Captive Bride

Chapter Eleven

IN the slow days that followed, Christina and Philip fell into a routine. He took all his meals with her, but left her to herself during the morning and afternoon. He took her to the pond to bathe each evening before dinner and stayed with her after the meal, cleaning his weapons, reading, or just meditating.

Each night Philip made love to her, and each night she fought him until her passions overcame her resistance and swept her away. Christina could not deny that bis love-making gave her pleasure, but that only made her hate Philip more than ever.

Philip made her feel strangely mixed emotions. She was nervous whenever he was near. She could never predict what he would do next. He made her lose control of herself, sending her into a fit of anger and then turning that anger to fear. And she was afraid of him, for she really believed he would beat her if she provoked him too far.

A week had passed since Philip had brought Christina to his camp. With nothing else to do, she had completed the green silk blouse and two more skirts, but she was tired of sewing. She was tired of being inside the tent all day long, every day.

Philip had left without a word right after breakfast that morning. She knew he was angry with her for not telling him why she had cried the night before. How could she tell him she cried because her body deceived her? She had been so determined to be unmoved by his caresses and to lie placidly beneath him. But Philip patiently brought her to life, snatching away her will as he did every night.

But Philip was not satisfied by breaking her down once. He had asserted his power over her again, mercilessly, and she had loved every minute of it. But when he was finished with her and rolled to his side of the bed, she started to cry.

When Philip tried to comfort her, she just cried harder and told him to leave her alone. She was disgusted with herself for enjoying the act, more than angry at him. But when she wouldn't explain herself, he became coldly angry. Christina cried until she finally fell asleep.

Now, as the morning wore on, Christina felt stifled by inactivity. She put her sewing aside and walked to the entrance of the tent. The sunlight looked so inviting as it filtered through the juniper trees that Christina forgot her fear of Philip's reaction to her leaving the tent. She meandered toward the corral, basking in the warmth of the sun.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Philip. He was in the large corral with Ahmad, who was astride a beautiful Arabian horse. The other horses were grazing peacefully on the hillside with the sheep. Bravely she continued walking. When she reached the corral fence, the horse shied away.

Philip turned to see what was bothering the animal, and his eyes narrowed menacingly when he spied her. He soothed the horse, then came to her with quick strides.

"What are you doing here?" Philip asked angrily. "I gave you no permission to leave the tent."

Christina fought to control her rising anger.

"I couldn't stand it another minute in that tent, Philip. I'm not used to being confined. I need to feel the sun and breathe the morning air. Can't I stay here and watch you? I'm interested in what you do every day," she lied.

"I train these horses, among other things," he said.

"What for?" Christina asked, stalling for more time.

"Do you really want to know, Christina? Or are you playing at another game?"

"I can't win the game when you are the opponent, as you well know," she pouted. "I'd really like to know how you train your horses."

"Very well. What would you like to know?"

"What are you training them to do?"

"To follow directions with the pressure of the knees and not the hands. Sometimes our hands are not free to direct the reins, as in battle or after a raid. Also it serves another purpose, for our horses cannot be stolen unless they are led away. They will not carry a rider who uses the reins to direct them."

"That's ingenious," Christina said, her interest growing. "But how do you teach the horses these pressures?"

"The horse is led in a certain direction, say to the left, while the rider uses the pressure for that direction. We continue with one direction at a time until the horse learns it."

"How do you stop the horse?"

"Since we don't ride with saddles, we use our feet to stop him by digging them into his sides. Are you satisfied now?"

"Yes. May I stay and watch you for a while?" she asked meekly.

"If you are quiet and don't disturb the horse," he said. He looked at her quizzically for a long moment before walking away.

So—she had won. She was free of that damnable tent for a while. Christina let her mind wander while keeping her soft, blue-green eyes on Philip.

How she wished that she were astride that beautiful animal. Perhaps she could persuade Philip to let her ride one of his horses or, better yet, give her an untrained horse. It wouldn't be like riding Dax freely through the lush green fields of home, but it would be better than not riding at all.

