Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) (3 page)

“You are nervous.”

The words snapped Simon’s focus back toward the leader. Simon tried to appear unaffected, but he could feel the sweat running down his temples now, knew the rising and falling of his chest had given away his anxiety.

“Perhaps there is something even more valuable that you are hiding from me?” the translator said in an uneasy voice that did not match the pleasure on the leader’s face.

The horse shifted beneath him, as anxious as his master was patient. The leader’s eyes studied Simon intently.

The man with the rifle jabbed a saddle bag with the bayonet and then moved to the tree near where Elizabeth was hiding. Simon’s heart raced with every step. A cold fist tightened in his stomach as he watched him inch closer and closer until he was standing at the edge of the blanket.

Simon tried to take a step toward her, but he was held back. “Don’t,” he said. “Wait.”

The man raised his gun, ready to stab the blanket. Simon’s heart flew into his throat.

“Stop! Please!” Simon strained against the man that held him.

The man with bayonet remained poised, ready to strike.

Simon turned to the leader. “Please, tell him to stop.”

The man holding Simon jerked him back and pressed the sharp curved blade against Simon’s ribs and grunted in warning.

The leader watched him with a cool expression, eyes narrowed and nodded imperceptibly. The man with the bayonet lowered it, but kept his rifle trained on the spot where Elizabeth was hiding.

“
Alhamdulillah
,” Hassan said with a relieved sigh.

Simon swallowed and tried to restart his heart when the leader barked an order and several more men dismounted. One came to hold Simon’s other arm and the others hurried toward the blanket.

Simon strained against their grip. “What are you doing?”

They raised their guns and pointed them at the small mound in the middle.

Simon’s heart thrummed in his chest again. Dear God, were they going to shoot her? “Please—”

The sound of the metal bolts of the rifles sliding the rounds into place echoed in the quiet oasis. One of the men gripped the edge of the blanket and nodded to his men. Simon couldn’t help but surge forward, in a desperate attempt to help her, to stop this madness, but the two men held him back.

“Don’t! Don’t shoot!” Simon pleaded with them as the man flipped the blanket back. The men leaned forward in anticipation only to find Elizabeth curled into a tiny ball. Slowly, she lifted her head and the men lowered their weapons.

“She…she was resting,” Hassan said, trying his best to cover for them. “It was a long—”

“
Iskit
!” the leader called out and Hassan fell silent again and bowed his head obsequiously.

The leader nodded to his men and two of them grabbed Elizabeth by the arms and roughly tugged her to her feet.

Elizabeth blinked against the sudden bright light, confused and frightened as she saw the men surrounding her with guns. She caught Simon’s eye and the fear and confusion in her expression was like a hand squeezing his heart.

“Simon?”

Simon started to move toward her, but the men still had a grip on his arms. “Leave her—”

Hassan stepped toward him and put a hand to his chest and whispered. “Do not make things worse than they already are, Mister Cross.”

Simon’s chest heaved with the effort to remain where he was as the men dragged Elizabeth forward.

“What’s happening?” she asked, trying to take it all in.

“It will be all right,” Simon reassured her. He would find a way out of this, he promised her silently. Some way.

The men dragged her to stand in front of the leader who leaned forward in his saddle and smiled. This time he spoke for himself. His accent was thick. “Beautiful woman. Very valuable.”

“Please,” Elizabeth said. “We’re just travelers.”

He ignored her and nodded to his men who dragged her toward the horses. Elizabeth squirmed in their grip and called out to Simon, her voice on the edge of panic.

The sound of it cut through him and he struggled in vain against the men that held him. He clenched his jaw and glared up at the leader who finally pulled his attention away from Elizabeth and turned to look at him. He sized Simon up through narrowed eyes and then spoke through his young translator once more.

“Your clothes, your accent, they are from wealth. You could have returned to Cairo and paid dearly for the safe return of your wife.”

Could have? Simon’s heart and mind raced. He tried to twist out of the grip of the man that held him, heedless of the dagger pressed into his ribs.

