Daughter of Hassan

by Penny Jordan

  The mare stumbled, almost throwing Danielle from the saddle, the reins slipped through her numb fingers and she reached desperately for them, praying that she wouldn't lose her seat. At least the mare was some companionship. In her heart of hearts Danielle knew that there was only one person with whom she would want to share her present plight; one man who could banish her fears with his presence and the cold with the warmth of his body. A shuddering sigh trembled through her. How quixotic it was that the very man whose presence could banish her fears and misery was the self-same one who had caused her to flee from him into the desert in the first place— her husband.

  The little mare's ears pricked up and she stopped for a moment. No matter how much Danielle strained to part the darkness and see what had halted her she could see nothing. Thoughts of snakes and scorpions lurking unseen on the ground below touched her spine with icy fingers, and then just when she thought she would have to dismount and lead the mare, Danielle felt her move, uncertainly at first and then more briskly as though guided by a voice beyond human hearing. After a few seconds Danielle gave up the battle of fighting against the mare and let her have her head. She had no idea where they were going; had in fact no idea where they were or in which direction they had travelled. Above them the moon shone coldly, a thin sickle moon, silvering the landscape and turning the sands to an endless rippling ocean.

  Tired and exhausted, Danielle could barely stay in the saddle. Her watch had stopped, but she was sure they must have been travelling for hours. For the first time she let her guard slip and allowed her thoughts to drift to the castle and everyone's reaction to her disappearance. They would question the groom, of course, but all he would be able to tell them was that she had intended to ride to the oasis. Too late Danielle remembered the search party which had been mounted to look for the small boy who had gone missing, but of course, Jourdan was not at the castle to organise one for her. Would the comp­troller have sent him a message? Danielle shivered as she tried to picture his reaction to it. Would he care? Why should he? honesty compelled her to ask herself. Theirs was a marriage based on nothing but necessity. Were she to die her step­father would scarcely blame Jourdan; after all, he had not been anywhere near the castle when she left.

  Another new and even colder fear took posses­sion of Danielle's heart; wild fancies driving out common sense and causing her to shiver with the deep conviction that far from sending out a search party, her husband was far more likely simply to leave her to her fate.

  A combination of numbed limbs and nervous exhaustion aided by the rocking motion of the mare's walk lulled Danielle into the borderland between sleeping and waking. Her eyes closed, and although she was still conscious she seemed to have entered a dream world where everything around her took on a hazy, distant quality which combined with the numbing of her body to alleviate a little of her mental and physical agony.

  When the oasis loomed up in front of her her eyelids had dropped over her eyes, her slender body slumped forward over the mare's neck. The little animal hesitated, snorting delicately and arching her neck as though trying to draw her rider's attention to their surroundings. Getting no response, she moved forward at a sedate walk, delicately picking her way across the sand.

  How her subconscious managed to relay to her the presence of another shadow amongst so much darkness Danielle was not really sure. One moment her eyes were tightly closed, the next they few open, her senses screaming a warning. The mare's reins were trailing in the sand, but by some miracle she had managed to avoid tripping in them. As she leaned forward to pat the mare's silky coat, Danielle's eyes searched the oasis for some indication of the presence which had awoken her. She could see nothing, but she knew she and the mare were not alone. The little horse was prancing skittishly on the sand, her body tensed as though awaiting a command. Fear drying her mouth, Danielle dismounted, her dismayed gasp suppressed as recognition of her surroundings finally came to her. They were at the oasis just beyond the castle. If she hadn't been so relieved to know where they were and so alarmed by the alien presence she sensed stalking her from the shadows, she might just have cried—cried for her own foolishness and both her own and the mare's exhaustion, but from somewhere she found the strength to stiffen her spine, and call out sharply, 'Who's there?'

  The figure who stepped from the shadows was wearing riding clothes, his heavy dark cloak bil­lowing in the cold breeze. The mare went im­mediately to him.

  Apprehension shivered along Danielle's nerves, and she gasped as she saw and recognised his features. No wonder the horse had gone to him so eagerly! The mare was snorting happily with pleasure, her ears alert, as she nosed the man who was stroking her, plainly searching for some little treat.

