by Marie Laval
The woman answered very fast. Harriet shook her head and pulled a face to show she didn’t understand. The servant signalled for her to pull her shawl over her head and to follow her. She led her to a small tavern tucked away in a back alley. It was noisy, packed full of men playing cards or checkers, and women laughing and dancing to a discordant racket of flutes and tambourines. Nordine’s servant pointed to the far end of the room and turned away before Harriet could hold her back. She let out a sigh and made her way through the boisterous crowd, careful to keep her head down.
Nordine, Ahmoud, Musa, and Hakim, and the other men from their party, were playing cards at the back of the tavern. And at the head of the table, one arm casually looped around the shoulders of a scantily dressed, black-haired beauty who sat on his lap, was Lucas.
Harriet clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into the palm of her hands.
Only last night he had held her in his arms, trailed his lips on her bare skin, and kissed her as if she was the only woman in the world who mattered. And now he was holding someone else. None of it had meant a thing to him. How right she had been to push him away before she lost herself completely. She had done the right thing. Why then did her heart feel like it was breaking and her eyes fill with tears?
She took a deep breath and almost gagged on the reek of tobacco smoke, sweaty bodies and alcohol fumes. Unfastening her veil, she stepped forward.
Nordine saw her first. His eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. The others followed his gaze and stopped talking. There was a scraping of chairs against the wooden floor as they jumped to their feet in a respectful greeting. The only man who didn’t move was Lucas. He raised his eyebrows and his lips curled into a cruel smile.
‘Well, well, look who’s gracing us with her presence.’ He lifted his pitcher of wine in a mock salute. ‘I would have thought this place far too common for a fine lady like you, Miss Montague.’
He whispered something into the woman’s ear. She pouted and stood up, a look of regret in her khôhl lined eyes.
‘I’m only here because of …’ Harriet stammered.
Lucas got up and took hold of her arm.
‘No matter how many times I tell you not to venture outside on your own, you still do exactly as you please,’ he growled. ‘Since you’re here, the least you can do is to sit with us.’
She swallowed hard and did as she was told. The men sat down and resumed their card playing. Nordine and Ahmoud exchanged a few glances but kept well away from her and Lucas. She searched the pocket of her dress for the letter and held it out.
‘This just came for you. A man from Bou Saada brought it. He said it was urgent.’ Lucas became pale. He took the letter, broke the seal and unfolded it.
‘Where is he now?’ he asked, as he started reading.
‘He left, he didn’t want to stay.’
She looked at him, shocked by the worry and anger on his face.
Finally he lifted his eyes from the paper.
‘Bastard,’ he whispered.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked as worry gnawed at her now. ‘Are your mother and sister hurt?’
‘No, they’re fine for now, but Mortemer has been up to his usual tricks.’ He rested an elbow on the table and rubbed his forehead.
‘Can you tell me what happened?’ she asked.
He slid the letter over to her. ‘Read for yourself.’
Harriet skimmed through Madame Saintclair’s letter. In retaliation for the attack on the bordj and the theft of the five army cannon a few nights before, Lieutenant Mortemer had decided to make an example. He had rounded up thirty local men, thrown them in jail, and threatened to keep them there without food or water until the culprits were found, however long it took. Meanwhile, French soldiers were rampaging through Bou Saada and nobody, least of all Mortemer, seemed to care about the abuse they perpetrated.
Madame Saintclair entreated her son not to come back for now.
‘Be very careful. Mortemer is convinced you had something to do with the whole business. He almost had your sister arrested for throwing a chamber pot on his head from her window. Thankfully, I managed to persuade him that putting her in jail would be a sign of weakness, not a show of strength.’
Harriet put the letter down, thoughtful. Lucas and Nordine had talked about capturing the French cannon only the night before, Lucas said they were hidden in some canyon or other until the rebels could come and get them. She had been right. He was with the rebels. Nordine must be too, but what about the others?
