Sheik

by Mason, Connie

Ignoring her plea, he grasped her hand and pulled her toward the water. “Discard your robe,” he gasped as pain lanced through him. He was in shock and bleeding profusely. He had no idea how he would save them both, but leaving Zara behind was unthinkable. Drowning was preferable to what the sultan had in store for them.

  Zara pulled off her djellaba and left it on the shore. She and Jamal entered the water scant seconds before the soldiers reached them. Fortunately, for them, not one man among them could swim. They stood on the shore shouting and waving their arms as Jamal pulled Zara into the deep water. As they drifted away, Zara heard the captain shouting for a boat.

  The moment Zara’s feet floated free of the bottom she panicked. She wanted to grasp Jamal around the neck but had enough sense to realize that to do so would doom them both. It was too dark to see the blood-stained water, but Zara didn’t have to see it to know that Jamal was losing copious amounts of blood. If they didn’t drown in the freezing water, sharks would surely find them.

  Zara felt herself start to go under and saw her life pass before her eyes. Then, miraculously, Jamal’s arm came around her upper chest, supporting her and pulling her with him through the icy water. She had no idea where he found the strength but blessed Allah for it. Once or twice Jamal faltered and they both went under, but each time he recovered and dragged her with him to the surface.

  “Don’t give up,” he said, choking on a mouthful of salty sea water. “We’re almost there. Kick your feet, it will help propel us forward.”

  Zara wanted to cry out that they wouldn’t make it, but as long as he had the courage to try, she had no right to complain. She kicked her feet and was surprised how much it helped. Hours passed, or so it seemed to Zara. In truth it was little more than fifteen minutes before the hull of the Plunderer rose up before them.

  “The anchor chain, grab the anchor chain,” Jamal gasped as the last of his strength drained from his body.

  His grip slipped from around her chest just as Zara reached for the anchor chain. She caught it and clung to it like a monkey, searching the dark surface for Jamal. He was nowhere to be seen, and she screamed out his name. Suddenly he popped to the surface a few feet away, and she made a desperate lunge for him with her free hand. She grasped the wet silk of his hair and pulled him toward her.

  “Jamal, can you hear me?”

  Through a fog of pain, half-drowned and nearly too weak to reply, Jamal heard Zara call to him and rallied enough to grunt in reply.

  “Grab the anchor chain. It’s right here.” She guided his hand to the iron links. “Now hang on while I climb up to summon help.”

  “The boats—”

  “I hear them but I don’t see them. Perhaps the soldiers thought we drowned and turned back. Don’t give up, my love. Whatever you do, don’t let go of the anchor chain.”

  Even as she spoke, Jamal’s arms started to slip away. But Zara wasn’t about to let him drown. They had come too far together. Thinking fast, she pulled the sash off her trousers and lashed Jamal to the anchor chain, securing him as tightly as she could with her cold, stiff fingers. Her baggy trousers floated down around her ankles and she kicked them off. Satisfied that he wouldn’t drift away, she began a slow ascent up the anchor chain.

  Zara had to stop twice and rest before she reached the top. She tried not to think about what this kind of exertion was doing to her baby, and placed herself and her child in Allah’s merciful hands. When she finally reached the top railing, she was too weak to pull herself up onto the deck. Filling her lungs with air, she gave a shout loud enough to gain the attention of the watch.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Help! Please, help me. Summon the captain.”

  The watch grabbed a lamp and went to her aid. He set the lamp down and hauled her onto the deck. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “There’s no time,” Zara said in a gasp. “Sheik Jamal needs help. He’s wounded and unable to climb aboard on his own. I tied him to the anchor chain. Quickly, pull him up.”

  The man stared at Zara as if she were a mermaid who had arisen from the sea. He held the lantern high, his mouth agape as his gaze slid over her dripping form. Her long, streaming hair, the thrust of her breasts against her wet shirt, the curve of her shapely hips, her long bare legs; there was no denying she was a female … a lovely one at that.

  “What’s going on? Who is this woman?”

  A man appeared beside the watch. Zara hoped it was the captain.

  “Are you Captain Brahim?”

  “How do you know me?”

