Hostage of the Hawk (5 page)

‘Shall I have you sold at the slave-market?' He took her face in his hands and tilted it to his. ‘You would bring a king's ransom in the north, where eyes the colour of jade and hair like the embers of a winter fire are very, very rare.'

Oh, God, Joanna thought, oh, God...

‘You wouldn't do that,' she said quickly. ‘Selling me would be—'

‘It would be foolish.' He smiled again, a quick angling of his lips that was somehow frighteningly intimate. ‘For only a fool would sell you, once he had you.'

‘Abducting me is foolish, too!' She spoke quickly, desperately, determined to force him to listen to reason. ‘You must know that you can't get away with—'

‘What would you be like, I wonder, if I took you to my bed?'

Patches of scarlet flared in her cheeks, fury driving out the fear that had seconds before chilled her blood.

‘I'd sooner die than go to your bed!'

He laughed softly. ‘I don't think so, Joanna. I think you would come to it smiling.'

‘Not in a million years!'

His fingers threaded into her hair; his thumbs stroked over her skin.

‘How would your skin feel, against mine?' he said softly. ‘Would it be hot, like fire? Or would it be cool, like moonlight against the desert sand?'

There it was again, that sense of something dark and primal stirring within her, like an unwanted whisper rising in the silence of the night.

‘You'll never know,' she said quickly. ‘I promise you that.'

Khalil's eyes darkened. He smiled, bent his head, brushed his lips against Joanna's. A tiny flicker of heat seemed to radiate from his mouth to hers.

‘Your words are cool, but your lips are warm,' he murmured. Her breath caught as his hands slid to her midriff. She felt the light brush of his fingers just below her breasts. ‘Fire and ice, Joanna. That is what you are. But I would melt that ice forever.' He pressed his mouth to her throat. ‘I would turn you to hot flame that burns only for me,' he said, the words a heated whisper against her skin.

She wanted to tell him that it was he who'd burn, in the eternal fires of hell—but his arms were tightening around her, he was gathering her close, and before she could say anything he crushed her mouth under his.

He had spoken of turning her to flame but
he
was the flame, shimmering against her as he held her, his kiss branding her with heat. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, then slid against hers as her mouth opened to his, silk against silk.

Dear God, what was the matter with her? This man was everything she hated, he was her enemy, her abductor...

He felt the sudden tightening of her muscles and he reached between their bodies, caught her hands and held them fast.

‘Don't fight me,' he whispered.

But she did, twisting her head away from his, panting beneath his weight. Still, he persisted, kissing her over and over until suddenly she went still and moaned his name.

‘Yes,' he growled, the one word an affirmation of his triumph.

Joanna wrenched her hands from his and buried her fingers in his dark hair, drawing him down to her, giving herself up to the drowning sweetness of his kisses.

Khalil whispered something swift and fierce against her mouth. He drew her from her seat and into his lap, holding her tightly against him, his body hard beneath hers. His hand moved over her, following the curve of her hip, the thrust of her breast. Her head fell back and the dampness of wanting him bloomed like a velvet-petalled flower between her thighs. He bent and pressed his open mouth to the silk that covered her breast, and she cried out.

The sound rose between them, piercing the silence of the little cabin. Khalil drew back and Joanna did too. They stared at each other and then, abruptly, he thrust her from him, shoving her back into her seat and rising to his feet in one swift motion.

‘You see?' His eyes were like sapphire coals in his taut face; his voice was cold, tinged with barely controlled cruelty. ‘I could have you now, if I wanted you. But I do not. I have never wanted any woman who offered her body in trade.'

Joanna sprang towards him, sputtering with fury, her hand upraised, but Khalil caught her wrist and twisted her arm behind her.

‘I warn you,' he said through his teeth, ‘you are done insulting me, you and your father both!'

‘Whatever it is you're planning, Khalil, I promise you, you won't get away with it.'

He looked at her for a long moment, still holding her close to him, and then he laughed softly.

‘It's dangerous to threaten me, Joanna. Surely you've learned that much by now.'

His gaze fell to her mouth. She tensed, waiting for him to gather her to him and kiss her again. This time, she was prepared to claw his face if she had to rather than let him draw her down into that silken darkness—but suddenly a voice called out from beyond the curtain.

