Blue Jasmine

by Violet Winspear

  `I wish to see you in this necklace.' His voice now held a note of command, and Fedjr the gazelle hound stirred against his knee. 'Not you, boy. I speak to the petite, who knows I can make her obey me.'

  `What will you do?' she asked. 'Put a rope around my neck and enforce my obedience?'

  `A rope of pearls,' he mocked. 'Shall I order Fedjr to fetch you to me? He may well mistake those ankles of yours for a gazelle's.'

  `Brute !' She tossed aside her book and walked slowly across to him. She stood like a statue in front of the divan, but was pulled down beside him and forced to endure his touch as he placed the chain of pearls about her neck. They gleamed like satin and each one was perfectly matched.

  `Cultured?' she murmured, daring his anger.

  He smiled rather dangerously. 'One day you will dare me too far, my girl. Each one of those pearls would keep an Arab family in food for months.'

  `Then please let your Arabs have them !' She went to remove the necklace, and at once his hand closed on her upraised arm. The amusement died out of his eyes and they glittered with all the tawny menace of a leopard's.

  `If you remove the pearls I shall bruise your arm,' he said through clenched teeth. 'They are a gift from me, and you will not insult me by refusing to wear them.'

  Her own teeth were clenched, for his fingers were digging into her arm and hurting her. 'Y . . . you tyrant,' she said. 'You must always have your own way.'

  `Lamentable,' he mocked. 'Would you have me give my kadin a string of date stones?'

  ... don't call me that!' She felt choked by his pearls and by the word, which meant girl slave.

  `You call me a tyrant.'

  `It applies !'

  `Well?' He held her eyes. 'Are you not my kadin?' `You made me so, and I hate you for it!'

  `The honey draws the bee, the flame the moth, the seductive woman the seduction of the man.' Amusement glimmered again in his eyes. 'Other women would be delighted to be chained by pearls.'

  `I am not other women.' Her lips quivered and she glanced down at the pearls and wondered from whose neck they had been torn long ago. The design of the necklace was antique and quite beautiful. A woman could have looped them about her hair, her throat, and her waist.

  `No, you are not like other women,' he said. 'Too many flaunt their charms. You I am discovering slowly, peeling the petals one by one from your secret heart.' He touched her heart and ran his vibrant fingers across her throat. She lifted a hand as if to shield herself from his touch, and at once he saw the bruises on her bare arm.

  `My doing?'

  `Who else but you?'

  `You bruise quickly, like a flower.' He put his lips to the marks. 'Let me hide them with a kiss, then with a bracelet.'

  From the carved box beside him he took a wide golden band set with blue gems. 'Lapis lazuli,' he murmured, and clasped her slender arm in the slave bracelet.

  He studied her, decked in silk and his barbaric jewellery. His gaze travelled all over her to the arching bareness of her small feet. 'There is a saying,' his breath stirred warm against her earlobe, 'that the rose remembers the dust from which it sprang. Are we not all primitive, even you with your cool skin and your eyes like blue flowers?'

  She felt his touch right through the silk that covered her, his eyes held hers, burning with the desert fires that her coolness could not discourage.

  `I wonder what you would be like, stirred into flame?' he murmured. 'Shall I stir you to flame, amiga?'

  His use of the Spanish endearment shook her. His face above hers, so darkly handsome, held her gaze and pierced her with its dark-lashed eyes, its mouth that was both passionate and a little cruel. She never touched him of her own free will, and she felt faint as there stole over her a sudden longing to touch his face that was like a sculpturing in warm bronze. She closed her eyes to shut out his face, feeling betrayed by her own inborn love of beauty. She felt his lips against her eyes. She heard him whisper to her in French. She trembled in his hard, warm embrace.

  `I go now to see if the grooms have bedded my golden stallion for the night.' He kissed her in the small hollow under her cheekbone. 'He is a beauty, eh? I might let you ride him when he is a little tamer. You would look well on him.'

  He arose before she could speak and went from the tent with the noiseless grace peculiar to him. The silence and the scent of sandalwood burning in the lamps settled around her. Her fingers plucked at the pearls and the lamplight shone in the blue jewels of the bracelet he had clasped about her arm. He was the strangest man. One moment he threatened and bruised her ... the next he offered to let her ride the golden stallion.

