The Jewelled Caftan

by Margaret Pargeter

  'I am English 1' she announced quickly, with more than a hint of panic, which, if she had stopped to think, seemed to contradict all her careful reasoning.

  'Yes,' he drawled dryly, to her amazement addressing her perfectly in that tongue, 'I thought you might be, but that is no excuse to feel superior, or imagine you have the sole right to speak your mind.'

  Ross had the grace to colour guiltily, having been brought up to be polite. 'How did you guess?' she spluttered, feeling at that moment anything but superior.

  'It wasn't difficult. Your truck was obviously from that country, and I noticed one or two old English magazines. I wasn't sure about you though.'

  'You speak my language perfectly,' she said grudgingly.

  'Yes. Much better than your French.'

  That was all. He wasn't giving much away. She was not to learn how he had acquired such expertise, for his aloof air of detachment did nothing to encourage her to ask. Now that she had had a chance to have a good look at him there was something about this man that she found frightening, and fright had always made her indiscreet. 'You may go now,' she lifted her small chin boldly, 'and send your servant back with my clothes. Then I will talk to you.'

  His eyes flashed a dark fire, and she was aware of a carefully controlled anger. 'If I remember correcdy, mademoiselle, you dismissed Jamila yourself with a message—one which scarcely does you credit, and which caused her some pain to repeat.'

  Ross flushed faintly, yet she kept her chin at the same defiant angle. 'I am sorry,' she retorted coolly, 'if your feelings have been hurt, but I like to be frank. I should have thought a man like you would appreciate it.' Apprehensively she hoped he didn't guess how she quaked inwardly, or what it cost her to maintain such a bold front!

  For an instant his face darkened so formidably that she felt physically shaken. Had she gone too far?

  'You are impertinent, girl!' he exclaimed, his tones matching the hardness of his eyes. 'I find you in a tent with three men, having no doubt received, in spite of your incredible indifference to any moral code, more than you bargained for. To escape your predicament you chose a way not many women would have lowered themselves to even consider! Now, I suppose, having achieved what you desired you hope also to escape the consequences of your behaviour?'

  A fine perspiration broke out on Ross's brow as she stared numbly up at him. Her head was thrown back and her childishly silky blonde hair tumbled heavily about her slim shoulders. The impact of his temper and curt words made her feel faint again. His opinion of her obviously couldn't be lower, if she didn't quite understand the total meaning of what he implied. 'How else could I have attracted your attention, monsieur?' Helplessly her lips trembled and she tightened them fiercely, too proud to point out that she had been desperate.

  'You have a voice,1 he reminded her brusquely.

  'You couldn't know the condition of my throat,' she protested. 'My voice had gone ! It might be only a few hours ago and, if it does seem to have recovered, I remember clearly !'

  'A few hours ago !' he jeered cruelly. 'Then you have no idea just how long you've been here?'

  Startled, she frowned, retorting blankly, 'But it's not yet dark and it was in the afternoon, I think, that you came.'

  His reply surprised her even more, bringing a quiver of fear to her face. 'You have been here exactly two days, mademoiselle. Two days in which I have wasted much valuable time, with nothing yet to convince me such a sacrifice was worthwhile!'

  She was so filled with dismay that his sarcasm went unheeded. 'How could I have been here so long?' she whispered, as if unable to bring herself to believe him.

  Unmercifully he loomed over her, his hand shooting out to grasp her right wrist—an action that made her cry out in surprised pain as his long, steely fingers closed over the weals left by the ropes. 'Do you wish me to show you, to remind you of the other marks on your body, girl? You have lain on your couch and been delirious almost two whole days. If my general opinion of you is to remain low, perhaps I can bring myself to believe what you tell me about your voice. Your condition when we brought you here was not good, and another few hours in that tent would not have helped.'

