by Marie Laval
She shook her head. ‘There were men there, about a dozen, in evening dress, but I don’t recall their faces. The only man I remember clearly wore the same ring.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything about it before?’ He looked annoyed as he leaned over her, grabbed her shoulders and gave her a little shake.
She bent her head and swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry. I needed time to think about it, to be sure.’
‘Who was the man?’ His fingers dug into her.
Her eyes filled with tears.
‘My father,’ she whispered. She took a deep breath and repeated. ‘My father wore the ring.’
Lucas let go of her and swore between his teeth in French.
‘Then Drake was lying about that too.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He said he had never seen the ring. If he was as close to your father as you said, he must have seen him and others around him wear similar ones. The question is why did he lie about it?’
‘He must have his reasons. Archie is a good, trustworthy man. He would never knowingly mislead anyone.’
The fury in his eyes hit her like a blow to the chest. He wrapped the collar of her tunic around his fist and lifted her up as if she was no heavier than a rag doll. Her eyes were level with his. Her feet didn’t touch the floor.
‘Damn it! Why are so blind where Drake is concerned? What hold does the man have on you?’ he growled. ‘All you ever see is the wonderful Archibald Drake, all you ever do is praise him or make excuses for him.’
He pulled her closer. Her breath caught in her throat.
‘Well, I’ve got news for you, darling. The man is a liar and a bully, a cheat and a drunk. And the sooner you get that into your brain, the better.’
What on earth had possessed him? Where did this blinding rage come from? Anyone would think he was jealous. Drake was the man he should be taking his anger out on, not the woman he held trembling in front of him, her eyes open wide in shock.
Ashamed, he let her down gently. Hell, he had just called Drake a bully but he was no better. Why didn’t she slap him, bite him, or kick him? He deserved all three for being such a stupid, arrogant brute.
Anger still simmered inside him, mingled with shame now, but words of apology didn’t make it past his lips. Instead, he squared his jaw and narrowed his eyes.
‘Get inside and go to sleep. The caravan is leaving at dawn.’
He wanted to be alone, calm down, and think things over.
She didn’t move.
‘You’ll be safe, I will stay out here,’ he said, his tone softer.
She lifted her eyes towards him; her cool, trusting, misty grey eyes. His throat tightened, his heart started pounding.
‘Please don’t leave me alone,’ she whispered.
She put her hand against his chest.
‘Everything is so confused. Nothing makes sense any longer. The only thing I know is that I’m happy you’re here. You are brave and honourable and I believe in you.’
She paused, lowered her eyes briefly, and took a deep breath.
Her words swirled in his mind, in his heart. He blocked them off.
‘Once again, darling, I think you’re mistaking me for someone else,’ he sniggered. ‘I’m not one of the clever scholars or aristocratic patrons of the arts you’re used to. I sell my services for a fee, which I guess makes me no better than the mercenaries who attacked your father or the ones trying to steal his ransom money. All I care about is myself and having enough money for the next card game, the next flask of wine, and the next woman.’
She mustn’t have heard him because her hand pressed a little harder against his heart, arousing sensations and feelings he didn’t want.
She shook her head.
‘That’s not true. You’re not as crude as you make out, you have feelings and—’
He snorted, hardened his voice. ‘Feelings? I think you’ve taken the Tuareg story too much to heart. Shall I tell you about my feelings for you?’
He took her hand, pulled it away from him. He had to put an end to this nonsense, be straight with her, get her to see him as he really was. He leaned down towards her and held her gaze.
‘Yes, I want you, I admit it, but there is nothing sweet or good or loving about it. I need to have you. I need my hands on your skin and your body under mine. And I don’t care if I hurt you like I did yesterday in the cave, as long as I take my pleasure,’ he lied.
He pulled back and grinned. ‘There, that’s the kind of man I am. Now get inside and leave me alone.’
She considered him in silence then glanced down with a grimace of pain. He realized he was holding her hand so tightly he must be crushing her fingers. He let go abruptly.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean to...’
He didn’t understand why she smiled again, why her eyes mellowed and melted. She closed the short distance between them, pressed her face against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist.
‘I don’t care what you say. I love you,’ she whispered against his heart. ‘I told you. You didn’t hurt me yesterday.’
Guilt and need, anger and something that felt like joy churned and wrestled inside him. He closed his eyes for a second, drew in breath, and gave up the fight. He brought his arms around her. Holding her felt right, so right. What did it matter if the woman was confused and delusional, if she believed she loved him? He should take whatever was on offer. He usually did. There would be time enough to make her see sense. Later.
His hands brushed her back, slowly, from her hips to the nape of her neck. She murmured something and moulded herself closer to him. He tugged at her hair to angle her face up towards him and leant down to kiss her mouth. If nothing else, he had a promise to keep. A promise he had made to himself the night before.
She hadn’t planned to tell him about her feelings. She loved him. She trusted him with her life. She admired him, even if she didn’t always understand him. He didn’t love her, she knew that, but right now being in his arms was enough. It was where she belonged, where she fitted. She would show him what love was.
