Desert Doctor, Secret Sheikh

by Meredith Webber

  If she had one jot of sense she’d keep it short, but although she was willing to go anywhere Aid for All might send her, she couldn’t bring herself to cut her hair.

  Pride and vanity, she knew that’s all she kept it for, but wasn’t a woman entitled to a few of these vices? Like the rose-scented soap she carried with her to foreign lands. She might be bathing in dirty water, but the soap kept her feeling feminine.

  Like her hair…

  She brushed and brushed, not counting strokes but enjoying the relaxation the rhythmic motions provided.

  Movements beyond the hanging rug reminded her she had company in the tent. A patient, his wife and a man she didn’t want to think about, a man who, all too easily, had reminded her she was a woman.

  Not that he had flirted with her in any way, but being near him, talking with him, feeling the maleness of him brush across her skin, had stirred up sensations she’d thought she’d never feel again.

  And brushing her hair was making things worse—it was such a feminine thing to do—

  The cry was one of anguish and she forgot about hair and femininity and feelings she didn’t want to acknowledge, reacting automatically, rising to her feet and hurrying into the front part of the tent, her hands twisting her hair into a coil and tucking it into a knot at the back of her head.

  Akbar was tossing and turning, crying out words Jenny didn’t understand. Kam knelt over him, holding him down, talking to him in a soothing voice that seemed to be doing little to lessen the patient’s distress.’

  ‘I have some pethidine in that box I brought in. Can you find another ampoule of it for me?’ Kam asked Jenny as she dropped to her knees beside him. ‘There are some there, they should be near the top. And draw it up to give him subcutaneously, which will work faster than an intramuscular injection. Once we have him back on fluid I can put the next dose, should he need it, in that.’

  Jenny found the drug and thanked heaven Kam had appeared when he had, because without this narcotic analgesic to dull the pain and send Akbar back to sleep the man would be in agony.

  She slid the injection into his arm, while Lia, who’d been woken up by her husband’s cries, helped Kam restrain the angry, injured man.

  Angry?

  Was he remembering the beating? Jen wondered, squatting back on her heels as she waited for the drug to take effect. Remembering the shame of it? Or was it just the pain that was upsetting him so much?

  She glanced at Kam, wanting to ask him but knowing she couldn’t—not right now.

  But among the man’s ravings she heard one word, repeated again and again—the man was crying not from pain but for his son.

  A giant hand reached in and squeezed Jenny’s heart, pain of loss remembered, pain she knew no narcotic, but only time, would heal…

  Lia held her husband, tears streaming down her face, but she chattered on to him in a sing-song voice, trying desperately to calm the man she loved.

  ‘Was it just pain upsetting him or is it the loss of his son? I heard him call the boy’s name,’ Jenny said to Kam, when Akbar had settled back into a drug-induced slumber and Lia once again lay quietly but vigilantly beside him. Kam had walked to the entrance of the tent and Jenny had followed him, needing to talk about the man’s obvious distress.

  Hoping it was pain, not loss!

  Kam shook his head.

  ‘It is being alive that’s upset him,’ he said quietly. ‘He sees himself as a failure because he didn’t find his son. He should have died, he was shouting, we should have let him die. He has no son, what is a man to do?’

  ‘Are sons so very important?’ Jen asked.

  Kam looked surprised by the question.

  ‘Of course. Every family needs a son to take care of the women should the father die. These days that might seem wrong, but the desire to sire a son is bred deep in the hearts and bones and blood of desert people.’

  He paused and his face darkened.

  ‘But in truth I believe Akbar feels a deep love for his son. Not all fathers are like that. For some the fact of siring a son or sons is enough.’

  Was it thought of his own father that caused the flash of pain in his eyes? She found herself wanting to reach out and touch him, to comfort him, but right now the issue was Akbar, not of Kam’s mysterious past.

  ‘But if Akbar’s feeling like that—as if he doesn’t want to live—will we be able to save him? We need him fighting with us, not against us. Without his help, it will be harder to pull him through.’ Now she was feeling Akbar’s despair and knew Kam would hear it in her voice, but she couldn’t hide it away behind empty platitudes or assurances.

  ‘We have to get the boy,’ she said. ‘We haven’t got Akbar this far to lose him because of despair.’

  Kam turned towards the woman who’d spoken with so much determination. She was wearing a long, all-concealing gown yet he could imagine the shape of her body beneath it, while her hair, still golden in the moonlight, was sliding out of its knot and hanging in tendrils around her face.

  Was she aware of her beauty? She must be. Surely no woman could be so devoid of vanity she’d not see how lovely she was.

  ‘Negotiate some way. Do you know if they might need anything—the warring tribes? Food or water, maybe medicines? I wouldn’t give them guns, but surely there’s something we could offer for the boy.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I was distracted.’ Putting it mildly! ‘You’re not suggesting we meet with these people? The same people who have just beaten that man to within an inch of his life?’

  ‘I’m not saying we as in you and I should, but you said some tribal leaders were already talking to them in an attempt to stop the fighting, so maybe we could contact those people. Or I could go as a representative of—’

  ‘Forget it!’ Kam told her, sounding admirably calm considering how angry that final, ridiculous suggestion had made him feel. ‘There is no way you are setting one toe across that border. I’m not saying those men are savages, but they consider themselves at war, and war doesn’t permit a lot of niceties, neither does it have moral boundaries.’

