"But there you're wrong, my lord, for your very presence causes fear," she teased. "Can't you see me shaking asunder?"

Philip gave her a devilish grin.

"You, my sweet, have much to fear," he said, tracing a line down her arm with his finger.

Christina blushed as she understood his meaning. She did have much to fear from him. And the time she feared most was nearing, as the sun had disappeared.

* * *

They shared a savory meal prepared by Maidi's skilled hands. Afterward Philip reclined on the couch, reading one of the books that he had brought for Christina, with a goatskin of wine beside him. Christina sat on the couch opposite him cutting out pieces of silk material. She had decided to add long sleeves to the dress she'd designed. The weather was getting colder, and she didn't want to borrow any of Philip's robes to keep her warm.

Perhaps she could make a robe of her own—a rich velvet robe and a kufiyah to match. She laughed aloud as she imagined herself dressed like a Bedouin tribesman.

"Something amuses you, my pet?"

"I was just imagining myself in the velvet robe that I plan to make. I've noticed the weather is getting cooler," she answered.

"You're wise to prepare, but I fail to see the humor," Philip remarked, putting his book down on the table.

"Well, it wasn't just the robe that I pictured, but a kufiyah to match it. Hardly what the well-dressed Englishwoman is wearing these days."

Philip smiled, his eyes soft and warm. "Would you like me to bring your luggage from Cairo? It could be arranged."

Christina thought for a minute.

"No—my luggage disappearing suddenly would only upset John. I don't want him worrying about me and where I am. I can make do with the material you have given me."

Christina stared blankly at the scissors in her hand. Poor John. She hoped that he would learn to accept her death instead of wondering where she was and what she might be suffering. Rage consumed her as she thought of the man whose desire had torn her life asunder.

"Christina!" Philip shouted, startling her out of her thoughts. "I asked if you wanted your brother to believe you dead?"

"Yes!" she yelled back at him, her body stiff with anger. "My brother and I were very close. John knows how I'd suffer being dominated by a barbarian like you. It would be kinder if he thought me dead until I can return to him."

Philip arose, surprised at her sudden anger.

"And do you suffer here, Tina?" Phih'p asked quietly. "Do I beat you and force you to slave for me?"

"You keep me prisoner here!" she returned, her dark-blue eyes shooting daggers at him. "You rape me every night! Do you expect me to enjoy being taken against my will?"

"Do you deny it?" Philip inquired softly, his eyes laughing at her.

She lowered her head to avoid Philip's gaze, afraid of his meaning.

"What are you talking about? Deny what?" she asked.

Cupping her chin in his hand, Philip brought her eyes back to his.

"Do you deny that you enjoy my lovemaking? Can you deny that I give you as much pleasure as you give me? Do you suffer so much when I ride between your legs each night, Tina?"

Christina's rage turned to humiliation, and she lowered her eyes meekly in defeat. Did he always have to turn the tables on her? Why did he have to ask her that?

Damn him! He left her no pride, for he knew she couldn't deny it But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting the pleasure he gave her.

"I have nothing more to say to you," Christina answered icily. "So if you will excuse me, I would like to retire."

"You haven't answered my question, Tina," Philip replied softly.

"Nor do I intend to," Christina returned haughtily. She stood to walk into the bedroom, but Philip pulled her back to face him.

Christina thrust against his shoulder to push him away from her, and the forgotten scissors she held stabbed into him. She gasped, horrified at what she'd done. He showednone of the pain she knew he felt as he pulled the scissors from his shoulder. The blood gushed forth.

"Philip, I'm sorry. I—I didn't mean to do that," she whispered. "I forgot the scissors were in my hand—you must believe me! I wouldn't try to kill you. I swear it!"

Philip walked over to the cabinet without a word to her. He opened the doors and took out a small bundle. Slowly he walked back to her, took her hand, and pulled her into the bedroom. He gave her no clue what he intended.

But Christina removed his robe and tunic and made him lie down. He eyed her warily as she pressed the robe to his shoulder to stanch the flow of blood.

