Desert Barbarian

by Charlotte Lamb

'I'm-curious, nevertheless,' he drawled.

  'Then your curiosity must be unsatisfied,' she retorted.

  He made a soft sound under his breath, an impatient, infuriated noise. 'Your trouble is that you were never smacked as a child,' he snapped. 'You're spoilt, selfish and impossibly headstrong.'

  'That's my problem,' she shrugged.

  'I suppose you've given your parents some information about this job?' he demanded. 'They do know about it?'

  'Of course they do.'

  'And do they approve?'

  The blue eyes gazed at him blandly. 'They're willing to let me go.'

  'That wasn't what I asked! Do they approve?'

  'I think so,' she said lightly. She looked at him be­tween her lashes. 'You haven't told me why you're here. What did you want to see me about?'

  Again he made that angry sound, his lips tightening, the lean face taut. 'God knows! I didn't intend to come…' He turned away. 'I'm flying to America to­morrow. I suppose I came to say goodbye.'

  'Don't you know?' Unconsciously her tone was pro­vocative.

  He swung round, took three strides towards her and caught her by her slender shoulders, glaring down at her. 'No, I don't know. I must have been mad to come here. You're a maddening, immature little fool. You have a lot of growing up to do before any sane man would want to get involved with you. I knew it was madness to see you again, but…' He broke off, his face grim.

  'But?' Marie's heart was racing, her body turning to water as she stared up at his dark, angry face.

  He gave a despairing groan. 'If I had any sense I'd walk out of that door without another word!'

  'Then why don't you?' She turned away, her move­ment bringing her hair flicking across his cheek in a scented swathe.

  'God help me, I can't,' Stonor murmured under his breath.

  Marie felt a suffocating excitement as he reached a hand up to touch her averted face, turning it back to face him, his fingers moving against her skin with the sen­sitivity of a blind man trying to see with his finger tips.

  Slowly he traced the shape of her features; the slender straight nose with its faint upturning, the modelling of her cheekbones, the curved pink mouth. Everywhere his fingers rested she felt fiery nerves spring up, beating in response.

  He stared down into her wide, very blue eyes, with their flickering lashes constantly hiding the expression the eyes held.

  'Can you imagine what it feels like to be split in half?' he asked her suddenly. 'One part of me has always longed for the emptiness of the desert, the silence, the space. The other half is drawn to the neon lights and crowds of the cities. All my life I've had to fight down the impulse to leave the modern world, and all that it means, behind me; to spend my days out there in the freedom of the desert. I waste much of my energy fight­ing myself.'

  'Why fight it?' she shrugged. 'Why not go there and give up everything else? You're a very rich man. You don't need to pursue even more wealth.'

  He smiled sardonically. 'Why don't I go? Because I'm still a young man and I know that to retreat into the ancient, unchanged world of the desert would be coward­ice. There's no challenge in the desert that I can't face, but the challenge of the business world does scare me. Every day I hang on an abyss edge. One false move and I go down, everything with me.' His eyes flashed excitedly. 'That's why I stay.'

  Marie understood that. She watched his face, darkly alive and glittering, and knew far more about him than she had before. This was a man who loved a hand-to-hand struggle with destiny, with danger. He liked to risk everything on one throw of the dice, loved the thrill of the danger.

  'You're mad,' she said softy. 'You can't go on playing Russian roulette with life for ever.'

  He grinned down at her, his eyes leaping. 'Can't I? Doesn't that attract you, too, Marie?'

  Her breath caught as she met his eyes.

  'That night I heard you talking outside the hotel, part of me leapt in wild excitement,' he said quickly. 'You said things I've often thought myself, things I was feel­ing right then. I, too, was hankering for the desert. I was sick of luxury hotels and silly, flattering fools who think that money makes a man. I suddenly wanted to play a game, a game of make-believe; live out the role of my life, make you believe it too. I took you out into the desert to fulfil two secret dreams—yours and mine.'

  She was breathless, spellbound, as she listened, feeling the hard-muscled strength of his body against the length of hers, his arm holding her captive.

