by Marie Laval
‘You know I am not easily shocked,’ she said. ‘I am here purely as an observer of local customs.’
Her words were drowned in the clamour which announced the women’s arrival. A circle was cleared at the centre of the tavern. Voices hushed. In the silence, a flute started a thin, whiny tune. Tambourines and a goat-skin drum followed, beating a slow rhythm that echoed the hammering of her heart.
Two women appeared from behind a screen, faces uncovered, eyes darkened with kohl. They wore heavy gold and silver jewellery on their headdress, and their large earrings, necklaces, bangles, anklets jingled and clunked as their fluid limbs undulated like snakes. Their waists bent and twisted, their hips rolled and heaved provocatively and followed the music’s increasing tempo.
One of the women unfastened her top and shrugged it off. It slipped onto the ground, revealing a sheer white blouse that didn’t leave much to the imagination. The other dancer circled around her for a while, then she pulled her hand and they danced their way back behind the screen. The audience started clapping and stamping their feet. The noise was deafening.
‘What are they doing? Is it finished already?’ Harriet shouted above the noise.
Archie was very red. He bent down towards her.
‘Ah, I think that… well, this next bit really isn’t…’ he stammered. ‘I’d better stand in front of you so that you can’t see.’
‘Can’t see what?’
‘Oh dear,’ Archie exclaimed.
His face turned the colour of beetroot. He shoved her behind him so as to block her view, but not before she caught a glimpse of naked bodies. She put her hand to her mouth. Rose hadn’t mentioned anything about the women dancing naked.
The music changed tempo, became slow and lascivious. Stuck between Archie and the wall, Harriet looked around and saw that a secluded alcove at the back. Her heart skipped a beat. Saintclair was there, together with Ahmoud, Hakim and Musa, and other men she had never seen before. In front of them were pitchers of wine, tall coffee pots and cups, and a map.
They weren’t watching the girls but talking, huddled over the map. Why was Saintclair spending the last evening of his visit to Bou Saada with these men instead of his family?
The music stopped. There was clapping, cheering and whistling as the dancers left the makeshift dance floor.
Archie turned round and pointed to Saintclair.
‘Look who’s here. Let’s go over.’ He grabbed her elbow before she could protest and they cut through the crowd.
The men looked up and stared at them in stunned silence.
‘Good evening,’ Archie said. ‘I am glad to see you. I was getting a little uneasy here on my own with Harriet.’ He pulled an apologetic grimace. ‘She was so determined to come here. There was nothing I could say to change her mind.’
He pulled Harriet over. ‘Now, dear, you stay here and I will get us something to drink.’ And he disappeared into the crowd.
Saintclair stood, towered over her, and gave her a frosty glare.
‘He seemed in a great hurry to get rid of you.’
‘He went to the counter, that’s all,’ Harriet answered, but she too had noticed Archie’s haste.
‘Have you two lost your minds?’ Saintclair said between clenched teeth. ‘Has Drake no idea what kind of place this is?’
She stared blankly into his eyes.
‘I’m the one who insisted on coming here. Archie is kind. He likes to make me happy.’
‘Putting you in unnecessary danger isn’t being kind, it’s being bloody stupid,’ he retorted. ‘Does he think he can protect you on his own?’
‘I am in no in danger, and Archie is great at fighting,’ she said, defiant.
Saintclair shrugged and sat next to her.
‘You mean like that time in the Kasbah?’ He gestured towards a chair and she sat down.
Her face burnt now, but not from the heat. She didn’t want to be reminded about that night and how promptly Archie had abandoned Saintclair to fend for himself.
‘You don’t even have your dagger, not that it would do much good.’ Saintclair shook his head. She was still wearing the silk dress Rose had lent her and had left her dagger behind. ‘Anyway, what did you want to come here for?’
She pointed towards the dancing area.
