Philip had a half-brother here who was eight years younger than he. But they didn't get along too well. He could understand why, since Rashid would have become head of the tribe if Philip had stayed in England.

* * *

Yasir Alhamar was sitting up on the sheepskins that served as his bed. He still lived the traditional nomadic way, with little furniture and few comforts. Philip could remember how his father had laughed at him when he carted his bed and furniture up to the hillside encampment.

"So, you are still an Englishman, Abu. I had thought you would be used to sleeping and eating on the ground after so long," Yasir had said.

"At least I stole the items, father," Philip had returned.

"Ah, so there is still some hope left for you," Yasir had replied, laughing.

When Yasir saw Philip, he motioned him to enter and sit down beside him. "It has been a long time, my son. I have been told of the woman you brought into camp tonight. Is she your woman?"

"She will be, father. I first saw her in London and knew that I had to have her. I arranged for her brother to be sent here, and now she is mine. She fights me now, but it will not take too long to tame her."

Yasir laughed. "You are truly my son. You have stolen your woman, just as I stole your mother. Your mother also fought me in the beginning, but I believe she grew to love me as I did her, for she married me. Perhaps if we had lived in the mountains then, she would have stayed with me, but she couldn't survive in the desert climate. I would have gone with her, but I have lived all my life here, and I could not survive in your civilized England," he said. "Perhaps you will give me grandchildren before I die."

"Perhaps, father, we shall see. I will bring her to you tomorrow, but now I must return."

His father nodded, and Philip went back to his tent. He entered to find a meal awaiting him, and sat down to eat and muse over the girl sleeping in his bed.

He wouldn't be able to wait very long to have her, with her now-constant nearness. It had been too long since he had bedded a woman, and Christina's body was driving him crazy. He remembered her breasts, full under his caress; her tiny waist and slim smooth hips; her long legs, perfectly formed; her skin like satin; her hair—he could lose himself in that golden mass of curls.

Christina's eyes fascinated him. They had turned a dark, stormy blue when she discovered it was he who had abducted her. He had waited a long time to see that reaction. He laughed again as he remembered the shock on her face that had quickly turned to anger.

Well, perhaps he would give her a little time to get used to her new home, but not too much time. Tomorrow would do.

He undressed and gently eased his way into the bed. Christina was curled into a ball with her back to him. Philip considered undressing her, but that would only wake her and he was too tired to suffer her rage. He smiled when he thought of her reaction when she found him in bed beside her in the morning. Well, at least Christina was here beside him, even if it was against her will. She would have to accept the situation eventually. Philip closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

Chapter Eight

WHEN Christina Wakefield awoke the next morning, she had a smile on her lips, for she had been dreaming of running through a field at home in Halstead. Her blue-green eyes widened in surprise when she saw the man lying in bed beside her. Then she remembered where she was and how she had come to be in this predicament.

What audacity! she thought furiously. She never expected he would share the same bed with her. This was too much to bear; she had to escape from this man!

Easing herself from the bed, Christina turned to see if she had awakened him. Philip Caxton slept soundly, an innocent, self-satisfied expression on his face. Cursing him silently, she cautiously tiptoed around the bed and between the heavy curtains that hid the bedroom from the rest of the tent

Smelling the aroma of food coming from somewhere in the camp, Christina realized how hungry she was. She had eaten nothing the night before. But she couldn't think of food now. She had to get away while Philip was still asleep.

Christina pulled back the material covering the tent entrance and peered out. Luckily she could see no one about the camp. Well, it is now or never, she thought.

Gathering courage, Christina started walking out of the camp. As soon as she passed the last tent, she started running wildly, veering off the main path in case Philip came looking for her. The rocks cut her bare feet as she hurried through the wild olive trees.

She prayed silently that no one had seen her leaving the camp. If only she could reach the bottom of the mountain, she could hide herself and hope for a passing caravan to take her back to her brother.

