Nicole Jordan (25 page)

Max stifled the urge to retort. He understood why the crusty old doctor was protective of Caro.

“You have been spending an excessive amount of time in her company,” Allenby charged.

That wasn’t quite true. In the first place, Caro had been working too hard for him to spend much time with her. And in the second, he’d been very careful to continue socializing with his new acquaintances all over the island in order to keep his liaison with Caro from becoming common knowledge.

“I enjoy Miss Evers’s friendship, Doctor. And she seems to enjoy mine.”

“You claim you want nothing more from her than mere friendship? I was a young man myself once, and I know how this island can arouse a man’s passions.”

Max was not about to discuss his passions with the doctor, or reveal his intimate relationship with Caro, but he decided to offer an explanation Allenby was likely to accept. “Caro thinks of me as her patient,” he prevaricated. “A soldier suffering from the stresses of war. If she has shown me inordinate attention, it’s because she wants to patch me up like one of her other wounded creatures.”

“Humph. Patient or not, I think she has become a bit too fond of you. No good can come of it.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because you can only hurt her. Unless you intend to stay on Cyrene, you have no future together. I won’t permit you to lure her away from here. This is her home. She would be miserable anywhere else. She wouldn’t fit in. Here she can fulfill her life’s goals—to practice medicine and to continue her father’s role in the Guardians. Have you thought of that, sir?”

No, he hadn’t allowed himself to think that far ahead, Max acknowledged.

“And if your intentions are not honorable…” The elderly man on the bed pointed a gnarled finger at Max. “You will answer to me. Now go away and leave me to rest. I need to recover my health if I’m to ease Caro’s mind at leaving Cyrene to go on her mission.”

Abruptly dismissed, Max left Dr. Allenby’s house and mounted his horse. He didn’t know whether to be amused, indignant, or simply tolerant of the gruff old man’s warning.

The interference was well meant, he had no doubt. And admittedly Dr. Allenby’s interrogation had made Max more aware of his own selfishness. He
had
taken advantage of Caro—accepting the comfort she offered, using her to help heal his emotional wounds, not to mention slake his physical needs.

He had once thought that by sating his carnal desire for Caro, she would stop haunting his dreams. He’d expected that by the time he left Cyrene, he would have his craving for her under control. But their passionate encounters had had entirely the opposite effect.

He’d begun to want Caro beyond reason and logic, Max realized. He wondered if the urgency would ever lessen.

The doctor had raised another good question as well: What
were
his intentions toward Caro? Until now he hadn’t even acknowledged the possibility of marriage to her. It said a great deal about the uniqueness of this situation that he didn’t cringe at the mere notion. No other woman but Caro could make him contemplate taking a wife and risk losing someone he cared for.

And Caro herself? She had claimed she wasn’t the least interested in marriage, or in leaving the island. She would indeed be miserable living elsewhere, Max knew. He now understood why a woman as lovely as Caro would feel like a misfit in England. Why she had kept herself apart from her peers, her potential suitors, even lovers. She had created a fulfilling place for herself here as a member of the Guardians and had no wish to give that up.

He didn’t, however, want to give Caro false hopes about his remaining. Certainly he didn’t want to hurt her.

And if he declined to join the Guardians, what then? He would likely return to England, even though the prospect of settling into a mundane life in such tame surroundings now held little appeal.

But perhaps he was looking too far ahead, Max warned himself. His prime concern should be getting through this single upcoming mission without his demons returning to hinder his faculties.

The possibility of going into battle again troubled him. If he was required to fight, he hoped to God he wouldn’t freeze or become paralyzed, as he’d seen so many young soldiers do. But it was the thought of what could befall Caro that made him break into a cold sweat. The closer their mission came, the more his dread grew.

Even so, perhaps the doctor had done him a favor by opening his eyes to the immediate danger. If he didn’t take care, his obsession for Caro could spiral beyond his control. For her sake, it was only fair that he ease back from their relationship a measure.

At least until they completed their mission in Barbary and he decided what to do about his future.

