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Covered-faces surrounded the caravan’s head, armed with their muskets pointed at them. They were six or seven. The leader advanced a little more to near Tariq. Not so tall, piercing dark eyes shone through the rags smothering his face. His soiled kaftan of a poorer fabric, his horse ill-treated. The other criminals dressed like him and their horses showed the same condition.
The leader looked at Tariq and said something, his chin motioning to her. Lucinda understood scattered words. The woman…no harm…the riffles. They wanted to take her and the fire arms with the—doubtful—promise to leave the caravan in peace.
Blind revolt dominated Tariq’s guts. He would gladly give everything he had. But Lucinda. Never her. Never! To think what could happen to her in the hands of those villains. A cold rage and a fierce sense of protection overtook him.
Lucinda perceived his reaction. He’d put his life in danger if he acted so hot headed. She wanted to shield him from doing something unwise, even if she knew he’d twist his nose at the idea of a woman protecting him.
“I’ll go with them.” She murmured to him under her breath. “We don’t want bloodshed.”
His cognac-against-fire eyes darted to her and they burned with fury. He said nothing, but her demeanour did. It told him to keep calm. A worked up temper would blur his clear mind. For her, he tamped down his emotional reaction and his expression shuttered. Tariq would do what he did best. Negotiate.
He turned to the leader and talked to him even-voiced. “You can take the riffles, not the woman.”
The leader gave a loud mocking laugh. “We are not one of your buyers!” He stopped laughing. “We’re taking what we want!” A simple order.
Tariq stared at him striving to keep serene. He had to find a way out of this. He couldn’t bear the idea of Lucinda being harmed in any way. Not even a scratch. If something happened to her, he’d follow the band to the end of the world and rip them off it.
“Tell her to dismount and to walk to my horse slowly.” The leader commanded. “We are going to teach her what happens to those who shoot right hands.
She observed them behind her veil. Three of them had their right hands wrapped in rags, una
ble to carry guns properly, she reckoned. Good. A plan already forming in her head. Timing would be essential now.
“He wants you to dismount and go.” His voice hollow. “I’ll follow them and rescue you, be sure of that.” He lowered his head and muttered. “If you manage to escape, follow north, there’s a village not far from here.”
His trust in her skills hit her as a flattering surprise. She just blinked to show acknowledgement and moved to dismount. But what she did was throw herself on the ground, faking a fall. The sand warmed her back through her tunic and her sandals filled with hot grains. She lay on the floor holding her knee, as if she’d hurt it, screaming.
The leader looked at her, suspicious. She intensified her act. Surreptitiously, she surveyed the other men. Not so well nourished, she concluded. Tariq’s men could easily overcome them. Determined not to give in by any means, she kept her focus.
Tariq moved to dismount to help her. The leader nudged his musket on him to prevent him from doing it. The idea she could have hurt herself stung him. She wouldn’t be fit for a runaway if the opportunity presented itself. The exertion of maintaining a cool mind and not taking action made his muscles tense. He congealed, waiting for things to unfold as chilling sweat ran down his skin and his heart pounded a war-like tattoo.
Still pointing the gun to Tariq, he dismounted his horse, vigilant. He paced to where she lay and crouched next to her, gun trained on Tariq. His filthy stink invaded her nostrils, causing her stomach to churn. He commanded her to something, but she didn’t move. Tariq said something, probably that she didn’t understand their language. The leader seemed exasperated. Laying the musket on the ground, he made to lift her. But she moved quick as lightning at the cue. She grabbed the musket and pointed it at him. And glared at his sooty face head on, intent on her endeavour. Her stance didn’t flinch as she fully communicated she’d shoot if he reacted.
The band receded without the leader’s directions and loosened their grip on the situation. With no waste of time, he ordered them to surrender the weapons. In a second his men dominated the group.
In a swift jerk, Lucinda stood up, musket pointed at the leader. She had to admit these clothes gave her total freedom of movement. Pepper-mint eyes darted mortal shards at his small dark-brown ones. Staring wildly at him, she made him understand he had messed with the wrong woman, and the wrong man, for that matter.
“Is there some kind of magistrate we can take them to?” She asked Tariq, without ripping her eyes from the villain.
“Yes.” He said. “We can tie them and take them to him.
She nodded. “The Sahara will be cleaner!”
Tariq and his men busied themselves tying the band members one on the other in a line, which attached to a camel, hands tied. Aziz would do it. Only then did Lucinda release the musket. And the caravan re-started their way.
She needed no rescuing after all
There could be no helping it. This sense of pride. His woman, his. Only his. Ok, so she’d said nobody owned her. He took her. With excruciating need. So, she was his now. End of conversation. Simple, too simple, what happened back there. Just a well-placed trick and timing. And she alone caught a band of thieves. Well, not exactly alone, he’d had a part in it, undoubtedly. He and his men, too. She stood tough, he had to admit it, as his camel paced the dusty ground. His Princess of the Desert. A smile designed on his sensuous lips. She belonged there. She belonged with him. They were good together, he mused. Too good for his peace of mind.
To think of what could have happened to her. The thought clouded Tariq’s bravado. The possibility rendered unbearable. What if he lost her? It would be like his heart got wrenched from his chest by invisible hands. There would be no fathoming as to what happened to him. Just a woman, for heaven’s sake! It didn’t matter though. The way the episode affected him caused surprise.
When they arrived at the next village, Lucinda plunged in a strange kind of haze. It’d sunk in after they had re-started their journey. Maybe an after-shock. She’d sat motionless on her camel, staring ahead without blinking. The fear for Tariq’s life, and hers, was all that remained in her mind. The way they regained control had been unpretentious enough. And lucky they’d made it. But what if it hadn’t worked? She’d have been taken. Maybe Tariq would have gotten hurt, trying to prevent the villains from succeeding. No use dwelling on the if’s, she knew. Nevertheless, her mind swirled around them.
The moment the villagers saw the thieves tied and heard what happened they roared with cheers. Her epithet repeated to exhaustion. She kept her countenance. Those people would be offended if she reacted adversely. With the outlaws caught, the consequences of their acts would befall them.
Utterly relief flooded her when Tariq sent her to the lodging with the request for a bath. She bathed quickly, had no energy to wash her hair. She plaited it and lay in bed as an overwhelming tiredness dominated her. Her body lay down balled under the blankets.
The last crimson rays of sun had disappeared in the west, when Tariq came to the lodging. Lucinda had dozed off. He looked at her with a worried wrinkle printed on his olive forehead. No need to ask her anything. He knew what coursed inside her because the same happened to him.
