"Once more," Jim said, "we owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude, Monsieur le Vicomte."
Ahmed returned a cool smile. "I am only too pleased to have been instrumental in this…happy reunion." Ahmed's gaze flickered from Jim back to me, with an expression that was anything but joyful.
"Do you go directly to Oman, as originally planned, mademoiselle?" Ahmed continued our sham. "I shall be pleased to send with you my servant Henri."
"That will not be necessary," Jim replied on my behalf. "I have hired several capable men as an escort."
"But this is a dangerous region, mon ami. Have you not heard of the rebel sheik who seeks to rouse the tribes?"
"Yes. Ben Hassan. I hear the French officials have recently put a price on his head. Indeed, my greatest fear was that Miss Mayo might have fallen into that savage's hands. Once more I am grateful that you have provided her with protection and a safe escort." Jim's brows pulled together in a frown. "You have not yet said what business brings you so far into the desert, Monsieur le Vicomte."
"No, I have not." Ahmed smiled but said nothing more.
I almost laughed at the perturbed expression on Jim's face. "The vicomte is conducting research for a book," I explained. "He is writing about some of the lesser-known nomadic tribes and he has spent a great deal of time in the desert camps."
"Then might you be acquainted with this rebel sheik, monsieur?"
"I might," Ahmed replied enigmatically.
"Do you perhaps know the location of his camp?"
"Perhaps."
Jim's mouth compressed. I had to stifle my amusement now that Ahmed's merciless mockery had shifted to one other than myself.
"Right then." Jim turned back to me. "Have you need of rest, Miss Mayo? Or would you prefer immediately to depart this godforsaken desert?"
At the thought of leaving, my gaze shot to Ahmed, and my heart accelerated to a wild and erratic pace. When our eyes met, I had a brief fantasy that he would pick me up, throw me over his shoulder, and gallop off into the sunset, but the only move he made was to take my hand in his. He briefly caressed my knuckles with his thumb and then raised them to his lips in a gallant old-world kiss. "Adieu, ma belle," he murmured for my ears alone.
He inclined his head to Jim and then turned to Gaston, who waited with his horse, the black called the Hawk. He mounted and struck his spurs into the horse's sides without a backward glance and rode out of my life forever. My gaze followed his departing figure, straining through the dust and sand to catch the very last glimpse of the upright figure on the spirited black horse.
It was over. Chapter closed. My heart was near bursting with bittersweet regret, and my vision was blurred by the tears that filled my eyes. I shook my head violently and forced a smile to my lips. "Yes, Jim," I finally answered. "I should like to depart right away, but not for Oran. I first have urgent business with the French authorities in Algiers."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The city of Algiers, French Algeria- May 1920
The acting governor-general stubbed out his cigarette. "You must tell me, Mademoiselle Mayo, who was the perpetrator of this…this…outrage to your person?"
And in that moment I knew.
It was not the details of my intended murder that had captured his interest. No, he didn't care at all about me. He desired only to know what I knew, specifically, the name and location of the force behind the simmering unrest—my captor and my lover—Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan.
"My abductor?" I said. "He was a vile brute named Sheik Ibraheim Omair."
"Omair, you say?" His gaze suddenly narrowed on me with a disconcerting intensity. "By all reports, he is dead these three weeks or more."
"Yes. He is," I agreed. "There was a raid by a rival tribe. It is how I managed to secure my release." I shuddered in genuine remembrance of the night, but the tale that followed was as much fabricated as it was expurgated. "It was a nightmare, Monsieur le Generale. I am only glad it is over."
"How fortunate for you was the presence of this French nobleman in the raiding sheik's camp."
"Yes. It was a stroke of luck, monsieur. He is a man of considerable influence who secured my release and then escorted me safely to one of my countrymen in—"
"He must be commended, this gentleman. Who was it, mademoiselle?"
I knew the closer I stayed to the truth, the stronger my story would be. "It was the Vicomte Saint Hubert. Perhaps you have heard of him?"
