The Soldier & The Spy Page 2

  “Jemal!” Jackson called as he walked into the tent. “What is going on?”

  He’d obviously walked in on an argument. Both Jemal and Fatima were begging—no, pleading with—the woman he knew as Hessa to reconsider and join the prince.

  “You cannot insult him, Hessa. He will have you executed without a moment’s thought!” Fatima warned.

  Hessa was sitting on a small stool, her arms stubbornly folded over her bare stomach. She wore white beaded undergarments covered by a sheer cerulean blue silk fabric. A matching veil covered her dark brown hair and part of her face. She was a portrait of perfection, the personification of every man’s fantasy. Except for the positively enraged look on her face and the waves of intense fury that seemed to emanate from her. The force filled waves of her anger and her humiliation engulfed him.

  Jemal looked up. “She won’t come.”

  “Let me try,” Jackson said gently. “Leave us for a moment.”

  Jemal and Fatima shared a worried glance, then nodded and left the tent.

  “Hessa,” Jackson knelt before her, “do you remember me?”

  She nodded.

  “Of course you do. So, you’re not daft. You realize the prince is very powerful, yeah? The good news is that I don’t think he’s very bright. I can only imagine how humiliating this must be. Well, honestly, I probably can’t. But you must push that aside. You must come, Hessa. Chin up and all that,” Jackson said, attempting an encouraging smile.

  She turned and looked at him. Not a sideways glance. Not a shy glimpse stolen through her dark charcoal lashes. Her eyes, moist with stubborn tears that threatened to fall, searched out his, his eyes, his heart, his soul. With her proud defiance, she captured them all.

  “Hessa,” he whispered, reaching out and hesitantly covering her hand with his, “the prince has offered me a gift of sorts, one of the women. For tonight, anyways, I think I can protect you. I promise, I won’t harm you. It’s a chance, Hessa. If you don’t come—”

  She quickly stood, pushed past Jackson, and set off towards the prince’s tent.

  “Bloody hell! What are you getting yourself into, mate?” Jackson said under his breath, shaking his head at himself as he watched her walk away.

  When he returned, everyone in the tent was silent. Jackson had been absent only a few minutes, but in that time the mood had changed. The music had stopped and all conversation had come to a complete halt. Everyone was riveted on the woman who stood, eyes downcast, in the center of the tent.

  The flames from the numerous oil lamps flickered from the gust of wind that blew in before the flap of the tent re-closed. The beads of her costume were illuminated and sparkled as the light danced over her body. Prince Abdulla rose slowly from his position on the floor, a predatory smile forming on his face as he unabashedly raked his eyes over Hessa’s form.

  Jackson eased into his line of sight, blocking his view. He bowed down slightly before him, and holding out a small red velvet case addressed him. “My lord.”

  The prince accepted the box and opened it. Inside was a small metal cross, attached to a ribbon. The prince looked up, confusion wrinkling his brow.

  “It’s from my king, George V. It’s called the Military Cross, bestowed for distinguished and meritorious service in battle. It’s very rare,” Jackson said reverently.

  The prince lifted the medal out of its case and held it up for closer inspection. “This is yours, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, my lord. But it’s yours now.”

  “Why would you make me a gift of this? I have never distinguished myself in battle. This is obviously something of importance to you. I can’t accept this.” The prince finished as he placed the medal back in its case, closed it, and attempted to hand it back.

  Jackson didn’t accept it. He looked pointedly at the prince and simply said, “But you will distinguish yourself, my lord. We will fight together, you and I. We will fight, we will win, and we will capture Aqaba.”

  “Aqaba?”

  “Like everything else, it is yours for the taking.”

  Jackson had his full attention now. He watched as the prince slipped the small velvet case into the pocket of his robes, then he continued, “But, as you said, tonight is not for business. I believe that you made me an offer earlier. I assume it still stands?”

