by Marie Laval
‘No, I really mean it,’ she carried on. ‘Any other man would have gone back on his word and chosen to save himself. I wouldn’t think less of you if you decided to go into hiding before we meet Mortemer and his men.’
He gripped her arm, pulled her closer. ‘Stop this.’
‘I cannot stand the idea you are putting yourself in danger and might be—’
‘Killed?’ He let out a humourless laugh. ‘If that happens, Hakim and Musa will get you and your father out.
‘It’s not just about my father, don’t you understand?’ Her eyes welled up with tears again. Although he ached to take her in his arms, he didn’t move.
She turned to him, her beautiful grey eyes filled with tears.
‘I told you before and I meant it. I love you, Lucas.’
His heart skipped a beat but he shook his head.
‘You don’t love me. You can’t love a man responsible for his father’s death, and the death of dozens of innocent people.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. Even your own mother and your sister have forgiven you. Why can’t you forgive yourself?’
His lips curled into a cruel smile. It was time to tell her.
‘They have forgiven me because they don’t know the whole truth. You see, darling, the night before my father died, I was drunk. Mortemer came to find me in a tavern, spun me a tale I would never have believed had I been sober, and I told him where to find the cave to get rid of him. All I cared about that night was winning my card game and bedding one of the bayaderes. And that’s exactly what I did.’
He tightened his fists and lowered his face. ‘I won the game, spent all the money on wine, and slept with a woman I can’t even remember. During that time fires were being lit, people were being choked to death, burnt and shot by the French army.’
He turned to her, arched his eyebrows. ‘There you have it.’
He expected to see revulsion in her eyes. All she did was shake her head and put her hand on his forearm. She stroked him gently, as one would stroke a child.
‘Oh, Lucas. It must have been so hard for you to tell me. If anything, it makes me love you even more.’
‘You can’t love me. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I am capable of.’
She slid her hand along his arm, his shoulder, and rested it against his chest.
‘I know you are the bravest, the most honourable man I’ve ever met. That’s enough.’
‘Honourable?’ He sneered, hardened his voice.
He had to sever all ties. It was for her own good.
‘You think I conducted myself honourably with you, do you? I took advantage of you, Harriet. From the very first moment we met, all I ever wanted was the Barbarossa map and the ransom gold. I still do. Sleeping with you was a pleasant bonus.’
She gasped, withdrew her hand.
‘The ransom? What do you mean?’
‘I was sure your father was dead, so I planned to claim the gold once we got to Tamanrasset. I might still do that, depending on what we find in Abalessa tomorrow.’
She recoiled as if he had slapped her.
‘You would steal Lord Callaghan’s gold? For the rebels?’
‘I haven’t decided what I would spend the gold on yet…’ he lied.
He took a deep breath. He had to be cruel and finish it. She wouldn’t love him after hearing this.
‘You know I only agreed to your coming with us because of the Barbarossa map. I thought Drake was your fiancé, so I had this idea that if I seduced you, you’d feel so guilty you’d want to return to Algiers. And you would still owe me the map, of course.’
‘It was too late to send me back when we reached the gorges of Arak, and yet you still made love to me…’
Her eyes were alight with hope. He had to crush it.
‘It was just a pleasant way of killing an hour, but the thing is that the novelty of deflowering a virgin has kind of worn off now. You’re a lovely girl, but I am used to more experienced, imaginative women.’
Her colour deepened. She put her hands to her heart, she parted her lips moved but no sound came out.
‘Please, don’t say another word,’ she said at last.
There was something raw in her eyes now. Despair. Disgust. Loathing. She turned away, brought her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms around them.
It hurt. He was surprised how much.
Her heart was breaking, The pain was unbearable. She sat very still and listened to the wind, hardly breathing, hardly thinking, just hurting. Hours passed before the storm weakened and then all of a sudden it stopped and there was silence.
