by Marie Laval
‘There must be some, but they probably lie untouched, buried in the desert sands,’ Harriet argued. ‘Herodotus wrote about the Garamantes’ vast kingdom. He praised their skills for channelling water from underground lakes into oases and changing the desert into fertile lands. He also referred to the speed of the four-horse chariots they used for hunting. Later writers, like Pliny the Elder, mentioned that throughout the centuries they were either fighting against the Romans or trading with them. Rome’s appetite for slaves, gold and precious stones, as well as for lions leopards for the gladiator games, was insatiable. Anything they wanted, the Garamantes could supply. They even traced chariot roads across the Sahara and beyond to make trading faster.’
‘How did they manage to keep the location of their mines a secret for so long?’ Nordine asked. He clapped his hands and a servant brought in a tray with honey and date pastries—Harriet’s favourites. She took one and bit into it.
‘It’s hard to believe, that’s true,’ Lucas mused as he drank a sip of wine. ‘Maybe there was some disaster. The mines collapsed and people were afraid to go near them. Now, at last, maybe someone has at last deciphered the map which was painted or carved in the Hoggar mountains, and they followed the trail to Tin Hinan’s tomb.’
Lucas turned to Harriet. ‘Someone like your father…But whatever he hoped to find in there, he should have known better. He put his men in mortal danger.’
She put down her pastry. Her throat was tight, tears filled her eyes.
‘He wasn’t to know that the Tuaregs would kill them all.’ She stared at Lucas, bracing herself to ask the question she had been burning to ask for days.
‘You believe he is dead too, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded. His eyes were clear and sharp, without the trace of a doubt.
The blood drained from her face and she put a hand against her heart.
‘Lucas, you should know better than upset a young lady like that,’ Nordine scolded. ‘I’ll ask my women to take Miss Harriet outside for some fresh air, she looks awfully pale.’ He gestured to a servant.
Harriet shook her head and pushed her chair away from the table.
‘It won’t be necessary. I can find my own way.’ But as she started to stand up, the room spun round. It felt as if the ground collapsed from under her and she was dropping down a deep, dark place.
‘You need to lie down.’ Lucas scooped her up in his arms before she fell, and started to the door.
‘It’s nothing, I am quite capable of walking,’ she protested, wriggling in his arms.
‘Don’t move and hold onto me.’
‘No, really, I don’t…’
This time the glint of steel in his eyes silenced her. Obediently, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
He knew the house well, she noticed, as he marched down the maize of corridors and stairs leading to her room without hesitation.
‘Here we are.’
He kicked the door open and walked across the tiled floor. An oil lamp burned on a low table and bathed the room in a golden glow. The patio doors were open onto the night. Out in the garden, cicadas sang their loud, woody and cadenced song. Lucas put her down on the bed but didn’t release her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, staring into her eyes.
Overcome by dizziness, she didn’t answer. This time, however, it had nothing to do with what he had said about her father and everything to do with the feel of his arms, strong and warm around her, with his mouth just a few inches away from hers, and with the flame of the oil lamp that reflected in his eyes.
‘It was tactless of me to speak about your father like I did.’
‘Why do you still want to go to Tamanrasset if you are so sure my father is…’ She just couldn’t say the word and heaved a sigh.
‘What I believe doesn’t matter. I gave you my word in Algiers.’ He paused. ‘And I want the Barbarossa map.’
Of course, the treasure map. That’s what he really wanted, how could she forget?
‘Anyway, I shouldn’t have been so blunt.’
‘It’s quite all right. I asked you and you spoke your mind,’ she whispered. ‘My father taught me to always speak the truth.’
She realized that her hands were still clasped behind his neck. She unfastened her fingers and slid them down to his shoulders, leaving them there.
There was a moment of silence.
‘You mean, you always speak the truth?’ he asked at last, his lips curling into a smile.
‘Yes, I do,’ she answered. There was that small lie about Archie and her being engaged…’Most of the time,’ she corrected.
