The Soldier & The Spy

  The Soldier & The Spy

  By

  Samantha Sommersby

  Dedication

  For my dear friend Shari whose warped sense of “fun” includes reading archeology journals. Thank you for sharing the article about the use of female spies during WWI that inspired The Soldier & The Spy.

  And for all the men and women who have fought and continue to fight bravely, defending freedoms that too many of us take for granted. You are the real heroes.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.

  THE SOLDIER & THE SPY

  Copyright © 2005 SAMANTHA SOMMERSBY

  All Romance eBooks, LLC

  Clearwater, Florida 33761

  www.allromanceebooks.com

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever with out written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First All Romance eBooks publication: April 2013

  Previously published by Red Rose Press as Under Fire

  Previously published by Linden Bay Romance as Blazing Sun, Burning Hearts

  Chapter One

  Lieutenant Jackson Crawford fought to stay in the saddle. Exhausted, he wiped the sweat out of his eyes. Then, he looked across the desert at the makeshift camp in the distance and pushed the camel forward, quickly covering the remaining distance.

  The sea of Bedouin tents tucked amongst the sweeping sand dunes marked the end of his journey. He had spent days traveling on camelback. When he’d started his mission in early March, the Bedouin guide assigned to him had teased him endlessly for his insistence on maintaining his silly rituals. Shaving in the morning, wearing his uniform, remembering that he was a soldier engaged in a war, a war with rules. It was 1917 and the British were heavily invested in the “Great Arab Revolt”, heavily invested in protecting their interests in the Suez Canal.

  Jackson remembered the excitement that had coursed through him when he’d first learned of his assignment to the Arab Bureau. That seemed like a lifetime ago. Now all he knew was the sun. Sun, and the sand, of which a thick dusting covered his clothing . He could taste it in his mouth. He could feel it in his hair. And he could see it, everywhere. Beyond the camp, the desert continued to stretch out before him, like a vast ocean. He was sick of the desert. There were times he thought he would drown in its unrelenting, smoldering heat. He wasn’t a religious man, but he’d prayed, fervently, for survival during the past few days of this assignment.

  As he slid off the camel and stood once again, his legs betrayed him and he crumpled unceremoniously to the ground. Several of the Bedu rushed to assist him in standing. He opened his mouth, but his voice failed him, perhaps from days of un-use. Someone brought him water. He tilted the tin cup to his dried, cracked lips and took several slow sips. His hands shook and he found himself having to focus desperately to avoid spilling any of the precious liquid.

  “I have a message for Prince Abdulla,” he managed to croak out.

  One of the men stepped forward. “And you are?”

  “In desperate need of a bath and a bed.” Jackson wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’m Lieutenant Crawford. I have a communication for the prince from Sir

  Quentin Hornby.”

  “The prince is occupied. He is with one of his concubines.” The man gestured towards one of the larger tents. “You may speak with him this evening. Jemal will show you to your tent. You have traveled far if you’ve come with a message from Hornby. Extraordinary.”

  “Yeah, well, not exactly why I did it.” Jackson smirked. “Now, if I could just get my message to the prince, then clean up a bit and get some rest—”

  “You will see the prince tonight.” The man gave a slight bow before walking off and leaving Jackson with Jemal.

  “So, Jemal—”

  “Rest here for a moment, Lieutenant, I will ready your tent. We will arrange for some food and clean clothes. I won’t be long.”

  “Did he say concubine?”

  Jemal smiled, “Yes, Lieutenant. The prince has quite an impressive harem, but he is traveling now with only a few. During war, sacrifices must be made.”

  Jackson couldn’t help chuckling at the absurdity that was his life as he sat, waiting where Jemal had indicated. After days spent traveling in abhorrent conditions to deliver a message of vital importance, he wanted nothing more than to complete this bloody mission and sleep for a week. Fueled by anger and suddenly restless, he stood and began pacing

  He looked towards the prince’s tent. “Bollocks!” Then determinedly set off towards it. Before he reached the entrance, someone grabbed his arm.

  “What!” He spun around and found himself staring into the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen. The woman was dressed in the traditional fashion of a Bedouin woman with a long black robe and a veil covering her hair and most of her face, but he could see her eyes. As he looked into them he suddenly became lost and for a moment forgot his purpose. She looked as if she wanted to say something to him, but she remained silent.

  “I see you’ve met Hessa,” Jemal said.

  “Hessa?” Jackson glanced down to where her hand still rested on his forearm. “Is she one of the prince’s—?”

  “No! No, Lieutenant. Hessa is what we call her. It means ‘destiny’. She doesn’t speak, so we don’t know her real name. We found her several days ago. She was the only survivor of the massacre at Turras. Hundreds were killed and she saw it all. The prince believes she has been chosen. For her to have survived such a battle she must be destined for something of great importance. My wife and I have been watching over her. She is staying with us for the time being.” Jemal called to her. “Hessa?”

  The woman turned to Jemal, finally breaking eye contact with Jackson.

