Hostage of the Hawk (11 page)

She swung away. ‘I'm sorry I've wasted your time.'

His chair scraped against the floor. She heard the sound of his footsteps coming towards her, felt the weight of his hands on her shoulders.

‘Joanna.' He turned her towards him. ‘Look at me.' When she did, he frowned down at her. ‘Is it so terrible here for you?'

‘Of course it is. How do you think it feels to be a captive?'

‘Yes.' His voice was low. ‘That is what you are, Joanna. My captive.'

Their eyes met. A soft sound rose in Joanna's throat as she looked into the dark blue depths of his eyes. He was right. She was his captive. She belonged to him.

There was a sudden tension in the room. Her heart began to race. She remembered how he'd kissed her in the meadow, how he'd drawn her down into the soft, sweet grass, how the heat of his mouth and the heat of the sun had seemed the same...

She stepped back before he could reach for her. ‘I know what I am.' Her voice was cool and steady, although her heart was still pounding. ‘And if you are half the great humanitarian you claim to be, I think it's time you considered my feelings and not just your own.'

Khalil's mouth thinned. ‘Is that what you think this is about?'

‘I've no wish to argue the issue, Khalil. I came to ask a favour of you. Will you let me ride, or won't you?'

Long seconds passed. Then he moved past her, marched to the door, and wrenched it open. The guard stepped forward, and Khalil barked a series of orders. When he finished, he looked at Joanna.

‘It is done.'

She could hardly draw breath. ‘You mean—you mean, you've given permission for me to ride?'

‘Once daily, and only in the company of two of my men.' His face turned stern. ‘I will be away the next few days, Joanna. My men will guard you well and keep you safe.'

‘They'll make sure I don't run away, you mean.'

His expression didn't change. ‘I must have your word that you will never try to slip away from them.' When she hesitated, he closed the slight distance between them and clasped her shoulders. ‘Your word, Joanna! Or I will not permit you to ride.'

Joanna bit down lightly on her bottom lip. What did it matter if she lied? She wasn't his guest, she was here against her will!

‘You have it,' she said.

She smiled faintly, then made her way past him and out of the door.

‘Do you speak English?' Khalil heard her say to the guard, and when the man answered that he did, Joanna nodded. ‘We will go to the stables,' she said, as if she had spent her entire life giving orders to men with fierce faces and flowing robes.

Despite himself, Khalil smiled as he walked slowly to the window. They were out in the sunshine now, Joanna and the guard. Another of his men joined them so that they flanked her. They were big men, better than six feet tall, and she was a woman of average height made smaller looking by fragile bone structure. Yet, in some strange way, she looked every bit their equal, if not physically then surely in determination.

And in courage. Sighing, he turned and sat down slowly at his desk. She was not quite what he'd thought she was, this Joanna Bennett. Khalil frowned and picked up his pen. It would be good when her fool of a father came to his senses and agreed to do that which had to be done. His people would be safe, Abu would take a step back, and Joanna—she would go back to the pretty world in which she belonged. He would forget her in an instant...

Certainly he would.

The pen dropped from his fingers. It seemed a long time until he picked it up again and bent over the papers strewn across his desk.

* * *

Joanna's guard seemed confused early the next morning when she opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the hall.

‘I'm going horseback riding,' she said as she pushed past him and strode briskly down the corridor. She knew he couldn't understand her; knew too that she wasn't supposed to simply make her announcement and walk out, but it was all part of the painfully simple plan she'd hatched.

Pathetically simple was more like it, although now that she knew Khalil would be absent from the palace for a few days the odds of the plan working had improved. Still, everything would have to fall into place at once, if she were to make good her escape. It was why this initial attempt had to be done just this way.

Would the guard stop her?

He wouldn't, she thought with fierce exultation. He'd obviously been told she'd been granted a new privilege and now he was torn between that knowledge and whatever it was he was supposed to do next, perhaps notify the stable boy to saddle the mare, perhaps notify the men who were to accompany her that she was ready to ride.

At the door, she glanced over her shoulder. He'd finally started after her, but that was unimportant.

All that mattered was that he had let her get past him.

The next morning, she opened her door at the same hour. The guard was waiting, along with the men who'd ridden with her the prior day.

Joanna smiled. ‘Good morning,' she said pleasantly. ‘I was hoping Rachelle was here, with my breakfast.' She made a show of peering up and down the corridor. ‘Not yet? Well, that's all right.' Still smiling, she stepped back into her room and shut the door.