‘So these grey eyes of yours never lie.’ He sounded thoughtful.
He sat next to her. His hand glided slowly on the red silk tunic along her waist and came to rest at the side of her breast.
She stiffened, held her breath.
‘If I ask if you want me to kiss you, you will tell me the truth?’ he asked, lowering his voice.
‘Well, I…’
‘Do you want me to kiss you, Harriet?’
‘Oh.’ Mesmerized by the desire burning in his eyes, she was unable to move or speak.
He leaned closer. ‘Is that a yes or a no?’
All she could hear was her thundering heartbeat.
‘Yes.’ She breathed out at last.
He covered her mouth with his. It was just like before, an explosion of sensations inside and out that rendered her weak and warm and helpless. With a low groan, he pulled her up against him, his hands moved in a slow caress along her back, tangled into her hair, leaving a burning trail from her hips to the nape of her neck. The silk robe and pantaloons were so light she might as well have been naked under his touch.
A warm breeze blew across the room through the garden doors. It rustled the palms outside and carried almond tree blossoms inside the room. He pushed her down against the mattress, kissed her throat, nibbled at her collarbone. When he murmured something against her skin, his breath was hotter than the desert wind. His mouth claimed hers for another deep, long kiss, and his hands brushed her breasts through the silk robe, gentle and insistent in turn, making her tight and achy inside. She let out a breathless moan. She was pure, raw feeling.
He buried his face in her neck. ‘Hmm, you taste of jasmine tonight. Not your usual fragrance, but nice anyway…’
He started unbuttoning her dress then looked up, hesitant.
‘Harriet?’ he whispered.
She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. She wanted him to carry on, more than anything else in the world. Was that so shameful?
‘Harriet,’ he called again, his voice deeper.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes.’
He kissed her again while unfastening the tiny buttons of her dress. She heard the fabric tear, and his mouth was on the soft swell of her breasts. His tongue circled, teased her nipples in a slow and agonising caress until they tightened and peaked. She opened her eyes, shocked as much by his caress as by her response to it—a hot, liquid pull in her stomach. She looked down at his dark hair, at the warm glow of the light in it. His lips lingered, the stubble on his face scraped her skin. She tangled her fingers in his hair, arched her hips against him.
He pinned her against the bed, impatient now, and his kisses became hard. She was spiralling down a dark, burning hot pit. Clutching at his shoulders like a woman lost in a storm, she responded to his caresses with mindless whispers and sighs. His fingers trailed over the silk pantaloons on the inside of her thigh, and upward. Her senses took over. She let out a cry, arched and thrust herself against his hand, her breasts rubbed on his shirt. He stifled her moans with a kiss.
He tugged impatiently at her pantaloons to pull them down, and touched the place where her blood pulsed and throbbed.
She stiffened in his arms, unable to fight the overwhelming, icy cold panic taking over.
‘No.’ She managed a strangled cry, hid her face in her hands.
He drew back, held her at arm’
s length, exposed, dishevelled, on the bed.
‘What do you mean… no?’
She looked up, tried to focus on the unforgiving lines of his face, the even more unforgiving flash of anger in his eyes.
‘I mean, I’m not ready for this.’
She should tell him that she was afraid, that she had never been with a man before, but the words choked in her throat.
He looked at her, slowly, from her naked thighs, to her smooth stomach, and up to the hard, pink tips of her nipples. His eyes caressed and her body responded, trembled and tightened. She pulled the sides of her tunic over her chest and hips in a shaky and clumsy attempt to cover herself.
He leaned down towards her and her eyes opened wide with terror. He didn’t listen. He would do what he pleased. He would…
‘Please don’t hurt me,’ she sobbed, fear almost choking her.
He pulled her to him like a rag doll.
‘I have no intention of hurting you, but I’ll tell you this.’ His voice was a harsh whisper. ‘Don’t you ever again start something with me you’re not prepared to finish, because next time I swear I’ll finish it, whether you’re ready or not.’
