Hostage of the Hawk (6 page)

‘Tents,' Khalil said, as if she'd asked the question aloud. ‘Some of my people still cling to the old ways.'

Tents. Of course. His people lived outside the law. They'd want to be able to strike camp quickly.

But the tents were larger than she'd expected. They were, in fact, enormous. And what was that beyond them? Joanna caught her breath. It was a walled city, ancient and serene in the moonlight. A gateway loomed ahead and the horsemen filed through it, then stopped inside the courtyard of a stone building. The cluster of men dismounted, as did Khalil, and then he looked up at Joanna and lifted his arms to her.

‘Come.'

Come. Joanna's chin lifted. There it was again, that single, imperious command. She tossed her head, deliberately turned away from him, and threw her leg over the saddle.

‘Joanna!' Khalil's angry voice stopped her for an instant. He moved quickly, so that despite her efforts to avoid him she slid into his arms. ‘You little fool! Didn't anyone ever teach you there's a right way and a wrong way to mount a horse?'

‘I wasn't mounting him, I was getting off!' She put her hands on his shoulders. ‘Put me down!'

‘Horses are skittish creatures, Joanna. Surely, even you know that.' His eyes glared into hers. ‘They're trained to accept a rider from the left side—but anyone coming at them from the right is asking for trouble.'

‘I'll be sure and remember the next time,' she said with heavy sarcasm. ‘Now, put me down!'

‘With pleasure.' She gasped as he dropped her to her feet. ‘Goodnight, Joanna. I suggest you get some rest. You've a long day ahead of you.'

She watched in disbelief as he turned on his heel and marched away from her.

‘Goodnight?' she said. Her voice rose. ‘What do you mean, goodnight? Where am I supposed to sleep, Khalil? Out here, with the horses?'

He spun towards her, and she saw the quick, humourless flash of his teeth.

‘I think too much of them to subject them to an entire night in your company.'

‘Damn you, Khalil! You can't just...'

‘
Mademoiselle
?'

Joanna turned quickly. A girl had come up silently behind her. She was slender, with long, dark hair and wide-set eyes.

‘I am Rachelle,
mademoiselle
. I am to see to your comfort.'

Joanna's mouth narrowed as she looked at the girl. ‘I suppose you usually see to the Prince's comfort.'

Rachelle's smooth brow furrowed. ‘
Mademoiselle
?'

Joanna sighed. It wasn't this child's fault that she had to play slave to a rogue. She forced a faint, weary smile to her lips.

‘I could use some comfort. A basin of warm water, a cup of hot tea, and a soft, comfortable bed would be lovely.'

The girl smiled. ‘It will be my pleasure,
mademoiselle
. If you will please follow me...?'

Warm water, tea, a comfortable bed—in the mountain hideaway of Khalil the bandit Prince? It was all out of the question and Joanna knew it, but she was too tired to care. A wash in a mountain stream, a cup of cold water, and a blanket spread on the floor were the best she could hope for, but after the last few hours even they would be welcome.

And tomorrow—tomorrow, her father would come for her. He wouldn't wait for Khalil's ransom demand. She was certain of it. Why would he waste time, and risk her life? By now, he would know that she was missing, and it wouldn't take any great effort to know what had happened to her. As for locating her—her father's resources were endless, his contacts enormous. He'd find her, and come after her, before the next setting of the sun.

Joanna's shoulders went back as she marched into the stone building on Rachelle's heels.

‘You're the one who's going to need a good night's sleep, Your Highness,' she muttered. ‘Because as of tomorrow, you're going to find yourself neck-deep in trouble!'

‘
Mademoiselle
? Did you say something?'

Joanna cleared her throat. ‘I said, I think I'd like a sandwich to go with that tea, Rachelle. Can you manage that, do you think?'

The girl stopped and turned to face her. ‘Certainly. My lord has made it clear that I am to do whatever pleases you,
mademoiselle
. You have only to tell me, and I will obey.'

Joanna gave her a bright, beaming smile. ‘How about giving me a map and a ticket out of here?'

Rachelle smiled uncertainly. ‘I do not understand...'

‘You know, point me towards the nearest highway and send me on my way.'

‘
Mademoiselle
jokes,' the girl said, with another little smile.

Joanna sighed. ‘
Mademoiselle
is dead serious. The only thing I really want is to get away from your lord and master.'

Rachelle ducked her head, as if Joanna's words had unsettled her. ‘Here is your room,' she said, and opened the nearest door.