  'Jourdan, I thought you were away. How . . .'

  The moment the words left her lips Danielle realised how foolish and damning they were. Plainly Jourdan thought so too. She could see the tight, angry line of his lips, the cold jet glitter of his eyes as they rested initially on her pale face, smudged with exhaustion and tears, and then on the mare.

  'How did I find you?' His face was cold with reproof. 'I trusted Zara to have the sense you so obviously lack. The scent of water led her back here. It is an instinct without which animals die quickly and painfully in the desert,' he added curtly. 'Is this how our life together is going to be, mignonne? Every time I turn my back are you going to attempt to escape me?'

  'I am not your possession,' Danielle objected tiredly. 'You lied and cheated, forced me into a marriage I didn't want. Can you blame me for wanting to escape?'

  'From what and to what?' Jourdan asked softly. 'Can you tell me honestly that there have been no moments in our marriage which have brought you pleasure beyond anything you have known before?'

  Danielle's expression betrayed her. Her face flamed in the darkness. Jourdan knew all her vul­nerable points and how to make use of them. It was pointless telling her that she hated him, pointless railing against the fate which had brought them together, and for the first time she longed for an Arab girl's serene acceptance; her ability to smile and say softly, 'It is the will of Allah.'

  'Come, you are falling asleep on your feet,' Jourdan said abruptly, taking her arm in one hand and the mare's reins in the other.

  Danielle expected to be led to a Land Rover or car where others would be waiting, but to her surprise Jourdan led her instead to a lump of palm trees where his own mount was waiting. The mare whickered joyfully, and Jourdan smiled for the first time.

  'Zara is not like you, ma petite,' he said mock­ingly. 'See how gladly she greets her mate. Have you no words of gratitude for me, Danielle, for rescuing you from the desert?'

  'I wasn't lost,' Danielle retorted bitterly. 'You said so yourself. I suppose you've derived con­siderable amusement from imagining my fears, knowing all the time that Zara would bring me back to the oasis.'

  'And you,' Jourdan said, suddenly stern, 'did you give any thought to the feelings of those you left behind, Danielle? Zanaide was frantic, and so was the boy who saddled the mare for you. I can quite understand how you must have relished the thought of humiliating me, but Zanaide and the boy . . .'

  His look hurt more than any amount of con­temptuous words, and for a moment Danielle longed to tell him just how wrong he was. There had been no thought of his humiliation in her mind—only her own should he discover how fool­ishly she had given her heart into his keeping.

  'You are exhausted,' he repeated firmly. 'Zanaide is a soft-hearted creature and begged me not to punish you for your folly.' Before Danielle could object to his choice of words, he added suavely, 'Besides, there is no need, is there, Danielle?'

  It was all she could do to simply shake her head. He was right; the ordeal of finding herself alone and lost in the desert had been punishment enough, and one whose memory would live in her mind as long as her love lived in her heart.

  'You cannot ride back to the castle tonight,' Jourdan announced abruptly. 'We shall remain here at the oasis and our
absence will serve a two­fold purpose. It will give both you and Zara a chance to recover your strength and allow my ser­vants to believe that I have chastised you as they believe a man should chastise his woman.' When Danielle looked blank he added sardonically, 'Surely you have heard the saying, mignonne, "A woman, a donkey and a walnut tree, the more you beat them the better they be." 'When Danielle recoiled he laughed harshly. 'Do not worry, I have never yet lifted my hand in anger against a woman, and although no woman has provoked me to it as you do, I could not call myself a man were I to do so now.'

  'There are other more painful means of punishment between a man and a woman,' Danielle said beneath her breath, thinking of the bitter-sweet agony of his touch, but he heard her, and grasped her arms, swinging her round so that she could see the anger tautening the bones of his face.

  Something in her flinching expression must have reached him, because instead of carrying out the threat implicit in his eyes, Danielle was released, while Jourdan turned to secure the mare.

  A thick sleeping bag had been dumped on the sand beneath the palm trees and Danielle focused absently on it while Jourdan was busy.

