CHAPTER NINE
‘THE Sheikha must not go too near the horses,’ Zanaide warned Danielle protestingly. ‘They belong to the Sheikh and can be dangerous to those they do not know.’
Danielle ignored her maid’s comments, moving from stable to stable, her breath caught in wondering awe at the beauty of the pure-bred Arab mares. Several grooms were busily at work in the stable yard, and Danielle was conscious of being scrutinised discreetly as she walked amongst them. It was only by dint of pestering the comptroller that she had been allowed to visit the stables at all, and even then she doubted that she would have been allowed to do so if Jourdan hadn’t been away.
A pain like a sharp knife twisted her heart. Where he was she didn’t know. He had disappeared the morning after her visit to the turret room, and at first in his absence she had seen the means of her own escape. The comptroller had been polite, but firm, and all her efforts to beg or borrow a car had been met with a series of excuses. Jourdan must have give instructions that she was not to be allowed to leave the castle, Danielle thought bitterly, but somehow she must find a way of doing so, and soon—before Jourdan returned. His absence had been all she needed to convince her on that head, and she knew she could not trust herself not to betray her love for him when he did return.
The castle was a different place without him, and she ached for the sight of his tall robed figure, the sound of his voice, even his sardonic smile. She had never dreamed it was possible to feel like this about another human being, and the intensity of her emotions frightened her. Jourdan didn’t want her as herself; all he wanted was the power marriage to her would give him, and even then not merely for his own benefit. How long would it be before he started to resent a marriage that was no marriage at all; a wife chosen simply because she was his uncle’s stepdaughter? What was it Philippe had said about him? That there was a constant stream of beautiful women ready to throw themselves at his feet? Danielle could well believe it.
A servant came over and muttered something to the comptroller, who excused himself, returning to Danielle’s side seconds later to explain that he was called away on business.
Left to her own devices, Danielle watched a couple of grooms preparing feed for the mares, an idea suddenly beginning to take shape in her mind.
‘Tell one of the men to saddle a mount for me,’ she instructed Zanaide. ‘I want to ride out to the oasis.’
The oasis itself was several miles away from the castle, and althought Zanaide looked a little concerned she made no demur, speaking to one of the young grooms in rapid Arabic.
Seconds later he was leading a daintily prancing mare out into the cobbled yard for Danielle’s inspection, his eyes resting appreciatively on her pale skin and flame-coloured hair.
‘Tell him she will do very well,’ Danielle told Zanaide, ‘and that I will return in ten minutes.’
It took her less than that to change into her jeans and a thin but long-sleeved shirt. She had no idea how far she might have to ride—but certainly it would be farther than the oasis. She had no idea how far it was from the castle to the city, but surely it could not be too far; after all, Jourdan would scarcely live somewhere inaccessible to his business.
She could remember that they had travelled east out of the city, so if she headed west to begin with… Her mind working overtime, Danielle hurried back to the courtyard, where the young groom was still patiently holding the mare.
‘I will ride with the Sheikha,’ he began importantly, but Danielle shook her head.
‘No, I wish to ride alone.’ She was mounted before he could add any further protests, thankful of the riding lessons she had had all those years ago when she had been a pony-mad pre-adolescent. But excellent though they had been they had not really prepared her for a mount like her present one. ‘Fleet as the wind’ was how she had heard the Arab horses described, and now she knew what that meant. The little mare had a mouth as soft as velvet and seemed to need no instruction from Danielle to head for the oasis. However, she was well behaved enough to respond to Danielle’s light touch on the reins, and thankfully Danielle curbed her eagerness to gallop along the sandy road. It would benefit neither of them if the little mare were allowed to tire herself out. Just for a moment she allowed herself to contemplate Jourdan’s reaction to her disappearance, but then she reminded herself that by the time he did she would be safely out of the country. She was going to demand that the Sheikha permitted her to return home. Urging the mare forward, Danielle ignored the small treacherous voice that whispered that she was a fool and that perhaps, with time, Jourdan might come to care for her. Why should he? For all his French blood he was a man of the East, brought up to hold women in contempt… Marriage to such a man could only in the long run destroy her.
