African Enchantment (24 page)

She raised herself and pulled back the flap of the tent. Outside the moon burned amongst a cloud of stars. She could see the dark silhouette of Mark Lane as he kept vigilant watch, her Fletcher in his hands. She wondered if Raoul had returned and knew that he had not.

She let the flap fall and lay down once again. Tomorrow their ways would diverge. She would return to Khartoum with Wilfred and Sebastian and the Africa she had loved would be lost to her. Without Raoul it would be meaningless.

In the early hours of dawn she heard the thud of the mule's hooves and Narinda's soft laugh as Raoul spoke tersely to Mark Lane. She began to braid her hair with trembling hands. The night had not been lonely for him. She doubted if he had spent one moment of it thinking of her. He would say goodbye to her as easily as he would to Sebastian or Wilfred. She paused for a few moments before emerging from the tent, steeling herself so that her outward appearance was composed. She took a deep, shuddering breath, clasped her hands close together and stepped out into the beauty of the dawn.

The lines around his mouth were white and strained, his eyes disbelieving as he listened to Mark Lane. He swung in her direction his barely-controlled fury rooting her to the spot.

‘Are you to marry Crale?' The question was like a lash.

She flinched visibly and saw Mark Lane rest a restraining hand on his arm.

‘Yes.' Her eyes held his bravely, but her voice was barely audible.

‘Leave my fiancée alone, Beauvais,' Sebastian said threateningly, walking towards them, Wilfred Frome's pistol at his hip, his hand resting on the stock.

Raoul's eyes burned into hers, dark pits in which she could read nothing.

‘We are packed and ready to leave,' Sebastian continued tightly. ‘Frome is travelling with us and so are most of the bearers.'

At last, when she felt unable to bear it for another second, he tore his eyes from hers and said tersely to Mark Lane, ‘I am continuing. The choice is yours.'

‘I travel with you.'

Raoul nodded briefly and ignored both Sebastian and Harriet, speaking to Wilfred.

‘Narinda will travel back with you. The dangers ahead are too great.'

‘
No!
' Narinda's protest was a shriek. She threw herself at Raoul, flinging her arms around his neck, tears pouring down her face.

Harriet turned away. For the first time she felt a measure of compassion for the lovely native girl. Her use had come to an end and so she was being discarded – as she herself had been.

The shrieks and sobs continued until the horses had been packed and no trace of their campsite remained.

There were no handshakes on parting. Sebastian merely nodded curtly in Raoul and Mark's direction, and Wilfred muttered an awkward farewell. Narinda, her pleas and tears to no avail, continued to weep, her face ravaged with grief.

Harriet felt as if the breath were being squeezed from her body. She sat on her horse, her hands clasped so tightly together that the nail marks indented her skin. Every fibre of her being yearned to do as Narinda had done; to hurl herself from the saddle and race across to him, throwing herself at his feet and begging to be taken with him. Her eyes were tortured. She could well imagine his contempt if she did so.

She sat proudly, her back straight and her head erect. Her world had come to an end but none would know it had done so.

Sebastian flicked his horse into movement. Behind her, Wilfred's horse nudged hers impatiently. Her horse began to move. She was leaving him. She would never see him again.

‘Harriet!' Her name was torn from his throat.

The horses broke into a canter; he called again, running with panther-like speed, seizing hold of her reins.

‘Harriet!'

She closed her eyes, her face bloodless. For one brief moment his hand rested on hers. ‘Goodbye,
ma chérie
,' he said, and then Sebastian was slapping the flank of her horse and goading it to a gallop and she could not reply for the unshed tears that choked her throat.

‘Damned insolence,' Sebastian said viciously as Raoul was left standing in the wake of their galloping horses.

When she turned in the saddle she could no longer see him. Perhaps one day she would read of his return or of his death. She was oblivious of the heat; oblivious of the conversation taking place between Wilfred and Sebastian; oblivious of Narinda's tears.

She was lost in a world of such unhappiness that it seemed impossible that she could survive it. His touch still burned on the back of her hand. She raised it to her cheek and pressed it there, travelling mile after mile and seeing nothing but his face and the dark, unreadable depths of his eyes.

