CHAPTER ELEVEN
BY 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 c
huckled. 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—