Authors: MARY JO PUTNEY
Wearily Juliet rubbed at her forehead, thinking that it would be pleasant to feel the wind on her face; she was heartily sick of being swaddled from head to toe. However, quite apart from her need to stay disguised, high temperatures in the desert made it essential to wear multiple layers of clothing to prevent the body from losing too much moisture.
As they wound their way between the dunes, sand spurted into the air from the camels’ padded feet, then whirled away on the wind. The Kara Kum would be impassable in summer if it were not for what the poetic residents of Turkestan called “the wind of a hundred days.” It blew from the north, sometimes soft, more often fierce, but never ceasing. In the distance Juliet saw a dust devil, a whirlwind that spun fine sand high into the air. They were very common here; once she had counted six different dust devils at the same time.
With a sigh, she put her waterskin away. Less than a week to Bokhara. Then her troubles would really begin.
The caravan reached a water hole in midafternoon and broke for the night, since the next well was two days away. Because they had halted early, it was still full light when Juliet and her companions finished their sparse meal of bread, saffron-flavored rice, tea, and dates. Afterward Ross excused himself and went off somewhere, probably to talk to one of the many friends he had made. Saleh and Murad both settled down for a nap in the shade of a blanket stretched between their panniers, and the camels grazed contentedly on nearby camel thorn, but Juliet, in spite of her fatigue, felt restless. Thinking that it would be nice to be alone for a while, she decided to go for a walk.
She chose to head east, into the area of towering two-hundred-foot-high dunes that the caravan had been skirting. To her surprise, when she had walked her fill and was about to return to the camp, she rounded a dune and discovered Ross sitting in the sand, gazing absently into the wilderness.
She was about to turn back when he heard the faint sound of her steps and looked up warily. Recognizing her, he relaxed. “I see that you weren’t ready to rest either. Come join me.”
After a brief hesitation, Juliet did so. By her choice, they had scarcely talked since leaving Merv. But over the last few days her rampaging lust had subsided—heat, fatigue, and thirst were amazingly antierotic—so it should be safe to be in his company for a few minutes.
As she settled on the sand near him, she remarked, “I thought you were visiting elsewhere in the caravan.”
“Sometimes I like to be alone with the desert. Beautiful, isn’t it?” He gestured toward the surrounding dunes. In the late-afternoon sun they formed an elegant, otherworldly scene of sensuously curving surfaces and dramatic shadows.
“Beautiful, yes, but bleak,” she commented. “I can’t help thinking of how green Scotland is. All that lovely water.”
He raised his brows. “Do you miss Scotland?”
“Sometimes. After all, I spent the first five years of my life there. I think that what one loves in childhood stays in the heart forever.”
“True. England, the kingdom by the sea, will always be my home.” His gaze went back to the scene before them. “But in spite of the dangers, I’m grateful to have another chance to travel on the Silk Road. It fascinates me to know that men have crossed this wilderness for thousands of years, carrying goods and ideas all the way from Rome to China and back again. We walk in the steps of Marco Polo and countless other merchants and adventurers.”
“A romantic thought.” Since he was looking away, she took the opportunity to admire his profile. Because of the shortage of water, he hadn’t shaved in several days, and his cheeks and chin were dusted with dark-gold whiskers. Wrenching her gaze away, she said, “Is that why you’ve traveled so much—for the romance and adventure of it?”
“That’s part of the reason.” Before she could comment, he said thoughtfully, “I think that my next book, if I write another, will be about the Silk Road.”
“Your next book? I didn’t know that you had written any,” she said, intrigued. “What were the others about?”
“Just commentary on my travels. One was about the central Sahara, another on the Northwest Frontier of India, the third about the Levant and northern Arabia.”
“Impressive,” she said admiringly. “Were they well-received?”
He shrugged. “Tolerably so. They’ve all had multiple printings, but part of the attraction is my title. My publisher says that having ”Lord‘ or “Lady’ on the cover always doubles sales.”
Juliet suspected that he was being modest, but didn’t dispute the point. “In that case, sales should quadruple when you can put ”the Duke of Windermere‘ on the cover.“
“I suppose so,” he said without enthusiasm. His gaze drifted back to the horizon. Then his features suddenly tightened. “Damnation. A sandstorm is coming.”
