Tawny Sands

by Violet Winspear

  In a casual way he tucked it into the neck of her blouse, where it nestled against her pale skin.

  `What flower is it, senor?' She had gone weak a moment from the touch of his hand.

  `A flower from the chaste-tree,' he drawled. 'My grandmother will take the hint, though your eyes give you away as a girl who has never had a lover.'

  With a fast beating heart she let the flower remain where he had tucked it, and allowed herself to be led into the cloisters to a central archway. It framed a beautiful filigreed lamp, some lotus trees hung with small fruits, and floral tiling whose soft colours were repeated in the rugs that glowed against the floor of a cool and gracious room.

  The carved furniture was of age-silkened wood, offset by brocaded divans, small tables with silver legs, and the delicate tracery of iron chandeliers hung from a ceiling of cedar-wood. An oriental room with a Spanish flavour. A touch of the sensuous intermingled with the austere. An invitation to recline, and yet to wander among the various treasures displayed here and there on a table or a carved cabinet.

  Janna took a vase into her hands and admired the smooth curves and lovely old patterns. She needed to feel calm and the feel of the vase helped a little. Don Raul was prowling the room like a supple tiger, almost purring his pleasure in everything, and Janna sensed that at any moment the

  Princess Yamila would make her entrance through the archway at the other end of the salon.

  `How good it feels to be home.' He reached up and set a jewelled lamp swinging on its chain. 'How unchanged everything is, not a cushion out of place, not a scent I haven't longed to breathe again. Breathe deep, Janna. That is the incense of a Moorish home.'

  She glanced at him, as if casually, and all that he was struck through her like a thrill and a pain. So tall and strong and dark; a man who combined in his own nature the sensuous with a demanding selectivity. He wanted only the best of women . . . a Madonna, warm yet restrained; loving and brave, yet in need of his protection. Rachael was like that.

  And Janna was suddenly afraid of what his grandmother might detect in her, the girl who was so unlike his ideal, but was young, innocent, fair, as his grandmother wished his wife to be. Suppose the Princess insisted that he marry her ! How could he marry someone he didn't love . . . he had other plans, and they could go all wrong. Janna was again filled with the urge to run away before the Princess appeared. To put a stop to this game before it was too late.

  She put down the vase, gave a hunted glance round the room, and suddenly fled towards the archway that gave on to the cloisters. She reached them and was a white figure running among their shadows when she heard the swift padding of feet behind her. She was near a column when he overtook her, when his hands reached for her and swung her around roughly to face him. His eyes were angry as she struggled to get away from him, there beside a column smothered in the leaves and flowers that twined down over the roof of the cloisters. She felt herself thrust among them; she looked up desperately into Raul's dark eyes, she felt his touch to her bones.

  `What are you doing?' he asked. 'Where do you think you are going?'

  `I can't pretend—not to your grandmother.'

  Did I ask you to pretend to be headlong in love with me?' He shook her, there against the mass of flowers and leaves.

  `Y-you don't understand

  `Of course I do.' He snapped the words. 'You are scared our deception will lead to marriage, but I assure you it won't. I would allow neither of us to become that involved.'

  `How can you be so sure ?' She gazed up at him, her hair flopping softly in her eyes, a top button of her blouse pulled open when he had grasped her so roughly, the chaste flower still caught and held there against the pale warmth of her skin. She felt the rake of his eyes over her exposed neck, taking in the disorder he had brought about. She saw his mouth form into a sort of smile . . . tigerish, showing the white line of his teeth.

  `You shrink like that violet flower from the very thought of having me for a husband, eh? My touch is hardly bearable to you . . . I can feel you trembling, shaking the leaves. Poor child,' he taunted, `no wonder you want to run away. But where will you go? Out there is a desert city you hardly know, and beyond it the many miles of desert and ocean that separate you from England. You have to stay, chica. You have to go through with what we have started. The Princess knows you are here and you have to meet her.'