Lucas threw the blanket off and rose to his feet. The light had turned golden on the mountains, the sky a soft blue which announced the end of the day. The two Tuaregs were already busy setting camp and gathering wood for the fire. Lucas looked at her, took hold of the water gourds.
‘There’s a guelta in the next valley. Let’s go and get some water. Maybe you’d like to have a swim and get changed.’
Reminded of the gorges of Arak, her cheeks became hot. She drew a quick breath but didn’t reply. How could he speak to her now as if none of what he had said before mattered? Did he not understand he had crushed her, or did he not care? She was about to decline, but she changed her mind. It would feel good to wash after almost a week in the desert, to wear fresh clothes. Grabbing her bag, she followed him up a narrow passage. The climb was easy; in places, steps had even been carved in the mountain, but she wasn’t prepared for what awaited at the top—a vast, smooth surface of black stone engraved with hundreds of inscriptions.
‘What are they? I have never seen anything like this.’
She crouched down and traced patterns with her finger. Outlines of feet and hands, small and large, surrounded by symbols—the script her father knew as the ancient writing of the Garamantes, later adopted by the people of the desert.
‘Some look new but others are so old they’re almost completely worn. What do they mean?’
Lucas crouched next to her. ‘This is one of the places nomads come to in order to make their betrothal official. See the woman’s and the man’s feet and hands, with their names around?’
‘Like wedding vows.’
Wedding vows between lovers, simple and naïve, yet so powerful her throat tightened and her eyes welled up with tears. She jumped to her feet and turned away.
‘Not only wedding vows,’ he remarked, pointing to a series of symbols carved onto a stone. ‘Vows of revenge too. See these here? That means egha—revenge. One of the most powerful word in Tuareg society.’
‘Egha,’ she repeated, staring at the dots and lines forming the word. ‘I thought you couldn’t read Tifinagh.’
‘When you live with the Tuaregs for a while, egha is the one word you must be able to understand. It might save your life if you see it written in the sand or scratched on the rocks outside your tent… Rancour runs deep and long in the Sahara.’
‘Come here.’ He walked to the edge of the plateau and pointed to a distant patch of green which stood out in the reddish gold sand dunes towards the west. ‘You can just about see Abalessa.’
Her throat tightened. ‘What do you plan to do when we get there?’
‘First we’ll find out where your father is being held and make contact with the keepers. We’re ahead of schedule. They won’t be expecting us yet.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Hakim and Musa will make discreet enquiries as soon as we get there tomorrow evening. Once everything’s set up, I’ll go and get your father.’
‘What about Mortemer and the gang travelling with him?’
What about Archie? She finished silently. Lucas was wrong when he claimed Archie had betrayed her and her father. He was the gang’s prisoner. She would find a way of helping him, even if Lucas wouldn’t. She owed her old friend that much.
He shrugged. ‘We’ll have to be careful. They must have men watching out for us. The best thing would be to split up when we approach Abalessa.�
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He set off again, down a path leading to the next valley, surprisingly green with pistachio and acacia trees and tufts of coarse grass.
‘I hope this water’s safe, we don’t have much left,’ Lucas said as they walked down to a small lake, a line of worry creasing his forehead.
There was no telltale sign of the well being poisoned, no carcass of dead animals in or around the water. He cupped a little water in his hand and brought it to his mouth, then let out a sigh of relief, grabbed hold of the gourds.
‘It tastes fine. Let’s fill these up.’
When they had finished, she opened her bag, pulled out her bar of soap, a new chemise, and undergarments.
He stared at her, intense, and bent down to pick the soap up.
‘This scent will always remind me of you.’ He handed it over to her. His fingers brushed hers, giving her a jolt.
She closed her eyes. Why couldn’t she stop loving him? Despite everything he said, she still yearned for his arms, his kisses, his caresses. She needed to belong to him one more time, forget the dangers that lay ahead. Forget the hurtful words he had told her. She wanted that more than anything else in the world.
She opened her eyes. Slowly, she untied her braid and combed her hair with her fingers.
He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll wait for you up the hill while you bathe.’