‘I wanted to see the Ouled Nails for myself, find out what all the fuss was about,’ she muttered, slightly embarrassed. ‘I really had no idea they were so…’
‘Skilled? Imaginative? Entertaining?’ Saintclair smiled.
‘Hmm, yes…’ She avoided his eye and pointed to the map. ‘Are you planning the route for the rest of your journey?’
He nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Can I take a look?’
‘No. It’s all sorted now.’
He swiftly folded the map and put it in his pocket. He leaned over to speak to Ahmoud. They exchanged a few, knowing looks and the men got up and left.
‘We have an early start tomorrow.’ Saintclair lifted his wine glass to his lips.
A shadow passed across his eyes and she briefly wondered if he was telling the truth.
‘What is taking Drake so long?’ he asked. He put his glass down, drummed his fingers on the table.
‘Do you think something happened to him?’
He shrugged and got up. ‘Stay here, I’ll be right back.’
In a couple of long strides, he pushed his way into the crowd.
Suddenly there was shouting, the sounds of tables and chairs being overturned and crashing on the ground, and women screaming. A few seconds later, men were fighting everywhere. Harriet jumped to her feet, looked around in panic. Neither Saintclair nor Archie were anywhere to be seen. There was nothing else to do but stand against the alcove wall and pray that nobody would notice her.
A couple of men wrestled their way in her direction. One of them threw his opponent onto the table, squeezed his hands around his throat until the man’s face was bright red and his eyes bulged out of their sockets. Harriet grabbed the nearest thing at hand, which happened to be a pitcher of wine, and brought it down onto his back as hard as she could. Furious, he spun round, a snarl on his face, fury shining in his eyes. She recoiled in fear against the wall.
The man shouted something and stepped forward, a sinister grin twisting his lips. She held her breath, searched for the dagger on her side and remembered she didn’t have it. The man lifted his hands to take hold of her when Saintclair appeared behind him, grabbed his shoulder to spin him around, and knocked him out with a blow to the nose.
‘Come now.’
He took her hand and pulled her along with so much strength her feet barely touched the ground.
‘Drake’s injured, he’s outside.’
He pushed and shoved and they made it through the tavern door. Archie was slumped against the tavern door, barely conscious.
‘Archie!’ Harriet rushed to kneel down next to him. A purple bump marked his forehead; his left eye was swollen and closed. She turned to Saintclair.
‘What happened?’
He shrugged. ‘No idea, I found him on the floor and dragged him out.’ He bent down and slipped his hands under Archie’s armpits to lift him.
‘Help me,’ he said, once Archie was upright. ‘Put your arm around his waist to support him. Luckily, the house isn’t far.’
Nevertheless, it took half an hour to reach it, by which time Harriet was exhausted, hot, and sweaty. She sighed with relief when they entered the dark and silent house, thankful for the late hour. At least she wouldn’t have to explain to Madame Saintclair that they had been caught in a brawl in a seedy tavern. She helped Saintclair take Archie to his bedroom and together they laid him on the bed.
‘Shall we call a doctor?’ she asked, hesitant.
‘Let’s get him comfortable first. Don’t just stand there. Help me take some of his clothes off.’
Harriet drew in her breath. Of course, he probably believed they were lovers since they had shared a ten
t on a few occasions, as well as a room in the shelter in the mountains.
Saintclair pulled Archie’s boots off while Harriet unfastened his jacket and shirt. Her fingers shook slightly as she slipped his jacket off his shoulders then loosened his shirt out of his breeches. She let out a little cough.
He looked up, inquisitive. He must have thought she was upset because the harsh lines of his face softened.
‘Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Now, can I let you do the rest while I get some water and ointment for his head? I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘The rest?’
‘You know….’ He gestured towards Archie’s breeches.
Harriet opened her eyes wide. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly… He will have to stay like that for now.’
On the bed, Archie moaned and coughed, then cursed as he tried to sit up.
Harriet hastened to his side and took his hand. ‘Don’t try and move you’ve had a nasty blow to the head.’
