The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

by Lisa Torquay

  The band receded without the leader’s directions and loosened their grip on the situation. With no waste of time, he ordered them to surrender the weapons. In a second his men dominated the group.

  In a swift jerk, Lucinda stood up, musket pointed at the leader. She had to admit these clothes gave her total freedom of movement. Pepper-mint eyes darted mortal shards at his small dark-brown ones. Staring wildly at him, she made him understand he had messed with the wrong woman, and the wrong man, for that matter.

  “Is there some kind of magistrate we can take them to?” She asked Tariq, without ripping her eyes from the villain.

  “Yes.” He said. “We can tie them and take them to him.

  She nodded. “The Sahara will be cleaner!”

  Tariq and his men busied themselves tying the band members one on the other in a line, which attached to a camel, hands tied. Aziz would do it. Only then did Lucinda release the musket. And the caravan re-started their way.

  She needed no rescuing after all

  There could be no helping it. This sense of pride. His woman, his. Only his. Ok, so she’d said nobody owned her. He took her. With excruciating need. So, she was his now. End of conversation. Simple, too simple, what happened back there. Just a well-placed trick and timing. And she alone caught a band of thieves. Well, not exactly alone, he’d had a part in it, undoubtedly. He and his men, too. She stood tough, he had to admit it, as his camel paced the dusty ground. His Princess of the Desert. A smile designed on his sensuous lips. She belonged there. She belonged with him. They were good together, he mused. Too good for his peace of mind.

  To think of what could have happened to her. The thought clouded Tariq’s bravado. The possibility rendered unbearable. What if he lost her? It would be like his heart got wrenched from his chest by invisible hands. There would be no fathoming as to what happened to him. Just a woman, for heaven’s sake! It didn’t matter though. The way the episode affected him caused surprise.

  When they arrived at the next village, Lucinda plunged in a strange kind of haze. It’d sunk in after they had re-started their journey. Maybe an after-shock. She’d sat motionless on her camel, staring ahead without blinking. The fear for Tariq’s life, and hers, was all that remained in her mind. The way they regained control had been unpretentious enough. And lucky they’d made it. But what if it hadn’t worked? She’d have been taken. Maybe Tariq would have gotten hurt, trying to prevent the villains from succeeding. No use dwelling on the if’s, she knew. Nevertheless, her mind swirled around them.

  The moment the villagers saw the thieves tied and heard what happened they roared with cheers. Her epithet repeated to exhaustion. She kept her countenance. Those people would be offended if she reacted adversely. With the outlaws caught, the consequences of their acts would befall them.

  Utterly relief flooded her when Tariq sent her to the lodging with the request for a bath. She bathed quickly, had no energy to wash her hair. She plaited it and lay in bed as an overwhelming tiredness dominated her. Her body lay down balled under the blankets.

  The last crimson rays of sun had disappeared in the west, when Tariq came to the lodging. Lucinda had dozed off. He looked at her with a worried wrinkle printed on his olive forehead. No need to ask her anything. He knew what coursed inside her because the same happened to him.

  His dusty kaftan fell off before he washed in her bath water and walked to the bed. With her in his arms, he held her close, taking in her jasmine scent and the sweet warmness of her pure ivory skin. She snuggled in him, her arms about his neck, her leg over his. He stroked her hair, slowly, as his lips brushed her forehead.

  They held each other, the ghosts of their fears haunting the room. And they held tighter, never letting go. Tariq fell asleep in the curve of her neck. Deep into the night, peace befell them, but neither disentangled form the other.

  Tariq opened his eyes just before dawn, a little disoriented. This had to be paradise, surely. His woman held him as he her, under the blankets. They wrapped in warmness, comfort, surrendered to each other. He lifted his head from the curve of her neck and looked at her. The first light in the sky threw a grey gleam to her perfect face, her dried-dates tress almost undone. Long lashes reposed suavely on her cheeks. He had to go, to prepare to leave. And this was the last thing he wanted to do on earth. He wanted to stay here. Forever. With her, in her. Would he ever get enough? Men tired of their women, the natural order of things, he reckoned. They’d run their course, wouldn’t they? If yes, it lay very far in the future as yet, he feared. Until then, he’d be a slave to this craving for her. And he’d take his fill. Oh, yes, he would.