‘There’s no need.’
She held his gaze, parted her lips. Even though he remained completely still, his pulse beat at his throat and his breathing was faster. She unfastened her tunic, pulled it open, and let it drop on the floor, then undid her breeches and kicked her boots off.
‘What are you doing?’ His voice was hoarse.
‘What does it look like?’ She smiled, throwing back at him the words he had said in the Arak cave.
She discarded her trousers, pulled her drawers down and, still wearing her chemise, walked into the water. The water was so clear she could see lichens lining the stones at the bottom, and so cool it gave her goose pimples. She dived in, her eyes wide open. When she surfaced, her chemise clung to her body. She watched him, her head cocked to one side. He hadn’t moved but his fists were clenched, his eyes had gone darker, and his face seemed set in stone.
She held out her hand.
‘Throw me the soap,’ she said, her voice husky as she repeated what he had said to her word for word in the cave. ‘Or better still, bring it to me.’
‘What are you playing at? This won’t change a thing between us,’ he growled.
She dived under the water again and swam to the other end of the pond. Doubt crept into her heart. What if he didn’t come after her? What if he really didn’t want her anymore? He said she was too naïve, not experienced or tempting enough for him.
There was a mighty splash and his arms seized her from behind, drew her against his bare chest.
‘Why are you doing this? You know I can’t give you what you want.’ His voice was angry, his arms like steel around her. He was warm and strong and she leaned against him, wishing she could stay like this forever.
His hands roamed on her stomach and her breasts, spreading a blazing heat through the thin, wet chemise. He buried his face in her neck, trailing kisses on her skin. She moaned when he slid the strap of her chemise down her shoulders, then all the way past her breasts. His hands possessed and burned, merciless, almost brutal. He spun her around, held her arms, forcing her to tilt her face to look into his eyes.
‘Is this really what you want?’
He didn’t give her time to answer but leaned down and his mouth covered hers. One hand applying pressure on the nape of her neck, the other digging on the curve of her hip, he held her so close she felt his heart thunder against her as his kiss deepened. She kissed him back, matched his heat, his need, his urgency, her fingers sliding up and down his shoulders, his arms. Whatever he had said before, he desired her. He needed her. The thought exploded in her mind like fireworks.
She stroked his rough cheeks with the back of her hands. The sunset was setting the sky on fire, a symphony of oranges and reds and pinks mirrored in the water. He led her to the bank where he kneeled down in front of her and proceeded to strip her, his fingers, his lips caressing her bare skin as he rolled her wet chemise down with excruciating slowness and let it fall to her feet. Even with her hands on his shoulders for support, she could hardly stand. His lips left a burning trail on her breasts, her stomach, her hipbone, and the inside of her thighs. She threw her head back, let out a helpless moan, and tangled her fingers in his hair.
He pulled her down to him and reclined in the grass, holding her tight and stroking her back, the curve of her hips in feather light caresses. He tightened his grip around her waist while his mouth followed the curve of her throat and devoured. She held on to his shoulders, revelling in his strength.
Lifting herself up, she moved above him, using her body, her mouth, her tongue, her fingertips to tease him. Her breasts brushed against his chest and the flat planes of his stomach, their tips hard and sensitive, until his body arched, grew hotter, harder. With an impatient groan, he positioned her so that she straddled him. She gasped for air when she took him inside her.
A hawk let out a piercing cry high up in the sky. They started moving, faster and faster. His hands dug in the softness of her hips. He leant forward, took a nipple in his mouth, then the other. Pleasure hit like a bolt of lightning. Her body shook and she collapsed, trembling and weak, on top of him. He rolled so that she was under him, parted her legs wide and drove inside her again.
Linking his fingers tightly with hers, he lifted her hands above her head. His gaze never left her as he pushed deeper and harder until she lost her mind again and he followed her.
The sun disappeared behind the rugged peaks of the Hoggar, leaving the surface of the lake the colour of dusk, grey and blue. They didn’t talk for a long time. She lay, curled up in his arms, safe and warm.
