by Monica Burns
The only thing she’d been able to determine was that she was supposed to look at the stars for inspiration. Whatever that meant. Ramesses seemed to have a gift for being obscure and it was irritating. Arms resting on her knees, she lowered her head against her forearms. The dank smell inside Ramesses’s shrine to Nourbese registered with her for the first time since she’d entered the room almost a week ago. She wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant aroma.
Closing her eyes, she reclined against the wall. She was tired. No, exhausted was a more accurate statement. What little sleep she’d gotten over the past two nights had been rife with wild dreams and nightmares. Filled with elusive pharaohs and shadowy figures, they made little sense and only made her slumber all the more restless.
With a deep sigh, she rolled her neck in a slow circle. The tension of the past three days had twisted her shoulder muscles into knots. The image of Altair’s fingers kneading out the bunched muscles made her bite her lip. She missed him.
He’d obeyed her silent command to leave her alone, but he never strayed far from her side. Every time her gaze met his, it was a reminder of every moment she’d spent in his arms. The flash of emotion in his dark eyes alarmed her because she knew her resistance to him was fragile at best.
Even now, she was making excuses for him. He’d claimed a belief in providence, and perhaps he was right. Look how easily she’d found Nourbese’s canopic jars. She’d not shared her find with anyone. But when she did, she knew the Mazir would celebrate with even greater verve than when she discovered the palace. The jars meant she was close to finding Nourbese’s tomb. One step closer to helping Pharaoh’s wife join him in the afterlife.
She stared at the hieroglyphics on the wall across from her. If Altair’s people believed she was the one from the prophecy, could she expect him to dismiss the stories he’d heard all his life? Perhaps she’d been too harsh on him. He’d never doubted her abilities in the past. In fact, his encouragement and support had equaled that of her father and Uncle Jeffrey. Had she been too quick to judge as usual?
Tipping her head back again, she looked up at the ceiling with a blank stare. It was so difficult to trust Altair. His lies and manipulation were not exactly a strong foundation on which to build a relationship. And yet there had been good reasons for his deceit. She understood his need for acceptance.
That was all she wanted. Acceptance for who she was. Her gaze scanned the ceiling, vaguely noting the pictures painted over her head. The priests in Thebes had never accepted Nourbese either. It was why they’d murdered her. She’d been a threat to them and their power in Ramesses’s court.
She frowned as her attention focused more clearly on the ceiling. Why would Ramesses have the ceiling of Nourbese’s shrine painted? Shifting her body away from the wall, she tipped her head back for a better view. This was artwork unlike anything she’d seen in her studies. It was simple and seemed to contain no significance whatsoever.
The scene depicted Pharaoh and Nourbese walking through a garden. Ramesses’s left arm was around his wife’s waist in a loving gesture that was atypical of the standard symbols and artwork of the period. Their animated features were also quite odd. It was extremely unusual to find anything but stoic expressions on the faces of Egyptian artifacts. Scooting across the floor, she stretched out on the stone to study the painting without developing a crick in her neck.
It was the strangest thing she’d discovered in the palace to date. While Pharaoh looked adoringly at the face of his queen, his right hand pointed to something in the sky. Nourbese was looking up to the sky in the direction he indicated. Alex did the same as the queen, her gaze coming to rest on a depiction of the Field of Reeds, the Egyptian afterlife. Frowning again, she closed her eyes trying to comprehend what the picture might mean.
“Damm gahannam! Alex!”
Jerking upright, she found her face inches away from Altair’s worried features. “What? What’s wrong?”
Relief eased the pallor beneath his darkened skin. “I thought you were—”
A whoosh of air escaped his lungs as he sank back onto one heel, his arm resting atop his bent knee. The fear in his dark gaze warmed her heart. He cared what happened to her, even if he might doubt her abilities. She stretched her hand out to him, and he captured it in a rough grasp, pulling her to him.
