SYDNEY WOKE WHEN FRESH, COOL air touched her face. For a moment she hung between sleep and waking, listening to the snort of the camels and horses, the quiet murmur of people, while the stars wheeled overhead, in a perfectly clear sky.
The storm was over.
Then she realized she was cradled against Alim’s shoulder, her face uncovered.
Faint alarm touched her. She should sit up and cover her face. Only, it was so nice, right here, and she was so tired. The alarm wasn’t strong enough to make her move.
She could hear his heart, firm and strong.
He gripped her shoulders and shook. “Wake up.” He was nearly whispering.
Sydney sighed and sat up. The caravan had halted on a sinuous s-shaped curve at the top of a dune. All around them, people were jumping to the ground and stretching. Water pouches were passed along.
Alim slid to the ground. “We’ll sleep here. At first light, we’ll move on and find a place to camp and rest.”
The idea of stopping—just stopping and not moving again—made her almost moan with the luxury of it.
Alim held up a hand. “Get down,” he told her.
She knew she was far too tired to do the backward swing of the leg and the jump down to the ground that he made look so easy. Maybe that was why he had his hand up, to help her.
So she lifted her leg over Basel’s head and swiveled on the saddle blanket, her feet dropping down. Then she slithered down to the sand and her knees buckled.
Alim caught her. She landed heavily against his shoulder and tried to push herself upright. He lifted her back onto her feet and steadied her, his hands at her waist. Sydney looked up at him and met his eyes.
She caught her breath as the impact of his gaze registered. She had managed to convince herself that this was Alim, a stranger. Now the illusion was ripped away, because there was raw wanting in Alex’s eyes. The heated lust, that no one but she and Rafe ever got to see, was burning there. Her body reacted as it always did to that look in Alex’s eyes. She trembled, the tips of her breasts growing hard and sensitive, her clit throbbing with sudden urgency.
Sydney fought the need to reach for him or to show in any way her frantic need. Her hand moved restlessly against his shoulder. She could feel the heat of him through the layers. She could feel the solid power of his body. Even as a human, he was strong.
His gaze moved to her lips and lingered there.
She could feel the air slipping between her lips, while a thousand memories of Alex kissing her flickered through her mind. Oh, how she wished for his kiss now! She had been alone for days, carrying this impossible burden of having to fix time itself, to right history. A kiss would tell her she wasn’t alone.
His head lowered, by the tiniest amount. She sucked in her breath again.
Alex swayed toward her and she felt his breath fan her face.
For a heartbeat or two, they stayed locked there, while temptation raged in both of them. She could see it in his eyes, as he must surely be able to see it in hers.
Then he straightened up, pulling away from her. He moved slowly, as if reluctance dragged at every muscle. Then he stepped back, severing all contact between them.
The air felt cold against her and she shivered.
“Cover your face,” he said. His voice was strained. “Until I build a shelter for you to sleep beneath.”
Sydney’s breath shuddered in and out. She was trembling again. With shaking hands, she hooked the veil back into place.
Silently, Alim stripped Basel of his saddle blanket and storm coverings, then stacked two piles of packs and draped the cover they had used as protection against the storm over the top. He held up the side. “It is primitive, but it is private and warm,” he assured her. “You can sleep knowing you are well protected even here.” He pulled out his sword with the other hand and buried it tip first in the sand, so that it stood quivering next to the packs.
All down the line, low tent-like shelters were being erected in a similar fashion. Sydney watched a woman crawl underneath and pull the canvas over herself.
Encouraged, Sydney did the same. She looked out at Alim. “Where will you sleep?” she asked.
“Right next to you.” He laid down on his back, within reach of the sword and rested his hands on his chest, looking up at the stars. Then he rolled his head to look at her. His eyes met hers. “Sleep,” he murmured.
Sydney pulled the shelter over her, curled up on her side, pillowed her head on her arm and slept the deepest sleep of her life.
* * * * *
Alim preserved Sydney’s privacy even when waking her. He could have simply pulled the covering away and the rising sun hitting her face would have woken her. She stirred, though, when she felt his hand on her arm, shaking her. She opened her eyes.
