The Lion's Embrace

by Marie Laval

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘You have never been with a man,’ he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

  She stared at him, her eyes full of tears, and nodded.

  ‘Hell, what didn’t you say so?’ he growled.

  He was still inside her. He lifted himself onto his elbows to take his weight off her. What now?

  Her lips moved, she said something he wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

  ‘Don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop,’ she repeated, louder, before clasping her hands behind his neck and burying her face against his chest.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ came her muffled answer. She kissed his chest, then the base of his neck, trailing hot kisses on his skin which set his senses on fire again. Tilting her face towards him, she parted her lips and he kissed her, long and deep. Reaching down to stroke her, he started moving inside her, slowly at first so as not to hurt her, then faster when she let out small whimpers and feverish sighs. Her head rolled from one side to the other, her hands slid down his back. And when he couldn’t hold on anymore, he lost himself inside her.

  ‘You tried to tell me and I didn’t let you,’ he said, flatly, when he caught his breath.

  Had he known, had he even suspected the truth, he wouldn’t have been so brutal. Hell, he would have held back altogether; he wasn’t in the habit of bedding virgins. He had thought her fair game. It had never once occurred to him that Drake had lied when he claimed Harriet was his mistress. Her hesitations, her blushes, her reticence, it all made sense now, but he had been blind to anything but his need to have her.

  She clasped her hands around his shoulders and buried her face against his chest once more. It was so unbearably sweet his heart felt like it was bursting—with guilt and remorse, no doubt. He forgot about Drake, about the world outside the cave. Nothing mattered but the woman in his arms and the overpowering need he felt to soothe and comfort her. He moved so that she lay on top of him. Her cheek felt damp against his chest.

  ‘I’m sorry I hurt you,’ he said, kissing the top of her head.

  She sighed.

  ‘You didn’t hurt me… well, maybe at first,’ she answered softly.

  He knew he had. He hadn’t spared her. She had cried out, clawed at his back when he had thrust inside her, so tight and hot he had almost lost his mind. By the time he realized she had never been touched before, it was too late. And now she was crying. He felt like a brute. He kissed her hair.

  ‘Let me see you.’ He tilted her head towards him.

  She lifted her face and smiled, which made him feel even worse. It must be guilt tightening his throat until he could hardly breathe, guilt making him kiss her lips lightly and holding her tight. He was about to say he would be more attentive, more considerate, the next time but he held back the words. What next time? There wouldn’t be a next time. If Harriet had been a distraction before, she was more than that now. She was a complication. He cursed himself again. He would deal with that later. For now the woman in his arms was hurting by his fault.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said once more.

  ‘I’m not,’ she whispered, trailing her finger along his chest.

  Her feather light touch made him draw breath. She slid her hand up to his shoulder and stroked the side of his neck and snuggled closer to him. Her slender body fitted his perfectly. Her breasts were soft and full against his chest, her skin silky. He stroked her back, followed the curve of her waist, of her hips. His caresses became more precise, urgent. She moved up slowly on top of him. This time it was she who kissed him, a long, deep kiss that left him gasping for more. With a feverish groan, he enfolded her into his arms. Hell, he wanted her again. It wasn’t a good idea. It was too soon to make love to her again. She would be sore, and he had things to organise at the camp.

  He made himself stop.

  ‘I must go back,’ he said, his voice harsher than he intended.

  ‘Yes.’

  She immediately rolled off him and stood up, taking great care, it seemed, to keep her eyes averted. He almost drew her back to him, hesitated, and wondered what he could say. His mind was blank. Better leave her alone for now.

  He watched her walk into the pool, his throat dry and his chest tight. God, she was beautiful—a mermaid with her long, wet hair clinging like seaweed to her shoulders, to her back. And just then he felt absurdly pleased that Drake had indeed lied to him. That she wasn’t any man’s lover… but his.

  With a sigh, he got up and dressed.

  The light in the cave had taken on a silvery blue hue that announced dusk. It would be dark soon. His clothes were still soaking wet. Hers looked damp too.