Several of the native bearers who had elected to return had eyed Sebastian and Wilfred uneasily and had melted away so that when they made camp they found that they had only half the number they had started out with.

‘Treacherous dogs,' Sebastian said, his voice edged with fear. He had never been in the position of leader before and it was not one he was relishing.

‘Raoul and Mark will be grateful for them,' Harriet said quietly.

‘What the devil is it to you whether Beauvais is grateful for them or not?' Sebastian snapped, the back of his neck prickling as a distant beast roared with hunger.

‘I want his expedition to succeed,' she replied simply.

Wilfred Frome laughed. ‘How can it succeed? They are without a weapon between them.'

‘They will succeed,' Harriet insisted with quiet conviction, building a campfire as Sebastian, Wilfred and Narinda watched without offering assistance.

‘They'll never be heard of again,' Sebastian said with satisfaction. ‘Wilfred will inform the Geographical Society of Beauvais'infamous conduct and lack of leadership and Wilfred and I will lead another expedition; better equipped and better informed. After we are married,' he added as an afterthought.

The flames of the fire took hold and Harriet rose to her feet and faced him. ‘I am sorry, Sebastian. I should never have accepted your proposal of marriage. I did so in the same way it was offered – in a moment of extreme stress. I would be grateful if we did not discuss the subject again.'

Sebastian's mouth tightened. He was about to argue with her but the roving beast roared again and this time there was no mistaking the sound.

‘Lion,' Wilfred said, paling.

The two men looked at each other. ‘The fire will keep it away,' Sebastian said nervously.

‘One of us should go after him.'

‘You have the pistol.'

‘You are the hunter.'

Sweat broke out on Sebastian's brow and Wilfred shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another.

‘You may take my Fletcher,' Harriet said to Sebastian and was rewarded with a look of such venom that it startled her.

Wilfred went for the Fletcher eagerly and handed it to an ungrateful Sebastian.

Sebastian snatched it from his grasp and said savagely, ‘You go east of the camp, I'll go north. He's in that vicinity somewhere.'

Unhappily Wilfred did as he was bid and Harriet busied herself searching through their provisions for anything with which to cook an adequate meal.

Without Raoul, the native bearers were uneasy and unhelpful. Narinda sat motionless by the fire, staring into the flames with anguished eyes. Harriet sighed. Without salt she could cook nothing and the salt was in one of the bundles the bearers had carried through the heat of the day on their heads.

She left the crackling fire and the group of natives and began searching for the salt herself. The eerie silence of the African night pressed in on her. The lion no longer roared. There was no sound of hoofbeats.

She found oil and spices but no salt. The bearers had dropped their packs in wild disarray far from where Sebastian had erected the tents. As she stepped further from the flickering light of the campfire and into the impenetrable darkness her skirt caught on an acacia bush. She pulled it free and as she did so a shower of dead locusts scattered over her hand. She shook them off and stared at the black outline of the acacia bush. Scores of dead locusts were impaled on the vicious thorns. Free, they had flown directly on to the bush to a sudden and painful death, just as free she had flown into Raoul's arms, and a lifetime of torment.

The roar and the screams were simultaneous. For a second she could not move and then she was racing back to the campfire and the marauding lion. It stood over Narinda, its tail lashing viciously from side to side; the skin curled back over its dreadful teeth as it seized hold of its vainly struggling victim.

On the far side of the fire Wilfred stared petrified.

‘
Shoot it!
' Harriet screamed at him. ‘
For God's sake, shoot it!
'

Wilfred continued to stare, shaking like a man with the palsy.

Frenziedly Harriet flew to his side and seized his pistol. In doing so she passed within feet of the great beast, attracting its attention. She was uncaring. Narinda was still alive, moaning piteously. The lion dropped her from its jaw and began to pace towards Harriet. Wilfred screamed and fled into the darkness, leaving Harriet to face death alone. She could smell Narinda's blood; smell her own fear. Tawny eyes glowed in the darkness, powerful muscles crouched low, preparing to spring.

Narinda cried out inarticulately, one hand raised supplicatingly in Harriet's direction.

With a great roar the lion sprang from its haunches and Harriet squeezed the trigger.

