Panther's Prey Read Online Free Page B

Woolcott. It was hand delivered to me just now,” Turhan said.
    “James?” Sarah said. “What does it say?”
    Kalid unsealed the envelope and opened the missive, scanning the lines rapidly. “He says that he will be traveling to Bursa shortly and requests an immediate audience with me once he arrives,” Kalid replied, his expression puzzled.
    “That’s all? Nothing to tell you what it’s about?”
    “Nothing.” Kalid nodded to Turhan, dismissing him.
    “That’s odd. Will you see him right away when he comes?” Sarah asked.
    Kalid put his arm around her shoulders. “Darling, of course. Now don’t worry. It’s probably nothing serious, you know that your cousin’s wife has a flair for the dramatic and she is doubtless behind this. Come along, Kosem is waiting.”
    Sarah followed him, not as certain as her husband that there was no cause for concern.
    * * *
    The ride across the sandy flatlands seemed to last a long time. Amy was too scared to struggle any further, so she sat before the bandit on the horse and tried not to think about the fate in store for her as the scenery passed in a blur.  
    Would she be raped and then murdered? If the objective of her captor was robbery then why had she been taken? In her present state she couldn’t think clearly and couldn’t formulate a plan of action. When the horse made a sudden turn and began to ascend into the surrounding foothills she stirred, looking around at the changing terrain. The bandit’s arm tightened warningly.  
    Amy subsided, feeling dwarfed by his size and strength. He was much taller than most of the Turkish men she had seen and the body pressed to hers was slim but very muscular. She had no chance against him so her only option was to bide her time and see what happened.
    They climbed steadily for a while, the horse picking its way along the rock strewn path between crags, the clopping of the second horse’s hooves signaling that her captor’s companion was right behind them. Amy had just about decided that her back was broken from the jouncing ride, which made the passenger coach seem like a pleasure craft, when they arrived at a clearing where several tents stood around a central campfire. Veiled women tended smoking cook pots, and at the far end of the glen Amy saw a cave hollowed out of the rock where another, smaller fire was burning. She hardly had time to take it all in before her captor jumped down from the horse and then lifted her to the ground after him. Before she could move he whipped a rope from under his saddle and bound her hands with it, then led her stumbling to a nearby tent.
    All the inhabitants of the camp stopped what they were doing to stare at the oddly dressed newcomer, her hat lost on the road, blonde hair tumbling loose from its knot, the ripped and stained hem of her blue silk skirt trailing on the ground. Amy refused to look at any of them, keeping her head high and her eyes focused on the distance until she was inside the tent, where more women waited.
    Her captor tied her to a tent pole and issued several curt orders in Turkish, which Amy did not understand. Then, with one last glance in her direction, he turned on his heel and left the tent.
    Amy looked at the women, who were staring back at her with frank interest. Then she glanced quickly around the tent, spotting a crude, hand printed flyer stamped with a half moon and a star lying on the dirt floor, its incomprehensible text partially obscured by a muddy footprint. She realized with a sudden shock that this was one of the broadsheets distributed by the rebels against the Sultan, a call to arms which appeared at uncertain intervals whenever the insurgents had the facilities to print it. She had read a description of such notices in a British newspaper article while waiting for the coach.
    Was she in the hands of the anti-government rebels, who bartered hostages for anything they needed to continue their fight? Or had the flyer been brought in carelessly by a