He let her go so abruptly she fell back against the pillow. After a last, dark and scorching look at her, he walked out. She bit her fist, hard, and then harder, until it hurt more than the pain inside.
He walked into the garden, craving the shadows, the darkness, and solitude.
Letting out a sharp breath, he clenched his fists into balls and gave the scaly trunk of a palm tree a few quick, hard punches. He scraped his knuckles and didn’t feel any better. He couldn’t believe Harriet had pushed him away. She had made him feel like a damned fool—a fool with fire in his blood. It had never happened to him before, maybe that was why he was so angry right now. He’d always had it easy when it came to women. Then again, he’d never met a woman like Harriet Montague.
He didn’t understand her at all. He had seen her eyes heavy with desire, heard her fast, shallow breathing, and felt the feverish grip of her fingers on his shoulders. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. She hadn’t been pretending.
He allowed himself a cynical smile, shook his head.
Of course, she had.
She had played him and he had fallen for it. Her soft grey eyes did lie after all. He felt himself grow hot again just remembering the feel of her mouth under his, and her smooth skin under his hands. He had meant what he told her. Should there be a next time, he’d finish it and the hell with it.
He wasn’t a gentleman, never pretended to be one. He could play dirty too. He took a deep breath. The vision of her lying almost naked on that bed, her red silk dress open and her hair spread like sunrays around her taunted him. He swallowed hard. Maybe he should return to her room and finish it right now.
No wonder she drove Drake crazy. He swallowed hard, balled his fists again. The thought of the Englishman touching, kissing, making love to her was something he had managed to keep out of his mind until now. Now it was almost too much to bear…
He gave the palm tree one last, pointless punch before walking into the shadows. There was only one thing to do if he had any hope of snatching a few hours sleep tonight, and that was to pay a visit to one of Laghouat’s infamous taverns. Good wine and his friends’ company would help him forget about Harriet Montague and the tumult she roused inside him.
He froze and held his breath as he heard a scraping sound behind the garden wall. All senses alert, he slid noiselessly behind a bush and pulled his knife out. A dark figure appeared at the top of the wall, outlined by silvery moonlight. The man jumped down and let out a muffled curse in English when he landed. Lucas frowned. If there was a time when a man let down his guard it was when he was hurt… and when he made love.
The man straightened up and limped along the path. Moonlight outlined his profile in silver as he walked past him. Drake! He said he was too ill to join them tonight. What was the man up to? Where did he go, alone and in secret?
Chapter Eighteen
‘Here are the choices,’ Lucas said. ‘We can follow the caravan route to the Berriane oasis and Ghardaia or…’ He lifted his glass of pomegranate juice and drank it in one long gulp.
‘Or what?’ Archie asked, helping himself to a cup of black coffee. ‘Isn’t it time you made up your mind? We were supposed to leave today.’
‘We’ll leave when I say so.’
Lucas slammed the empty glass on the table. He looked pale and tired this morning, with dark stubble shadowing his cheeks. His temper was just as mean as his looks. He had just ranted at Nordine for letting him sleep too late and at Hakim for failing to take two of the horses to the blacksmith. Now it was Archie’s turn to take the brunt of his bad mood.
‘What about the other route?’ Harriet asked.
By the harsh stare he gave her, it wasn’t hard to guess that she was the cause of his temper—as well as a few bottles of strong liquor which probably had given him a sore head. She quickly lowered her eyes to the map and clutched her fingers in her lap to stop them from shaking.
She would have preferred to avoid him altogether and hide in her room, but he had sent a servant to say he demanded her immediate presence. Now she had to listen to him, talk to him, and pretend nothing happened between them the night before.
‘We could cut through the reg towards In Salah. It would save us over a week, but…’ Lucas hesitated, sighed and raked his fingers in his hair.
‘So why don’t we?’ Archie cut in. He leaned over the table to study the map.