  ‘Remember,’ he said, towering over her once they were ready. ‘You are to stay here until I come and get you…’

  Gunshots erupted and echoed in the stillness of the gorges. Lucas froze.

  ‘What? They weren’t supposed to be here before tonight,’ he roared.

  ‘Let me come with you.’ She clutched at his arm.

  ‘No!’ He threw her a fierce, angry stare. ‘You’re staying here.’ He pulled his gun out and ran down the cave passage.

  Hiding in here was out of the question. If they were being attacked again, she would help, whether Lucas wanted it or not. She gripped her dagger and went after him. More shots resonated. Then there was silence. Careful not to step on any poisoned cacti and her heart pounding with fear, she ran back towards the camp.

  The tents were burning. The pots for the soup had been overturned, their contents spilled on the sandy ground. The travel bags had been ripped open and their things strewn around. But what was more terrifying than the destruction of the camp was the absolute stillness, the silence. She glanced around to make sure the attackers had gone before leaving the safety of the gorge and venturing out in the open. Then she saw the bodies and cried out in shock.

  Lucas’ men lay on the dusty ground, their eyes wide open in the gathering dusk, a dark red stain on their chest. She kneeled down next to every one of them, but she didn’t need to touch them to know that they were beyond help. The attackers had taken them by surprise. The men didn’t have time to defend themselves. She sprang to her feet, frantic. There was no sign of Lucas or Archie. The horses and the camels were gone. What was she to do now?

  Water, she must get some water. She went back into the canyon to get the gourds. Back at the camp, she pulled what was left of the smouldering tents off the flames. Her hands shaking with panic, her eyes filled with tears, she picked the pots, clothes and bags in a futile attempt at clearing the mess.

  Night was falling fast. It was getting cold. She found a burnous lying in the dirt and wrapped herself in it to stand next to the dying fire. She had to keep it going through the night. Not only would it help Lucas or Archie find her, it would also keep wild animals at bay. Lions or leopards might be attracted by the scent of the men’s blood. She looked through the remains of the camp for a knife larger than hers then walked to a thicket of acacia trees to cut up some wood. By the time she carried a big pile of kindling back to the camp, the night had thrown its dark velvet cloak onto the desert. She poked the fire and sat down, brutally aware of the dead men’s bodies behind her. She would try and bury them in the morning. Then what?

  She let out an anguished sob when the enormity of her predicament finally hit her. She was alone in the reg, with no horse or camel and no idea of how to reach In Salah. Archie and Lucas were probably dead too. She would never see them again. She drew her legs in, wrapped her arms around her knees, and cried until there were no more tears left.

  She would wait here, she resolved, wiping her eyes. At least there was a supply of water nearby and she could salvage some food from their supplies to last a few days until someone came.

  What if no one came?

  The hours passed agonisingly slowly. Alone with her dark thoughts and her terrors, she fed the fire to stave off shadows. She made some tea, nibbled on a few dates. The darkness around her was alive with soun
ds of furtive pattering and scratching, with growling and yelping. She got used to them eventually. She even got used to the rumbling of rocks falling down from the top of the canyon. A sad smile stretched her lips. Here were the djinouns Lucas had told them about.

  Lucas… She could still smell him on her skin, feel him inside her. There was a burning, tingling pain deep within her, but if her body ached, her heart ached even more. She had wanted him with a frightening intensity. She still did, despite the words he hadn’t said, the look of confusion and disappointment on his face that had hurt far more than his hard, passionate caresses. She let out a shaky breath. He didn’t want her—that much was obvious. She might be inexperienced with men, but she knew he had meant their lovemaking in the cave as a pleasant interlude, an interlude he had immediately and bitterly regretted. She stared at the night around and took a deep breath. It didn’t matter that he didn’t love her, as long as he was safe and came back to her.

  After staring into the fire for hours, her eyelids grew heavy, her weary body slumped down, and her fingers released their grip around the dagger.

