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The caravan’s leader took the veil from the woman who’d unveiled her and grabbed her wrist. Fear and adrenalin shot into her. He gave her the veil and pointed to her head. She dressed it as appropriately as her shaky fingers allowed, despite her trembling. Then he took her arm again and made to pull her with him.
At that exact moment, a voice shouted, at her back. Even if she landed on another planet, she’d know who it was. Tariq. Her heart skipped once more. Would the man never let her go, for blast’s sake!
The older man released her and walked to him. The middle-aged man talked in altered voice and in quick gestures. She looked at Tariq. He had a blank expression in his cognac-against-fire eyes, which seemed even brighter in broad day light. Tariq shook his head several times as much as his snowy kaftan swung in the wind. Finally, he took her hand and pulled her to his direction. The middle-aged caravan leader turned and, with him, the others, resuming his way.
Tariq’s and Lucinda’s eyes locked. In fierce battle. “Mount.” He commanded dryly.
A ball of fire and anger exploded in her. “Why did you have to come after me?” She breathed hard. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you!”
Tariq tamped his shameless impolite answer. Never had a woman dismissed him so vehemently. He’d always been the centre of his mother’s cares and his concubine’s lives. That she ordered him away in such a tone was…was… His fists balled and he strove to control his temper. “Mount.” He repeated in un-defying command.
She eyed him in defiance. “No!” and started walking in the direction of the caravan.
And now the
chit turned her back on him! He marched to her and stopped before her. “I said mount!” He lowered his torso, grabbed her legs, lifted her and walked to the camel which sat obedient since Tariq had dismounted.
She thrashed with her whole might. “Put me down now!” Her head upside down over his back, the veil floating in the wind.
“Do you know what Saied wanted?” He asked, referring to the middle-aged leader.
She stopped thrashing. “What?”
“He wanted to buy you.” He sat her on the camel, mounted in front of her and the camel lifted in a wavy move. In the negotiation, he’d kept an aloof countenance. Nevertheless, the man’s proposition made an unwavering possessive trait erupt from the depths of him. An irrational urge to punch the man to a pulp. If he showed any reaction to the proposition, they’d have forced him to stand back, while they took her. Appearing cold was a strain, but he came up on top, in the end.
She didn’t miss the iron quality of his deep voice. And froze. She understood what this meant: this Saied would have taken her as his slave if Tariq hadn’t shown up here. As the leader, she predicted he had precedence over the others. As Tariq himself in his caravan. There, no man so much as looked at her, because they considered her Tariq’s woman. The experience of being treated as goods not pleasant at all.
Thinking of it, she wasn’t sure if in England it differed so much. Husbands had prerogatives over their wives’ bodies, dowry and freedom. An English lady couldn’t do anything without her father’s or husband’s permission. The only power a wife had was to manage her husband’s home, with a budget approved by him. Massively advantageous for a woman, she scorned inward.
A gust of hot wind blew her veil. Tariq turned to the east and what seemed an imprecation left his sensuous lips in Arabic. “What is it?” She asked.
“A sandstorm. And it will hit us rather soon.”
She gazed at where his attention lay. A huge greyish cloud elevated from the ground and nothing would be seen beyond it. Per the travellers, if taken unaware, a sandstorm might kill. They usually lasted from a few minutes to hours on end and held the power bury a person alive.
His eyes scanned the surroundings, and he directed the camel towards west, forcing it to a gallop.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find shelter. Hold tight.”
She circled his taut body with her arms as the wind grew more intense. Her whole upper body glued to his, it made her acquire this safe sensation. She hid her face on his back and hoped she’d emerge from this alive.
This did not list as the first or second sandstorm Tariq caught. Used to them, he had ample experience of how to survive. He only needed time. Her tight embrace so incredibly reassuring. As if she trusted him and it made him proud to be able to protect her.
Tariq located a rocky hill not far ahead. He rode to it, dismounted even before the camel stopped and helped her to the ground. “Climb the hill to that point there.” He instructed her. This time she didn’t discuss and struggled with the rocks. He took the camel’s reins and guided it up the hill.
A sandstorm would place a layer of sand on the lower ground, that’s why it was important to find a place higher, to avoid burial. Blankets and canvas helped to protect the body from the stinging grains.
Tariq found a place behind the hill which would shield the storm. He tied the camel firmly to a salience on the rocks; and worked quickly untying his provisions and the water skin she brought. He placed a blanket on her back and took a piece of canvas. To tie it on the camel’s back and head. The animal would try to break free because it’d sense danger. It had to be very well secured, or it would perish and leave its owner on foot.
He found saliencies on the rock and tied the other piece of canvas, improvising a tiny tent for them. Delicately, he made her lean against the rock. And they waited, in the dimly lit space.
His gaze found her. Veil dishevelled by the wind; she turned her head about her with anxiety in her wide open green eyes.
“We are safe. Don’t worry.” He tried to comfort her. Her enormous eyes darted up to his. They held each other’s stare for a long moment, his reassuring. She nodded, inhaling and exhaling large gulps of air, after which she seemed calmer. He offered her water and took a swig himself.
And then the storm broke upon them. Strong winds flapped the canvas violently with a shrilling noise. Grains of sand flew inside and Lucinda closed her eyes. The camel outside emitted high-pitched bleats, its hooves struggling against the rocks.