Then Christina heard the sound of a horse trampling the brush behind her. All her hopes shattered when she turned to see Philip galloping his beautiful Arabian stallion up to her. His eyes were a dark, turbulent green, and his expression was full of black rage.

"Damn you!" she screamed. "How did you find me so fast?"

"You damn me! I was the one who was awakened from a sound sleep to be told by Ahmad that you were running down the mountainside. What do I have to do, woman? Must I tie you to my bed at night to ensure that you'll not escape me while I sleep? Is that what you want?"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"I told you once, Christina, that I dare anything I damn well please." Philip jumped off his horse with the ease of a mountain cat. His face was hard, his eyes dangerous and cold as he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. "I should beat you for running away from me! That's what any self-respecting Arab would do to his woman."

"I am not your woman!" she said, her eyes flashing murderously at him. "Nor will I ever be!"

"That's where you're wrong, Christina, for you are and shall remain my woman until I tire of you."

"No, I won't! And you have no right to keep me here. My God, can't you see how much I hate you? You're everything that I despise in a man. You're a—a barbarian!"

"Yes, I suppose I am. But if I were a civilized gentleman, I wouldn't have you here where I want you. And like it or not, I will keep you here, tied to my bed if necessary," he replied coldly. He picked her up and deposited her roughly across the back of his horse.

"Why must I ride this way?" Christina demanded indignantly.

"I'd think that you'd be happy with this light punishment," he said. "You deserve much worse."

Philip mounted the horse behind her, and when she started to struggle he brought his hand down hard across her buttocks. Christina stopped her kicking but fumed silently all the way back to camp.

Damn him, she thought vindictively. Someday she would take extreme pleasure in seeing Philip suffer. Why was this happening to her? She had always been proud—proud of her family, proud of their estate, proud of her own fiery beauty and independence. It was doubly painful to be brought so low now. It was degrading to be just a toy for this hateful man. She didn't deserve this. No one deserved this!

When they reached his tent, Philip dismounted, lifted Christina off the horse, and pushed her inside. She sat down on one of the couches to await whatever would happen next.

Philip spoke to someone outside the tent, came in, and sat down beside her. "There is food coming. Are you hungry?" he asked, the harshness gone from his voice.

"No," she lied. But when a young girl brought in a platter of food, nothing could have stopped Christina from eating her fill.

Philip finished eating before she did, and leaned back on the couch behind her. She felt him gather her hair in his hands and play with it gently. Christina stopped eating and turned to look into his smiling green eyes.

"Would you like to bathe, my sweet?" Philip asked her, rubbing a lock of her golden hair between his fingers.

Christina couldn't deny that she would love a bath. While she finished eating, Philip left the tent and came back shortly with a skirt, a blouse, a pair of slippers, and what she assumed was a towel. She wondered who they belonged to, but she was not about to ask.

Philip led Christina from the tent and across the camp. There was a young woman about Christina's age playing with a small child in front of the tent to the left of Philip's. Goats and sheep grazed on the hills above the camp, and a corral housed ten or twelve of the finest Arabian horses she'd ever seen, including two new foals. She wished that she could stop to look at the horses, but Philip led her out of the camp and up a path into the mountains.

Christina pulled away from him. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded. But he grabbed her arm again and continued walking.

"You wished to bathe, did you not?" he asked, leading her into a small clearing that was surrounded by tall juniper trees.

A large pond in the middle of the clearing had been formed by the mountain rains. It was a beautiful place, but Christina wondered why Philip had brought her here. He took the clothes from her and handed her a bar of sweet-smelling soap.

"You don't expect me to bathe here, do you?" she asked haughtily.

"Look, Tina, you're not in England anymore where you can have a nice hot bath sent up to your room. You're here now, and if you wish to bathe, you will do as the rest of us do."

"All right. I must wash after that horrible journey. If this is the only way that I will be able to bathe, then so be it. You may leave now, Mr. Caxton."