African Enchantment (25 page)

She felt as free as a caged bird that had suddenly been given the whole sky to fly in and, like a bird, her heart sang as she galloped away from the two watching men and into the great, vast wilderness that was Africa.

Ahead of her lay a continent still unexplored, and a man she loved with all her heart. Despair had turned to hope and hope to certainty. There would be no more foolish pride. She was his and he was hers. She had only to tell him so.

She rode hard and confidently and when she camped alone at night she did so without fear. Another day, two at the most, and she would be once more at his side. Her small campfire flickered bravely in the velvety blackness. She sat close to it, her arms hugging her knees. Her unhappiness had been of her own making. She had shown neither compassion nor understanding. Though Narinda had not been able to tell her, she knew now why Raoul had brought her and treated her with the same courtesy he would have a European. It was because, in his eyes, the natives and Europeans were equal and demanded equal respect. It was how he treated Hashim; how he treated all who came into contact with him unless they violated his own code of honour as the Pasha had done.

Kindness had prompted him to buy Narinda and save her from a life of degradation. Kindness had prompted him to care for her. It had been a kindness totally misunderstood in Khartoum. She could imagine his contempt for those who thought his motives base. As she had done. Her cheeks flushed. She had not deserved his love in those far off days in Khartoum. She had been immature and naive. She was neither now.

At dawn she rode again and at dusk she camped alone. She had food for another two days' travel. She knew only that he was journeying south. She should have been in fear of her life and instead she was filled with the calm certainty that he was only a little way ahead of her.

On the third day, as the sun sank in a blood-red haze, she climbed a hill and saw two distant figures below her on the ochre plain. They had resumed contact with the Nile. It flowed between grassy banks and dense foliage and as she watched, the two men entered a grove of trees and disappeared from her view.

The way down to the plain was steep and treacherous and common sense told her to wait for daylight. Her heart was unable to do so. As darkness gathered she made her way carefully down the hillside, her mount moving with the same sureness that she herself felt. It was night by the time they reached the plain and she set her horse's head in the direction of the river and the trees and urged it to one last gallant effort.

The two men had hardly spoken since separating from the others. Raoul had retreated into a world of bitterness and pain that not even Mark Lane could penetrate. They sat as they had done each evening, Mark Lane reading his Bible, Raoul staring broodingly into the flames of the fire. The ground shook with hoofbeats. Branches rustled and cracked as they were pushed heedlessly aside.

In unison the two men sprang to their feet, grabbing the wooden staves that were their only protection. There was no subtlety, no cunning, in the animal's approach.

‘It must be wounded,' Mark Lane hissed as, bodies tensed, they waited for the intruder to burst from the trees.

‘Faster, faster,' Harriet gasped as she smelt the smoke from their fire and knew that only yards of darkness separated them. Leaves clung to her face. A snake whipped to safety. With a cry of joy she pushed the last branch aside and galloped into the clearing.

Mark Lane's stave left his hand and sent the terrified horse rearing.

Raoul stood transfixed, unable to believe his eyes. She slithered from her horse's back, laughing and sobbing with relief and happiness.

‘I've come back! I love you and I've come back!' she cried, and like an arrow flying into the gold she flew into his outstretched arms.

‘Harriet! My sweet love!
Ma chérie!
' His face was alight with naked joy as he pressed kisses on her eyes, her mouth, her throat.

She clung to him as if she would never let him go and only Mark Lane's discreet cough prevented Raoul from sinking to the ground and making violent love to her.

‘Your presence is unexpected, but very welcome, Harriet. What occasioned it?' he asked as they remained fervently clasped in each other's arms.

Harriet's breath steadied. She held Raoul's eyes and said simply,

‘Narinda died. It was a lion. I'm sorry, Raoul. There was nothing we could do.' She had long since forced to the back of her mind the vision of Wilfred standing motionless, the Fletcher in his hand.

‘As she was dying she told me what I should have known all along. That she was not your mistress. That you love me as I love you.'

Raoul groaned and buried his head in her hair. ‘ Is that what you believed, sweet love?'

Her tears were wet against his cheek. ‘Yes, but it should have made no difference to me. It would not now.' She gave a tremulous smile and raised her face to his. ‘I was a child then, Raoul. I am a child no longer.'

His breath caught in his throat as he gazed at the beauty of her upturned face. ‘I love you,
ma chère petite
,' he said and when his lips met hers it was with the gentleness of absolute love.

