"That's part of the reason." Before she could comment, he said thoughtfully, "I think that my next book, if I write another, will be about the Silk Road."
"Your next book? I didn't know that you had written any," she said, intrigued. "What were the others about?"
"Just commentary on my travels. One was about the central Sahara, another on the Northwest Frontier of India, the third about the Levant and northern Arabia."
"Impressive," she said admiringly. "Were they well- received?"
He shrugged. "Tolerably so. They've all had multiple printings, but part of the attraction is my title. My publisher says that having 'Lord' or 'Lady' on the cover always doubles sales."
Juliet suspected that he was being modest. "Sales should quadruple when you can put 'the Duke of Windermere' on the cover."
"I suppose so," he said without enthusiasm. "I hope that doesn't happen for a number of years."
His gaze drifted back to the horizon. Then his features suddenly tightened. "Damnation. A sandstorm is coming."
In the few minutes that they had been talking, the sky had darkened and the ever-present wind had stiffened considerably. Juliet looked in the same direction as Ross and saw that ominous blue-and-yellow clouds had formed above the dunes and a gray-tan wall of dust was sweeping down on them.
"It looks like a bad one." Ross scrambled to his feet. "We'd better get back to the caravan where there's better cover."
Juliet stood also, but before setting off she spared a moment to study the storm, and what she saw chilled her to the bone. The dust cloud was racing toward them faster than a man could run, its leading edge a seething mass of spiraling columns. As it drew closer, an eerie, moaning sound filled the ears and rasped the nerves.
In the moments that she watched the sky, her husband had started back toward the watering hole. Shouting above the wind, she called, "Ross, there isn't time! Get down and cover your head!"
A gust of wind struck with a power that almost knocked her from her feet and staggered even Ross. When he regained his balance, he turned and began moving back toward her, his figure blurred by the haze of blowing sand.
He'd pulled the tail of his turban across his nose and mouth, but the light fabric was not enough protection for a storm like this one. Even her heavy, layered tagelmoust was not sifting out all the wind-blasted grit.
They were still twenty feet apart when the full force of the storm slammed into them. It was the worst sandstorm Juliet had ever seen, fierce enough to suffocate anyone who wasn't adequately covered. Visibility dropped to zero, and knife-edged grains of sand scoured her bare hands and stung the narrow wedge of face not covered by her veil. As she bent over to reduce the area she presented to the wind, she screamed, "Ross!"
She thought she heard him shouting back, but it was impossible to be sure over the banshee wail of the wind. Knowing that she was better equipped to weather the storm than Ross, Juliet tried to keep toward where she'd last seen him, but she lost all sense of direction in the featureless, swirling sand.
Though she called his name again and again as she fought against the wind pushed her forward, there was no response. Near panic, she told herself that Ross was no fool. He knew enough to lie down and wrap his long coat around his head.
But the garment he wore was secured by a sash and took more time to remove than her mantle did. If he spent too much time looking for her... if his mouth and lungs filled with sand...
When she had almost given up hope, she literally tripped over him. He was on his knees, trying to unwind more of his turban to protect his face, but he was coughing so hard he was nearly helpless.
Juliet yanked off her long, densely woven mantle and folded it in half so they would have a double layer of protection. Then she dropped to the ground and pulled her husband down beside her. The wind dragged viciously at her mantle, threatening to whip it from her grasp.
Grimly she held on as she tucked the yards of fabric around their bodies from head to knees. The result was a snug cocoon that shielded them from the lacerating sand.
Ross was shuddering convulsively as he struggled for breath, so she lifted the small water bottle always slung at her waist when she was in the desert. It was difficult to maneuver it up to his mouth without loosening the mantle, but with care she managed to bring it to Ross's lips.
They were pressed together so closely that she could feel the movement of his muscles when he swallowed, then managed to draw in a lungful of air. He cleared his throat, then sipped a little more water before he could speak. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. "I'm glad you're better prepared than I. I've never seen a sandstorm this bad."