Elizabeth read the letter and looked up at Captain Pryce, clearly astounded.

“I- I don’t understand. Why?” she asked.

“The German’s have become increasingly frustrated with the naval blockade. In essence, it’s working. They felt pushed to initiate submarine warfare, it’s happened,” he said.

“We’re going to war,” declared Buffy.

“I’m afraid it’s inevitable, Miss Summers,” answered Captain Pryce.

“We have a brief window of opportunity to get you in and established. Once the United States is involved things will be more…challenging. I’m afraid time is off the essence.”

“When?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Tomorrow,” he answered as he folded up the letter and replaced it in the pocket of his uniform. “We leave for England tomorrow. There will be a few days of briefing, then you’ll be off.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said as she stood up and refilled her coffee cup.

“Thank you Miss Summers,” Pryce responded as he stood to leave.

“You know, it’s actually Miss Giles, Captain,” said Elizabeth, with a small smile, extending her hand.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Giles,” he said as he shook her hand. “I must say; you are your father’s daughter through and through. He was quite proud of you. You must know that.”

“Really?” she said as a few tears escaped her eyes. “He said that?”

“Oh, dear,” said Pryce quickly handing her a clean handkerchief. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

As the absurdity of his statement reached her ears she couldn’t help but break into laughter.

“You really are quite lovely,” he said, admiringly. “Would you consider…I mean, I would be honored if-”

“Not interested,” she said. “No offense, Captain. I know that many people considered my father a great man. Maybe he was a great man. He loved his work. It was what sustained him. Not his family. Like my father I have great passion for my work. It is my love. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. There isn’t room in my life for anything else.”

“I understand,” he said as he walked back towards the door. “Tomorrow morning at 8:00 then?”

“I’ll be ready,” she replied as she opened the door and showed him out.

Chapter 2

“Ready?” he asked.

She was suddenly catapulted back to the present. What had taken place weeks ago seemed like years. Elizabeth silently accepted the bucket of water he was handing her from the well and followed him back to the tent.

Harrhas had placed a small bathing tub that was used by the prince’s harem in the center of the tent. The floor itself was adorned with rugs. There was a sleeping pallet to one side, covered with light blankets and pillows. The few personal affects that he had brought with him had been moved into the tent and were strewn about.

They each poured the water from the two buckets they carried into the bath. Crawford removed the cap to his uniform and ran his fingers though his hair. “Bloody sand is everywhere,” he lamented.

“Would you mind making one more trip?”

Hessa shook her head, quickly picked up two of the now empty buckets, and left to make another trip to the well. It took Crawford no time at all to divest himself of his uniform, which he tossed onto the floor at the entrance of his tent. He quickly walked over and climbed into the shallow tub. The water was cool and it felt exquisite. He leaned over and reached for his kit bag, extracting a straight-edged razor, a bar of soap, and a small mirror. Suddenly, he was overcome with exhaustion.

As Elizabeth entered the tent it took her eyes a moment to adjust. The first thing she noticed was that his uniform was beneath her feet. The second was that he was there, before her, in the bath. His back was to her and in his hand he held a bar of soap and a razor. His hand, however, was shaking, almost uncontrollably.

Elizabeth quickly set the buckets of water onto the floor, walked over to him, and removed the razor from his hand.

“Thanks, luv. I’m afraid I’m a bit knackered,” he said, shivering a bit.

The rims around his eyes were slightly red and his face was flush. Elizabeth pulled up one of the sleeves from her long robe, reached out, and placed her hand on his forehead. He was clearly burning up with fever. He was probably suffering from too little sleep, too little food and water, and too much sun. She had certainly experienced that before.

She grabbed his tin cup, filled it with water, and tilted it to his lips, allowing him to drink. Next, she picked up the clean washcloth that Harrhas had left, dipped it into the bucket of clean water, soaped it up, and gently began to wash the sweat and sand from his face and neck. As she did so, she could feel his body temperature begin to cool down.

He leaned his head back against the back of the tub as she began to soap up his arms and torso. His mind was flooded with thoughts, pictures, and distant memories. He struggled desperately to hold onto one, just one. But he couldn’t, it took entirely too much effort.

