Enslaved By The Desert Trader - Greta Gilbert Mills & Boon Historical

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body? Surely it was the latter, for Kiya was not the kind of woman men desired. Fie—she was not the kind of woman men could usually even detect was a woman.

      Kiya gazed up through the water. The Libu raiders were dispersing. She counted only two lingering on the far bank. A large insect glided across the surface of the water above them and a water snake swam languidly past. Meanwhile, the trader’s growing desire had found its resting place in the cleft of her backside.

      It was the first time in her life that she had been this close to a man. She might have moved to the side, but the sensation was not altogether unpleasant. As a test, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to feel him there. That was what happened when a man took a woman, was it not?

      She pictured the act, for she had heard the tomb workers discuss it in detail, and had seen it depicted in the reliefs carved upon the gates of Hathor’s temple. In this case he would not be above her, as the reliefs often depicted. He might lift her by the waist, for example, and then settle her upon him, pushing himself into her. But how could that be? How could she possibly contain him? For a moment an unfamiliar pain akin to hunger shot through her, then it was gone.

      No, there it was again.

      To further the test, she pushed gently against his firmness, giving resistance, and thought she could feel him grow firmer still. Was this the power of a woman? Was this the fantastic faculty that the storytellers sang of in the taverns? And was this the beginning of the act that the young men sketched in the alleyways of Memphis, chuckling conspiratorially?

      If it was, then she might be interested. Perhaps.

      But not with a murderer. And never as a slave.

      The trader’s hands pulled her against him more tightly. She knew she needed to escape his grasp, for her body was starting to move against her will. But escape was impossible, for there was still one Libu raider left at the pool. He was standing motionless at the water’s edge.

      He appeared to be looking right at them.

      Kiya froze. The man could not see them. They were underwater, in shadow, and concealed by a patch of reeds. Her heart pounded so hard that she imagined it creating a ripple. Tahar, too, seemed to have noticed, for he squeezed her gently. Hold still, his hands told her.

      The Libu man walked to their side of the pool and stood above the stand of reeds. He pulled his long sword from its sheath and began poking it into the water. The sword probed to the left of Kiya, then to the right. Kiya held her breath.

       Chapter Five

      The sword’s penetration into her arm was not deep, but Tahar watched as it shattered her senses. Pierced as the woman was, even the mightiest of warriors would not have been able to stifle a cry, and as they floated to the surface he knew he could not prevent her coming scream—the scream of a woman.

      ‘Ah!’ she cried in pain.

      ‘Hazah!’ Tahar yelled, covering her voice with his own.

      He grabbed the Libu man’s ankle and pulled him into the pool. Amidst the splash of water Tahar pulled her close. ‘Swallow your agony,’ he whispered frantically. ‘And keep your mouth shut. He must not know that you are a woman.’

      The Libu man surfaced. ‘Villain!’ he shouted at Tahar.

      Tahar eased the woman behind him. ‘You have discovered me, brother,’ he said, splashing water at his tribesman playfully. ‘You were the only one who even came close!’ He could feel the warmth of the woman’s blood draining into the water all around him. ‘Dakka, you scoundrel,’ Tahar continued lightly. ‘You’ve damaged my slave.’

      ‘I did not see him,’ Dakka spluttered, casting a quick glance over Tahar’s shoulder. ‘And you’ve made me release my sword.’ The young man scanned the surface of the pool.

      ‘Well, go and fetch it, man,’ chided Tahar, ‘before the Khemetian Pool God consumes it!’

      Dakka scowled, then drew a deep breath and plunged into the depths.

      Tahar turned to the woman. ‘You are my slave now. Do you hear? You are again a young man.’ Tahar pulled at the part of her headdress that she had spooled over her head and wrapped it around her wound. ‘Let the men see your bald head. Keep your eyes down and do not speak. Do everything I command.’

      Dakka resurfaced, his gleaming copper sword held high. ‘It needed a good cleaning anyway,’ he stated. ‘Khemetian blood makes an ugly stain.’

      Ugly indeed, thought Tahar. The woman remained in the pool while the two men hoisted themselves up the bank and embraced. ‘You ride with a large party?’ asked Tahar.

      ‘Nay, there are but a dozen or so. Some from the Libu tribes of Garamantia, the rest the Libu of the Sardana region, including the Chief. The only Libu from the Meshwesh region is myself—and now you, brother. But where is your...beast?’ Dakka’s eyes searched the perimeter of the pool.

      ‘It is called a horse, Dakka,’ Tahar said with feigned annoyance. ‘How many times must I remind you? It is tethered in the shade of the acacia bushes yonder.’ Tahar pointed vaguely beyond the pool, watching out of the corner of his eye as the woman strained to pull herself from the water.

      ‘Since when do you own a slave?’ Dakka pressed.

      ‘Since this morning, of course.’ Now cease your questioning.

      Dakka’s gaze settled upon the woman’s sopping figure. Thankfully Tahar’s ample headdress concealed her breasts and thighs well. At length, the young man smiled. ‘Then well done, brother, for you are one of very few to obtain one.’ Dakka unwrapped his headdress and his long dark hair fell around his shoulders.

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘We sought to collect slaves after we’d finished with the guards, but by then the tomb workers had all disappeared.’ Dakka squeezed his hair and twisted it into a bun.

      ‘They escaped into the tomb, doubtless,’ said Tahar, shaking his own shoulder-length hair and placing it behind his ears. ‘I have often wondered what lies within that mountain of stone.’

      ‘Surely riches beyond our dreams,’ said Dakka. ‘But sealed in secret chambers we shall never know. Chief Bandir found the workers’ entrance soon after the raid. It led to a tunnel that plunged beneath the earth, but we found nothing in it.’

      The woman stationed herself in the shade just behind Tahar, concealing herself well.

      ‘Neither gold nor slaves?’

      Dakka shook his head. ‘Chief Bandir was enraged. “Where did they go?” he yelled, but soon gave up. The tomb workers’ settlement was also without reward—not one miserable soul to be found. But the raid wasn’t completely fruitless. There was more grain than we could carry, and three large sacrificial bulls were discovered near the boat pit.’ Dakka rubbed his engorged belly. ‘Two hundred Libu feasted on food marked for the Khemetian Gods! You missed the banquet.’

      ‘I had my prize. I wished to be on my way,’ Tahar said, glancing back at the woman. The blood had already begun to soak through the fabric around her arm.

      ‘Indeed,’ said Dakka, ‘though the boy appears rather...gaunt. Do you think he will endure the journey back to your tribe’s camp?’

      ‘We shall see. It is less likely now that his ability to survive has been greatly diminished by the sting of your blade.’

      The veiled compliment had its desired effect, for Dakka finally took his eyes off of the woman. ‘You should have seen how many Blacklanders I plucked today, brother—’

      ‘Bah!’ interrupted Tahar, for he could not bear more talk of bloodshed. ‘Save the bragging for around the fire. Now, lead me to the others. Let us surprise them together.’

      Soon Dakka was leading

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