Captive Bride

Chapter Twenty-one

DAMN, but it's going to be another sticky day, John Wakefleld thought irritably as he sat at his desk sorting out the morning's correspondence. It was winter. It wasn't as hot as when he'd first come to this horrible land, but the days had been warm and humid this last week without rain. The bloody weather was getting under his skin.

At least he could look forward to seeing Kareen Hen-dricks tonight Sweet, lovely Kareen. John thanked his lucky stars he had let William Dawson drag him to the Opera House last week, otherwise he wouldn't have met Kareen.

A cold chill swept over John when he thought of the hell he had lived through during his first three months in Egypt. But everything had changed when he received Crissy's letter—including his luck.

The pounding on John's door broke into his wandering thoughts.

"What is it?" John snapped.

The door opened, and Sergeant Towneson walked into the sweatbox that was John's office. He was a portly man about twice John's age, with curly red hair and a bushy moustache of the same bright red.

"There's an Arab outside who wishes to see you, lieutenant. He said it's a matter of importance," Sergeant Towneson said.

"Isn't that what they all say, Sergeant? I understand we're here to keep the peace, but isn't there someone else these people can go to with their petty quarrels?"

"There ought to be, sir. These darn people don't realize that we're here basically to keep Frenchy out. Should I send this one in?"

"I suppose so, Sergeant. Damn—I'll be glad when I can get out of this country."

"My sentiments exactly, sir," Sergeant Towneson said, and left to summon the Arab.

A moment later, John heard the door quietly close, and looked up to see an unusually tall Arab striding toward his desk. The young man was the tallest Arab that John had ever seen, even taller than his own six feet.

"You are John Wakefleld?" the young man asked as he stood proudly in front of John's desk.

"Lieutenant Wakefield," John corrected him. "May I ask your name?"

"My name does not matter. I have come for the reward you have promised for the return of your sister."

Not another one, John thought miserably. How many more of these money-grabbing opportunists and thieves was he going to have to put up with? He had lost count of the many people who had come to him hoping to gain the reward with false information. Most of them backed down when John told them he must verify their information first He had gone on many wild hunts through the city and desert, all of them fruitless.

Even though he had received Crissy's lettter from a young Arab who'd just handed it to him and run off, he still had not given up looking for her. He wanted to believe that she was happy where she was, but he had to find out for certain. After all, it could have been a lie. She could have been forced to write that letter. He would dearly love to get his hands on the man who had abducted Crissy, and who kept her as his mistress instead of marrying her. John would force the cad to marry herl

"Do you not want your sister back?"

"I'm sorry," John said. "I was lost in thought Do you know where my sister is?"

"Yes."

"And you can take me to her?"

"Yes."

This man was different. He didn't hesitate with his answers as the others had. John saw a glimmer of hope.

"How do I know you're telling me the truth? I've been tricked many times."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How do I know you will give me the money after I take you to your sister?"

"A good question," John said grimly. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and lifted out a small, heavy sack. "I've had this money ready and waiting ever since Christina was abducted. You may count it if you wish, but the total sum I promised is here, and it's yours if you're telling the truth. The money doesn't matter to me. I just want Christina back." John paused a moment, studying this young man. "Tell me—how do you know where my sister is?"

"She has been living in my camp."

John stood up so fast that his chair fell over behind him. "Are you the man who took her?"

"No," the young man replied simply, not wavering under the stormy blue eyes that glared at him.

John calmed down when he saw that he would not have to do battle.

"How far is it to your camp?"

"We will not have to travel to my camp."

"Well, then—"

"Your sister is outside."

"Outside!"

"We have traveled many days. She is asleep on her horse. You can see her from your window."

John rushed to the window overlooking the street. After a moment, he turned back to the Arab with anger showing on his tanned face.

"You lied! There's no one out there except an Arab boy leaning over a horse. What did you expect to gain by this trick?"

"Ah—you English are so skeptical. Did you expect your sister to be dressed as was her custom? She has been living with my people and has dressed as they do. If you will go outside, you will see the truth of my words," the Arab replied, then turned on his heel and left the room.

It was too simple to be a trick, John thought. All he had to do was walk outside and see for himself. Why was he still standing here? John picked up the sack of money and followed the Arab outside. It had to be true.

Outside in the sun-baked street, John ran to the two horses tethered in front of the building. He stopped beside the silky black Arabian with the dusty, black-robed figure on its back. If this was another trick, he was afraid he might tear the young Arab standing beside him limb from limb.

If this was Crissy, all he had to do was lift the black kufiyah covering her face, and find out. It was that simple.