  Her eyes fluttered open, widening on his. Then she closed them again and stretched with a sigh along him. Oh, no, not like this. It’d get really difficult to get up. “Good morning.” He wished.

  “Good morning.” Her voice hoarse from sleep.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, very. You?”

  “Can’t complain.” He dismissed. “I have to go now.”

  She nodded, closed her eyes, but kept holding him. She seemed to have gone back to sleep.

  He smiled. Kissing each of her eye-lids, he gently put space between them and stood.

  It’d been raining for hours in Syracuse. Mrs Croft twisted her fingers as she waited for Mr Graziani. His men had found a lead as to where Lucinda might be. She paced the tiled drawing room, unable to keep still.

  Adriana sat with a stuck embroidery on her lap. “I really hope they got something. She’s been missing for days now!

  “It would be about time. I am so sick with worry!” She paced even more, hands joined under her plump chin.

  The door opened and mercifully, Pietro entered. “Good afternoon, ladies.” If possible, his round belly became even rounder. The women answered faintly.

  As Mrs Croft observed his tense expression, she lost heart. “Did the lead take anywhere, Mr Graziani?

  “I regret to say it didn’t.” He said as he shook his head, chin down.

  “Oh, my God!” Mrs Croft’s hope shrunk, on the verge of tears. It’d been too long time. Miss Lancefield could be anywhere.

  “They got information of a girl with her description in the port, a few days ago. Now they came into information that the girl accompanied with her parents and came from France.” He made a disappointed gesture with his arms. “I am sorry!”

  On her armchair, Adriana had her lips parted and deep sadness in her eyes.

  “I cannot wait any longer. I have to send word to the Earl and Countess.”

  He looked at her disheartened, hesitated for seconds and nodded. “As a parent, I’d like to be informed if Adriana was missing, of course.”

  “I’m going to my room and write them at once!” She walked to the door.

  “Mrs Croft,” Pietro started and she halted, “you can stay here if you wish. Maybe, we’ll find her.”

  “Thank you, Mr Graziani.” In a trifle she disappeared through the door.

  “Oh, papa! Who could have been so cruel?”

  “I don’t know, Adriana. I don’t know.” His head low, expression faded.

  CHAPTER NINE

  They reached Tunis that afternoon. From that far, it certainly didn’t look like a village, Lucinda observed. It was big, with high minarets sprinkled throughout it. Against the blue sky, it was beautiful.

  The landscape had been changing steadily since they left this morning. Greener, scattered bushes at first, and higher trees in the last hour, the air acquired a salty tang. And now, up the hills that out-skirted the city, it stretched before her. She deduced it must Tariq’s hometown because they’d been travelling northwards. There’d been no bigger city in the area.

  Suddenly, she wished she found a way to send a letter to Mrs Croft so she wouldn’t worry so much. For this, she’d naturally need Tariq’s help since she didn’t know if there was a post system here. She suspected he wouldn’t allow it though.

  Sometime later, they passed through the
south gate opening on the mediaeval wall. They immersed in another world. Throngs of people, horses, camels, goats circulated up and down the tortuous alleys. A tight mess of narrow two-floor buildings elevated from those. Many had shops on the ground-floor, with canvas canopies hanging from the walls.

  The caravan strove forward, a mixture of smells in the air: spice, fruit, dung, camel. The city unfolded before her amazed attention. Men and women, in their usual garb, passed by in a feast of colours. A cacophony of vendors’ shouts, men talking, barks and children, together with music coming from somewhere.

  After a while, they left the hustle and bustle of the web of alleys behind and a quieter and more spacious area came into view. The caravan halted in front of an enormous two-store building, whitewashed, with a huge dome in the centre. The front wall displayed arched doors, one of them wide, leading to an internal yard. This one with a canvas canopy hanging from it.

