Philip grinned at her. "No, my lady, I have no intention of leaving." He sat down on a log and lazily crossed his legs. She noticed that the yellow flecks in his eyes brightened in the sunlight.

A slow blush crept into Christina's face. "You can't possibly mean that you are going to stay here and"—she paused, not wanting to finish—"and watch me!"

"That's exactly what I intend to do. So you may proceed if you will." He was staring at her intently with a wicked grin on his lips. Her blood boiled.

"Well, turn around so I can disrobe!"

"Ah, Tina. You will have to learn that I will not be denied the pleasure of looking at your body, even if I haven't possessed it yet," he replied.

Christina glared at him with stormy blue eyes. This man left her no dignity.

"I hate you," she hissed. She turned around and untied her robe. The robe and torn nightdress slid down over her body and dropped to the ground. Christina stepped out of the clothes and walked into the water; deeper and deeper until it covered her breasts.

She'd give him no pleasure if she could help it. She kept her back to Philip and washed herself under the deliciously cool water. She submerged to wet her hair, but it took a long time to build up enough lather to give it a thorough scrubbing with the bar of soap. When she finally succeeded, she heard a large splash.

Christina turned around quickly, but she couldn't see Philip anywhere. Suddenly he was standing directly in front of her. She was all too aware that they were both naked underneath the cool water.

Philip shook the water from his thick black hair and reached to take Christina in his arms, but she was prepared and threw the bar of soap at him. She swam away quickly. She stopped when she heard him laughing, and turned around to see that he hadn't moved, but was washing himself with the soap.

The relief showed openly on Christina's face as she finished rinsing her hair and emerged from the water. Quickly she toweled herself dry and wrapped the towel around her hair. She wrapped the long, dark-brown skirt around her waist, tying it in front. Next, she put on the dark-green sleeveless blouse with a low, rounded neckline. The rough cotton material irritated her skin, but she would have to make do with whatever he gave her.

Christina sat down and was trying to comb the tangles from her hair with her fingers when Philip came up behind her.

"Feel better now, my sweet?" he ventured softly.

She refused to answer him or look at him, and busied herself with braiding her hair while Philip dressed. Christina couldn't keep quiet for long, however, because her curiosity was stronger than her unwillingness to talk to him.

"Philip, what are you doing in this land, and how do these people know you so well?" she asked.

His laughter rang through the clearing. "I was wondering when you would start asking questions," he said. "These are my father's people."

Christina was stunned. "Your father! But you're English!"

"Yes, I'm English through my mother, but my father is an Arab and these are his people."

"You're half-Arab, then?" Christina interrupted, rinding it hard to believe.

"Yes, and my father captured my mother, just as I have captured you. He let her return to England later with my brother and myself. So I was raised in England until I came of age. Then I chose to come here and live with my father."

"Your father is here?"

"Yes, you will meet him later."

"Surely your father doesn't approve of your kidnapping me?" she asked, hoping his father might help her.

"I have done nothing to you yet—but yes, my father approves," he said, a smile playing on his lips. "You forget, Tina, this isn't England. It's the way of my people to take what we want if we can. And I made sure you were available for the taking. You will understand better after you have been here awhile."

He escorted her back to bis tent and left her there alone.

Would she ever understand Philip Caxton? Christina looked around the tent, wondering what she was supposed to do with herself. She suddenly felt quite lonely, and it annoyed her.

Without thinking, Christina raced out of the tent to see Philip mounting his horse along with four other riders. She ran to him and clutched his leg. "Where are you going?" she demanded.

"I will be back shortly."

"But what am I supposed to do with myself while you're gone?"

"That's an absurd question, Christina. Do whatever you women usually do when you're alone."

