupping sobs, holding nothing back as I hugged the makeshift whipping post. I had yielded up everything to him, but even his total domination over me wasn't enough. I was a fool to think love could ever break his will. I had denied so long my own capacity for love, and he denied his still. Now my body would be broken for my folly.
I had experienced only the first lash of twelve. I cast a glance backward just as he raised his arm for the second blow. I squeezed my lids and set my teeth, steeling myself for the next lash…that never came.
With a curse, and then the flash of a knife, the silken cord fell free of the post, but my hands still clung to it steadfastly. I looked over my shoulder in bafflement as my sheik threw down the flogger.
The Sheik Retold Page 20
