Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) Read Online Free Page B

throats before they’d cut their losses.
    Way to stay positive, Elizabeth, she chided herself. She and Simon had been in worse situations before and gotten out of them. They’d find their way out of this mess, too.
    Escaping wouldn’t be easy. When they’d brought her to her tent they’d eased her down gently enough onto a large cushion, but then they’d bound her ankles and tied her to a tent post. If she managed to get her tether undone, she could probably untie her feet, but then what?
    Her prison walls weren’t cinder blocks and iron bars, but they may as well have been. With armed men outside, the canvas walls or walls of some sort of animal skin by the smell of it, would do just as well. Although, she had to admit, as she looked around her quarters, as prisons went, this one wasn’t too shabby. It looked like some Bedouin chieftain’s private quarters. Posh as far as desert prisons went, she thought, trying not to think about the private quarters part.
    The tent was fairly big, maybe fifteen by fifteen. A large hanging lamp at the center pole gave off a glowing yellow light. A small hand mirror hung from a peg and a white pitcher and large bowl sat on the floor at the base of the post.
    The room, such as it was, had no furniture, but it did have several large and colorful faded pillows with a worn oriental carpet that served as the floor. Smaller carpets hung on twine strung up along the walls like wall tapestries. What looked like they might be camel or horse saddles, covered by felt blankets, were situated on the far side of the room creating a makeshift seating area. A small leather chest sat between them. She was, she thought with a sinking feeling, undoubtedly in the bedroom section.
    Her imagination started to run away with her, but Elizabeth tripped it up before she felt too queasy. There was no reason to jump to the worst conclusions. The not-quite-worst ones were bad enough. She and Simon were prisoners of an armed group of raiders, who were going to seek a ransom that couldn’t be paid. That hardly needed the embellishment of imagination.
    The flap to the tent flung open, interrupting her train of thought and the large man who’d given the orders earlier strode inside. He was followed by another man, whose face was still hidden behind his keffiyeh.
    The big man surveyed the area for a brief moment, apparently making sure things were as they should be. Then he strode over to the sitting area and untied a small bag from his belt. He tipped the contents into his hand.
    It was Simon’s pocket watch. Elizabeth tried not to look as relieved as she felt to see the watch and suddenly found her fingernails, which were filthy, fascinating. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him turning it over in his hand, inspecting it, judging its worth.
    His grunt sounded disappointed. If only he knew how valuable the watch really was. He flipped open the lid of the small chest with his toe and tossed the watch carelessly into it. He turned back to her, his eyes narrowed. He closed the lid of the trunk and approached her.
    He was tall, at least he looked tall from the ground, and broad shouldered. He looked every inch a general. He was in perhaps his late forties. His face was leathery and dark and the hair of his short beard jet black. The black fabric of his robes was dusty and nondescript, except for the elaborate wide cloth belt he wore. It was some sort of gold brocade and far fancier than any of the other mens’, clearly marking him as their superior.
    His dark brown eyes were sharp and alert as they ran over her body. There was, much to Elizabeth’s relief, nothing salacious in the look. It was matter of fact. An inventory. He was assessing her in the same way he’d assessed the watch and making sure his property and her value hadn’t been damaged. Satisfied, he turned to the other man and spoke several sentences in Arabic.
    The other man nodded and then, with one last look at Elizabeth, the big man left.