  “Of course.” The prince clapped twice, loudly and gestured sharply with his hand. Five of the six women in the room scurried over and quickly fell in line for inspection. All but Hessa, who stayed rooted to her spot.

  The prince noticed her failure to respond immediately. His eyes narrowed and he began to move towards her, lifting his hand, ready to strike.

  “I choose Hessa,” Jackson said clearly.

  The prince stopped and quickly turned back to face him. “Hessa?” he asked, clearly confused. “As you can see, she isn’t broken in yet.”

  “I see that, my lord.” Jackson smirked.

  “You have done something twice tonight, Lieutenant, that very few even do once. You have surprised me.” The prince walked closer to him. They were standing toe to toe now. The prince was almost a full head taller. He looked down at Jackson, his brown eyes dancing with amusement. The prince smiled, knowingly. “You want to break her in.”

  Jackson tilted his head slowly to the side and quietly replied, “It would be my extreme pleasure, my lord.”

  The prince laughed, then spun about and clapped his hands. “Hessa it is then!” he declared, walking over to the other women. After he spoke a few words to two of them, they quickly walked over to Hessa and ushered her out. “Be warned, Lieutenant, she may be a bit damaged,” he said, touching his hand to his forehead.

  “You wish for me to be gentle with her, my lord?”

  “Lieutenant, she is nothing but chattel. Treat her however you wish, it is of no concern to me. She may be unpredictable, that’s all.” He took a sip of his drink. “But,” he added, clapping Jackson on the back, “I’m sure given enough time and torture you could tame her. Experience tells me that they all break eventually.”

  “Where are they taking her? I thought she was to dine with us?” Jackson asked, sounding casual while feeling slightly panicked.

  “What? No! They never actually eat with me. I merely meant for her to be present while we dined, to serve us and offer entertainment, like the others,” he explained. “She is being brought to your tent. While we finish our meal she will be readied for you.”

  Jackson inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Outwardly, he gave the prince a curt nod of understanding before turning to accept the drink one of the concubines offered to him. The music again played. As conversations struck up around him Jackson ate quietly, his thoughts drifting to the beautiful woman who awaited him in his tent.

  Time passed slowly. After eating his fill and lingering for an adequate amount of time he made his excuses and retired. As Jackson approached his tent he heard her shriek. He was literally knocked off his feet as the prince’s concubines ran from the tent, a hairbrush flying out after them.

  Jackson picked up the brush, which had landed in the sand at his feet. He looked over his shoulder at the women as they made their way back to their tent, laughing and talking to one another in hushed tones. He glanced down at the brush, its silver handle glinting in the moonlight, then looked at the entrance to the tent in front of him. Jackson took a deep, steadying breath, then walked towards the entrance with purpose.

  As he stepped in something flew at him. He hesitated, for a moment, as the sheer black veil flew over his face. He had barely glimpsed her. She had been clothed in a diaphanous black gown, which left nothing to the imagination. He could see the curve of her breasts, the outline of her hips, and the shape of her legs clearly through the fabric.

  Hessa ran past him. Before she could reach the entrance to the tent Jackson’s arm was about her waist, pulling her back, against his chest. She writhed against him, her bottom carelessly grinding into his growing arousal as she struggled to gain release
.

  “Stop fighting me, Hessa,” he whispered calmly in her ear as he leaned over her.

  But Lillian didn’t stop. She merely doubled her efforts to escape, struggling against him.

  Fear coursed through every fiber of her being. Earlier that evening she had believed him when he said he would protect her. Then his demeanor with the prince, when he chose her, gave her pause. She’d calmed herself at the time with assurances that it was merely bravado, reaching the conclusion he was playing a role to gain the prince’s respect and confidence when he spoke of breaking her in. She didn’t want to imagine that he might really harm her. But when he’d walked into the tent, she’d felt vulnerable as he’d looked upon her in her near nakedness, smoldering lust evident in his eyes and she’d been overwhelmed with panic.

