Loving Lies. Tina Donahue

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СКАЧАТЬ on a stall. The cloth caught fire. He bolted, pulling her with him.

      She struggled to keep up as they dashed through the narrow streets of the market, past stalls and startled people. Behind them, men shouted. She glanced over. Guards pursued them. The fakir ran faster, forcing her to follow. They darted down one cramped street after another. He knocked over goods deliberately. Both of them dodged buyers. Finally, he rushed into an unattended shop offering a variety of baskets.

      Before she could question why this place was empty of a merchant or buyers, the fakir pushed her toward a shadowed corner near the entrance and shielded her with his body. She was so close to him her face and breasts pressed against his surprisingly muscular back. He shifted his weight. An object beneath his robe tapped her knee. She looked down at a long, thin outline hidden by the fabric. A sword?

      Outside, the shouts grew closer. Moments later, guards ran past.

      As their footfalls faded, the fakir turned to her. “No matter what happens in the coming moments keep quiet. Do only as I command.”

      He pulled Isabella to the back wall and a massive cabinet empty of shelves and merchandise. After shoving her inside the space, he joined her, bolting the doors so no one could open them from the other side.

      “On your knees.” He pointed down. “Now.”

      She fell to her knees.

      “On the floor of the cabinet and to the left is a small door. Open it and take the steps to the bottom. There, drop to your hands and knees to enter the tunnel. Go. Now.”

      As she opened the trapdoor, the sound of footfalls broke the silence. Too soon, numerous individuals poured inside the shop. She turned to the delicate latticework on the cabinet doors that gave her a view of the area. The guards lifted their swords as they searched for her and the fakir. One man’s attention swept left and right before he ran to the cabinet and yanked on its doors. When they refused to open, he shouted what sounded like an Arabic oath and thrust the tip of his sword between the latticework.

      She pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from making any noise.

      The fakir kept pushing against her, forcing her toward the opening.

      As she entered the narrow hole, liquid sprayed the side of her face and hand. She flinched and looked down. In the faint light, whatever was on her appeared to be red. Blood?

      A scream caught in her throat. The man outside hollered and struggled to open the cabinet doors. On his knees, the fakir pressed his mouth to her ear. “The blood is a trick, nothing more. Stop only at the other end of the tunnel. No matter what happens, I will be behind you. Go.”

      The moment she was past the steps, she forced back fear and entered the small tunnel. Earth pressed in on all sides, casting her into darkness so profound she might have been blind.

      The men’s shouts drifted down. The fakir pressed closer. “Hurry.”

      The robe wrapped around her legs, slowing her progress, the same as the blackness ahead. She had to feel what she couldn’t see. The earth was hard and cool. It stunk of decay and death, the perimeters as confining as a grave. To die down here… She shuddered.

      More shouts. The guards followed, intent on dragging her back to the market.

      She pushed the robe over her hips, exposing her nudity, and crawled with greater determination though the journey soon seemed endless. After a time Isabella wasn’t certain whether she was going in a straight line or if the tunnel was veering to the right, the left, perhaps deeper within the earth. Her elbows and knees stung from scraping against the packed dirt.

      She could barely draw a breath. Quiet pressed in. She slowed.

      “What is it?” the fakir asked.

      “The shouting stopped.”

      “For the moment. The men will follow.”

      Faint cries drifted down the tunnel. She crawled as fast as she could despite her bruised elbows, aching fingers, and scraped knees. Repeatedly, the robe fell from her back and wrapped around her legs. There seemed no end to the time she’d been in here. She kept pushing back panic until she couldn’t any longer. She wanted to shriek in terror and pain but didn’t.

      A faint gray light was ahead. The end of the tunnel?

      She stopped and stared.

      The fakir shoved her forward. “¡Darse prisa!”

      After what seemed a lifetime, sweet air wafted in from the outside. Gulping it greedily, she was soon free of the tunnel’s entrance, surrounded by a thick stand of mulberry trees. On her side catching her breath, she noted the angle of the sun. The journey through the tunnel had taken even longer than she’d thought.

      She pushed to a sitting position. Countless leaves obscured the surrounding area, giving everything a strange green cast. Never had Isabella seen such a place. She’d hoped the tunnel would end beyond the walls of Granada or, better, within a Spanish village where she’d be on her way to safety. What if she wasn’t? This might be outside the fabled Alhambra, a fortress and palace known for its gardens and the harem. The fakir could have led them to a tunnel going to the Sultan Boabdil in order to collect gold for selling her flesh.

      Isabella pushed to her feet to flee. The fakir was immediately upon her, his arm around her waist, his other hand clamped over her mouth.

      “Keep still.” His lips were against her ear, his dirty beard trailing down her cheek. “Do you want our enemies to drag you back to their foul city?”

      Then they were outside Granada’s walls, though she had no idea where or why the fakir would speak of his people as their enemies.

      “Do you?” he asked.

      She shook her head.

      “Then keep still. If you flee, I may not be the one who captures you, though you will be captured.” He released her. At the mouth of the tunnel, he kicked away the planks supporting the roof. The tunnel collapsed upon itself, belching dust in a thunderous rumble. The fakir worked feverishly. Soft grunts poured from him as he forced stone after stone against the opening to cut it off completely.

      Isabella hoped she was now safe from the Moors, yet what of the fakir? She kept witnessing his surprising strength. He appeared to have a sword hidden beneath his filthy robe. Now she saw the high boots he wore.

      She backed up, ready to bolt. Before she could, he grabbed her wrist and looked over both shoulders. “Now we must run.”

      She stared. He expected her to stay with him? To go where? To what end? She had no chance to ask and couldn’t match his mad pace. He tugged her roughly to follow. She winced at twigs, small rocks, and other debris digging into her bare feet. At last, she cried, “I cannot keep up.”

      “You must.”

      Despite his words, he slowed somewhat.

      Mulberry trees swirled past. Greens smeared into browns, the sun darting between the heavy foliage. Isabella’s breaths came hard and fast. At last, she was so dizzy the ground gave out beneath her. Before she could fall, the fakir wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her firmly against him as he slowed to a brisk walk, forcing СКАЧАТЬ