  She sank back against the cushions of the divan and let her weighted eyelids sink down over her eyes. Tomorrow he left for his friend's encampment and she knew that he intended to be away for several days. The thought was exciting. It sent a thrill of wildest hope running through her. She might, during those few days, find the opportunity to escape from this place at last!

  His chain of pearls felt heavy about her slender neck. She longed to throw them off, but she dare not risk angering him again tonight. He must be lulled into thinking it was safe to leave her.

  When he returned to the tent the night air had ruffled his hair, and she did not protest when he lifted her bodily from the divan. 'You are sleepy, eh?' His eyes smiled down into hers. 'Shall I carry you to bed, my little nimmf?

  Her heart beat -furiously against his . . . for always at night she grew afraid of this handsome barbarian ! She shrank from the smile on his lips, and the deep purr in his voice.

  `We ride at dawn,' he said as he set her down beside the bed on which lay a delicate sleeping shift. 'The Kaid is expecting to enjoy several days hunting, so I

  cannot take you with me.'

  She felt him looking at her and caught the note of warning in his voice ... she guessed that the Kiad would not approve of his young friend's guest, whom he had taken from her own people as a falcon of the desert might swoop on a pigeon.

  `Ahmed will be made to suffer if you do anything foolish,' he added.

  `I am sure Ahmed will watch my every movement with the eyes of a hawk,' she said. 'He has been given his orders, has he not? I am to be kept here until you grow tired of me.'

  A brown hand caught at the pearls that chained her. She was drawn close to him and subjected to a close, searching look. 'You would not find it pleasant to be lost in the desert, Lorna. Vultures follow the lonely traveller, and there are Arabs who would sell their own sisters into the harems of men who are far crueller, and far less fond of soap and water than I am.'

  With a soft laugh he let her go and went into the alcove to wash his hands. Lorna gave a shiver as she removed the pearls and the bracelet and heard him humming a song he was fond of. She had to get away from him ... at whatever the risk.

  A few stars still burned in the sky when the Shaikh and his retinue set out on their journey, and the palm trees stood dark against the pale sky.

  Lorna was wrapped in a riding cloak against the chill in the early morning air, and she and Kasim cantered a few yards ahead of his men. As they rode

  across the dawn-shadowed desert, the sands were cool and the enchantment of it sent a thrill of wonder through Lorna. This was not the first time she had ridden l'aube with the man at her side, but today she would wave goodbye to him . . . perhaps for ever.

  Her eyes beneath the encircling shesh were intense as violets, and she was glad that he rode silently beside her, absorbed in the desert spaces he loved beyond anyone.

  Ahmed was among the cloaked Arabs who rode behind them. He would be left in charge of her, the master's trusted aide-de-camp, whose vigilance Lorna was determined to escape. Already a plan was forming in her brain. Tomorrow she would pretend to have a slight fever and would keep to her bed. During the siesta hour, when the entire camp was sheltering from the intense heat, she would rip open the back of the tent with the scissors she used for altering her Eastern garments and steal away on any horse that was avail
able. She was now accustomed to the Arab horses, who were so swift on the wind that she had high hopes of getting away from the man who had captured her ... made her a slave to his commands.

  `You are quiet.' She gave a start when all at once he spoke to her. 'What are you plotting?'

  Her heart raced. The man had an uncanny gift for reading her mind, a further invasion of the privacy and independence she had valued so much.

  `The dawn light over the desert always leaves me spellbound,' she replied. 'It's so mysterious somehow—the way it must have been when Adam and Eve first saw it.'

  `Eternally the same and yet it never palls.' The keen, tawny eyes flashed over her shesh-encircled face, a pale heart within the yards of fine muslin. 'As I have said before, the desert is like a woman, but only a very unusual type of woman never grows tiresome. Will you miss me when I am away from you?'

  `Do you want an honest answer?' she parried.

  `No.' He gave a rather curt laugh. 'I know you won't pine for me, but are you not curious to know if I shall miss my bint with the sunny hair and the stormy heart?'

