‘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.
CHAPTER SIX
JOANNA 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 ver
sion 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.’