Khalil's smile faded. ‘We have arrived.'

She fell back as he let go of her. ‘Where?' she asked, but he was already hurrying up the aisle towards the front of the plane.

She knelt in her seat and leaned towards the window. Some time during their confrontation, the plane had not only descended, it had landed. She pressed her nose to the glass. It was still night, yet she could see very clearly, thanks to a full moon and what at first seemed the light from at least a hundred lamps.

Her breath caught. Torches! Those were flaming torches, held aloft by a crowd of cheering men mounted on horseback.

With a little moan, she put her hands to her mouth and collapsed back into her seat.

They had arrived, all right—they'd arrived smack in the middle of the thirteenth century!

I
T WAS
the sight of the horsemen that changed everything. Until now, Joanna had let herself half believe that if what was happening was not a dream, it was some sort of terrible prank, one that would end with the plane turning and heading back to Morocco.

But the line of horses standing just outside the plane, the robed men on their backs, the torches casting a glow as bright as daylight over the flat plateau on which they'd landed, finally forced her to acknowledge the truth.

Khalil had stolen her away from the world she knew. What happened to her next was not in the hands of fate but in the hands of this man, this bandit—and he didn't give a damn for the laws of his country or of civilisation.

‘Joanna.'

She looked up. He was standing at the open door of the plane, his face like granite.

‘Come,' he said.

Come. As if she were a slave, or a dog. Joanna's jaw clenched. That was what he wanted, to reduce her to some sub-human status, to stress his domination over her and make her cower beneath it. In some ways, he'd already succeeded. She had let him see her fear when he'd first abducted her, let him see it again when she'd pleaded with him to release her.

She drew a deep, deep breath. And her fear had been painfully obvious when he'd kissed her and she'd yielded herself so shamelessly in his arms. It was nothing but fear that had caused her to react to him that way. She knew it, and he did, too.

But his ugly scheme could only work if she let it—and she would not. She would never, ever let him see her fear again.

‘Joanna!' Her head came up. He was waiting for her, his hands on his hips, his legs apart, looking as fierce as the predatory bird whose name he bore. ‘Are you waiting for me to come and get you?'

She rose, head high, spine straight. He didn't move as she made her way slowly towards him, but she saw his gaze sweep over her, his eyes narrowing, his jaw tightening, and she knew he must be once again telling himself that only a woman who wanted to seduce a man would dress in such a way.

It was laughable, really. Her dress was fashionable and expensive, but it was basically modest and would not have raised an eyebrow anywhere but here or the Vatican. For a second, she wished she'd gone with her first instinct and worn a business suit, but then she thought no, let him have to look at her for the next hours—which was surely only as long as he would keep her here—let him look at her and be reminded constantly that she was of the West, that he could not treat her as he would one of his women, that she was Sam Bennett's daughter and he'd damned well better not forget it.

‘You are not dressed properly.'

Joanna smiled coolly. He was as transparent as glass.

‘I am dressed quite properly.' She gave him an assessing look, taking in the long, white robe he wore, and then she smiled again. ‘It is you who are not dressed properly. Men stopped wearing skirts a long time ago.'

To her surprise, he laughed. ‘Try telling that to some of my kinsmen.' With a swift movement, he shrugged off his white robe. Beneath it, he wore a white tunic and pale grey, clinging trousers tucked into high leather boots. ‘You are not dressed for these mountains.' Briskly, as if she were a package that needed wrapping, Khalil dropped the robe over her shoulders and enfolded her in it. ‘We have a climate like that of the desert. By day, it is warm—but when the sun drops from the sky the air turns cold.'

She wanted to protest, to tell him she didn't need anything from him, but it was too late. He had already drawn the robe snugly around her and anyway, he was right. There was a bone-numbing chill drifting in through the open door. Joanna drew the robe more closely around her. It was still warm from Khalil's body and held a faint, clean scent that she knew must be his. A tremor went through her again, although there was no reason for it.

‘Thank you,' she said politely. ‘Your concern for my welfare is touching. I'll be sure and mention it to my father so he'll know that my abductor was a gentle—hey! What are you doing? Put me down, dammit! I'm perfectly capable of walking.'