His mouth slanted against hers, the fire of his kiss scorching her lips. She didn’t pull back. She’d missed him. Missed his touch, the way he made her feel. His hand slid up to cup her breast, and she moaned as his thumb rubbed over the taut nipple. The last few nights had been agony without him.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as his fingers raced to undo her shirt buttons. A moment later he lifted her higher against him, his mouth settling over her hard nipple. She released a small cry of pleasure at his touch.
Need settled deep in her center, dancing its way downward until she was slick with desire. Eager to feel his skin against hers, she pushed his gambaz apart. He switched his attention from her breast to her mouth as he shrugged out of the flowing garment.
The incendiary nature of his kiss sucked her breath from her, and she tugged his shirt open to skim her fingers over his bronzed skin. God, she wanted him. Now. She needed him filling her, expanding inside her until the ache only he could soothe dissipated.
Feverishly, she mated her tongue with his. Fingers shaking from the need spiraling through her, she tugged at the belt of her trousers. Sliding her hand downward, she could feel his arousal beneath his own trousers and she slid her hands past the tapes that served as a closure for his Bedouin clothing.
The hardness of his phallus was a direct contradiction to the velvety softness of his skin. The pad of her thumb skimmed over the sensitive ridge just below the tip of him. A deep groan rumbled in his throat. She couldn’t wait anymore. She’d been too long without him. Pulling at her shirt, she tugged it off. With a shaky movement, she half stood, half knelt in front of him and removed her trousers.
He growled with excitement and leaned forward as if preparing to mount her. Instead, she stopped him by pressing her hand against his chest. Need, hot and heavy, sank into her limbs as she shifted her body and nestled her curls on the tip of his shaft. A second later, she sank down on him. The guttural noise he made pulled goose bumps up on her flesh. Driven with desire, she moved over him. Filled with him, she arched backward and the molten pleasure heating her body intensified.
Strong arms grasped her waist and a moment later, he was commanding her to move more quickly as he thrust up into her. The intense, raw nature of the act was exhilarating. The primitive, delightfully wicked sensation of it all drove a soft cry from her lips. A wanton creature had taken over her body, demanding he assuage her desire. He filled her completely. Driving deep into her hot slickness. Dear Lord, but she would never grow tired of this sinful pleasure. With each thrust, he offered her an exquisite lesson in need and fulfillment.
The strength of him surrounded her, filled her. Her body stretched toward the ultimate pitch. Arching away from him, she cried out with pleasure, and his deep voice answered as he shuddered and throbbed inside her.
Coming forward, she rested her forehead against his, her breathing erratic. The heat of their lovemaking flushed her skin, and she trembled against his hard body. She wanted to stay in his arms forever. He shifted his body slightly so he could look into her face. The abating passion in his expression mixed with another emotion, but she didn’t dare label it. She quivered with the wish for him to speak his heart, but he didn’t.
Instead, he lifted her off him and handed her the clothes she’d torn off in her haste to love him. An awkward silence settled between them as they dressed. It was as if speaking after such a frantic joining might somehow shatter the tenuous bond between them. She finished fastening her belt, while Altair watched.
“What the hell were you doing lying on the floor?” The rough edge of his voice told h
er how badly she’d frightened him.
“Because of this.” Tipping her head back, she pointed up at the ceiling.
His head fell back against his shoulders as he looked upward. Puzzlement made his eyes narrow as he studied the painting. “What do you make of it?”
Shaking her head at the quiet question, she continued to stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. What I don’t understand is why Ramesses would put a painting like this where no one would even think to look. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Lithely, Altair stood up and moved to stand beneath the spot where Ramesses held Nourbese. “Did you notice this odd protrusion here?”
As he pointed toward the spot where Nourbese’s side joined that of her husband Alex stood to join him. The sound of voices coming toward them made her stop. She’d grown accustomed to the sound of the lyrical Mazir language, and other than her conversations with Altair, she hadn’t heard another English voice in more than two months. Now, the distinct sound of a British accent sent a chill through her.