He was on his knees in the sand, reaching in under the cover to stir her. He had folded just enough of the canvas back to do so. His body blocked the blinding rays of the morning sun from hitting her in the face.
“There is tea,” he said.
She hooked her veil into place, slid her hood back over the turban and brushed down her overdress, then eased out from beneath the canvas. Along the line, others were doing the same. There was stretching and murmurs. The sounds were subdued.
There were two glasses sitting in the sand. The glass portion was seated inside a silver filigree holder and handle. The scent of mint tea wafted toward her and steam rose from the glasses.
Her throat closed down. Her mouth was parched. The tea would be heavenly.
Alim was holding a cloth-wrapped bundle. He sat in the sand next to the cups and unwrapped it. Sydney moved over to sit next to him, then paused. “Do you mind…should I sit here?” Perhaps it was offensive to sit next to a man out in the open.
“There is no tent. For now, expediency outweighs propriety,” he said. “Sit. Drop your veil and eat. No man will think less of you at this time.”
She settled in the sand, keeping the tea cups between them, and picked one of the cups up. Alim held out the cloth toward her. On the cloth were three rolls of what looked like a thin pancake.
“We will eat better when we camp. This must serve until then,” Alim said.
Sydney’s stomach rumbled emptily. She had not eaten since yesterday. She took one of the rolls and bit into it. It did taste a lot like a pancake. Then the flavors hit her tongue and she paused, savoring them. There was something sweet—honey, probably. A creamy taste was mixed with it. There was a hint of a spice. Nutmeg, perhaps. Or cloves. It was delicious and Sydney ate quickly, then licked her fingers and picked up her tea and sipped.
Alim ate more slowly, as if his thoughts were far away. He poured the last dregs of his tea onto the sand, then touched his forehead and lowered his head toward the sun. She realized it was a form of prayer.
He glanced at her. “Allah will understand,” he said. “We must remove ourselves from the horizon before enemies see us from afar.” He got to his feet and picked up his cup and the cloth.
Startled, Sydney looked around. The horizon was a long way from here, with miles of undulating dunes between. If she could see that far, then someone down there would easily be able to spot the shapes of them on the crest of the dune. “There are enemies out here, still? I thought you beat Naravas and his men?”
“Naravas is but one enemy of my people. The Caliphate…” He glanced around. “It is not as strong as it once was,” he said, his voice lowered. “Enemies can sense weakness and prey on it. Thus, we defend ourselves every day, from without and within.”
Civil war. Sydney frowned as she put her veil back into place and poured out her dregs of tea. Alex had mentioned before that the Fatimid empire had crumbled because of leadership disputes. The loss of Palestine to the Christians had been just one of the last blows and that was a few years from now.
Alim patted Basel’s nose and talked to him, as he put the saddle back on. Men hurried along the line, coiling up the rope that had led everyone through the storm. Others were settling packs and bags on camels and horses. The caravan was preparing to move again.
Alim jumped up onto Basel’s back, then slid backward and held out his hand.
“I ride with you?”
“We must hurry this morning, faster than you can walk.”
Sydney took his hand, yet he did not immediately lift her up. His fingers rested against her wrist. His eyes met hers.
“What is your name?” he asked softly.
Sydney was startled. In all this time in his camp, no one had had reason to call her by name. She was the whore, the stranger, the Englishwoman.
Now, Alim was asking for her name. She had become more than an outsider. Under the veil, she smiled, knowing he could not see it. “I am called Sydney,” she told him.
“Zid-nay?”
“Sydney,” she repeated.
“Zidnay of the Angels.” He frowned. The tips of his warm fingers shifted against her flesh. “It is a strange name.”
“I am a stranger.” Any reminder of the larger world beyond his would keep his thoughts on the lands beyond the sea.
Alim looked as though he was about to say more, then a pair of horses nudged past him, the two riders chatting softly.
He glanced at the riders, as if he had just remembered where he was, then pulled her up onto Basel. She lifted her leg over and settled into place.
The caravan did move more quickly. They did not immediately slip and slide down the face of the dune they were on. Instead, they took the gentler slope down the side. Once they were below the horizon, they stayed in the valleys and depressions. Sometimes their path was a sand-lined gulley barely wide enough to give passage. Other times, the wide bowl they traversed stretched beyond sight, while hot currents distorted the air, making images waver.