  Then his face hardened. 'But the reality of it scared you, didn't it? You're too shallow to meet the challenge of that vast emptiness, too immature to match a man kiss for kiss, hunger for hunger…' His voice was stifled by strong emotion, fires leapt in the dark eyes, there was a sudden terrifying urgency in the strong hands that held her, moving over body and face, touching, caressing.

  'You're hurting me,' she protested, beginning to tremble. What had she unleashed ? Now, even more than on that night in the desert, she felt a primitive force in him which, once let loose, might sweep away everything that stood in its path.

  'I want to hurt you,' he said fiercely. 'I want to sting you to life. You're like an android, an artificial creation shaped like a woman, with all a woman's beauty and desirability, but lacking the vital spark which lights it up. I told myself that it was folly to come here. It isn't in you to respond to any man.'

  'Then why don't you go?' she blazed, flushed with pain and anger at what he had said.

  He swore under his breath. The hawk-like face was so close she could see every detail in sharp clarity; the dark, mysterious eyes so deep looking into them was like fal­ling down a well, the strong nose and fleshless cheek­bones, austerely planed, the cruel mouth which was sud­denly moving closer and closer…

  'No!' she moaned, suffocating under that ruthless pressure, her hands beating at his chest like white moths against a window.

  The world swung in a crazy arc around her, fire sprang up wherever his hands touched her. Her heart beat so fast she thought she must faint, as if her senses were not capable of meeting the demands he made upon them. Stonor ignored her struggles, her stifled protests. Compelling, ruthless, merciless, he kissed her until she was clinging weakly to him as to a rock in the midst of a flooding river, half drowning, half ecstatic.

  Behind her closed lids a dazzle of light hypnotised her. She clung to him while he kissed her throat, her ears, pushing aside her blouse to kiss her shoulders and the white softness where her breasts rose, panting, from their confinement.

  Abruptly he pushed her away so that she stumbled and fell back against the sofa. Opening her eyes, she stared at him, her hair straying in golden wildness across the cushions, her blouse half unbuttoned, her eyes wide and dazed.

  For a moment he stared at her, his face grim. Then he bowed sardonically. 'Goodbye, Miss Brinton. It was an education to meet you. I pity the man who's fool enough to fall in love with you. His will be a frustrating experi­ence, trying to spark a flame from the stony emptiness of your heart.'

  Turning on his heel, he slammed out of the room, and Marie burst into scalding tears.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SOME weeks later Marie sat on an elaborately worked wicker chair watching a small boy in a white shirt and blue trousers frowning over the drawing he had made of an elephant.

  'Should it have five legs?' she asked him lightly. 'Can you remember?'

  Jeremy's brown eyes lifted abstractedly. 'It's blue,' he said. 'I haven't got any grey.'

  'What about its legs?' she pressed.

  He slowly counted them. 'That isn't a leg,' he told her scornfully. 'It's a tail.'

  'Oh, sorry.' She got up and bent over the picture. 'It's very good,' she admitted. 'We must try to find some grey pencils next time we go to the market.'

  His small face lit up. 'Can we go today? I like going down to the market. I like the candy man. I like that stuff he sells that's pink and sticky. It makes my teeth stick together.'

  'Yes,' she said thoughtfull
y. 'But I'm not sure it's good for your teeth.'

  'I like the man who sells crocodile eggs,' Jeremy went on ecstatically. 'What do you think people do with them?'

  'I hate to think,' Marie murmured. 'It's nearly time for your lunch.'

  'Not rice again,' he moaned. 'I wish I could have chips.'

  'You know they don't have potatoes here,' she pointed out.

  'I can wish, can't I?' His face was rebellious, the pink skin flushed, the brown eyes cross. 'I'm not very hungry, anyway.'

  The heat was enervating for him, Marie thought. She always insisted that he took a nap in the afternoon, when the heat was at its worst, but Jeremy found it hard to sleep in the daytime and often got up again and played with his toys while she was not watching him.

  She had made his acquaintance in England, before they left for Jedhpur, and they had become friends at once. Jeremy was a very friendly little boy, quite ac­customed to amusing himself, and always delighted to have company. On the long flight from England there had been no difficulty in keeping him amused. He sat drawing huge pictures of fluffy white clouds while he stared out of the window. Marie had been filled with trepidation that day, wondering if she had done the right thing, wondering if she would miss her parents while she was in India, wondering if she would ever be able to manage to look after the little boy.