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Saintclair said and he slipped out of the room.
‘What happened to you?’ Harriet asked.
He lifted a hand to his swollen eye, touched his forehead and pulled a face.
‘Don’t know.’ He winced in pain. ‘Last thing I remember was standing at the counter getting us some rum. Then it all went black.’ He sighed. ‘Help me sit up.’
Saintclair came back with an enamel bowl full of water, some cloth and a pot of liniment he placed on the bedside table.
‘How’re you feeling?’ he asked gruffly.
‘I’ll live,’ Archie answered.
‘Do you think you’ll be up to travelling tomorrow?’
Archie nodded. ‘Sure, I’ll be fine.’
‘I’ll bring you something to drink.’
Once he had left, Harriet dipped the cloth into the water.
‘I will clean that up for you.’ She sat on the bed next to him.
She dabbed his swollen eye, the bump on his forehead with cool water. The sleeve of her dress, her breasts brushed against his chest as she leaned over him. Neither of them talked. In the silence of the night she was aware of his breathing becoming faster, of his eyes growing dark and heavy when he looked at her.
She opened the jar of liniment and took a sniff of it.
‘I don’t what this is but it sure smells bad,’ she joked, desperate to diffuse the tension she could feel thickening around them now.
‘Harriet,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Hmm? What?’ She started spreading the paste onto Archie’s forehead.
He grabbed her wrist.
‘I want to kiss you.’
She dropped the jar on the bed and stared at him in horror. He took her other hand.
‘Dammit, we’re supposed to be fiancés, aren’t we?’ He struggled to pull her close as she tried to get up.
‘But it’s not true, we’re just pretending,’ she protested as panic rose inside her. ‘We’re just friends.’
‘It’s driving me insane to feel you touch me like that. Kiss me.’
It was a nightmare, surely, and she would wake up any minute now. The man holding her wrists, pulling her towards him, couldn’t be the Archie she knew and trusted since she was a child, the man she considered a member of her family.
‘No, Archie, let go of me. What’s got into you? I don’t want to.’
He pressed her against her chest, his mouth found hers and devoured, hungrily.
She choked. It took all her strength to pull away.
‘I told you I didn’t …’
With a grunt, he wrapped his arms her around the waist and wrestled her onto the bed.
‘Stop being such a prude. I’ll warm you up, you’ll see.’
She let out a desperate sob. ‘No, Archie!’
‘You heard the woman. Let her go.’ A voice spoke, cold and steely.
Archie froze.
Saintclair stood in the doorway. ‘Much as I dislike beating up a wounded man, I’d have no scruple giving you another black eye to even out your face.’
He put a tray of drinks on a table and stepped into the room.
‘I’ll damn well do as I please with my fiancée. Mind your own business,’ Archie said, between clenched teeth. Nevertheless, he released Harriet from his grip. Quick as a gazelle, she jumped off the bed and out of his reach.
‘Are you all right?’ Saintclair asked her, his eyes never leaving Archie.
‘Yes…It’s a misunderstanding, really, nothing to worry about. He had a bump to his head.’ Her voice shook with repressed sobs.
‘Of course she’s all right,’ Archie said, sitting up, indignant. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘Shut up and get some sleep, I’ll see you in the morning,’ Saintclair ordered. He took Harriet’s elbow and led her out. ‘Come with me. I’ll take you to your room.’
He closed the door behind them and, without talking led Harriet through silent, dark corridors. The tears she’d been holding back now streamed down her face. She rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hands.
‘Silly of me to get so upset,’ she mumbled, waved her hand disMissively. ‘He’s suffering from shock, that’s all. Archie would never hurt me.’
‘Well, he looked rather determined from where I was standing,’ Saintclair said when they reached her room. He tightened his mouth.
‘Get into your room and lock your door.’
