Desert Destiny. Sarah Holland

scented steam, which made the room feel even more Eastern. Khalisha turned to Bethsheba to unbutton her blouse.

      ‘I can do that!’ Bethsheba jumped back from the girl’s fingers, shocked.

      “The sitt will find it more pleasant if she is bathed by another.’

      Flushing, Bethsheba said, ‘It is not my way, Khalisha! In England, we bathe alone!’

      ‘I have heard it is so.’ Khalisha nodded. ‘But I am glad to be of a more hot-blooded and sensual race. Here, we are taught to give our bodies the pleasure they crave.’

      ‘We consider ourselves to be a sensual race,’ she said defensively.

      ‘Yet you bathe alone?’ Khalisha smiled, eyes gently mocking. ‘Come! The sitt is weary and I am fresh. Close your eyes and let me wash the scent of the horse and the desert from your body!’

      Feeling she now had something to prove, Bethsheba allowed Khalisha to undress her. The white blouse fell to the floor, followed by her lacy white bra, and she kept her eyes closed, burning with embarrassment, but refusing to show it. No doubt they would gossip about the cold-blooded English girl around the camp-fires tonight if she refused to let Khalisha wash her! Yet, after the girl had tugged Bethsheba’s jodhpurs off, she couldn’t help feeling a leap of shame as her lace panties followed them a moment later and she stood naked at last.

      There was a splash of scented water, then Khalisha’s hand guiding a soft sponge over Bethsheba’s slim thighs. Gradually, she began to relax. The warm water slid softly over her aching shoulders, her back, and her joints began to unbend until at last her eyes flickered open and her shame receded in the trappings of the sensual Orient all around her.

      ‘Truly,’ Khalisha said suddenly, ‘the sitt is as beautiful as I had heard.’

      ‘You had heard?’ Bethsheba stared down at the girl who knelt at her feet.

      ‘It was whispered this morning that you would arrive. They said my lord the sheikh had found his Sheba, and that she was as beautiful as it was written she would be.’

      Bethsheba stared, incredulous. ‘Written!’

      ‘Now that I see you,’ said Khalisha, ‘I see they did not lie. The sitt is the Sheba with hair of gold and skin the colour of the sand-cat. Truly, you are the she-cat.’

      ‘The she-cat?’ Bethsheba was frowning, completely bewildered and suddenly even more uneasy about her situation. ‘But what does that mean? And why do you call me Sheba, as Sheikh Suliman does?’

      ‘It is written,’ Khalisha said simply, and picked up the royal blue towel to dry her body.

      ‘Can’t you tell me what is written?’ Bethsheba studied her. ‘I must know what you——’

      ‘I have said enough.’ Khalisha’s mouth tightened.

      Bethsheba sighed, then changed tack, asking, ‘Where are we?’

      ‘In the Sahara.’

      ‘Yes,’ she smiled, ‘but where exactly in the Sahara?’

      ‘I will not help you saddle a horse and escape, sitt.’

      ‘Khalisha, can’t you see how I feel?’ Bethsheba said at once. ‘I’m a prisoner here!’

      Suddenly Khalisha got to her feet, small mouth tightening as she said, ‘I know nothing of this, and my lord will be angry with me if I say more. Come! Stand, please. I will dress you and go.’

      Bewildered, she got to her feet, staring at the girl, who bent to get her clothes. Bethsheba’s body was partially reflected in the mirror; she looked leonine, gold and scented and beautiful.

      ‘You will wear these.’ Khalisha presented her with a luxurious pile of gold silk clothes, jewellery, slippers and make-up of kohl, henna and red-staining cream in small earthenware pots.

      Bethsheba’s mouth tightened, but she obediently slipped into the gold silk briefs, the tiny scrap so fragile, so luxurious that she felt almost nude in them. She searched for a bra and found only a gold silk caftan remained.

      ‘Am I not to wear a bra?’

      Khalisha shook her head. ‘My lord does not wish it.’

      Bethsheba’s eyes flared angrily. ‘Your lord is a selfish, arrogant——’

      ‘He is a prince of royal blood, sitt!’ Khalisha’s eyes flared back, just as angry suddenly. ‘And you are honoured to be chosen by one such as him!’

      Shocked by the girl’s outburst, Bethsheba realised now that she was jealous. Jealousy! she thought, staring as Khalisha flushed betrayingly and bent her head, mouth angry.

      ‘Khalisha…’ Bethsheba reached out to comfort her ‘…I’m sorry if I trod on your feelings. But you must understand—I’ve been brought here against my will, and I don’t want to stay. Certainly not to be “chosen” by an arrogant sheikh to——’

      ‘The sheikh is arrogant, yes!’ Khalisha’s head lifted angrily. ‘But he is magnificent in his arrogance! He would make a woman cry with pleasure if she was lucky enough to be chosen to lie in his arms! Yet all you can do, English sitt, is to——’

      ‘Enough!’ Sheikh Suliman El Khazir’s voice cracked like a whip from the main entrance to the tent, making Bethsheba jump out of her skin, her heart suddenly banging like a drum.

      Khalisha gasped and turned. The sheikh’s approaching footsteps were accompanied by bitten- out words in Arabic, and then the shiraz rug was swept angrily aside.

      ‘No!’ Bethsheba cried instinctively, whirling to stare at his hard face, her hands up to protect herself from his searing gaze as he stopped dead, staring down at her almost nude body clothed only in transparent gold silk briefs.

      There was an electric silence. She couldn’t look him in the face, her mouth open with shock, her hands shaking as she realised there was nowhere to hide herself from his burningly intense gaze.

      Khalisha threw herself at his feet. He stood watching her, unmoved, and when she whispered her apologies to his dark leather boots he said something harsh in Arabic and lifted her to her feet with a strong hand. She gave a muffled sob, bowed to him, then ran from the tent, ankle bracelets jingling with tiny gold bells as she moved.