The distraction was not as significant as Alan would have liked, but he couldn’t hold himself back at the brutal violation. Alan surged forward, his sword drawn.
Darker shadows suddenly blanketed the sky. The wind picked up and sent stinging grains of sand to prick his cheeks, his neck, his hands. He bent his head just enough to block nature’s attack while still keeping his gaze on Jessamine as he ran to her. As if sensing Alan’s presence, the conde jerked back from Jessamine and shot to his feet. His eyes were dark and expressionless.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” the conde drawled. “I knew you’d follow her.” He signaled. Three men raced forward, swords drawn.
In the span of a heartbeat, Alan’s gaze met Jessamine’s. Even in the shadowed light, he could see the fear in her eyes, the bruises marring both cheeks. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide as she twisted her bound hands one way, then another, trying to break free.
With his gaze he signaled for her to run. She responded with an almost imperceptible nod.
His throat vibrated with the roar of a battle cry as old as the Highlands themselves. The sound echoed through the desert, and the charging men paused, their faces pale. Alan took advantage of their momentary fear. He slashed his sword across the chest of one man and brought the blade back up to sever the arm of another. Both men dropped to the sand and bellowed in pain.
The horses thrashed against their bonds and, breaking free, scattered, seeking escape. One man caught a horse’s hoof in his groin and crumpled to the ground. Two others shot forward. Alan met them with a slash to one man’s thigh and the other’s shoulder. They collapsed in a heap amid a spattering of their own blood.
Several yards away, the conde caught one of the horses and mounted.
Alan braced himself for a renewed attack. He whirled and lunged out of the way only moments before a terrified horse bolted past him. He barely regained his balance before a second horse charged, carrying the conde, who slashed wildly at Alan’s head. He ducked, avoiding the blow, but felt the whistle of air as it rushed past his shoulders. Alan twisted and brought his sword up to slash at the sides of the conde’s horse, succeeding in also catching the saddle strap. The Spaniard hit the ground with a thud.
The wind gusted, pushing the conde’s men back. Alan forced his mind to clear as he approached the conde. He raised his sword, prepared to strike, when a ferocious howl stole his focus. It wasn’t the man before him who shouted out, but the desert itself.
In the rage of battle, Alan had not noticed the sky growing ever darker, or the wind that now blasted them. Alan hastened to Jessamine’s side while he sheathed his sword. Without a break in his stride, he gripped her waist and carried her with him as he caught a terrified horse and mounted it. He set her in front and kicked the horse into a gallop.
One glance over his shoulder confirmed that yet another danger swept toward them—a sandstorm rolling closer at frightening speed.
Chapter Eighteen
An eerie stillness settled over the desert. Then came the howl of the wind as it moved like a dark, hovering blanket over the sand. Alan pressed the horse they rode to greater speed as they tried to stay ahead of the surge.
“We need cover,” Alan shouted. “A cave, a rock outcropping, anything!”
Jessamine nodded. The wind tugged at her hair, whipping it wildly around her face. She caught the errant strands with one hand. With her other hand, she shielded her eyes from the merciless grains of sand stinging their skin and searched the hazy darkness.
“An outcropping,” she shouted, pointing to the left.
Alan saw it, bolted for it as the very air around them seemed to suck them backward. He rounded the rock outcropping and pulled them to the ground in the shelter of a slight overhang. He pressed Jessamine back against the rock and hauled the horse in against her, stroking its neck, trying to calm the terrified beast. He urged the horse to its knees, then down. They huddled together.
Alan stripped his robe from his shoulders. Then he slipped into the space between the horse and the wall and tossed his robe over their collective heads. “Hold on to me!” he called over an unearthly howl.
The rock at their backs seemed to shudder as the sand hit. Alan cooed softly to the horse as the frightened animal quivered. A thunderous roar erupted around them. Sand slammed into their exposed legs and torsos. The weight of the robe over their heads became almost crushing, but Alan held the ends tight. His muscles strained with the effort.