  `I daresay your friend the Kaid will offer distractions that will be far more to your liking. You are not a man of emotion, Prince Kasim, you are a man of action. To you I am a creature to be tamed. Once you have bowed my head.. .'

  `You know why I took you,' he cut in. 'You know why I keep you. In a white shesh you are like a sister to the dawn itself—see how it spreads like a blush, slowly, drowning the pale sands in softest pink.'

  It was a wonderful, awesome sight, for the rising sun was a curve of red-gold, spreading a radiance that outlined the sand hills and spilled violet shadows in the hollow places. The stars had almost faded, all but one that burned overhead as if transfixed in the golden sky.

  Lorna's eyes shone. A love of the unusual ran in her blood and she thought of her father, painting such a scene during his sojourn in the desert. A sigh escaped her.

  For what do you sigh?'

  'Oh...' She avoided a meeting with his eyes. For eggs and bacon and a cup of tea.'

  `You continually amuse me,' he said with a laugh. They had set out on cups of coffee, now he wheeled his horse and for a moment man and mount were outlined vividly against the sunrise. He raised a hand and everyone halted. They would make camp for an hour, he informed them. He pointed at some sandstone rocks, carved by the desert winds into strange shapes. 'The lella wishes to take breakfast in the desert.'

  The men glanced at each other. It was plain that they had not hoped for a break before mid-morning, and Lorna saw them smile and nod knowingly. More than once had she heard it whispered by them that the Shaikh was bewitched by her.

  She glanced at him as they galloped towards the sandstone rocks and she remembered little confusing things about him. How he could often charm her with his conversation. How he would bring her a fluffy saluki puppy to play with, or come striding into the tent with a laughing brown child astride his shoulder . . .

  `I am rather hungry myself,' he smiled. 'It's our keen desert air.'

  When the rocks were reached, everyone dismounted and a tamarisk fire was soon alight and the coffee pots were set to heat. A large pan was unpacked and small lamb cutlets and onions were soon frying over the fire and emitting a mouth-watering aroma.

  The Shaikh leaned against a rock a little distance from the camp site, a striking figure in his white robes and head cloth, with a dark blue cloak thrown back over one shoulder.

  Lorna breathed the aroma of the food cooking over the tamarisk fire, and the spiciness that seemed to arise out of the pores of the desert. The rolling sands, the illimitable blue sky, and the tall man against the rocks blended to form a picture she would never really forget. A man who was as relentless and unpredictable as the desert itself.

  She flicked her riding-whip at a bush, and then she stared as something crawled dark and crooked from a crevice in the rocks where the Prince lounged, head bent to the cigarette he was lighting. He was unaware of the crawling object, and Lorna knew that the thing so close to him was a black scorpion, whose sting was deadly. -

  It might sting the man and free her today . . . for ever. All the vigorous life and vitality would be sapped out of his lithe and splendid body by the poison in the scorpion's sac....

  `Kasim,' his name broke from her, 'there's a scorpion crawling beside you!'

  He saw it the instant she warned him and flicked his burning cigarette at it. The black thing fell to the ground and was crushed completely beneath his riding boot, for even in its death throes a black scorpion could inflict a painful death.

  Slowly he glanced up and gazed for a long, wordless moment at Lorna. 'Why did you warn me? That ugly thing would have been a far more deadly agent than a badly aimed knife.'

  She shrugged and dragged her gaze away from his. Her fingers clenched her whip. 'I shouldn't want my

  worst enemy to die in agony from the sting of a scorpion.'

  `Your worst enemy is grateful.' He came to her in a single stride and took hold of her hand. The incident of the scorpion had escaped the notice of his men, but several pairs of eyes saw him raise Lorna's hand to his lips.

  `Don't!' She snatched her hand from his.

  A coffee pot fell with a crash from the hand of a startled Arab. No one defied the Prince Kasim, least of all a slip of a hint. But upon this occasion the master accepted the rebuff ... he even smiled a brief sardonic smile.

  They ate a tasty breakfast together, and then he said that he and his retinue would ride on. Ahmed would escort the lella back to the encampment.