She looked at Ahmoud, Musa, and Hakim, and it dawned on her that they must all be rebels. Bits of conversation came back to her. Mortemer had talked about an attack on the ammunition depot in Blida the night Hakim’s hand was burned. Lucas had said it had been caused by a fight in a tavern, but what if he was injured while blowing up the depot? Then there was the jailbreak at Berrouaghia and the escape of Abd-el-Kader’s man the very night they were in the vicinity of the penitentiary. She remembered other details too. Ahmoud had probably warned the Mouzaia that Mortemer’s men were on their way to burn their village, that’s why it was deserted when the French soldiers arrived. Mortemer had also said that the rebel caches indicated on Rachid’s map were empty. Lucas and his men must be the ones destroying them before the French could get at them…It all made sense now. And it made her angry. Lucas had used her. He’d had a hidden agenda all along.
He spoke in Arabic to Nordine and Ahmoud and pointed to his mother’s letter. The men listened, sombre and silent. He then turned to Harriet.
‘You’re coming with me.’ he said. ‘I’m in no mood to stay here any longer.’
She had no choice but to follow him. He stormed ahead through the narrow streets before coming to the town’s main square that was lit by torches burning in tall metal spikes.
‘Saintclair! I must speak to you. I know you’re one of them,’ she said, breathless, when she finally managed to catch up with him.
He slowed his pace, looked down at her.
‘One of whom?’
‘Abd-el-Kader’s rebels,’ she answered with a low voice.
This time he came to a stop, spun around and put his hands on her shoulders.
‘And why should you think that?’
His hands burned her through the fine layers of silk, almost as much as his eyes on her face. She cleared her throat.
‘I hear things and—’
‘Then don’t listen,’ he said, sharply.
He started walking again.
‘I have the right to know what you intend to do,’ she insisted, almost running alongside him. ‘You could get caught, injured, killed even, and that would leave us without a guide and unable to reach Tamanrasset in time to rescue my father.’
She bit her lip.
‘Your concern for my welfare is touching,’ he replied, arching his eyebrows. ‘I gave you my word we would be in Tamanrasset by the end of May and we will.’
He paused. ‘You shouldn’t meddle in men’s business,’ he added.
‘Men’s business?’ She gasped. ‘I rode through mountains, steppes, and desert like the rest of you. I slept rough on blankets out in the cold.’ he blushed at the recollection of the night she had curled up, safe and warm in his arms. She took a deep breath and carried on.
‘I killed a bandit who tried to strangle me… and you are telling me not to meddle in your affairs because I am a woman?’ Her voice had risen to a high pitch.
Lucas stared down, a mocking smile on his lips.
‘Calm down, darling, you are getting hysterical.’
She put her fists on her hips and stomped her foot.
‘I am not hysterical! I don’t get hysterical! And don’t call me darling. You are the one being unreasonable and dishonest.’ She drew in a long breath in and looked at him.
‘Dishonest?’
Damn. She was beautiful, with her flushed cheeks, her eyes glinting with fury. Her shawl had dropped down and her hair shone like a halo around her face
in the torchlight. She had a point. He was being unfair. She had shown as much courage and determination as any of them. More so, because she was a woman, by nature weaker and more delicate. He wanted to touch her, trail his finger along her cheek, her neck, rub his thumb over her lips. What the hell was wrong with him?
She opened her eyes wider.
‘I know all about your double life,’ she answered. ‘You steal cannon, you blow up French ammunition depots, and you help rebels escape from jail.’
‘What are you talking about?’ He growled and grabbed hold of her arm. How did the woman know about that?
‘I told you. I hear things,’ she answered, not looking the least flustered. ‘Let go of me.’
He did.
‘Will you give the cannon back to Mortemer?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘What about those poor prisoners?’
‘Ahmoud is taking care of it.’
‘What is he going to do?’
He took a deep breath. ‘That’s none of your concern. Despite what you seem to believe, some things are just too dangerous for women to get involved in. Let’s go now.’