Altair had grown still as well. She cut him a quick glance, her gaze taking in his impassive features. Footsteps accompanied the voices, and she started toward the chamber door. Altair’s hand shot out to grasp her arm.
“Alex, I want—”
“Blakeney, are you in here? Merrick said you’d be in the thick of things.” A cheerful voice echoed in Ramesses’ bedchamber and a second later, a lean, scholarly-looking man stood in the doorway.
The sight of him made Alex’s throat close with panic, and Altair’s fingers bit into her arm. It wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t betray her so cruelly. She’d misunderstood the man’s words. Stunned, she stared at the stranger as he stepped deeper into the shrine.
“Ah, there you are. I say, you look like one of the natives, old chap. So, this is the great discovery the little lady made. Merrick is going to be extremely pleased.”
Unable to move, she tried to keep breathing. The reality of what Altair had done washed over her. He’d contacted the British Museum. Her stomach swirled with nausea, and she swayed on her feet as she violently tugged herself free of Altair’s hold.
A tremor shook through her, and she bit the inside of her cheek until it bled to keep from crying out with anguish. He’d betrayed her. He’d given his word, and he’d broken it. What a fool she’d been. She’d led him and his precious British Museum right to Per-Ramesses.
The depth of his betrayal was a sharp sword that sliced through her with each breath she took. A wave of heat flushed her skin as anger, bitter and fierce, engulfed her. Ignoring the stranger, she turned her head toward Altair. “You bastard.”
“Alex, I know what this looks like, but I can explain—”
“Explain what?” she bit out between clenched teeth. “You lied. You gave me your word, and you broke it. You’ve lied and manipulated me since the day we first met. God help me, I even let you seduce me. Blind me to what you really are—a malicious, self-serving liar, who’s only interested in furthering his own ambition.”
She watched his face twist with harsh anger at her words. “That’s enough, Alex. I know you’re upset, but if you’d—”
“Upset? Don’t you dare try to patronize me. You have no idea what I’m feeling right now.” She wanted to hit him. Hurt him as much as she was hurting now. “God, you’re as despicable and vile as Merrick is. No! You’re worse. Merrick never pretended to believe in my abilities. At least he was honest about his bigotry.”
“I’ve always believed in your skills and abilities,” Altair snapped, his eyes flashing with anger. Grabbing her by the arms, he shook her. “And if you’d give me a chance to explain why Caldwell is here, you’d think twice about what you’re saying.”
Fury wrapped her body in a cloak of fire, and she jerked free of his grasp. She struck out at him with all the cruelty she could muster. “Keep your filthy Saracen hands off me.”
Shocked rage held him rigid as she turned away from him. In a daze, she walked toward the chamber doorway, a lead weight resting in her breast where her heart was. It pressed against her chest, making it difficult to breathe. In the space of a few minutes, the air in the shrine had become a cloying scent of betrayal and corruption.
“Come now, Alex. Surely you can do better than that.” His voice chilled the air around her. “Why not speak in Coptic to impress Caldwell here. Perhaps he’ll find your charms pleasant enough not to mind taking soiled goods.”
A clammy coldness slid over her skin at his words. Her gaze swept over Caldwell’s embarrassed face, and he had the grace to avert his eyes. Slowly she turned to face the man she loved, her body crying out in protest at his betrayal. Why had he saved her life only to destroy her like this? He was toying with her as one might a mouse. It was cruel and sadistic.
“I never thought I’d ever hate anyone, Lord Blakeney, but you’ve made the impossible, possible.” She amazed herself at how calm and collected she sounded, even though it felt as if she were dying with each word she uttered. Caught up in her own angst, she didn’t even wonder at the way his dark skin turned gray at her words. “Stay away from me, my lord. If I never see or talk to you again, it won’t be long enough.”
Without waiting for his response, she raced from the room.
Ice clogged his veins at the sight of Alex flying from Nourbese’s shrine as if every demon in the world were chasing her. He stepped forward to go after her, then changed his mind. No, she wouldn’t listen to him right now. She needed time to think.