  “Take Lieutenant Crawford to his tent. I have moved the bath in there, but he will need water from the well and clean robes. Fatima can give those to you. I must go oversee preparations for dinner. Can you do that for me, Hessa? Can you take care of the lieutenant?” Jemal spoke to her slowly and softly.

  Hessa nodded and released her grip on the arm of the soldier. She turned and began to walk towards the tent. After taking a few steps she stopped suddenly. Hessa lowered her eyes, bowed slightly, and with a wave of her arm indicated that Jackson should walk ahead of her.

  Jemal leaned over and whispered, “You must forgive Hessa, Lieutenant, she forgets herself.”

  Jackson glanced back over his shoulder at the frail looking woman with the exotic green eyes. “Come on, Hessa,” he said. “Show me the way? I can’t very well lead when I don’t know where I’m going, can I?”

  Under her veil, Lillian smiled and her eyes filled with grateful tears. Maybe she would survive this and accomplish her mission after all. Just maybe.

  “Bloody sand is everywhere.”

  Lillian paused for a moment, just inside the tent, and let her eyes adjust. During her last trip to the well, Jackson had divested himself of his uniform and climbed into the small bathing tub that Jemal had left. The soldier’s back was to her and in his hands, which were shaking almost uncontrollably, he held a bar of soap and a razor.

  After setting the buckets of water next to the bath, she quickly made her way over and gently took the razor from him.

  “I’m afraid I’m a bit knackered,” he said, shivering.

  The rims around his eyes were slightly red and his face flushed. Lillian pulled up one of the sleeves from her long robe, reached ou
t, and placed her hand on his forehead. He was clearly burning up with fever, probably suffering from too little sleep, too little food and water, and too much sun. She had certainly experienced that before.

  She grabbed his tin cup, filled it with water, and tilted it to his lips, motioning for him to drink. Closing his eyes, he drank down the cool liquid.

  When he finished Lillian removed the cup from his hand, then picked up the clean washcloth, dipped it into water, soaped it up, and gently washed the sweat and sand from the lieutenant’s face and neck. As she did, she could feel his body temperature cool down.

  Jackson leaned his head against the back of the tub as she washed his arms and torso. Then, Lillian pushed on the back of his shoulder, signaling that he should lean forward. When he did, she washed his back. Once his upper body was clean, she dipped a tin cup into the bucket of fresh water and poured it over his hair. The fine desert sand ran off into the tub. She worked up a good lather from the soap in her hands, and then massaged it into his scalp. Lillian could feel the grime beneath her fingers as she worked them through his sun-bleached locks. After rinsing with another cup of fresh water, she repeated the process until his hair was clean. He had almost fallen asleep when she handed him the washcloth and soap and gestured for him to finish.

  “Are you sure?” He winked. “You were kind of just getting ‘round to the good parts.”

  Lillian silently picked up his uniform and left the tent in search of robes. When she returned fifteen minutes later he was sitting on a small crate, a towel wrapped around his waist, the mirror in his lap, and the razor once again in his hand. Although certainly better, he was still tremulous from fatigue. For the second time she took the razor from him.

  “We really must stop meeting like this, Hessa. People are going to start talking,” he said sarcastically.

  She moved behind him, tilted his head back so that it leaned against her stomach, and lathered his face with soap.

  “You’re an unusual bird, Hessa. You’ve got beautiful green eyes. Don’t think I’ve actually been able to look at a woman’s eyes since I came to play in this little sandbox. Haven’t seen many women, period, come to think of it. God, I miss the smell and feel of a woman…”

  Lillian felt herself blush. She found his directness unnerving. The sincerity in his voice made her want to trust him, but could she? Should she? Only time would tell. She leaned over Jackson and placed her finger tenderly over his lips. He looked up into her eyes and fell silent. Methodically, she shaved away his beard. Then she cleaned off the shaving gear and stowed it away. Before turning to take her leave, she handed Jackson a pile of clean robes.

  “Hessa, wait!”

  Jackson had risen to his feet and was struggling to stand. Lillian placed a steadying arm around his waist.

  “I feel I must sleep, but I fear I will miss my chance with the prince. Can you wake me in a few hours? I have this letter I must get to him. Do you understand?” He pointed to an envelope that lay on the nearby sleeping pallet.

  Lillian quickly nodded in agreement, and then helped him slide the clean robe over his head and lead him over to the sleeping pallet, so he could lie down. Jackson closed his eyes as his head hit the pillow. For a few, lingering moments, Lillian sat alongside him and softly ran her fingers through his still damp hair. As he drifted off to sleep, she whispered into the solitude of the tent, “Sleep now, save the world later.”

  Jackson opened his eyes and was greeted by darkness. But that wasn’t what was most bothersome. What troubled him was that he actually felt rested and hungry, very hungry. He quickly jumped up and searched his pallet for the envelope he was to deliver to the prince. It was missing.

  He emerged from the tent, determined to search for the prince. Jackson didn’t get fifty feet from the tent before Jemal was upon him.

  “I trust you are well rested, Lieutenant? Dinner will be served shortly.”

  “How long?” Jackson snapped.

  “It won’t be long now. It should be a great feast. Some gazelles were caught this morning and they have been roasting. The prince is anxious to—”

  “Not how long until dinner! How long was I out?”