His lips trailed along her jaw line to her earlobe, then down her throat, and back up again. Millions of shivers broke on the surface of her skin. She raised her hands to grip his shoulders. Her head started spinning. Her heart raced a wild gallop.
‘We should go inside,’ he said, hoarse against her ear. ‘We don’t want to make a spectacle of ourselves.’
She almost objected that there was nobody to watch them, but remembered the men standing guard somewhere in the shadows.
He took her hand and led her inside the tent. The only light was the fire still burning outside. Thick wool rugs covered the ground, a mattress had been pulled in the centre together with a few blankets, and all their bags piled up to one side.
‘Will you lie with me, Harriet?’ he asked gently as he cradled her face in the palms of his hands. ‘Will you let me make up for yesterday?’
She stared into his eyes. There was no harshness in them now.
‘Yes,’ she breathed out. ‘Yes, I will.’
His lips curled into a smile but he didn’t move. Slowly his fingers caressed the outline of her face, moved to her neck, her shoulders, then slid in the opening of her tunic and started unfastening the buttons. She wasn’t afraid. He might hurt her a little, but this time she knew what to expect.
She swallowed hard, recalling the brutality of the moment he had parted her legs and thrust inside her. He had stopped almost immediately to stare into her face, bewildered, searching her eyes before understanding dawned on him. Then he had moved again and he had claimed her. To be at one with him and listen to his hoarse whispers as he made her his was worth a little pain.
He pulled the sides of her tunic open, slid it off her shoulders and along her arms in a long caress. His hands cupped her breasts through the thin fabric of her chemise, his thumbs brushing, teasing until she threw her head back and let out a helpless sigh. Wrapping h
is arms around her waist, he kissed and nibbled at her throat all the way down to the pendant hanging between her breasts. He pulled the chemise down to expose the swelling of her breasts, the tight bud of her nipples. He bent her waist backward a little more, so that her breasts jutted out, and took a nipple in his mouth in a slow, agonising caress while he stroked the other with his fingers.
Her hands gripped the back of his neck, tangled in his hair. She wanted to feel his skin and slid her hand in the collar of his shirt. The thudding of her heart, the sounds of her breathing, short and fast, filled her head, resonated in the silence of the night.
Suddenly the ground disappeared from under her feet as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the mattress. He knelt beside her and pulled her boots off, then tugged at her breeches and peeled them off. Soon all she had left was her chemise, which he removed too. The fire outside threw just enough light for her to see his lean, muscular body as he threw his clothes on the ground, then bent down and covered her body with his.
She wasn’t afraid. Her lips parted, her eyes half closed, and she recalled the painting which had troubled her a few weeks before at the inn in Sour Djouab, the portrait of the naked woman reclining on her bed, waiting for her lover, her eyes clouded with anticipation and desire. She was that woman now.
Her hands smoothed the muscles of his back, from his broad shoulders to the bottom of his spine, taking care not to touch the bandaged wound on his arm. He groaned, tightened his grip on the curves of her hips, and buried his face in her neck. His fingers traced a burning trail along her sides, her stomach, around her breasts, then back down again to the top of her legs. They skimmed the inside of her thighs to the centre of her heat. His caresses were light as a feather, yet insistent, and brought unbearable delight as well as an unusual kind of pain. She arched against him as he gave yet more pleasure. The ache inside her grew. Her face buried against his shoulder, she tasted the heat of his skin while flashes of light exploded behind her closed lids.
No longer gentle, he claimed her mouth in a long, deep kiss and she cried out against his lips, then he tugged at her hair to tilt her face up.
‘I want to see your eyes.’
She held his gaze and drew a deep, shaky breath as he entered her. He was careful this time, so careful and slow, watching for signs he was hurting her. Instinct and love took over. She started moving against him, with him, under him, until she was riding a dark, burning, molten wave. And when she reached the crest of the wave, her whole being dissolved and melted in his arms. He swept her hair away from her face, left a trail of kisses on her neck, her cheeks, on the corner of her mouth. He murmured something in French she didn’t understand, kissed her again, and started moving faster again until his body tensed like a bow and he collapsed on top of her.
He moved off her and pulled her close so that she lay in his arms. They didn’t talk. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her back while her hand curled against his heart. The glow of the fire died and moonlight filled the inside of the tent with its silver shadows.
Tonight she didn’t need anything else from him. No words of love or tenderness. No promises or oaths. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t give her any. He had given her all he had to give. And it was enough.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Ask him for a story about Tin Hinan,’ Harriet whispered.
Like every evening, they sat under a dark velvet sky studded with stars in front of the chief’s tent. Tonight was their last night with the caravan before reaching In Salah.
Lucas said a few words to the chief, who searched his leather bag and produced a smooth green stone shaped like an egg.
‘Tin Hinan,’ he announced.
Harriet gasped. ‘It looks like…’
‘An emerald,’ Lucas finished, his eyes shining. He stared at the sparkly green pebble the chief held in his hand as he started talking in his low, chanting voice.
‘Tin Hinan came from the Western lands beyond the great desert. She travelled with her woman servant Takamat and her slaves,’ Lucas translated. ‘She led the way on her white camel and followed the stars and the ancient roads until one day they reached the blackened peaks of the holy mountains and they found Abalessa, the blessed.’