Joanna stepped inside the room. It was dimly lit, and what little light there was fell across a huge bed. An image flashed into her mind. She saw herself on that bed, locked in Khalil's arms, her mouth open to his, her breasts tightening under the slow, sweet stroke of his fingers...

‘Stop it,' she hissed.

The girl looked at her. ‘
Mademoiselle
?'

Joanna puffed out her breath. She
did
need a night's rest. Hallucinations weren't her style, but she'd surely just had one. Any second now, a chorus line of pink elephants would probably come tap-dancing into view!

‘I—uh—I think I'll pass on the tea and all the rest, Rachelle.' Joanna sank down wearily on the edge of the bed. ‘Just turn out the lights and hang out the “do not disturb” sign.'

‘I am afraid I do not understand...'

Joanna sighed. ‘I just want to get to bed. It's very late, and I'm exhausted.'

‘As you wish,
mademoiselle
.'

Sleep, Joanna thought as the girl moved silently around the room, sleep was precisely what she needed. It would clear her head, drive away the cobwebs. And, when she awoke, her father would probably be here, ready to take her home and make the almighty Khalil eat his every threatening, insolent word.

And that, she thought with grim satisfaction, would almost be enough to make this horrible night worthwhile.

J
OANNA
lay asleep in her bed, dreaming... Her father and a rotund little man sat in a pool of light, their heads bent over what looked like a game board while she sat in the darkened perimeter of the room, watching, when the silence was broken by the sound of hoofbeats. She looked up just in time to see a man on the back of a great ebony stallion bearing down on her.

Father
, she cried. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't move.
Father
, she said again as the horseman leaned down, snatched her up, and tossed her across his saddle.

But her father didn't hear. He was intent on his opponent and on moving his playing piece around the board, and even though she called and called him he didn't—

‘Good morning,
mademoiselle
.'

Joanna awoke instantly, her heart racing. The room was unfamiliar, grey and shadowed, and she stared blindly at the figure silhouetted against the drawn window curtains.

‘Khalil?' she said shakily.

‘It is Rachelle,
mademoiselle
.' The curtains whisked open and Joanna blinked in the golden sunlight that splashed across the bed.

‘Rachelle.' Joanna expelled her breath. ‘I—I was dreaming...' She sat up, her knees tenting the blanket, and pushed her hair back from her face. ‘What time is it? It feels late.'

The serving girl smiled as she placed a small inlaid tray on the low table beside the bed.

‘It is mid-morning,
mademoiselle
. I have brought you coffee and fruit.'

‘Mid-morning? But I never sleep so...'

‘My lord said to let you sleep.'

‘Did he,' Joanna said, her voice flat.

The girl nodded. ‘He said there was no reason to awaken you until he was ready to see you.'

Joanna snorted. ‘That arrogant ass!'

Rachelle threw her a shocked look. ‘We do not speak of our Prince that way,
mademoiselle
.'

‘No? Well, maybe you should. Maybe you should start seeing him for the miserable donkey's
derrière
he really is!'

Rachelle's eyes widened. ‘Please,
mademoiselle
. You must not say such things!'

Joanna sighed. What was the sense in taking out her frustration on a servant? The girl had no choice but to serve her master; hearing unkind things said about him clearly made her nervous. Perhaps she was afraid she'd be punished for permitting Joanna to make such remarks—the Jandaran version of guilt by association. It was the sort of thing that went on in dictatorships, wasn't it?

‘Sorry,' Joanna said, with a little smile. ‘I'm just feeling out of sorts this morning.'

Rachelle nodded. ‘A bath will make you feel better. I have already run it. I added bath oil. I hope the scent is to your liking,
mademoiselle
. Is there something else I can get you?'

Yes, Joanna thought, you can get me my freedom. But she knew it was pointless to ask. The girl was obviously scared to death of Khalil, and desperate to avoid confrontation.

‘No,' she said, after a moment, ‘no, thanks. I can't think of anything more.'

‘I will bring you some yogurt,
mademoiselle
, when you are finished bathing. Or would you prefer eggs?'

‘I would prefer you call me Joanna. It makes me uncomfortable to have you address me so formally.'

Rachelle blushed. ‘I am honoured.'

‘For goodness' sake, you needn't be “honoured”! This is the millennium. Bowing and scraping went out with the Dark Ages.'

‘Yes, Joanna.' Rachelle smiled sweetly. ‘If you need me, you have only to ring the bell.'

She started towards the door, and suddenly Joanna's good intentions deserted her. She couldn't let the girl leave without at least trying to get through to her.