‘We must go back, it will be dark soon,’ he said at last, caressing her back. He lifted himself on his elbow, stroked a strand of hair away from her face and traced the outline of her lips with his finger. They were red, slightly swollen, and so inviting he couldn’t resist kissing her again.
He took his time, he nibbled and savoured her mouth, but he already knew he would have more. Still kissing her, he lowered his hand onto her breast. His thumb teased her nipple until it peaked and she drew in a sharp breath. She arched against him and his hand slid down her stomach, tracing circles and patterns, applying pressure. Her breathing became fast, rugged. She gripped his shoulders, opened to him.
What a fool he had been to think he could easily walk away from her. She was part of him, forever. He had hurt her, and yet she still gave herself to him. She was beautiful, generous and brave. She was his, for now at least. He made love to her, slowly this time. He revelled in watching her eyes grow dark, stormy and heavy with pleasure, in listening to her helpless sighs. He held her tight as if they could never be pulled apart. And when she threw her head back and tightened around him, he stifled her cries under his mouth, his heart ready to burst. He knew then that he would do the right thing. She deserved better than him, much better. However hard it may be, he had made his decision and would stick to it.
‘This time, we must go.’ He kissed the tip of her nose and pulled himself up.
Night had fallen. It had gone cold. He got dressed quickly, strapped the heavy gourds around his shoulders, and checked that they hadn’t left anything behind.
She shivered and put her clothes and boots on. Her body, her soul, her eyes were filled with him, with his love. Neither of them talked. It was as if they didn’t want to break the magic of the last few hours. It would be broken soon enough. When she was ready, she followed him across the narrow valley and up the black rocks. He had to stop and help her up in places.
At the top of the mountain, the bright moonlight shone onto the smooth, black rocks with the betrothal carvings, almost like in a mirror. As they walked ac
ross, he paused to take her hand and brought it to his lips. Something in the way he looked at her made her chest tighten. It was as if he was saying good bye.
Suddenly he focused on something behind her and his eyes hardened.
‘Don’t turn round, don’t move,’ he whispered, his lips barely moving. His eyes never leaving their focus behind her, he untied the gourds and let them down silently onto the ground.
‘What is it?’
He didn’t answer, completely still for a few seconds, but his whole body had tensed. Suddenly, he pushed her aside and in the same fluid movement pulled out his knife and lunged.
The lioness roared as she pounced on him. They rolled, entwined, on the flat rocks to the edge of the plateau, and it was almost impossible to distinguish the man from the beast. The sounds of growling and rolling pebbles rolling down the hill echoed in the silence, over the mountains, and into the valleys. Her hands pressed against her mouth, Harriet stood, unable to move for what felt like hours, breathing in the wild, pungent scent of the lion.
Then it was all over. Lucas straddled the lioness and plunged his knife into her throat. She made a loud yelping sound and stilled. Eyes closed, his hand gripping the knife, he collapsed on top of her.
‘Are you hurt?’
Frantic, Harriet ran to him. She knelt down next to him, touched his arm covered with the lioness’ blood, his shoulders, his face. He opened his eyes and fear gave way to relief.
‘I was so afraid she’d kill you,’ she said.
‘We were lucky.’ He jumped to his feet, swiped his blade onto the lioness’ fur, and put it back in the scabbard at his side. He grabbed the gourds.
‘Come now. We must leave. There’ll be others around.’
He took her hand, but before they went he took her in his arms and kissed her, his lips lingering over her wet cheeks, her eyes, and finally her mouth. He smelled of heat and fur and blood.
Ahar, she said silently. The lion. Her lion.
Chapter Twenty-Five
They were taking risks, riding out in the open. He skimmed the wide, flat plains scattered with black rocks, coarse grass, thickets of acacia and pistachio trees, and prickly bushes growing in dried-up riverbeds. A herd of goats grazed in the distance, their shepherd probably sheltering in the shade. Despite being late in the afternoon, the sun was still fierce.