Castles of Sand

by Anne Mather

  Of course, common sense prevailed. To expose herself would be to destroy what little confidence Hussein had invested in her. It was useless now to regret what might have been, had she known the whole truth. The past was more than a turned page, it was a closed book, and to open its leaves was to court disaster.

  ‘I wondered if you might like to come riding with me,’ Alain was saying now, helping Hussein to put on the silver bracelet, and the boy’s eyes glowed excitedly.

  ‘Do you mean it? Do you really mean it? Now! At this minute?’ He skipped delightedly. ‘Oh, yes, yes, please!’

  ‘But what about Miss Conway?’ remarked Alain thoughtfully, looking at Ashley again. ‘Do you not think she deserves some consideration? After all, you are in the middle of a lesson, are you not?’

  Ashley held up her head. ‘Naturally, as Hussein has looked forward so much to your coming, I would not dream of preventing him from accompanying you, monsieur,’ she declared tautly. ‘Our lesson can be continued tomorrow, Hussein.’ She paused, then added tightly: ‘Have fun!’

  Hussein grasped Alain’s hand then, attempting to drag him towards the door, but his uncle stood firm. ‘And what will you do, Miss Conway?’ he persisted. ‘Does the idea of riding not appeal to you, too?’

  Ashley caught her breath. ‘You are joking, monsieur.’

  ‘No, I am not.’ Alain was evidently serious, and now it was Hussein’s turn to protest.

  ‘Uncle Alain! Uncle Alain! We are wasting time.’ He flicked a careless glance at his teacher. ‘Oh, Miss Conway does not want to go riding. Riding is for men! You told me so yourself.’

  ‘Ah, but you forget, little one, in Miss Conway’s country, women are regarded as equals, non?’ Alain’s expression grew faintly mocking. ‘Is that not so, Miss Conway? In England, women often—how do you say it?—wear the trousers?’

  ‘But Grandmama wears trousers,’ exclaimed Hussein impatiently, tugging at his sleeve. ‘Uncle Alain, come on! Come and help me change into my riding breeches.’

  ‘In a moment,’ said his uncle with crisp asperity, and Hussein, sensing the reproof, hung his head a little sulkily. It was obvious he had no wish for anyone to accompany them, and Ashley quickly made her own refusal.

  ‘I have work to do, monsieur,’ she said, indicating the desk behind her. ‘I—there are sums to mark and lessons to prepare—’

  ‘But these things could equally well be attended to later,’ Alain retorted, and there was an edge she didn’t quite understand to his voice now. ‘Come, you can ride, can you not? You are not afraid of horses, are you?’

  Ashley sighed. ‘I have had a little experience, yes,’ she admitted, blessing those occasions she had ridden Lucy’s mare. ‘But really, monsieur—’

  ‘Muhammed!’ Alain summoned the silent Arab, waiting outside on the patio. ‘Escort Miss Conway to her apartments, if you will, and wait while she changes into more suitable clothes. Hussein and I will wait for you at the stables in fifteen minutes, Miss Conway. Please—do not disappoint us.’

  Ashley’s indignation was completely overridden. No matter what protest she offered, Alain had an answer for her, and while she could refuse to join them outright, she was very much afraid that if she did so, Alain would not go either. It was an impossible position, and in spite of Hussein’s hostility to the idea, she had to accept.

  She had no proper rding clothes, of course, but a pair of dark green corded slacks would suffice, and she teamed them with a matching shirt of emerald green silk. Its tied collar and long full sleeves were enveloping, she thought, and unlikely to cause offence to their escort, but she did take a silk scarf with her, too, in order to control the errant waywardness of her hair.

  Hussein looked at her in some surprise when she joined him and his uncle at the stables some twenty minutes later. It was the first time he had seen her wearing anything other than dresses, and his green eyes widened in reluctant admiration.

  ‘Are these the kind of trousers of which you were speaking, Uncle Alain?’ he enquired, making Ashley overwhelmingly conscious of their revealing contours, and she scarcely understood the sudden darkness in her brother-in-law’s eyes.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he commented, non-committally, gesturing Muhammed to hold the chestnut mare he had chosen for Ashley to ride. ‘But the expression is of only theoretical value, little one, and Miss Conway’s clothes are not meant to be a reflection of the role she has chosen.’