Hessa pushed on the back of his shoulder, signaling that he should lean forward. Once he did, she began to wash his back. Once his upper body was clean, she dipped a tin cup into the bucket of fresh water and poured in over his hair. The fine desert sand ran off into the tub. She worked up a good lather from the soap in her hands, and then massaged it into his scalp. She could feel the grime beneath her fingers as she worked them through his sun-bleached locks. After rinsing his hair with another cup of fresh water, she repeated the process, until his hair was clean. He had almost fallen asleep when she handed him the washcloth and soap and gestured for him to finish.

“Are you sure?” he asked, with a smirk. “You were kind of just getting round to the good parts.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, picked up his uniform, and left the tent in search of robes.

When she returned fifteen minutes later he was sitting on a small crate, a towel wrapped around his waist, the mirror in his lap and the razor in his hand. Although he was certainly better, he was still shaking with exhaustion. For the second time she took the razor from his hand.

“We really must stop meeting like this, pet. People are going to start talking,” he said, sarcastically.

She, of course, said nothing.

“You’re an unusual bird, Hessa,” he said thinking out loud as she moved behind him and tilted his head back so that it leaned against her stomach. As she lathered his face up with soap he continued, “Beautiful green eyes. Don’t think I’ve actually been able to look at a woman’s eyes since I came to play in this little sandbox. Haven’t seen many women, period, come to think of it. God I miss the smell and feel of a woman-”

She silenced him by leaning over him and placing her finger tenderly over his lips. He looked up into her eyes and fell silent. For the next ten minutes she methodically shaved away his beard. He found the experience extremely erotic. As the edge of the razor scrapped over his rough beard he found himself pre-occupied with thoughts he shouldn’t be having, even if she was nothing more than a servant girl.

Before he knew it she was finished and had cleaned off his shaving gear. She handed him a pile of clean robes, then turned to leave.

“Hessa, wait!” he called, struggling to stand and remain on his feet. She went back to him, placing a steadying arm around his waist. “I feel I must sleep, but I fear I will miss my chance with the prince. Can you wake me in a few hours? I have this letter I must get to him,” he finished, pointing to an envelope that lay on his sleeping pallet.

She quickly nodded her head in agreement and helped him over so that he could lie down. He closed his eyes as his head hit the pillow. She sat alongside him and softly ran her fingers through his still damp hair. As he drifted off to sleep he could have sworn that he heard her whisper, “Sleep now, save the world later.”

Chapter 3

Crawford opened his eyes and was greeted by darkness. But that’s not what was most bothersome. What bothered him was that he actually felt rested, and hungry, very hungry. He quickly jumped up and searched his pallet for the envelope that he was to deliver to the prince. It was missing.

He emerged from the tent, white robes billowing out around him in the stark moonlight as he determinedly went in search of the prince.He didn’t get fifty feet from his tent before Harrhas was upon him.

“I trust you are well rested, Lieutenant?” asked Harrhas. “Dinner will be served shortly.”

“How long,” snapped Crawford, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

“It won’t be long now. It should be a great feast. Some gazelles were caught this morning and they have been roasting. The prince is anxious to-” Harrhas began to explain.

“Not how long until dinner! How long was I out?” ground out Crawford.

“Oh. Sorry, Lieutenant. You were quite ill from fever and exhaustion. You slept through yesterday entirely,” answered Harrhas.

“Damn it!” exclaimed Crawford running his hand over his again rough beard. “Hessa was to wake me in two hours, not two bloody days form now. My business with the prince is important. I must see him at once.”

“Forgive me, Lieutenant. Hessa did as you asked and presented your letter to the prince. He has many questions, of course. These things cannot be rushed. You may return in one hour’s time. The prince will see you then,” said Harrah’s before turning to walk away.

“Harrhas!” he shouted after him. “Where is Hessa? I wish to speak to her!”

“I am sorry, Lieutenant. But Hessa managed to catch the eye of Prince Angellah when she delivered your letter. She is stronger now. The prince wishes her to join him for dinner this evening. Anyakalha is busy getting her ready. I fear he will move her in with the harem tonight,” said Harrhas.

“But she has yet to speak and-” Crawford started to point out.

“The prince is not primarily concerned with a woman’s ability to converse. Quite the contrary. Whatever skills he wants her to possess, she will learn,” Harrhas explained.