  'Yes, I regret that we shall have to share it.'

  His crisp words cut across her muddled thoughts. She hadn't got as far as thinking about the purpose of that single, solitary sleeping bag, but now fear trembled along her nerve ends. How could she endure a night in such close intimacy with Jourdan without betraying her feelings?

  'Couldn't we go back to the castle?' she sug­gested woodenly. 'It's only a few miles. Besides,' she added wildly, seeing his expression, 'I want to have a bath ... I'm covered in sand and . . .'

  'If a bath is all you want, we can provide that for you,' Jourdan said easily, motioning towards the oasis itself. 'There is no need to be afraid, we are quite alone here.'

  Didn't he realise that was why she was afraid? Danielle thought, moistening dry lips with the tip of her tongue, unaware of the smouldering dark eyes fastening on the defensively provocative ges­ture.

  'It doesn't matter,' she began weakly, but Jourdan wasn't prepared to let the subject drop there.

  'What is there to be afraid of?' he taunted. 'Surely you are not so naive as to think that the merest glimpse of your naked flesh is sufficient to drive me into a frenzy of lust? If so you have a lot to learn about men, mignonne. Nothing destroys desire as quickly and easily as an unwilling part­ner.'

  Colour stained Danielle's face as she turned defensively away. There was no need for Jourdan to underwrite the fact that he had made love to her simply to ensure that their marriage could not. be set aside—she was already aware of that, just as she was now also aware that merely to look upon his tall, muscled frame was sufficient to set her heart thudding with the desire which made her legs tremble weakly beneath her, and con-stricted her breathing.

  'You will find that the oasis is quite warm,' Jourdan continued dispassionately. 'I myself had intended to swim in it, so I can provide you with a towel.'

  Swim! Danielle risked a glance at the hard, ath­letic body of her husband, swiftly masking her eyes with thick dark lashes as she felt her regard returned. Did he come often to the oasis to swim in its tranquil waters?

  'Don't worry,' he mocked her, 'I shall not force my unwanted presence upon you, although in dif­ferent circumstances there can be nothing more enjoyable than the pleasure of the silken touch of water upon one's skin without the restriction of clothes, followed by the pleasure of making love beneath the stars with only the desert to witness the brief communion of flesh which is the nearest human beings can come to reaching Heaven here on earth.'

  Shaken by his words, Danielle stared out over the oasis, brushing the fine grains of sand off her skin with a faint grimace. All at once she longed for the cleansing touch of water against her body. Jourdan had turned away from her and was busy coaxing flames from a small collection of brushwood he must have gathered while waiting for Zara to bring her to the oasis.

  As though he read her thoughts, he said curtly, 'It is wiser to wait for you to come to me than to go looking for you. The desert is a vast place, Danielle, and I knew that sooner or later you would grow tired and Zara would bring you here.' He glanced at the fire. 'A little primitive perhaps, but comforting for all that. Even in the desert men need the comforting warmth of fire. When you have had your swim we shall eat the food Zanaide prepared for you and drink the coffee I have brought with me in a thermos flask. As a boy I spent many nights here at the oasis—and in other less comfortable parts of the desert. My uncle, your stepfather, has a wisdom not given to many, and during the holidays I spent away from my expensive English public school I wandered the desert with our tribesmen, learning from them what no amount of schooling could ever teach me. At first I enjoyed it as a boy does enjoy such things, but as I grew older I saw past the freedom of a nomad's life, to the poverty and ever-present danger that underlies it, and as my uncle had planned gained an understanding of our people, for the desert tribesmen are as much a part of Qu'Har as the men grown rich on oil and modern technology—more so, perhaps, for they ask nothing of life but the right to live it. Money, position, possessions—all these are paid for with freedom.'

  It was the longest speech he had ever made to her, and Danielle wondered if he ever envied the tribesmen their wandering life free from the responsibilities which she now saw were his.

