Читать книгу The Barbarian's Bride - Alex Ryder, Alex Ryder - Страница 8

THE plane was banking gently to the left, giving her a good view of the scene below. Atop a craggy headland that thrust its way out into the sea in defiance of the crashing rollers were the ruins of an ancient fort. This crumbling reminder of a dark and violent past overlooked a busy harbour which was filled with colourful fishing-boats. Behind the ruins lay the town, a sprawling, disorganised jumble of square white buildings and narrow, twisting alleyways. Beyond the town, terraced riverbanks were green with fruit and palm-trees, while down at the river-edge women pounded their washing on stones.

The ‘airport’ was nothing more than a cleared strip of scrubland about two miles east of the town. In a cloud of dust the plane touched down and rolled to a halt in front of a huge, barn-Jike shed.

Kassim undid his seatbelt, then helped her to her feet. The stewardess opened the door, and as Janene looked out she saw the heatwaves shimmering in the air.

The driver of a stretched limousine already had the rear door opened and, as soon as she and Kassim were settled in the air-conditioned interior, he sped towards the town.

Acutely conscious of her helpless situation, she sat in prim, tight-lipped silence. Perhaps the way to deal with him was to treat him with total indifference, to retreat into a world in which he played no part. The ultimate snub. No one could put up with that for long. Least of all a man with an ego as big as his.

Then again, she wondered uneasily, was it really possible to ignore a man whose eyes could strip you at a glance and whose slightest touch sent flames of desire rampaging through your body? Well, she’d never been put to the test yet, but she knew she was going to find out before long.

The car approached the town in a swirl of red dust, and slowed down as its progress was hampered by the other traffic making its way into town: tall, robed men leading camels, or donkeys laden with baskets, or small herds of sheep and goats. Soon the streets became narrower and more crowded until, within the town centre proper, the pace was reduced to a mere crawl as the car inched and snaked its way through the crowded alleways.

Even with the car windows closed, she could hear the bedlam of noise. Above the tinny blare of hundreds of transistor radios, merchants cried their wares and customers haggled over prices. Women, laden with baskets, babies clinging to their backs, drew their robes tighter and pushed their way through the jostling mass of humanity.

Beyond the market-place the road widened and, directly ahead of her, overlooking the squat, whitewashed houses, Janene could see the ruined fort. Suddenly the driver made a sharp left-hand turn and drew up outside a massive, iron-studded door set in a stone archway. At a blast from the horn the door swung inwards and the car entered a large courtyard.

At Kassim’s prompting, she reluctantly got out and studied her surroundings in silence. The walls were high, and as she heard the servants close and bolt the heavy door she bit her lip. The feeling of being trapped and at this man’s mercy tightened a knot in her stomach.

Taking her firmly by the arm, Kassim led her past an ornamental fountain and colourful flowerbeds towards another door. With a display of gallantry, he opened it and ushered her through into an inner courtyard and, despite her resolution to maintain an air of indifference, her eyes widened and she stifled a gasp. The surrounding walls were covered in decorative tiles, while masses of flowers made a glorious blaze of colour: datura, dahlias, sunflowers, oleanders, and geraniums in tall, clay pots. Right at the centre there was a sunken swimming-pool in sea-green marble. At the far side of the courtyard an archway led to the interior of the house. She took a quick glance around, impressed by its elegance and décor—priceless carpets on the floor and solid mahogany, French-style furniture. In the air hung the sweet smell of cedarwood.

Kassim peeled off his jacket and tossed it carelessly aside. ‘This is the end of our journey, Janene. Do you think you’ll be comfortable here?’

She tried her best to ignore him, but was finally forced by his insistent stare to offer a nonchalant shrug.

His eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Too overcome with awe to find your tongue?’ he asked solicitously. ‘Ah, well, that’s understandable. C’est magnifique, n’est-cepas?’

It certainly was, she thought darkly, but he’d probably stolen it.

He took her by the arm again. ‘Come along and I’ll show you the rest of the place.’

A marble stairway led to the upper part of the house. Throwing open a door, he invited her inside. It was cool and dark until he opened the shutters on the window overlooking the pool in the courtyard below.