“I can’t breathe!” Jessamine gasped beside him.
“Draw slow, shallow breaths. God willing, it will be a short-lived storm.”
The muscles of Alan’s arms spasmed and shook with the effort of keeping the heavy weight of the sand off them. He steeled himself, finding deeper reserves of strength. He wouldn’t let Jessamine suffocate.
They had waited for what seemed like an eternity when the absence of sound pierced Alan’s defenses. The storm had passed. “We are safe,” he whispered to Jessamine.
“Take a deep breath,” he warned a moment before he thrust upward, throwing off some of the sand weighing down the robe over their heads.
He thrust up again. This time the robe shifted, allowing him to pull it back away from their faces. He blinked in the hazy darkness that greeted him. But even in the dim light, he could see the drifts of sand that had formed all around them. They were standing in one of those drifts. He simply had to break them free.
Alan dusted the sand from the horse’s face and stroked its long neck. In the open air, the animal had stopped quaking. The beast struggled to its feet, straining against the heavy sand. The muscles of its flanks bunched and flexed as it struggled to free itself. Alan pressed Jessamine back against the rock, out of harm’s way as the horse leaped up, fighting its way out of their sandy prison.
Alan turned to offer Jessamine a hand as she climbed to more even ground over the mounds left by the horse.
“The shelter worked,” she said as she emerged, brushing sand from her face, her hair, her gown.
“Jessamine.” He hesitated, trying to find the words to express what he felt. “What happened back there with the conde, and at the Obelisk Terrace…I never should have left you alone.” He brought a finger up to her swollen, cracked lip. “We’ve upset many people by bringing the ark back to the world. Until we see it safely stowed with the other treasures the Templars protect, we can trust no one but each other. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “The conde…That wasn’t your fault.”
“I failed you,” he said roughly. “It won’t happen again.” He reached out and dusted the sand from her cheek. “It would be best if we kept moving even though dusk is upon us. I won’t feel safe until we set sail for home.”
“Home.” She turned away.
Alan looked at her retreating back. He knew her thoughts must have turned to the future they’d share, as did his own. “Let us be away from here. If the conde survived the storm, he won’t be far behind us.”
She’d made no pledge to him, but Alan was still hopeful that she would. He knew there was something she wasn’t telling him, some reservation she had about accepting his proposal. She’d reveal what he needed to know when she was ready. They would have a long sea voyage back to Scotland. There would be time for talking…and more.
Alan mounted, then reached down to grasp her hand and pulled her up in front of him.
“What do we do next?” Jessamine asked, her voice more even now. “The ark is gone.”
“Nay. The ark is safe.” He set the horse in motion, guiding the animal over the newly formed drifts of sand. “I found Will after I rounded up the horses.” He decided it was better not to mention the assassins. “He’s meeting us in Jaffa with the ark.”
“Then let’s hurry,” she said with feeling. “I can’t wait to put this desert behind us.”
He couldn’t have agreed with her more.
After a full day’s travel, the outskirts of Jaffa came into view. Despite the darkness
, the market was crowded with people. Shimmering gold lanterns illuminated the narrow alley that led through the town and to the harbor beyond.
As the streets narrowed, Alan reined in the horse and dismounted. He offered Jessamine a hand down. A small plume of dust wafted around them at the motion, drawing several curious gazes. Several passersby frowned at their dusty, disheveled state, but Jessamine ignored them. She raised her chin and marched on by.
Winding her way through the market, Jessamine marveled at the sights. Colorful fabrics in the sheerest silk lay on tables next to coarse linen in dark, drab colors. The babble of voices assailed her—sellers hawking their goods, men with pushcarts shouting warnings, women cloaked in black veils, bartering over the price of fish.
Other stalls were filled to overflowing with apricots, dates, pomegranates, and bright red berries. The aroma of flowers and heavy incense mixed with the pungent scent of onions and garlic.