"Why, of course, Mr. Caxton," she said flippantly. "Why didn't I think of that? I can make use of your sewing room, though it's not really necessary—I'm used to wearing hand-me-downs. Or perhaps I could take care of your correspondence. I'm sure you must be a busy man and can't find time to do it yourself. But if you'd rather, I could just browse through your well-stocked library. I'm sure I can find something interesting to read there. I do have a mind as well as a body, Mr. Caxton!"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Christina," Philip said angrily.

"Of course, you're a better authority on what suits me than I am," Christina retorted.

"Christina, I will not tolerate this tirade of yours any longer. You may act as you please in our tent, but in public you will show me respect!" he replied, the muscles twitching dangerously in his jaw as he stared down at her.

"Respect!" She stood back to look at him, slightly amused. "You want respect after the way you've treated me?"

"In this land when a woman shows disrespect to her husband she is beaten."

"You're not my husband," she corrected.

"No, but I'm the same as a husband to you. I'm your master, and you belong to me. If you'd like me to find a whip and bare your back in public, I'll be happy to oblige you. Otherwise, return to my tent."

He said it so coldly that Christina didn't wait to see if he would carry out his threat. She scurried back into the tent and threw herself onto the bed to cry out her frustrations.

Must she now fear a beating as well as rape? That devil wanted respect after what he'd done! But she'd be damned if she'd show him anything but hate and contempt.

She detested feeling sorry for herself, but what was she supposed to do whenever he left? For that matter, what was she going to do when Philip was around? She cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Christina was rudely awakened by a hearty whack on her behind. She turned quickly to see Philip standing by the side of the bed, hands on his hips and a taunting smile on his handsome face.

"You spend a lot of time sleeping in that bed, my sweet. Would you like me to show you another way to use it?"

Christina jumped off the bed. She was finding it easier to understand his crude meanings.

"I'm quite sure I can do without that kind of knowledge, Mr. Caxton." Christina faced him with her arms akimbo, feeling safe with the bed between them.

"Well, you'll learn soon enough. And I'd prefer you to address me as Philip or Abu, as I am called here. I think it's time you dispensed with the formalities."

"Well, I'd prefer to continue the formalities, Mr. Caxton. At least your people will know that I'm not here willingly," she said flippantly.

Philip grinned devilishly. "Oh, they know you're not here of your own free will, but they also know that I'm not a man to be kept waiting. They assume you were deflowered last night. Perhaps tonight you will be."

Christina's eyes flew open and turned a darker shade of blue.

"But you—you promised! You gave me your word you wouldn't rape me. Don't you have any scruples at all?"

"I always keep my word, Tina. I will not have to rape you. As I told you before, you'll want me as much as I want you."

"You must be crazy. I will never want youl How could I want you when I detest you with all my being?" she stormed. "You've taken me away from my brother and from everything I love. You keep me prisoner here with a guard at the door when you leave. I hate you!"

Christina stalked from the room, silently cursing him with every horrible word she could think of. Suddenly she noticed two stacks of books and at least a dozen bolts of cloth lying on a couch. She forgot her anger and ran over to examine the goods.

There were silks, satins, velvets, and brocades in some of the most beautiful colors she had ever seen. There was even a bolt of semitransparent cotton that she could use to make chemises. Threads of every matching color, scissors, intricate trims, and everything she would possibly need to make beautiful dresses were lying before her.

She turned to the books, picking them up one by one. There were Shakespeare, Defoe, Homer.... Some she had read before, and some were by authors she'd never heard of. Lying beside the books was a beautifully carved ivory comb-and-brush set.

Christina was delighted. She felt like a small child on her birthday receiving an abundance of presents that would last until another birthday came. Philip had been standing behind her, watching her joy at the surprise. She swung around to face him now, her eyes a soft blue-green again surrounded by their dark ring.

"Are these for me?" she inquired demurely, running her hand over a bolt of soft blue velvet that matched her eyes.

"They were, but I don't know if I should give them to you after the way you have been acting," he said.

His eyes gave no clue whether he was teasing her or not. She suddenly felt desperate.

"Please, Philip! I'll die without anything to occupy my time."