Mark Lane cleared his throat, the gravity of his voice belying the laughter in his eyes. ‘I'm afraid I can be no party to any irregular relationship.'

Raoul raised his head from Harriet's, his eyes darkening. ‘I would not want you to be. We shall marry at the earliest opportunity.' His voice was decisive. ‘We shall break camp at dawn and begin our return to Khartoum.'

Harriet's eyes widened, ‘But why? There is no need.'

‘There is every need,' he said, his dark eyes gleaming. ‘I am a man, not a saint. I cannot travel with you at my side and treat you as a sister.'

Her cheeks flushed prettily. ‘There is no need,' she said and pressed her lips against his.

Mark Lane shook his head in mock sorrow at such immodesty and said, ‘Then if you are both ready, we will begin.'

They turned to him, uncomprehendingly, arms still entwined.

He smiled, his Bible in his hand. ‘I am an ordained minister. I believe that is the only necessity required by God in order to sanctify a marriage. That, and two people who love each other.'

Raoul broke a lush-white blossom from the nearby foliage and standing by the nearby campfire, the single blossom in her hair, their only guests wild creatures of the night, Mark Lane married Harriet Latimer to Raoul Beauvais.

They stood gazing at each other, two people in a world of their own.

‘You may now kiss the bride,' Mark Lane prompted, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Raoul's arms circled her waist and he gazed down at the woman he loved and who was now his wife. ‘It will be a lonely life and a dangerous one,
chérie.
'

Harriet smiled gently, dismissing the thought of danger. She had faced it many times and would no doubt face it many times again. Danger was becoming quite an old friend. Her eyes were radiant with love as she said softly,

‘Our life will never be lonely. Not for as long as we have each other.'

Mark Lane quietly picked up his sleeping bag and moved off into the darkness. The night was theirs and the Lord would watch over his own, solitary sleep.

The flames of the fire leapt and danced, their hiss and crackle the only sound as the dark head bent low to the gold and Raoul Beauvais kissed his bride.

They had travelled for many months. Mark Lane's beard had taken on patriarchal proportions. Harriet's skin was no longer creamy white, but a glowing honey colour that emphasised the beauty of her hair and eyes. Raoul was no longer the brooding, solitary figure he had been for so many years. His laughter rang out loud and often and now, as they faced the hill before them, his eyes were alight with a sense of achievement.

Beyond it lay Luta N'zige. Dead Locust Lake. The lake from which the Nile flowed.

Mark reined in his horse. ‘I want to take our bearings. I'll do that and make camp.' His eyes held Raoul's steadily. The friendship between the two men had deepened to such a point that words were no longer necessary between them. Mark was offering him the opportunity of standing at the fountains of the Nile with only Harriet at his side.

With eyes suspiciously bright, Raoul left Mark setting up his chronometer and sextant and with Harriet's horse cantering at his side, crossed the valley floor and climbed up the gently sloping hill that barred any view of the way ahead.

Harriet's heart beat fast and light. Were they at last to see their objective? Were her father's dreams to be made a reality? Was the lake that had been only legend going to prove to be fact?

A short distance from the summit Raoul reined in and dismounted. Feverishly, like two children, they ran the last few yards with clasped hands and crowned the hill. Below them the lake stretched like a sea of silver, crocodiles and hippopotami lying in its shallows, herds of topi and hartebeest grazing on the lush banks. Beyond, in the distance, was the blue haze of mountains.

Harriet sank to her knees on fine, soft grass. ‘We've found the Garden of Eden,' she whispered.

Raoul knelt beside her, his arms circling her shoulders. ‘ We've found the source of the Nile,' he said reverently.

She looked up at him and her eyes were suddenly troubled. ‘Once it is known in Europe, hundreds will find their way here.'

‘Would that displease you,
mon amour?
' he asked, her soft, sensuous body yielding against his own.

She turned her head, looking once more on the peace and tranquillity that no European had ever before set eyes on.

‘Yes,' she said simply, ‘it would.'

‘Then we shall leave Europe in ignorance until some other adventurer finds his way here and proclaims its presence to the world.'

‘But the honours you deserve … the fame,' she protested.

He silenced her protests with kisses. ‘Ashes in the wind,' he said, and sweeping her up in his arms he began to run with her towards the creaming shallows.

First published in 1982 by Mills and Boon

This edition published 2013 by Bello
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Copyright © Margaret Pemberton, 1982

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