Desert Hostage

by Diane Dunaway

"I'm not frightened!" Juliette declared. "But it is perfectly plain you don't approve of me, so why do you want to see me tomorrow or any day?"

  Both his eyebrows arched. "Why does any man want to call upon a woman? I find you charming, mademoiselle," and with a slight bow and a smile, he reached to kiss her hand.

  Surprising even herself, Juliette pulled away as if he were a snake. Her back was stiff though she didn't retreat.

  "I see," he said withdrawing, a touch of amusement in his-voice. "Perhaps we will not make any plans now. But we will meet another time. Possibly then I can convince you, but for now, au revoir."

  And before Juliette could speak, he bowed again in a way that seemed to Juliette somehow sinister. Then turning, he was heading away from her, back down the path.

  Chapter 24

  In his villa Brandon stood on a high balcony overlooking the sea and a wide stretch of sandy shoreline a hundred meters below.

  Dawn was unfolding in a glow of pink that washed across the sky and, leaning against the railing, Brandon was aware of the high-pitched calls of birds echoing against the cliff as they swept open-winged above the rolling waves, disappearing and reappearing in and out of fog pockets that hung in the still air.

  Sunrise was Brandon's solitary hour, a time he typically spent reviewing, considering, and planning matters of importance and, this morning, he was particularly thoughtful as with one hand he unbuttoned his waistcoat and loosened his cravat.

  During the course of the previous evening he had arranged to be introduced to a M. Jean Bouleseur, a man he knew to be arranging for a shipment of arms to the French-arms his spies had informed him were destined for French forts in the Sahara.

  Then once he was conversing with the man, it had been a simple matter to engage him in a game of cards. Pulling .a cheroot out of a box to his left, Brandon bit it between his teeth before striking a match along the railing with a hiss and a flash of sulphur.

  How childish these Europeans were, he thought. Give them enough to drink and let them win at foolish games, and they were willing to tell you anything. It had been easier to find out the names of those responsible for guarding the shipment and the details of their route than it was to lose the first series of play. And it became easier yet to then recoup his losses and, having learned all he wished to know, relieve the easily flustered Frenchman of five thousand francs.

  Then, playing his quarry like an exhausted fish, Brandon let him gain a little before making him lose it all again, and finally, near four this morning, M. Bouleseur had given up and ended the game.

  "Of course you must not tell any Englishmen what I have told you, Monsieur Phillips," he warned, with a short nervous laugh. "That would be disastrous. But of course you are a Frenchman too, no? And Frenchmen understand such things."

  Brandon nodded. "You have my word. I assure you I would never consider telling the English."

  So the naive monsieur had gone his way. And now Brandon’s eyes narrowed as he took a long puff of the cheroot before opening the first three buttons of his shirt. Of course it would be easiest to destroy the shipment before it reached the Tripoli coast. But if that wasn't possible, then he would simply have to confiscate the rifles himself. Clearly he had no choice. Those guns must not reach their destination.

  Leaning against the railing, Brandon meditatively puffed his cheroot as he planned each step-whom he must contact, the men he would need, the strategy he would employ.

  Minutes ticked past as the sky turned a deeper pink. Then, of its own accord, Brandon's inner eye focused on quite another image-on the face of Juliette Thorpe as he had last seen her, eyes wide and indignant, her cheeks flushed.

  He scowled, and continued scowling. Normally he never gave more than polite attention to any woman unless he wanted to make her his mistress, and even then he gave the project no more time than necessary. He could never remember any female distracting his thoughts like this one. Furthermore, it was now clear her conquest would require more attention than he normally considered warranted by any woman.

  He shook his head, forcing those deep blue eyes-were her irises actually striped violet? And that full red mouth out of his mind. Women were typically his last priority-a form of recreation. The French must be his concern at the moment, and those rifles. And he couldn't forget the Hussar either, since his spies had told him they were venturing further and more often out of their territory.

  It was rumored a large force was gathering. And their cleverness could not be underestimated. Already some of the Hussar warriors had diabolically disguised themselves as members of the Assar tribe and, in a sudden night raid, stolen some of the younger and prettier women from the neighboring Babir tribe. It was days later that the true identity of the villains became known as Hussar, but in the meantime, the Babir had nearly entered a war with the Assar, an action that would have ended an alliance of eighty years.

  The muscles of Brandon's jaw tightened as he considered the incident. How easily all the strides toward Arab unity could be lost, and he was so far away. Any day the Hussar might attempt a similar tactic and succeed.

  Raising his head, he looked out across the sky as it turned from pink to shades of gold. Then leaning over the railing, he tried to get a better look at the mounted figure splashing in the shallow waves.

  Was his desire playing tricks on him? Was it an apparition? Or was it indeed Juliette Thorpe, disappearing into a thicket of fog before emerging out the other side.

  He had seen only glimpses of her the last several days, but there was no mistaking her coming closer, riding a large chestnut, her legs swinging free of the stirrups, her long, unbound, hair flying in the breeze and catching the sunlight as it topped the horizon and poured over.

