The Lion's Embrace

by Marie Laval

  ‘I think it’s wiser not to oppose Mortemer just now. There has been a lot of unrest in the north of the country and—’

  ‘If you are too much of a coward to stop him, then I will order our guards to throw boiling oil onto them,’ Rose started. ‘I will shoot him myself from the town walls and I don’t care if the French take me to prison for it. That man killed my father.’

  ‘Rose, this isn’t the time or the place,’ Saintclair’s mother pleaded, her voice shaking.

  ‘I will slip a nadjda in his bed, a scorpion in his boot. I will poison his food with falazlez leaves and he’ll die a raving lunatic,’ the girl carried on, oblivious.

  Her whole body trembled, her eyes flashed with fury. She turned to her brother. ‘At least, I’ll do something. I won’t run away and hide like you did.’

  Saintclair stood up so abruptly his chair fell back behind him and smashed on the tiled floor, and he walked out, a stormy look on his face.

  ‘That was unfair, Rose,’ Saintclair’s mother said before turning to Alfie and Harriet.

  ‘I apologise for this unpleasant scene, Miss Montague, Mr Drake.’

  She ordered her daughter to come with her. The girl bowed her head and followed her mother out without protest.

  ‘By God, what was all that about?’ Archie asked. Without waiting for an answer, he helped himself to some more wine and a large piece of halva sprinkled with raisins and almonds.

  The sweet smell of the pudding made Harriet heave.

  ‘I need some fresh air,’ she whispered, rubbing her forehead.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you, dear?’

  ‘No, it’s just a headache, I will be fine. Finish your meal.’

  She retraced her steps along the corridor to the courtyard and followed a path to the gardens at the back of the house. Tonight like every night, the moon and the stars were so bright she didn’t need any oil lamp or lantern to guide her. She found a parapet overlooking the oasis at the far end of the garden and sat down.

  Saintclair had been right when he said nights were magical here. The view of the hundreds of palm trees bathed in silvery moonlight was worthy of a fairy tale.

  And yet anxiety tightened her chest, knotted her stomach. Would Lieutenant Mortemer be the evil genie who wreaked chaos and destruction on this enchanting oasis?

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘You can find anything and everything in the medina,’ Rose stated, waving at the leather belts and scabbards, the finely chiselled silver jewellery and colourful woven rugs. ‘Even a wife or a husband, if you stand in the market square long enough!’ Her deep blue eyes sparkled and dimples appeared in her round cheeks as she smiled.

  Saintclair’s sister had nominated herself her guide for the day and was taking her role very much to heart. Determined to show Harriet the old town with its bazaar, workshops, food stalls and market, she walked fast and talked incessantly. She was in a much better mood than the night before.

  ‘I used to say Lucas would have to stand on the market square for weeks before a woman picked him for a husband, and then only a crazy old crone would have him.’

  Harriet laughed wholeheartedly. Rose had been regaling her with tales of her brother’s youthful exploits, and there had been many. Her good humour was contagious.

  ‘He was always creating havoc with his climbing contests in the palm tree plantation, his camel races on the steppes or his spear-throwing tournaments. He even ran away on a mule once, only to get stuck in the salt marshes. My father had to send a search party for him. He said he wanted to see Algiers! And I don’t even count the times he escaped our father’s vigilance to hunt lions on his own or with Ahmoud.’

  She smiled again, but this time her eyes were dreamy.

  ‘Anyway, it seems I was wrong. My brother never had to stand on the marketplace to find himself a woman,’ she finished with a shrug. ‘There were always far too many girls chasing after him, although I never understood what they ever saw in him.’

  She led the way through the narrow streets, pointing out the many stalls where a particularly fine roll of cloth, a colourful woven rug or silver pendants caught her attention.

  ‘These would look pretty on you.’ She held out a pair of earrings. ‘My dress does suit you, by the way. It’s far prettier than your tunic and breeches.’ Rose had lent Harriet a pale blue silk dress while her clothes were being laundered.

  ‘I think he likes you, you know,’ Rose declared all of a sudden.

  ‘Who?’