‘In those shoes?' He laughed as he lifted her into his arms. ‘It was the ancient Chinese who kept their women in servitude by making it impossible for them to walk very far, Joanna. My people expect their women to stride as well as a man.' He grinned down at her. ‘If you were to sprain your ankle, how would you tend the goats and chickens tomorrow?'

Goats? Chickens? Was he serious?

‘I won't be here tomorrow,' she said curtly.

‘You will be here as long as I want you here,' he said, and stepped from the plane.

A full-throated cheer went up from Khalil's assembled warriors when they saw him. They edged their horses forward, their flaming torches held high. He stood still for a moment, smiling and accepting their welcome, and then one of the men looked at her and said something that made the others laugh. Khalil laughed, too, and then he began to speak.

Joanna knew he must be talking about her. His arms tightened around her and he held her out just a little, as if she were a display. The faces of his men snapped towards her and a few of them chuckled.

‘Damn you,' she hissed, ‘what are you saying about me?'

Khalil looked down at her. ‘Hammad asked why I'd brought home such a lumpy package.' His teeth flashed in a quick grin. ‘I suggested he remember the old saying about never judging a horse by the saddle blanket that covers it.'

Her face pinkened. ‘It's a book one isn't supposed to judge in my country,' she said frigidly. ‘And I would remind you that I am neither.'

His smile fled, and his face took on that stony determination she'd already come to know too well.

‘No,' he said grimly, ‘you are not. What you are is a guarantee that I will get what I want from Sam Bennett.'

So. It was ransom he wanted, after all. Despite all his cryptic word-games, it was money he would trade her for.

One of his men moved forward, leading a huge black stallion that tossed its head and whickered softly. Khalil lifted Joanna on to its back, then mounted behind her. She stiffened as his arms went around her.

‘Yet another indignity you must suffer,' he said, his voice low, his breath warm against her ear as he gathered the reins into his hands. ‘But only for a little while, Joanna. Soon, we will be at my home, and neither of us will have to tolerate the sight and touch of the other until morning.'

He murmured something to the horse. It pricked its ears and it began moving forward, its steps high and almost delicate. Khalil spoke again, and the animal began moving faster, until it seemed to be racing across the plateau with the wind. Khalil's arms tightened around her; there was no choice but to lean back and let his hard body support hers as they galloped into the night.

How long would it take to get his ransom demand to her father? And how long after that for the money to reach here?

Khalil's arm brushed lightly, impersonally, across her breast as he urged the horse on.

Not too long, she thought. Please, let it not take too long.

It couldn't possibly.

Her father would want her back, and quickly, no matter how outrageous the Prince's demands.

* * *

She had assumed the torchlight greeting had been ceremonial. It had been handsome, she'd thought grudgingly, even impressive, but a man who owned a private plane would not also be a man who travelled his country on the back of a horse.

But an hour or more of riding had changed Joanna's mind. There was nothing ceremonial about riding a horse in terrain such as this, she thought, wincing a little as she shifted her bottom and tried to find a spot that hadn't already become sensitised to the jouncing and bouncing of the saddle. The plane had landed on a plateau, but from what she'd seen so far that had probably been the only flat space in a hundred miles.

Ever since, they'd been climbing into the mountains, although calling these massive, rocky outcroppings ‘mountains' was like calling the horse beneath her a pony. The resemblance was purely accidental. The moon had risen, casting a pale ivory light over the landscape, tipping the tall pines that clung to the steep slopes with silver.

How far up would they ride? It was probable that a bandit would want to have a hidden stronghold, but this was ridiculous! Only a mountain goat could possibly clamber up this high.

Suppose her father and the Sultan mounted a rescue mission? Could they make it? No. It was best not to think that way. She had to think positively, had to concentrate on how easily they'd find her. And they would. Of course they would. Khalil wasn't invincible and his hideout, no matter how it resembled the eyrie of a hawk, would not be impregnable.

Her father would come for her. He would find her. He would take her back to civilisation, and all this would just be a dream.

A dream. Joanna yawned. She was tired. Exhausted, really, and the slow, steady gait of the horse, the creak of leather, the jingle of the tiny bells that adorned the bridle, were all having a hypnotic effect. She yawned again, then blinked hard, trying to keep her eyes open. It would be so nice to rest for a few minutes.

Her head fell back, her cheek brushed lightly against a hard, warm surface. Quickly, she jerked upright.