  He then drew Lorna to one side, shackling her wrist with fingers she could not escape from. 'You must give me your word that you will not slip away from Ahmed and lose yourself in the desert. You have no real knowledge of how to fend for yourself in such a vast and dangerous place. Anything could happen to you.'

  `I'm already aware of that, mon maitre,' she murmured.

  `Little fool !' He seemed to check an impulse to shake her. 'If I can't have your promise, then I shall have to take you with me and you will not enjoy being shut up with a lot of strange women while I go out hunting with the Kaid. Come, make your choice !'

  At once Lorna saw her chance of escape slipping away from her and she looked quite desperate when

  she said to him 'I promise to be good ! Please, don't force me to go with you . . . it would so embarrass me.'

  `Yes, I know how you feel.' He tilted her chin with his hand and searched her eyes. 'That is the reason why I hesitate to leave you. You are impulsive—'

  `I have learned, Prince Kasim, that your will is law,' she broke in. 'Will you be so cruel as to take me among people I don't know, as your English hint who hadn't the sense to keep out of the way of horse thieves and—'

  `Garden bien, you had better not say it !' His hand gripped painfully. 'A while ago you saved my life and I am in your debt. Return with Ahmed. Ride with him whenever you wish. The rest is with le destin.'

  He drew away from her and straightened the folds of his cloak. There was a stillness about him that was not so much anger as resignation. Desert men believed deeply in kismet and Lorna knew that Kasim was no exception.

  He gave the signal for everyone to mount, and after assisting Lorna into the saddle of her horse, he swung into his own saddle and gripped the reins with lean brown hands. His nostrils flared as he breathed the wild and spicy air. His tawny eyes flashed over the landscape, a shimmering ocean of sand, rising and falling in billows of beaten gold.

  `The desert is not always so calm,' he said to Lorna.

  `Very often such calmness is the prelude to a storm.'

  `It looks very wonderful at the moment,' she said.

  `Most of the things we think wonderful have an

  element of danger in them.' His eyes held hers, and

  the straight black line of his brows intensified their brilliance. 'Au 'voir,' was all he said, and she sat still and straight in the saddle as he rode off without looking back, leaving her in
the charge of Ahmed The riding cloaks billowed out in the desert wind and sand was thrown up in fine clouds beneath the hooves of the horses. Then she wheeled her own horse.

  `Let us go,' she said to Ahmed, and she saw from the sullen set to his face that he was not pleased at being left behind to look after her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AT the brush of her boot her mount was away like the wind, but Ahmed's raw-boned horse was not to be outdistanced and he was at her heels as she galloped into camp and slipped from the saddle outside the grande tente. She caught at her shesh and pulled it off, and her hair caught the sun and seemed to hold it. Put away my horse,' she said to Ahmed. 'I . . . I feel a little tired.'

  He inclined his head, a sullen light in his eyes as they rested on her face. As Hassan emerged from the tent she added to her play-acting. 'How warm it is.' She pressed a hand to her forehead. 'I . . . I hope I'm not going down with a fever.'

  She entered the tent in a listless manner and Hassan followed in some concern. 'Can I get anything for madame?' he asked.

  `No.' She dropped down on to the divan and leaned her head back. 'I shall be all right. I may have a touch of the sun.'

  `A toubib has arrived from Sidi Kebir, unaware that the Prince Kasim would be away. Would madame like to see him"?'

  `A doctor?' Her eyes met Hassan's in astonishment. `A French doctor?'

  `Arabian, madame. He does much good work at Sidi Kebir, where my lord's father is the Emir. He comes here to take a look at those who are sick, and who need to have teeth removed.'

  Lorna stared at the tips of her boots, deep in the pile of the carpet. She was putting on an act and did not feel feverish, but her cheeks grew hot at the thought of meeting this doctor. He might not be aware that an English girl was here in camp, and it rushed over her that she was not prepared to face anyone from the city where Kasim's father and sister lived.

  `I don't need a doctor,' she said. 'I shall keep to the tent, Hassan, and please ensure that I am not disturbed.'