Crimson Cord : Rahab's Story (9781441221155) Read online

  She hesitated again. Dare she answer? Gamal was not here to defend her.

  She nearly scoffed at that last thought. Gamal had not defended her honor in years.

  Indecision warred in her exhausted mind. Her lighted lamps gave her presence away, and to refuse to answer an emissary of the king . . . She stood a moment more until at last, hands trembling, she lifted the latch.

  “My lord.” She bowed. “What can I do for you?”

  “Rahab?” Dabir bent low, took her hand, and lifted her to her feet. The look in his dark, narrow eyes and the touch of his strong yet gentle fingers fairly scorched her. He led her into the room and closed the door, leaving the guard at the gate. His lazy smile made her blood pump hard.

  What was he doing here? She pulled her hand free of his and took a step back. “Has something happened to my husband, to Gamal?”

  He stared down at her, his eyes roaming, his look possessive, causing her skin to tingle as though he still held her hand. Silence filled the space between them, and she searched her mind for something to say, something to make him go.

  “Your husband is fine. The last time I saw him, he was carousing and eyeing a prostitute before he passed out on the floor. The owner of the gaming house thought to throw him into the street, but I convinced the man to let Gamal stay and sleep it off.”

  Rahab closed her eyes, blinking back tears of rage . . . and defeat. Gamal probably lost another bet and then drank himself into unconsciousness—again. He deserved to be thrown into the street.

  “Why then have you come?” If he knew Gamal’s whereabouts, then his only reason for coming here was . . . She met his gaze, caught the edge in his smile.

  “Gamal owes the crown a lot of gold, Rahab. If he is tossed into the gutter and dies, he is of no use to us.”

  “Of course not.” That doesn’t explain why you are here.

  “Is that a bruise on your cheek?” Dabir’s question startled her. He moved slowly closer and gently touched the spot Gamal had slapped. She gasped. “Did he hurt you?” He drew back, his dark brows drawn low. “If he laid a hand on you . . .”

  She shook her head and looked away. “I fell. That is all. I’m fine.” She found his concern strangely disconcerting.

  He stood without moving, and she sensed him assessing her. At last he stepped closer, placed two fingers beneath her chin, and gently drew her gaze to his. “I would never hurt you, Rahab.” His look held such kindness, such desire, she struggled to pull in a breath.

  “I’m fine,” she said again. Her breath hitched as his finger traced a line along her jaw. “Gamal does not hurt me.” But she could not meet his gaze.

  He stepped closer still and cupped her injured cheek. “We both know that’s not true, Rahab. I have heard him go so far as to offer you to the highest bidder, just to stay in the game.”

  Another gasp escaped. No words would come. She stared at him.

  “I would not let him go through with such a thing,” he said, his voice warm, his words honey. “You are fortunate that I frequent the gaming houses. Another time I might not be there to stop such a thing.” His finger trailed the path from her ear to her throat.

  He tugged her nearer, his lips soft, gentle, molding her to him. “I can give you so much more than Gamal ever could, Rahab.” His breath grew hot against her cheek. “He would never have to know.”

  Rahab’s lips tingled with another lingering kiss, and she could not stop the desire, the deep longing for more. To be loved and cherished, as Gamal once cared for her. She closed her eyes against the memory and allowed his kiss to deepen. “He cannot know,” she whispered between breaths. “Unless . . .” Horror struck her with such force she drew back, breaking his hold, trembling. “Did Gamal sell me to you for a night?” Of course he had. Why else would a man of Dabir’s standing want her?

  Her stomach twisted at the memory of Gamal’s threat a few hours earlier. I’ve had men ask after you. She crossed her arms, shielding her heart and her body from his words.

  Dabir cocked his head, studying her, his gaze understanding, his smile congenial. “Dear, sweet Rahab. I am not a man who pays a drunkard for time with his wife.” He lifted a hand toward her, but she took a step backward. He lowered his arm, accepting. “But you . . . you, my dear, are a treasure Gamal should not own, a woman of passion and beauty. The mere thought of you has often robbed me of sleep and invaded my dreams.”