The momentum of the animal sent her sprawling, its weight suffocating her. She fought against the hot flesh, screaming, gouging, kicking. There was blood on her face, her bodice, her skirt. She was lost in her screams, drowning in them and then Sebastian had hold of her.

‘
It's all right! It's dead! Dead!
' He was shaking convulsively.

‘Narinda,' she gasped and pushing him away she ran to the native girl's side.

Narinda barely whimpered as Sebastian carried her into the shelter of a tent. All through the long night Harriet tore up her underskirts, bedding: anything at all that could help staunch the flow of blood and all the time Narinda's eyes were on hers and she murmured repeatedly,

‘I saw. He ran away but you stayed. I saw. I saw.'

Neither Sebastian nor Harriet spoke to Wilfred when he returned. Unasked, he boiled water continually, burning blood-soaked bandages, assisting in searching for new ones.

‘Will she live?' Sebastian asked as dawn tinged the sky with gold.

Harriet shook her head, sponging Narinda's fevered brow, holding her hand.

‘I saw.' Narinda said again, her eyelids fluttering open. ‘I saw and I am sorry.'

‘Don't talk,' Harriet said gently. ‘ Save your strength.'

Narinda shook her head. Her voice was a whisper but her eyes were urgent. ‘I am sorry,' she repeated with great difficulty. ‘ I hated you and I am sorry.'

Harriet pressed a sponge of drinking water against her lips. ‘Please don't talk any more, Narinda. Try and sleep.'

‘No!' Her hold on Harriet's hand tightened, her eyes wide. ‘You must go to him. He loves you and you must go to him.'

‘She is delirious,' Sebastian said shortly.

Harriet paid no heed to him. Her eyes were fixed on Narinda's.

‘I knew what you believed,' the native girl gasped, ‘that I was his mistress.' Tears filled her lustrous eyes. ‘I have never been his mistress. My master cares for me and he is kind but he has never loved me. He never loved anyone.' She faltered, rasping for breath.

Harriet cooled her forehead, her hands trembling as she did so.

Narinda's voice was failing. Harriet had to lean close to hear each desperately summoned word.

‘He loves you,' she whispered. ‘He told me so in Khartoum. He told Hashim so. He said …' She panted harshly. ‘He said that he was going to marry you.'

A long, deep breath escaped from Harriet's lips.

‘I was glad when you refused him. When you thought that I … that I …'

‘Hush now, Narinda, there is no need to say any more.'

‘You will go to him?'

‘Yes, I will go to him.'

A smile touched Narinda's lips. ‘ I am sorry,' she said again and died.

There was a long silence. Harriet leaned back on her heels, Narinda's hand still in hers. At last Sebastian said awkwardly,

‘She didn't know what she was saying.'

‘She knew perfectly what she was saying. She made only one mistake. Raoul may have intended asking to marry me but he never did so. If he had I would never have refused him, Narinda or no Narinda.' Slowly she rose to her feet and stepped out of the tent, into the morning sunlight.

Sebastian followed her, standing at her side. ‘What are you going to do?' he asked, his face troubled.

‘I am going to do as Narinda said. I am going to go to him.'

Sebastian's face, so attractive in Khartoum, had aged prematurely in the last few days. Fresh anxiety swept across it.

‘You can't! It would be suicide for us to return to Latika's lands.'

‘I am returning,' she repeated quietly. ‘I will join Raoul and if that means crossing Latika's lands, then I will do so.'

‘I can't … won't …' Sebastian floundered incoherently.

She smiled up at him. ‘I don't expect an escort, Sebastian. You and Wilfred return to Khartoum. I shall journey to Raoul alone. It is only a day since we parted. I shall find him and then I shall never leave him.'

Hurriedly she packed a small supply of rations in her saddlebag.

‘But if you die …' Sebastian protested weakly.

Her smile widened, a radiant smile of pure happiness.

‘My life is my own, Sebastian. I shall do with it what I will.'

He kissed her goodbye on the cheek and she shook a shame-faced Wilfred by the hand.

He was a coward and she had been a fool. She had paid for her folly and no doubt Wilfred would pay for his cowardice. She preferred her own failing to his. It was one that would not assail her again.