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so she was facing him—so he could look down into her face and watch it and her eyes as he spoke.

  ‘You will not go,’ he said. ‘Understand me?’

  The cheeky grin that greeted this order raised his anger another notch.

  ‘Understood, sir!’ she said, and snapped a salute in his direction.

  He was a man of the desert—he understood about straws and camels’ backs—and that cocky gesture was one straw too many.

  ‘You’d call me sir, would you?’ he said softly, his body swaying closer to hers, into her space so she’d have to back away if she felt the threat implicit in his movement. ‘And give me cheek, yet go on planning and plotting to get that boy back.’

  He reached out and touched her cheek.

  ‘You’re thinking even now—will this work, will that?’

  His fingers slid into the knot of hair and the whole arrangement came loose, sending the golden, silken threads cascading down her back.

  ‘Will you use your beauty to beguile me? To include me in your plan? Is that the way you work, Dr Stapleton?’

  He was close enough to see the golden flecks in her brown eyes, and to see the rise and fall of her chest beneath her gown as she breathed in and out, in and out, perhaps a little fast.

  ‘Will you offer me a kiss as payment?’ Kam continued, sliding his hands beneath the heavy fall of her hair and lifting it to spread it around her shoulders. ‘Will that work, do you think?’

  Was she bewitched, Jen wondered, that she was held captive by his voice? Although witches did bewitching, not moonlight and strangers. In the desert there were peris, fairy-like creatures she suspected worked their magic by the light of the moon. Maybe they did spells…

  ‘Shall we try?’

  Some part of her head knew this was when she should break away—if not from the spell, at least out of reach
of his hands and lips—definitely out of reach of those lips which were strong and firm yet so beautifully moulded she’d been sneaking looks at them on and off all day.

  But her feet remained rooted in the cooling sand, and the man’s face came closer, blocking out the moon, and finally his lips touched hers, brushing across them as softly as a night breeze before resting more positively, snaring hers and holding them captive as his voice had held her captive earlier.

  There had to be a peri working magic somewhere here, because as kisses went it was magic. Not too demanding, nor too harsh, just a gentle but very thorough exploration of her lips and then her mouth while all the time his hand rested lightly on her back, beneath her hair, so at any time she could have stepped away.

  But she may as well try to pull iron filings from a magnet. She couldn’t move, content to have him explore, content to do a little exploration of her own, while her body went through the entire maelstrom of feelings she’d thought she’d never feel again—the tingling awareness, the fluttery beat of her heart, the slight queasiness in her stomach as if love was something for which there should be an antidote.

  Although this was kissing, not love, and, if you considered that only their lips were touching—apart from the light hand on her back—it was very modest kissing at that. But Kam’s lips…those lips had kissed before and were very, very good at it, which really should have been enough to make her step away but, alas, his expertise was also the reason why she couldn’t.

  ‘Do I sense you’re not quite with me in this kiss?’ he murmured, pulling far enough away for her to see his face. ‘Please, tell me you’re at least thinking about it and not about some mad scheme to get over the border and rescue the boy.’

  She couldn’t lie, so smiled instead.

  ‘No, I was thinking about kisses,’ she admitted, and saw the quick frown gather between his brows.

  ‘Whose kisses in particular?’ he asked, so huskily demanding she felt a sense of power, although she knew this man who barely knew her couldn’t possibly be jealous.

  ‘Oh, no one’s in particular,’ she said blithely, as if she’d sampled dozens and dozens of men’s kisses rather than just David’s. ‘Just kisses in general.’

  Kam growled then kissed her again, but this time the exploration stopped and the plunder began. This time he took and gave such heat and fire she thought her feet would surely leave scorch marks in the sand, and when he moved away she had to reach out for his arm to steady herself while her knees got organised enough to hold her up.

  ‘We’d better say goodnight,’ he said, his voice rasping against her lips as he kissed her one last time.

  ‘We had,’ she agreed, and, stronger now, drew away.

  Tomorrow she’d ask Marij or Aisha about the peris and their deeds, or maybe this desert had its own spirits. Didn’t djinns hail from these parts? Djinns, she knew, caused mischief, and could take on human or animal form. Was Kam a djinn in disguise, causing mischief in her life…?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHE woke up to noises in the tent, not cries and yells again but voices, speaking quietly, hushed in fact, as if the people out there didn’t want to disturb her.

  Slipping out of bed, she washed and dressed, glad she had a clean tunic to put on over her jeans, as she’d left the soiled one soaking overnight. Then, hair braided and scarf in place, she ventured forth to find Akbar still looking feverish and very pale, staring blindly at the roof of the tent while his wife and Kam spoke quietly beside him.

  Jenny nodded to them but kept walking. Akbar wasn’t one of her TB patients so she didn’t know him well, and he might be a man who didn’t want a woman, apart from his wife, to see him in this weakened state.

  It was also better, she decided, to not be too close to Kam until she’d sorted out in her head exactly what had happened last night.