In the few minutes that they had been talking, the sky had darkened and the ever-present wind had stiffened considerably. Juliet looked in the same direction as Ross and saw that ominous blue-and-yellow clouds had formed above the dunes and a gray-tan wall of dust was sweeping down on them.
“It looks like a bad one.” Ross scrambled to his feet. “Come on. We’d better warn the caravan to batten down.”
Juliet stood also, but before setting off she spared a moment to study the storm, and what she saw chilled her to the bone. The dust cloud was racing toward them faster than a man could run, its leading edge a seething mass of spiraling columns. As it drew closer, an eerie, moaning sound filled the ears and rasped the nerves.
Shouting above the wind, she ran after her husband. “Ross, there isn’t time! Get down and cover your head!”
A gust of wind struck with a power that almost knocked her from her feet and staggered even Ross. When he regained his balance, he turned and began moving back toward her, his figure blurred by the haze of blowing sand. He had pulled the tail of his turban across his nose and mouth, but Juliet knew that the light fabric was not enough protection for a storm like this one. Even her heavy, layered tagelmoust was not sifting out all the wind-blasted grit.
They were still fifty feet apart when the full force of the storm slammed into them. It was the worst sandstorm Juliet had ever seen, fierce enough to suffocate anyone who wasn’t adequately covered. Visibility dropped to zero, and knife-edged grains of sand scoured her bare hands and stung the narrow wedge of face not covered by her veil. As she bent over to reduce the area she presented to the wind, she screamed, “Ross!”
She thought she heard him shouting back, but it was impossible to be sure over the banshee wail of the wind. Knowing that she was better equipped to weather the storm than Ross, Juliet tried to keep going in the direction she had last seen him, but she lost all sense of direction in the featureless, swirling sand. Though she called his name again and again as the wind pushed her forward, there was no response.
Near panic, she told herself that Ross was no fool; he knew enough to lie down and wrap his long coat around his head. But the garment he wore was secured by a sash and took more time to remove than her mantle did. If he spent too much time looking for her… if his mouth and lungs filled with sand…
When she had almost given up hope, she literally tripped over him. He was on his knees, trying to unwind more of his turban to protect his face, but he was coughing so hard that he was nearly helpless.
Juliet yanked off her long, densely woven mantle and folded it in half so they would have a double layer of protection. Then she dropped to the ground and pulled her husband down beside her. The wind dragged viciously at her mantle, threatening to whip it from her grasp, but she held on grimly and tucked the yards of fabric around their bodies from head to knees. In less than a minute she had created a snug cocoon that shielded them from the lacerating sand.
Ross was shuddering convulsively as he struggled for breath, so she lifted the small water bottle always slung at her waist when she was in the desert. It was difficult to maneuver it up to his mouth without loosening the mantle, but with care she managed to bring it to Ross’s lips.
They were pressed together so closely that she could feel the movement of his muscles when he swallowed, then managed to draw in a lungful of air. He cleared his throat, then sipped a little more water before he could speak. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “I’m glad you are better prepared than I. I’ve never seen a sandstorm this bad.”
“Several years ago I was caught in one like this. Two men and several horses died.” Juliet had to pitch her voice higher to make it heard above the roaring wind. After lowering her veil so that she could drink too, she recorked the bottle and replaced it at her waist. Then she wriggled back and forth, making herself a hollow in the yielding sand. “Since we will be here for anywhere from fifteen minutes to three hours,” she explained, “we might as well make ourselves comfortable.”
He laughed a little as he settled his arm around her shoulders. “Actually, this is quite cozy, though by the time the storm blows itself out, we will look like a minature dune. Quite a bit of sand has already drifted against my back. It’s good protection against the wind.”
Since they were lying face-to-face, Juliet found that the most convenient place for her arm was around Ross’s chest. His back was to the storm, so she was shielded from the worst of the wind’s buffeting. “As long as we stay still, our makeshift tent should remain secure,” she said. “I just hope Saleh and Murad are equally well off.”