  For a moment, seeing how he had possibly saved her life, Ross felt unhappily ashamed. The last vestige of colour drained from her face as she saw how she might be greatly indebted to him, and that he was a man who kept full account of what was owed him. His lean fingers, still on her arm, were sending warning signals to her brain, though the exact interpretation remained a mystery. A curious sensation, not unlike excitement, was making itself felt throughout her whole being. Her pulse was racing, something she never recalled happening before, and the thought of his hands removing her tattered clothing caused her to shiver all over. 'You washed me, cleaned me up?' she cried involuntarily.

  'No,' his eyes went over her slowly. 'I am not particularly interested in unconscious females, even those with the body of a slender young Venus. I left the undressing and the washing, the actual nursing, to Jamila and her sister. They have looked after you well and deserve your thanks. I was, however, obliged to supervise the very necessary drugs. With their aid you have slept until the worst of the pain and shock has gone. It actually surprises me to see you so far recovered, but it is undoubtedly my duty to warn you that this could be deceptive. For a little while longer, at least, you must take care.'

  Lifting her vivid blue eyes to his face, Ross saw how the light caught his profile, remote and strong, as he bent over her to examine her wrists. His voice was compelling, even beautiful, with dark velvety tones when he wasn't being harshly and outspokenly frank. He could be distincdy unpleasant, yet, in spite of this, there was the sudden conviction, even if she disliked it, that he was vastly superior to a lot of men. This, of course, she refused to acknowledge. 'You can't possibly have had any medical training,' she shrugged lightly, 'but what you have done for me has obviously helped.'

  'Such generosity!' he drawled, dropping her hand as he straightened. 'But do not let your natural repression worry you. In my own way I shall extract all the gratitude I desire before you leave me. Be very sure of that!'

  The soft, savage emphasis in his peculiarly threatening words jerked Ross swiftly back to reality. Whether this man liked it or not she must get up, get dressed and find Freddy. 'What about the others in that tent?' she asked wildly.

  'What about them?' His broad shoulders moved laconically.

  'You ask me—that!' She could have screamed at his obvious indifference. 'Didn't you send any men back to rescue them, if you didn't feel inclined to go yourself?'

  His glance met hers, quite without remorse. 'I imagined they were old enough to look after themselves,' he drawled coolly. 'If not it might teach them a much needed lesson. To wander irresponsibly in prohibited areas is a habit that maybe only experiences like this will cure them of.'

  Ross almost gasped. If she hadn't been so confounded she might have done. As it was she seemed depleted of all breath. There was too much to confuse her! What with being here for two whole days and now not knowing what was happening to Freddy? How any man could be as hard as the one standing beside her she could not think. 'One of those men happens to be my half-brother,' she choked, 'so I'm afraid I can't share your indifference !'

  For a moment she imagined a slight expression of satisfaction flickered across his relentless face. Surely he could not

  enjoy the thought of her suffering over one of her family?

  'How old is your half-brother?' he asked.

  'Twenty-six.'

  'And you?'

  'Why should my age matter?'

  Impatiently his eyes narrowed. 'Must you always be so defiant, girl? I require to know.'

  When he spoke like that she could defy him no longer. 'Twenty,' she gazed at him sulkily, not caring for the feeling he could so easily impose his will over hers. . 'Twenty! Mon dieu, but it is incredible! Your parents must be insane to let you out of their sight!'

  Noting how his implacable jaw t
ightened, Ross shuddered. What would his reactions be if he was to discover she had no parents, that Cynthia had no idea she was here? That Cynthia thought she was in Cornwall with Freddy's cousin! Instinctively she knew it was much better he did not find out, and even more imperative that she got away before he ground this information from her. 'If you would let me have my clothes, monsieur, I would be much obliged.'

  'So you can escape again, I presume?'

  'Well, why not?' Unintentionally she found herself challenging his dryness. 'Though escape is not the word I had in mind. I simply intend thanking you for all you have done— then go. Obviously I can't just stay here while my brother is in danger!'

  About that he made no comment. 'You would be of no help to anyone, mademoiselle, if you were to perish in the desert. And I might not be around to rescue you another time.'

  Rashly she retorted, 'I don't believe it's as dangerous as all that. Not from what I've read. Not nowadays!'

