Lord of the Nile

by Constance O'Banyon

  She moved away reluctantly. “There are already too many chains that bind me to you. I will not give you another.”

  He came out of the pool, and she turned to look at him. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, his body perfect, his eyes mesmerizing and bright with passion. He said he wanted to be closer to her, and she, too, trembled from the thought of surrendering to him completely.

  Ramtat moved some distance from her. “Perhaps now is not the time for us, Danaë. But my hope is that one day all the barriers between us will be removed.”

  She dropped her head. “My life was uncomplicated before I met you. Everything was calm; I knew peace.”

  “And I was dead before I met you,” he said, bending to fold his bedroll and stuff it in the bag. “I believe we should leave now.”

  Danaë ignored her wet tunic and sat on a fallen log to pull her boots on. She refused to let the tears that burned behind her eyes fall down her cheeks.

  They were both silent while they packed the rest of the supplies. Ramtat offered her a slice of cheese and some figs, which she ate because she knew she would have to keep up her strength.

  The barrier between them was well in place by the time Danaë followed Ramtat up the hill. She paused to glance back at the waterfall, almost wishing she had given herself to Ramtat. But it was too late to recapture what could have been—the moment had passed.

  When they reached the place they had left the saddles, just as Ramtat had predicted, his sharp whistle brought both horses racing up the hill toward them.

  It was a long and silent ride back to the encampment. Ramtat was locked in his own misery, and he was sure Danaë was as well.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ramtat seemed to push the horses hard on the ride back to the Bedouin camp. The silence between him and Danaë was painful, but neither knew what to say.

  When they reached the encampment, Ramtat lifted Danaë from her horse and was struck by the thought that if he let her go like this, they could be lost to each other forever. His hand was on her shoulder, and she was staring up at him as if she expected him to say something.

  “I wonder,” he said at last, “if you might consent to dine with me tonight?” He had asked casually but searched her eyes for her reaction. “I’d be pleased if you would.”

  She considered for only a moment before answering. “Aye, I would like that.”

  Ramtat watched Danaë move gracefully toward the tent, wishing he could change the past. How differently he would have treated her if he had another chance. He could have pressed her further when they were at the waterfall, but he wanted her willing and aware.

  When she disappeared inside the tent, he led the horses away. Danaë’s innocence stood between them like a sharp-edged sword. She would probably be shocked if she knew how difficult it had been to let her leave him when they were in the pool. She was ripping him apart inside.

  Tonight he would be his most charming. He would woo her and change her opinion of him—if he could. Never before had a woman been so elusive, but Danaë was unlike other women and kept him bewildered most of the time. In the past, he had not given much thought to spiritual love between a man and a woman, but lately that was all he seemed to think about.

  Her body responded to his, but he knew that if he did not win her mind, he could not possess her heart.

  Ramtat did not want Danaë for just a night or two; he wanted her beside him for the rest of his life.

  Tension filled Danaë as she nervously sat beside Lord Ramtat on the white couch. After all the intimacy that had passed between them, it was hard to know how to react to him.

  Danaë’s eyes widened when she saw the low table laden with food; never in her life had she seen such a feast. At the center of the table were a roast duck, a fish wrapped in palm leaves, and wedges of honey cakes. This bounty was surrounded by a mound of figs dipped in honey, and platters with every kind of fruit she could imagine.

  “This seems like a waste of food for only two people.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps I wanted to impress you.”

  “You could have done so with half the fare you have here.”

  Ramtat showed her deference by serving her from his own plate, something an Egyptian rarely did. She kept her lashes lowered as she took a bite of fig dripping with honey. She was aware of him with every beat of her heart, and she dared not look into his eyes lest he see what she was feeling.

  Her gaze settled on his long, tapered fingers as he took a date from his dish and her eyes followed his hand to his lips—which was a mistake. He had the most beautifully shaped mouth she had ever seen, and she remembered what it felt like to have that mouth pressed against hers.