“What if she were to prefer-” Crawford started to ask, suddenly and unexplainably concerned for the frail woman who had cared for him just the day before yesterday.

Harrhas smiled sadly, “You are in Arabia, Lieutenant. If she is chosen she will prefer only what most pleases the prince, or she will be replaced. Not released. Replaced.”

Crawford walked back to his tent to shave and prepare for dinner. Had he asked Hessa to deliver the letter to the prince? He was almost certain that he had not. Never in his right mind would he have trusted such an important message to anyone else. Even if he was mad with fever he didn’t think he would have suggested it. Then, why had she taken it upon herself to do? Before the night was over, he would find out.

The area around the prince’s tent was lit with torches. The soft sounds of exotic music could be heard drifting out, carried on the evening wind. Crawford shook his head. “What kind of a military leader travels with musicians and women?” he asked himself, already disliking the prince who seemed more concerned with his own hedonistic pleasures then fighting for his people. “It’s just simply not done; protocol would demand-” he thought as he walked through the entrance to the tent he paused for a moment, tilted his head to the side, and smirked. “Well,” he whispered, “seems things are going to be different here, Will old boy. Seems we're gonna have a little less ritual...and a little more…fun.”

The interior of the tent was illuminated by dozens of small oil lamps. On the floor of the tent were layers of lush carpets woven in bright jeweled tones. The interior walls had been covered over in silk fabrics that matched the numerous throw pillows that had been strewn, carelessly around the floor for the guests to lean on. There were bowls and platters aplenty scattered about and the few guests that were present were eating as they watched one of the prince’s many concubines dance, for his pleasure.

She was not dressed in the traditional dress. Her costume was revealing. The red veiled material was of the sheerest silk and it was lushly beaded. The beads clacked against one another as she moved her body in time to the sensual music. The prince openly admired her curves and it was clear to everyone in the room that the erotic display was meant for him alone. As she neared him he stood up and possessively reached out grabbing her around her waist. He pulled her roughly against his body and crushed his lips to hers taking what was his. As the prince broke off the kiss he noticed, for the first time, that Crawford had entered the room. Without a second glance he pushed the woman away carelessly so that she fell at his feet onto the floor.

“Lieutenant Crawford, come and join us!” he called out, waving Crawford into the room. “Sit! Enjoy a delicious meal with me!”

“It would be my honor, My Lord,” responded Crawford, bowing with deference. “I have been anxious to discuss business with you. The British-”

“Enough!” shouted the prince. “Tonight is not about business, Lieutenant, it is a night for celebration. You have traveled far. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” responded Crawford as he accepted food and drink from one of the prince’s concubines.

“She is lovely, yes?” prompted the prince.

“Quite, lovely,” responded Crawford politely.

“I enjoy beautiful things,” he said as he ran a finger down the side of the woman’s face.“How long since you have been with a beautiful woman, Lieutenant?” he asked, bluntly.

Crawford chocked slightly on the mouth of food that he had been swallowing. The prince laughed, “That long? We will rectify that tonight. You may have you pick. I am feeling generous.”

“Your generosity overwhelms me, My Lord, but-” Crawford started to protest.

“Where is Hessa?” bellowed the prince. “Harrhas!”

“Yes, My Lord. I regret to say that Hessa seems unwell. Perhaps it is the fever the Lieutenant had earlier. She helped me ready his tent when he arrived. She is still frail, you know,” Harrhas started to explain.

“Nonsense! Bring her to me. I wish it so. And have her wear the garments I sent over this afternoon,” demanded the prince.

“Of course, My Lord,” said Harrhas, a combination of panic and fear briefly flitting across his face as he bowed to the prince. Although the evident emotion went unnoticed by the prince, Crawford caught it.

“Would you excuse me for a brief moment, My Lord,” asked Crawford as he stood up. “I have a gift for you that I seem to have left in my tent. I will return directly.”

“By all means, Lieutenant. And don’t forget my offer. I assure you, I have spent considerable time ensuring that they each have a wide range of skills. You will undoubtedly be pleased,” finished the prince.

“I am confident that you are right, My Lord, but-” began Crawford.

“And I am quite certain that you do not wish to insult me by refusing,” interrupted the prince.