  'Books and first-hand knowledge can be two vastly different things,' he said curdy. 'Remember, too, that I came about you honourably, as part of a deal. It is a sad failing in your sex to try to wriggle out of a bargain which, on second thoughts, does not suit you. You cannot pretend you did not offer yourself to me? Your actions could not be construed as anything else but an invitation 1'

  Speechlessly Ross's breath caught in her painful throat. He could only be joking? Unless she misunderstood? His swing from English back to French was confusing. And she must not forget that for all his undoubted good looks he was a Berber, or a Bedouin, perhaps. One of the many millions who made up the Arab race. As such, he might not find it easy to translate his exact meaning into English. It might be wiser to ignore what he said rather than argue. If nothing else, it could be more dignified.

  'I only asked for my clothes,' she murmured, with an effort speaking meekly.

  His sensuous mouth quirked at the corners. If she hadn't known otherwise she might have imagined he could read her thoughts clearly, and was ironically amused by them. 'If I wanted to, girl, I could not oblige you. Your clothes are in too sorry a state to be of much further use. Unfortunately the wandering nomad whom'I bargained with would not consider parting with any of your personal belongings, but Jamila will find you something, if you are patient.'

  'Patient?' Ross cried, trying to hide another surge of uneasiness with indignation. 'For how long?'

  'For as long as it' takes you to get a good rest before dinner.' His eyes went keenly, if unsympathetically, over her white face, her gently perspiring brow, the grip of too tense knuckles on the sheet. 'You will find, when you do get up, that you have barely the strength to walk across your tent, let alone the Sahara. So do not be too ambitious, girl. Besides, you will find, in the desert, there is seldom a need to hurry.'

  'No . ..!'

  But he cut her down ruthlessly as she began to protest. 'You will dine with me, girl. That is an order, and I like to be obeyed, as you already know. We have discussed nothing of any importance yet. I do not even know your name.'

  'Ross,' she whispered, without meaning to, 'Rosalind Lindsay.'

  'Then I will see you later, Rosalind Lindsay,' he replied deliberately, as he left her.

  Completely unnerved, she watched as he whipped his white burnous closer around his tall body and strode from the room. In the doorway he turned, and Ross had to admit he looked magnificent—if the glance he flung at her caused her to tremble.

  'I would advise you not to send any more of your so flattering messages with the servants. They do not understand.'

  That was all. He gave her no chance to reply, merely left her to flounder in a flood of repressed antagonism, like a concubine who had displeased him.

  Ross, the flare of temper almost consuming her, tried to get up, to run after him, but was amazed to find herself too weak. The tent swam hazily around her and her legs would barely support her, and she was forced to do as he ordered and rest again.

  Involuntarily she shivered, even her face feeling cold with dislike as she lay there and thought about him. Never before had anyone spoken to her as he did. He ignored all her wishes, refused to help Freddy and treated her as if she was a prospective slave! Would he beat his slaves? she wondered, her traitorous pulse suddenly quickening despite her anger. Beat them before he made love to them in the starlit magic of a desert night, with only the hamsin whispering through the white sands to bear witness to long hours of delight?

  Horrified, Ross checked her incredible imagination, not knowing where such thoughts had come from. Her sojourn in Morocco must be softening her brain! The quicker she was gone the better. If he was prepared to let her go. A thrill, little short of fear, shot nervously through her quivering body. She could not forget the way he had held her brutally to him across his horse. His fingers, cruel with anger, had bitten into her soft flesh like steel. She had obviously been mistaken in thinking he could be a civilised, educated man. In this part of the world it seemed perfectly normal to speak at least two languages, Arabic and French. His English could have been picked up quite easily from any of the Englishmen who were so fond of exploring these trackless wastes. He might have acted as a guide. His well- bred, faultless articulation would account for it. He could be a beggar 1

  Doubtfully, her temper still simmering, Ross frowned. No, that didn't quite fit. She was forced to admit honestly, if reluctantly, that he was more like her preconceived idea of a desert sheik. His arrogance was supreme and surroundings like these surely didn't belong to some rootless vagabond, whatever she felt tempted to think.

