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Chapter Five
They kept up the pace for what seemed like hours. The man behind her was as strong as his stallion.
Bree was acutely aware of the hard muscles in his chest, the tension and flex in his powerful arms as he guided the animal. She inhaled his masculine scent and felt his breath, hot against the back of her neck. As they rode, the wind in her face and the sips of water she’d had worked their magic, and she revived enough to begin speculating about who her rescuer was and where they were headed.
In the distance, she caught sight of something moving. Another lion? A jolt of fear tore through her.
Gradually, the image came into focus. It was her camel, plodding along, exhausted by its desperate escape. The chaise she’d ridden in was gone. Only a torn scrap of fabric from the curtains remained, caught under one of the straps that had held it on. Fortunately her leather saddlebags still hung on the animal’s sides.
The man reined in his stallion. Slipping off its back, he slowly approached the camel, crooning to it in a low voice. The beast stopped and fell to its knees. The man drew closer, petting the camel’s head while he took hold of the rope dangling from its harness. He vaulted back onto his horse and circled Bree’s body with his left arm, pulling her tight against his chest. Then he transferred the horse’s reins to his left hand, leaving his right hand free to hold the camel’s rope. A nudge to the stallion’s flanks set it in motion again, this time at a more sedate pace. He tugged on the rope. The camel rose obediently and trailed along behind them.
Another dull-brown ridge of mountains rose up, silhouetted against the setting sun. The horse took a barely discernable path uphill and through a narrow pass.
When they came out the other side, Bree gasped. Below her, ringed by jagged mountains, lay a huge body of water. Palm trees flourished along the banks. Bright fields of green surrounded the oasis, with the color tapering off to more muted shades of gray-green in the foothills.
The oasis supported what amounted to a small town with clusters of tents dotted here and there. She saw figures clad in white robes going about their daily chores. Herds of goats grazed in the foothills, tended by smaller robed figures.
One tent, larger than all the others, stood alone. A dozen Arabian stallions were corralled nearby. The horse picked up its pace, heading for the enclosure.
A bevy of veiled women ran out of the tent, their excited voices blurring together. Bree could make out a word here and there, but the dialect was unfamiliar.
The man barked a command, and the women fell silent, bowing their heads. He slid to the ground and reached up. With both hands clasped around her waist, he lifted Bree from the horse’s back and set her on her feet.
The women crowded around her, touching her bright coral earrings, pointing at her jeweled sandals and the delicate workmanship of the gold necklace she wore. Her companion strode off toward the tent without a word, leaving Bree and her string of admirers to trail along behind him.
Bree stepped inside – and was transported to anArabian Nightsmovie from the mind of Cecil B. DeMille. Colorful rugs layered one over another covered the entire floor. In the center of the tent, an ornate metal brazier glowed, with a pot of fragrant mint tea brewing on the coals.
Her rescuer threw himself down onto a padded chaise near the brazier. One of the women hurried to him, carrying a bowl of water. He unwound the turban covering his head and dipped his hands in the water, splashing it on his face.
Bree took stock of her rescuer. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with piercing blue eyes set in a rugged face bronzed by the sun. His sharply chiseled features had been stripped of excess flesh by the harsh desert life. Although his hair fell in shoulder-length dark locks, the man had only a faint stubble on his face. Most of the men she’d seen in Mahrib wore full beards. She knew his lack of facial hair was a sign of wealth and good fortune, showing he had water enough to spare and servants to shave him regularly.
One of the veiled women dropped to her knees in front of him, offering a cup of tea. He took it, smiling fondly at her, and caressed her cheek. Then he gestured for Bree to come forward.
She bowed her head and recited the formal greeting she had learned in case they encountered a nomadic tribe along the caravan route. “Lord of the desert, may the gods smile upon you. I thank you for rescuing me from the sands. My people will burn incense to all the holy ones on your behalf.”
He nodded once and replied in a formal tone as well. “I serve the will of the gods.”
Although his accent was strange, the words were close enough to those of the Sabatean language for her to understand most of what he said. He motioned for her to sit, but he had the only chair in the room, so Bree curled up on a rug near his chaise.
One of the women brought her a bowl of water, too. Bree took it gratefully, pulling her veil aside just enough to bring her cupped hands to her face and rinse it. She knew better than to remove her veil in front of a strange man. In the ancient world, that would brand her as a whore.
A woman with warm dark eyes rimmed with kohl bowed, handed her a cup of tea then retreated to a far corner with the others. The man waited till Bree had sipped from the cup then spoke again.
“Who are you. and how do you come to be alone in the desert?”
“I am Bilquis, known in my land as the Queen of Sheba. I was traveling with my caravan to the Holy City of Solomon, there to be united with the mate chosen for me from my father’s people.” Bree made a point of establishing her status both as a queen and as a woman betrothed to another. She had no intention of being consigned to the gaggle of female servants that made up the man’s harem.
His eyebrows rose, but he did not speak.
“Our caravan was set upon by a pack of lions,” she went on. “One of the creatures attacked my attendant Hassan, killing him. My camel panicked, fleeing into the desert. When I tried to stop the wretched beast, it threw me and bolted away, leaving me to follow on foot.” She fell silent, watching his face as he weighed his response.
“You are indeed favored by the gods, Queen of Sheba,” he said, his voice low and deep. “First they spared your life in the attack then they blessed you and allowed you to survive in the desert. And finally, they delivered you here to bask in my mercy, rather than sending you north to be found by our bloodthirsty neighbors. I am known as Tahraz, the suiltaan of this al ain.”
She didn’t have to be a linguist to figure out he was claiming to be ruler of this isolated realm. “May the gods rain blessings down upon you, Suiltaan Tahraz,” she replied.
He regarded her solemnly then apparently came to a decision. “I will send a messenger to your people, telling them of your good fortune. If they respond in a way that pleases me, I will enter into discussions with your suiltaan for the terms of your release.”
“Release? Am I a captive?”