‘Rachelle!' Joanna swung her legs to the floor. ‘Rachelle, wait a minute.' The girl turned towards her. ‘Prince Khalil brought me here against my will,' she said in a rush. ‘He kidnapped me...'

Rachelle's eyes grew shuttered. ‘I shall return,' she said, and the door swung shut after her.

Joanna sat staring at it for a long moment and then she muttered several short, impolite words she'd learned during the years she'd spent with Sam in his field operations and had never found suitable to use—until now. She sat up, threw back the blankets, and looked around the room.

It was handsome, she thought grudgingly. The tiled floor, the inlaid furniture, and the white walls on which hung old and beautiful Persian rugs were all pleasing to the eye.

But it was still a prison.

She rose from the bed, kicked aside her shoes, stubbing her toe in the process, and strode briskly to the adjoining bathroom. By now, she knew better than to expect to find a hole in the ground and a basin of cold water, but the tiled room and glass-enclosed shower still were enough to surprise her. Steam rose from a deep tub, and the scent of roses filled the air.

‘His Almighty Highness likes to live well,' Joanna muttered as she yanked her slip over her head and tossed it on to the closed bathroom commode.

She glared at the tub, then turned her back on it, pulled open the door to the shower stall, and stepped inside. Khalil had given orders she was not to be disturbed this morning. Had he also given orders she was to be wooed with a scented bath? A shower, quick and modern, was more to her liking.

What insanity this was. First there'd been those silly men last night, riding up to greet Khalil with torches blazing in their hands, looking like nothing so much as a crowd of extras who'd wandered off a movie set, and now there was this silly girl, Rachelle, acting as if she either lived in mortal terror of offending her lord and master—or had been brainwashed to think of him as a tin god. Either way, it was ridiculous.

‘Ridiculous,' Joanna said sharply, and she shut off the spray and stepped out on to the bath mat.

She dried off briskly, reached for her slip—and stopped. She'd slept in it last night rather than have to ring for Rachelle and ask for a nightgown or pyjamas. Now, the thought of putting on the wrinkled garment was not appealing. The thought of getting into the bit of emerald silk that lay on a chair in the bedroom wasn't appealing, either, but what choice did she have? Joanna's nostrils flared. Khalil hadn't exactly given her time to pack an overnight bag!

Well, she thought, wrapping the towel around herself, she could avoid wearing the slip, at least. The dress didn't really require more than panties and a bra, both of which...

She cried out as she stepped into the bedroom. A man was standing looking out of the window, his back to the room, but she knew instantly it was Khalil. No one else would have those broad shoulders, that tapered waist, those long, muscular legs. Yes, it was certainly Khalil, making himself at home.

‘What do you think you're doing?' she demanded.

Khalil turned slowly and looked at her. Rachelle had said she'd drawn a bath for the woman. Why hadn't it occurred to him that he might well catch her as she emerged from that bath, looking scrubbed and innocent and beautiful when she was none of those things? No. He was wrong. She
was
beautiful, more beautiful now, without her make-up and jewellery, than she'd been last night.

He felt a tightening in his groin and it infuriated him. That he should be stirred by a woman like this was impossible. Despite her beauty, she was hardly a prize, not when she was nothing but the
baksheesh
meant to corrupt him.

‘I asked you a question! What are you doing in my room?'

His dark brows rose a little. ‘Rachelle told me you were awake, and so—'

‘And so you thought you'd barge right in, without permission?'

‘I knocked, several times, but you didn't answer.'

‘I was in the shower!'

‘Yes.' He leaned back against the wall and let his gaze drift over her. ‘So I see.'

Joanna flushed. She felt as if he'd stripped away the towel and she was certain that was just the way he wanted her to feel. She ached to race back to the safety of the bathroom or to drag the blanket from the bed and enclose herself in it, but she'd be damned if she'd give him the satisfaction.

‘Perhaps you can also see that I wasn't exactly expecting to receive visitors,' she said coldly.

‘Rachelle said you were unhappy with her.'

‘So?'

‘So, she is very young, and very sensitive. And—'

‘Let me get this straight. You came barging into my room because I hurt Rachelle's feelings?' Joanna laughed. ‘You'll forgive me, Your Lordship—'

‘That is not my title.'

‘If you're waiting for me to apologise for upsetting your little slave, you're in for a long wait.'

‘She is not my slave.' Khalil's eyes turned cool. ‘We have no slaves, here in the northern hills.'

‘Of course,' Joanna purred. ‘I should have realised. The people here are all happy and content. The only slaves in Jandara are in the south, where the evil Abu Al Zouad rules.'