  Rose shrugged. ‘Lucas, of course.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ Harriet protested. ‘He says I am obstinate, annoying and stupid, and he is always trying to find excuses to send me back to Algiers.’

  ‘Exactly. He likes you. He wouldn’t waste his breath talking to you otherwise.’ Rose lifted her chin. ‘Come on, let’s see if we can find the Ouled Nail dancers. I bet you’ve never seen the likes of them.’

  She leaned over to Harriet and lowered her voice. ‘Mother doesn’t want me watching them, she says they are awfully indecent, but I’ll let you in on my secret.’ Playfully, she lifted a strand of Harriet’s hair to whisper into her ear. ‘I can dance just like them, and I have been told I’m rather good.’

  There were no dancers on the square that day, but Rose assured Harriet they would probably be performing in the town taverns in the evening.

  ‘Don’t look back. I think you have an admirer,’ she whispered in Harriet’s ear as they stood looking at a display of leather belts. ‘He has been following us all morning.’

  ‘Really? What is he like?’

  ‘Tall, but I can’t see if he is handsome or not because he is wearing a cheche.’ She pouted.

  ‘Maybe it’s you he is following. You are very pretty, you know.’

  Rose blushed. ‘No, he is definitely watching you.’ She frowned. ‘That’s strange. I could swear he has blue eyes.’

  Harriet gasped. Could it be the same man she had seen before? She turned around but the man had gone.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done, you frightened him away,’ Rose said. ‘He must be very shy.’

  Rose linked arms with her and they made their way back to the house for lunch, walking under the palm branches placed on the houses’ flat roofs and across the alleyways to provide shade. Harriet kept glancing over her shoulder. She had an uneasy feeling about the man Rose had said was following them.

  The house was empty. The men had gone to buy fresh horses for the journey to the south and Saintclair had planned a tour of the estate with his mother.

  After lunch, Harriet took her sketch pad and sat alone in the garden since Rose had some studying to do.

  The garden was ablaze with red and orange flowers, and shaded by large palm trees, almond and pistachio trees fluffy with pink and white blooms. It overlooked the oasis, which stood like an island of fresh green against the dramatic backdrop of bare, arid hills. She had found it beautiful in the moonlight. It was just as breathtaking in the daytime.

  She drew a few sketches of the plantation and the garden, enjoying the caress of the scented breeze on her skin, before reclining on the wicker seat and closing her eyes. Lulled by the rustling of palms in the breeze, the sound of the water trickling in the fountain and the rhythmical, woody noise of the cicadas, she didn’t even realize she was falling asleep.

  It was late afternoon when she woke. The sky was pale blue, the light a dusty, transparent gold. Saintclair sat on the parapet close to her, still as a statue, his arms crossed on his chest, his expression unreadable.

  Startled, she put a hand to her heart, straightened in her chair. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

  Smoothing her hair away from her face, she got up and came to stand next to him.

  He unfolded his arms. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

  ‘I can’t get used to your habit of sneaking up on people.’

  ‘One day you’ll thank me for it.’ He looked down at her. ‘You look different with a dress
on.’

  She felt she was blushing, but he had already turned away.

  He pointed at the steppes where a long convoy of cavaliers and carts stretched among clouds of dust.

  ‘Mortemer is here. He’ll probably pay us a visit tonight. He knows we are at Bou Saada.’

  ‘How can he know?’

  ‘He has spies, of course. Hakim said he saw a group of riders on the salt plains yesterday. The route I chose was well off the beaten track, so they had to be following us.’

  Could the man who she thought was watching over her be one of Mortemer’s spies?

  ‘What about Rose?’ she asked. ‘I heard what she said last night…’

  He glanced at her, frowned. ‘Rose will be kept well away from him, and from any food or drink he may be served. Not that I’d mind if she poisoned him.’

  His lips stretched into a joyless smile. ‘Maybe I too should steer clear of her. She made no secret about her feelings towards me.’

  The sadness in his voice touched her heart. She put her hand on his forearm. The need to comfort him, to erase all traces of sorrow from his eyes was so overwhelming it took her breath away.