Just then the horse moved, and the sleeping figure slowly started to fall. John caught her in his arms. As he did so, the kufiyah fell back to reveal a dirty, tear-streaked face that he would have recognized anywhere.

"Crissy! Oh, God—Crissy!"

Christina opened her eyes for a moment and whispered John's name, then sagged against him, her head nestling against his shoulder.

"As I said, she has gone two days and nights without rest. All she needs is sleep."

John turned to look at the young man who had brought his sister back to him.

"I owe you an apology for doubting you. I am eternally grateful for what you have done. If you will take the money from my hand, it's yours."

"I am more than happy that I could do this service for you. I will go now, but when Christina wakes, tell her I wish her well."

He took the reins of the black horse, mounted his own, and rode off down the street.

John looked down at Christina sleeping peacefully in his arms. Thank God, he thought. Please help me make it up to Christina for what she has suffered.

John carried Christina inside. He sat down in the chair across from Sergeant Towneson's desk, still holding Christina tenderly.

"Lieutenant! Did she faint in the street? You had better set her down, sir. The dust on her robe is dirtying your uniform."

"Stop your babbling, Sergeant. I will do no such thing. But I will tell you what you are going to do. First, have my carriage brought around to the front. Then you can inform Colonel Bigley I'm leaving for the day."

"Leaving? But what if the colonel asks why?"

'Tell him I've found my sister and I'm taking her to my quarters. Do you think you can manage that, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir. But you don't mean to say that this girl here is your sister?" The sergeant was sorry he'd asked when he saw the cold glint in Lieutenant Wakefield's eyes.

"You will have my carriage brought around at once, Sergeant. That's an order!"

It was nearing noon when John reached home. He managed to get the door to his apartment open without disturbing Christina, but as he headed for the spare bedroom, Mrs. Greene, his housekeeper, stopped him.

"What on earth are you doing home in the middle of the day, John Wakefield? And what have you there?" she asked disapprovingly.

"This is my sister."

"Your sister?" Mrs. Greene was shocked. "You mean this is the little girl you've been searching for high and low? Well, why didn't you say so? Don't just stand there, take your sister into the bedroom."

"That was where I was going until you stopped me, Mrs. Greene," John said. He walked into the room that contained all of Christina's possessions, and laid her gently on the bed.

"Is she hurt—how did you find her?"

"She just needs to sleep, that's all," John said. He looked down lovingly at Christina. "Perhaps you could take off her outer robe so she will be more comfortable, but try not to wake her."

"Well, if you don't want her to waken, you'd better help me."

John noticed a crumpled piece of paper squeezed tightly in Christina's hand. He managed to pry it loose, and tossed it on the small bedside table. Then together they removed Christina's robe and slippers. Christina opened her eyes once, but closed them again and continued to sleep.

Mrs. Greene and John left the room, and he quietly closed the door. He went straight to the liquor cabinet in the drawing room, poured a stiff glass of whiskey, and sank down into his favorite stuffed chair.

"What would you like me to do with this, sir—throw it away?" Mrs. Greene asked, holding up Christina's dirt-stained robe.

John looked up at the matronly Mrs. Greene standing in the doorway. "Just put it aside for now. The decision is Christina's."

John wanted to get Christina back to England as soon as possible. Egypt had caused them both nothing but suffering, but now that Crissy was back, they would be happy again. Why, he wondered, had Christina left the man she claimed she loved? She'd written she would stay with him until he no longer wanted her. Was that it? The bastard had abducted her, used her, and then discarded her to collect the reward money. Crissy had said she loved him. How she must be suffering!

Draining the last of his whiskey, John got up and crossed through the small dining room and into the equally small kitchen. He found Mrs. Greene standing over the stove.

"I'm going to leave for about an hour, Mrs. Greene," he said. "My sister shouldn't wake up. But if she does, tell her I had to break an appointment but will be back shortly. And give her anything she wants." "But what about your lunch?"

"I'll eat when I get back," John said, picking up an apple from the bowl of fruit on the counter. "I won't be long."

It was a short distance to Major Hendricks's quarters, and John hoped to find Kareen at home, for he wanted to break their evening's engagement personally.

Kareen was a year younger than he, and was visiting her uncle, Major Hendricks, for a short while. Her home was in England, and her mother was part Spanish. But he knew nothing more about her, except that she attracted him greatly.

Kareen looked Spanish, with her silky black hair and black eyes. Her body was slim, yet perfectly rounded in all the right places. John had looked forward to this evening, but now he had to call it off. He hoped Kareen would understand.

John knocked on the door to Major Hendricks's modest apartment. After a few moments, it opened to reveal a young girl smiling cheerfully at him. John was shocked, for this girl looked only sixteen or seventeen, and yet. . ..