  It gladdened Ramtat that she had worn the gown his aunt had chosen for her. When he had seen Danaë on board the ship and in the royal palace, she’d been dressed as an Egyptian rather than in the Greek style that the royal family had made popular in Alexandria. The gown she now wore was jade green and draped about her in the manner worn by Bedouin women—it outlined her curves in a way that heated his blood.

  “You are very lovely tonight.”

  She blushed. “It isn’t me,” she stated demurely. Her hand brushed against the soft material. “ ’Tis this lovely gown.”

  “We won’t go into that, or it might tempt me to speak unwisely, as I seem to do so often with you.”

  “In what way?”

  He had just put a fig in his mouth, and he looked down at her. “I would reply that even if you wore a miller’s sack, you’d still be lovely. ’Tis not the gown—’tis you, Danaë.”

  Amused laughter spilled from her lips. “You are right, you are speaking unwisely.”

  “Do you not know you are beautiful?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “My father always told me my mother was beautiful, and that I look very like her.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  She looked up at him, frowning. “Because my father saw me as beautiful does not make it so. He loved my mother so much, he saw her as beautiful, and, in turn, he saw me in the same way.”

  Ramtat lowered his gaze, resisting the urge to look at the swell of her breast. “Your mind is too quick for me. I have difficulty keeping up my side of the conversation with you.”

  She nodded. “See, that is what I have always known about myself. You wanted to give me a compliment, and I ruined it by analyzing it. I don’t know why I do that.”

  “Because you have the mind of a person wise beyond your years, and you’re always seeking answers.”

  “Another compliment?”

  “Another truth. Do something for me,” he said, leaning against the couch, his arm stretched across the back, almost touching her shoulder. “Finish telling me what it was like growing up with so many animals. It must have been very adventuresome.”

  She relaxed a bit, because her girlhood was a safe subject as long as he did not inquire about her mother. “I cannot recall one day of my life at home when I was not happy.” She gazed past Ramtat’s shoulder, concentrating on the tapestry at the entrance, which was stirring from a sudden wind. “Except, of course, when my father became ill. It was very difficult to watch him grow weaker and to see his pain worsen with each passing day.”

  Ramtat watched the glint of tears in her eyes, and it stabbed at his heart. He needed to move their conversation to safer ground. “Tell me about training the animals. Surely you have many tales to relate.”

  She smiled at him, and he felt his heart lurch. This one slight girl had shaken the foundations of his world.

  “As I told you, Obsidian is my personal pet. Like the albino tiger, she is one of the rarest animals we have ever trained.” She giggled and covered her mouth. “The silly cat was always in trouble because she was allowed the run of the house. She was but a cub when father first brought her to me, so the house servants grew accustomed to her roaming about. At night she slept on the foot of my bed, and during the day she followed me about like my own
shadow.”

  “You said she was gentle?”

  Danaë took a bite of melon and found it delicious.

  “Very much so. Though I am not certain what she would do if she thought I was in danger.” Her gaze met his. “She is not accustomed to being separated from me, and she must surely be lost without me.”

  Ramtat shifted uncomfortably, knowing this was still another anguish he had caused Danaë. “You have a hawk. Tell me about the bird.”

  “Tyi is a hunter. He has a very marked personality. He is actually jealous of Obsidian and pesters the poor cat.” She smiled as if she were remembering. “You may not believe this, but Obsidian is a little afraid of him.”

  “How can that be?”

  “Because Tyi is the dominant one of the two. He flies at poor Obsidian and makes her cower. Of course, Obsidian could injure or kill the hawk with one swipe of her paw, but she would never think of doing such a thing. I’m sure there is a lesson in that somewhere.”

  “The little can be mighty. It comes down to bravery, does it not?”

  Danaë nodded. “My father said it was love for me that motivated the bird, and respect for Tyi that kept the cat from retaliating.” She nodded her head. “Tyi is quite brilliant for a hawk. He seems to know that if I’m not wearing my leather glove, his claws will hurt me. Is that not amazing?”