  ‘You’re wrong, Rose adores you. She told me stories about you this morning.’

  He lifted his eyebrows, but his expression was guarded. ‘What kind of stories?’

  ‘Some mishaps you got into when you were young. It was all very entertaining.’ She forced a smile. ‘Your sister is a lovely girl.’

  He caught her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth. ‘She isn’t the only one.’

  Her smile froze, her heart thundered.

  His lips brushed the palm of her hand, her wrist. The feel of his mouth, of the harsh stubble on his cheeks against her delicate skin, sent tingles all over her body. He looked deep into her eyes as if he was daring her to withdraw her hand.

  She swallowed hard, her throat dry and tight. She didn’t want to pull away. She craved his mouth on hers and his arms around her, like the other night. Desire rushed through her veins like a fever. She started trembling.

  He let her hand drop. ‘I have to go.’

  She cleared her throat, tried to focus. ‘Of course…’

  Before turning away, he pointed to her sketch pad and added, ‘You really do have a talent. Make sure you keep enough paper for the Hoggar, the lost oases of the Sahara, and the Tuaregs… you must draw the Tuaregs.’

  ‘I will,’ she whispered, watching his tall, black clad silhouette disappear down the path.

  Right now, he was the only man she wanted to draw. Sitting on the parapet, the pad in her lap, frowning with intense concentration, she traced the harsh lines of his face—from his crystal blue eyes to the line of his mouth—as if she could engrave it in her heart forever.

  ‘You’re not welcome here, Lieutenant.’ Lucas kept his hand firmly on his mother’s shoulder for support. He could feel her body shake even if her stony expression gave nothing away of the turmoil she suffered inside.

  He had met Mortemer many times over the last five years and had gotten used to fighting the urge to beat him to a pulp. He had found other ways to carry out his revenge against the Lieutenant and the French army who had destroyed his family. His mother, however, had never seen him before. When his men had brought back her husband’s body on an ox-drawn cart after the massacre of In-Sba, Mortemer hadn’t thought it necessary to ride to Bou Saada and explain what had happened.

  ‘I won’t impose upon you very long.’ Mortemer bowed deeply, holding his navy blue hat in his gloved hands as if he were at a reception at the governor’s palace in Algiers. ‘Madame Saintclair, I didn’t have the chance to express my regrets and condolences for your loss.’

  Lucas’ mother nodded. ‘No, you didn’t.’ Her tone was icy. She didn’t invite Mortemer to sit in one of the wicker armchairs in the room, nor did she offer him any refreshment.

  As if he understood he had already overstayed his welcome, the Lieutenant went straight to the point.

  ‘I came to assure you of the protection of the French army in these difficult times, Madame,’ he started. ‘There has been much unrest in the country lately. Abd-el-Kader was sighted not very far from here last week, and one of his men escaped from a nearby penitentiary… However, I can promise you that Bou Saada is safe. I have decided to leave a permanent garrison of seventy men in the bordj, together with an ammunition depot large enough to sustain repeated attacks by rebels and five pieces of artillery.’

  ‘Artillery? Surely that is unnecessary. We’ve never had any reason to fear Abd-el-Kader or his men here, Lieutenant,’ Lucas’ mother retorted. ‘Bou Saada is a peaceful town.’

  ‘It is also a crossroads for nomads, travellers, and, unfortunately, rebels,’ Mortemer objected. ‘The performance and versatility of our light shell cannons have been proven already on many battlefields already.’

  ‘Bou Saada isn’t a battlefield!’ she protested.

  ‘Will the cannon be kept on the walls or in the bordj?’ Lucas interrupted. He removed his hand from his mother’s shoulder and dug a cigar out of his pocket.

  ‘We will keep them in the barracks which are going to be extended and fortified. Until then, they are under armed guard in an outbuilding.’

  ‘Hmm…’ Lucas lit his cigar, blew the smoke out slowly. ‘Isn’t it a little risky? What if Abd-el-kader got hold of them?’

  Mortemer narrowed his eyes. ‘There is no chance of that. I will make sure of it. Well, I won’t keep you any longer, Madame.’