  Tariq dismounted and helped her do the same. He opened the wide door. “Welcome to my humble abode.” And motioned for her to go into the villa.

  Lucinda fought not to gape. The yard was gigantic, with a private caravanserai where he probably kept his camels and goods. Gardens and palm trees everywhere. To the right, an arched veranda led to the villa itself.

  Tariq gave instructions to his men and accompanied her inside, carrying his and her sacs. Inside cool air prevailed with tiled floors and walls, domed high ceilings and ample spaces sheltering a sitting room with rugs and cushions and an aired kitchen. She saw nobody, but she suspected there should be servants who probably carried out other tasks at this moment.

  She followed him when he climbed up the large stairs and came into a bedroom worth calling a ballroom. Tile with arched columns, it had a king size low four-posted bed with diaphanous curtains around it.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back after unloading.” He turned and walked away from an astounded Lucinda.

  She walked around, windows on three walls, all arched and latticed. Light poured from everywhere and the breeze blew fresh. Magnificent did not begin to describe it. When Adriana mentioned the villa, Lucinda didn’t have the slightest idea it could be like this. From one of the windows, the sea opened in its deep-blue vastness. Another showed a market; he did not live far from the busy cobwebbed mediaeval centre.

  Lucinda left the room and wandered through the hallway. Other rooms revealed in her exploration, and she came across a library. She entered it. Shelves filled the arches, full of books in many languages; Arabic, French, English, Italian. Fascination filled her. Rugs and cushions on the floor made the room look comfortable and cosy at the same time. She picked up a book and sat on the cushions to read.

  “I knew I’d find you here.” She heard his velvety voice long after she’d started reading.

  She lifted her head from the book and gazed into his glorious cognac-against-fire eyes. “It’s an extraordinary library!”

  He nodded pleased. “I got a taste for books from my French and Scottish tutors. I started this collection during school days, but I inherited many from my father and grandfather as well.”

  The small talk ended abruptly, as both of them stared at each other. A lightning of fire crossed her body with his searing gaze.

  He extended his hand to her. “Come, I want to show you something.”

  She took his hand, stood up and followed him.

  He led her through the hallway to the back of the second floor. A large arched door disclosed a bath. A huge tiled pool of warm water sided by arches; tiled floor and walls, large wet steps at one border. Light spilled from the latticed windows and peppermint and sandalwood perfumed the room. A pile of washcloths and towels stood nearby

  “This is my private bath.” His voice hoarse as he turned to her and his hands lifted to her hair. “You can use it whenever you wish.” His fingers started un-braiding it. His cognac eyes misted as he watched her hair come loose.

  Her green beams raised to him mesmerised. “Thank you.” Was all she could murmur because his tall, broad-shouldered frame stood so close, she saw his stubbed mouth and yearned to taste it.

  His fingers merged in her strands and the other hand circled the nape of her neck. She gulped air as his mouth dived down on hers in a demanding kiss.

  Impatience had dominated Tariq as his men and he unloaded the goods and treated the camels. It took damn too long for him to be free to seek her.

  Lucinda opened for him, allowing him to take everything he wanted. She froze into place as the fiery sensation raided her body. And then he lifted his head and their eyes mingled. He undressed her tunic and pantaloons. She repaid the favour. His aroused body displayed its utter impressiveness, and she appreciated it with her perusal. Her entire skin prickled, eager for his touch.

  He took her hand and guided her to the water. They climbed down the steps to the pool as it received them with its deliciously warm water. Flasks and washcloths lay nearby, of which he made use as he moistened a cloth and poured oil on it. “Peppermint, like your eyes.” His hoarse murmur laced with the water caressed her.

  His taut frame touched her, his erection nudged her waist at the same time the washcloth slid from her neck to her shoulder and reached her full pebbled breast. She moaned, limp, leaning against the pool wall, in total delight under his ministrations. His mouth covered hers again, and the cloth didn’t stop moving everywhere, leaving heat in its wake. Her wet arms weaved about his neck and she let him do to her what he wished, so surrendered she was. And he did. Kiss, after boiling kiss and his open mouth going down, licking and nipping the curve of her neck, her shoulder, her chest. His arms locked around her waist to hook her up and capture her breast, his other hand splayed on her pert buttock. She held his shoulders as her head fell down in delectation, her moisten hair about her.