Christina suddenly realized that she was thinking of a future in this camp. Oh damn, why didn't John rescue her? But John probably thought her dead already. She had to find a way to escape, but she couldn't go alone. She must have a guide to help her cross the desert and protect her from outlaw tribes. She must have food, water, horses.

Could she wait until Philip tired of her? How long would that be? And Philip might not send her to her brother when he no longer wanted her. He might sell her as a slave for someone's harem.

Perhaps she could persuade Philip to let her go if she made him fall in love with her! But how could she manage to win him over when he knew she hated him? Besides, he had told her he only desired her body.

"Christina."

She looked up into Philip's smiling green eyes.

"I called you twice. You have a strange way of showing that you're interested in what I do."

"I'm sorry," Christina smiled back at him. "I was just thinking of my horse, Dax, and how I would love to be out riding."

"Did you ride often at your home?"

"Oh yes! Every day, for long hours at a time," she said enthusiastically.

They walked back to the tent, where steaming dishes of porridge, rice, and sweetmeats were on the table for their midday meal. There was a pot of tea for Christina and a fresh skin of wine for Philip.

"I'll be leaving the camp this afternoon for a while," Philip mentioned as they sat down to eat. "I'll leave Ahmad to guard the tent while I'm gone. It is for your protection that you're guarded, nothing else."

"But where are you going?"

"On a ghazw," he said irritably.

She had obviously hit on something Philip didn't want to talk about. But her woman's curiosity wouldn't let her stop.

"A ghazw? What's that?"

"Christina, must you always ask so many questions of me?" Philip's voice was edged with anger, making her shiver despite the warmth. "It's a raid, if you must know. Syed spotted a caravan this morning. Since our food supply is getting low, we'll take what we need to hold us over for a while. Does that answer your question, or is there something else you'd like to know?"

"You can't be serious!" Christina was appalled. She stopped eating and looked into his cold green eyes. "Why can't you buy what you need? Rashid had all those jewels you turned down. You must have wealth of your own. Why must you steal from other people?"

Philip stood and faced her, the yellow flecks in his green eyes disappearing as he looked at her wrathfully,

"I will not stand for your questioning my actions anymore, Christina. I will tell you once, and once only. Raiding is the way of my people. We rob to survive as we have always done. We take only what we need. I have no wealth here, because I have no need of it. Rashid has a grievance against me that I understand, so I don't curb his greed for riches. What he steals, I let him keep. Do not question me about it again!"

He turned on his heel and stormed from the tent. Christina was shaken. She felt as if she were hopelessly falling into a bottomless pit.

Philip was an outlaw! No doubt he killed men mercilessly when he went on raids. He probably enjoyed killing! And she—Christina Wakefield—was at his mercy.

Christina shivered uncontrollably, thinking of the rage he had just shown. Would he kill her if she pushed him too far? He was an outlaw, and she knew where his camp was. Would Philip ever let her go with that kind of knowledge?

She heard horses galloping out of the camp. He was off to pillage and plunder and only God knew what else, Christina thought. She couldn't live with this new fear. She had to know what he intended to do with her. If she was to die, then she wanted to know it.

Walking quickly to the entrance of the tent, she found Ahmad sitting on the ground outside the entrance. He was meticulously cleaning a long silver sword with a curved handle.

"Ahmad," she ventured slowly, "may I ask you a question?"

He loooked at her strangely.

"It is not right. Women do not ask questions. It is not their place."

This was too much. These people were barbaric!

"But Ahmad, I was not raised as your women are. I was brought up to be equal to men, can't you understand that? I just wanted to know if Abu ever brought another woman here before me," she said, hoping he would just think her jealous.

Ahmad grinned. "No, you are the first woman Sheik Abu has ever brought to camp."

'Thank you, Ahmad," she smiled back at him.

Going back into the tent, Christina paced the floor. That was no help at all. If there had been another woman, Christina might have discovered what had happened to her after Philip tired of her. Now she would have to face Philip with the question that was tormenting her. She prayed he would be in a better mood when he returned.