Through the Sands
Katherine adjusted the veil over her face as the wind swept the minute sand particles through the air. She had left her guardians behind a day ago in Al Jawf, now traveled with a caravan that swore to give her safe passage to the next oasis town. Nudging her horse, she settled into line with the camels and squirmed a little to get more comfortable in the strange saddle. Her husband's sword, strapped across her back, shifted only slightly as she moved, and she touched it for comfort. Her mother had left her alone for more than a week now, going home she said to watch over her grandchildren. Katherine missed the comfort of her presence, the security of having her near. And she missed her children with each and every breath, aching to hold them, feel the softness of their cheeks under her lips, their bodies pressed to hers.
But she would move heaven and earth to get her husband back, would walk through fire and ice to bring him home. Just to hold his hand one more time, to lay her head against his chest and hear his heart beating. She closed her eyes for a moment, forcing the wave of raw emotions away, stilling the cry of her heart.
"What if it is only his body you find, lady?" Zitane had asked the night before she left him. He had flinched when the green eyes had found his through the slit in her veil, glittering softly and cooly like a wild cat.
"Then I bring him home so that he may be buried with his family. And I will kill whomever took him from me and his children, watch his face as I take from him what he took from me."
The Berber's face had gone expressionless. "Vengeance is a cold companion."
"Not so cold as a dead husband and the broken soul he will leave behind," she had whispered back. She had cast about in bedroll in her tent with nightmares that night until she could lie still no more. In the silence of the cold and starry night, Katherine had gotten up to stare at the sky and said a prayer to Heaven, seeking peace from the vast field of twinkling stars and the gentle pulse of the world around her.
She knew in her heart and soul that Ezekiel wasn't dead, knew that he would have come to her if he was. But more importantly, she knew it was time to leave Zitane. She had seen the concern in his dark eyes. He would protect her from herself.
She could not let that happen, would not let him stand in her way. She had slipped from his protection like a ghost, losing herself in the teaming market crowd.
Her horse snorted, its great nostrils blowing out the stinging sand as it tossed his head, the protective and bright tassels on the bridle swinging wildly. Katherine settled the stallion absently, moving with him as the stud danced sideways against the wind. The palms of the distant oasis were visible; they would overnight there. The wind and sand was beginning to lessen, the swirling storm beginning to relent. It had slowed their progress, but she wasn't concerned.
Her faith led her and she knew that God watched over her. If she was delayed, then it was in the plan. The Bedouins chieftain had listened to her story, his leathery face showing no emotion. But he had nodded when she had asked to ride with him, put her under his protection in front of his people. His eldest son often rode back to check on her, making certain she did not thirst, hunger, or worst. She knew that more than luck rode with her.
Neecy would faint and faint again to know she rode alone, an English woman alone in a caravan of savages, robed and be-weaponed with curved swords and savage hearts. But she felt a ecstatic freedom that she hadn't felt since she was child, the desert in its own way as wild and seductive as the moors. She was meant to be here and now. She knew it, accepted it, reveled in it.
She just wished she could share it with her husband. His sword, born and crafted lovingly by his hands at the smithy in the wild forest on their estate, shifted again like a caress on her back.
Katherine smiled. She'd bring him back this way and they'd sleep under the vast desert sky. Abruptly, a wave of cold fear born of doubt made her shiver but the movement shifted the sword again, another gentle caress, soothing, gentle.
She nodded. . .accepting. . .assured.
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