  “Hessa!” he said sharply. Then shifting to a quieter voice in hopes of calming her he continued, “Hessa, you’ve got to stop moving, pet. Look, I’m trying really hard to be a bloody gentleman here. If you keep moving against me like that it’s going to be all but impossible for us to continue to pretend that you’re having no affect on me!”

  Suddenly, she was acutely aware of his erection pressing into her bottom. She froze, giving up the struggle for freedom. Her breathing became ragged and she fought to slow it. She remained wrapped in his tight embrace; his body still molded to hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck.

  “That’s better, love. Just take it easy. I mean to keep my word. You have nothing to fear. I’ve never forced myself on a woman and I don’t intend to start now. You’re safe. I promise. It’s going to be all right,” he soothed as he gradually released the pressure of his hold.

  As his comforting words washed over her, Lillian was flooded with raw emotion. A quiet sob escaped and her legs gave way beneath her. She felt herself lifted by a pair of strong arms and carried to the sleeping pallet. She was crying in earnest now. Deep, heart-wrenching sobs. She let go, really for the first time in months, the first time since her mother had fallen so horribly ill. There had been those few stubborn tears that she had failed to control on occasion, but nothing like this, nothing like now.

  The depth of her loneliness and sorrow was something she could no longer deny, no longer repress. The walls came down and she was flooded with memories. She remembered how she’d struggled to remain strong as she’d independently cared for her sick mother and buried her. She’d suffered silently through that grief and loss alone. She remembered how angry she’d been at her father and the feelings of abandonment when he hadn’t come. Then she flashed on the realization that he, too, was gone. Gone from her life and never to be seen again. Dead. He was dead like all those people at Wadi Turras.

  Never had she witnessed such horror. She had no idea that humans could be so barbaric. Although it was war, nothing prepared her for the viciousness of the Turks’ attack. Lillian had done her level best to divorce herself from the reality of the savage slaying, forcing herself to go through the motions of everyday life. But, the truth of the matter was, she feared it was too much, too much pain and misery for any one person to shoulder alone.

  “Sleep now,” Jackson whispered. “Just rest, pet. I’m not about to let anything happen to you. You’re safe, Hessa. You’re safe.”

  Safe. It had been so long since she’d felt that way. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight she was all right. Lillian’s eyes burned and felt heavy from her tears and the urgent need for rest. As they closed in slumber she sighed in relief and said, “It’s Lillian, my name is Lillian.”

  Chapter Two

  Jackson awoke, bolting upright. The first thing he noticed was that Lillian was no longer wrapped around him and no longer anywhere in his tent. He had held her most of the night, formulating a long list of questions that he intended to ask her. He remembered seeing the first glimpse of light as the sun began to break over the horizon. He must have fallen asleep shortly after that. Jackson cursed himself for giving in to his own weariness and climbed quickly to his feet.

  Upon leaving his tent he ran straight into Jemal. “Where is Hessa?”

  “She left shortly after daybreak, heading east,” he answered. “She will be back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She has done this before. The first time Fatima followed her. There are caves, a few miles from here. She spends time there, often leaving before daybreak and returning to the camp under the cover of darkness. She came to our tent this morning, changed her clothes, and left with food and water,” he said.

  “Who is she, Jemal?”

  “I do not know, Lieutenant. She cries out, sometimes, in her sleep. Words I don’t understand. My English is limited.”

  “She’s American.”

  “American?”

  “I believe so. Get me some food and water and point me in the direction of the caves. I’m going after her.” Jackson walked away to ready his camel.

  Several hours later he came to the tiny abandoned village of caves carved into the surrounding sandstone. There was no sign of Lillian. He signaled to the camel that he wished to dismount by striking it on the back of its neck with a stick. As the camel folded its legs and lowered itself onto the sand, Jackson slid off the saddle. He shielded his eyes against the bright noon sun and looked off into the distance.

  A patch of darkness was encroaching. He had never seen anything like it. It was a massive wall almost a mile high, and moving towards him like a freight train.