At two in the afternoon, she repeated the performance of yesterday, pulling open the door, stepping past the surprised—and solitary—guard, and marching to the door. After a bewildered pause, he went trotting off in the other direction, looking, she was sure, for the men who were to ride with her.

She reached the stables first and caught the stable boy short. He was lying in an empty stall, dozing, and she had to clear her throat half a dozen times before he heard her.

Shamefaced, he sprang to his feet and said something in an apologetic tone.

Joanna smiled at him and pointed towards the mare. By the time the men who were to ride with her came scuttling into the stable, Sidana was saddled and ready.

The third day, she made her move in late morning. No one seemed too surprised this time; her erratic pattern had become the norm. That was what she'd counted on, and Khalil's absence only made things easier. Even if her guards had thought to report her, who would they have reported her to?

Besides, she was careful not to arouse suspicion. Each time, she waited politely for the men to catch up to her at the stables and once they were on their way, she made a point of not seeming to be anything but a clumsy rider.

At lunchtime that third day, she took the fresh grapes and nuts from her plate, along with the slices of bread that always accompanied her meal, and stashed them inside the deep pocket of the hooded robe Khalil had given her the day he'd taken her to Adaba.

‘You ate well today, Joanna,' Rachelle said with a pleased smile, when she came to collect the lunch tray.

Joanna nodded. ‘Everything was delicious. The grapes and nuts, especially, were wonderful!'

The girl's smile grew. ‘I am glad you liked them. I shall make it a point to bring you more, for a snack.'

Joanna felt a twinge of guilt, but then she reminded herself that Rachelle, too, was her gaoler, the same as Khalil.

She smiled brightly. ‘I'd like that.'

The snack went into the robe's pocket, too, along with the bread, cake, and raisins from dinner. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. She had no idea how long it would take her to reach the south, and freedom, but tomorrow she was going to make her break.

The next morning, well before breakfast, Joanna dressed, put on her hooded robe, then flung open her door. A guard she'd never before set eyes on stepped in front of her.

‘Good morning,' she sang out and started past him.

The guard moved quickly into her path. He didn't have to speak. His body language said it all.

Joanna's heart pounded harder. ‘Out of my way, please,' she said, dodging to the right. But he dodged, too, blocking the corridor. She faced him squarely, her back rigid with displeasure. ‘I am going riding,' she said. When he didn't move, she repeated the words, more loudly and more slowly. ‘I—am—going—riding. Do you hear me? Step aside, man!'

She thrust out her hand. It landed on his chest, a steel wall under the press of her palm, but he didn't move an inch. Joanna drew herself up.

‘Get out of my way, you fool! I have the Prince's permission to ride. I'm going to the stables. Dammit, are you deaf?'

‘What's the matter, Joanna?'

Joanna spun around. The child, Lilia, was standing behind her, her pretty face wearing a frown.

‘Lilia.' Smiling, Joanna dropped to her knees and took the girl in her arms. ‘How good to see you! I've missed you.'

Lilia smiled shyly. ‘It is good to see you, too. I meant to ask Uncle Khalil if I might come to visit you, but he went away before I had the chance.' The little girl looked at the guard. ‘Is Ali giving you trouble?'

It was hard not to laugh at the regal tone in the young voice. Joanna stood up, her hand on Lilia's shoulder, and nodded.

‘Yes, he is. Your uncle gave permission for me to ride whenever I wished, but Ali doesn't seem aware of it.'

‘Oh, you're just like me, Joanna,' Lilia said happily. ‘I, too, like to ride just past dawn, when the earth smells sweet!' The girl stepped forward, a little figure accustomed to command. ‘I will take care of Ali.'

Joanna held her breath while Lilia spoke. Ali's eyes darted to her. He didn't look happy, but, after a moment, he touched his hand to his forehead and stepped aside.

‘Thank you,' Joanna said. Her knees felt weak with relief.

‘May I ride with you?'

Joanna stared at the child. In her pleasure at seeing her, she'd all but forgotten her reason for this early morning ride. Now, guilt shot into her breast like a poisoned arrow.

‘Oh, Lilia,' she said softly. ‘I don't think—'

‘Please?'

She glanced at the guard. The man was obviously uncertain of what to do next and suddenly she realised he'd yet to notify anyone that she was about to go riding.

