Authors: Master of Temptation
Max pointed to a place on one of Hawk’s maps. “This northern mountain pass will be the approach we use?”
“Yes. The Berbers are essentially farmers, although their men are fierce warriors. And Saful’s stronghold is actually a fortified town, built into the mountainside overlooking a narrow, fertile valley. There are only two safe routes in and out of his valley. The south trail doubles back to the west and eventually forks either toward Algiers or east to rejoin this route.”
Hawk glanced around the tent at the two dozen Guardians who were giving him their undivided attention. “Leighton will lead a select party down from the northern mountain pass and cross the valley to the walled gates of the town.”
“Not all of us will enter the town, surely?” Thorne said.
“No,” Hawk replied. “Leighton will take only a handful of attendants into the fortress, including Caro, Verra, and Ryder. The rest of his entourage, including you, Thorne, will make camp outside the gates, in the valley, to ensure their escape when the time comes. And since I can’t show my face again without raising suspicions, I will remain on this side of the north pass to cover your retreat.”
“And once we are inside the stronghold?” Ryder asked.
“Leighton will be in charge and will determine your specific actions depending on the circumstances you find. But in general, the plan is this: When Saful receives him, he will ask for a guide to the interior mountains so that he may hunt the best game. As incentive, you’ll offer him a dozen rifles in exchange.”
“What if he wants to bargain?” was someone else’s question.
“You can agree to increase the number of rifles—Ryder brought three dozen that we will leave for Saful as payment for violating his hospitality and taking his captive from under his nose. But I doubt you will need to barter significantly. Berbers are unlike Arabs, who make an art out of haggling for the best terms. I suspect Saful will consider your offer generous and fair.”
“I should hope so,” Ryder murmured dryly, “considering that these rifles have the longest range and accuracy of any gun ever made.”
“And my role?” Caro asked.
Hawk glanced at her. “You will pose as Leighton’s Portuguese slave, who speaks little English. You will undoubtedly be sent to sleep in the women’s quarters, where you will find Lady Isabella and communicate our plan and the timing for her escape. It will be your responsibility to alert Leighton to any problems and to decide whether we must call off the rescue. If there are none, he will signal both Ryder and Verra that our plan can proceed.”
Caro examined the map Hawk had drawn of the Berber chieftain’s large dwelling. “How well guarded will the women’s quarters be?”
“Possibly not at all. Berber women are not kept under lock and key like those in a Turkish harem. Stealing Isabella from there should not be difficult. As Leighton says, the problem will be afterward, getting her away from the stronghold without being detected. To that end, we will need to do everything possible to prevent pursuit—beginning with disguise. In your baggage, Caro, you will carry two black burnooses and turbans like the Berbers wear. You and Isabella will dress as men and carry weapons. From a distance you should be able to pass as warriors.”
“There looks to be a wall all around Saful’s home,” she remarked.
“There is. But see the courtyard at the southeast corner? The wall there is easily scalable. Leighton will lead you and Isabella to the stables, where Verra will be waiting with your horses. Meanwhile…”
Hawk looked at Santos Verra. “You will act as both Leighton’s manservant and groom, so you’ll be responsible for incapacitating Saful’s horses to make it difficult for him to follow. Caro, you have told Verra what to do?”
She nodded. “The herb I brought with me can be eaten or drunk and should do no lasting harm to a horse. It will only cause a great lethargy, which should dissipate after several hours.”
“And how long before it takes effect?”
“An hour, perhaps two.”
Ryder spoke up then. “Doubtless there will still be numerous other horses in the town that Saful can use to give chase.”
Max was the one who answered. “Which is why you will create a diversion to lure Saful away from his home and keep him momentarily occupied. Without leadership, the other Berbers will be less likely to rally an immediate pursuit.”
“By diversion, you mean an explosion?”
“Precisely—in a distant part of the fortress. As chieftain, Saful will be obliged to investigate. With any luck, he and his warriors will be engrossed in trying to determine where the threat came from long enough to allow us to escape through the gates without detection.”