His bushy brows mashed together. "Indeed I have. He is a known sympathizer of a dangerous man named Ben Hassan, a most destabilizing force in these parts."
Damn! I had said too much! But how could I have known? Sensing danger for my sheik, I once more held to half-truths. "Then you should be pleased to know that Ben Hassan also perished in the raid, felled by a knife to the back."
"And his followers?"
I gave a careless shrug. "Undoubtedly dispersed in the desert. What do I care, monsieur? I only desire to leave it all behind me."
"You say the Vicomte Saint Hubert rescued you during the raid? Where did he take you, mademoiselle? Where was this camp of his?"
I was treading on perilous ground.
"I could not say, monsieur. The Sahara is such a vast wasteland."
"Yet we must conduct inquiries," he persisted. "Surely given your two months in the desert, you must recall something of your surroundings. But then again, you have been through a great shock that has no doubt distressed your mind. Perhaps given sufficient time…you will remember more details."
"What do you mean? You intend to hold me?" I cried out in disbelief.
"You are no prisoner, but I must insist that you prolong your stay until we have conducted a proper search for this radical. You will be my most-honored guest until an expedition can be organized. "
"But Ben Hassan is dead!" I insisted.
"Sadly, your word is insufficient proof, mademoiselle. The leader of the insurgents must be located and put down. The security of this country depends upon it. I have my orders to find Ben Hassan, dead or alive. You have seen him, ergo, you can identify him. I will leave no stone unturned until I have located either the man…or his corpse…preferably the latter."
"Don't you understand? I have only just escaped captivity! I refuse to be your prisoner!"
He did not believe me. Somehow I must alleviate his mistrust. I had to convince him of my cooperation. I scrambled for anything that might cast off his growing suspicions. I thought of the desolate place where Gaston and I had been attacked.
"There was a small oasis near to the camp," I said, "a place with three broken palms that the Arabs believe is cursed. As you know, they are a ludicrously superstitious race."
He sneered his agreement. "They have the simple minds of infants, these people. Would you recognize this place?"
"Assuredly, monsieur." It was close enough to Omair's former camp to be believable but still far enough from Ahmed that his sentries would be able to give advance warning of any French attack.
"Bon." He smiled. "Then you will accompany the troops back to this place."
Moments later, I left the governor-general's office under armed guard and a haze of disbelief. For the second time, I had leaped out of the frying pan and into the fire.
***
"I cannot believe this! It's-it's simply untenable," I retorted.
Jim shook his head in mild chastisement. "If you had only let me handle this, you might have been on your way to Paris by now."
I paced the Persian carpet that adorned my luxurious prison. It was on the third story of the governor's mansion, accessible only by a single staircase where armed guards kept constant vigil. The furnishings were opulent, the walls were covered with colorful patches of mosaic delft from Italy and Tunisia, and the stone floors were Italianate in origin. I presumed my chambers were part of the former seraglio that housed the wives and concubines of the Bey of Algiers.
"You were right. I should have let you handle it, but sometimes my stubborn pride get
s the best of me."
I heaved a great sigh and looked out over the exotic landscaped terrace, but the perfume of desert blooms was anything but soothing to my senses. From my lofty vantage point, I could see the open desert in the far horizon. I wondered where Ahmed was. I wondered if he thought of me at all or if he had dismissed me from his mind forever. "What do you think they will do?" I asked.
"From a military standpoint? There is no question. The governor will seek out and summarily execute the chief architect of insurrection before he has a full-blown revolution on his hands. The natives' unrest has been brewing for years here and only had need of a strong leader. It appears they now have one."
Ahmed. A freedom fighter?
But it all made perfect sense. I now understood what he had been doing all along—working tirelessly to rally and organize the tribes in a rebellion against the French, who had controlled his country and suppressed the native population for nearly a century. I had not realized my sheik held such lofty ideals. His powerful persona was suddenly all the more compelling and romantic to me—and the danger to him all the more real.