  Please—' Janna felt crushed by what he believed, that she disliked his touch and couldn't bear the thought of actually marrying him. What she couldn't bear was the possibility of being forced upon him he would hate her for that.

  `Please?' he softly mocked. 'You want me to let you go?'

  `Yes.' She had to say the word, when with all her being she longed to be held by him, roughly or tenderly. If there had been no Rachael, she would have let happen whatever had to happen to a girl who loved a man as much as she did.

  `I will let you go when I have your promise that you won't do anything foolish.'

  `Foolish?' she echoed.

  `Such as finding someone whom you think will convey

  you safely across the desert, out of my reach.'

  `How can I promise not to do that? You know I might feel forced into it—'

  `You will be forced into no marriage with me,' he said explosively. 'I would no more marry you than I would a—a doll. I want no loveless thing in my life. Do you understand?' He shook her again, and then as if his anger could be expressed only in punishment he bent his head and she gave a little pained cry as he crushed her close to him and buried his lips in the warm disclosed hollow of her shoulder. She was lost in the leaves and flowers, in his hard arms, and the warm power of his body. She felt he might break her as he bent her over his arm and forced her lips to meet his. Deep, then deeper, until she clung reeling to the strong shoulders and let him expend his anger in the age-old way.

  Abruptly he pushed her away from him, and she saw his eyes close heavy-lidded, while a pulse beat like mad beside his mouth. A strand of black hair lay snared in the warm heat of his forehead. He looked to her like a tiger disturbed.

  `You asked for that.' He spoke as if he hated her. `If I can't have your promise to stay until I can take you away again, there may be more of the same. I can't spank you . . . or perhaps I can.'

  His eyes dwelt consideringly upon her tense young face, then before she could retreat he reached out and pulled her towards him. With easy strength he swung her over his shoulder, and her teeth bit down on her lip as he gave her a stinging little slap on her backside. He strolled with her towards the salon, and aroused to fury by his treatment of her, she caught at his hair and gave it a fierce tug.

  `You brute!'

  He laughed, as if enjoying himself. 'You will give me that promise, little tigress, or else.'

  `I'm not intimidated by you!'

  `Brave words,' he scoffed. 'You know that next time in my arms you might learn a more profound lesson . . . and

  it might be quite a pleasure to teach you.'

  `You wouldn't dare !'

  `I would, berida, and you know it.'

  She fell silent as she contemplated his threat, and when they reached the salon she felt the indignity of being kissed without mercy, slapped on her rear end, and carried into the house like a sack of goods.

  `I hate you!' she stormed, knowing herself a liar.

  He was laughing when a woman spoke in a deep, smiling, indulgent voice. 'How appropriate, my grandson, that you return home with the girl slung across your shoulder. I am most entertained. It has been a long time since those old cloisters were so enlivened by the chase and the capture of a young woman by a determined man. My dearest Raul, I would not have missed such a scene for anything.'

  Janna found herself lowered to her feet, and never had she felt so ruffled, or so embarrassed. She raised a hand to smooth her hair, feeling the wild pink in her cheeks as she met the amused eyes of the Princess Yamila; the woman who held sway over the people of El Amara, who was renowned for her beau
ty, and who lived to see her greatest wish fulfilled . . . her grandson's marriage.

  She was clad in a swathed dress of silver-purple brocade, and an ornament of beaten silver adorned her gown and held in place her head veil. Her face was a gracious oval set with dark radiant eyes, her skin was softly amber, and set in her right nostril was a glittering jewel. She must as a young woman have been ravishingly lovely; even yet she retained much of her beauty and a queenly grace.

  She held out her hands to her grandson, and Janna noticed the lacework of henna on them ... she knew that henna was for joy, the joy of the Princess in having Raul Cesar Bey with her again.

  He went to her and kissed each hand in turn, then he embraced her, drawing the slight, silken figure against his broad chest. He spoke to her in Arabic, his voice pitched low and loving. Janna watched their meeting with a certain

  wistfulness. How wonderful to be as sure of his love as the Princess Yamila, who might try to boss him, but who had a firm and everlasting hold on his heart. She had taken the place of his parents, and for her sake he brought Janna to El Amara.