  Turning to Lucas, he added. ‘When are you leaving with your English clients?’

  ‘Tomorrow at dawn.’

  ‘I will see you again, then. I am travelling to Tamanrasset, too.’ He bowed curtly. ‘Good evening, Madame.’

  As Saintclair’s mother didn’t answer, he put his hat on and walked out.

  Lucas crushed his cigar in a smooth obsidian bowl.

  ‘Damn!’ He raked his fingers through his dark hair. ‘I’m sorry, Mother. I have to meet a few people. I’ll be late back. Don’t wait for me tonight.’

  ‘What about your guests? Harriet Montague is such a nice young lady. I was hoping you would show her the oasis by moonlight. I am sure she would find it fascinating.’

  ‘Miss Montague has been nothing but a pain in the backside from the moment I met her,’ Lucas answered, surprised by the twinge he felt in his chest at the mention of her name. She’d gotten to him today, again. It had taken all his willpower to walk away from her in the garden. What he needed was a woman, any woman, to get her out of his mind. He was in danger of becoming dangerously obsessed.

  ‘I had hoped she would give up after a few days, but she’s tenacious. Like a tic on an old dog.’

  ‘Lucas!’ His mother scolded. ‘That’s not the way to speak about a courageous young lady who is putting up with a perilous and most uncomfortable journey and is probably terribly worried about her father. You never used to be so callous, or inconsiderate.’

  He gave a harsh laugh. ‘I guess that’s what I am now, Mother, callous and inconsiderate, and a few other things as well. In fact…’

  He hesitated. Now was the time to tell her what exactly happened the night before his father was killed. She would at last know the truth about him.

  ‘There is something else I should have told you before, Mother,’ he started, his throat tight, ‘something regarding Father’s death which—’

  ‘No, Lucas!’ She stood up and put her hand in front of her mouth. ‘I will not hear another word about it. Never!’

  She walked up to him and looked at him, her eyes full of tears.

  ‘It has taken me a long time to learn to live without your father, to start enjoying the sun on my skin again, the scent of the flowers in the garden, the sight of the mountains and the steppes.’ Her voice became stronger. ‘Your sister has healed too. And now you have come back and I can finally tell you how much I love you, how much I missed you. I won’t let you stir the past again and destroy what little peace and
happiness we have managed to find.’

  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Please, Lucas, let it be, and accept that I have forgiven you.’

  He let out a long breath. She shouldn’t have forgiven him. He would never forgive himself. He would, however, respect her mother’s wishes.

  ‘Don’t worry about Harriet Montague,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask Drake to take her out tonight. As for Mortemer, I’m going to deal with him once and for all.’

  He left before she could ask him what he meant.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harriet leaned closer to Archie and gripped his arm. After the eerie silence of the moonlit oasis, walking into the bright and crowded tavern was a shock to the senses.

  ‘I think I should take you back.’ Archie glanced around the room. He looked worried. ‘This really isn’t a place for you.’

  ‘I told you I wanted to see these dancing girls,’ she answered, feeling a little guilty that her request should make Archie so ill at ease.

  She had insisted that he take her to see the Ouled Nail dancers tonight. Anywhere was better than going back to the Saintclair house where Lucas must be spending the evening with his mother and sister.

  No man ever made her feel the way he did. It wasn’t only the hundreds of sensations he could spark inside her with just one look of his clear blue eyes. It was the burning ache she felt deep inside her heart whenever he was close, whenever she thought about him. She didn’t like that wretched, churning pain. She didn’t understand it. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her hand on her heart as if she could make it all go away.

  Archie pushed his way through the crowd, craned his neck, and frowned in concentration.

  ‘Are you looking for someone?’

  He shrugged, tightened his mouth. ‘No, of course not.’

  Odd… She frowned. She was almost sure he had just signalled to a tall man standing near the counter. There was something vaguely familiar about him. Before she could take a better look at him, he turned away and Archie pushed her forward.

  ‘I heard people talk about these Ouled Nail dancing girls and I don’t believe it is something ladies should watch. You must promise not to be shocked by what you’ll see tonight.’