It was a map Saintclair had drawn in infinite detail over his years of scouting the country. Ksars, hamlets, trails and roads were marked in ink, as well as mountains, landmarks, wells, and rivers, oases, gorges and canyons. And desert, of course. There were different types of desert, he had explained. The reg was made out of rocks and sand whilst ‘grands ergs’ were vast areas of sand dunes which extended to the east towards the Tripoli territories and to the west towards Morocco. Both could be deadly.
‘It may be faster but we’ll be on our own for over a week until we reach In Salah,’ Lucas started again. ‘There are only a few hamlets on the way. It’ll be tough, much tougher than what we have done so far. Should anyone get injured or be taken ill, there’ll be no help at hand.’
He turned to Harriet, arched his eyebrows, as if expecting her to object.
‘It’s fine with me, if that’s what you want to do.’ She tilted her chin, but once again she couldn’t meet his stare and looked away, conscious of the hot flush on her cheeks.
‘So it’s settled, we’re going for the fast route,’ Archie said. ‘Is that the track we will follow the first few days? To that hamlet there, and then the canyons, and finally….’ He traced a line with his finger, repeated the names of different places as if to commit them to memory.
‘When do you think we will reach these gorges here?’
‘At the end of the fourth day, if all goes well,’ Lucas answered, after a moment of hesitation. He folded the map. ‘Today we’ll stock up on food and necessities, buy a couple of fresh horses, and three or four camels too. We leave tomorrow at dawn.’
There was much to do for the rest of the day. Harriet and Archie purchased supplies from the medina, while Lucas and Ahmoud went to buy the camels they needed to cross the reg. They were stronger, more resistant than horses, and would be used to carry goods and equipment.
By late afternoon, Harriet and Archie had come back to the palace, but neither of them was in a talkative mood so Archie retired to his room as soon as they finished their evening meal.
‘I’ll have an early night. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep too,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be a tough journey.’
She went to her room but there was nothing left for her to do. Her bags were packed. Her travel clothes were clean and ready for the following morning. After a day or two in the saddle, they would no doubt be caked with dirt, sand and sweat. She wandered into the garden. It
wasn’t yet dark, but already stars studded the clear evening sky.
As she reached the outer wall, she stumbled onto a shiny pebble on the path. She bent down to pick it up. It wasn’t a pebble but a brass tobacco case. She would recognise it anywhere. Her father had given it to Archie for Christmas a couple of years before.
She made her way back into the house and knocked on Archie’s door. There was no answer. He was probably asleep already. She shrugged and put the case in her pocket. It didn’t matter. She would give it to him in the morning. Sounds of rapid footfall echoed behind her. Someone tugged at her sleeve.
‘Men faedlek, men faedlek,’ a woman servant said, her eyes pleading. In her hand was a letter.
‘Waech?’ What did she want?
Harriet took the letter, read the elegant handwriting on the front. It was for Lucas and marked urgent. A red wax stamp sealed the back of the letter.
The servant pulled her arm, urged her along to the front of the house where a cavalier waited next to a magnificent grey horse. His face lit up when he saw Harriet and he bowed deeply. She remembered him. He came from Bou Saada.
She showed him the letter.
‘Is this from Madame Saintclair?’
He nodded. ‘For Lucas. Bad things happen in Bou Saada.’
‘Is Madame Saintclair in any danger? Or Rose?’
The man shook his head. ‘No, but French army do bad things.’
He pointed to the letter in her hand. ‘Madame says it’s urgent.’
‘I will give the letter to Lucas right away,’ Harriet promised.
‘Thank you.’ He smiled tightly before putting his foot in the stirrup and mounting the horse.
‘Wait! Why don’t you come with me? You can tell him yourself what’s going on—’
‘No time. I must go back.’ He turned the horse and disappeared down the dark alleyway.
It was one thing to promise the messenger she would give Lucas the letter immediately, but another to find him. She turned to the woman servant.
‘Win Saintclair? Win Nordine?’ she asked her. Where were they? They couldn’t be still buying camels or supplies for the journey at this time.