  “There is no time for explanations. The sultan’s men are searching for us. I’ve secured Sheik Jamal to the anchor chain with my sash. He’s sorely wounded. You must pull him up before the soldiers find him.”

  The mention of Jamal brought Captain Brahim to immediate attention. “Jamal is here, you say? Clinging to the anchor chain?”

  He snatched the lamp from the watch’s hand and held it over the side. What he saw galvanized him into action. “Pull up the anchor!” he shouted. The watch immediately put his back into the task. Two men arrived to help. Within minutes, nearly the entire crew had assembled.

  Zara watched in trepidation as the sash securing Jamal to the anchor chain was slit and he was lifted aboard. “How is he?” she asked as they laid him out on the deck.

  “Still alive,” Captain Brahim said, “but in grave condition.”

  “He’s trying to say something,” Zara said, kneeling at Jamal’s side and leaning close.

  “Mogador,” Jamal gasped out. “Raise … the sails. No time … to … lose.”

  Captain Brahim snapped out an order and the crew leaped into action. Suddenly the deck exploded with activity as the sails caught the wind and the ship inched forward.

  “Take the sheik to his cabin,” Brahim ordered crisply. “Carefully, now.” He turned to Zara. “Who are you, lady?”

  Zara swayed, suddenly too weak to stand. No answer was forthcoming as the world spun away, taking her with it.

  Brahim caught her before she hit the deck. He carried her into the master cabin and laid her down beside Jamal. Then he shifted his attention to Jamal. He was no doctor, but he knew the look of death upon a man when he saw it.

  Zara came to a short time later. The first thing she saw was Brahim’s grim expression. “How bad is it?” she asked.

  “I’ve inspected the wound, lady. It is indeed grave. In my humble opinion, not even a skilled doctor can save him.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Jamal’s personal physician is awaiting the Plunderer at Mogador,” Zara explained. “He is learned and competent; he won’t let Jamal die.”

  “Even with fair winds ’tis a five-day journey to Mogador.” Brahim sent Zara a pitying look. “Jamal’s fate is in Allah’s hands now.”

  “He won’t die!” Zara said fiercely. “Bring your medicine chest; I will treat him myself. We must keep him alive until we reach Mogador. Pile on the canvas, Captain, and pray for fair winds.”

  Even though he had no idea who Zara was, the captain obeyed without question. While he was gone, Zara removed Jamal’s bloody clothing. Her first look at the gaping wound in his groin sent a spurt of bitter gall into her throat. It was a hideous wound. Fortunately, the bleeding had slowed to a trickle, due, Zara suspected, to the cold salt water. Would the salt also act to disinfect? she wondered as she covered him with a sheet.

  Captain Brahim returned with the medicine chest. “You won’t find much here except salves and bandages.” He set the chest on the desk and lifted the lid.

  “Jamal’s wound needs stitching; can you do it?” she asked.

  Brahim shook his head, turning slightly green. “Jamal always treated the men’s wounds himself. I have no skill at doctoring. Can’t it wait until we reach Mogador?”

  “Nay. The wound must be cleansed and stitched immediately.”

  Disappointed with the captain’s lack of medical skill, Zara set to work, using what little knowledge she p
ossessed. She spent a long time cleaning the wound of blood and gore, marveling at how close the sword had come to making him a eunuch and thanking Allah that it hadn’t.

  “Fetch me a needle and silk,” she said, fighting the waves of nausea that threatened her delicate stomach. The sickening stench of blood, combined with the stifling heat inside the cabin, produced a churning sickness inside her. She swallowed hard, forcing the bitterness to settle back where it belonged.

  When her stomach settled down, she took the needle and silk from the captain, threaded the needle and turned back to Jamal. His breathing was shallow, his face so pale she feared he wouldn’t last through her crude doctoring. And he was still… so very still. Her throat worked convulsively as she took her first stitch.

  Sweat dripped into her eyes and she dashed it away. She paid little heed to the fact that she wore only a shirt, and that her legs from thighs to ankles were bare. Only one thing mattered: Jamal had to live.

  “Finished,” Zara said shakily as she leaned against the bunk for support.