As the sun climbed higher, the heat became ferocious. Sydney was glad of the protective clothing she was wearing, even though she sweated freely beneath it. Where the cloth did not cover her, especially the back of her hands, the sun bit deeply. She pushed her hands inside the overdress, using the slits in the sides. There was no need to hold the reins. They rested on Basel’s neck, loosely knotted together. What little direction Basel needed Alim gave with his knees.
The sun was at its zenith when the valley they were in opened up into one of the wider plains. On the far side, it looked as though there were tents and people moving among them. Sydney squinted, wondering if this was another mirage.
As the rest of the caravan emerged from the narrow file, they shouted in excitement. Several men broke ranks and cantered their horses ahead, little spurts of dust rising with each hoof beat.
From the tents ahead, Sydney could see more plumes of dust rising. Gradually, she made out more horsemen heading in their direction.
“More of your family?” she asked Alim, glancing over her shoulder.
“All my family is here with me, or in al-Qāhirah,” Alim said. “These are friends, though.”
“Fatimids,” she concluded.
“Most certainly.” He sounded pleased. “It will be a good night, tonight.”
The approaching horsemen greeted those who had raced ahead, then everyone cantered back to where Rashid rode at the front of the column. They turned and fell in along with Rashid, talking loudly. Sydney couldn’t make out what they were saying. She glanced at Alim again. “Should you go and join them? To hear what they’re saying?”
“Not with…” He shook his head. “Not now,” he amended. “I will hear the news later.”
Not with her on his horse. Sydney knew with complete certainty that was what he had been about to say. He would not parade her in front of his brother. Was that because he did not want his brother to know she was travelling with him? Sydney remembered the startled comments from the others when Alim had first tied her to his horse.
Or was he hiding her away from his brother to protect her? Would Rashid even care about her anymore? He had more than enough problems on his plate right now.
Trying to decide what was on Alim’s mind kept her occupied until the caravan reached the other camp.
The tents there were all gathered around another well. This well was a far grander affair than the simple circular wall that had made up the last one. There was a windlass made of bleached tree trunks. Sydney wondered where the trees had come from. They must have carried them for miles to get them here. A large metal bucket was attached to the windlass and was currently sitting on the edge of the well wall, which was waist high.
It was a marvel that the wood and the bucket had not been stolen by opportunistic travelers. Or perhaps not. In the desert, water meant survival. No one would steal the tools that delivered water.
The bucket gleamed wetly. It had been used recently.
There was a long, low trough stretching out from the well, close enough for the bucket to reach. There were several inches of water in the trough and a dozen horses, goats and camels drinking from it.
Basel snorted and snickered. He could smell the water, too.
The people from the camp gathered around the caravan. It sounded as though everyone was talking at once. There were veiled women, children with big eyes and bare feet, turbaned men shouting and laughing.
The caravan nudged closer to the camp, then came to a halt on the other side of the well.
Alim edged Basel out of the line, to a spot twenty yards away. He slid off the horse and took the reins off Basel’s neck. “Here, hold these, or he will bolt for the water.”
Others in the caravan were also spreading out on either side of the file and dismounting. The packs and baggage on the horses and camels were loosened and dropped to the sand.
Sydney slid to the ground and took Basel’s reins. “Where are you going?”
“I must hear the news,” Alim told her. “Someone will pitch the tent where you are and take Basel to water. Stay there.”
He strode over the sand, moving quickly. He was soon lost among the crowd of people standing by the well, talking loudly.
Basel pulled against the reins. Sydney dug in her heels. “Nope,” she told him. “You’ll just gorge yourself.”
Sydney watched the camp build up around her. Men and women worked together, in ages-old routines that required little talking. Even children had their roles, handing out ropes and pegs, holding and retrieving mallets, carrying rolled carpets and small mountains of cushions and cloth.
Four men came to where she was standing, a camel on a rope behind them. The camel was weighed down with baggage held in rope nets, packs and bags that hung over its back in pairs. There were rolls of the thick canvas-like tent cloth. She recognized the stripes. This was Alim’s tent and belongings, then.
One of the men glanced at her, then at Basel’s reins in her hands. He nodded. It was stiff and awkward. Yet it was an acknowledgement.