As she showed no intention of moving, he took her elbow to hurry her along and something fell from her pocket. He bent down to pick it up and frowned.
‘Well, well, I didn’t know you were a snuff addict, Miss Montague,’ he said, handing the tobacco case to her.
‘I am not. That is Archie’s. And talking about Archie, he would never come up with such a pathetic argument. He doesn’t think women are inferior to men.’
‘I never said women were inferior,’ he replied, darting his eyes into hers. ‘In many ways, women are far superior to men, especially when it comes to shrewdness and artifice.’ She had the good grace to blush.
‘Archie always values my opinion.’
Now she was being annoying.
‘I suppose he was valuing your opinion the other night when he tried to rape you?’
She shook her head.
‘That was a mistake, an aberration which I am quite sure was caused by the blow to his head. Archie is a gentleman and a respected scholar, not a thug who spends his time drinking in taverns and fondling dancing girls like….’
She bit her lip.
‘Like me?’ he asked.
‘Yes, exactly, like you.’ She pulled her arm free and ran ahead, clutching the tobacco case.
He strode alongside her. ‘The higher the pedestal, the harder the fall,’ he muttered between his teeth.
‘What did you say?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing.’
His foul mood had returned and he pounded on the door to Nordine’s house.
‘Do you have to bang on that door so loudly?’ she asked while they waited for a servant to let them in. ‘You will wake everybody, everybody except Archie maybe. He is such a sound sleeper he could sleep in a battlefield. He didn’t even hear me when I knocked on his door earlier to give him the snuff box back.’
‘Is that so?’ He narrowed his eyes.
‘Yes. It was so lucky I found the case near the garden wall tonight or it might have been lost forever.’
Was Drake really asleep or had he gone on another secret rendezvous? Something was definitely not right, and by God he would find out right now what the man was up to.
‘Let’s give your fiancé his snuff box back, shall we?’ he asked as soon as they walked into the house. He grabbed her arm again and pulled her along.
‘I’m sure he won’t mind being woken if you kiss him nicely. Like you kissed me last night. I know I enjoyed it.’
She pretended she hadn’t heard him.
‘We can give him the box back tomorrow morning,’ she protested.
He tried Archie’s door. It was locked. Without a second of hesitation, he kicked it and the door crashed open.
‘Saintclair, this is crazy, why are you doing this?’ she whispered as they walked across the dark room.
Lucas froze. Archie was sitting up, holding his pistol aimed at him. He was fully dressed.
‘Saintclair? What the bloody hell are you doing here? Harriet? Is there anything wrong?’ He lowered his weapon slowly.
‘You have good reflexes for a man who is supposed to be fast asleep,’ Lucas remarked, crossing his arms on his chest.
Archie narrowed his eyes. ‘What is your point?’
‘Are you in the habit of getting into bed fully dressed?’ Lucas pointed to Archie’s clothes.
Archie patted his shirt and jacket and smiled. ‘It’ll save me time tomorrow morning.’
‘I’m sorry, Archie,’ Harriet walked up to him. ‘I don’t know what Monsieur Saintclair was trying to achieve by breaking your door down and waking you up like that. It certainly wasn’t my idea.’
Archie shrugged. ‘It’s quite all right, my dear.’ He yawned and ruffled his blond hair. ‘I am really tired and I would like to go back to sleep now.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Oh, by the way, here is your tobacco case.’ She handed it to him. ‘I found it while walking around the gardens tonight.’
Archie toyed with the case before slipping it into his pocket.
‘Hmm…thank you.’ He turned to Lucas and arched his eyebrows. ‘You know the way out, don’t you, Saintclair?’
Lucas balled his fists to his side and barely resisted the urge to wipe the smirk off his face.
Chapter Nineteen
Lucas dismounted and walked to Harriet’s horse.
‘Let me help you down,’ he said, grabbing the reins.