“I was going to say…but the choice will be difficult. I will have to give it careful consideration, so many beauties. With your permission I will take my leave and return momentarily,” concluded Crawford.

“Yes! Yes! Go!” said the prince, waving him off.

Crawford quickly slipped out of the prince’s tent. He saw the tent flap of the servant’s tent flutter close, following Harrhas’ entrance, and swiftly followed in pursuit.

“Harrhas!” he called as he walked into the tent. “What is going o-”

Crawford stopped mid-sentence. He was stunned into silence. He had obviously walked in on an argument. Both Harrhas and Anyakalha were begging, no pleading the woman he knew as Hessa to reconsider and join the prince.

“You can not insult him, Hessa. He will have you executed without a moments thought,” said Anyakalha.

She was sitting on a small stool. Her arms stubbornly folded over her bare stomach. She wore white beaded undergarments that were covered by a sheer cerulean blue silk fabric. A matching veil covered her dark blonde hair and part of her face. The color only served to enhance her stunning green eyes. She was a portrait of perfection. A personification of every man’s fantasy object…except for positively enraged look on her face and the waves of intense fury that seemed to emanate from her. The forcefulness of her anger engulfed him. Anger and humiliation.

“She won’t come,” said Harrhas, hopelessly.

“Let me try,” said Crawford, gently. “Leave us for a moment.”

Harrhas and Anyakalha shared a worried glance, then nodded and left the tent.

“Hessa,” he began kneeling before her. “Do you remember me?”

She responded with a roll of her eyes and the slightest of tilts of her head.

“Of course you do. So, you’re not daft. You realize the prince is very powerful, yeah? The good news is that I don’t think he’s very bright. I can only imagine how humiliating this must be. Well, honestly, I probably can’t. But you must push that aside. You must come Hessa. Chin up and all that,” he said attempting an encouraging smile.

She turned to look at him. Not a sideways glance. Not a fleeting look. Not a shy glimpse stolen through her dark charcoal lashes. Her eyes, moist with stubborn tears that she refused to let fall, searched out his. His eyes, his heart, his soul, and as they silently pleaded, they stole them all.

“Hessa,” he whispered reaching out and hesitantly covering her hand with his. “The prince has offered me a gift of sorts, one of the women. For tonight, anyways, I think I can protect you. I promise, I won’t harm you. It’s a chance, Hessa. If you don’t come-” he never got to finished. She quickly stood, pushed past him, and set off with new-found confidence towards the prince’s tent.

“Bloody Hell! What are you getting yourself into, mate?” he said under his breath, shaking his head at himself, as he watched her walk away.

Chapter 4

Everyone in the tent was silent. William had been absent only a few moments, but in that time the mood inside had changed. The music had stopped and all conversation had come to a complete halt. Everyone was riveted on the woman who stood, eyes downcast, in the center of the tent.

The flames from the numerous oil lamps flickered from the gust of wind that blew in before the flap of the tent re-closed. The beads of her costume were illuminated and sparkled as the light danced over her body. Prince Angellah rose slowly from his position on the floor, a predatory smile forming on his face as he unabashedly raked his eyes over Elizabeth’s form.

Crawford eased into his line of sight, blocking his view. He bowed down slightly before him, and holding out a small red velvet case addressed him, “My lord.”

The prince accepted the box and opened it. Inside was a small metal cross, attached to a ribbon. The prince looked up, confusion wrinkling his brow.

“It’s from my King, George V. It’s called the Military Cross. Bestowed for distinguished and meritorious service in battle. It’s very rare,” said Crawford, reverently.

The prince lifted the medal out of its case and held it up for closer inspection. “This is yours, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, my lord. But it’s yours now,” responded Crawford.

“Why would you make me a gift of this? I have never distinguished myself in battle. This is obviously something of importance to you. I can’t accept this,” finished the prince as he placed the medal back in its case, closed it, and attempted to hand it back.

Crawford didn’t accept it. He looked pointedly at the prince and simply said, “But you will distinguish yourself, my lord. We will fight together, you and I. We will fight, we will win, and we will capture Akaba. Like everything else, it is yours for the taking.”

Crawford had his full attention now. He watched as the prince slipped the small velvet case into the pocket of his robes then he continued, “But, as you said, tonight is not for business. I believe that you made me an offer earlier. I assume it still stands?”