  “Lillian!” His voice echoed off the surrounding walls of the caves. He pulled, forcefully on the reins of the camel, encouraging it to once again stand. “Lillian!” he shouted again.

  Sand and dust whipped about him now. The storm neared. The sky darkened as the wall of sand all but obliterated the sun. Jackson struggled to keep a tight hold on the reins as the camel fought him. Fine grains blew towards him unrelentingly, forcing their way into his mouth, into his nostrils, and between his closed eyelashes.

  “Lieutenant!” he heard her call, and then he felt her hand on his sleeve. He couldn’t easily see, but he moved as quickly as he could in her direction, doing his best to keep a strong hold on his struggling beast.

  He let her lead him towards a rock formation. He spotted a narrow opening to his right. Lillian guided him and the camel inside. Once inside he could see. Although the sand and dust continued to blow about him, it was more tolerable. They were at the entrance of a long, narrow gorge. It was no more than two meters wide. Along the walls ran a conduit, presumably once used for carrying water. There were other rock formations as well. He stopped and looked at his surroundings.

  “God statues.” She pointed to the small rectangular and round bas-reliefs. “They’re Second Century, AD. That is the Nabataean God, Dushrat.”

  Jackson looked at her and cocked his head to the side, saying nothing.

  “Great!” Lillian began to climb a set of stairs that had been carved into the rock. “Now you can’t talk?”

  “Oh, I can talk,” he responded as he dropped the reins of the camel and reached out for her arm. He grasped only air as she scurried out of reach. He was quick to follow behind her, catching up just as she reached the mouth of a rather large cave.

  Lillian turned and glanced briefly in his direction before entering the cave. Once inside, she removed her veil and faced him in the semi-darkness, her gaze unwavering.

  “You’re American.”

  She nodded. “Thank you for last night.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he replied with a slight bow.

  “Your extreme pleasure?” she teased.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,”

  “I know. I just couldn’t be sure.”

  “Of?”

  “Of you, of anything.”

  “So, it was all a ruse?”

  “No. It wasn’t all a ruse.” She knelt down and turned her attention to lighting the oil lamp resting on the floor. Once lit, it cast a warm glow against the already orange int
erior walls of the cave.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I like this place. It’s peaceful. I like to come here and imagine how it used to be.”

  “I actually meant what are you doing in Arabia?”

  “That’s a bit complicated.” She searched through her satchel and extracted the beginnings of a meal. “Hungry?”

  “Famished,” he admitted. “When I discovered you were gone I set out straight away. I haven’t eaten yet. I have water and something Jemal packed. Don’t know what it is though.” He began to search through the contents of his own satchel.

  “Let’s keep yours for later. We could be here awhile.” Lillian laid some bread, rice, and the leftover meat that she had brought out in front of them.

  “A veritable feast,” he mockingly proclaimed, clapping his hands in jest. “Come, dine with me. I will gorge myself to my hearts content and you, you lucky girl, can dance for me.”

  “Oh, my lord, but I am so undeserving of such an honor. And I am obviously wearing far, far too many clothes!”

  Lillian looked down at her modest robes. When she glanced back up she noticed that his eyes had widened at her comment. Jackson swallowed, hard, and then looked away. After a moment of awkward silence he reached for some food.

  “How long do you think the storm will last?” he asked.

  “Hard to tell. At least a few hours, possibly through the night.”

  “Then we have time.”

  “For what?”

  “For you to explain.” Jackson shifted so that his back was braced up against the wall of the cave and he stretched his legs out in front of him. After a few more moments, she glanced over towards him. He was staring at her, his piercing blue eyes full of questions. “We’re on the same side you know. You can trust me. Thought I had proven that last night.”

  Lillian sat down alongside him. “You did. What is it you would most like to know, Lieutenant?”

  “First off, we’ve already spent the night together. So, I think you can call me Jackson.”