The Sheik Retold(49)

"It is not a pleasant sight, especially for a woman," Saint Hubert replied.

"I am not squeamish. Let me hold that." I took the crimson-spattered basin from Henri.

The vicomte made no further remonstrance, but set about his work quickly, suturing the knife wound that seemed like a puncture in my own heart. After bandaging Ahmed's body, he more closely examined his head.

"You are a doctor?" I asked. I had observed the vicomte's skillful treatment. There was a precision in his movement and a deft touch that indicated both knowledge and practice.

He checked Ahmed's pulse again and began changing the dressing on his head. "Yes," he replied without looking up. "I studied when I was a young man and passed all the examinations. Although I have never practiced professionally, the knowledge has proved invaluable over the years, especially traveling as I do."

I winced as if the hurt was my own when Saint Hubert's gentle, dexterous fingers touched my sheik's bruised and battered scalp. He took up the clean dressing that Henri held ready for him, and I fetched another bowl of clean, hot water. When I returned, Saint Hubert flashed a look of surprise. "Merci."

I tried to read his expression, but outside of his lightly furrowed brow, he displayed a perfect impassivity. I looked again to Ahmed, who still showed not the least sign of consciousness.

"Does he feel it very much, do you think?"

"Not yet, but I fear the pain will beset him with a vengeance when he awakes." He gave a faint smile. "Even his hard head could not endure that blow unscathed."

"You know him well," I remarked with a humorless laugh.

"Yes. It is a longstanding friendship and one I will do all in my power to preserve." Saint Hubert finished with the bandages and stood, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "I go to attend Gaston, although Henri is almost as good a doctor as I am, the incomparable Henri! Ahmed and I have always quarreled over the respective merits of our servants."

When Saint Hubert left, I slipped to my knees beside Ahmed, gazing at the long limbs lying so terribly, suggestively still. My throat ached, but I could not cry. Oh, Ahmed! My abductor. My lover. My savior. My feelings were such a tangle for this fierce warrior who only a few hours ago had come to my rescue. Had I not tried to run away…had I only stayed within an hour of camp as instructed, none of this would have happened.

I wondered about Gaston. The few muttered words from Henri had revealed nothing. There were a dozen men already dead because of me, and both Ahmed's and Gaston's lives were now in peril. The guilt weighed so heavily on me that I had been afraid even to ask after Gaston. I hope desperately that they would both live.

I bent lower over the unconscious man whose slightly parted lips had relaxed the usual sternness of his mouth. "Ahmed, mon bel Arabe," I whispered and then kissed him, my lips quivering against the cool stillness of his. I watched the shallow movements of his chest with an overwhelming sense of weariness that was not all bodily. I dropped my head beside the bandaged one on the pillow, but then the vicomte returned and I resume my kneeling position with my hands clasped over the sheik's and my face hidden against the cushions.

A little knot of low-voiced men had approached with an inquiry. Saint Hubert went to the open doorway to speak to Yusef, who stood with them under the awning. Usually at night the vicinity of the sheik's tent was avoided by all the tribesmen. Even the sentry on guard was posted at a little distance. Kopec, curled up outside the doorway, kept ample watch, but tonight the open space swarmed with men.

"They are restless," the vicomte explained. "Their devotion is very strong. Ahmed is a god to them. Their anxiety takes them in a variety of ways. Yusef has even turned to religion for the first time in his life; he goes to say his prayers with the pious Abdul. He thinks that Allah is more likely to listen if his petitions go heavenward in company with the holy man's."

After a moment, Saint Hubert put his hand on my shoulder. "You are torturing yourself unnecessarily. You can do no good to yourself by staying here. You must try and get some sleep. We cannot know anything for quite some time anyway. Henri and I will watch over Ahmed and Gaston. I will call you if there is any change—my word of honor."

I shook my head without looking up. "I can't go. I couldn't possibly sleep."

"Very well," he said quietly, "but if you are going to stay, you must take off your riding boots and put on something more comfortable."

I realized the sense of what he said and obeyed. Zilah was there to tend me and did so silently with sad eyes. After bathing my aching head and throat and substituting a thin, silk wrap for the torn, stained riding suit, I felt a miraculous sense of relief.

When I returned, Henri was pouring out coffee, but the ordinary ritual seemed suddenly peculiar to me. Saint Hubert came to me with a cup in his outstretched hand. "Please take it. It will do you good." His reassuring smile was not reflected in his anxious eyes.

Other than sips of water, I had not had anything to eat or drink in almost two days. I swallowed it hastily. The heat was soothing to my throat. I set the cup down on the table and went back to the divan, returning to my same position on the rug. Ahmed was still lying exactly as I had left him. After only a few minutes I became suddenly so drowsy I could hardly hold my eyes open. Although I had sworn to remain by Ahmed's side, my head grew so heavy that it fell forward onto the cushions. After that, I was weightlessly gathered into the vicomte's arms.