Beyond the market, the water of the Mediterranean shimmered beneath the light of a full moon. Several boats were moored offshore. Jessamine bit down on her lip as she recognized the conde’s caravel. She quickened her pace. With luck they’d be on a boat, out to sea, and beyond his touch before he figured out where she’d gone.
At the shore, Alan approached a sailor leaning against a dory. “We need to hire a ship,” Alan said.
When the man replied in rapid Arabic that he had no boats for hire, Jessamine stepped forward and asked in his language if he knew someone who might help them.
“Alan! Jessamine!” a familiar voice called from the crowd. Jessamine whirled to see Will hobbling toward them. “You’re safe,” he said as he reached them.
Alan nodded. “And are you well?” he asked.
Will smiled, creasing his weathered face. “Never better.”
“Now all we need is a ship,” Alan said.
The old man winked. “Taken care of and waiting for you. This way.” He waved for them to follow as he turned and made his way toward an Arab dhow waiting at the dock. “I hired a ship for you. The Arab ships are the fastest, you’ll find. The crew will take you where you wish to go.”
Alan’s expression was unreadable as he took her arm and led her through the crowd after the old man. Will stopped at the bottom of a gangplank. Alan raised his brows as he gazed at the ship. “How did you manage all this? The fastest ship, stowed cargo, a willing crew?”
“I have many friends to help me.” Will shrugged and his smile faded, replaced with a note of tension. “Now those friends will help you and Jessamine. Please, Alan, accept what is. It’ll be best for all of us, I promise.”
After a slight hesitation, Alan clapped him on the shoulder. “We are indebted to you, my friend, many times over.”
The tension in Will’s face eased. “It is you who help me, Alan, not the other way around.” Will started up the gangplank, then turned back when Alan and Jessamine did not follow. “Are you coming? We must sail this evening with our precious cargo.”
Alan turned to Jessamine. “Go with Will. Make certain the ark is on board as he says. I need to take care of the horse. I’ll return in a moment.”
Jessamine boarded the ship with Will, then turned to watch Alan disappear into the crowd. Her gaze moved over the lantern lights of the port town. The sounds from the marketplace faded away to leave only the soft caress of the water against the ship’s hull and the shuffle of the sailors as they moved about the deck.
“May I see the ark, Will?” she asked.
Will nodded and guided her to the hatchway that led into the hold of the ship. Once she’d confirmed the treasure was there, Jessamine returned to the deck.
“May the evening soothe and welcome you,” a voice said from behind her.
Jessamine turned to see a tall seaman in dark clothing bow before her.
“Allow me to show you to the captain’s quarters.”
She shook her head. “I’ll wait here, thank you. I’d like to watch as we pull away from the shore.”
He bowed once more, then was gone.
A welcome breeze drifted up from the water, cooling her flesh, and she turned to the railing again, waiting for Alan to return. They were heading to Scotland. His home. She thought of the days they’d spend together at sea, of the quiet mornings on deck watching the horizon. And she thought of the nights. The image had barely formed when Alan strode up the gangplank after being gone for over an hour, dressed now in a fresh muslin shirt and black breeches. He held several dark packages in his hands.
He signaled to the captain of the ship, who barked orders to his crew in Arabic, setting in motion a wave of activity as the men drew back the gangplank and hoisted the anchor. The ship was underway a few moments later, heading out into the harbor and the waters beyond.
Alan set his packages aside and joined her at the rail. “We did it.” His lips gently brushed her temple.
“Yes, but I fear the worst lies ahead of us.” The wind picked up as they left the harbor behind.
“For the next twenty days, we’re safe from our enemies. After that, I must admit, you’re right. Our task isn’t done.”
She nodded as her gaze wandered to the ship’s deck and the efficient crew who raised the sails and secured the lines. “Are these men trustworthy with such a prize aboard their ship?”
“Will is with us. He selected these men. If he trusts them enough to sail with them, then we must also. And just to be certain, you will stay by my side every moment of every day. Until we are once again on land.”