The oasis was deserted. Danielle had expected to find at least a few wandering tribesmen resting beneath the shade of the palms, and she scanned the road uncertainly, checking that she was taking the correct fork.
The mare suddenly became obstinate, refusing to move. Danielle clicked her tongue, gently urging her forward, but the mare dug her heels in, her dainty ears twitching.
‘What do you want?’ Danielle demanded crossly when several minutes had passed. She was not going to be beaten by a mere animal!
At last she managed to get the mare to move. She had wasted valuable time at the oasis and as they trudged down the sandy track it seemed to her that the sun moved through the sky all too quickly. Soon it would be nightfall and she would be completely alone in the vastness of the desert with nothing before her but its emptiness. A feeling of panic seized her by the throat, and as though sensing it the mare sidled slightly, pawing at the ground.
Darkness fell swiftly, the sudden dropping of a midnight velvet coat sprinkled with silver stars. Danielle had to rub her arms to ward off the cold, wishing she had thought to bring some means of protection, but she had expected to be in sight of some village if not the city itself long before now. She glanced at her watch, appalled to realise that she had been in the saddle for well over four hours. No wonder her back and thighs ached!
Darkness masked the landscape; relief at her escape began to give way to a fear which crept over her as inexorably as the fierce cold of the desert night. Even the little mare seemed less sure of herself. The high hopes with which Danielle had set out faded faster than the daylight. Her escape had been ill-planned and the result of a momentary impulse, she acknowledged, and now she was alone in the desert with no way of knowing where she was or where she was going. Too late memories of tales her stepfather had told her of the fate of unwary travellers in this harshly inhospitable land began to filter through her mind, her fingers tightening on the reins as fear mingled with tension. A cold wind sprang up out of nowhere, making her shiver, the little mare pricked up her ears as though in sympathy and Danielle felt tears blur her vision. She had been stupid and acted without forethought, and because of that both she and the mare could die here in this vast wilderness where only the eagle could survive unscathed.
The mare stumbled, almost throwing Danielle from the saddle, the reins slipped through her numb fingers and she reached desperately for them, praying that she wouldn’t lose her seat. At least the mare was some companionship. In her heart of hearts Danielle knew that there was only one person with whom she would want to share her present plight; one man who could banish her fears with his presence and the cold with the warmth of his body. A shuddering sigh trembled through her. How quixotic it was that the very man whose presence could banish her fears and misery was the self-same one who had caused her to flee from him into the desert in the first place—her husband.
The little mare’s ears pricked up and she stopped for a moment. No matter how much Danielle strained to part the darkness and see what had halted her she could see nothing. Thoughts of snakes and scorpions lurking unseen on the ground below touched her spine with icy fingers, and then just when she thought she would have to dismount and lead the mare, Danielle felt her move, uncertainly at first and then more briskly as though guided by a voice beyond human hearing. After a few seconds Danielle gave up the battle of fighting against the mare and let her have her head. She had no idea where they were going; had in fact no idea where they were or in which direction they had travelled. Above them the moon shone coldly, a thin sickle moon, silvering the landscape and turning the sands to an endless rippling ocean.
Tired and exhausted, Danielle could barely stay in the saddle. Her watch had stopped, but she was sure they must have been travelling for hours. For the first time she let her guard slip and allowed her thoughts to drift to the castle and everyone’s reaction to her disappearance. They would question the groom, of course, but all he would be able to tell them was that she had intended to ride to the oasis. Too late Danielle remembered the search party which had been mounted to look for the small boy who had gone missing, but of course, Jourdan was not at the castle to organise one for her. Would the comptroller have sent him a message? Danielle shivered as she tried to picture his reaction to it. Would he care? Why should he? honesty compelled her to ask herself. Theirs was a marriage based on nothing but necessity. Were she to die her stepfather would scarcely blame Jourdan; after all, he had not been anywhere near the castle when she left.