Clearly, Sydney had been promoted. She was holding Alim’s horse. She was somebody.
The four men encouraged the camel to drop to its knees, then took everything off its back, including the blanket strapped around it to protect its hide. The camel got back to its feet. It was a scrawny thing. Even its hump was a mere bump on its back.
One of the four men came over to Basel and took off the saddle blanket and put it by Sydney’s feet. Then he took Basel’s reins and the camel’s rope and led both animals toward the well.
Sydney could no longer see the well. There were tents in front of it now. She could hear the creak of the windlass, the splash of water in the trough and the snort and slurp of animals drinking.
The other three men built the tent. It went up in fewer than ten minutes, then they spent another five minutes hauling carpets inside and unrolling them. The packs, cushions and bags were the last to be carried in, then the tent flaps were dropped down.
The man who had nodded to her when they had begun, now motioned toward the tent.
She understood. She should go inside.
Sydney ducked under the flap and felt immediate relief from the belting heat of the sun. It was warm in the tent, yet not as stuffy and heated as she thought it would be.
Suddenly, she couldn’t stand the many layers she was wearing. They became intolerable, all at once. She almost tore the clothing from her body. The last layer, the pants and breast band, were soaked with sweat.
Naked, she stood in the dim tent and held out her arms, feeling the tiny movement of air against her skin. It was heavenly. Almost as wonderful as a shower would be, only showers were centuries in the future from here.
When she felt more comfortable, she turned to the packs and searched through them. She was quite sure the chemise she had been wearing would not have been discarded. These people did not throw away anything.
She found the linen shift neatly folded, alongside the three Latin books, and put it on. Then she spread the clothes she had been wearing over some of the cushions, to let the garments air and dry.
The next task was one she wasn’t looking forward to. Working carefully, she tugged and loosened the leather bindings around her hair. There were six of them from the base of her neck to the thick tail of her hair, which was as long as it had been in Mercia and was brushing the top of her ass.
Once her hair was loose, she bent from the waist and ran her fingers through it, her scalp prickling with relief. Staying bent, she worked the tangles free with her fingers. She didn’t have a brush and there had been nothing like a brush or comb in the packs. Even if she had found one, she would have hesitated to use it.
As she stood massaging her scalp, the bottom corner of the tent flap was lifted. A hand pushed a tray through. Sydney could smell mint and the irresistible scent of hot bread.
She straightened and collected the tray. There was a glass of tea and a bowl with what looked like pita bread in it. The flatbread was still warm from cooking. She took the tray over to the pile of cushions, pulled a cushion out and sat cross-legged to eat and drink. The flatbread was thick and chewy and even though it was only a little larger than the palm of her hand, it was completely filling.
The camp grew quiet around her and she realized she was drowsy, too. The heat, a full belly, tea, shade and the absence of constant movement were all having an effect.
She laid out the cushions as Alim had done and settled on them. Sleep was impossible to resist. She would just close her eyes for a moment and drift…
…and opened them again to see through the tent flap that night had almost fallen. The smell of roasting meat was thick in the air. Music made by drums and some sort of stringed instrument beat in the background.
Alim was standing next to her, looking down at her. He had discarded all his clothes except for the undershirt and trousers. Even his head was bare.
Sydney knew that hot, syrupy expression in his eyes. Every nerve in her body crackled with sudden sensitivity. She made herself stay still. This was not really Alex. This was the man who would become Alex, if she succeeded here. Alim had different expectations. His experience was narrower, less tolerant. He did not know her. He did not know that just looking at her that way could reduce her to a quivering mess.
He lowered himself down and settled on his knees beside her. He moved slowly, as if weighed down by reluctance.
“Alim—” she began.
He pressed his finger to her lips, silencing her. He shook his head.
Sydney held still, all except her breath, that raced along with her heart.
Alim didn’t move. His gaze wandered along her body, absorbing every detail, making her heart pound even harder. She ached for him to touch her. Anywhere.
His hand curled into a fist on his thigh. He was holding himself back.
But…she was a whore in his eyes. Why stop himself? If she lacked all morals, then taking his pleasure would be almost automatic, wouldn’t it?