  Ramtat was staring at the way the lantern light fell on her hair, making it shimmer. “Remarkable.”

  “My father thought so.”

  “I met Lord Mycerinus when I was younger but had no conversation with him. He was very respected by the royal family.”

  Danaë plucked at the green ribbon woven into the hem of her gown. “Everyone liked him—he was a man of honor and kindness. If you only knew about his kindness to me, you would understand—” She broke off. “He was an extraordinary man.”

  Ramtat poured her a cup of wine and handed it to her. “You are quite extraordinary yourself.”

  Looking into the depths of his eyes, she felt herself gravitating toward him. “Another compliment. This seems to be the night for them. No man other than you and my father have found anything exceptional in my looks.”

  He watched her raise the cup to her lips and take a sip. Unable to help himself, he took the cup from her and placed it on the table. His hand encircled her wrist, and he slowly brought her closer to him. “I need to hold you in my arms again. I don’t know what you’ve done to me.”

  Danaë had no time to react as he tilted her head upward and whispered, “I have been in torment, able to think of little else but you since we swam together in the pool.” His lips descended, and her eyes opened wide. At the first soft touch of his mouth against hers, her eyes closed. Her breathing seemed to follow the rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest. She heard him moan as he brought her across his lap so he could partake fully of her lips.

  Danaë was lost to all reason. She never wanted to be parted from Ramtat—neither in this world nor the next. Shyly her arms stole around his broad shoulders.

  Ramtat lifted her up, his mouth still on hers. Danaë made no protest when she realized he was taking her to his bed. Gently he placed her among the soft pillows and went down beside her, gathering her in his arms. Although Ramtat seemed to hold back, Danaë did not hesitate to press her body against his. She gasped with pleasure when she felt the swell of him between her thighs.

  Ramtat sought the softness of her lips as if they were the sweetest nectar. Her skin was smoother than silk; her hair smelled of exotic flowers. This time he wanted all of her. “Give yourself to me,” he murmured, his mouth following the valley between her breasts.

  Danaë trembled with longing when his hand curved gently over her breast, gliding smoothly from one to the other. She ached inside, yearned, needed, and when he broke off the kiss, she felt bereft.

  “Be mine, Danaë. Belong only to me.”

  She felt him pause as his fingers brushed against the pendant she had forgotten to remove.

  For Danaë the spell was broken, and she froze. Her father’s warning echoed in her mind. She had been careless. Already Ramtat lifted the pendant, holding it toward the light. The emerald sparkled like green fire, proclaiming its rarity.

  Ramtat frowned. “What is this?”

  In a panic, Danaë yanked it from his fingers and pushed it back beneath her robe. “ ’Tis but a trinket that belonged to my mother.”

  “No, not a trinket,” he said, his gaze sweeping across her face. “Unless I am mistaken, that is a royal pendant.”

  Danaë tried to think of something to say that would satisfy his curiosity—she could not tell him the truth. “My father was the Royal Animal Trainer,” she reminded him. “He was the recipient of many fine gifts from the king,” which was the truth, she reasoned, as far as it went. Of course, her father had never received a gift as rare as the pendant. She dropped her gaze, not wanting Ramtat to read deceit in her eyes.

  “I’m sure your father received many gifts.” He looked doubtful. “But a royal cobra—I think not.” She was hiding something from him, and jealousy, an unfamiliar companion, slammed into him. “Did some man from the royal household give you this gift?”

  “As I said, it was my mother’s.”

  There was no lie in her eyes, but she was still deceiving him in some way he could not fathom. He pulled her into his arms, his lips touching the pulse beat in her throat. “Sweet, sweet Danaë, trust me—”

  Danaë hadn’t heard the footsteps of someone entering the tent, but Ramtat had. He quickly slipped through the netting and pulled it together tightly to keep Danaë hidden. “You’d better have a very good reason for coming here like this,” he said angrily.