  The waves traveled up the shore, turning to mercury and reflecting gold and red as Brandon's eyes followed her as if held by a magnet. Since the day she had refused the necklace, he had tried to forget her. She was a different type to him, a respectable woman, and the sort which usually interested him not at all. But while she had decidedly taken a dislike to him, he found her coming to mind more and more often.

  How brash she could be, like the desert wind in summer, while, paradoxically, she had most recently been avoiding him with the shyness, of a gazelle. It had amused him to watch her enter a room only to leave when she detected his presence. She had even altered her direction several times when their paths would have crossed.

  Women never avoided him. Why did she?

  Purposely he had never been forward, never taken her into his arms or caressed her as he would have liked. He had imagined her reserve would have vanished by now. Yet she still avoided his company, while certainly she was not so standoffish with others. And there were many others men who spoke to her whenever they met, taking her hand and sometimes kissing it. On the contrary, she didn't seem to mind how many of them flocked around her.

  Her hair was blowing out behind her now in a sparkling golden veil as her horse came out of the water and broke into a brisk trot that took her up the beach. Brandon's frown deepened. In fact, Juliette Thorpe seemed on quite friendly terms with several of these other men, he thought, recalling how only yesterday she had been laughing and talking with one of them in particular. His jaw tightened. Then turning, he spoke over his shoulder. "Rashid!-bring my horse."

  PART V

  THE CHASE

  Chapter 25

  The glory of sunrise had turned into bright daylight as Juliette rode up a narrow sandy path that ascended a cliff and then leveled out to a gradual incline.

  Thinking her own thoughts, she glanced back over her shoulder at the wide vista of the sea receding further and further below, and then around her at the abundant donkey grass as she breathed in its subtle, earthy fragrance.

  Reaching the crest of a rise, Juliette pulled the stallion to a halt, aware of the steady hum of insects and tiny brown butterflies flitting in busy profusion. Ahead was a stand of trees and bushes that appeared to grow denser further inland. For some t
ime there had been no path to guide her, and now she impulsively gave her horse his head, and watched to see where he would go on his own.

  Feeling his mistress's hands relax against his bit, High Times responded first by stretching and breaking into a purposeful trot in the direction of the trees. Dropping the reins, Juliette playfully spread her arms out like wings, the wind lifting her hair and sweeping it back from her face as she posted up and down to the steady pace and hummed a song her father used to sing.

  The desert sand, the desert sky we march along as days go by Don't try, my dear, to hold me fast, my kisses and my love won't last. ...

  She would have continued, but her concentration on the song was interrupted as High Times snuffed loudly and pulled to one side. Still Juliette let him go, wondering what he had smelled, ducking her head as they entered a grove of trees, and sitting his smooth trot as he wended his way in and out among them, leaping over a fallen log before nudging his way through a stand of thick ferns.

  Between the parted branches a pool emerged and, walking to finally stop at its edge, High Times dropped his muzzle into the cool water and drank, tiny rings expanding outward with every swallow.

  The pool was perhaps twenty feet across and dappled with sunlight through the leafy canopy of trees overhead. Water lilies dotted its surface, and boulders, like giant steps, emerged out of the water on the far side.

  "So this is what you smelled," Juliette said dismounting and giving the chestnut's shiny neck a pat as he raised his water-streaming lips.

  Enchanted by the idyllic scene, Juliette walked along the pond's edge, carefully keeping her boots out of the mud as she bent and trailed slender fingers in the water. It was cool, but not chilling, and very clear. Moving to the side where a tiny stream ran into it, Juliette made a scoop of her hands and drank deeply.

  It was sweet in her dry throat, and she drank another scoopful before standing up again and tentatively looking from side to side. This was such an isolated, out-of-the-way place, she thought. There weren't even trails leading here to suggest it was frequented by anyone.

  The midday Spanish sun, directly overhead now, had grown intensely warm and the clear pond seemed so beautiful, so inviting. Wouldn't it feel lovely to have its fresh coolness all over her too-warm flesh?

  Again her eyes darted around, but there was not a sign of human presence now, or even recently. So, unable to resist the temptation, she sat herself down on a low rock and pulled off her long buttoned boots and all her clothes, draping them over the ferns before wading into the welcoming freshness.

  It was even deeper than she anticipated, and walking until she couldn't touch bottom, Juliette swam with wide reaching strokes to where the sun, coming through the branches above the pond, dappled a clump of water lilies.

  She plucked one, tucking it behind one ear, and treading water, examined the blooms, noticing there were three distinct shades, lavender, deep purple, and a pink one with a purple throat.

  Their spicy scent brightened the air, bringing several bees flitting delicately onto their petals and plunging into their recesses in search of the goodness within. Moving away, Juliette swam to the far side of the pond to the boulders. Then with a little leap and kick, she propelled herself up onto the surface of the lowest rock, settling herself comfortably in the shade before leaning her head back against a higher rock.

  Contentedly, she listened to the stream gurgling a few yards away and to the haunting coos of doves overhead, as she watched a pair of dragonflies dance about in the air.