The chief talked about the queen’s exploits and how she created the Tuareg kingdom, her daughters, Tinert the antelope, Tahenkot the gazelle, and Tamerouelt the hare, each founding their own tribe. Then he paused and stroked the green stone.
‘Tin Hinan was our queen, our mother,’ he resumed. ‘She married a great warrior from the east who gave her the magic mountains where the green stones were found.’
Excited, Harriet squeezed Lucas’ hand. ‘Could that be the Garamantes’ mines?
Lucas carried on translating the chief’s story.
‘Since the day she died, every Tuareg who travels to Abalessa lays a rock on her tomb. One day it will reach the sky,’ Lucas finished.
‘Where are the magic mountains?’
Lucas let out a sigh and translated the question. The chief shook his head before answering.
‘The earth shook, the mountains collapsed and disappeared into the ground. It was a long, long time ago.’
One of the women musicians picked up her imzad and started drawing long, plaintive, soulful sounds while a man played the drum and several others sang and clapped their hands.
Her heart heavy, Harriet locked her fingers together and blinked the tears away. How she would miss the Tuareg caravan—setting off at sunrise in the transparent, purple dawn, camping out in sheltered gorges and lost valleys, and listening to Lucas’ voice as he translated the chief’s stories in the evenings. Most of all, she would miss the passion, the heat of Lucas’ arms every night. They had become as essential as air, water and fire.
When the singing stopped, it was time to return to the tent for the night. Lucas helped Harriet up and kept her hand in his as they walked across the camp. A series of low, rumbling growls from the camels nearby made her jump.
‘What’s up with them?’
‘There are other caravans nearby.’
‘Really?’
He squeezed her hand, brought it to his lips. ‘The camels know, and they are never wrong.’
‘So you understand the language of camels?’ She turned a beaming smile to him. ‘It’s true that you sometimes grunt like one when you are in a bad mood.’
He burst out laughing and kissed her fingertips again.
‘Camels are the wisest of beasts,’ he said. ‘For example, it’s well known that when a camel refuses to stand up in the morning, he is warning his master there’s trouble ahead and he’d better stay in his tent and drink tea than go travelling.’
‘What if he is just tired or grumpy?’
‘Then the man would definitely have trouble. You have no idea how awful a grumpy camel can be.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Let me think…If a camel walks around the camp several times at dawn, then kneels down in front of his master’s tent, he is warning him about unwelcome visitors.’
‘What should the master do then?’
‘Pack up and leave.’
‘How can the camel know if the visitors will be welcome or unwelcome?’
Lucas smiled. ‘You’ll have to ask the camel.’
They reached their tent. Like every night, Lucas knelt down to revive the fire. Harriet sat down and nestled against him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
‘The chief said the mines were lost,’ Harriet mused.
‘Is finding these mines so important to you?’ He turned to her, his eyes piercing.
She didn’t answer.
It was important once. It was her father’s obsession, and at one time nothing mattered more than making her father happy and proud. Now, all she wanted was being with the man she loved. She felt a little stab of guilt when she realized she hadn’t thought about her father or Archie all evening. Lucas’ fingers brushed her hair aside and trailed on h
er neck. Shivers ran along her spine.
She raised a tentative hand to his cheek. He hadn’t shaved for days and thick, dark stubble covered his face, making him look more than ever like a pirate. She remembered the first time she had seen him, rushing out of the Seventh Star in Algiers. A lifetime ago. Back then, she thought he looked like the devil too.
He pulled her head back and lowered his face towards her. Her lips parted for him and her thoughts swirled and vanished in the heat of his kiss. His mouth teased and caressed until her body was soft and mellow and yearned for more. Her hand came up to his chest, slid inside his shirt to touch him. With a groan he pulled her into his lap and deepened his kiss. His heart thudded, strong and fast against the palm of her hand.
‘Let’s go inside before I forget myself,’ he whispered against her mouth before pulling away.
She shuddered at the sound of his voice, at the promise of agonising delights in his clear, heavy eyes.
In Salah appeared like a mirage on the horizon. It rose from the desert, its flat-roofed houses the same colour as the reddish gold sand dunes. Only a couple of towers and a few patches of green broke the monotony of the landscape.
‘Hakim and Musa should be waiting for us,’ Lucas said as he waved good bye to the Tuaregs. The caravan was carrying on towards the east, whereas they would fork west to Abalessa. ‘We will leave as soon as we have found them.’
They dismounted to join the queue at the town gate. Harriet pulled the horse’s bridle and Lucas dealt with the camel the Tuaregs had sold them. She was wary of the animal’s temper, of the way it pulled its long neck towards her, hung its tongue out or dribbled whilst making bleating noises.
‘It must be market day.’ She watched the crowd around them, barefoot children, women and men clothed in long white or pale blue robes, their heads and faces covered. Some pulled donkeys and beat them with dried palm branches or sticks to urge them along. Others pulled carts or carried baskets on their backs or on their head.
‘Something’s up.’ Lucas pointed to the gate where a group of French soldiers stood guard and stopped everyone who wanted to get into the town.