  Her heart thumping hard woke her up with a start. She straightened up, rubbed her eyes. The fire had died down to a few red hot embers and the shadows had come closer, much closer.

  It wasn’t her heart that made the ground shake. It was a horse’s gallop which reverberated around and inside her. Grabbing her dagger, she stood up, all senses alert. She would hide until she knew who was riding towards the camp. The only place close enough was the thicket of acacia trees.

  There was no time to lose. She ran, stumbled, and fell. A sharp pain stabbed her knee, but she picked herself up and ran again until she reached the trees. She lifted herself up, climbed into the branches, praying that they could hold her weight.

  She sat straddling the thickest branch and waited for the cavalier to approach. Her fingers gripped the dagger so tightly they hurt. The gallop slowed to a trot, stopped, but the horse was still too far from the camp to be seen. She heard a soft neighing, the stomping of hooves, then nothing. Her eyes narrowed to a slit, she peered into the darkness. A twig cracked behind her, then two hands grabbed hold of her and pulled her down. She didn’t even have time to scream.

  ‘Thank Heavens you’re safe!’ a man’s voice said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘By the time I arrived at the camp, they had already gone. They took the horses and the camels. One horse got loose, so I was able to ride after them. I almost caught up with them but they started shooting at me and I had to take shelter. Then they rode on and this time I couldn’t keep up so I turned round,’ Lucas said as they walked back to camp. ‘I didn’t want to leave you out here too long.’

  He turned to her and put his hand lightly on her forearm. ‘They have Drake.’

  She gasped. ‘They’ve taken him hostage?’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  She didn’t understand. ‘What else would the bandits take him for? Do you think they’ll hurt him?’

  She swallowed hard. Her affection for Archie may have dampened these past few weeks, but she still cared for him.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t think why they’d take him, unless they plan to exchange him for your father’s ransom.’ He arched his eyebrows. ‘Who will you choose if that happens? Your father or your fiancé?’

  ‘Archie isn’t my fiancé.’ She spoke without thinking.

  ‘What?’ His grip on her arm tightened like a vice.

  She looked up to him, hesitated, and bit her lower lip.

  ‘He made it up when we first met you. He thought it would protect me from…you know…unwanted male attentions.’

  He let out a long sigh. She thought he looked relieved.

  ‘You’re hurting me.’

  He released her at once.

  ‘Archie may not be my fiancé, but he is still very dear to me,’ she added.

  ‘What would you do if you had to choose?’ he asked again.

  She pressed her hand against her heart.

  ‘I hope I never have to make the choice, but if I did, I would have to choose my father.’

  He threw several sticks into the fire and poked at it until flames rose into the night again. Then he put some water to boil, to make tea, and sat down. Only then did she see the blood on the sleeve of his shirt.

  ‘You’re injured.’

  ‘It’s only a scratch. I’ll deal with it later.’

  From the amount of blood on his shirt, and the way he winced every time he moved, she gathered it was more than a scratch.

  She threw tea leaves into the simmering water and poured some out for him.

  ‘Do you think they’ll be back?’ She handed him the cup.

  ‘They didn’t get the ransom. So yes, I figure they’ll try again, maybe even tonight. In any case, we have a long way to go and, now that there’s only the two of us, they have an advantage.’ He paused, narrowed his eyes. ‘Not for long, though.’

  ‘What do you plan to do?’

  ‘There’s a Tuareg caravan in the area. We’ll hook up with them tomorrow and go south.’ He drank his tea and set his cup on the ground.

  ‘How do you know they’re here? We haven’t seen anyone for days.’

  He gave her a quick smile. ‘Remember Hakim and Musa’s messages?’

  ‘The cairns.’

  He nodded.

  ‘It looks as if your men were caught off guard and they didn’t see their attackers.’ She pointed towards the back of the camp where the two bodies lay.

  He stared at the fire and frowned. ‘Yes, and that’s very strange. They were good scouts, exceptional fighters. I don’t understand how they were killed, but I intend to find out, and then I’ll get even.’

