Desert Flower

Fire tore through the desert night—burning houses were visible from afar. Salah ad-Din signaled his unit to speed up, though he was certain he would no longer find the enemy. And so it was—as they burst into the village, they encountered only the crackling of fire, the wailing of women, and the groans of the wounded. "Oh, Sultan, the enemy has gone that way!" one of the locals pointed to the northwest. Salah ad-Din already knew the enemy was rushing to escape beyond the walls of Jaffa. He waved his hand and urged his horse onto the road; his best cavalry followed. They had to hurry. *** Anzhelika emerged from sleep slowly and with difficulty. Someone was shaking her hand. "Lady! Lady Angelica!" she heard a whisper. Anzhelika sat up in bed to wake up faster, and opened her eyes. Najma was looking at her... worriedly? Leyla was standing next to the bed, holding a candle. Anzhelika blinked and nodded questioningly, trying to understand what the maids wanted from her in the middle of the night. "Salah ad-Din has returned, my Lady," Najma said. Anzhelika's heart began to beat faster. "And he's wounded..." the maid added. Anzhelika jumped out of bed and, grabbing her cloak from the chair, threw it over her thin cambric nightgown. Wrapping the cloak around her, she took a couple of steps toward the door. Nadjma stood in front of the door, timidly handing Anzhelika the dress. "But he's not very badly hurt, Lady," she said shyly. Anzhelika put her cloak aside, took the dress from her hands, and began quickly pulling it on. Nadjma deftly helped her. Anzhelika ran out into the hallway barefoot, casually lacing the front of her dress as she went and holding up her long skirt. Nadjma and Leyla passed her, looking back and pointing the way. When Anzhelika ran into the palace hall, Salah ad-Din was walking, leaning on Bahaddin's arm, and the Sultan's face seemed very, very pale to the girl. But he was walking! At least he was walking... His side was bandaged right over his shirt. "Send someone to wake Abdul-Latif and the other doctors," Salah ad-Din addressed his friend in a tired but confident voice. "Let them tend to the wounded." "But what about you?" Bahaddin looked anxiously at the Sultan's face. "I'll be fine, Yusuf," he replied. "My wound isn't serious... When you wake Abdul-Latif, tend to the prisoners." "But..." Bahaddin began to object. "Some of our warriors are much more seriously wounded," the Sultan replied firmly. "Abdul-Latif will have a difficult night as it is. The maid will change the bandage, I'll go to bed, and in the morning, Angelica..." Then Salah ad-Din noticed Anzhelika and gave her a weak smile, saying, "Angelica! Are you awake?..." "I asked to wake me up when you come back," Anzhelika said. "What happened to you?" The Sultan's face seemed to light up from within, and he answered her: "It's nothing, just a scratch." "Najma, run and get some alcohol and bring it to the Sultan's room," Anzhelika ordered, taking the candle from Leyla. "Leyla, bring water and a clean cloth for washing and bandaging." The maids ran off to carry out their orders. Bahaddin, supporting the Sultan by the arm, looked at Anzhelika with obvious relief. Walking down the corridor, they all entered a spacious, richly decorated room—Salah ad-Din's bedroom. A middle-aged maid raised her head from the couch and, seeing the procession, fearfully pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Everything is alright, Karihan," the Sultan addressed her gently, throwing his cloak onto a chair. "Help me undress." While Karihan and Bahaddin helped Salah ad-Din remove his boots, Anzhelika glanced uneasily at the Sultan—in the soft lamplight, she could see the pallor showing through his usually dark cheeks. As Karihan removed Salah ad-Din's bandage, he winced slightly, and Anzhelika noticed blood on his side. She exhaled nervously and began braiding her hair—she didn't want it getting into the wound. Her fingers were wobbly. Najma and Leyla entered, carrying everything Anzhelika had requested. "Thank you for your help, girls," Anzhelika said, taking the things and laying them out on the small bedside table. "You can go to bed." Najma and Leyla left the bedroom, looking around anxiously. Bahaddin offered his hand to the Sultan as he climbed into bed and stood uncertainly beside him. Anzhelika came closer and leaned over the Sultan. "What do we have