The next time they met at the grotto, Caro sensed the change in Max. The easy rapport between them was missing.

They swam in the lake and afterward made love, but he seemed to be holding back. Even though he was the same tender and considerate lover, his passion was banked, and she sensed a reservation between them that had never been there before. And when Caro left him to return to her duties, Max didn’t press her to name a time for their next meeting as he often did.

His apparent withdrawal disheartened her, for she suspected it meant he was planning to leave Cyrene once their mission was completed.

But then, she had always known there was little chance Max would join the Guardians’ endeavors. It had been foolish to let her hopes grow too high.

Instead, Caro scolded herself, she should try to forget about Max and concentrate on the mission ahead.

Chapter

Fourteen

At last the moment of Isabella’s deliverance was at hand. The next ship to sail into Cyrene’s harbor bore messengers from Barbary, confirming Lady Isabella’s location: she was indeed being held by a Berber chieftain in his mountain stronghold southeast of Algiers.

Sir Gawain immediately summoned all the Guardians on Cyrene to the castle to hear the report from Algiers by two agents whom Max hadn’t yet met.

In the end, their departure was set for the following day. A force of two dozen Guardians would sail for the Barbary Coast and land near a small seaport east of Algiers under cover of darkness. Viscount Thorne and the Earl of Hawkhurst—the Guardian known as Hawk—would await them with a caravan and guides to take them from the coast across the high desert plains into the Biban mountains.

By the time the council ended, they all shared a somber sense of purpose and a devout determination to succeed.

As they made their way to the stables, Max caught Caro’s eye. “Tonight?” he murmured.

She nodded. Even though she had renewed her vow to distance herself from Max, she would not forgo this opportunity to be with him, knowing this could be their final night together. Once they left the island, they would have no privacy, for they would be living in close quarters with the rest of the rescue force, first on board ship and then in tents as they trekked across a ruthless land. And by the time they returned, Max might very well have decided he wanted no more part of their order.

He was waiting for her at the grotto when she arrived. Wordlessly he drew her into his arms, covering her mouth with a fierce kiss that was reminiscent of their former passion.

Their lovemaking this time was intense and feverish, yet held a poignancy that was new.

With effort afterward Caro refrained from repeating all the arguments why Max should join the Guardians. There was no point in imploring him. Max would have to weigh the consequences and choose for himself.

Instead, when he pulled her into the shelter of his body, she lay silently in his arms, feeling the solemn beat of his heart beneath her cheek while striving to subdue her longing.

The next morning when Caro boarded the ship, Max was there before her. She had promised herself that she would ignore him, but her efforts failed miserably from the very first.

It helped that Captain Biddick put her to work getting under way, and she threw herself headlong into her task, but she was aware of Max every moment. And regrettably, after they set sail there was little to do but wait. The next three days Caro spent listening to the creak of rigging, the slap of canvas sail, the quiet jests of the other Guardians as they whiled away the time playing cards or recounting stories of past exploits.

There were two other women in the party, both Spaniards, included mainly to give the proper appearance of a retinue of servants, but who would also cook and provide support for Caro and Isabella, once the lady was rescued.

The camaraderie on board was jovial as usual. Indeed, this mission was much like the countless others Caro had been on in past years—except for Max. The tension curling in her stomach was not just the healthy fear and anticipation of the dangerous challenges that lay ahead. She hadn’t expected it would be so difficult to control her desire for Max, or to conceal it from all the observers on board. She felt somehow bereft, being unable to talk to him, to touch him.

He didn’t feel the same way, Caro surmised. Whenever he met her glance, the burning fires she’d often seen in his eyes were now banked, to be replaced by a starkly emotionless expression.

It made her wonder if perhaps Max had retreated into himself, in order to build the defenses he would need if their mission turned violent.

They neared Barbary well before dawn, while the moon still shone. Standing at the ship’s railing, Caro could just make out the high hills of the coastline silhouetted against the night sky, along with some faint pinpricks of light that the captain said came from the small seaport of Bougie.