Her gaze lifted to his face. Warmth stirred within her despite the breeze. In the light of the deck lanterns, his expression was intent, his brow furrowed, as he stared into the black water beyond. She became acutely aware of the strength of his hands on the railing, of the taut muscles of his chest beneath his thin muslin shirt, of the thighs filling out his black breeches. He was dressed in the style of his countrymen. She liked the simplicity far more than the pompous clothing men wore at the Spanish court. Alan might be in plain clothing, but he was more appealing to her than any of those men had ever been.
Yet their situation had not changed. She still couldn’t accept him, couldn’t doom him to a life of running from her uncle’s men, or send him to the hangman’s noose if he was ever caught.
But what her head understood, her heart seemed to dismiss. Her fingers tightened on the railing as she resisted the urge to press her hand to his chest or trail her fingers down the length of his thigh. She drew a sharp breath.
His gaze met hers. His muscles tensed.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t look away from him.
“Jessamine?”
She knew he could feel her attraction. But she couldn’t give in. She felt panic rise within her and she moved back from the railing. Where was that cabin the man had offered her?
Alan followed, wrapped her once again in his heat, his scent. Her heart pounded so hard, she was certain he could hear it.
“We can’t,” she murmured.
His gaze shifted out to sea. Conflicting emotions darkened his face. “Do you no longer desire me?”
“There are things you do not know. Obstacles that stand between us.” She gazed up at him, feeling a familiar stirring between her thighs. No, she wouldn’t give in. She had to stay strong.
“What?” His expression softened. “You can tell me anything, Jessamine. If there are issues, I can help.”
She shook her head. “No one can help us.”
The moonlight was strong and full on his face, and she’d never seen a grimmer expression on it.
“It might feel that way for you now. But know this, Jessamine. You belong to me. Nothing can change that fact.”
“Alan.” At the anguish in his voice, she reached for him, only to jerk her fingers back when she realized what she was doing. If she touched him, she would never be able to let go.
He must have read something in her gaze, because he stepped back. “For once, you’re thinking things through before reacting.”
He sighed. “Take the time you need. But know I am here waiting for you when you can no longer stand the pain of being apart.” He turned away and strode toward the bridge.
She inhaled sharply and clenched her hands at her sides. She knew that pain already. Heaven help her, it took everything inside her to keep from reaching for him now.
Jessamine did not speak to him for nearly three days. Alan kept his word and was never far from her sight. He busied himself with charts and maps, but her presence drew him like nothing in his life ever had.
She stood at the rail several yards away as they approached the Strait of Gibraltar, the narrow strip of sea separating Spain from Morocco. They’d had favorable winds since they left the Holy Land. Coincidence? Or was the presence of the ark the reason? But even thoughts of finally having the ark safe in Scotland could not keep his gaze from moving back to Jessamine.
The strong afternoon sun stroked her dark hair with streaks of light as gusts tossed it about. Her face was raised as if she were drinking in both the sun and the vigor of the wind. Her features in the sunlight were exotically beautiful, but even the light could not brighten the strange, haunting sadness of her dark eyes.
He continued to watch her as they passed through the strait. His stomach knotted when her slender fingers came up to brush tears from her cheeks. Alan could take no more. He strode down the steps of the forecastle, then across the deck to where Jessamine stood by the rail.
“Jessamine?” He touched her hand.
She looked at him and smiled bitterly. “My mother was a Spaniard.”
It was the first time she’d revealed anything to him about her family. He gazed at the tears shimmering on her dark lashes. “Tell me.”
She hesitated. Her gaze darted back to the Spanish shoreline. “My father was a Moor,” she said softly, with halting words. She told him about her parents’ forbidden love.
As she talked, her words picked up speed. And he listened to her without displaying emotion, hearing what she said, accepting it all.
She explained how her parents had met, how they fell in love, how they defied their own parents in order to be together. She told him how they died—her father at the hands of his own people during an attack on the court by the occupying Moors. That had been many years ago. Her mother had died more recently by the hand of the conde, who had wanted to marry her, then ended up poisoning her instead.
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