‘This will be our bedroom,’ he announced cheerfully.

‘What the hell do you mean, “our” bedroom?’ she demanded fiercely, her vow of silence shattered.

‘What’s wrong? Isn’t the bed large enough?’ he enquired, with a mocking lift of his dark eyebrows. He eyed the bed doubtfully. ‘You may be right. In the throes of passion we may end up on the floor. I’ll have it changed immediately.’

‘I’m not sleeping anywhere with you,’ she said hotly. ‘If I have to be incarcerated in this Hollywood film-set, I demand a room of my own.’

His blue eyes taunted her. ‘I’m sure I can persuade you to change your mind. Just think of all the fun you’ll be missing.’

She folded her arms, tapped her foot and glared at him.

‘Hmm…’ he drawled. ‘Your skin has gone that wonderful colour again. Is it only your face that’s affected, or does that flush spread over your entire body? I must satisfy my curiosity.’ He raised his hand and beckoned her closer with his finger. ‘Come here, my little English rose.’

‘Stop calling me that,’ she grated. ‘I’m not your little anything.’

He derided her with a sardonic smile. ‘There’s no sense in postponing the inevitable. You’re only making things awkward.’

‘Good!’ she snapped. ‘I intend to be as awkward as I can until you stop all this nonsense and let me go home.’

He spread his arms and looked surprised. ‘But this is your home from now on. What do you have in England to compare with luxury and comfort such as this?’

‘Control of my own life, for one thing,’ she retorted. ‘Freedom of choice and freedom to go where I like.’ She paused, then added bitterly, ‘And the right not to be dictated to by anyone.’

‘Control of one’s own life is an illusion,’ he replied smoothly. ‘We are all the victims of fate and circumstance. One can only make the best of what one is given.’

She gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘I’m not interested in entering into a philosophical debate with you.’

‘Good,’ he drawled. ‘Women shouldn’t concern themselves over such matters. As for freedom…you can leave the house any time you like. I shall provide a suitable escort for you. You can go into the town or down to the beach.’

‘And my escort will make sure I go no further?’ she asked drily.

‘You would get lost in the desert,’ he pointed out in a tone of dire warning. ‘If you were lucky, you would die of thirst. If you were unlucky, you would be caught by some tribe of wandering outcasts who’d make you wish that you had died of thirst.’ He appealed to her with a fiendish smile that made her think of a shark getting ready for lunch. ‘On the other hand, if you stay here you will be given anything your heart desires. Within reason, of course.’

The resentment in her green eyes turned to resigned acceptance. ‘All right…’ she said in a dull voice. ‘Is it within reason to ask for something to eat? I’ve had nothing since supper last night.’

He looked contrite, but it was probably just an act. The only thing he seemed to take seriously was his avowed intention of getting her into bed.

‘A thousand pardons,’ he intoned. ‘I am remiss in my duties as a host.’ He strode over to the wall and pressed a button to summon a servant, then grinned at her, ‘What would you like to order, Janene? A plate of figs? Some almonds? Goat-cheese?’

‘No, thanks,’ she said grimly. ‘I’d like orange juice, coffee, toast and marmalade and two soft-boiled eggs.’

He gave an ironic little smile. ‘A typical English breakfast. You’d rather cling to familiar customs than face the unknown?’

‘I’ve had goat-cheese and I don’t like it,’ she informed him coldly. ‘And I’ll also need fresh clothes. You didn’t give me the opportunity to pack before you drugged me.’

‘Clothes will be provided,’ he assured her smoothly.

‘I don’t mean those funny black robes I saw the women in town wearing,’ she warned. ‘Jeans will do fine.’

‘Determined not to go native?’ he asked mockingly. ‘A pity. I think a caftan or haik would suit you.’

She was about to tell him that the native clothes she’d seen so far were the drabbest she’d ever encountered, when she caught sight of the young girl gliding silently into the room. Slim, with large, dark, liquid eyes, she was dressed in a robe of shimmering turquoise with gold edging. A headscarf of the same material was drawn under her chin and tied on top.