"Diana," Jim stared at his hands, "I must ask you… I must know… What is between you and the Vicomte Saint Hubert?"
"What do you mean?"
"Is he my rival for your affections?"
"Saint Hubert?" I gave a light laugh.
Jim flushed deeper. "Deny it if you like, but I am neither blind nor naïve. Did he…?"
"No, Jim. I assure you there is absolutely nothing more than a close, platonic friendship between me and Saint Hubert." It was the first full truth I had told.
He gazed at me with hope-filled eyes. "Then is there any chance you may have had a change of heart?"
I looked down at the balcony directly below mine. It was a drop of only about ten feet and below that was an awning that provided shade over the terrace, an awning that appeared strong enough to cushion my fall. The gardens were surrounded by a wall that was at least fifteen feet high but unguarded. I was an exceptional climber, but the surface was smooth with no visible foot or handholds. Damn! If only I could contrive some means of scaling the wall, I could make my escape.
"I'm sorry, Jim," I replied absently. "I thought you understood. I have no heart."
That was also true. Although I had found the heart that I hadn't believed existed, I had left it far behind in the desert. If only I had a rope and a grappling hook. It was no good. I would never get over the wall.
I knew I could not escape the palace, but once in the desert, I was certain I could break away, especially with The Dancer, one of Ahmed's fleetest horses. He had given him to me the night before we arrived in Bou Saâda. "Keep him, sell him, do what you will, but he is yours," he had said. I wondered at the time if he despised me so much that he wanted no reminder of me.
My only fear was whether I could navigate my way back to his camp. I chewed my thumbnail in growing doubt but then reassured myself that if I could not find it, I only needed to make it back to Bou Saâda where the merchant Abdullah could surely send a message to warn the sheik. Warning him and repaying the life debt I owed was all I intended, after all—so I told myself.
I realized Jim had stopped speaking and remained silent for an unusually long stretch. "It was him, wasn't it?" he said woodenly.
"Him? Him who? What are you talking about?"
"Maybe I've been besotted but don't take me for a fool, Diana. It wasn't a bloody French vicomte, it was that barbarian Ben Hassan himself who brought you to Bou Saada, wasn't it?"
"Yes," I answered at length, unable to force another lie through my lips. "It was Ahmed Ben Hassan."
"You were with him all this time? In the camp of a rebel barbarian? All the time I worried and looked for you?"
"Mostly yes," I confessed. "But it was not by choice, I assure you! Moreover, I did not lie about my abduction by Omair, may his soul burn in hell. Ben Hassan rescued me from him."
"I daresay only so the blackguard could keep you for himself! Did he…did he…?" Jim raked his hair with an anguished groan. "For the love of God, please tell me that savage didn't violate you!"
"I was not raped," I replied impassively. "He did not force me to do anything."
Jim was no fool. He shut his eyes. "Then you were willing."
I hated to hurt him, but I hated deceit even more. "At times I was."
"Are you saying he didn't hold you against your will?"
"No. I didn't say that. I was indeed his captive, but I was not harmed—at least not physically."
"He mistreated you and held you against your will, yet you refuse to give him up to the authorities?"
"He also saved my life. Twice. No. I will not do it, Jim. I will not lead them to Ben Hassan."
"You have no choice if you ever wish to leave this place. You are one of few people who can identify this rebel-rouser now that his enemy Omair is dead."
"So Omair was to have delivered him to the French?"
"That is my understanding. The governor was not pleased about his death but will certainly use it to his advantage. If he can't pin this devil Ben Hassan for insurrection, he will surely prosecute him for murder." Another long pause. "Do you love him?"
"I owe him my life," I repeated. "Perhaps it had been for his own nefarious purposes, but Ahmed saved me when Aubrey conspired with Mustafa Ali and then he rescued me again from what would have been a fate worse than death at the hands of Ibraheim Omair. Only by repaying my life debt can I ever depart Algeria with a clear conscience. After that, I will surely make my way to Oran and board the first steamer to anywhere."