“And my goal?” Ryder asked. “Am I to remain ‘undetected’ after this explosion?”
“If you can. As soon as you light the charge, you will make for the town gates as swiftly as possible. But before that you will have arranged our escape route for us.”
Hawk nodded. “The gates are barred at night but lightly guarded. I counted only two sentries when I was there before. Ryder, you will need to deal with the sentries and unbar the gates before you create your diversion.”
Ryder grinned. “I will have a busy night, it seems.”
Thorne broke in with a plaintive tone. “Don’t I get a chance to play hero in all this action?”
There was general laughter around the tent from the other Guardians, who where well acquainted with Thorne’s craving for danger.
Hawk smiled briefly, but then quickly grew serious again. “You will have plenty of opportunity for heroics, Thorne, for you will have disbanded your camp and be waiting directly outside the gates with a half-dozen men and a horse for Ryder. By then Leighton and Caro should already have made it through with Isabella. Since you’ll be well armed, you will be responsible for covering their escape and for returning fire if need be.”
“It will be my pleasure.” Beside her Caro saw Thorne’s eyes dance wickedly in anticipation.
“But only if need be,” Hawk interjected in warning. “Sir Gawain doesn’t want us killing Saful or his people unless we have no choice, so we will shoot as a last resort.”
“Of course.”
“You will all then ride for the north pass,” Hawk continued. “I will be waiting just beyond the pass with fresh horses. In the event you are followed, I will set off a charge of gunpowder, enough to start a landslide and block any pursuit though the pass.”
Ryder nodded slowly, evidently satisfied.
“Now, what other questions does anyone have?” Max asked. “Any suggestions to improve our plan? Any thoughts on the precise timing and sequence of events?”
A reflective silence reigned for a time while the Guardians considered the merits and deficiencies of the plan and mulled ideas.
Feeling Max’s gaze on her just then, Caro looked up from her map and glanced across at him.
He was frowning at her, she realized.
As his gaze locked with hers, she tried to read his expression, but his blue eyes were dark and unfathomable.
Yet she had the strongest feeling he wasn’t entirely pleased with the plan, even though the major components were of his own devising.
…thunderous explosion…a horse’s scream…agonizing pain…unable to rise…
Ahead, Caro wheeling her horse…returning for him…
Her hand reaching down to him…a sharp crack of rifle fire…her head…her face…the blood…
Caro sinking to her knees…
Dear God, no…please, God, no…
Max woke gasping for breath, his heart pounding.
He glanced wildly about him, feeling the knife edge of panic.
The dark tent was silent but for the quiet breathing of a half-dozen sleeping men. Guardians all. No sign of Caro, for she would be in the women’s tent…
He lay back, still shaking from the nightmare.
This vision had been different, though, for instead of Philip, it was Caro who had returned to save him. Caro who was killed right before his eyes.
He had watched her die, watched her sacrifice her life for his sake.
Dear God, no…
They broke camp at dawn the next morning to take advantage of the coolest part of the day, but in only a few hours, the glaring sun beat down upon them. By midday, a desolate expanse of yellowish gray desert stretched before them, baking beneath a hot azure sky.
This was only the forerunner of the Sahara, Caro knew, and summer was long over, yet the cruel heat was almost unbearable. She was glad for the scarves that screened her face against the harsh sun and windblown grit.
The arid terrain, broken occasionally by a scraggly clump of broom or thorn, seemed pitiless and lifeless—until Caro’s horse came upon a snake half buried beneath the sand.
Terrified, the mare reared with a shrill scream, then whirled in a panic, unseating her rider. Caro landed hard on her back, her senses jarred by the fall.
The snake was not large, but it was barely a foot away, staring at her with shining black eyes as it prepared to strike.
Fear heightened Caro’s daze and kept her frozen, even as she heard the thunder of hooves and felt the earth jolting beneath her. Those same hooves flashed next to her head as strong hands reached down to grab the shoulder of her robe and pluck her up off the ground.
Caro found herself slung across the front of a saddle, the wind knocked out of her a second time in as many moments.