Nearly an hour later, as the landmass loomed closer, she saw a series of brighter flashes in the darkness coming from the rocky shore—made by lantern light, she knew.

Just then Max moved to stand beside her. She felt her pulse quicken, for this was the first time since leaving Cyrene that he had come this close to her.

“I take it that is our signal to land?” Max said quietly.

“Yes. We have our own codes arranged. That signal means Hawk is waiting for us. We will row ashore, and afterward Captain Biddick will move his ship to safer waters to avoid being detected by pirates or the Algerian fleet. But he’ll return five days from now and be ready to sail the moment we make it back to the coast with Isabella.”

“Have you visited Barbary before this?”

“I was in Tripoli once, but never the Kingdom of Algiers. Hawk comes here regularly, though.”

“To buy horses?”

“Yes, Arabians and Barbs for his racing stables. Which is why Sir Gawain chose him to be the prime agent to gather intelligence. Hawk speaks Arabic and a smattering of Berber, and he has numerous contacts here. He will have arranged for all the proper travel permits and papers for our caravan. And both Ryder and Thorne are familiar with the area as well, since they have been to Barbary several times. You would do better to direct whatever questions you have to them.”

“I intend to,” Max said cryptically before walking away.

Caro stared after him, trying to quell the disappointment that lay in her stomach like lead.

They dropped anchor in a small bay. Because of his familiarity with the coast, Alex Ryder led the first boat of the landing party. Caro and Max were in the second, Santos Verra in the third, along with crates of weapons and supplies.

Acting swiftly and silently, they went ashore on a rocky beach washed by gentle waves and quickly climbed a low cliff in the darkness, their presence camouflaged by shadows of cypress and myrtle that grew along the coast.

When they reached the meeting place, Caro could sense the gathering of men and horses even before she saw them. And Christopher Thorne was the first person she recognized.

Emerging from the darkness, he flashed her a smile of greeting and embraced her fondly, before quietly cuffing Max on the shoulder.

“I understand,” Thorne murmured with an undertone of amusement, “that you found more than you bargained for on Cyrene.”

Caro saw Max’s wry grimace, heard his low, even dryer response. “You have a great deal to answer for, my friend. There were some rather pertinent details you failed to disclose.”

“Because I was sworn to secrecy. But it is damned good to have you with us.”

Thorne introduced Max to the Earl of Hawkhurst then. Caro watched the two men measuring each other as they shook hands. In the dark it was hard to tell them apart, for they were both tall, commanding men with raven hair. But she knew Hawk’s chiseled features were more aquiline than Max’s, and his eyes were piercing gray instead of striking blue.

“I’ve heard some very favorable reports about you, Leighton,” Hawk said, his brief words of greeting sounding genuine.

He then brought forward a shorter, swarthy-skinned man who was garbed in a long white robe and flowing head cloth.

“This is Faruq. He will be our guide to the mountains.”

With a graceful salaam, Faruq tendered several flowery greetings in excellent English and offered his humble services. Their guide, Caro surmised, was one of the nomadic Bedouin Arabs of the plains, rather than the Moors of the cities or the fair-skinned Berbers who inhabited the rugged mountains.

Faruq’s first task was to supply them all with proper garb as befitted the customs and climate. The men were given burnooses—hooded cloaks—to protect them from the blazing sun and sand that they would soon encounter. Caro and the two Spanish women from Cyrene were turned over to the three female Arabic servants and provided with robes and head cloths along with long scarves to cover their faces. Max kept his own British gentleman’s attire, since he was posing as a wealthy sportsman eager to hunt the famed lions of Barbary, but he wore a burnoose as well.

“I suppose you’ll do,” Thorne quipped as he studied Max, “if you only will contrive to look a trifle more arrogant.”

At their guide’s direction, they mounted and struck out for the south—a caravan of horses and pack mules and camels. Caro rode at the rear with the servants and women, but she was glad to have a horse rather than a swaying camel, which she knew from past experience made her a trifle nauseated.

Faruq had said it would take three full days to reach their destination. They had avoided landing too close to civilization, but soon would be required to use the established trails, for there was no other safe way through the harsh terrain.