Forgive me, Lilia, she thought.

‘Yes, all right,' she said with a forced smile. She took the child's hand and they began walking, Lilia babbling happily and the guard trailing uncertainly in the rear. When they reached the stables, Lilia hesitated.

‘I almost forgot,' she said. ‘I may not ride without an escort. I will tell Ali to send for—'

‘No,' Joanna said quickly. She bit her lip, then squatted down and framed the child's face in her hands. ‘No,' she said softly, ‘not yet. Why don't we have our horses saddled first? That way, we'll be ready to ride when the escort arrives.'

Lilia shrugged. ‘As you wish, Joanna.'

The girl gave an order to the sleepy-eyed stable boy, who led out the white mare and a roan pony. The pony was saddled first, and then the boy turned to the mare. But he'd only got the bridle on when the guard, who'd grown increasingly restless, said something sharp-toned, spun on his heel, and trotted out of the door.

There was no time to spare. Joanna bent quickly, kissed Lilia's puzzled face.

‘Forgive me, Lilia,' she whispered.

She straightened up, pushed the boy aside, and leaped on Sidana's back. Quickly, she gathered up the reins and kicked her heels hard into the mare's flanks. Before anyone had time to move, the horse was out of the door with Joanna bent low over its neck, riding hell-bent for freedom.

B
Y DUSK
, Joanna was ready to admit what she'd known but refused to admit for hours. She was in trouble. She was hungry, thirsty, bone-weary from riding the mare without a saddle—and she was hopelessly, helplessly lost.

At first, she'd been so intent on making good her escape that she'd paid no attention to direction. All that had mattered was following the narrow dirt trail that led down the mountain to freedom.

She'd counted on the element of surprise to give her a decent head start and it had, at least five or six minutes. Eventually, though, she'd heard the pounding of hooves behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she'd barely been able to make out the puffs of dust that marked the progress of the men riding after her. Even though she had the advantage, Joanna had known she could not outrun them for long.

Wildly, she'd glanced about, measuring her surroundings. There was a small copse of trees just off the trail. Desperate, she'd taken refuge in it only seconds before the riders had come thundering past. She'd been about to move out after them, seeing no choice but to play the risky game of following her followers, when she'd spied what had seemed to be a parallel path on the far side of the trees. Joanna had gritted her teeth and decided to go with the unknown.

For a while, her choice had seemed a good one. The path was narrower than the first and it twisted and turned like a snake, but it did lead down—only to suddenly peter out on the edge of a dizzying cliff.

A stone, dislodged by the mare's delicate hooves, had gone tumbling down into oblivion. Heart racing, Joanna had edged the animal away from the precipice but she hadn't gone all the way back up the trail for fear of losing too much time. Instead, she'd cut through the trees, pausing only long enough to dismount and rip the telltale bells from the mare's bridle. Then she'd ridden on until, at last, she'd come out in a narrow gorge.

Now, as the sun dropped a crimson mantle over the surrounding mountain peaks, Joanna was trying to decide what to do next. She stared up at the sky. If the setting sun were there, ahead of her, then east was directly behind her, and north and south were—they were...

A little sob of despair burst from her throat. What did it matter? The points of the compass didn't mean a damn if you were trapped in a cage and didn't know the way out.

An owl hooted mournfully in the trees. Joanna shuddered and burrowed more deeply into her jellaba. The night was cool, and steadily growing cooler. The mare was exhausted, head drooping, legs wobbly. She'd been wonderful and courageous, running like the wind after the first shock of being asked to do so, but for the past hour she'd moved at little more than a walk.

Except for the crescent moon hanging like a scimitar over the trees, the darkness was complete. The owl's cry came again and just after it came another cry, that of some small creature which had evidently met the owl and lost the encounter.

Joanna shuddered again. She had to do something, but what? Should she ride on, without any idea of where she was going? In the dark, the horse could easily mis-step; they'd both end up at the bottom of some abyss, breakfast for the vultures she'd seen circling on the warm thermals of morning.

She could stop, give herself and her horse a rest. But if she did, she would lose whatever time she'd gained, perhaps give Khalil's men just the edge they needed to pick up her trail.

The mare lifted her head and snorted.

Joanna sat up straight, eyes wide as she peered into the darkness. Had the animal heard something?

Sidana snorted again and pawed the ground with a hoof. Joanna bent over her neck, patted it soothingly.