She gave him a weak smile. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
He stayed in the corridor until he heard the key turn in the lock. What was he to think of the evening’s events? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make out Drake as a man. It was obvious he was a knowledgeable, ambitious and highly respected scholar, with connections to very wealthy men back in England, like Lord Callaghan who was paying for Professor Montague’s ransom.
Yet he sensed that the man had a secret, darker side. A few things didn’t quite add up about him, not to mention his behaviour with Harriet tonight. Why did he force himself upon her if they were lovers already? And why should she be so upset about it? Her distress had been real enough. Just for that the man deserved to get beaten, hard. It was only the thought of upsetting Harriet any further that had held him back.
He punched the wall to relieve the tension inside him. This was no time to get distracted by Harriet Montague. He had things to do tonight. Losing focus was a very bad idea.
Chapter Fifteen
Three days later...
‘Get down and stay down!’ Saintclair pushed her roughly behind a large rock and squatted next to her.
‘Who are they?’
‘Raiders. They must have been following us ever since we left Bou Saada. Strange I never spotted them.’ He let out an impatient sigh. ‘Do you have your dagger?’
She nodded and pulled it out of the scabbard.
‘You may need to use it tonight.’ He eyed her with concern. ‘If it comes to that, will you be able to?’
She swallowed hard. The dagger slipped in her sweaty hand. Her fingers curled more tightly around the hilt.
‘Yes, of course,’ she answered with more assurance than she felt.
She glanced nervously at the surrounding shadows. Where were their attackers now?
Saintclair gestured silently towards Ahmoud who crouched, still as a statue in the gathering dusk about fifty feet away at the bottom of the hill.
‘Don’t move from this spot. You’re safe here. We’ll come back for you,’ he promised.
He pulled his knife out of his boot, slid it between his teeth and started crawling across the rocky ground towards his friend. Soon they were both no more than moving shadows. She said a silent prayer for them, for all of them, as dark clouds obscured the moon and the hillside was plunged into total darkness.
Only a few minutes before, she was preparing food for the evening meal while the men lead the horses to graze. Archie had left, alone, to fetch water from a nearby river. It was Musa who raised the alarm. Saintclair had wasted no time
before strapping the three ransom bags around his body and taking her to safety.
‘Musa said there are half a dozen men hiding in the bushes. They must be waiting for the night to attack the camp,’ he had explained as he pulled Harriet up the hill.
Halfway up, he had found a hole big enough to hide the bags. He had then pulled her further up.
She peered so hard into the night her eyes hurt. All her senses seemed sharpened. Night birds called from treetops. Branches rustled in the light wind. Then she heard muffled cries and the thud of bodies falling to the ground in the distance. Her heart hammered in her chest, so loud everybody could probably hear it for miles around. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife. Her legs hurt from squatting but she dared not move.
A light breeze pushed the clouds and the pale moon appeared in the sky. The sound of footsteps behind her made her turn around. The silhouette of a man stood out against the sky. He lunged towards her before she could move and he pushed her back on the ground so hard it knocked the breath out of her. He straddled her, fastened his hands around her neck. His efforts to strangle her were hampered by her cheche so he pulled the headdress off. That was the distraction she needed. Bringing the dagger up, she plunged it into his stomach.
He groaned as she pushed the knife in then slumped on top of her. She let out a cry and pulled the knife out. It came out with a sickening slurping sound. The man rolled off her, and she jumped to her feet.
She didn’t wait to check if he was dead but ran downhill as fast as she could. Her feet slipped on loose stones. She fell roughly on her backside, and bit back a yelp of pain. Her dagger flew from her hand. There was no time to look for it, so she scrambled to her feet again and carried on running until she reached the bottom of the hill.
What now? Should she run towards the river or the camp? As she stood, indecisive, a man’s hand flew across her face to gag her, and a strong arm encircled her chest. Her heart stopped, her throat closed...They had caught her. She wasn’t however going to die without putting up a fight. She kicked the man’s shin as hard as she could with the heel of her boot and heard a satisfying grunt of pain.