  “Oh. Sorry, Lieutenant. You were quite ill from fever and exhaustion. You slept through yesterday entirely.”

  “Damn it!” Jackson ran his hand over his rough jaw. “Hessa was to wake me in two hours, not two bloody days. My business with the prince is important. I must see him at once.”

  “Forgive me, Lieutenant. Hessa did as you asked and presented your letter to the prince. He has many questions, of course. These things cannot be rushed. You may return in one hour’s time. The prince will see you then,” Jemal said before turning to walk away.

  “Wait! Where is Hessa? I wish to speak to her.”

  “I am sorry, Lieutenant. But Hessa managed to catch the eye of Prince Abdulla when she delivered your letter. She is stronger now. The prince wishes her to join him for dinner this evening. Fatima is busy getting her ready. I fear he will move her in with the harem tonight.”

  “But she has yet to speak and—”

  “The prince isn’t concerned with a woman’s ability to converse. Quite the contrary. She’ll be taught whatever skills he wants her to possess,” Jemal explained.

  “What if she were to prefer…” Jackson started to ask, suddenly and unexplainably concerned for the frail woman who’d cared for him just the day before yesterday.

  Jemal smiled sadly. “You are in Arabia, Lieutenant. If she is chosen, she will prefer only what most pleases the prince.”

  “Or?”

  ”Or she will be replaced. Not released. Replaced.”

  Jackson walked back to his tent to shave and prepare for dinner. Had he asked Hessa to deliver the letter to the prince? He was almost certain that he had not. Never in his right mind would he have trusted such an important message to anyone else. Even if he was mad with fever, he didn’t think he would have suggested it. Then why had she taken it upon herself to do it? Before the night was over, he would find out.

  The area around the prince’s tent was lit with torches. The soft sounds of exotic music could be heard drifting out, carried on the evening wind. Jackson shook his head.

  “What kind of a military leader travels with musicians and women?” He already disliked the prince who seemed more concerned with his own hedonistic pleasures than fighting for his people.

  The interior of the tent was illuminated by dozens of small oil lamps. On the floor were layers of lush carpets woven in bright jeweled tones. The interior walls had been covered over in silk fabrics that matched the numerous throw pillows strewn carelessly around the floor for the guests to lean on. There were bowls and platters aplenty scattered about and the few guests present were eating while they watched one of the prince’s many concubines dance for his pleasure.

  She wasn’t wearing the traditional dress. Her costume was revealing. The red veiled material was of the sheerest silk and lavishly decorated. The colorful beaded fringe clacked against one another as the woman moved her body in time to the sensual music.

  As she neared the prince, he stood up and possessively reached out, grabbing her around her waist. He pulled her roughly against his body and crushed his lips to hers, taking what was his. When he broke off the kiss, he noticed Jackson. Without a second glance, the prince pushed the woman away carelessly so that she fell onto the floor at his feet.

  “Lieutenant Crawford, come and join us!” the prince called out, waving Jackson into the room. “Sit! Enjoy a delicious meal with me!”

  “It would be my honor, my lord.” Jackson bowed with deference. “I have been anxious to discuss business with you. The British—”

  “Enough!” the prince shouted. “Tonight is not about business, Lieutenant. It is a night for celebration. You have traveled far. Enjoy yourself.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Jackson responded as he accepted food and drink from one of the prince’s concubines.

  “She is lo
vely, yes?”

  “Quite lovely.”

  “I enjoy beautiful things.” The prince ran a finger down the side of the woman’s face. “How long since you have been with a beautiful woman, Lieutenant?”

  Jackson choked slightly on the mouth of food he had begun to swallow.

  The prince laughed. “That long? We will rectify that tonight. You may have your pick. I am feeling generous.”

  “Your kindness overwhelms me, my lord, but—”

  “Where is Hessa? Jemal!” the prince bellowed.

  “Yes, my lord. I regret to say that Hessa seems unwell. Perhaps it is the fever the lieutenant had earlier. She helped me ready his tent when he arrived. She is still frail, you know,” Jemal started to explain.

  “Nonsense! Bring her to me. I wish it so. And have her wear the garments I sent over this afternoon,” the prince demanded.

  “Of course, my lord,” Jemal said, a combination of panic and fear briefly flitting across his face as he bowed to the prince.

  “Would you excuse me for a brief moment, my lord?” Jackson stood up. “I have a gift for you that I seem to have left in my tent. I will return directly.”

  “By all means, Lieutenant. And don’t forget my offer. I assure you, I have spent considerable time ensuring that they each have a wide range of skills. You will undoubtedly be pleased.”

  “I am confident that you are right, my lord, but—”

  “And I am quite certain that you do not wish to insult me by refusing.”

  “I was going to say that the choice will be difficult. I will have to give it careful consideration, so many beauties. With your permission I will take my leave and return momentarily,” Jackson concluded.

  “Yes! Yes! Go!” The prince waved him off.

  Jackson quickly slipped out of the prince’s tent. He saw the tent flap of the adjacent servant’s tent flutter close. He swiftly followed Jemal through the entrance.