Gasping for breath, she struggled to sit up, yet she instinctively recognized her rescuer simply by the familiar feel of his hard body and his sheltering arms.
Max.
Gratitude filled her as she sank back against his chest. He held her tightly, not speaking as the snake slithered off beneath a bush.
Several of the Guardians came galloping up then and halted beside them, barraging her with questions.
“What the devil happened?”
“Are you all right?”
“Were you hurt?”
“I am fine,” Caro replied, relief and embarrassment warring within her at their concern. “My horse shied at a snake, but I wasn’t bitten.”
Seeming reassured, Thorne turned to Max. “So that is the sort of fancy maneuver they teach you in the cavalry.”
“Impressive,” Ryder observed, his tone sardonically admiring.
Hawk nodded. “A Berber horseman could not have done better.”
Max ignored their accolades and set Caro back on her skittish mare.
His expression remained grim as he turned his mount and rode off without another word, without even giving Caro a chance to thank him.
She stared after him, just as her friends were doing.
Max was angry at her for some reason, she realized, and she had no idea why.
It wasn’t until late that evening that she had a chance to confront him.
When their caravan reached Akbou near dusk, Caro understood immediately why the oasis was a common stop for weary travelers. A cool green forest of feathery date palms towered over a profusion of oleanders, tamarinds, and pistachio trees and provided welcome respite from the barren wilderness.
All manner of people populated the bustling village, she saw, offering numerous services and produce for sale. Once their guides had made camp on the outskirts of the oasis, they were easily able to purchase fresh provisions and replenish their precious water supply.
The supper was more elaborate tonight as well, with lamb added to the couscous. As they had the previous night, the Guardians dined together in the same tent. The camaraderie was quieter this time, though, and they ate heartily, for the morrow would bring the real start of their mission.
After supper, as the gathering broke up so they could repair to their own tents to sleep, Caro approached Max and managed to ask for a private word with him.
When he left the tent, she followed a few moments later.
She found him a short distance from their camp, throwing his knife over and over again at some vague object in the sand.
He must have heard her approach, for he halted abruptly and slipped the knife into his pocket. When she moved to stand beside him, he stared out at the pale desert beyond the oasis.
It was a clear night, moonlit and almost chilly now that the blazing sun had gone down.
Max was the first to break the silence. “What did you wish to say to me?”
Taken aback by his gruff tone, Caro studied his profile in the darkness. “I merely wanted to thank you for saving me today. One of the Arab women told me about the species of snake that frightened my horse. Its venom is deadly.”
“Very well. I consider myself thanked.”
“Max, what is it?” She placed a hand on his arm, but he recoiled from her touch and stepped aside, out of reach, turning his back to her.
“Have I done something to offend you?” Caro asked in bewilderment.
His response was barely audible but sounded like a curse. “No.”
“Then what is wrong?”
“You might say I’m having a difficult time accepting your participation in tomorrow’s mission.”
“But why?”
His hands closed into fists. “I had another nightmare last night, but this time…I saw you die instead of Philip.”
She caught the note of grief in his tone, and her heart twisted. She wanted badly to reassure him, wanted to wrap her arms around him and press her cheek against his rigid spine, but she settled for saying softly, “Max, it was only a dream.”
“Perhaps so. But what happened today was very real.” His hands squeezed reflexively into fists, as if needing to crush something. “Seeing you on the ground so still and unmoving—”
He bit off the words, as if he couldn’t bear to contemplate what might have happened had the snake struck her.
“You’re worried about me,” she said finally.
“Hell, yes, I am worried!” He glanced sharply over his shoulder at her. “I think I have good reason to be, considering the danger you will be putting yourself in.”
“The danger is no greater for me than for anyone else—you included.”
“And that is supposed to reassure me? I don’t want to see you die, Caro! I watched Philip give his life for me, and that image will forever haunt me. I don’t think I could live with the memory of your death.”
Comprehending where his concern was likely headed, she felt herself stiffen. “You can’t possibly be suggesting that I not go?”