  “Men visit the harlots at the temples to appease their dreams, or go to the gaming houses for the women of the night, but that doesn’t mean I want to be one of them.” Her shaking grew.

  His soft chuckle incensed her. “My darling Rahab, you are much too beautiful to be a common harlot.”

  She looked away, all comments frozen within her. Your daughter is very beautiful, my lord. Gamal did not say those things now. His lack of desire for her had caused her to fear she had lost her beauty due to her barrenness, that she now appeared gaunt, like the ones at the edge of Sheol.

  “If you have not paid my husband for a night with me, why are you here?”

  “I think you know the answer to that question, Rahab.” And she did know, but she did not want to face it.

  “Am I to become mistress to the king’s advisor to repay my husband’s debt?” She was alone with him, unprotected. How could she stop him from doing as he pleased?

  “Not if you do not want to.” He lowered his dark head, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly in a gesture of defeat.

  She watched him, pulled in a long breath, and slowly released it. She swallowed, summoning courage. “You would leave if I asked it of you?”

  He lifted his gaze again, and she sensed his power . . . and his vulnerability. “I would not force you.”

  So he did not purchase her, and he was not forcing Gamal’s debt on her.

  Dabir’s rich robes swished as he took two steps closer to her. He stopped, stretched one ringed hand toward her. “I would give you myself, Rahab. I would show you all the pleasures Gamal has forgotten.”

  She looked from his outstretched hand to his aristocratic face. The lines along his brow showed concern, his strong jaw determination.

  “I will not allow Gamal to hurt you ever again.” His promise held a tiny thread of hope, and yet what could he do but cause ill to her husband?

  “I would not have you harm him.” She searched Dabir’s face and did not pull away as his fingers slowly encased hers.

  “I will not harm him.” He tugged her closer. Exhaustion filled her, and she did not have the strength to resist. His arms came around her, and his kiss barely skimmed her lips. Gentle fingers rubbed circles at her back, and his kiss slowly, tenderly deepened. “Come with me, Rahab.” His feet moved in the rhythm of a dance to the door of her chambers. With the ease of a warrior, he lifted her into his arms.

  Common sense whispered warnings. Fight back. Flee. But he had captured her with kindness, leaving all courage behind her.

  Dabir stood over her some time later, tying the belt of his robe. She lounged among the bed pillows, feeling warm, accepted. She folded her hands beneath her chin, a smile ghosting her lips. Longing rose to ask him to stay, to come again. But one glance at the moon’s bright glow through her window told her Gamal would soon return, fall into bed with her, and assume she slept.

  She clutched the sheets to her and sat up. “Please, my lord, would you hand me my robe?” He had tossed it onto a nearby chair.

  He looked at her and chuckled. “You weren’t so shy an hour ago, my love.” He cupped her cheek and bent to kiss her. “Get it yourself.”

  She balked at his tone, uncertain. But she did as he said, dressing quickly.

  She walked with him to the door. When would she see him again? But she could not ask it. Dare not think it. He had come, and she had given him what he wanted. That was the extent of it.

  He pulled a small packet from the pocket of his robe and handed it to her. “For you. Don’t show Gamal.”

  She took it but did not undo
the strings to the wrapping.

  “Open it.”

  She searched his face, saw him smile again in that gentle, coaxing way.

  She fumbled with the strings until his hands came beneath hers to steady them. At last she pulled free the finest length of scarlet fabric she had ever seen. Never in her lifetime could she duplicate such richness.

  “I cannot accept this,” she said without thinking.

  His frown made her stomach flutter. “Of course you can. It is a gift.”

  “But I did nothing to earn it.”

  “Precisely why it is a gift, my dear.” He tipped her chin. “But you did earn it.” He smiled down at her with the gaze of one who has known more than he should. “Keep it.”

  His parting kiss left her shaken.