“Of course,” responded the prince. He clapped twice, loudly and gestured sharply with his hand. Five of the six women in the room scurried over and quickly fell in line for inspection. All but Elizabeth, who stayed rooted to her spot.

The prince noticed her failure to respond immediately. His eyes narrowed and he began to move towards her, lifting his hand, ready to strike.

“I choose, Hessa,” said Crawford, clearly.

The prince stopped and quickly turned back to face him. “Hessa?” he asked, clearly confused. “But, as you can see, she isn’t broken in yet.”

“I see that, my lord,” replied Crawford with a smirk.

“You have done something twice tonight, Lieutenant, that very few even do once. You have surprised me,” said the prince as he walked closer to him. They were standing toe to toe now. The prince was taller, almost a full head above the British soldier. He looked down at him, brown eyes boring amusedly into blue. He smiled, knowingly, “You want to break her in.”

Crawford’s smirk developed into a confident grin and his eyes flashed with hint of mischief as he tilted his head slowly to the side and quietly replied, “It would be my extreme pleasure, my lord.”

The prince, laughed, then spun about and clapped his hands. “Hessa it is then!” he declared walking over to the other women. After he spoke a few words to two of them, they quickly walked over to Elizabeth and ushered her out. “Be warned, Lieutenant, she may be a bit…damaged,” he said, touching his hand to his forehead.

“You wish for me to be gentle with her, my lord?” asked Crawford.

“Lieutenant,” began the prince, speaking as if he were addressing a child. “She is nothing but chattel. Treat her however you wish, it is of no concern to me. She may be unpredictable is all,” he said taking a sip of his drink. “But,” he added, clapping Crawford on the back, “I’m sure given enough time and torture you could tame her. Experience tells me that they all break, eventually.”

“Where are they taking her? I thought she was to dine with us?” asked Crawford sounding casual while feeling slightly panicked.

“What? No! They never actually eat with me. I merely meant for her to be present while we dined, to serve us and offer entertainment, like the others,” he explained. “She is being brought to your tent. While we finish our meal she will be readied for you.”

Crawford inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Outwardly, he gave the prince a curt nod of understanding before turning to accept the drink that one of the concubines was offering to him. The music again began to play. As conversations were struck up around him Crawford ate quietly, his thoughts drifting to the beautiful woman who awaited him in his tent.

Chapter 5

As Crawford approached his tent he heard her shriek. He was knocked off his feet as the prince’s concubines ran from the tent, a brush flying out after them. He reached for the brush, which had landed in the sand at his feet. As he climbed to his feet he first looked over his shoulder at the women as they made their way back to their tent, laughing and talking to one another in hushed tones. He then looked down at the brush, its silver handle glinting in the moonlight. Finally he looked at the entrance to the tent in front of him. Crawford took a deep, steadying breath and walked towards the entrance with purpose.

As he walked through the entrance to the tent something flew at him. He hesitated, for a moment, as the sheer black veil flew over his face. He had barely glimpsed her. It struck him that her hair was lighter than he expected. She had been clothed in a diaphanous black gown, which left nothing to the imagination. He could see the curve of her breast, the outline of her hip, and the shape of her legs clearly though the fabric.

Elizabeth took the opportunity to run past him. Before she could reach the entrance to the tent his arm was about her waist, pulling her back, against his chest. She writhed against him, her bottom carelessly grinding into his growing arousal as she struggled to gain release.

“Stop fighting me, Hessa,” he calmly whispered in her ear as he leaned over her.

But Elizabeth didn’t stop. She merely doubled her efforts to escape. Fear coursed through every fiber of her being. Earlier that evening she had believed him when he said he would protect her. But then his demeanor with the prince, when he chose her, gave her pause.  She calmed herself at the time with assurances that it was merely bravado. She reached the conclusion that he was playing a role to gain the prince’s respect and confidence when he spoke of breaking her in. She didn’t want to imagine that he might really harm her. But then he walked into the tent. She felt vulnerable as he looked upon her in her near nakedness, smoldering lust evident in his eyes. She was overwhelmed with panic.