  Hussein looked puzzled by so many long words, but for once his uncle did not explain. Instead he propelled the boy up on to the back of a gallant little pony, and swung himself into the saddle of a glossy black stallion.

  The two Afghan hounds gambolled excitedly about them as they cantered out of the stable yard. Ashley had no trouble in controlling her mare, whose name, Muhammed informed her, was Medina, but she glanced round rather apprehensively at their burnous-clad escort, and wondered a trifle anxiously whether she had not over-estimated her own prowess.

  It was the first time she had been beyond the walls of the palace, except in the car with Princess Hélène, and that was not the same. Then, the chauffeur had taken the road into Khadesh that she had travelled on the night of her arrival, whereas now she could see the unspoilt beauty of the ocean. It was there, only a few hundred yards distant, blue-green and translucent, and she felt a little regretful when they turned away from its rugged shoreline.

  Beyond a group of palm trees, the desert rolled away to the remote reaches of the mountain range. It looked flat and featureless to Ashley, a barren expanse beaten down by the sun’s relentless glare, but after only a short distance she looked back to find the sea had dropped from view. It was startling and unnerving, and not a little frightening to realise how quickly one could lose one’s bearings, and she wondered with some apprehension how anyone could find their way back without any apparent point of direction. As she rode beside Muhammed, her feelings must have been quite evident, for reaching across to grasp her bridle, he said gently:

  ‘Prince Alain is as familiar with this area as the mountain lion who steals my brother’s goats. Do not be alarmed, mademoiselle. We will not get lost.’

  Ashley managed a small smile in gratitude for Muhammed’s understanding, and endeavoured to look about her with more enthusiasm. She was glad she had brought the scarf for her hair, but although the sun was hot, it was not unpleasantly so. Hussein had told her that already the summer heat was fading, and although it was still hot to Ashley, used to cooler northern climes, she had quickly become accustomed to the change of temperature. And moving, as they were now, there was the wind to cool her skin and thread its fingers through her loosening hair.

  The horses kept to a steady pace, cantering easily over the hard-packed surface, and Ashley had no trouble in keeping up with them. Indeed, she began to enjoy the solid rhythm of the horse beneath her, and had no objections when the pace quickened to something between a canter and a gallop. It was exhilarating, and she forgot for a while all the problems that awaited her back at the palace. It was only when Alain wheeled his mount and came back to join her and Muhammed that she was forced to remember exactly why she was here.

  ‘I wish to speak with Miss Conway,’ declared Alain evenly, insinuating his mount between hers and the tall Arab’s. ‘You will ride with Prince Hussein for a while, Muhammed. See to it that he does not take unnecessary risks.’

  ‘Said!’

  Muhammed bowed his head politely, and rode ahead to join the boy, who was looking over his shoulder with some resentment, and Ashley schooled her features again and avoided the inevitable pitfalls of looking Alain’s way.

  They rode in silence for some distance, and Ashley’s nerves stretched. For God’s sake, why didn’t he get on with it, whatever it was? she fretted inwardly, but outwardly she managed to appear composed.

  ‘There are matters which I must discuss with you,’ said Alain at last, in tones that only she could hear, ‘but first I want you to tell me why you looked at me with such—contempt, in
the schoolroom less than an hour ago.’

  Ashley sucked in her breath. ‘I thought we had finished with all that, monsieur. As—as I recall it, when you left my apartments two nights ago, you had no further use for emotional relationships. So why should I satisfy your curiosity now, when my feelings can be of little or no interest to you?’

  ‘Stop playing with words, Ashley!’ Alain’s voice was strained, and he glanced round impatiently to assure himself that they could not be overheard. ‘What happened the other evening—was not of my choosing. But you are a beautiful woman, as you very well know, and I, as a man, am not unconscious of that fact.’

  Ashley licked her lips. ‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’

  Alain inhaled deeply. ‘Ashley, in the name of heaven, stop tormenting me! Do you think I am proud of the fact that you still have the power to stir my emotions, even after what happened? Dear God, it is like a sickness in my blood, but one which I am determined shall not weaken me again!’