  2

  The comb shook in Rahab’s clenched hand the following afternoon as she pulled it through the flax spread over the bed of sharp nails. Once the flax was combed, she would at last be able to spin the fibers into linen threads. But her nerves were as brittle as the drying stalks had been, and the sunlight warming her back where she sat in the house’s inner courtyard could not curb the chill rushing through her at Gamal’s frantic pacing. He knew. Somehow he had discovered her night with Dabir.

  His silence as he paced only confirmed her thoughts.

  She watched him from the corner of her eye, forcing herself to continue the task, feeling as though the air around her might snap and break into tiny shards like broken pottery. He whirled again, this time stopping to place a clay tablet in front of her.

  “Have you seen this?”

  She stopped her work to glance at the royal seal on the clay. The pictures were clear. It was a royal summons with her husband’s family crest in the request section. “Is this not the summons that came earlier this week? Prince Nahid wants an accounting. But you still have three days.”

  He stared at her. “Are you blind? Did you not hear the knock on the door or see the king’s messenger? Look at the number stamp. The request is for today.”

  Today? Her stomach knotted, and bile rose up the back of her throat. This was Dabir’s doing. But what did they want with Gamal so soon?

  “He never sends an official summons,” Gamal said, pacing away from her once more. “He always sends a messenger who stays long enough to tell me where to meet him.”

  It was forever never and always with him. Neither of which were true, proven by the first edict the prince had sent only a few days earlier. “Are you ready for this meeting?” She picked at the flax again and drew in a steadying breath.

  “Of course I’m not ready.” Even his limping strides were too long for the narrow court, and he cursed as he turned, heading back her way. “If you had done as I asked last night, I would have enough to pay down the debt today. But you failed me, Rahab, and my luck didn’t hold. So now where am I supposed to come up with so much silver?” His look pierced her.

  Done as he asked? About the silver or . . . what? But he had not sent Dabir or he would mention it now. She pictured the scarlet cloth now tucked safely away with her hoarded silver and bronze and felt suddenly ill with the weight of choice. Did she have the right to hide such things from her husband? Did not everything she earned belong to him?

  But you did earn it. Dabir’s words mocked her.

  I’ve had men ask after you.

  Her head throbbed with confusion. If she gave Gamal the scarlet cloth Dabir had given her, he could sell it to appease the prince. But then he would ask where she got it. He would know her work was not nearly as good as the fine linen that belonged in kings’ palaces.

  “Prince Nahid has not pressed you for payment before,” she said, trying to stall his rising anger. “Perhaps this accounting is to compare your records with his. Perhaps he can even be persuaded to postpone the debt.”

  “I don’t want it postponed, Rahab. I want it canceled outright.” Gamal stopped in front of her again, towering over her where she sat, his tall form dwarfing hers, his dark eyes simmering with pride and arrogance.

  “Why would the prince cancel such a large debt?” She kept her voice even but scooted back from him just the same.

  He studied her, as Dabir had done the night before, and she was sure he could read into her heart. Could he see the guilt she was trying desperately to hide?

  “He wouldn’t,” Gamal said at last. “Not without a good reason.”

  The crimson cloth flashed in her mind’s eye again, and this time she sensed it was some kind of omen or direction from the gods. “I may have something that will persuade him.” She stood before she could change her mind and rushed to her bedchamber, closed the door, and quickly retrieved the jar from the hole in the floor beneath the mat. She tucked the cloth in the pocket of her robe and hurried to right the mess she had made. She would not give him everything. But the cloth should fetch a large sum, if Gamal was shrewd enough to barter for the highest price. She returned to the courtyard, her heart racing with uncertainty, silently praying that Gamal would believe her.

  “And just how can you help me?” His scowl showed deep lines along his forehead, and she realized in that moment how much the years and the strong drink had aged him.

  “I’ve been working day and night to finish this. It isn’t as big as I wanted, but the color is perfect and should fetch a high price in the market.” She held out the cloth to him, tasting the lie’s bitterness, and sank to the bench, her energy spent.