  Well, she knew what had happened—she’d replayed it in every waking moment in the night. She’d allowed a virtual stranger to kiss her—worse, she’d kissed him back.

  Eventually…

  Embarrassment quivered in her toes and the distance from her corner to the outer doorway of the tent seemed a million miles.

  Kam, however, foiled her attempt at escape, calling her to the man’s bedside and motioning for her to kneel down.

  ‘Let me introduce you to Dr Stapleton,’ Kam said to Akbar, who nodded regally towards Jenny as she knelt beside the mattress on the ground, then turned his head away. ‘She, too, will be looking after you.’

  Kam spoke in English first, for her sake, Jenny assumed, then repeated his words in dialect.

  Akbar didn’t respond, but Jenny sensed he hated the idea of being dependent on a woman and wondered if she could persuade Mahmoud or one of her other male volunteer helpers to act as his nurse. She’d talk to Kam about it—

  ‘Come,’ he said, as if she’d already mentioned needing to discuss something. ‘We’ll go to breakfast.’

  He stood first, reaching down and taking her elbow to help her to her feet, and all the physical reactions she’d promised herself she wouldn’t feel by daylight sparked through her body.

  He had to be a djinn in human form!

  Perhaps that would explain why he wasn’t feeling any of the embarrassment she was feeling about the kiss.

  Perhaps he’d already forgotten the kiss or, man-like, had put it out of his mind. Jen knew she wasn’t a once-kissed-never-forgotten kind of girl but she felt slightly peeved to think he might have forgotten.

  Duh!

  She should be slapping her hand across her head to get her mind back on track, but as that might look a trifle weird, she made do with work-related conversation. After all, if Kam didn’t remember the kiss there was no way in this wide world she’d let him know she did!

  ‘Will Akbar find it hard to have women caring for him?’ she asked as she walked beside, but an almost safe distance apart from, Kam towards the food tent. ‘Should I get some of the men to take turns in sitting with him?’

  ‘His friends will want to care for him, and most of them will take notice of what we tell them needs to be done, but we still have to watch for signs of infection and internal bleeding. I can do that. You’re right, he’d prefer men around him.’

  Kam sounded distracted and was frowning slightly, and she wondered if there was something he hadn’t told her.

  Or if, perhaps, he did remember the kiss…

  But the conversation was medical, the subject Akbar, so she held up her end of it.

  ‘I guessed as much. Well, as long as there aren’t twenty of them clogging up the space and they don’t bring their water pipes and smoke in there, I suppose I can put up with it.’

  They’d reached the food tent where the women were already rolling up the sides so whatever breeze there was would flow through, but Kam had stopped and was staring at Jen as if he couldn’t understand her words.

  ‘You are one strange woman,’ he said, and stood back for her to enter the tent.

  Oh, yes? Had that judgement been made because she’d kept her distance—hadn’t mentioned the kiss, and flung herself on top of him for another—or because she didn’t want bubbling water pipes in her clinic tent?

  She turned her head so she was looking back over her shoulder at him.

  ‘Is that better or worse than argumentative?’ Kam heard the question, but didn’t answer, mesmerised by something in the tilt of her head which had brought back memories of the previous evening. Instead of the woman in a dull grey tunic in front of him, he saw the woman in dark blue silk, her hair a second silken garment, a cloak around her shoulders.

  ‘Argumentative, strange and stubborn,’ he said, mainly to remind himself of the attributes that weren’t on his list of what he wanted in a wife, although why he should be thinking of his potential wife in this woman’s presence, he didn’t know.

  And how he’d gone so far as to kiss her, he had no idea. It wouldn’t happen again, that was certain, for all she’d tasted like roses and honey…


  The very last thing he needed right now was the distraction of a woman…

  The woman in question was now speaking to the women in the tent, accepting a glass of tea then moving to where, to Kam’s amazement, an array of breakfast cereal packets were lined up on a table.

  ‘All this?’ he said, waving his hand towards the choices.

  ‘A breakfast cereal company is one of our largest contributors,’ Jenny explained with a smile. ‘I do keep telling their high-and-mighties that the basic ingredients—wheat and oats and corn—would be more acceptable and useful donations and far cheaper for them than giving us manufactured products, but I suppose grains don’t have the brand name and trade mark stamped on them, so they lose out in advertising.’

  ‘Advertising? They’d want to advertise their products way out here where no one has money to buy them, even if there were a shop from which they could?’

  ‘Come and see,’ Jenny said, laughing at him now, but she took his hand and led him out of the tent and up onto a little ridge behind the camp. ‘Look down,’ she said, and the first thing he noticed was a cardboard patch on one of the tents, with the brand name of the cereal company written in huge letters across it. He looked around and here and there throughout the camp were similar patches.

  ‘News planes fly over and take photos and what does everyone in the Western world see on the front page as they eat their cereal? Who knows, the letters are big enough they can probably see it from outer space. Martians might eventually come and visit earth for breakfast cereal.’

  Kam smiled at her glib remark but inside he wasn’t smiling. This was his country, albeit a very distant part of it, yet he was learning more about it from this foreigner than he could have believed possible.