She smiled shyly at Janene and bowed to Kassim.

For a while he stood talking to her in some strange, guttural tongue, then she bowed again and drifted out of the room, as silent as a falling leaf.

‘Well, Janene, breakfast will be served by the poolside in half an hour.’ he informed her briskly. He pointed to the door. ‘You can shower and freshen up there, meanwhile. Kebira will fetch you something suitable to wear.’

‘Kebira?’

‘The servant-girl you just saw. From now on she is your personal maid.’

She looked at him in surprise, then said firmly, ‘I don’t want a personal maid. I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’

‘Are you really?’ he asked with cynical amusement. ‘That isn’t the impression you’ve given me up till now. When you’re left to your own devices you seem to get yourself into all kinds of trouble.’ He saw the red spots of anger on her cheeks, and went on in a placating tone, ‘Come, now, Janene. It isn’t much to ask. As my consort, it’s only fitting that you should have a personal maid. Besides, Kebira will feel terribly insulted and depressed if you reject her. In her eyes, it is a great honour to be chosen for such an important position in the household.’

She rolled her eyes heavenwards, then said scathingly, ‘Kidnapping and emotional blackmail. There’s nothing you’ll stop at to get your way, is there?’

He shrugged. ‘A talent I inherited from my illustrious ancestors. Now, I suggest that we bathe together and enjoy the pleasure of—’

‘I’ll bathe by myself,’ she cut in icily. ‘You can go and cool off in the swimming-pool.’

He heaved a sigh of disappointment, then gave a philosophical shrug. ‘No matter. I can wait. The greater the hunger, the more satisfying the meal.’ His blue eyes taunted her mercilessly, then they hardened. ‘It would be inadvisable to try my patience too long, however. I’m a man who doesn’t take kindly to being thwarted in his ambitions. That is another trait I inherited from my ancestors.’

As he strode from the room his threat still rang in her ears, making her skin prickle, and she hurriedly locked herself in the bathroom.

Everything she’d seen about this house so far spoke of pampered luxury, and the bathroom was no exception. There was a sunken bath in coral-pink marble, large enough to keep a school of dolphins happy, and, unless she was mistaken, the taps were solid gold. The walls and ceiling were covered in dazzling ceramic tiles, as were the two shower-stalls. An adjoining room held a sauna and an exercise area with more equipment than would be found in the average gym. Behind a partition she found dozens of coloured bath-towels and robes. There was even a selection of shower-caps, and, grabbing what she needed, she made her way to one of the showers and began undressing.

As soon as the water ran hot she stepped under the shower and closed her eyes in relaxation. After a few moments she began lazily soaping herself, and her thoughts turned to Kassim. Disturbing yet exciting thoughts. In her imagination he was here beside her, his dark and lithe body naked and glistening. As they moved over her breasts, her hands became his hands. She threw her head back and her body became taut and receptive to the waves of sensual pleasure sweeping—

Suddenly her mind snapped into place, and, angry at her weakness and lack of self-control, she turned the shower off. Dammit! She was the one who should have been cooling off in the pool.

Kebira was waiting patiently in the bedroom with a selection of underwear and clothes spread out on the bed. She immediately smiled and began chattering away excitedly.

Janene returned the smile and raised a restraining hand. ‘Hold on, Kebira! Can’t you speak English?’

The large, liquid eyes blinked solemnly.

‘Français?’

Another blink. ‘Oui, madame. Un—un peu.’

‘Never mind. I only speak it un peu myself. We’ll get along fine in sign-language.’ She looked at the display on the bed and wondered where all the brand-new underwear had come from. His harem’s wardrobemistress, probably. The underwear was mostly silk, and there were fabulously coloured robes and caftans, blouses and skirts. But not a pair of jeans in sight.

She eventually settled for black silk trousers and a white silk blouse. The trousers were loose and baggy and tied at the ankles, and the blouse was covered in exotic embroidery.

When she had completed her dressing, she examined herself critically in front of a large mirror until Kebira dragged her by the hand, made her sit at a dressingtable, then attacked the mass of red hair with a silverbacked hairbrush.