  The novelty of the English girl would engage her interest, and the anger she might feel towards Joyosa would be lessened by having in Janna a possible bride for her grandson. Janna was worried about the role imposed on her, but she could not retreat from it. Don Raul was looking at her, a warning glitter in his eyes. He was about to present her to his grandmother, and his look demanded that she fall in with his wishes. There was nothing else to do, and she felt a tremor in her knees as she approached the Princess Yamila.

  Don Raul spoke in English as he presented Janna. 'We met in a garden, Princess. I thought you might like her, so I persuaded her to come to El Amara for a holiday. Her name is Janna. She is English and rather shy of me, but also rather beguiling, eh?'

  His grandmother gazed frankly at Janna, taking in the elfin slant of her cheekbones, the youth and uncertainty still apparent in her features. 'You could almost, Raul, have passed this girl off as my ward.' The Princess held out her hands in welcome to Janna, who took them hesitantly, feeling the rings, the delicate veins, and the surprising strength. 'You are unusual to us, my dear. So very fair, and so blue-eyed. I can understand why Raul brought you to see me—but did he bring you a little against your will?'

  Janna blushed at this amused reference to being flung slim and helpless over Raul's broad shoulder. 'When Don Raul told me of you, Princess, I wanted very much to meet you.'

  `Did you not fall in love, first, with this handsome devil?'

  No—that is ' Janna was confused by the frankness of

  his grandmother. 'We are just friends

  `Are you, child? I thought he brought you here in place of the girl I hoped he might marry. Raul knows he must

  marry someone, and he is being obstinate.'

  `Men don't like to give up their freedom, Princess.'

  `We women have to surrender ours, and we are not allowed the indulgence of a lover if the marriage is loveless.' The Princess cast a keen glance at her grandson. 'The girl is pleasing, but she is also a vulnerable one. Are you aware of this, my queridisimo? Do you see beyond the soft white skin and the deep blue eyes?'

  He flicked a look over Janna, and she felt almost shocked, as if on a slave block being considered by a potential master. He didn't love her, but how far was he prepared to go in order to please the Princess? He had said to marry her would be like marrying a doll, but supposing the Princess persuaded him.. . because she, Janna, had soft skin, blue eyes, and an all too apparent innocence? Janna wasn't so entirely innocent that she didn't know that a man could feel desire without being in love with the woman he desired. Only a while ago in the shadow of the cloisters he had kissed her, and the ground rocked again beneath her feet as she recalled those long, lost moments in his arms.

  `I see only that my young friend is wearied by our long trip across the desert, Princess.' He smiled into Janna's eyes, confusing her anew. 'We met with a horde of locusts and we both feared they might descend on the groves. Has Ahmed been keeping the men alert? This is the time of the year when we could lose much of our harvest if the locusts came in force.'

  `It would be a disaster!' At once the attention of the Princess was diverted from Janna, and she was grateful. Did Raul realise how she felt, and was he truly sympathetic? She had been a lonely little fool, to have allowed his fascination to bring her this far from home. She could have left Mildred of her own accord and returned to the security of England; to a job in a typing pool where one was safely anonymous.

  `I think,' he said, 'that Janna would like to rest in her room while we discuss business.'

  The Princess smiled her agreement, and a manservant in

  white appeared to conduct her to another section of the house; an apartment opening on to a small patio, and so lovely that Janna sensed at once that she had been placed in the rooms set aside for Joyosa. Her suitcases were open on a table at the foot of the low, wide ottoman bed, silk-covered and with a netting canopy let down from an ivory ring affixed to a ceiling painted with tiny golden stars.

  Her hand sank into the bed, and her feet were deep in the pile of a topaz yellow carpet. There was a pearl-inlaid dressing table with a matching wardrobe. A divan heaped with cushions, exquisite screens and doorways, filigreed lamps, a tall water-jar filled with white flowers, and the sound of birds in her own private patio.