Racing from the tent, Christina found Maidi. She obtained water and fresh towels from her without question, then ran back to Philip. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she cleaned the wound and applied the salve and bandages that she found in the bundle. She was all too aware that he watched her every move as she clumsily wrapped the bandages about his chest and shoulder.

Christina was still deathly afraid of what he was going to do to her. Did he think she had deliberately tried to kill him? Why didn't he say something—anything? Christina didn't look into his eyes for fear of the anger she might see.

When she had finished bandaging his wound, Philip suddenly grabbed her wrists and pulled her down on top of him.

"You must be crazy!" she gasped, struggling to free herself. "You will start the bleeding again."

"Then tell me what I want to hear, Tina," he whispered. "Tell me you enjoy my lovemaking, or I will take you now and prove it on your body again."

His green eyes were glazed from loss of blood, but he had enough determination to carry out his threat.

So this was to be her punishment for hurting him! She must admit that he gave her pleasure. But she would not admit it to him—she couldn't!

The pain she felt in her wrists from his iron grip gave her courage, and she glared at him furiously.

"Damn you, Philip! Why must you hear it from my own lips, when you know the answer already?"

"Tell me!" he demanded harshly.

Christina had never seen him so cruel and merciless before. He gathered her wrists together in one hand and started to pull her skirt up with the other. She realized that if he carried out his threat, he could bleed to death when his wound opened again. Yasir would surely have her killed if he died.

"All right!" she sobbed. "I admit it I admit everything. Are you satisfied now, damn you?"

She rolled to her side of the bed when he released her, and cried softly into her pillow.

"You give in too easily, my love," Philip laughed weakly. "I wouldn't have made love to you, no matter how enjoyable it would have been. I'd rather enjoy all the sweet nights to come than die in your arms tonight."

"Ohl I hate you, Philip Caxton. Hate you, hate you, hate you!" Christina wailed.

He only laughed, and presently went to sleep.

Damn him—damn him to hell, she thought silently, gritting her teeth so she wouldn't scream it out loud. He could so easily make her break all her firm resolutions. She gave in too quickly, as he'd so laughingly reminded her. She should have let him bleed to death! But what would have become of her then? Did she really want to see him dead?

She'd felt utterly sick to her stomach when she saw the scissors slide into his shoulder and thought she'd killed him. But why? Was it fear for Philip, or for herself? She didn't know, but she promised herself that he wouldn't find her so easy to bluff in the future.

Chapter Thirteen

DURING the week that followed the accident, Philip rested in the tent most of the time. Christina became resigned to living with him for a while, and decided to make the best of it. She even began to enjoy Philip's company, since he made no demands on her. He talked with her, laughed with her, and even taught her to play cards. She mastered the art of poker playing quite easily, and soon was able to beat him at his own game.

She began to feel at ease in Philip's presence, as if she had known him all her life. He told her about coming to Egypt to look for his father, and about his life with the tribe. He told her how they had roamed from oasis to oasis on the desert in search of pasturage for the flocks, occasionally raiding caravans or other Bedouin tribes. She asked him why he preferred this way of life, but he said only, "My father is here."

Four days after the accident, Philip became irritable from confinement and inactivity. He began snapping at her for the smallest thing, but she paid no attention to his temper. She'd felt the same way when he'd confined her to the tent at first. When his temper flared, she escaped the tent and went to visit Yasir.

Yasir Alhamar welcomed her visits. His old brown eyes lit up and crinkled with his smile whenever she entered his tent. Yasir was so unlike her own father, who had still been a young and vital man when he died. But she knew Yasir wasn't near the age he looked. Egypt's torrid weather and hardships had aged him early.

Philip's father was dying now. He was pale, weaker than when she had first met him, and his attention often wandered.

Christina read to him from the Arabian Nights, which he enjoyed. But Yasir dozed off after an hour or so, or just stared into space as if she weren't even there.

When she mentioned Yasir's weakness to Philip, he said only, "I know." But she could see sorrow in his dark-green eyes. He knew his father didn't have much longer to live.