  Dreamlike, the moments slipped past, until suddenly she was startled by a movement among the trees on the opposite bank. Her head jerked up to scan the stand of ferns on the opposite side. And now, unmistakably, she heard the sound of hooves muffled against the damp ground.

  A pang of fear gripped her. Noiselessly, she slipped back into the pond, taking a breath before dropping into the water so only her wide eyes and forehead were visible. Then squeezing herself against the rock, she held perfectly still.

  Possibly it was only a passerby-someone who would not notice her-or even a lost cow. But when the footsteps came closer, and the branches of a large fern parted, her startled gaze found none other than Brandon Phillips, guiding his horse into the clearing like a stalking animal.

  Juliette clung tighter to the rock, praying he would realize his intrusion and go, even as she cursed her own foolishness. But instead, he dismounted and walked to the pond's edge. Black boots in a wide stance, hands on hips, he glanced only briefly at the ferns drooping under the weight of her clothes before his mocking gaze scanned the pond and came to rest directly on her.

  Juliette's heart charged frantically as his eyebrows arched. There could be no more attempts to hide and, with a splash, she turned away, shielding her breasts with her arms and looking back over her shoulder.

  "Why have you followed me?" she flared, blushes coloring her cheeks. "What rights have you to intrude on my privacy?"

  The large man's eyes sparkled and his smile broadened in a show of white teeth. "It's true I followed you. But I never expected to find so charming a scene. Believe me, I am surprised as you, although I imagine more pleasantly. You make a lovely wood nymph. It suits you better than being a boy."

  Juliette glowered, blinking back tears of humiliation in her reddening eyes. He was so completely unabashed! Any other man would have retreated at once with a profusion of apologies. He was mad! Yes, mad!

  "I am not a boy!" she said in a tight voice.

  "Yes. That is much more apparent now."

  "And not a nymph either! And ... Oh! I don't care what I look like to you and I-"

  "I'm sure you don't. You want me to go, don't you?" he interrupted as he sat down on a nearby rock, stretching his booted legs before him as casually as if meeting her at a garden party instead of here, in this ridiculous situation with only the thin shield of her hair floating around her in a spreading fan.

  "And I do intend to go," he was saying. "But first, I want to know why you have been avoiding me."

  Juliette's color deepened. "If you had any decency, monsieur, you wouldn't be asking me such a rude question."

  "Rude?" he repeated. "I'm surprised you bring up the topic of rudeness when you have been so completely rude to me. Or is it customary for you English to avoid someone as obviously as you have been avoiding me? Am I really so repulsive?"

  "Of course not, and I haven't been exactly avoiding you, not . . , not really."

  "No?" His eyes grew serious and accusing. "Then why did you leave yesterday from the terrace when I came to luncheon or the tennis courts the day before. And why did you avoid my path in the garden afterward? Don't you think you have been quite rude? It seems if I want to speak to you I have to resort to-alternative means." He smiled

  and spread his arms palms up in a patently French gesture, "Et voilà!"

  The fact that all he said was true only served to infuriate Juliette more as she felt herself trapped. She hadn't realized he had seen her those times in the garden or at luncheon. Certainly he had not appeared to notice. Yet how could she deny the truth?

  She drew back deeper into the shadows of the rocks though she lifted her chin as she said, "You have no right to be here, no right to question me! This is an outrage! I demand you go immediately!"

  She was horrified when she heard him suddenly laugh. "Demand?" And more softly, "Demand?" he repeated in mock dismay. "My poor Juliette. In your present circumstance it is impossible to `demand' anything from me. But I will offer you a bargain."

  "What do you mean `bargain'?" she snapped.

  "I mean, since you seem to want to get rid of me, I will promise to go on the condition that you do me the honor of dancing with me at the French ambassador's ball tomorrow night."

  "You have gone mad, monsieur!" she burst out. "You expect me to dance with you after . . . after this! You are . . . I find myself disliking you intensely and ..:"

  "Of course you're angry with me now," he interrupted. "But
I'm trying to make amends. Anyway, isn't it clear you have no choice?"

  Juliette's mouth compressed to a narrow line. "No?" she said braving him with a steady look. "What if I refuse?"

  Phillips's black eyes shone as if he found the alternative preferable. "Then I will wait here until you get cold enough, or tired enough to come out. I don't think you can stay in there very long. I can be a patient man-although it is possible that I might become impatient and come in after you. The decision is yours. But either way, we are certain to know each other better."

  Juliette wanted to scream, to spit in his face. But what difference did her anger make now? She was undone and they both knew it. Would he really come in and drag her out-naked? No, impossible. He was bluffing-or was he?

  And even if he didn't do that, he could easily let it be known that he had discovered her swimming naked in a woodland pond. It was the sort of sensational talk that quickly passed from one to another, creating a storm of scandal. A juicy tidbit such as that wouldn't damage M. Phillips's reputation, while it would tear hers to shreds. She could never forget that her freedom depended on the absence of such talk. Her eyes appeared twice their normal size when she finally spoke.