  Janna would have been an ungrateful girl if she had not responded to the seclusion and beauty of her surroundings ... she suppressed the shy thought that the place was not unlike a seraglio where she awaited her master.

  She stepped through a fretted archway and there at her feet almost lay a sunken bath lined with Arabian tiles. Little wisps of warm steam curled up from the water, which someone had run in expectation of the lella wishing to bathe. Huge Turkish towels were laid out on a low table beside the bath, and there was a painted looking-glass on a stand, a box of cosmetics, and an arabesqued chest full of silk things.

  `My seraglio,' Janna murmured, and one by one her fingers were unbuttoning her blouse and the blue-dotted tie. A mauve flower fell to the blue and gold tiles and lay near the foot she had slipped out of her sandal. She prodded the flower with her toes and it fell into the shimmering water. A moment later Janna slipped into the pool, a slim white figure reflected in the painted mirror . . . soft-skinned, inviting the touch of a lean, sun-bitten hand. Soft hair clinging to a slender nape. The slight tilt of breasts guarding a quickening heart as someone came through the archway into the bath room.

  It was a girl carrying a tray, which she set down on one

  of the inlaid tables. She cast a lash-veiled glance at Janna, who was soaping herself madly in an effort to hide her nudity. A smile came and went on the girl's lips, and she pointed to the tray, on which stood a pot giving off a delicious aroma of hot chocolate, a silver jug of cream, a dish of cakes, and several large and luscious-looking peaches.

  `Thank you.' Janna had forgotten the Arabic words for thanks. `Gracias:

  The girl giggled, then evidently aware that the English lella would prefer to be alone while she bathed, she went away, and Janna sighed her relief. Arabian front doors might have huge keys to keep them locked, but all the other doors seemed designed to let anyone in. Raul himself might take it into his head to stroll in upon her while she bathed !

  Janna splashed about in the water as if to drown her thoughts, but a sly one kept taunting her. Suppose this was her seraglio? Anything might be laid on for the adored grandson of the Princess !

  Half frightened, she stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a great towel. Her cheeks were a wild pink, and her hair clung in drifts of gold about her neck. Her shoulders were pale and dewed with droplets of water. She didn't dare to think of what Raul would do if he saw her like this, and she glanced around timidly, as if she heard him approaching and sought some means of hiding from him Her hands clutched the towel closer; she was sure she heard footsteps on the tiles of the patio, and a mom
ent later the drifting smoke of a cigarette was no illusion. Raul was out there .. . and she was in here, clad in very little !

  She glanced about for her clothes, but they were gone ! The girl must have taken them, and Janna almost tripped over the towel in her haste to examine the chest of silk things. She found a full-length robe of silk brocade and put it on, her fingers full of nerves as she buttoned it from her throat to the hem. She turned to the mirror. The brocade was a soft turquoise, with something of gold in the material when she moved. She noticed how the colour became her,

  and her feeling of shyness was intensified. She gave a start when a deep voice called her name from the patio.

  `Won't you come and join me?'

  She had never felt more shy of him than right now. They had travelled together in the desert, and spent a night there beneath the stars, but now she was in his home, and clad in something of Arabian silk that made her look and feel a stranger to herself.

  `Janna?'

  She hesitated, then picked up the tray of refreshments and carried them out to the patio, where he lounged in a long wicker chair, his legs stretched out, smoke drifting about his dark head, looking utterly at home.

  He smiled lazily when he saw her, letting his gaze wander all the way down the long line of tiny pearl buttons to her bare feet.

  `You have forgotten your slippers,' he drawled.

  The tiles are warm.' She crossed over to him, carrying the tray and feeling like a barefoot slave about to wait on him.

  `The Arabian clothes become you, berida.' `Don't—please ! '

  `My dear girl, what am I doing now?'

  `Looking at me as if I'm a sort of slave girl.'

  `Perhaps it is the atmosphere.' He smiled wickedly. 'This apartment and adjoining court were used long ago by the favourite of an ancestor of mine—a practice not entirely out of fashion.'