Jim rose with an expression of desolation. "If you return to the desert, I don't believe you will ever board that steamer."
"But I am going with the Cavalry and will be perfectly safe."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
"I do not understand."
He came to where I stood on the balcony and clasped both of my hands in his. "I am glad you are safe. Please know that I wish you all happiness with your sheik." This time he did not ask permission before his lips brushed mine. "Goodbye, Diana."
"Goodbye, Jim," I replied softly. "You are a good man and deserve much better than me."
***
Three days later I was in a large company of mounted legionnaires, the new Régiment Étranger de Cavalerie, a cadre comprised largely of White Russians who were the foundation of a new fighting force in Algeria. To his credit, the governor-general had not been fool enough to think he could fight Ahmed from the ground. While individually, the new recruits were no match for Ahmed's desert-acclimated fighting force, I guessed the regiment outnumbered his men by at least five to one. In the end , they had not needed me at all, having recruited a kinsman of Ibraheim Omair who was as motivated as a bloodhound to find and kill Ben Hassan. I feared a bloodbath if they managed to find and take him by surprise.
The troops were under the command of Colonel Perret, a misogynistic little Frenchman zealous of honors and promotion. Although the governor-general had ordered a guard over me, the colonel was lax in this regard and concerned himself about me as little as possible. As we drew closer to Ahmed's territory, Perret became increasingly preoccupied with his battle plan and had all but forgotten me. I did little to bring notice to myself, knowing it would play to my advantage.
It was on the fourth day that we reached the former camp of Ibraheim Omair, now nearly deserted but for the few scattered tents of camel drivers. We were only a few hours from the sad little oasis where Gaston and I had made our brave stand and maybe half a day's ride to Ahmed's camp. I had my bearings. The time had come to break away and warn Ahmed. I was well provisioned and had a fleet horse; now all I wanted was the proper opportunity to make my escape.
I waited quietly in my tent until most of the camp had settled for the night. It was no great difficulty to sneak through to the picket line. Cloaked in the black gandoura I had packed, I was nearly invisible. A couple of times I ducked low, hiding between
the horses as the sentry passed until at last I found The Dancer. Fearing his antics would attract attention, I led him as far away as I dared before throwing myself into the saddle. Once more, luck was with me. The sky was clear, and the moon shone almost full as I pointed my horse south.
The moment I was back in the saddle, I was able to shake off my nervous fears. I urged the grey with coaxing words as we raced through the night. I was glad for the cloak. The air was so cold I could see my breath, but only hours from now I would be once more under the scorching sun. Responding to my voice, The Dancer galloped untiringly. The silence and solitude of the night was broken only by his rhythmic hoof beats.
A chill wind sprang up, and I shivered from time to time, drooping more and more with fatigue as the miles passed. At times I was only half-conscious. I prayed I was going in the right direction. I saw a few jackals, a hyena lumbering away among some rocks, and then the whitening bones of a dead camel. A feeling of anxiety stirred faintly in my heart. This time I had no revolver to protect me.
I rode throughout the night, pushing my horse near to collapse, and drifted almost into oblivion, when I awakened with a jerk. The sun was rising, turning the sky into a glory of golden crimson. I was once more away from the level desert and was threading in and out of some low hills, which I feared were taking me away from the right course. The intricate turnings amongst the rocky hills soon became bewildering, and the low, narrow defile seemed to hem me in on all sides like labyrinth. The sun had risen several hours ago, and the merciless heat had set in. I began to despair of ever finding my way out when I rounded a sharp turn, and the rocks fell away to open country once more.
In the far distance I thought I perceived the faint, hazy outline of a tiny patch of trees. Was it a well?
I didn't even have to direct my horse, for he had already sensed the nearby presence of water, yet it was almost an hour before we finally reached the tiny oasis, where I drew enough for our immediate needs. There were only a few trees surrounding the well, but I was thankful for the water and any shelter from the burning sun. Hoping for a brief respite from the intense heat, I lay down to rest in a tiny patch of shade.
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