here?" she muttered nervously. A narrow but rather long wound—about seven centimeters—was visible through Salah ad-Din's torn shirt on his left side. Fortunately, it didn't look deep—though his side was quite covered in blood—and the bleeding had already stopped. Anzhelika exhaled with relief and said, "Thank God, it's nothing serious." Salah ad-Din's maid, Karihan, muttered joyfully something like a prayer behind her. "Alhamdulillah," Bahaddin clasped his hands and closed his eyes. "What was that?" Anzhelika asked. "A crossbow bolt," the Sultan replied. "Bahaddin, tend to the wounded, I beg you." "May Allah heal you, Salah ad-Din," his friend said quietly and left. Anzhelika peered into Salah ad-Din's face. "You look very pale," she sighed and turned to Salah ad-Din's maid, "He should get some soup—it will restore his strength after the blood loss." "Yes, Lady," the maid nodded and hurried out. The door slammed. The girl and the Sultan were left alone. Anzhelika sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced at Salah ad-Din—he lay before her, propped up against the pillows, his eyebrows and long black eyelashes looking even darker against his unusually pale face. She reached out and gently stroked his cheek, then placed it on his forehead, pushing aside his black curls. His dark eyes watched her from beneath their lashes. Did it seem to her that he held his breath?.. "It's good there's no fever," Anzhelika said, for some reason in a low voice. "Now let's check your blood pressure and pulse." The girl carefully took hold of his strong, dark hand and gently pulled back the cuff. As she ran her finger along his wrist, feeling for his pulse, she heard a muffled sigh... Anzhelika closed her eyes and concentrated on her examination. "Your blood pressure is only slightly low, that's normal," she concluded, "but your heart is pounding..." His hot fingers squeezed hers lightly, as if involuntarily, but then released them. "That's also normal... in this situation..." the Sultan said hoarsely, closing his eyes. "After the injury?" "Yes..." "Okay," Anzhelika said, carefully placing his hand on the sheet. "Now let's take care of the wound." With some trepidation (though, it must be said, rather pleasant), the girl leaned over the Sultan and began carefully unbuttoning his thin shirt, starting from the collar, which was buttoned right up to his neck. Anzhelika slowly worked at the tight buttons, moving lower and lower, occasionally accidentally brushing her fingers against the warm skin, until she noticed the man's breathing quicken (though she was unaware of the same in herself). The girl gently stroked his cheek, causing his black, fluffy eyelashes to flutter, and his scorching black eyes met her pale green ones. "Salah ad-Din, are you feeling unwell?" the girl asked worriedly. "Everything's fine, Angelica," he replied. His voice was calm, but for some reason, the way he said her name made her involuntarily close her eyes and sigh. She didn't ask anything else and looked away from the long, dark fingers clutching the silk sheet. Having finished the buttons, Anzhelika carefully, trying not to touch the wound on his side, opened Salah ad-Din's shirt. She tried to keep her gaze focused on the wound, but unconsciously (or not), she managed to discern the lean, yet fit and strong figure of the man lying before her, his dark skin, his flat stomach... Anzhelika turned away, biting her lip, leaned over the bedside table, and dampened a clean cloth with water. After carefully dabbing the wound and washing the blood from the skin around it, the girl reached for the jar of alcohol. "I must say, this stuff stings really, really badly," she warned, uncorking the bottle. The Sultan opened his eyes and nodded, and Anzhelika lightly splashed the alcohol on the damaged skin. Salah ad-Din flinched and silently covered his face with his arm, bent at the elbow. The girl looked at him sympathetically and blew lightly on the wound. Salah ad-Din removed his hand from his face and looked at the girl in shock. "It'll pass in a moment," Anzhelika promised and blew again. Exhaling quietly, the Sultan leaned back against the pillow. The girl corked the bottle of alcohol and placed it on the table. "All that's left is to bandage it," she said, unrolling a strip of clean cloth. Salah ad-Din sat up in bed, and Anzhelika suddenly realized that this would be the