  Danaë heard the other man’s voice. “I ask your pardon, lord, but a messenger has just arrived from Caesar. He says he bring news of great import.”

  “Very well. Give him food and tell him I shall see him presently.”

  The netting parted, and Ramtat held out his hand with regret in his dark gaze. “Duty before love, my sweet.”

  “I should not have allowed—” she began.

  He pulled her to him so fast, it left her breathless. “Yes, you should have. We already know we were meant for each other. Don’t deny what the gods have ordained.”

  Danaë gazed into his eyes. “What is happening between us?”

  He touched his lips to each eyelid and then stared down at her. “You are so young—not jaded like many of the ladies at court, and that is one of your most endearing qualities.”

  “I have had no experience with … love.”

  He held her to him, reluctant to leave her when she was feeling so uncertain. “Neither have I.” He laid his cheek to hers. “Alas, we shall have to wait to end this conversation.” He drew in a deep breath. “I shan’t be long—wait for me here.”

  “Please tell me if you have a wife, or wives—even a harem.”

  He clasped both sides of her face and rested his forehead against hers. “I have no wife, no harem. Only you.”

  She felt his hard body against hers, and she wanted to melt into him. “If Caesar calls you to him, will you go?”

  “Aye.” His lips descended, and he kissed her hungrily. He pulled away regretfully, turned, and left.

  Ramtat glanced at the messenger speculatively. “You say Queen Cleopatra has been found?”

  “Yea, lord. She was brought to Caesar by her servant, the Sicilian, Apollodorus. It is said she was concealed in a rug so her enemies would not discover her.”

  Ramtat turned to one of his men. “Saddle my horse—I must leave immediately.” With longing, he glanced back at the tent where he’d left Danaë. It was difficult to depart now that they were beginning to understand each other, but his first duty was to the queen.

  Ramtat hurried to his aunt’s tent, where he found her preparing for bed. “I would have you look after Lady Danaë until my return. I do not know when that will be. But whenever it is, I will want a wedding celebration.”

&n
bsp; “You will wed the animal trainer’s daughter?”

  He smiled. “Her and no other.”

  “She has bewitched you.”

  He did not deny it; he did not even want to. “In truth, that is so. I have been her slave since first I saw her.”

  Zarmah suddenly beamed. “At last, a woman to tempt my nephew into marriage. My sister, your mother, will be most pleased—she has despaired of your ever taking a wife and giving her grandchildren.”

  “Take care of my love, and let no harm befall her.”

  Zarmah looked her nephew over carefully. “No harm will come to her—this I swear.” She was puzzled, remembering how eager Lady Danaë had been to escape. “Has she agreed to marry you?”

  “I haven’t asked her yet, but I’m hoping she will.”

  His aunt touched her lips to his cheek. “Your men speak of the lady’s connection to the boy king. Be very sure before you commit yourself to her that she is not in the enemy’s camp.”

  “I don’t believe she ever was. I just have to convince Caesar.”

  When Ramtat returned to his tent, he pulled aside the netting around the bed. Danaë was there waiting for him. He saw the questioning in her eyes and shook his head. “I must leave you for a time. I am needed in Alexandria.”

  Danaë could tell that his mind was already on other matters.

  “Take me home.”

  That was the one thing he could not do until he knew she would be safe. “Unfortunately, that will not be possible—not yet.”

  “I understand.” She was disappointed, but Ramtat was a man who would always put duty above his personal life.

  “I am loath to leave you at this time. There is so much left unsaid between us. There are things I want to tell you about myself, and I want to know all about you. While I am gone,” he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, “sleep here in my bed. Let me think of you here waiting for me.” He looked inquiringly at her. “You will be waiting for me, will you not?”

  She touched his cheek, and he turned his head so his mouth would touch her fingers. “I shall wait for as long as it takes.”