  “You did well, lady,” Brahim said. He poured a glass of water from a pitcher and handed it to her. “Now, please be so kind as to tell me who you are.”

  “Zara.” Jamal’s voice, or a weak imitation of it, brought a cry of gladness to Zara’s lips.

  “Jamal, you’re awake!”

  “Where am I?”

  “Aboard the Plunderer. Captain Brahim has set a course for Mogador. You’re going to be fine.”

  “You lie, sweet vixen. I’m dying. Where is the captain?”

  Brahim stepped forward. “Here, my lord.”

  Jamal grasped Zara’s hand. “We wish to be married, Captain. Now. You must perform the ceremony immediately.”

  “This is no time for—”

  Jamal coughed, fought for breath, and said, “This is precisely the right time. Zara must be my wife before I die. ’Tis imperative that Zara becomes the Countess of Lanford before she reaches England. Marry us now and prepare the papers while I am still capable of signing my name.”

  “Please, Jamal, try not to become agitated,” Zara begged. “There is no need for a ceremony now. It can wait.”

  Jamal ignored her. “You have your orders, Captain. Bring in the witnesses.”

  Captain Brahim made a hasty exit.

  “I suggest you cover your legs, love,” Jamal said. “You’ll find clothing in the chest at the foot of the bunk.”

  There was a smile in his voice, but Zara was not fooled. His pain must have been unbearable, for his face was drained of all color and his words were slurred, as if speaking was a great effort.

  Zara found a caftan in the chest and donned it quickly. She was standing beside Jamal when the captain returned with two crewmen.

  “Are you sure this is what you want, my lord?” Brahim felt compelled to ask.

  “More than my own life,” Jamal whispered. “If you haven’t met yet, this is Princess Zara, the woman who has captured my heart. Marry us, my friend. Time is growing short.”

  Jamal could feel his life slipping away. His eyes were dimming and he was standing before a long tunnel. He refused to make the journey to the other side until Zara had the protection of his name.

  Captain Brahim performed the short Islamic ceremony uniting Jamal and Zara. With the last of his rapidly waning strength, Jamal signed the papers. Then he sighed and closed his eyes. He was content now. Whatever happened to him, Zara had the protection he’d promised her. His mother would respect his choice of bride and all would be well.

  “I will leave you with your bride,” Brahim said. “When a man breathes his last, he should be in the arms of his beloved.”

  Jamal seemed to rally at the captain’s words. “I’m trusting you to bring my friends aboard at Mogador and see Zara safely to England. The ship is yours when I die.”

  “My lord, I—”

  “Leave us,” Zara whispered. Jamal sounded as if he had already given up and she wouldn’t allow it. He still didn’t know about the baby, and she decided there was no better time to tell him than now. Perhaps the knowledge that he was to become a father would impel him to fight harder for his life.

  She dropped to her knees beside the bunk and smoothed the hair from his forehead. “Jamal, can you hear me?” No answer. “Please, Jamal, don’t leave me. You have so much to live for. I’m going to have your child.”

  Jamal heard a voice calling to him but was too tired to respond. The entrance to the tunnel yawned before him, and he sensed that a tranquillity he’d never experienced before lay just beyond. Yet something prevented him from taking that first and final step.

  “Jamal! I need you. Our child needs you.” Her voice rose on a note of despair and anger. How dare he bring her this far only to desert her? “You have no right to leave me like this.”

  Her anger finally got through to him. Though the mysterious promise of the tunnel still beckoned, it no longer seemed important that he reach the other side. His eyelids fluttered as the voice called him back from the edge of eternity. Somehow it seemed crucial that he listen and respond.

  “Jamal! I’m going to have your baby. Come back, come back to me.”

  Were his fluttering eyelids a good sign? Zara wondered. She chose to think so as she continued to whisper in his ear, telling him how much she loved him, how desperately she and their child needed him.

  I have no child, Jamal thought. Why is Zara tormenting me? He started to drift away again and was suddenly pulled back when he heard an urgent voice pestering him about a child. Inspired by those intriguing words, he deliberately turned his back on the tunnel, drifting toward the voice upon a wave of pain.

  Zara sensed the precise moment that Jamal returned to her. His eyelids fluttered open and he stared at her.