The men bound Elizabeth’s hands and then hoisted her up onto a horse, shortly followed by a man who sat behind her. Simon could see her searching desperately for any means of escape. His mind raced for something, anything he could do.

“I can see you would be a problem, however, should I take only the girl,” the younger man translated.

The leader stared at Simon for a long moment and Simon couldn’t help but wonder if it would be his last. He glanced over at Elizabeth. She’d stopped struggling, and now was focused solely on him. The fear in her eyes no longer for herself but for Simon.

Simon could feel the leader’s eyes on him, but he would not look away from Elizabeth. If this were to be his last moment, it would be with her.

The leader said something to the translator, who, for the first time, replied back in Arabic. After an eternity, the leader spoke again and after a pause the translator said, “You will come with us as well. Two will fetch twice as much as one.”

Elizabeth sagged forward in relief. Simon exhaled. He’d been spared. For now. Simon kept his eyes on Elizabeth as they tied his wrists together. The relief and joy in her expression gave him strength. As long as he was alive, as long as she was alive, there was hope.

The two men holding Simon by the arms started to pull him toward the horses.

“I will spare you, brothers,” he added to Hassan and the other men.

Hassan bowed. “You are most gracious, Effendi.” He avoided meeting Simon’s glare.

“You will not speak of this,” the translator said to Hassan. “If you want to pass this way ever again and live.”

Hassan bowed his head and tilted it toward Simon. His expression was intense, but whether it was regret or shame in his eyes, Simon didn’t know.

The men gathered the reins of the camels and lead the animals up toward the horses. Hassan and his men might be spared, but they would be on foot from here on out.

The men jerked Simon forward and hauled him toward another horse. The Arabian pranced anxiously in place as they forced him up into the saddle and a man climbed on behind him. The other men returned to their horses.

Simon’s rider turned the horse around so they were facing Elizabeth.

“Do not be foolish,” the leader said in his thick accent. The man behind Elizabeth showed the long knife in his hands and pressed it between her breasts. Simon clenched his hands into fists.

Elizabeth swallowed nervously.

“It will be all right,” he said with much more conviction than he felt.

The rider behind him spun his mount away as the leader called out a command. As one, the group of men spurred their horses and rode off into the desert. Toward what fate, Simon could only imagine.

CHAPTER FOUR

It was dark by the time they arrived at the raider’s camp and Elizabeth couldn’t see exactly where they’d taken Simon. She’d heard him call out her name once and then nothing more. She had no idea where they’d taken him or what they might be doing to him. All she knew was that he wasn’t with her and it made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t felt before.

She closed her eyes and pushed away the thoughts of what might be happening. If they’d wanted to hurt him, they’d had ample opportunity. Surely, he was simply being kept in a tent similar to hers, waiting for the ransom demand to be made.

Of course, that was another problem. Not having any relations or anyone at all they could contact other than Jack, who was God only knows where, this little kidnap for ransom plan was going to fall short of the pledge goal.

The initial shock at what happened had started to wear off, but it was still a jumble. Everything had happened so quickly. She’d nearly lost Simon and then he was spared and, the next thing she knew, they were being carried off into the desert. The long ride had given her plenty of time to think, but her mind just raced in circles. She’d only managed to catch a glimpse of Simon a few times. Each time broke her heart and gave her strength in equal measure.

Elizabeth shifted her legs out in front of her. She’d been tied up for several hours now and they were starting to cramp.

Outside, she could hear the men singing. Through the thick fabric of the tent, she could just make out the glow of a large fire and the sounds of men laughing and enjoying their victory.

She and Simon would make for a pretty ransom, or so they thought. While they had brought a fair amount of money with them, it was undoubtedly not the prize these men were hoping for.

Poor Simon. She could still see his expression when she’d emerged from her hiding place—the worry, the love, the strength.

When they’d spared his life and taken him prisoner as well, she’d never been so relieved. The thought of losing him…she refused to let it take root. They might be captives now, but at least they were alive. At least, they could be together, she’d thought. Except, it hadn’t quite worked out that way.