‘What is it?' she whispered. ‘Is there something out there?'

The horse took a tentative step forward. Joanna hesitated, and then she loosened her hold on the reins and gave the animal its head. Wherever the mare was leading had to be better than this.

Sidana's pace quickened. She was almost trotting now, and all at once Joanna understood. Ahead, just visible in the pale wash of moonlight, a spring bubbled from a rocky cairn and trickled into the trough-shaped depression it had worn into the rock over the centuries.

Joanna smiled. ‘Good girl!'

She slid carefully to the ground, groaning. Muscles she hadn't known existed ached. She had not ridden bareback since a childhood summer spent on a Montana mining property.

The mare buried her nose in the shallow water and Joanna squatted beside her, sipping from her cupped hands, not caring that she and the horse were sharing their drink. Thirst had become a growing discomfort; she'd known it might be, but how could she have stolen a Thermos of fruit juice from her meal tray without drawing Rachelle's attention?

The horse, replete, lifted her head and whinnied softly.

‘It does taste good, doesn't it?' Joanna murmured. ‘I'm glad I gave you your head, girl, otherwise—'

What was that? Joanna stiffened. She could hear something. Voices. Male voices, low-pitched but carrying clearly on the still air, and now the sound of hooves and the creak of leather.

Khalil's men! They'd picked up her trail! Joanna snatched up the mare's trailing reins and led her back into the trees.

‘Shh,' she whispered frantically, holding the animal's bridle with one hand and stroking its nose with the other, ‘shh!'

She couldn't let them find her now, not after she'd come so far. Even if it took her until dawn to find the path that would lead her down the mountain, she wasn't going back, she couldn't go back, she—

There! She could see them now. They were heading for the spring. A dozen men, not any more than that—but—but—

But who were they? Surely, not Khalil's followers. She had never seen their faces before, and their clothing was all wrong.

The men dismounted, all but one obscenely fat man who she knew instinctively must be their leader and who barked out commands. One man scurried to the spring, dipped a cup into the water, hurried back and offered it with downcast eyes. The fat man drank thirstily, tossed the cup into the dirt, and slid clumsily from the saddle to the ground.

Joanna's gaze flew over the other men. They were heavily armed and had a grim, ugly look to them. And you didn't have to understand their words to shudder at their tone of voice.

The fat man snarled another command and one of the men bowed and answered. His answer meant nothing to Joanna, except for the last words and the fearful respect that laced them.

‘...Abu Al Zouad.'

Joanna's breath caught. Of course! The fat man was Abu Al Zouad! Her father had described him to her. Abu was a big man, he'd said, grossly overweight and clumsy, given to expensive Italian suits and too much gold jewellery.

What would he say now, if he saw him dressed in a greasy jellaba, his chest bristling with bandoliers of ammunition?

The men were clustered in little knots, smoking cigarettes and murmuring quietly to each other. Abu clapped his hands and they looked up as he began to speak. It was a long speech, and again incomprehensible to Joanna, except for two simple words that were repeated over and over.

Joanna Bennett
.

Abu was talking about her! Had he come to free her? This looked more like a raiding party than a rescue mission, but Joanna wasn't a child. It wasn't only the good guys who wore white hats.

But why would her father authorise a risky attempt at rescue instead of negotiating for her freedom? Joanna blew out her breath. Perhaps—perhaps Khalil had not told her the truth? For all she knew, Sam might have made every possible effort to gain her release, only to be rebuffed by Khalil. In desperation, he might surely send men to find and free her.

It was reasonable, even logical—but if it were, what was keeping her from stepping out into the clearing and yelling, hey, here I am, Abu? Why was she still hiding, still praying that her horse would not suddenly whinny and give away her position?

Abu finished speaking. One of his men said something; she heard her name fall from his lips, and the others chuckled. Abu shook his head and pointed to himself, and their laughter grew.

There was something in the sound of the laughter, in the way her name had been used and in the way Abu had stabbed that pudgy finger at himself, that sent a chill along Joanna's spine.

She swallowed hard. The men were mounting up. In another moment, they'd ride out of here and she'd be alone again, and just as lost as she'd been before they arrived.

Now was the time to step forward, to call out Abu's name and identify herself. Determinedly, before she could lose courage, Joanna began rising slowly from her crouched position—

A hand clamped over her mouth and an arm, powerful and hard as steel, closed around her. Joanna cried out soundlessly and began to struggle, but she was helpless against the strength of the man holding her.