  They had driven from the tiny airstrip into the crowded capital of Jedhpur through narrow streets filled with people who had turned to stare at the black palace car. Few people in Lhalli had cars. They were still an exciting event and attracted a great deal of excited atten­tion. Jeremy had waved, mistakenly imagining all the interest to be in him, and the dark-eyed, white-clad people had sometimes waved back, amused by his smil­ing little face and bright eyes.

  The car had taken them to the pink-washed palace first of all, driving through a large iron-bolted door held open by two turbanned sentries who saluted, to Jeremy's huge delight.

  The palace was sheltered behind great walls behind which lay first the outer courtyard, filled, surprisingly, with goats and boys, who stared and gesticulated as the new arrivals left the car.

  'Is it a school?' Jeremy had asked, baffled but en­chanted by the goats, with their belled necks and short horns.

  'I expect those goats belong to the King,' his mother had said, shrugging.

  They had been met at the arched door of the palace by a fierce, turbanned man in spotless white, his broad silk sash fringed where it fell along one hip. He had bowed, hands laid palm to palm,-making a courteous greeting. Then he had led them through a bewildering series of marble-floored corridors, their feet echoing as they walked in their Western shoes.

  Everywhere they saw sentries and servants, the latter all clad in the same spotless white as the man who was guiding them.

  They had waited in a small antechamber for ten minutes before the King arrived, wearing a blue tunic made of some glittering material, buttoned to the throat and falling to his hips, beneath which were white trou­sers. He had come in suddenly, smiling at them with friendly dark eyes.

  'Mrs Cunningham… how delightful to see you! I hope you had a good flight? And this is your son.' Solemnly he extended a hand to Jeremy, who took it as solemnly.

  'I am very glad to meet you,' the King said politely.

  Jeremy looked pleased. 'Why are there goats in your courtyard?' he asked eagerly.

  The King's round dark eyes smiled. 'Ah, that is be­cause they have come in to be milked,' he said. 'Then they will go back into the fields, up the hills where the grass is green.'

  'There were boys too,' Jeremy pointed out.

  'They look after the goats,' the King explained. 'Each has his own flock and his own pasture.'

  'Why do they wear bells round their necks?' Jeremy asked with an air of scholarly interest.

  'So that they can be heard if they get lost,' said the King with great patience.

  'Why…' Jeremy began, but his mother cut him off gently, 'That's enough, Jeremy.'

  The King smiled at her. 'He asks intelligent ques­tions.' The dark eyes moved on to scrutinise Marie. 'And this is Miss Brinton, your governess?'

  Marie shook hands with him, impressed by his direct and interested manner. He was not at all what she had expected.

  'Have you been to this part of the world before?' he asked her. 'What do you think of our small country?'

  'I've never been to India before,' she admitted. 'But I'm sure I'm going to like it.'

  'This is not India, Miss Brinton,' he said flatly. 'Jedh­pur is an independent kingdom with its own history, language and traditions. We are very proud of our past and very hopeful about our future.'

  She was embarrassed by her slip, glancing at Jess apologetically, hoping she had not offended the King too much. Jess smiled at her comfortingly, giving a slight shake of the head.

  The King clapped his hands and the proud-faced ser­vant in white appeared, bowing profoundly.

  'Rahaib, take Miss Brinton and Master Jeremy to their bungalow, will you?' He smiled at Marie. 'I wish to have a long talk with Mrs Cunningham about her work. I hope you will excuse us for a while. Rahaib will see that you have everything you need. If you have any worries, please mention them to him and they will be attended to at once.'

  Marie was taken aback, but smiled back politely and allowed Rahaib to lead her and Jeremy away.

  Back they went along the marble corridors, her eyes dazedly admiring the gilt glitter of some of the mosaics, staring in fascinated confusion at huge barbaric statues of gods or men, the limbs entwined in strange contortions, the faces calm and impassive. Rahaib walked at a calm pace just ahead of them, one hand loosely hovering around his sash. When someone suddenly slipped out of an alcove between two pale pink pillars Rahaib's hand moved like a snake, flying away from his sash with a curved, glittering dagger between the brown fingers.