  Listening to Zanaide, she had learned much she had not known before. Without Jourdan to guide the country and spend its wealth wisely it would be torn apart on the rocks of greed and jealousy, and she no longer wondered that he had forced her into marriage; only that she herself had been so blind to the necessity for him to do so. Perhaps if she were to tell him how she felt he would set her free, for he was not a deliberately cruel man; she was sure of that now, and when she explained to her stepfather she was sure that he too would see the need for their marriage to be set aside, without any blame attaching to Jourdan. Maybe tomorrow she might find the courage from some­where to approach him, but tonight she was too tired, too agonisingly aware of every masculine detail of him and her own yearning longing to be taken, possessed and held by him and never, ever set free.

  With a faint sigh Danielle acknowledged the folly of her thoughts. She paused twice on her way to the oasis, but Jourdan was still busy with his fire and never turned round. Her clothes, when she removed them, were full of sand, and she shook it out as best she could before removing her briefs and running quickly into the water.

  It was as warm as Jourdan had promised, and Danielle luxuriated in the soft caress of it against her skin, turning over to float blissfully on her back and watch the stars so far above her in the midnight sky.

  Tomorrow she would be forced to face up to Jourdan's lack of love for her, but for tonight surely there would be no harm in pretending a little . . . The first time she felt the faint brushing against her shoulder she thought it actually was Jourdan, who despite what he had said, had come to join her, but when she turned over lan­guorously, there was no one there, but the soft brushing sensation continued, this time on her legs and thighs. Her skin crawled with icy fear, her scream splitting the silence of the night. By the time Jourdan reached her she was beginning to panic, because no matter in which direction she swam, the thing, whatever it was, continued to brush nauseatingly against her flesh.

  Even when Jourdan reached her, grasping her flailing arms, she was so panic-stricken that it was several seconds before she could tell him what had happened.

  'Lie still and float,' he commanded her, tread­ing water, while he ran his hands dispassionately over her body. Danielle felt something move and bit back another scream,

  'Don't worry. It is a piece of weed, that is all,' Jourdan told her, showing her the trailing green­ery. 'It must have become entwined with you when you were swimming.'

  A feeling of chagrin overwhelmed Danielle. All that fuss simply because of a piece of weed!

  'I'm sorry-' she began in a constricted voice, trying to s
truggle away from Jourdan's supporting arm, but to her surprise he didn't let her go, in­stead turning her over so that she was lying above him in the water, his body virtually motionless as he supported them both.

  'Are you?' he demanded huskily. 'Perhaps after all this marriage is the Will of Allah, and not merely a result of my own manipulating, for it cannot be denied that He loses no opportunity to make me aware of the perfection of your body, and never more so, mignonne, than now when it is enticingly wrapped in moonlit water, and I can feel it trembling against mine, just as you must be aware of my response to you.'

  Danielle was, and it was that that made her tremble, her body suddenly wantonly pliant, moulding itself against the hard contours of Jourdan's, her soft sigh lost as his arms closed round her and his lips parted hers in a kiss of lazy exploration. Time seemed to stand still. Danielle wasn't aware of them moving, only of Jourdan. The sensation of sand beneath her feet came as a brief shock, but Jourdan was already lifting her in his arms and carrying her over to the fire which still burned warmly. Droplets of water clung to his skin, and as he lowered her to the ground Danielle unashamedly let her eyes linger on the sculptured lines of his body, her breath catching in mingled awe and emotion. The mingling of East and West had produced a man who surely must come as closely as any human being could to the perfection of Ancient Greek sculpture. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist and flat stomach, moisture clung in droplets to the dark body hair which arrowed downwards. Tautly male thighs brushed powerfully against her own skin as Jourdan set her down, not totally releasing her. Her own fingers clung to him, and as though the spell which enveloped her also extended to him, Danielle felt the tension emanating from Jourdan, and heard the harshly indrawn breath he gave before sliding her sensually down the length of his body until her toes touched the sand, his arms tightening as his head bent and his lips began a slow exploration of her face, starting where tendrils of damp hair clung to her temples and tracing the lines of her bones, until her eyes were pleading mutely for him to possess the softly parted sweetness of her mouth and obliterate the last shreds of common sense which urged her to turn her back on him and what could only at best be a few bitter-sweet hours of happiness.