  “Jamal, can you hear me?”

  “Why are you angry with me?” he whispered weakly.

  Zara blinked away her tears. Jamal hadn’t left her yet, but the knowledge that he still might lingered in the back of her mind. “Have you heard nothing I’ve said?”

  Jamal frowned, trying to recall his strange experience in the tunnel. “I heard… a voice. It called me back from the tunnel. I didn’t want to return but the voice—was it yours?—accused me of deserting my child. I have no child. What did it mean, Zara?”

  Jamal’s reference to the tunnel left Zara puzzled, but she didn’t dwell on it. He was back with her for the time being and she was grateful for that small miracle.

  “I’m carrying your child, my love. I hadn’t found the proper time to tell you until now. I thought you’d left me, and it frightened me.”

  Jamal merely stared at her, unable to comprehend what she was telling him. “I’m so tired.”

  The door to the cabin opened and Captain Brahim stepped inside, ready to comfort the grieving widow. He was stunned to see Jamal still alive. Not only alive but speaking.

  “Are you a witch, my lady? I could have sworn—”

  Suddenly Jamal seemed to rally. “My wife has extraordinary powers, Brahim. Powerful enough to snatch me back from death’s door. I have much to live for. I’m going to be a father.”

  He’d heard! Relief shuddered through Zara. “Aye, my love, you do indeed have much to live for.”

  Even as she spoke, Jamal’s eyelids dropped. Brahim leaped forward. “Is he … ?”

  “Sleeping,” Zara said, noting the shallow but steady rise and fall of his chest.

  “I don’t know what miracle occurred here but I thank Allah for it. Is there anything you need, my lady?”

  “Water and broth. Jamal needs nourishment. And something more substantial for me to eat.”

  Jamal slept off and on the rest of the night and far into the following day. He was still alive but burning with fever, interspersed with bouts of chills. With the help of two crewmen who had volunteered to assist her, Zara bathed Jamal’s burning body with cold sea water to bring down the fever. When he shook with chills, she sent the two crewmen away and slipped into bed beside hi
m, sharing her body heat with him. He was still seriously ill but at least he was alive. If the winds held and Allah was kind, they would reach Mogador and Dr. David ben Israel in time to save Jamal. She prayed zealously for a miracle.

  Jamal still clung to a thread of life when they dropped anchor at Mogador. Captain Brahim and several crewmen rowed ashore, relieved to find Haroun at the docks waiting for the Plunderer to arrive.

  “Praise Allah for your timely presence here,” Brahim said as he grasped Haroun’s arm in greeting. “Where is the rest of your party?”

  “Waiting at the inn for word of your arrival. We reached Morador just last night. Where is Jamal?”

  “The sheik was mortally wounded by one of the sultan’s soldiers. They were patrolling the waterfront when he and the princess arrived in Tangier. Jamal managed to swim to the ship despite his wound.”

  Haroun grasped the captain’s shoulders in a brutal grip. “Do not tell me Jamal is dead, for I refuse to believe it.”

  “Nay, not dead, but close. ’Tis a miracle he’s still alive after the serious wound he suffered. Allah surely was with the sheik, for he managed to get both himself and Lady Zara to the ship. He requires the services of his physician immediately.”

  “I will get him and the others. I’ve already hired boats to take us to your ship.”

  Haroun turned on his heel. The inn was but a scant distance away and he was back with the others a short time later. The boats were summoned, and Jamal’s friends piled in with their possessions. Dr. David ben Israel clasped his case of medicines against his chest, entrusting it to no one. He prayed his knowledge of medicine was sufficient to save Jamal.

  The doctor hurried to Jamal’s bedside the moment his feet touched the deck. Zara watched anxiously as he inspected Jamal’s wound, which showed signs of festering.

  “Who treated him?” ben Israel asked.

  “I did,” Zara said, “but I am not skilled. I cleansed and stitched the wound as best I could.”

  “You did exactly right, my lady. Unfortunately, you did not have the right medicines, and infection rages through his body. The wound must be reopened and the infection flushed out. It won’t be a pretty sight, my lady. Perhaps you should leave and let Hammet or Nafisa assist me.”