What is your name?
Zidnay of the Angels.
Truly, you are an oddity among women.
“You see me now, don’t you?” Sydney whispered.
“Yes.” His voice was low.
Sydney trembled. She didn’t know if it was because she had been given a sign that she was succeeding in opening his mind to possibilities, or if it was because of the need running through her. She reached out for his fist and picked it up, then uncurled the fingers. He straightened them, his gaze not shifting from her face.
Sydney pressed his hand against her breast and held it there.
Alim froze for second. Then his breath escaped in a heavy rush and his fingers curled over the curve of her breast.
Sydney couldn’t help thrusting her breast up into his palm. His touch was so familiar.
Her movement, the explicit invitation, triggered him into action. He pulled her up from the cushions, a hand under her shoulders. He pushed the other under the hem of her chemise, finding her knee. His flesh was hot against hers, marking the difference between Alex and this man. He slid his hand along her thigh, bringing the chemise up as he went, until it was over her hips. His thumb pressed into the crease between her hip and thigh, stroking and she gasped.
Alim shoved the cushions out of the way with impatient movements and laid her down once more and rested over her. He separated her knees with his and she realized that he wasn’t just impatient, he was driven. This crude fumbling was far from the consummate seductions that Alex orchestrated.
However, it suited her frantic need.
Alim settled between her thighs and gripped her hips with one hand, planted his hand next to her shoulder. His cock pressed against her. Then, in one hard thrust, he drove deep inside her, burying himself to the hilt.
He held still, tasting the moment. His eyes were narrowed in concentration.
Sydney moaned. There was nothing better than this, unless it was having Rafe in her, too. Of all the sophisticated lovemaking Alex had ever subjected either of them to, nothing surpassed this first simple moment of possession, when her channel opened up to the invasion of their cocks.
Yet the moment never lasted. It couldn’t. Her pleasure wouldn’t let her keep still. Her hips lifted, speaking of her need and she felt Alim’s cock twitch in response.
He thrust again, grinding deep. Then again and he stiffened, coming in hard little jerks, his breath harsh. It did not end there. He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him, shifting her so she was straddling his hips. His cock was still deep inside her, still iron hard.
He lay breathing heavily. “Now, I can think,” he said softly. He pulled at the chemise. “Take this off.”
Sydney pulled the chemise over her head and threw it aside.
Alim rested his hands on her hips. His thumbs stroked over her belly and her muscles quivered in response. Her pussy clenched, too and he breathed deeply in reaction. He moved his hands higher, to her waist, then up, to shape themselves around her breasts.
Sydney tried to keep still and let him explore. The tips of her breasts were molten points, though. She ached for him to touch them.
He let his fingers slide down the slope of her breasts and trip over the hard nipples, one finger at a time. The little jerks and tugs sent a wave of pleasure thrumming through her, directly to her clit, that throbbed in response. Sydney closed her eyes and let her hips rock, trying to relieve the tension.
“Ah, yes, like that,” he breathed, gripping her waist, encouraging her.
Sydney rode him, letting her building pleasure dictate the rhythm of her hips. She wouldn’t last, though. She pressed a hand against her belly, feeling the building orgasm there.
Alim followed her lead. He pushed his fingers between her nether lips and found her clit. Even the first gentle touch of his fingers made her groan, it was that good. Her rocking motion faltered, disrupted by her growing pleasure.
Alim thrust up into her, as her trembling grew to a shuddering. The power of the building orgasm was almost frightening.
The climax stole her breath and her vision. Every muscle seemed to lock taut, straining. Her pussy squeezed and stoked Alim’s cock, making him groan. His hips worked beneath her and he came again, his fingers digging into her hips.
Sydney fell forward, her limbs like jelly. He held her against him, his cock still inside her.
“Are you a witch?” he whispered.
“I am just a simple woman.”
“Yet I am bewitched. I cannot stop thinking about you. I should be out there by the fire, with the other officers. Instead, I found myself here, looking at you.”
“Should you go back, then?”
“Shall I?”
Sydney lifted her head to look at him and shook it.
He smiled and turned her so she was on her back again. “I am not done with you yet, anyway,” he said in agreement and lifted her knee up against his hip and shifted inside her.