She had to find a way out of here before their time ran out. Their captors would cut their throats before they’d cut their losses.

Way to stay positive, Elizabeth,
she chided herself. She and Simon had been in worse situations before and gotten out of them. They’d find their way out of this mess, too.

Escaping wouldn’t be easy. When they’d brought her to her tent they’d eased her down gently enough onto a large cushion, but then they’d bound her ankles and tied her to a tent post. If she managed to get her tether undone, she could probably untie her feet, but then what?

Her prison walls weren’t cinder blocks and iron bars, but they may as well have been. With armed men outside, the canvas walls or walls of some sort of animal skin by the smell of it, would do just as well. Although, she had to admit, as she looked around her quarters, as prisons went, this one wasn’t too shabby. It looked like some Bedouin chieftain’s private quarters. Posh as far as desert prisons went, she thought, trying not to think about the private quarters part.

The tent was fairly big, maybe fifteen by fifteen. A large hanging lamp at the center pole gave off a glowing yellow light. A small hand mirror hung from a peg and a white pitcher and large bowl sat on the floor at the base of the post.

The room, such as it was, had no furniture, but it did have several large and colorful faded pillows with a worn oriental carpet that served as the floor. Smaller carpets hung on twine strung up along the walls like wall tapestries. What looked like they might be camel or horse saddles, covered by felt blankets, were situated on the far side of the room creating a makeshift seating area. A small leather chest sat between them. She was, she thought with a sinking feeling, undoubtedly in the bedroom section.

Her imagination started to run away with her, but Elizabeth tripped it up before she felt too queasy. There was no reason to jump to the worst conclusions. The not-quite-worst ones were bad enough. She and Simon were prisoners of an armed group of raiders, who were going to seek a ransom that couldn’t be paid. That hardly needed the embellishment of imagination.

The flap to the tent flung open, interrupting her train of thought and the large man who’d given the orders earlier strode inside. He was followed by another man, whose face was still hidden behind his keffiyeh.

The big man surveyed the area for a brief moment, apparently making sure things were as they should be. Then he strode over to the sitting area and untied a small bag from his belt. He tipped the contents into his hand.

It was Simon’s pocket watch. Elizabeth tried not to look as relieved as she felt to see the watch and suddenly found her fingernails, which were filthy, fascinating. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him turning it over in his hand, inspecting it, judging its worth.

His grunt sounded disappointed. If only he knew how valuable the watch really was. He flipped open the lid of the small chest with his toe and tossed the watch carelessly into it. He turned back to her, his eyes narrowed. He closed the lid of the trunk and approached her.

He was tall, at least he looked tall from the ground, and broad shouldered. He looked every inch a general. He was in perhaps his late forties. His face was leathery and dark and the hair of his short beard jet black. The black fabric of his robes was dusty and nondescript, except for the elaborate wide cloth belt he wore. It was some sort of gold brocade and far fancier than any of the other mens’, clearly marking him as their superior.

His dark brown eyes were sharp and alert as they ran over her body. There was, much to Elizabeth’s relief, nothing salacious in the look. It was matter of fact. An inventory. He was assessing her in the same way he’d assessed the watch and making sure his property and her value hadn’t been damaged. Satisfied, he turned to the other man and spoke several sentences in Arabic.

The other man nodded and then, with one last look at Elizabeth, the big man left. The other man watched him go and then slowly approached Elizabeth. She leaned back away from him and he stopped mid-step.

He held up his hands in front of him. “Do not worry,” he said in perfect English. “I am not here to hurt you.”

He looked quickly toward the tent flap, and then back to her. He closed the distance between them, and knelt in front of her. “I am sorry it came to this.”

Elizabeth felt a surge of hope spark inside her. She held out her bound wrists. “Then let us go.”

The man nervously glanced back at the doorway. “You will be treated as our guests.”

“You tie up all of your guests?”

She could see the regret and even a hint of a chagrined smile in his light brown eyes. “This is not how things were supposed to be.”