  'Put that away, Rahaib,' commanded an amused voice.

  Rahaib relaxed, bowing. 'Lord, I did not see it was you.'

  The newcomer was a young man in Western clothes; a white shirt and loose white trousers, wearing white sports shoes on his feet.

  Marie looked at him in curious surprise. He grinned at her, his thin brown face full of mischief.

  'I've been playing cricket,' he explained, pointing to his clothes. 'You must be Mrs Cunningham. I must say, you look amazingly young to be a famous artist.'

  She laughed, her blue eyes dancing. 'That's because I'm not Mrs Cunningham. I'm only her son's governess.'

  'Ah, yes, the son,' he murmured, glancing at Jeremy, who was a few feet away, inspecting a wall carving of an elephant with much fascination. 'I had forgotten him.' He turned back to her, smiling. 'I am the King's cousin, by the way. My name is Aziz. May I ask your name?'

  'Marie Brinton,' she told him.

  His voice dropped confidentially. 'I am delighted to meet you, Miss Brinton. You are the answer to a maiden's prayer.'

  Her eyebrows curved in silent amusement. She thought he had misunderstood the phrase, but, seeing her unspoken reaction, he grinned at her.

  'I mean that literally,' he said. 'I do not suppose the King mentioned Aissa?'

  She shook her head. 'Who is Aissa?'

  'His sister,' Aziz said softy. 'She has just returned from a year in Paris and she is already beginning to be very bored here. Like myself, she had had a Western education, but now that we are back in Jedhpur we are expected to return to the old ways because otherwise we might shock the people. It is not so bad for me—men have always had more freedom than women here, but for Aissa it is stifling.'

  Marie stared at him, uneasy and perplexed. She sensed that she was about to be involved in trouble, but there was little she could do to dodge out of the situation.

  Aziz went on pleadingly, 'Aissa badly needs a friend. There are many things she could do with another girl around that she could not do if she were alone. It would not be permitted for her to drive around alone outside the palace, for instance, but if you were her compa
nion her brother would not object.'

  'The King seemed very modern-minded,' Marie pro­tested.

  Aziz sighed. 'He is, actually, but he can only go so far for fear of offending the diehards who help him run this country. Believe me, plenty of people would make trouble if Aissa was thought to be running wild. She isn't married yet, although she is twenty years old, and to some old-fashioned people that in itself is shocking.'

  Marie looked at him in disbelief. 'Shocking?'

  'They think she is getting old,' Aziz said grimly. 'A hundred years ago she would have been married at fifteen. The King has held them off until now, but some of them are insisting that he find her a husband without further delay.'

  'An arranged marriage?' Marie knew that that was the custom here, so this did not surprise her.

  Aziz nodded. 'The Prime Minister is the leader of the old party, the ones who are most determined to have her married off…'

  She glanced nervously at Rahaib, who stood within earshot, his face blank, yet who must have heard every word of this. Aziz followed her glance and smiled.

  'Oh, don't worry about Rahaib. He was the King's bodyguard when the King was small. He would die rather than betray any of us.'

  Rahaib made no move, no sign indicating that he had heard a word of this remark. Aziz smiled at her again, shrugging.

  'You see? He is the eyes and ears, but he does not speak, unless the King commands it.'

  'Then the King approves of what you suggest?' she asked doubtfully.

  Aziz said softy, 'The King wants his sister to be happy, but he cannot move in the matter himself. He can only permit what she wishes out of his love for her. If she asks to be allowed to visit you in your bungalow, he will agree.'

  Rahaib turned suddenly and murmured softly, 'The Lord Hathni approaches, my lord.'

  'Oh, gracious heavens,' Aziz said in alarm. He gave Marie a quick look. 'Do not mention that you have seen me. We have never met before.'

  Marie was puzzled and alarmed, turning to look down the corridor as she heard the slap of sandalled feet. When she turned back to Aziz he had vanished. She looked at Rahaib in bewilderment. His dark eyes met hers im­passively.