  ‘Then why should it matter to you how I look at you?’ countered Ashley, gripping the mare’s rein with hands that were not quite steady. ‘Monsieur, I find this conversation boring. Perhaps you should come to the point of what you have to say, instead of labouring over imagined insults!’

  Alain’s eyes glittered. ‘I think the imagined insults are yours, not mine,’ he snapped. ‘But very well. Let us discuss what I have to say first. Then perhaps we can return to this other matter.’ He expelled his breath heavily. ‘What did my mother tell you of my trip to New York?’

  Ashley was briefly speechless. She had expected a discussion concerning Hussein and his schooling, and this unexpected turn of the conversation had taken her by surprise.

  ‘Yes, New York,’ repeated Alain harshly. ‘You threw your feelings at me the other evening, when I was unprepared for them. I want to know what it was my mother said to you to make you imagine I had done anything to undermine your position here.’

  Ashley moved her shoulders wearily. The things she had learned since that night had assumed such proportions in her eyes that she had almost forgotten her reactions to Alain’s proposed appointment. But it all came back to her now, in painful detail, and she turned to look at him with accusing eyes.

  ‘Princess Hélène explained how delighted she was at the success you had had in New York,’ she stated coldly. ‘She even toasted your achievement, albeit in fruit cup.’ She held up her head. ‘She also explained that as Murad’s representative to the United States, you would necessarily be spending more time there in future, and apart from the small consideration that Hussein will miss you—miss you dreadfully—your father is unlikely to extend my employment, when you are not here to support me!’

  Alain bowed his head in silent consideration. Then, lifting it again, he said: ‘So you believe you have my support?’

  Ashley’s colour deepened. ‘I believe—I believe you would not dismiss me without cause.’

  ‘So you think I am an honourable man?’

  Ashley bent her head. ‘In some things,’ she muttered unwillingly.

  ‘And my father?’

  ‘Your father doesn’t want me here!’ declared Ashley tremulously. ‘You know he doesn’t. He dislikes me. He disapproves of me. He blames me for Hassan’s death!’ She sighed. ‘You’re our only hope.’

  ‘Our?’

  ‘Hussein’s and mine.’

  ‘So, you wish to stay here?’

  ‘I wish to stay with Hussein,’ she corrected him tautly.

  ‘Then relax.’ He spoke flatly. ‘I shall not be living in New York. I have already told the minister I cannot accept.’

  Ashley gasped. ‘But—your mother—’

  ‘My father also. Regrettably, they do not understand, I am needed here.’

  Ashley could only stare at him. ‘But isn’t that foolish?’

  ‘You wish me to go?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, trying to assimilate this new situation. ‘Alain—’

  ‘I also appreciate my responsibilities,’ he interrupted her roughly. ‘I know that Hussein depends on me. And I—shall not betray the trust he places in me.’

  Ashley pressed her lips together. ‘Even though you deny him his birthright!’

  ‘Do not say that!’

  ‘Why not? Do you think if I hadn’t been certain of the truth I would have let you take him?’

  ‘Enough!’ His face was taut and driven. ‘You will not say these things to me. Is it not enough that I have taken the child, brought him up in his father’s house, given him everything that money can buy? Do not taunt me with his conception, I beg of you. Believe me, I too have suffered enough!’

  ‘You!’ Ashley’s voice rose on a sob, as emotion tore into her. ‘You have suffered!’ she repeated half hysterically, and the mare shifted restlessly at the disruptive sound. ‘How dare you say it? How can you mouth such things to me! My God, you’re a hypocrite, Alain, after the lies you’ve told to protect yourself!’

  ‘A hypocrite? I am no hypocrite!’ Alain’s horse swerved as his hands tightened convulsively on the reins. The black stallion snorted in protest, bringing its proud head closer to the mare’s neck, and Medina whinnied plaintively as Alain’s boot pressed Ashley’s knee into the mare’s side. ‘What fairy story is this you have dreamed up, to justify your own mistakes?’

  ‘It’s no fairy story,’ retorted Ashley hotly, glad that Muhammed and Hussein were some yards ahead of them, and out of hearing of their exchange. ‘Tariq told me—your own brother. He happened to be discussing the unhappy instance of Hussein’s birth.’

