Guarding the Princess(32)
Dalilah wondered again about what he’d said about killing people, about how he knew her brother. He could feel her studying him, she was sure of it. But he didn’t glance her way. The sky turned soft gold as the first rays of sun crept over the land. Heat and humidity peaked instantly. She loosened her shirt, feeling thirst.
“Why a lion?”
Now he looked at her. “What?”
“Your tattoo.”
He gave a soft snort. “My African name—Tautona. That’s what the locals call me. It means old lion.”
“Why an old lion?”
A wry smile twisted over his lips. “Guess they figured I’m like those scarred old males that have been ousted from their pride and live alone on the fringes of the veldt. Have to hunt all by themselves—no females to do the job for them.”
“Is it true?”
He shot her another glance, and the brackets around his mouth deepened, but he said nothing.
“Where are we going?” she said finally.
“First, west. Then north, then southwest.”
“I mean, what is the plan, our destination? How long is it going to take?”
He inhaled, his grip firming on the wheel, as if irritated by having to explain things.
“Look, it might help to share the plan,” she said. “I helped you back at the river, remember? You might need me again. We made a good team last night.”
A muscle began to pulse at his jaw. And when he didn’t bother to dignify her with a reply, she lowered her voice and said irritably, “Brandt—”
He muttered something in Afrikaans she couldn’t understand, then said, “I want as much distance as possible between us and the Tsholo, okay? Then we turn northward to find a route up onto a plateau. Once up on the plateau we’ll head for a paved road, hopefully lose tracks while driving south along the tarmac for a while, then we’ll cut back into the bush and make for a safe place and phone your brother.” His tone was terse. “However, if by the time we reach the plateau tonight there is no sign of them following us, we might stop and rest for the night at an old airstrip I know, move again at first light.”
“How will we know if they’re following?”
“We should be able to get a good view of the land all the way to the river from up on the plateau.” He reached into the giant cooler on the seat behind him as he spoke, his eyes fixed on the terrain ahead. He came out with another apple and a bottle of water.
“Breakfast,” he said, dumping them in her lap. “I’ll make you some tea later.”
“Tea?” A sudden craving for the strong, warm sweet liquid filled her with a kind of desperation. “How?”
“Found a gas burner and kettle in the back with the shovel. Tea bags come from the bush camp.”
She positioned the water bottle between her knees and unscrewed the cap with her good hand. “I’m impressed that you got all this stuff,” she said, raising the bottle to her lips. “We could go for days—”
“Hope not,” he said crisply.
She paused, bottle midair. “Me, too. I was just—”
“Eat,” he said brusquely. “Drink.”
Dalilah glared at him, something immediately resisting inside her. She wasn’t accustomed to being ordered around. Her brothers tried, but she fought them every step of the way. It had become a reflex—her life was dominated by too many alpha men trying to push her around for her own damn good.
In spite of her thirst, Dalilah’s mouth flattened and she recapped the water bottle. She set the bottle and apple on the seat next to her.
He cast her a sideways glance, the sun’s rays filtering through the trees making his eyes an even paler blue.
“You really should eat.”
“I will when I’m hungry.” She was drawing her own little line in the sand, for whatever that was worth. But it made her feel stronger.
He was about to argue, but stopped himself, a whisper of another wry smile ghosting his lips. He found her rebellion amusing. Her blood began to boil.
As the sun climbed higher into the sky, the air grew humid and blisteringly hot. The jeep bumped and bounced over increasingly rocky terrain. Trees went from green to a blackish-gray, leafless, sharp. Strips of bark hung from trunks. Surprise rippled through Dalilah as she became suddenly aware of silvery monkeys in the branches around them. The troop was watching them pass. Silent. Menacing.
Qua-waaaaee—Go awaaaay. Qua-waaaaee—Go awaaaay. The sad call of a gray lorie again.
Brandt glanced up into the trees, and she could sense a renewed tension in him. In spite of the heat, a ripple of coolness trickled down Dalilah’s neck.
Soon they were out on a plain again, this one dotted with the iconic acacia trees of Africa. White thorns as long as her middle finger and fat as a pencil stuck out from the branches.