God, he’d been cruel beyond belief to suggest Caldwell might be interested in her favors. As if he’d let the man near her. She was his, and he wasn’t about to give her up without a fight. He should have told her what he’d done. Where Alex was concerned, he never seemed to learn his lesson. Where she demanded honesty, he erred on the side of deception.
He’d known she’d be furious, but he’d never thought to hear her say she hated him. Fresh and vicious, the memory tormented him with its vividness. His body ached at the remembrance of her dispassionate words. Not even when Caroline had humiliated him in front of the peerage had he felt this much anguish.
Now, Alex had retreated behind a thick wall of fury, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to reach her. He’d already bungled things by telling her he believed the prophecy. Certain he was questioning her skills, she’d kept her distance from him over these past few days.
Still, he could have gone to her and explained why he’d contacted the Museum. But each time he’d lost the courage to do so. Thinking time was on his side, he’d put off telling her what he’d done. The last thing he’d expected was someone arriving so soon after he’d sent Kahlil to Cairo.
Across from him, Caldwell cleared his throat. “I take it my arrival was unexpected.”
“Quite,” Altair bit out. “How did you get here so quickly?”
“I was in Cairo shipping some antiquities back to London, when Merrick wired me you needed assistance out here. Amazing thing, a woman finding Per-Ramesses.”
The astonishment in Caldwell’s voice made Altair grimace. Not just any woman, but the woman he loved. The simplicity of the thought crashed down on him with the strength of a sandstorm. He loved her, and now he’d lost her. He didn’t know what to do.
She hated him for betraying her, but he’d had little choice. Her safety was all that mattered. Surely, he’d be able to make her see that. Doubt flickered inside him. Time. He’d give her time and then he’d set things right between them.
“I say, Blakeney. Have you heard a word I said?”
“What?” Altair looked at the other man. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said that Sheikh Medjuel seems beside himself with worry over this dig. The last thing we need is for the natives to balk at helping with the excavation.”
“When did you talk with Medjuel?”
“The man met me as my entourage ent
ered the camp. If his skin wasn’t so dark, I could have sworn he went white as a sheet when I told him the Museum’s team would be arriving in two weeks.”
“What did he do then?” Altair’s muscles ached with the tension flooding his body.
“He walked away as if I’d hit him. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. Didn’t speak another word, just walked away.”
Caldwell’s comments didn’t really surprise him. Instead, he struggled to fight off the suspicions rearing up in his head. He needed to talk to Medjuel. If his cousin was somehow involved in the attempts on Alex’s life, he intended to find out.
“I need to return to camp to speak with Sheikh el Mazir. In the meantime, I suggest you find Alex and explain to her that she’s in charge, not the Museum.”
“I say! A woman in charge of a dig? Have you gone daft, Blakeney?”
“Alex Talbot is one of the best archeologists I’ve ever worked with.” The leashed fury tightening his body made him step quickly toward the other man. “She knows more about Per-Ramesses and Nourbese than anyone the British Museum might care to send. So unless you want to go back to Cairo, I suggest you get used to the idea that she’s in charge. Is that clear?”
He’d not meant to make his words appear like a physical threat, but it was apparent Caldwell was worried about his safety. Caring little what the other man thought, he didn’t wait for the scholar’s answer. Instead, he stalked out of the shrine.
With each step he took toward the palace exit, a sense of doom hung like a dark cloud over his head. If Medjuel was involved in the plot to kill Alex, he didn’t know what he’d do. No, he was reading too much into his cousin’s behavior. For all he knew, Caldwell had misinterpreted Medjuel’s reaction.
Reaching the exit, he charged up the steps and burst out into the sunlight. The sun hovered high above his head, and he glanced over at the work tent. Alex, seated at her table, looked up as he watched her from where he stood. Contempt curled her mouth downward, and he clenched his fists at the scorn in her gaze.
