The Sheik Retold(10)

Yes, independence.

I had shed my shackles to Aubrey and could finally exercise my own free will to go and do precisely as I chose. I fixed my gaze on the dusty tips of my riding boots and dug my heels into the soft ground with a little wriggle of contentment. Here in the desert I was free from anything that could mar my perfect enjoyment of life. Here there was nothing to disturb the perfect harmony of my mind.

A shadow came over me that made me raise my eyes. I blinked and then shaded them from the beating sun. Mustafa Ali salaamed obsequiously. "It is time to start, mademoiselle."

I was surprised to see the men already mounted and readying for departure, yet I had not given the command to do so. It rankled me. Maybe Mustafa Ali was the guide, but I was the head of this expedition. I glanced at my watch. "There is plenty of time yet."

"But it is a long ride to reach the oasis where we camp tonight."

I crossed one boot over the other and fixed my attention on the shining particles glistening in the sun as my fingers raked the warm sand. "Then we will simply ride faster—once I am ready to depart." I scooped up a handful and then let it trickle much like an hour glass through my fingers. Yes, he must be made to understand who was in charge.

Mustafa Ali made an impatient noise. "Mademoiselle would do well to start." A peremptory tone that I didn't care for had crept into his voice.

I countered his dogged persistence with a more direct approach. "We will start when I choose, Mustafa Ali. You may give orders to your men, but you will take your orders from me. I will tell you when I am ready. You may go now."

Still he hesitated, swaying backward and forward on his heels.

My temper flared. I snapped my fingers over my shoulder, aping the manner of the French officers I had seen in Biskra. "I said go!"

After that I took no further notice of any of them, acting as if they were invisible to me. Perhaps it was growing late, perhaps the camp was a longer ride than I'd thought, but Mustafa Ali must learn his lesson—even if we had to ride until midnight to reach the oasis.

I loved the desert nights above anything. I had enjoyed two moonlit riding picnics out of Biskra, but the glamour and perfect stillness of the desert had been spoiled by the chattering crowd. I secretly hoped night would fall before we reached our destination, but then again, I would not have Stephens to set up tonight and would have to order everything myself, which was far easier in daylight. But surely one hour would not make that much difference. The horses were watered and well rested and could be pushed along a bit faster with no harm coming to them. So I waited.

When the hour was up, I rose and mounted, taking no notice of the guide's sullen look. We rode forward steadily and silently. I had not been mistaken about the horses. They responded eagerly to the brisker pace demanded of them. Mine in particular moved out in a swift and easy gallop that was the perfection of motion.

We rode for several more hours. By now I was wondering where my baggage train was. Even with my earlier delay, given the pace we had set on horseback, we should have overtaken the lumbering camels long ago. Yet the desert spread out cleanly before us with nothing aside from the rapidly descending sun obstructing my view of the distant horizon.

"Where is our caravan, Mustafa Ali? I see no sign of an oasis, and the darkness will soon come." I had begun to fear it would indeed be nightfall before we reached our destination—even though we had ridden much longer and faster than I had ever intended.

The guide scowled. "If mademoiselle had started earlier—"

"If I had started earlier, it would still have been too far," I snapped. "Tomorrow we will arrange it otherwise."

His hand went to his forehead in a pious gesture. "Tomorrow is with Allah!"

I wished with growing irritation that he would stop relegating his responsibilities to the deity and take a little more active interest in his missing camel train. Perhaps fatigue and hunger fired my ill temper, or perhaps I was only annoyed by my guide’s poor planning. In either case, I was suddenly oppressed by the same silent desolation that had only a short while ago inspired such delight.

Another retort hovered on my lips until I noticed a collection of black specks far off across the desert. They were too far away to see clearly, but there was definitely something moving across the plain. "Look there!" I cried. "Is that our caravan?"

Very soon I realized the black specks were moving far too fast to be lumbering camels. It was a band of mounted men coming swiftly toward us. I had never seen so large a body except in a regiment on parade. It was impossible to count their number, for they were riding in close formation, and in orderly ranks that suggested a military discipline I would not have expected amongst the natives.

I watched the band with appreciatory eyes. The horses were all beautiful creatures and the riders were magnificent, with the wind filling their great white cloaks, making each man look gigantic. My interest flamed into excitement. It was like discovering a passing ship upon a hitherto empty sea. As the distance between our two parties rapidly decreased, I saw that they were armed and held their rifles in front instead of slung on their backs. I wondered why.

"What are they?" I called out to Mustafa Ali. He didn't answer. To my added distress, my escort lagged some distance away from me.

My horse was becoming fretful and restless by the proximity of the galloping horses. She reared, but I reined her in. The troop of Arabs passed quite close to us—alarmingly close—maybe a few yards away, but none of them turned a head in our direction or slackened pace. It was as if we were invisible. I watched with my heart in my throat as the galloping horses drew level with the last stragglers of my party. They reined in to an abrupt halt that flung the horses far back on their haunches. My admiration of the wonderful horsemanship was supplanted by growing trepidation. The solid square of armed men split up and lengthened into a long line of two abreast. Wheeling behind the last of Mustafa's men, they came back even faster than they had passed and encircled me, cutting me off from my escort.