‘Joanna?'

‘Yes?'

‘Are you tired?'

‘No. I'm not.'

‘You must be.' Khalil lifted his hand to her cheek. ‘Put your head against my shoulder, and sleep for a while.'

‘Don't be ridiculous! I'd sooner—'

‘Sleep with a camel. Yes, I know.' He laughed. ‘Just pretend that's what I am, then, and put your head back and close your eyes.'

‘Please,' she said coldly, ‘spare me this attempt at solicitude. It doesn't become you.'

Khalil sighed. ‘As you wish, Joanna.'

The horse plodded on, its movements slow and steady. Up, down, up, down...

Concentrate. Concentrate. Listen to the sounds, to the clatter of the horse's hooves, to the sigh of the wind through the trees.

Stay awake! Take deep breaths. Smell the fragrance of pine carried on the night wind, the scent of leather and horse...

‘Dammit, woman, you're as stubborn as the wild horses of Chamoulya! Stop being such a little fool and get some rest.'

‘I don't need rest. I don't need anything. And I especially don't need your help.'

‘Fine. I'll remember that.' He jerked her head back against his shoulder. ‘Now, shut up and stop fidgeting. You're making Najib nervous, and—'

‘Najib?'

‘My horse. And the last thing I want is for Najib to be nervous on the climb ahead.'

Najib, she thought giddily. She was making Najib nervous. By heaven, this man was crazy! He had kidnapped her, carried her off to God only knew where without so much as giving a damn if she turned to stone with fright, but he was worried that she was making his horse nervous.

Joanna's eyes flickered shut. Still, he was right. It would be stupid to upset the animal on a narrow mountain path. Closing her eyes didn't mean she'd sleep. She'd let her other senses take over. Yes. That was what she'd do, she'd—she'd think about the coolness of the night air—and the contrasting warmth of Khalil's arms, think about the softness of his robe on her skin and the contrasting hardness of his thighs, cradling her hips.

That was the word that best described him. He was hard. Powerful. That was how he felt, holding her—and yet she knew his hands were holding the reins lightly. Still, the black stallion responded readily to his slightest touch, to the press of his heel.

A woman would respond to him that way, too, Joanna thought drowsily; she would move eagerly to obey him, to pleasure him and to let him pleasure her...

A heat so intense it was frightening spread through her body. Her eyes flew open and she jerked upright in the saddle, steadying herself by clasping the pommel. Najib snorted and tossed his head, and Khalil caught her and pulled her back against him.

‘Dammit!' he said tightly. ‘What did I tell you about making the horse nervous?'

‘I know what you said,' Joanna snapped, ‘and frankly, I don't much care if I make your horse nervous or...'

A whimper slipped from her throat as she looked down. They were on a ledge that looked only slightly wider than a man's hand. Below, the earth dropped away, spinning into darkness.

‘Exactly,' Khalil said gruffly.

Joanna didn't have to ask him what he meant. She turned her face away from the precipice.

‘The stallion is sure-footed, Joanna. But I would prefer he have no distractions.'

She laughed uneasily. ‘That's—that's fine with me. Tell him—tell him to pay no attention to me, please. No attention at all.'

Khalil laughed softly. ‘I'll tell him. Now, why don't you shut your eyes again and sleep?'

‘I wasn't sleeping,' she said. ‘How could anyone sleep, on the back of this—this creature?'

‘I'm sure it's a sacrifice when you're accustomed to riding in the back of a chauffeured limousine.'

She smiled smugly. ‘No greater than the sacrifice one makes giving up the comfort of a private plane for the back of a horse.'

‘The plane is necessary,' he said, so quickly that she knew she'd stung him. ‘My responsibilities take me in many different directions.'

‘Oh, I'm sure they do.' Her voice was like honey. ‘They take you up mountains and down mountains—clearly, one needs a plane for that!'

He said nothing, but she had the satisfaction of seeing his jaw tighten. They rode on in silence while the moon dropped lower in the sky, and then, finally, Khalil lifted his hand and pointed into the distance.

‘There it is,' he said quietly. ‘Bab al Sama—Gate to the Sky. My home.'

Joanna sat up straighter and stared into the darkness. There were smudges against the horizon. What were they?