“They’re fine,” he said reassuringly. “As perils go, this is nowhere near as dangerous as a flash flood, a dagger duel, or even a
bozkashi
match. All Saleh and Murad had to do was roll up in the blanket they were using for shade. Since most of the caravan was resting, the storm couldn’t have hit at a better time.”
“That’s true,” she admitted. “We were undoubtedly the only two people foolish enough to wander off to admire the scenery.”
“Naturally. Everyone knows that the British are indefatigable tourists.”
Juliet smiled. Then, since she was tired and there was nothing more to say, she decided to take a nap. Outside, nature might be at its most savage, but the two of them shared a secure oasis of touch and warmth and quiet breathing.
Nonetheless, she found it impossible to doze. Now that she knew they were safe, she found the fury of the storm exhilarating. Its vibrations throbbed through her, making her one with the wind and the earth—and with Ross, for, as always, their bodies fitted together as if designed as a matching set. She could not see him in the darkness, but his scent was in her nostrils and the drumming of his heart was under her cheek, blending with the primal sound and rhythm of the tempest.
Slowly but inexorably the passion Juliet had thought suppressed came to treacherous life. At first it was only a faint stirring deep inside her, but it grew, became a tingling that flowed through her veins until it animated every fiber of her body. If they were lovers, she would respond to that flowing desire without hesitation, skimming her hands over his muscular arms and chest. She would press her lips to his throat and taste the salt of his skin, teasing and inviting at the same time.
Instead, she lay stone-still, fighting the impulse to touch him. They had been this close in the caravansary at Sarakhs when Juliet had woken and found herself twined around him, but that time he had been asleep and she had been free to pull away. Now they were both awake and aware, and locked together for the duration of the storm. Sternly she told herself that she could not possibly be overcome by desire in the midst of a raging sandstorm that battered and bellowed a mere two layers of fabric away, but her body flatly refused to accept that conclusion.
Her yearning was as itchily uncomfortable as being tickled by feathers. Feeling that she would burst into flame if she didn’t move, Juliet shifted her weight slightly, but though her intention was to ease herself away, instead she found herself settling more closely against her husband. Mentally she uttered an oath, displeased by the knowledge that she was not fully in control of her body. Then she concentrated on breathing evenly, praying that Ross would not become aware of what she was feeling.
Then, abruptly, she realized that she was not alone in her desire. Ross’s groin was resting against the curve of her hip, and she felt growing, unmistakable evidence that he was also aroused by their closeness.
She bit her lip to suppress what would be hysterical laughter if she let it out. They were both mad. While a murderous storm pounded all around them, both of them were experiencing inappropriate passions. And maddest of all, each pretended complete ignorance of what was happening.
Juliet’s mouth was so dry that she felt on the verge of suffocation, so she reached down for her water bottle. As she did, her mind flashed back a dozen years. The darkness and intimacy of their present situation were like the midnight privacy of their marriage bed, when she had had every right to touch her husband, and he had encouraged her to do so. There had been no barriers, no doubts, between them then…
Wholly without conscious volition, her hand moved past the water bottle and came to rest on that warm, irresistible ridge of male flesh. He pulsed against her palm, hardening further at her touch. Her mind more in the past than the present, she drew an entranced hand along the familiar length.
Remembered delight lasted only an instant before his whole frame went rigid. “Jesus Christ, Juliet!” Ross exploded, knocking her hand away. “This is a hell of time for you to play idiotic games.”
Shocked back to the present and horrified at what she had done, Juliet gave a strangled gasp. Mindlessly, wanting only to escape, she shoved herself away from him, tore the mantle from her face, and tried to clamber to her feet. Immediately, gritty, suffocating sand filled her mouth and nostrils.
As Juliet collapsed, choking, Ross wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled back so that her spine was pressed against the front of his body. Then, with precise angry movements, he drew the mantle over her again and recreated their safe haven.
Juliet was shaking violently, as much from humiliation as from her frantic need for air. Ever since this journey had begun, she had worked to conceal how much she was attracted to her husband, and now her weakness was revealed. She felt more exposed than if she had been stripped naked.