His eyes narrowed. The woman was impossible! How dared she speak to him with so little respect? How dared she stand before him as she did, flaunting her almost naked body?

‘Don't you have a robe to put on?' he demanded.

She smiled sweetly. ‘I'm afraid the hotel didn't supply one.'

‘Rachelle was told to bring you anything you requested. If you had thought to ask—'

‘The only thing I thought to ask for was my freedom,' Joanna said, lifting her chin in defiance. ‘It was a request your little harem girl denied.'

‘I shall see to it that you are given some proper clothing,' Khalil said stiffly.

‘Meaning what? If you think I'm going to put on a robe that drapes me from chin to toe, if you think I'm going to wrap a scarf around my head and look out at the world through a veil—'

‘Is that what you have seen Rachelle wearing?'

It wasn't, of course. The girl wore a soft, scoop-necked cotton blouse and a pretty skirt that fell to mid-calf; her hair hung loose and uncovered to her shoulders.

‘Or is that description of your own invention, meant to shore up your belief that we are a backward people?' The flush that rose in her cheeks gave him a certain grim satisfaction. He shrugged his white robe from his shoulders and held it out to her. ‘Here. Wear this until—'

‘I don't want anything from you, Khalil!'

His mouth thinned. ‘Put it on!'

Her eyes flashed as he stepped forward and draped the robe over her shoulders. His fingers brushed her bare skin; a tingle raced along her nerve endings, one that sent a tremor through her. Khalil frowned and stepped back quickly.

‘I will see to the clothing.'

‘Yes. So you said.' Joanna drew the robe around herself. ‘But I'm more interested in what my father's had to say.'

His frown deepened. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Come on, Khalil, don't treat me like a fool! Surely you've contacted him with your ransom demands.'

He looked at her for a long moment, then turned and strolled to the window.

‘I have, yes,' he said, his back to her.

‘And?' Joanna took a step forward. ‘What did he say? How soon will he meet them?'

‘I cannot tell you that.'

‘What do you mean, you can't tell me?' Joanna moved closer to him. ‘I've every right to know how long I'm going to be your prisoner!'

He swung towards her, his face stony. ‘You will be here until your father decides to be reasonable.'

‘You mean, I'll be here until he can raise the money you've asked for my return!'

‘I have not asked for money.'

‘No.' Joanna's smile was chill. ‘Of course you haven't. I keep forgetting—you're the Hawk of the North. It's Abu Al Zouad who's the villain in this piece.'

‘Joke all you wish, Joanna. It will not change the truth.'

Her chin lifted. ‘It certainly won't. Abu Al Zouad's supposed to be this—this monster, this evil emperor, but—'

‘He is a man who has enslaved his people.'

‘Don't be ridiculous! If there were slaves in Jandara, Bennettco wouldn't have—'

‘There are all kinds of slavery,' Khalil said sharply. ‘People who live in fear of displeasing their ruler may not be slaves in the classic sense, but they are slaves just the same.'

Joanna smiled coolly. ‘I suppose
your
people do that ridiculous bowing to you out of love, not fear.'

It pleased her to see a wash of crimson rise across his high cheekbones.

‘It is custom,' he said sternly, ‘and foolish. I have tried to change it—'

‘Yeah.' She laughed. ‘I'll bet.'

‘My people obey me out of respect. If they thought I was wrong, the elders would say so.'

‘Remarkable! You've got yourself believing your own lies!'

‘And what, precisely, is that supposed to mean?' he said, glaring at her.

‘You know damned well what it means! You make yourself out to be this benevolent ruler, this wonderful good guy, but you're not! You're—you're—'

‘A thief. A despot. A greedy pig who wants whatever he can get from Bennettco, or else I'll—' His brow furrowed. ‘I never did ask, Joanna, what is it, exactly, that I'll do to the operation if I'm not properly bought off?'

‘How should I know?' she cried angrily. ‘Raid the camp. Harass the workers. Disrupt things any way you can. Does it matter?'

‘And if I told you that you're wrong...?'

‘Listen, Khalil, I'm not going to play this silly game! You want to pretend you're Lawrence of Arabia? Fine. Wear that foolish outfit. Ride that ridiculous horse. Stand around and look fierce while your people prostrate themselves before you. As for me, all I want—'

She cried out as he caught hold of her shoulders.

‘All you want,' he said through his teeth, ‘is to categorise me. And if I don't fit, you'll poke, prod, shove and squeeze until I do!'