The young woman didn’t answer. She leaned forward on the saddle, her chest resting against her mount’s neck and her face almost buried in its black mane. Coming closer, he saw that her eyes were closed. He put his hands around her waist and pulled her gently towards him so that she fell into his arms. She was still fast asleep, her head resting against his shoulder, as he carried her to the camp.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Drake asked behind him.
‘She’s exhausted,’ Lucas replied. He gave an order for one of the men to spread out a blanket on the ground before laying her down gently. He pulled her cheche down on her face so that she could breathe more freely.
‘Take the horses to the copse of trees over there. There’s a shallow pool which hasn’t dried up yet,’ he instructed.
The Englishman muttered under his breath, but he did as he was told. After another day of hard riding, both men and animals were in dire need of a rest. Lucas stood up and stretched, turning towards the west where the sky glowed with fiery red and orange hues. It wouldn’t last long. As soon as the sun dipped behind the line of the horizon, night would fall like a black curtain on the reg.
He lifted his hat to wipe his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt before pulling it down on his eyes again. They were in Tuareg country now. He should start wearing a cheche and tunic for better protection against the sun. His lips were parched, his mouth and throat so dry they burned every time he breathed. These were discomforts he was accustomed to, but they would be torture for Harriet. He stole a glance towards her.
He expected that crossing the reg to In Salah would be tough on her. He had seen grown men cry and half lose their minds because of the fierceness of the sun, the bleakness of the landscape, and the agony of going without water. Not to mention the constant threat of attack by the ghosts of the desert—the Tuareg raiders you didn’t see until they were upon you—and the sand storms which drowned everything and everyone in their path. Yet in three days the woman hadn’t uttered a word of complaint. Once again, she was surprising him.
He narrowed his eyes to stare at the desolate plains around until he found what he was looking for, a pile of rocks in the distance. Then, like every evening, he grabbed hold of the ransom bags and strode away from the camp. When he returned, empty-handed, Hakim and Musa had made a fire, prepared the tea and a frugal supper.
Lucas unsaddled his horse and checked it all over for cuts and signs of injury, then car
ried his saddle back to camp and sat next to Harriet. He shook her shoulder to wake her up.
‘Time to eat.’
‘Leave me alone,’ she muttered, ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You need to eat or you won’t have the strength to carry on,’ he insisted. ‘Sit up.’
‘No.’
She rolled onto her side, her face away from him.
He leaned over her shoulder.
‘I know it’s hard for you, darling.’ He insisted on the last word, waiting for her protest. She hated it when he called her that. Tonight she didn’t even react.
He trailed a finger along her arm up to her shoulder, lifted her hair and tickled her neck, revelling in the sensations her soft skin aroused inside him. The last few days had done nothing to dampen his desire for her. He might still be reeling from the way she had taunted him at Nordine’s house but, if anything, he wanted her even more. He wanted her so much that it wasn’t any longer a question of if he would have her, but when.
‘Wake up, Harriet.’
She let out a long sigh and turned to him. Her eyes were unfocused, glazed with exhaustion. Her body was limp against his and he was overwhelmed with the urge to hold her in his arms and kiss her over and over until he breathed his strength into her. He would do none of that, of course. Not here, not now. But he would damn well make sure she ate. He helped her sit up, propped her back against his saddle, and proceeded to cut thin strips of meat to feed her with.
‘Eat.’
She did.
After the meat, he gave her candied dates and poured a tumbler of mint tea he held out for her to drink. And then at last he let her sleep and covered her with a blanket.
‘You’re quite the mama hen, aren’t you?’ Drake sneered.
Lucas shrugged.
‘It’ll only delay us if Harriet is too weak to ride tomorrow.’
He poked the fire with a stick and watched the sparks fly into the night.
‘She’s holding remarkably well, far better than I ever imagined.’
‘I suppose so...Do you still think we’ll reach the gorges tomorrow night, as planned?’ Drake asked.
Lucas narrowed his eyes to look at him. The Englishman had asked that same question ever since leaving Laghouat.