The Panther and The Pearl (16 page)

What would she do if she couldn’t save him?

She indulged in a combination of panic and self-pity for about five minutes, then let Kalid’s hand fall to his side and searched in her sleeve for her handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, composing herself just as Kosem returned with a gleaming knife displayed on a silver salver.

Sarah picked it up and studied it. “I think this will be fine,” she finally said. “What is it?”

“A craftsman’s knife for carving wood,” Kosem replied. “Achmed sharpened it on a whetstone.”

“How is he?” Kosem asked.

“The same.”

By the time the rum arrived and Memtaz came in with the leaves Sarah had requested, Kalid was beginning to toss and mutter with fever. Sarah uncorked the bottle of liquor and dribbled some of the liquid between his parted lips. He choked and turned his head.

“Hold his head, Memtaz,” Sarah said quickly. “He has to take a good bit of this, or the pain will cause him to buck too much for me to keep a steady hand.”

Memtaz held Kalid as Sarah opened his mouth and poured the liquor down his throat. He gasped and sputtered but swallowed most of it, lapsing into semi-consciousness as soon as the women let his head slip back onto the pillow.

“I think we should let Achmed come in and hold him down when I cut him,” Sarah said to Kosem. “The liquor is not enough to put him out completely, and he will react. I just don’t know how much.”

Kosem nodded, gesturing to Memtaz to summon the khislar.

“Do you have a strong stomach?” Sarah asked the valide pashana. “Maybe you should go.”

“I will stay,” Kosem replied flatly.

Sarah sighed. Arguing the point would waste time, and Kalid’s fever was getting worse every minute. “Then you must be quiet,” she said, and Kosem did not protest.

Memtaz returned with the khislar, and Sarah positioned him to keep Kalid’s torso as immobile as possible. Then she poured the rest of the bottle of rum over the wound, ignoring the others as they exchanged doubtful glances.

“Are you ready?” Sarah said to Achmed.

He nodded.

“Hold him tight,” she said warningly.

His supple hands gripped Kalid more closely.

Sarah placed the knife at the edge of the wound and inserted it carefully. As she began to probe Kalid moaned and tossed from side to side. Achmed increased his pressure on Kalid’s arms, pinning him to the couch.

“Have you found it?” Memtaz said urgently, wiping Kalid’s brow briskly.

Sarah shook her head, biting her lip. She changed direction with the knife and encountered something solid as Kalid groaned and tried to lift himself off the couch. She slipped the knife under it and extracted a flattened bit of metal about the size of a Liberty Head nickel.

“Got it,” she said triumphantly, tossing the spent ball on a tray. The wound was now pouring blood and she stanched it, then opened another bottle of rum and doused it with liquor again.

“You can let him go,” she said to Achmed, who relaxed his hold. Kalid subsided, muttering unintelligibly, tossing his head on the pillow.

“Now we have to dress it,” Sarah said to Memtaz, who nodded and rose, returning with the leaves she had gathered. She crushed them with a pestle to release the green sap as Kosem watched, looking somewhat strained but in control.

Sarah selected the largest leaves and placed them against the open wound, then covered the poultice with a cotton cloth and tied it in place. When she was finished, her hands were aching and she was blinking from the perspiration running into her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Done,” she said, and Memtaz sighed gratefully.

Kosem rose and kissed Sarah’s cheek wordlessly, then quickly left the room.

Achmed bowed and said, “
” It was a blessing, and Sarah inclined her head in thanks.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Achmed asked.

“You can bring a sleeping couch into this room. I’ll be staying here tonight.”

“As you wish, mistress.”

It was the first time he had ever called her that, and Sarah smiled. It had certainly taken an extreme circumstance to win his respect.

When he returned with the couch Sarah sank onto it gratefully, drying her hands and ignoring the bloodstained clothes.

“Wake me in two hours,” she said.

“As you wish, mistress,” he said again, and took up his stance by the door.

Sarah changed Kalid’s dressing several times that night, and by morning the wound looked less angry. She tended him all the next day, and in the evening he opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Kalid,” she said, “do you know me?”

He reached for her hand and squeezed it weakly as his eyes closed again. He was bathed in sweat; his fever had broken.

“Tell the valide pashana that her grandson will recover,” Sarah said to Achmed, unable to conceal the delight in her voice.

Achmed bowed and left to convey the message, returning shortly with Kosem, who put the back of her hand to Kalid’s forehead and said, “The heat has passed.”

Sarah nodded.

“Did he say anything?”

“Not yet. But he looked at me with understanding, and I think he knew who I was.”

“He knew.” Kosem studied the American girl, then added, “I wanted you to tend him because no matter how much you may protest, I know you care for him. Loving hands make the best cure. You were better for him than any doctor we could have found.”

Sarah looked away, touched.

“How can I help you now?” Kosem asked.

“He has to drink a lot of fluids to replace his lost blood volume. Water, juices, sherbets, anything like that. It’s better that he doesn’t take solid food for a couple of days yet, but a meat broth or a clear soup is fine.”

“I’ll give the order to the kitchen. Memtaz will bring you something as soon as it’s ready.”

Sarah nodded.

“Thank you,” Kosem said. “You will have my thanks forever, Sarah Woolcott of Boston, U.S.A.”

Kalid was lying in a lake of fire, with a throbbing pain in his shoulder that would not stop. He heard voices from a distance, and people touched him and moved him, but he was detached from all of it, as if it were happening to somebody else. Gradually the pain receded to a more tolerable level, and he became aware of his surroundings. He knew he was alive, but injured, and he remembered the bedouin raid in which he had been shot.