‘Joanna!' Khalil's voice whispered into her ear. ‘Stop it, Joanna! It's me.'

She almost sobbed with relief. She went still, and Khalil lowered her slowly to the ground, his arm remaining around her waist.

‘You mustn't make a sound,' he said softly. ‘Do you understand?'

She nodded and he took his hand from her lips. Beyond the trees, the little group of riders was just vanishing into the night.

She swung around and looked at Khalil. In the moonlight, she could see that he was unshaven, that there was a grim set to his mouth and that lines of weariness fanned out from his eyes, and yet she had never seen a man so beautiful. She had escaped his silken prison, she thought with a sudden catch in her breath, but how would she ever escape the memory of him?

The realisation was as stunning as it was bewildering. She whispered his name, but he shook his head, the stony expression on his face unchanging.

‘There will be time for talk later.'

Najib stood just behind his master, ears pricked forward. Khalil took the animal's reins and set off through the trees, in the opposite direction from the spring with Joanna and her mare following after him.

A ten-minute walk brought them to what looked like a labyrinth of giant boulders and, at its end, the yawning, dark mouth of a cave.

Khalil tethered the horses in a blind passageway among the boulders, where no casual observer would see them, and then he took Joanna's hand and led her through the maze up into the cave.

‘I played here often, as a boy,' he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. ‘It's deep enough for safety, and there's even a narrow cleft in the rocks at the cave's end that we can use to get out, if we should have to.'

Within minutes, he'd swept together a small pile of kindling and brush and lit a fire deep in the cave's interior. Joanna held her breath as he turned towards her. They had been alone before, but this time was different. She had been running away from him, it was true, but now, seeing him again, being so close to him, she felt—she felt—

‘What the hell did you think you were doing?'

She blinked. Khalil's face was taut with barely contained fury.

‘I don't—I don't know what you mean.'

‘I don't know what you mean,' he mimicked. His mouth tightened. ‘For a woman who always has a clever answer at her fingertips, that one is pathetic!'

Her spine stiffened. ‘It is not!'

‘If you behave like a fool, I'll treat you like one.'

She stared at him for a moment, and then she whirled around and started towards the mouth of the cave. His hand fell on her shoulder.

‘Where do you think you're going?' he growled.

‘Where I should have gone in the first place. With Abu. If you hadn't come along and ruined things—'

Khalil spun her towards him. ‘You gave me your word, Joanna! But I should have known that such a simple pledge was beyond you.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘You promised you would not ride alone!'

Joanna tossed her head. ‘But I didn't promise I'd willingly remain your prisoner.'

‘You little idiot! I'm not talking about escape. I'm talking about danger.'

‘The danger of disobeying the rules of a petty dictator, you mean!'

‘It is dangerous for anyone, but especially for a woman, to ride these mountains alone.'

‘You never said that.'

‘I didn't think I had to,' he said, glowering at her. ‘Anyone with half a brain—'

‘Stop it! I'm tired of your insults!'

‘Then don't set yourself up for them. If you'd used your head, you'd have realised I gave you those instructions to keep you safe.'

‘Oh, yes.' Joanna's voice shook, and she could feel the sting of tears in her eyes, although there was no reason to want to cry. ‘Yes, you'd want me kept safe, wouldn't you? If I were hurt or damaged, what sort of bargaining chip would I be?'

His eyes narrowed. ‘Bargaining chip?'

‘What's the matter? Isn't your English good enough to understand a simple phrase? A bargaining chip is what a hostage is. It's—'

She cried out as he swept her into his arms and kissed her, his mouth taking hers with a passion so urgent it stole her breath away, and then he clasped her face in his hands and drew back just enough so he could look into her eyes.

‘You cannot be so blind,' he whispered. ‘Surely you see that you have become much more than my hostage.'

‘No,' she said shakily, ‘no, I don't see.'

He smiled, and suddenly his eyes were tender. ‘Let me show you, then,' he said softly, and slowly, his head descended to hers.

He kissed her gently, his mouth moving softly against hers, his hands spreading under the hood and into her hair. A tremor went through her, but she didn't respond.

‘Joanna,' he said, his lips still clinging to hers, ‘Joanna, Joanna...'

And suddenly a wave of emotion, as unexpected and as fierce as a tidal wave, swept through her. She began to tremble.