"Kareen?"

The young girl laughed at John's confusion.

"It happens all the time, Lieutenant. I'm Kareen's sister, Estelle. Won't you come in?"

"I didn't know she had a sister," John said as he stepped into the hallway. "You look so much alike."

"I know—like twins. But Kareen is five years older than I am. My father always says that Kareen and I are the exact images of our mother when she was young. Our mother is still a beautiful woman, so it's nice knowing what we will look like in the future." She laughed sweetly, giving John a beguiling smile. "Forgive me. Everybody says I talk too much. Did you wish to see Kareen, Lieutenant—?"

"John Wakefield," he volunteered with a short bow. "And yes, I would like to speak with her if it's possible."

"I think it could be arranged. She's in her room resting. It's this hot weather. We're not used to it yet—it certainly can wear a body out. So you're John Wakefield," she said, looking him over from head to foot. "Kareen sure has talked a lot about you, and I can see that she wasn't exaggerating, either."

"You certainly are outspoken, Miss Estelle."

"Well, I believe a body ought to say what they think."

"That can get you into trouble sometimes," John said lightly.

"Yes, I know. But I like to shock people. I can't say I shocked you, though. You must be used to compliments from the ladies," she went on mischievously.

"Not exactly. I'm used to giving them—not receiving them." John laughed.

"Spoken like a true gentleman. But you've let me ramble on again. If you will wait in the drawing room, I'll go and tell Kareen you're here."

"Thank you, and it has been a delight meeting you, Miss Estelle."

"I can definitely say the same about you, Lieutenant Wakefield. But we'll meet again, I'm sure," she added, and disappeared down the hallway.

After a few minutes, Kareen appeared in the doorway looking as beautiful as he last remembered.

"I thought my sister was playing a joke on me when she said you were here," she said. "She does that occasionally. But why are you here so early, Lieutenant Wakefield?"

"Kareen—I know this is only our second meeting, but won't you please call me John?" he asked, putting all his boyish charm into his request.

"All right, John," she smiled. "But what brings you here?"

"I don't exactly know how to tell you this," John said, turning away from her inquiring eyes. He walked over to the open window and stood looking out, his hands clasped behind his back. "You've been here only a month, Kareen, but you know about my sister's disappearance?"

"Yes, my uncle told me about it when I mentioned I'd met you," she replied.

"Christina was kidnapped right from her room the very first night we were in Cairo. Christina and I were very close. I searched everywhere for her and practically went out of my mind with worry. But she was returned to me today—this morning."

"John—that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you. Is she all right?"

He turned to face her, and could see that she was really pleased for him.

"She's fine, but I haven't had a chance to talk with her yet. She rode for nearly a week and is sleeping now. I wanted to tell you first so you'd understand why I can't escort you to the opera tonight. I have to be there when Crissy wakes up."

"Of course I understand, and I thank you for explaining it to me. Can I do anything to help?"

"It's kind of you to ask, Kareen. Perhaps in a few days you could call on her. I don't know how easily she will adjust to being home again. I only pray that she will be able to forget her terrible experiences."

"I'm sure she will be all right in time, John," Kareen replied.

"I hope so."

Christina had been asleep for twelve hours. It was nearly midnight, and John continued to pace the drawing room impatiently. There were so many things he had to know. He didn't want to pounce on her the minute she awoke, but he had to have some answers. Would Crissy be the same person, or had these last four months changed her?

John went to her door and opened it quietly. But Crissy was still curled on her side, her head resting on one hand. He walked into the room slowly and stood beside the bed gazing down at her as he had done so many times this evening.

She hadn't lost any weight and looked healthy, though dirty. She wore a skirt and blouse in the style of the desert people. But it was made of fine green velvet with spangled lace adorning the edges. She looked like an Arab princess.

She had said in her letter that she wanted for nothing. The man must have taken good care of her. And that just made it more puzzling, because John wondered how any man, once having her, could let her go. Christina had such unusual beauty. Something about her was different—stunning and yet indescribable—something that set her apart from all other women who were called beautiful.

Suddenly Christina opened her eyes and blinked a few times, obviously wondering where she was.

"It's all right, Crissy," John said.' He sat down on the side of the bed. "You are home now."

She looked at him, her eyes filling with tears, and the next moment she was clinging to Mm as if her lif e depended on it.

"John! Oh, Johnny—hold me. Tell me it was just a dream —that it never happened," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry, Crissy, but I can't tell you that—I wish I could," he said, holding her tightly against him. "But it will be all right—you'll see."

He let her cry herself out without saying more. When she was finished, he held her away from him and pushed back her hair from her wet cheeks.