  Even though he spoke quietly, his voice was hard. He meant it.

  ‘There’s something else I’ll get even for,’ he added. ‘They took our horses and our camels, which in the reg equals to condemning us to death.’

  They didn’t speak for a while. With Lucas at her side, the sounds of the desert weren’t so frightening. A wave of tiredness washed over her, her body relaxed, and her eyes closed. She longed to sleep, yet there was something she had to do first. She got up to search through her things, retrieved one of her chemises which she tore into strips.

  ‘I need to see to your arm now,’ she said when she was back at Lucas’ side.

  He looked up. A smile curled the corners of his lips.

  ‘Maybe you could tend to the bump at the back of my head too since you were the one responsible for it.’

  He looked up. His eyes lingered on her face. She felt a hot blush spread over her cheeks and she turned away, suddenly shy and awkward. He peeled his shirt off. He couldn’t hide a grimace of pain when his blood-drenched sleeve stuck to his wound and he had to pull on it.

  ‘You were lucky,’ she said, examining his biceps. The bullet had skimmed his arm and left a deep gash.

  Her hand shook as she dipped the cloth into the boiled water and dabbed it on his arm. He let out a hiss when she started cleaning the wound, and clenched his fist in his lap, but didn’t utter a word of complaint. She tried to keep her mind on the task at hand. It was hard to forget that a few hours before she had been naked under him, that his hands had caressed and ravaged her in turn, and his body had possessed hers with a burning passion, but without care or tenderness.

  ‘That’s it.’ She wrapped a strip of cloth around his arm and stepped back without looking at him.

  ‘Thank you. Now get some sleep while I take a look around.’ He stood up bare-chested and walked into the shadows, his pistol in one hand.

  She nodded, sat down, and wrapped herself in her burnous. The bag she slipped under her head for a pillow was hard and bumpy, and even curled into a ball, she still shivered with cold.

  ‘Here, take this.’ He handed her a blanket which she laid on the ground, and another she spread on top of her.

  ‘Sleep,’ he ordered, sitting next to her. She fell asleep and d
reamt that he was stroking her hair and pulling her against him to keep her warm.

  He had managed to find a fresh shirt in the mess of torn clothes, ripped bags, spilled and smashed supplies that the raiders had made of the camp. He had even rescued a few cigars. He puffed on one now and sighed with contentment. It tasted damn good. Or it would if his arm wasn’t so painful, and if unwelcome thoughts weren’t niggling at him.

  Something wasn’t right. His men were experienced trackers. They should have heard or seen their attackers. Who were these men and why did they take Drake with them? He thought about all the apparently benign incidents of the past few weeks, then, unable to decide if his suspicions were founded or if his judgement was being clouded by personal feelings, he stubbed his cigar out and threw the butt in the fire. His arm throbbed with pain, but he kept Harriet close.

  She felt warm, curled up against him. How frightened she must have felt when she found herself alone in the ruined camp, when she realized she might be alone for good.

  She was something else he had to think about. He might have been her first man, but he sure didn’t want to be responsible for her. He squared his jaw. He would take her to Tamanrasset, since he’d given her his word, and then back to Algiers where he would personally see she boarded a ship for England. No, he resolved, hardening his stare, there was no room in his life for a woman. There would never be.

  Yet his fingers still stroked her hair. He relaxed into a smile. Actually, he did have one responsibility towards her—besides taking her to Tamanrasset. Call it male pride or vanity, but he would show her how pleasurable lovemaking could be.

  It was midday and brutally hot when they set off from the Arak Gorges. It had taken Lucas all morning to bury his men and select the equipment and supplies he wanted to salvage from the ruined camp. Harriet had a short argument with him about some of the items she insisted on taking—her drawing book and material, changes of clothes, a few toiletries. In the end, he had given up and let her decide.

  They had returned into the gorges to cut a couple of aloe cactus leaves and extract a thick green liquid she then dabbed onto his wounded arm before applying a fresh dressing.