  “Lucinda,” he rasped, “I can’t get enough of you!” He contemplated her other breast, intensifying her need for him.

  Good, neither could she, a hazy answer in her bugged mind. Their lengths touched tightly, his burgeoning hunger pressed between them while her fingers rejoiced in his obsidian sleek hair, still dry.

  His hands spanned her narrow waist, sat her on the boarder and his mouth came thirsty to her core. She moaned with the torture as her melted spine lay on the tiled floor, hands on his hair, feet on his shoulders, curling. His lips, his tongue, his teeth took her to madness.

  “Tariq…please!” She didn’t wish him to finish, she needed to be filled by him.

  He pulled her back to the water and lay her stomach down on the shallow first steps at the border, one leg flexed to the side.

  “Tariq, what are you…?” And she groaned when he entered her in a long, slow, delightful stroke.

  “Lucinda,” his velvety voice caressed the back of her ear, “I want to teach you every way a man and a woman can find satisfaction.” He pushed again, and she rewarded him with a gasp, his body glued on hers, her waist-long dripping hair floating in the water. His hand tortured her breast in the most tantalising way.

  The shallow water lapped over them, heightening the sensations. He drove once more as the pleasure came so intense, Lucinda arched her spine and opened more for his access.

  “Yes, jewel, you’re a quick study.” His hand sneaked under her to tease her core.

  Lucinda sank into a delirium of delectation, arching more, her head thrown up as she gasped. But Tariq insisted on his pursuit, thrusting determinedly, fingers rolling, and driving her to desperation.

  She couldn’t take it any longer. A volcano erupted, heat spread through her, hotter and hotter and exploded in concentric waves shattering her as she cried helplessly.

  His woman’s cries, mixed with her squeezing him causing him to plunge deeper and deeper, increasing his urge. He moved blindly and repeatedly. He thrust the deepest, grunting; and poured hot gushes, inundating her with his release. He fell on her spent, keeping their bodies joined, her head on his forearm. The waving water caressed their satiated frames, an
d they remained like this for a long time.

  At a certain point, Lucinda had turned and they were facing each other. Tariq grazed her wet skin with his stubbed face, she held him by his back, revelling in his smooth skin and steel muscles.

  She brushed her lips over his shoulder. “Tariq,” His name in her murmur, with her British accent unique. It would always do weird things to his guts.

  “Hm.” His hand delineated her side under the water.

  “How else can we do this?” She’d found his olive nipple and licked it.

  He groaned with her caress. “Heavens, Lucinda!” He palmed her hips. “You’ll be the end of me.” He sat up, waving smooth water between them. “Here.” His back leaning on the other border, he made her come to his lap astride.

  His intention had been only to demonstrate to her, but then her breasts levelled with his cognac irises while he held her hips. Her eyes wide on him, curious. His body reacted immodestly. There was no resisting taking her breast in his mouth again. When she moaned, he was lost.

  Lucinda had enough imagination to understand what he intended to show. She looked at him. And lower. He hardened even more under her scrutiny. “Tariq!” She marvelled.

  So he answered her question in a very clear way.

  Much later, bathed and dressed, they sat on the cushions in the big room downstairs. Before them a banquet of flavour-full delicacies, which they ate with their fingers. Servants served the food and hot tea, being the first time Lucinda identified them.

  Spacious rooms like this usually served for the owner to receive his male guests while the women gathered in a separate one.

  “How do you heat the water in the bath?” Lucinda asked after she’d tried delicious flat bread with vegetables. She dressed one of the tunic sets he’d bought for her in one of the villages. This one was bright green with simple but beautiful embroidery around the neckline.

  Tariq moistened his bread in the vegetables spicy sauce. In one of his white kaftans and sirwaal, his obsidian hair wet and shiny. “A hot spring runs under this terrain. We discovered it by chance and then we used it for the bath.” He smiled at her curiosity.