"Feel better now?"

"Not really." She smiled weakly.

"Why don't you wash your face while I get you something to eat, and then we can talk."

"What I'd really like is to soak in a hot bath for hours. I've had nothing but cold baths for the last four months."

"That will have to wait until later. We've got to talk first."

"Oh, John, I don't want to talk about it—I just want to forget."

"I understand that, Crissy. But there are things I have to know. It would be better if we talked now, and then we can both forget it."

"Very well, I suppose you're right." She got off the bed and looked about the room. "Give me a minute to—"

She stopped abruptly when she saw the crumpled piece of paper that John had thrown on the table earlier.

"How did that get here?" Her voice held a note of anger.

"What's the matter with you, Crissy? I took it out of your hand before putting you to bed."

"But I thought I had thrown—" She turned quickly to face him, frowning. "Did you read it?"

"No. Why are you so upset?"

"It's my dismissal, you might say," she said lightly, only her eyes were stormy. "But it doesn't matter. How about that food?"

After supper, John poured two glasses of sherry and brought one to Christina in the dining room. He sat across from her with his legs sprawled beneath the table, and studied her face.

"Do you still love him?" John asked.

"No—I hate him nowl" she said quickly, staring down at the glass she held before her.

"But only a month ago—"

She looked up at him, her eyes flashing dangerously. "That was before I found out what a cruel and selfish man he is."

"Is that why you left him?"

"Left him? He sent me awayl He left me that note saying that he no longer desired me and he wanted me gone before he returned. He couldn't even tell me in person."

"Is that why you hate him now—because he sent you away?"

"Yes! He cared nothing for me or for my feelings. I thought I loved him, and hoped he would come to love me. But now I know how foolish I was. He didn't even care that I might be carrying his child!"

"Oh, God, Crissy—then he raped you!"

"Raped? No—he never actually raped me. I was sure I made it clear to you, John, in the letter I sent you. I thought you would understand that I gave myself to him. That's why I asked your forgiveness."

"I guess I haven't been able to accept it. I didn't want to believe it. But Crissy, if he didn't rape you—you can't mean that you gave in to him from the beginning?"

"I fought him!" she cried indignantly, trying to defend herself. "I fought him with all the strength I had."

"Then he did rape you?"

Christina hung her head in shame. "No, John, he never had to rape me. He had patience—he took his time and slowly brought my body to life. Please understand this, John—I hated him, but at the same time I wanted him. He stirred fires in me that I never knew existed. He made me a woman."

She started crying again. John felt miserable for blaming her for something that she couldn't help. But why did she defend the bastard?

John leaned across the table and lifted her face to look into her soft blue eyes.

"It's all right. It wasn't your fault. It was the same thing as if he'd raped you."

"I fought him, but it was the same way every time. I tried to escape, but he threatened to find me and beat me if I did it again. I was deathly afraid of him at first, but as time passed, I feared htm less. I even stabbed him once, and yet he did nothing. And then another tribe stole me, and he almost died getting me back. I realized then that I was in love with him. I didn't fight him after that, John. I couldn't fight the man I loved. If you can't forgive me for that, I'm sorry."

"I forgive you, Crissy. There are no rules in love. But you said you hate him now. Why do you keep defending him?"

"I'm not defending him!"

"Then tell me his name so I can track him down. He deserves punishment for what he did to you."

"His people called him Abu."

"And his last name?"

"Oh, John—it doesn't matter. I don't want to see him punished."

"Damn it, Crissy!" John yelled, slamming his fist down on the table. "He used you and then sent you back to me for the reward."

"Reward?"

"Yes. The man who brought you here asked for the money, so I gave it to him."

Christina slumped back in her chair, a slight grin on her lips.

"I might have known Rashid would do that. He takes money wherever he can find it. Abu will probably never know Rashid took the reward. And that's not why Phi— why Abu sent me back. He is sheik of his tribe, he has no need of money. He even turned down a sack full of jewels once."

"You started to call him something else," John said, raising one eyebrow.

"Well—he has another name, but it's not important" She stood up and finished the last of her sherry. "Can we forget about it now, John? I want to put him from my mind forever."

"Can you do that, Crissy?" He looked at her skeptically. "You still love him, don't you?"

"Nol" she wailed, but then she bit her lip and the tears welled in her eyes again. "Oh, God—yes! I can't help it Why did he have to do this to me, John? I love him so— I want to die!"

John held her close, feeling her pain. He couldn't stand to see her hurting like this—tearing her heart out over a man who didn't deserve her love.

"It will take time, Crissy, but you will forget him. You'll find a new love—someone who will give you the kind of life you deserve."