  He snatched it from her and slowly turned it over in his large hands. Her heart beat double time, and she studied her feet, not daring to more than glance into his startled face.

  “You have been holding back on me, wife.” His sneer held a triumphant edge as he turned the cloth over in his hand. “With cloth of this quality”—he looked at her—“we will make our fortune yet.”

  She swallowed the solid lump that had formed in her throat. “It takes a long time to make such fine quality.” Her words were barely above a whisper, but she knew even if she shouted he wouldn’t hear her.

  He bent low at her side and touched a strand of her silken hair that had slipped from beneath her headscarf. “You are the only good thing the gods ever gave me.” He cupped her cheek, tilting her chin up. “So beautiful . . .”

  Her stomach knotted to hear him say such things. Did he really think so? And here she had given herself to another man in his absence, throwing his love aside without forethought.

  He gently touched her swollen, purpling cheek. “I should not have slapped you.” His voice choked, as though his heart were breaking with the weight of his admission. He coaxed her to meet his gaze. “I won’t do it again, my love. I promise.”

  She nodded, unable to speak, equally unable to keep the tears from slipping from her eyes. He brushed them away with his thumb and leaned close, his breath smelling of garlic and herbs, not the usual wine or strong drink he carried even on his clothes.

  “I will make it up to you, my love.” He kissed her softly, his words full of promise, filling her with guilt. She should tell him the truth. Tell him the cloth was not hers. Tell him of Dabir and how the cloth was payment for her “services.” Though even she could not believe that had been Dabir’s true intent. He cared for her. She sensed it.

  Gamal stood then, still clutching the cloth. “I will be back in time to take the money this will bring to the prince,” he said, his smile warm, inviting. He offered her a hand. She took it and stood, allowing him to encase her once more in his arms. “So gifted,” he whispered against her ear.

  “Gamal, I—” But he hushed her with a finger to her lips, then gave her a parting kiss.

  She touched the place where his lips had been and watched him limp through the gate. She had almost told him everything. In her effort to thank him for his kindness to her, she had nearly ruined the moment.

  A deep sigh escaped, and her body involuntarily shook. What would happen if Dabir found out she had given Gamal the cloth? And how on earth would she make anything so fine to appe
ase Gamal in the future?

  Rahab glanced at the position of the sun overhead, her heart skipping a beat at how fast time had moved. Gamal should have been home long ago. Only two reasons would have kept him away. Either he had not yet sold the material, or he had been waylaid at the gaming house.

  Unless someone had assaulted him and stolen his silver.

  Fear quickened her blood at the sudden sound of marching feet coming her direction. She laid aside the flax comb and stood, quickly brushing flax residue from her robe, then hid in the shadows along the wall. She turned toward the sound, saw the king’s men stop at her gate. Where was Gamal?

  Loud pounding hit the outer door. “Open in the name of the king!” The guard’s shout curled a tight fist in her middle. The squeaking of leather hinges coming from the back of the house caused her to turn. She caught sight of Adara peering from the sitting room into the courtyard. Her young sister didn’t mind scaling the back wall and entering through their little-used door. But what was she doing here now?

  The pounding outside of her door continued. She backed farther from it and slipped into the house, hoping they had not seen her, and met Adara, silencing her with a finger to her lips.

  She bent low to avoid exposure from the window and pulled Adara to the floor. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  Adara’s eyes grew wide as she stared at Rahab’s cheek. “What happened to you? Why is your face purple?”

  Rahab touched the spot where Gamal had hit her and secured the scarf over it. “It is nothing.” She touched Adara’s arm. “Please, don’t tell Father.” Though right now she wished for her father and brothers to rescue her from this house, from her life.

  Adara startled at the incessant banging, louder now. “Are you going to just ignore them?” Her voice remained as hushed as Rahab’s.

  “They want Gamal, not me, and he’s not here.”

  A frown creased Adara’s face. “Why do they want Gamal?”