Free The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story by Jill Eileen Smith Page B

dear.”
    Her stomach twisted at the reminder of those moments when too many men had stood gawking at her, raising the bids higher and higher. She should be grateful Dabir wanted her so badly. But not like this. Not when the guilt of their affair and the pain of all Gamal had put her through was still so raw.
    “Does this mean I am no longer married?” How could she remain married to a man who in all respects had abandoned her?
    He stroked her cheek, looked deeply into her eyes. “Gamal is no longer your concern, Rahab. He will not be comingback. I would not expect him to live long in a land that puts their slaves to hard labor.”
    She knew this. Should have known it when she glimpsed the Syrian traders. But memories of the early days rushed in on her. Your daughter is very beautiful, my lord. She closed her eyes.
    “I know, my love. I know.” Dabir pulled her close and stroked her back. He must have assumed her expression was one of sorrow over Gamal’s loss. But as the memories faded, she knew she would not grieve Gamal. Not after all he had put her through. No. She grieved the loss of her freedom.
    “What is to become of me?” she whispered against Dabir’s rough cheek, taking advantage of the moment of his kindness to ask what might later become too difficult to say.
    Dabir kissed her cheek and brushed the hair from her face. His dark eyes held a glint of longing and the pride of one who has gained a priceless prize. He took her hand in his and squeezed her fingers. “Come, sit with me and I will tell you.” He gave her a lazy smile and tugged her toward a cushioned couch that lined one of the walls of the spacious room. He positioned her to face him.
    “I have bought a house along the outer wall of the city,” he said, lifting his square chin in that telltale pride. “The neighborhood is much safer and better than where you are living now. You will have servants and guards, and an allowance to spend however you please.”
    She lifted a brow but said nothing.
    He looked at her, stroked a strand of her hair. “I have plans for you, Rahab. But now is not the time to share them with you.” He took her hand again and helped her to her feet. “You must be hungry.” He led her toward the door. “I will take youto your new home, where you can eat and bathe and sleep. I will visit you tomorrow to explain what you are to do.”

    Rahab stood before a wooden gate, its scrollwork rivaling that of some of the finest homes in Jericho. A guard opened it for her and nodded to Dabir, and a female servant met them in the courtyard to wash their dusty feet. Inside, the rooms were large, spread with tapestries, and sconces held the flame of torches along the walls. Intricately carved furnishings, the kind Gamal would have sold and gambled away, graced each room with elegance.
    “Well, my dear Rahab, what do you think?” Dabir turned in a circle, his arm taking in the spacious sitting room. Every vase, every pillow, every detail seemed in perfect place.
    “I think it is wonderful,” she said, her voice soft, breathy. “But I am afraid to touch anything.”
    Dabir laughed and came toward her, pulling her into his arms. He swung her around, still laughing. “Touch all you like, my dear girl. This place is for your use.” His smile seemed genuine, but Rahab could not stop the sense of wariness that fringed the edges of her mind.
    “Will you show me the rest?” She could tell he was eager to show off all he was offering her. But . . . what of his wife?
    “Of course.” He took hold of her elbow and gently led her into a large cooking area, where a woman stood at a wooden table chopping vegetables. “This is Kifah. She will cook whatever food you like.”
    Rahab stared, seeing herself in such a role just yesterday. She glanced at Dabir, calculating his motives and purpose for her. He wanted more than he was saying.
    She followed him to a small sleeping chamber, then to a larger one, then to several more. Was he