Page 47 of The Stallion & The Tigress
She grunted and planted her hands in the mudto push up with.The sharp edge of a small stone cut into her palm,and she dug her fingers deeper around the stone, palming it as shestood.The Jackal jerked her rope taut, cackling as she fell ontoher hands and knees.She slipped the stone into her boot and slowlyrose back up on stiff, shaking legs, stumbling forward as theJackal dragged her over to a tree.He tied her to the trunk, yankedher head back, and poured a few drops of the oil of dream flowerinto her mouth.She made the motions of swallowing, and then spitout most of the bitter oil as soon as he turned his back.
Yago had told her he intended to take herback to his father’s kingdom.She figured she had another ten andfour days of hard riding before she was served up to the Ox, whichmeant she had only ten and three nights to get herself and Lasairfree.The sooner the better her chances of finding help.IfAleksandr was dead, her only other hope was that the guards at thenext post had noted her failure to check in and had gone to searchfor her.Her heart seized as she imagined them finding Aleksandr atthe last campsite, his impressive body stiff with rigor, his warm,earth brown eyes dulled and unseeing.
She shook herself mentally.She couldn’t letherself think that way.She had to concentrate on staying alive, ongetting herself and Lasair free and on their way home.
If she didn’t get free, didn’t get home,she’d never be with her family again in this world.She’d never seeher mother’s understanding face, or feel her father’s big pawsruffling her hair, or hear her brother’s teasing voice again.She’dnever know her brother’s firstborn, or be a loving auntie to any ofhis children.She’d be only a sad, whispered tale of family lore.She’d never be witness to Halah’s and Munir’s wedding, and theirmarriage would always be shadowed with Sahar’s memory.Ommar’sface, Sahar’s familiar ghostly companion, came to her, and shesqueezed her eyes tight to stop the sudden welling of tears.
She’d be damned if she gave Yago and his cursthe satisfaction of seeing her cry.Her mother had been captured bypirates and tied to a pole in the slave market for days, held in ahot hole and almost died of heat sickness.The Ox had attacked her,and her arm was sliced open by a sword, yet she had survived itall.So would her daughter.
“I will see you soon enough, Ommar,” shesighed, and then straightened her spine and her resolve.“But notyet.”She shook her boot and felt the small, jagged stone lodgedabove her ankle.“Not yet.”
She dropped her chin to her chest, stretchingthe tight muscles along the back of her neck, and let her mouthhang open, feigning a deep, drugged sleep as boot fall approached.A hand grabbed her by the hair and tilted her face up, and she lether tongue loll as she rolled her unfocused eyes back before slowlyclosing her lids.The hand let go of her hair and she let her headflop forward.
“The oil of dreams has over taken the bitch,”the Wolf said, kicking her boot for good measure.“She’ll besleeping it off until morning.”
“Which gives us the night to play,” Taweel’svoice answered.
Perhaps it was the dream flower, or the factthat she’d been watching every move they made and listening toevery word they spoke for the past two days and nights, butsomething in the tenor of Taweel’s voice had changed.As did theWolf’s sultry laughter.
“It has been too long, my randy cock,” hechuckled.
“Indeed, my prince,” Taweel’s voice grewcloser, lower.“I’ve missed your mighty sword these pastnights.”
“If you two are going to be rutting allnight,” the Jackal said from across the camp, “I’m going to sleep.You have the first two watches, wake me for third watch.”
Sahar was a virgin, but she was no innocent.She’d heard of men lying with men, and women with women.A personcouldn’t reach maturity living among a palace full of people andnot be aware of such differences.
In her father’s kingdom they were left totheir own preferences, but she knew that was not so in many otherkingdoms, the Ox’s among them.Perhaps that was why the Wolf was sogood at hiding his true self, and not only his sexual preferences.He’d fooled her for a time, though never Aleksandr, who had accusedher of falling for the Wolf’s flattery.Aleksandr had been rightabout the Wolf’s insincere flattery, about his cunning nature, andthe need to protect her from him.He’d likely lost his life becauseof it.Because of her.
Stop it.You’re not doing yourself orAleksandr’s memory any good by wallowing in self-pity.Stay awake.Wait for your chance.
It didn’t take long for the sound of Yago andTaweel’s muffled laughter to move beyond the edge of the camp.Notmuch longer before she heard the Jackal’s soft, steady snore.Nowwas her chance.Listening to Yago’s and Taweel’s low murmurs, shebent her mind and body to shaking the stone from her boot one slow,painful movement at a time while trying, and failing, to stopimagining what exactly they were doing, her half-drugged mindfilling in the lurid details.
Concentrate on what matters.Focus ongetting this cursed stone out of your boot.
Which was no small feat with her upper armstied to her sides.Years of riding and blade fighting had kept herlimbs strong and agile.After much twisting and contorting shefinally managed to drop the stone onto the ground between herbooted feet as a man cried out as if in pain, or more likelyrelease, followed immediately by another.Laying a booted foot overthe stone, she hung her head low and mimicked the Jackal’s snoresas Yago and Taweel returned.
She heard the flap of bedrolls being unfurledand peeked out from under lowered lashes, watching with a perversefascination as both men lay together, forming a two-headed lumpunder the covers.Their voices lowered to intimate whispers andthen the quiet snuffles of early sleep mixed with the Jackal’ssteady snore, who they’d not woken by choice or forgetfulness.Shepropped the stone between her boots and splayed her knees, scootingthe stone closer and closer, until she could reach it with herwrists and began to saw the rope back and forth over the rocksjagged edge, ignoring the fresh blood and the piercing pain as therope cut into the open sores on her skin.
To keep her mind from the pain, she countedto ten as she sawed, stopped for another count of ten to look andlisten for movement, and then repeated the entire process.By thetime she had sawed a decent sized niche into the rope, her neck wascramped, her shoulders were screaming, and her wrists were numb,but she had to keep going, her life depended on it.
“What are you doing there?”
Sahar stopped sawing at the sound of theJackal’s voice and hung her head lower, barely breathing.
“Don’t think I don’t see you, Princess,” hewarned as his voice grew closer.He stopped and stood toe to toewith her boots, and then reached down and ripped the rock from herhand.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out inpain and frustration.
“Look at me.”He threw the rock down, hittingher on the top of her head with it.“I said look at me.”
She lifted her gaze, her hatred blazing inher veins.
“Do not give me that haughty glare, you royalcunt.”He sneered down at her.“Your Aleksandr is dead.There’s noone left to save you.You are at my mercy now, and if you think afew yanks on your rope will satisfy me, you’re mistaken.”
He unbuckled his waist belt and tossed it tothe ground, and then he leaned over and untied her gag.
“Your virginity might be the King Ox’s totake before he kills you,” he said, still leaning over her andfumbling with the laces of his breeches, “but I’ll have mysatisfaction, you bitch.”