  Jamila returned, with her sister this time. In her halting French she introduced her as Saida, and Ross understood that they would like to know her name. When she told them they tried to pronounce it after her, but it came out oddly from their earnest lips and they collapsed into a series of giggles. Ross, liking their warm simplicity and sense of fun, was inclined to join them, if only to relieve her steadily mounting tension, but contented herself with a sympathetic smile. It would never do for Sidi ben Yussef to imagine she was enjoying herself here!

  It was enough that Jamila was friendly again. The girl held in her arms a pile of silken garments which Ross, to her dismay, discovered were intended for her.

  With all the nimble grace the women of her race were renowned for, Jamila happily draped each garment separately for Ross to see, exclaiming ecstatically at the fragile beauty of every piece. 'Mademoiselle will look lovely in this,' she cried, 'and this !'

  Doubtfully, while not wishing to offend Jamila, Ross shook her fair head. She would have liked very much to have known how Sidi ben Yussef had come by them, and for a moment dwelt darkly on his questionable generosity. Not caring to ask the two girls, she pleaded to feeling miserable and weak, not at all up to pleasing their lord and master by getting dressed. Especially, she added to herself, in what looked like top fashion for the harem !

  The girls smiled, apparently fully understanding she found it impossible to make, any kind of effort, yet she felt a slight, ridiculous hurt when they withdrew. She actually was sore and didn't feel too good, but they need not have taken her so literally ! Above everything she would have loved a hot bath, a lovely long soak. Wistfully, almost tearfully, her thoughts dwelt on their shabby old bathroom at home, where the bath might be definitely old-fashioned but at least there was always plenty of hot water.

  Minutes later it seemed almost like a dream come true when the girls returned with what could only be described as an antiquated tin tub. Ross recognised it for what it was immediately, though she had never expected to have a bath in one. There was one similar, tucked away in the depth of the garage at Springfield, which she believed had been used years ago in the house. Now the man who came occasionally to do the garden mixed his compost in it. He was an elderly man who took a great pride in his work. As she remembered how pleasant he was her eyes dimmed with homesickness.

  Impatiently she reproached herself as she blinked, before smiling her thanks at Jamila. She had been
away little over a week and there was every likelihood she would be back before the end of another. There was no rason, surely, to get so nostalgic. It would be quite a different matter if Sidi ben Yussef had refused definitely to let her go !

  CPIAPTER THREE

  As she was waited on meticulously by her two laughing handmaidens some of Ross's doubts began to fade. She became quite certain she only needed to be quite firm with Sidi ben Yussef and everything would be all right. In the meantime, waited on like this, there was probably no harm in feeling like some Moroccan princess.

  At first she stubbornly refused to have a bath, but after the girls had taken the trouble to carry in huge buckets of water she had not the heart to persist. Naturally she had felt overwhelmingly selfconscious, until Jamila managed to convey that she had worked as maid to a great lady before she had married and it had been the usual thing to help her with her bath.

  Seeing how it seemed merely part of the day's work, Ross let them stay. She found she was actually glad of their help as she hobbled stiffly from her bed, and, after the first few twinges of embarrassment, she relaxed in the warm scented water. Appreciatively she lay back, breathing in the tangy lemon fragrance of the gently rising steam. She was becoming increasingly aware that many things in the East possessed an intoxicating perfume. Scents could be spicy, flowery, or a confusing, barely discernible mixture of both. Whatever it was, wherever it came from, it had an insidious effect on the senses.

  The daylight had faded while Ross slept and the tent was lit by colourful lanterns with a much softer glow than electricity. The corner of the room where she bathed was dim, but the half-light was soothing, blending strangely with the lively chatter of the girls as they conversed above her head in their harmonious Arabic. She suspected they talked about her as she seemed to come in for some surveillance, but their gentle brown glances were so respectfully admiring that Ross felt she could scarcely object.