“Hessa!” he said sharply. Then shifting to a quieter voice in hopes of calming her he continued, “Hessa, you’ve got to stop moving, pet. Look, I’m trying really hard to be a bloody gentleman here. If you keep moving against me like that it’s going to be all but impossible for us to continue to pretend that you’re having no affect on me!”

Suddenly she was acutely aware of his erection, pressing into her bottom. She froze, giving up the struggle for freedom. Her breathing was ragged and she fought to slow it. She remained wrapped in his tight embrace; his body was still molded to hers. She could feel his warm breath, on the back of her neck.

“That’s better, luv. Just take it easy. I mean to keep my word. You have nothing to fear. I’ve never forced myself on a woman and don’t intend to start now. You’re safe, I promise. It’s going to be all right,” he said, soothingly as he gradually released the pressure of his hold.

As his comforting words washed over her, Elizabeth was flooded with raw emotion. A quiet sob escaped as her legs gave way beneath her. She felt herself being lifted by a pair of strong arms and carried to the sleeping pallet. She was crying in earnest now. Deep, heart-wrenching sobs wracked her small body as she cried, really for the first time in months, the first time since her mother had fallen so horribly ill. There had been those few stubborn tears that she had failed to control on occasion, but nothing like this, nothing like now.

Crawford knelt down with her on the sleeping pallet. With one hand he stacked several pillows up behind him while he continue to murmur quiet reassurances to the weeping girl. He noticed that in each of her hands she had grasped a fistful of his robes, hanging on desperately. The front of his robes were now wet with her salty tears, but he didn’t mind.

Elizabeth was suddenly acutely aware of the depth of her loneliness and sorrow. She remembered how she struggled to remain strong as she independently cared for her sick mother and buried her. She suffered silently through that grief and loss alone. She remembered how angry she was at her father, and the feelings of abandonment when he never came. Then she flashed on the realization that he, too, was gone. Gone from her life and never to be seen again. Dead. He was dead like all those people at Wadi Turra.

Never had she witnessed such horror. She had no idea that humans could be so barbaric. Although it was war, she wasn’t prepared for the viciousness of the Turks attack. Elizabeth had done her level best to divorce herself from the reality of the savage slaying, forcing herself to go through the motions of everyday life. But, the truth of the matter was, it was just too much, too much pain and misery for any one person to shoulder alone.

Harrhas stood outside the tent, hovering in the shadows, praying that her pain would be over quickly. He ached for her and he was filled with anger and resentment towards the English soldier that he had begun to trust. As he stood there, quiet, in the darkness, he remembered finding her for the first time. He had spotted her, looking out from one of the caves high about the floor of the desert. Upon reaching her he could tell, immediately, that she was out of sorts. She cowered, eyes lowered, arms wrapped protectively around herself.

He remembered how he had carried her, weakened from days without food and water, down the steep hills. He also remembered his surprise when his wife told him of her yellow hair and her green eyes. He felt at once protective towards this strange girl who was so obviously out of place. He had planned to keep her out of sight, at least until he had figured out who she was, and what she was doing in Arabia. But then the soldier came and now she was in danger.

Harrhas inched closer to the tents flap, his heart beating loudly, like a great drum in his chest. He stood back, against the canvas, under the cloak of the tents shadows and listed to her sobs. He reached out and tentatively pushed on the flap of the tent, creating the slightest of gaps. It was too narrow to warrant the attention of the couple within, but wide enough to afford him a look at what was happening inside. With trepidation he gazed upon the British soldier and the small woman he called Hessa.

As he relined back against the pillows Crawford continued to hold her close. Her body curved against his like it was the most natural thing in the world. He ran his fingers through her beautiful silken hair and gently brushed away the tears as they fell with the pads of his thumbs. Eventually her pained cries quieted and her breathing slowed. She snuggled closer to him, her head resting on his chest, her arm wrapped around his waist. Crawford leaned down and placed a soft, tender kiss on the top of her head.

“Sleep now,” he whispered quietly. “Just rest, pet. I’m not about to let anything happen to you. Good night, Hessa.”

It had been so long since she had felt safe and slept soundly. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight she was alright. Her eyes burned and felt heavy from her tears and the urgent need for sleep. As they closed in slumber she sighed in relief and said, “It’s Elizabeth, my name is Elizabeth.”

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