A woman was bending over him. He knew it was a woman because she smelled so good. It was a scent he recognized—not the powerful Oriental perfumes of the Eastern women but the light, delicate lemon verbena Sarah got from the kitchen help and crushed into a powder herself. But he knew it couldn’t be Sarah; she was locked up, on his order. How could she be here? Was he dreaming?

He opened his eyes; even that much took an effort. Sarah was tightening the bandage against his shoulder, and when she saw that he was looking at her she froze, then smiled at him.

She said something he couldn’t understand. Her free hand was lying against his chest. He reached for it and closed his fingers over it briefly.

She smiled broadly.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, but he retained the image of her face before him as he drifted back into sleep.

“Gah,” Kalid said, as Sarah held a bowl of broth to his lips.

“Come on, you have to drink this, it will help to restore your strength,” Sarah said.

He closed his lips and turned his head to the side.

“All right. I thought you were interested in getting up off this couch,” Sarah said airily.

He sighed and gestured for her to give him the bowl. When she did, he took it in both hands and drained it.

“You are a tyrant,” he said wearily, letting his head fall back against his pillow.

“It takes one to know one,” she replied, and laughed, pleased with herself.

“You’re in a wonderful mood,” he said irritably, rubbing his sore shoulder. “I think you’re enjoying this role reversal.”

Sarah snatched his hand away from the healing wound. “Maybe I am. I know I’m enjoying seeing you recover so quickly.”

“Why?” he asked, watching her face.

“It’s a testament to my nursing skills,” she replied, and he smiled archly.

“Maybe it’s a testament to my spectacular stamina,” he countered, closing his eyes.

“That too. Would you like to try some solid food?”

“I would like to try a bath.”

“Tomorrow.”

“You said that yesterday.”

Sarah shook her head. “Wait another day.”

“Achmed will take me to the hamman in the mabeyn as soon as you go to sleep.”

Sarah looked down at him. He had several days’ growth of beard stubbling his cheeks, and he still looked somewhat tired, but the fire was back in his eyes and the purple shadows under them had vanished.

“You won’t do that,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because you may be as willful as a two-year-old, but you are not an idiot. I’ve brought you this far, and you will listen to what I say if you want to make a complete recovery.”

“You’re feeling very smug, aren’t you?” he said.

“Yes, I am. And I must say I’m a little baffled, too. How could this have happened to you? Aren’t you guarded all the time when you’re out of the palace?”

He stared at her. “You know I’m not. Were there guards with us when we rode to the oasis?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “I dismiss them when they are not necessary for ceremonial occasions.”

“That’s not very smart, is it?”

He looked away. “Would you want a posse following you everywhere you went?”

“I guess not.”

The khislar entered and bowed. “The valide pashana requests permission to enter,” Achmed said.

“She’s requesting permission again. She must think I’m getting better,” Kalid said dryly.

Sarah laughed.

“Tell my grandmother she may come in,” Kalid said to Achmed, who bowed again. The khislar went out to speak to Kosem and then stood aside as she swept into the room, beaming.

“Look at you, son of my son!” Kosem said joyfully. “You will be out hunting again soon!”

Sarah stood as Kosem entered. Suddenly the room spun, and Sarah sat down again, hard.

“Are you all right?” Kalid said sharply, sitting up quickly and reaching for her.

“What is it, my dear?” Kosem said, rushing across the room to bend over her.

“I don’t know. I felt a little dizzy.”

“Of course you feel dizzy—you have not left my grandson’s side for five days. When was the last time you had something to eat?”

“I don’t know. Can’t remember.”

“How could you let her go without something to eat?” Kalid shouted at his grandmother.

Kosem took Sarah’s arm and helped her to stand. “Kalid is right, this is my fault. I was so concerned about him that I forgot about his nurse. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I slept here on the couch.”

“How much?”

“On and off.”

Kosem turned to the khislar. “Take Sarah back to the ikbal’s chamber and tell Memtaz to bring her a meal. And then leave word that Sarah is not to be disturbed until tomorrow morning. I will keep watch with the pasha tonight.”

“But . . .” Sarah said, looking back at Kalid.

“Go,” he said. “I will be fine.”

Sarah was too exhausted to fight both of them. “All right,” she conceded. “But call me if he spikes a fever again.”

“Spikes?” Kosem said.

“If he gets hot, delirious.”

Kosem nodded, and Sarah was led away by Achmed, who closed the door behind them.

“How could you do this to me?” Kalid said furiously to his grandmother, as soon as they were alone.

“Do what?”

“Let Sarah tend me this way!”

“She saved your life!”

“She has seen me weak and puling like an infant, helpless and dependent. She will never love me now.”

Kosem sat on the couch Sarah had vacated and patted his hand. “No wonder Sarah won’t sleep with you, Kalid. You have no understanding of women.”

“Oh, be quiet,” he said wearily. “Your advice is worthless. She will despise me now. She feels sorry for me.”

“She loves you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“She never left your side. She insisted on caring for you herself when Achmed wanted to bring in outside experts.”

“What does that prove? Maybe she just wanted to keep me alive so she wouldn’t fall into worse hands than mine. Anyway, she is soft-hearted. She would have done the same if you had brought her a dog that was run over in the road.”

Kosem shook her head. “I know devotion when I see it.”

“Devotion to a patient! Her father was a doctor, and she learned to nurse the sick at his knee. Her reaction doesn’t mean she cares for me. She was only following the tradition of her family to aid others. Besides, she is an American. They are all like that.”