  ‘With you?’ Alain’s blue eyes were steely, and Ashley nodded.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, it was all perfectly objective. He just mentioned that Hassan’s wife had been well paid for her participation in Hussein’s adoption by his father’s family.’

  Alain’s mouth hardened. ‘Then he had no right to do so.’

  ‘Why not? It’s what he believes.’

  ‘It is what my father has told him,’ contradicted Alain grimly.

  Ashley was sceptical. ‘Not you?’

  ‘Of course not. I would not lie about something like that.’

  ‘Yet you did lie about our relationship, didn’t you?’ Ashley pressed, pushing the mare dangerously closer, so that both horses shied in protest. ‘No wonder you were not surprised when Hassan turned up in London. He came at your instigation, didn’t he? To extricate you from your unfortunate involvement with a silly little English student!’

  Alain was having difficulty in controlling his horse, but at her words he turned to stare at her incredulously. It was then that the black stallion reared, its highly-strung temperament objecting most strongly to such careless treatment, and while Alain hung on for grim death, the little mare took off at a panic-stricken gallop. Ashley clung to its back with terrified hands, scarcely aware of Hussein’s frightened face as she raced past him and Muhammed, intent only on staying with the animal and not being catapulted into the sand.

  But it was an unequal battle. She was unused to riding, and already the insides of her legs felt chafed and raw, her fingers cramped around the leader strap of the reins. Although she lay low across the saddle, reducing the buffeting force of the wind, she was rapidly losing her grip, and the sudden appearance of Alain alongside her, reaching determinedly for the mare’s bridle, came too late to save her. As he tugged forcefully at the bit, bringing the sweating mare to a halt, Ashley slid helplessly to the ground. Her lungs were winded by the abrupt dismounting, and the sand proved amazingly hard to her throbbing head, and she lay there for several seconds with her eyes closed and panting before a muscular arm was thrust beneath her shoulders.

  ‘Ashley, are you hurt?’ Alain’s husky voice demanded savagely. ‘I am sorry, it was my fault. I could not keep Youssef in control, and I will never forgive myself if I have hurt you!’

  Ashley’s eyes flickered open at his words, and she was scarcely conscious of her injuries as she gazed up into those disturb
ed blue irises. Alain was leaning over her anxiously, his white shirt unbuttoned, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the urgency of his distress. His arm was around her, the moist heat of his body mingling with the scent of some shaving lotion he was wearing, and his concern was unmistakable as he smoothed the damp hair back from her forehead.

  ‘I—I’m all right, Alain,’ she breathed unevenly, putting up a hand to touch him, scarcely aware of what she was doing in the emotive fever of the moment. Her fingertips probed the faint scars that still lingered where she had put her mark upon him, then dropped lower to trail sensuously over the lightly-matted hair on his chest.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he demanded huskily, running an exploring hand over her shoulder and down the silk-clad length of her arm. ‘That does not hurt you does it? There are no bones broken? For God, Ashley, when you dashed away like that, I almost lost my reason!’

  Ashley expelled her breath unsteadily. ‘Why?’ she whispered, ‘why should it matter to you, Alain?’

  ‘Because, God help me, it does!’ he grated harshly, and before she could define his intentions he gathered her closer and pressed his hard mouth against hers.

  Ashley’s lips parted involuntarily. She was still not sufficiently recovered from the shock of falling to offer any resistance, and besides, beneath that brief but passionate caress, her senses swam without heed. His lips against hers made an intimacy of his assault on her emotions, and her hand sought his nape instinctively, as she responded without hesitation to the hunger of his kiss.

  The thunder of hooves as the rest of the party cantered up to them seemed to bring Alain to his senses. With an expression almost of revulsion, Ashley felt, crossing his lean tanned face, he dragged himself away from her, assisting her to her feet with the casual pressure of his hand.

  ‘What is wrong? What has happened?’ Hussein swung down from his pony beside them, gazing at Ashley with a faint look of accusation. ‘Are you ill, mademoiselle? Did Medina run away with you?’ He looked up at his uncle and pursed his small lips. ‘What were you doing, bending over her so closely?’