Page 4 of The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

Lucinda absorbed these bits of hungry facts. Tariq. She rolled his name around her tongue in silence. A strong name. She wasn’t sure she’d forget him entirely when she sailed back to England in a few weeks. Daydreams wouldn’t stop playing in her head for the rest of the day.

When they returned to the villa, the sun had almost set, and the air became fresh. Soon it’d be dinner time.

CHAPTER TWO

After dinner, Lucinda excused herself and stepped out to the balcony. It’d been a cheerful dinner, with Adriana’s father telling stories about his trips. But Lucinda needed a moment to herself. The three of them had been chatting and out all day. It’d been a fantastic day really, she needed a respite, though.

The balcony, during the day, offered a full view of the sapphire Mediterranean down the hill. Now, in the dark, it disclosed a tapestry embroidered of stars and a crescent moon on the horizon. She sighed dreamingly. A cool breeze blew from the sea and she praised herself for taking her wool shawl on the way here. Her silk Boudreaux-coloured evening dress flapped around her, her chocolate hair twisted in a chignon that came out in curls and left strands falling around her perfect face.

Oh, so beautiful here. A wish crossed her that she would live in a place like this, where the weather would never make you uncomfortable, near the sea, in such a rich culture. She took in a deep breath, smelling the salty sea and the green vegetation coating the hill. Memories of her home in the country, back in England surfaced. She loved it and had had a happy childhood in it. Her somewhat eccentric father had taught her to do so many things ladies didn’t usually do, like shooting, or archery, or horse-racing. A smile came to her in the dark. She loved to practice those skills, but in London it shouldn’t be. Unless she willed to be the laughingstock of the ton. And who knew if she’d be able to continue it after getting married. A shiver at the idea passed through her. Bah, marriage!

A strange sound in the woods interrupted her reflections. She looked around her, but saw nothing. She turned her gaze back to the dark stretch where the sea began. The night was still. Too still. A shiver ran through her. Better go inside the house.

Her slippers just turned to go, when, suddenly, a sac came over her head and an iron hand clapped over her lips. A rush of adrenalin washed over her. An arm locked around her waist and lifted her from the ground. A scream tried its way out, but only muffled sounds rose. She was being carried now, arms and legs thrashing with her whole might.

“If you keep still, no harm will be done” A menacing voice said in an Italian heavily accented of Arabic.

Her frame froze at once. If she got all broken, she wouldn’t be able to react. She turned her head to all sides, trying to find a way to scream loud, but the man stood prepared and never let go. Fear, pure and intense threatened to overcome her. But she strove to maintain it at bay; she needed to keep her head clear in order to think of a way out.

The paces that carried her stepped on dry leaves, they entered the woods. The farther she got, the more difficult it’d be. She must try an escape anyhow, soon. This was when she heard another voice talking in Arabic. Blast it! There were two of them. This made things more dangerous. She remained quiet for a few minutes and waited for them to think she wouldn’t react.

Everybody said the Mediterranean was infested of North-African pirates, but she’d never found out they came to land, not in Sicily. Adriana’s father had assured her of the safety of the island. If not pirates, then what? Were they after women slaves? She’d heard of that, too. The fear in her guts sharpened.

The men took her further down the woods. The marked scent of greenery in her nostrils. In a violent shake and a coup of her elbows, she took her captors by surprise and managed to tear free. As soon as her slipper-ed feet touched the ground, her hands snatched the sac off her head and she ran for her li

fe, speeding blindly to wherever would offer her freedom. The voices exclaimed a probable imprecation in Arabic.

Rushing as fast as she could, never looking back, she didn’t see where she tracked. Pitch black throughout the place. Tree branches scratched her face and arms and sweat trickled down her back. She needed to hide before the tugs caught her. Footfalls stomped behind her. She sped faster. Then an iron hand grabbed her arm.

She was lost.

Her scream emerged out of sheer panic, on the top of her lungs. The iron hand clamped her mouth again. Iron arm clenched her waist and other two hands circled her ankles. She heaved almost out of breath. They had run too far down the hill. Nobody would have heard her yells. The sac came over her head again.

Damn!

“You deserve a serious beating!” The heavily accented voice intimidated again.

The strenuous run wore off her adrenalin and panic subsided. Thankfully. She had to keep focus.

They came to a halt; a click, a door, they shoved her inside a cramped space. A carriage, or any such vehicle lurched. Her body spread along the seat. The waft of spices assailed her. Body clamped at the back of the seat, clops sounded, the conveyance moved. The sac came off her hair, and a woollen cloth touched her hand. Her shawl. Pitch dark inside; she wasn’t able to see anything. Ropes tied her ankles and her hands behind her back; a tight gag over her mouth. Defenceless. The carriage rolled down the hills. Probably to the docks.

When they arrived, the sac returned to her head. One of them carried her on his sweat-reeked back. The sound of water and pungent harbour vapours reached her nostrils. A deserted one, as no voices came to her ears. After walking for a while, they stopped. Another door opened. Shoved inside again. They untied her and locked the door. In the dim moon light, she looked about her. A boat cabin, tiny, a cot and a side-table; a basin and a pitcher of water; a bucket on the floor.

If her destiny was to be a slave, she wouldn’t have a cabin for herself alone. She would have been placed with the others in a hold, most surely. The notion didn’t relieve her in the least. This situation remained fishy. What was she doing in a boat? They weren’t pirates because this sail boat seemed to be legally docked at the Syracuse harbour. No guards coming at it.

She tried the window, just in case. Nothing. The door. Tightly locked. Obviously, they’d set sail. She needed to get off before they did so. She employed force. Banged. Made used of her hair pin on the lock. Even kicked. To no avail. In the end, she became totally exerted. A few hours passed as she paced the cramped cubicle. The boat moved, the tide due. Looking out the thick glass window, she experimented to calculate the direction with what she’d learned from her father. Southwest. North Africa.

Oh dear!

For now, she had no way of doing anything. She decided to take care of herself. She washed the best way she could. Re-did her hair in a practical low bun. After drinking water, she found a covered plate on the cot. Bread, cheese, fruit. She’d eat and make herself strong for whatever came ahead. She’d have to wait. Sleep would help. Difficult as it was, she made an effort and dozed away for a while. She woke up with the first rays of sun on her face. Remembering the night before, what had happened, she jumped out of bed. Through the window, land appeared. Almost at a close.

A clink of keys and in a swift movement the door spread wide. Lucinda turned and gaped.

“You!” Dumbfounded to see Tariq Al-Fadih before her. Today, he dressed back in his white tunic and loose trousers which brought out his sleek obsidian hair and made him taller. How was it possible for a man to look so gorgeous in any piece of clothing? Unfair that her body reacted so shamefully to him.

“You?” He interjected at the same time. He glared at a short bearded man behind him and spoke in Arabic. The smug expression in the man’s face turned to a confused one.

Lucinda discerned the words Adriana Graziani and quickly concluded she’d been abducted in her friend’s stead. She looked fixedly at the tall, broad-shouldered man in front of her, gauging his attitude. The only thing she devised was how handsome he was.

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