hardest part... Unrolling a long strip of fabric, the girl wrapped it around his amazingly firm, dark belly... Trying to bandage it just tightly, she pressed the fabric to the warm, smooth skin ("Oh my God, what a belly..."), wrapped the bandage around one more time, and finally tied it in a knot on the side. When the bandaging was finished and Salah ad-Din had settled back into bed, Anzhelika took a breath and concluded in a feigned calm voice: "Everything should be fine for now, but later I'll brew a healing potion and we'll need to do another examination, just in case." "Alright," Salah ad-Din nodded in agreement, his face impassive, but his eyes seemed to sparkle. The palace was slowly waking up, and an anxious murmur of voices could already be heard from behind the door. After knocking and receiving permission, Karihan entered, accompanied by another maid, carrying a bowl of soup. "Get some sleep, Angelica," Salah ad-Din said. His black eyes were half-hidden by eyelashes, slightly dulling his intense, burning gaze. "You slept very poorly that night." "Okay," the girl agreed. "You try to get some rest, too. And not just the rest of the night, but during the day as well. You really are better off lying in bed all day." "I'll try," the Sultan smiled. As soon as Anzhelika stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind her, about twenty courtiers immediately ran up to her. Astonished, Anzhelika glanced at them – many were barely dressed, but some had already managed to don jewelry. Servants crowded behind them, their eyes also fixated on Anzhelika with concern. "How is the Sultan? Is he all right?" questions rained down on her from all sides. "Yes, everything will be fine, he'll definitely recover," Anzhelika replied softly, her eyes glancing over the faces of those surrounding her. "And what outcome are they rooting for, I wonder?" Some reacted to the news with obvious relief, while others remained impassive. Among the latter, Anzhelika spotted the very same emir who had worried about Jerusalem's safety not long ago. "Here come the schemers," Anzhelika thought grimly, graciously responding to everyone's polite compliments and continuing down the corridor. Opening the door to her room—the pink dawn was already pouring through the uncurtained window—Anzhelika saw Leyla and Najma dozing on the sofa. At her appearance, they jumped up and began rubbing their eyes sleepily. "Girls?" Anzhelika called out to them in surprise. "Lady, what's happened to the Sultan?" Leyla asked anxiously. "Everything's fine," Anzhelika responded warmly. "It's just a scratch. It's a bit of a nuisance and will hurt for a while, but nothing serious." "Thank you, Lady," Najma responded with obvious relief; the joy was visible in Leyla's eyes as well. The maids yawned and slid off the couch, wished Anzhelika, as usual, that the good news would wake her, and went off to their rooms. Anzhelika closed the door behind them, smiling warmly, drew the curtains, and climbed into bed to finish her sleep. Snuggled comfortably in bed, she recalled black, glowing eyes, covered with long lashes, ragged breathing... and a flat, dark stomach... and her hand slowly squeezed the pillow before she fell asleep. A smile played on her lips. This time she slept well. And what she dreamed, only God knows... *** Salah ad-Din set aside his bowl of soup, which the maid promptly took away, and leaned back against the pillows. "I'll really have to lie in bed today," he thought, "if Bahaddin can handle things without a hitch." Closing his eyes, he recalled how Angelica had bent over him so carefully... And how her slender fingers had unbuttoned his shirt, button by button, and how he'd squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think about how satiny her skin must be beneath that silk dress. And how good it would be to tug at the lace until it came undone, and slide his hand right inside, closer to the living warmth of her body, and squeeze... "Salah ad-Din, are you feeling unwell?" Angelica's gentle hand touched his cheek, and Salah ad-Din forced himself to open his eyes, meeting her innocent and anxious gaze... The Sultan exhaled and returned to reality. "Karihan," he called. The maid eagerly raised her head. "Send someone to Bahaddin, let him find out how he's doing." "Yes, sir," Karihan replied and left. Salah ad-Din covered himself with a blanket and closed his eyes.