Caro settled in for the journey, the rhythmic sound of plodding hooves and the creak of saddle leather punctuated only by the quiet murmur of voices from the men up ahead.

Max, Caro saw, rode next to Hawk, and was no doubt being briefed on the specific intelligence Hawk had gathered over the past weeks that would aid in Isabella’s recovery. They would also, she suspected, discuss the specific details of the rescue attempt based on the general plan Max had proposed.

Shortly, the sun rose over the high, hilly coastal region, and by mid-morning the sky glowed with the golden clarity particular to the Mediterranean. They crossed a broad and fertile valley where wild fig and olive trees grew in abundance, and then began to climb.

When they topped a rocky hillock, the landscape changed abruptly. Here the rainfall was obviously more abundant, for they rode through the cool shadows of a cedar forest. By afternoon, however, they had descended into another valley, this one flat and treeless, covered with rank shrubs and grass, with few signs of life other than the occasional nomads tending their grazing flocks of sheep and goats.

Just as suddenly the terrain turned barren and broken. The trail narrowed, flanked by chalk rock and red sandstone slopes. When they began weaving between steep precipices and wild ravines, their guide, Faruq, rode to the rear of the caravan in order to address Caro.

“I beg you to take care, mademoiselle. There is much danger here.”

Caro thanked him and promised to beware.

As well as being dangerous, it was also far hotter here. When they paused to rest the animals, she drank gratefully from the goatskin water bag that the women shared, and partook lightly of the barley cakes and goat cheese and figs that were offered for the midday meal.

By late afternoon she could see in the far distance the beginnings of a rugged mountain chain, but the sun burned red and gold on the horizon when their guide finally called a halt to the caravan.

The Arabs made camp swiftly, with the obvious ease of long practice, erecting nearly a dozen black tents made of goatskin while the women started the cooking fires and prepared the evening meal.

Caro saw to her horse and stretched her aching limbs by walking around the camp. Despite the harshness of the land, the evening was so peaceful, she realized she might have enjoyed the journey if the stakes were not so high—and if her relationship with Max weren’t so strained.

He still seemed to be avoiding her, so she wasn’t surprised that it was Thorne who came to fetch her for supper.

“So tell me,” her friend probed as he took her arm to escort her back to the largest tent. “How has Max been acclimating?”

“Well enough,” Caro prevaricated, not wanting to share confidences Max had entrusted to her. “He seems to have enjoyed his time on the island.”

“Will he join us, do you think?”

That was Thorne’s real concern, she knew. From the first he had championed Max’s membership in the Guardians, and he had instigated Max’s visit to Cyrene chiefly for that purpose.

“I’m not certain,” she replied honestly. “He has a number of unpleasant memories of war to overcome. I suspect a great deal depends on how he deals with this mission.”

In the Arab culture, women dined separately from men, but since Caro was a special case, she shared supper with the other Guardians. Seated on a woven rush mat between Thorne and Ryder, Caro ate the simple but delicious meal: couscous with vegetables, olives, beans soaked in oil and vinegar, and golden ripe dates.

Afterward they drank small cups of thick black coffee while Hawk and Max reviewed the details of the plan they had agreed upon. They would try to prepare for every possible contingency, Caro knew, but if things went wrong, they would have to depend upon their wits and experience to get them out of trouble.

Hawk spoke as the others studied maps from his earlier reconnaissance.

“Tomorrow night we will make camp at the oasis of Akbou. The following morning, we’ll leave the bulk of our caravan behind there while some twenty of us proceed into the mountains for the last leg of the journey.”

“How long is the ride from Akbou?” Ryder asked.

“Nine or ten hours,” Hawk answered, “so we should reach Saful’s mountain fortress by late afternoon, while it is still daylight. The chieftain’s name is Saful il Taib. He leads one of the more powerful Berber tribes in Algeria, but I found him to be extremely hospitable when I visited last week under the pretext of searching for broodmares. He speaks a fair amount of French, so you should be able to communicate without an interpreter.”