Chapter 2

Elizabeth waited impatiently as Clive argued with the horse trader. They had been in Cairo for a few days now, had seen all there was to see, but Clive decided he wanted to take an excursion in the desert. If it wasn't one thing, it was another, she thought sourly. Clive had dragged her all over Europe, looking for excitement and adventure before their marriage and he'd wanted to share it all with her. The wedding ceremony was to take place in less than two months, and both sides of the family were aghast that the engaged couple were taking their six-week honeymoon before the ceremony.

It had been a real eye-opener for Elizabeth. There were sides to Clive that she had never seen before and now she wondered about their upcoming commitment to each other. He had become sneaky in his dealings with people, especially anyone who wasn't English, he drank more, he gambled more, he threw temper-tantrums at the smallest things, she felt like she was playing nanny to a very spoiled child. In a way, he was, she mused. He was wealthy, the only son of old money, he'd had everything he wanted as he grew up. As an adult, he had teased and played with all the debutantes for years until his father had finally put his foot down, demanding he choose a bride and settle down. It had only taken a few society gatherings for the both of them to confess their attraction to each other. Back then it had been a dream for Elizabeth. Clive was handsome, in his light brown hair, blue eyes and fair looks, and wherever they went, they were showered with adulation. It had truly been a whirlwind romance and when he had proposed to her a mere six months later, all of her friends were jealous but at the same time, wished her well for her fabulous 'catch'.

She looked at him now, still arguing with the horse trader, and sighed heavily. Some catch, she thought to herself. She was hot and tired and realized it would take a while longer for Clive to get the horses and equipment for the price he wanted.

Elizabeth cleared her throat loudly. "Excuse me, Clive, but while you're bickering the price over these beasts, I'm going inside where it's at least two degrees cooler and have some refreshment." She started walking towards a local establishment.

Clive frowned as she walked away. "Elizabeth, I really don't think it's a good idea for you to go in there alone. I want you to wait for me," he called out.

Elizabeth waved him off without giving him a backward glance and continued on. Clive frowned in frustration, but didn't want to leave off with the bartering. He had come too far. He sighed and told himself he'd deal with her later.

Elizabeth walked into the bar and into a different world. It was cooler inside, with the ceiling fans blowing enough of a breeze to keep the air circulating. The dingy walls and worn out furniture reflected the customers seated around the room. A dozen or so pairs of tired eyes looked at her as she took a few steps inside. She felt uncomfortable as she noticed she was the only woman in the place. Correction, she said to herself, the only woman who wasn't a harlot. She saw several women dressed in colorful but scantily clad outfits, with all manner of bangles on their arms, legs and abdomen, sitting on the laps of the men, caressing their faces and giggling at their conversation. She frowned at her choices. It was either stay in here with the locals, or go back outside and watch Clive try to cheat another foreigner. She swallowed her nerves and crossed over to the bar.

"May I have a cup of tea, please?" she asked. The bartender looked at her without making a move to get her request. Elizabeth frowned and tried a little more force, staring him straight in the eye. "I say there, may I please have a cup of tea?" This produced a little more results than the first time, for the bartender slowly moved to the back and began preparing her tea things. Elizabeth sighed in relief and took a moment to look around some more. Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkened interior and she now noticed a small group of men in one corner that seemed out of place with the rest of the locals. They were dressed in black from head to foot, with heavy weapons on their belts, and they had strange markings on their hands, cheeks and foreheads. One of them in particular caught her attention and it wasn't merely because he had a harlot on his lap. He was darkly attractive, the whiteness of his teeth glowing from in-between the blackness of his beard as he smiled at the woman on his knee. And his eyes....Elizabeth caught her breath as he suddenly turned and looked straight at her. Those eyes, so dark and intense, seemed to burn right into hers and through to her inner self. But his eyes weren't content to stay on her face and they traveled up and down her body, making her very aware of her womanhood. She suddenly felt naked under his scrutiny of her, but she was hypnotized by him and unable to break away.

The bartender slamming down her cup of tea made her jump and turn away from the dark stranger, allowing her to collect her thoughts. She took a couple of slow, deep breaths to calm her racing heart and she lifted her cup to her lips. She could still feel him looking at her as she sipped her tea. She finally felt that she couldn't stay in there another moment. She paid the bartender for her tea and stood up, turning to give the dark stranger a haughty look, and walked back out into the sunshine.

Ardeth's eyes never left the English woman as she walked across the room and out of the building. He stared at the empty doorway she had just vacated and thought about her. He knew she was English by the clothes she wore; a white, short-sleeved, button-down blouse, a khaki divided riding skirt, stockings and well-worn brown oxfords. He had seen other English travelers wearing the same sort of thing when they traipsed into the desert for a day's jaunt. This woman also had a straw hat covering her hair, which was piled up on top of her head, making it difficult to tell exactly what colour it was. Her eyes were dark brown, like his, making him wonder at her ancestry, for most of the English he'd met had blue eyes. She was also taller than most women he'd seen, and a bit too thin for his tastes. He liked voluptuous women who weren't meager in their proportions, their soft, ample curves giving him plenty to feel and hold. He'd only had a quick appraisal of the Englishwoman's body and saw that she did have curves, but he felt that one strong wind would blow her away. She could never stand up to the harshness of his country or people. A slight grin creased his face as he remembered her last look to him, defiant and. ...challenging. There was that word again, he mused. Challenging. The woman sitting on his lap, asking him if he cared to dally a little longer someplace more private, brought him from his reverie. He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as he accepted her offer and she stood up to lead him out of the room.

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