by Jackie Ivie
“I’m waiting.”
She set her shoulders, turned, opened the door and walked into the room. After one look, he burst out laughing. Her eyes widened further.
“Forgive my amusement. I was wondering what you’d arrange for cover. But even I failed to imagine that.”
“Where are the clothes?” she asked in a tight voice.
“On the bed.”
He motioned and Averill gasped at the sight. He’d spread out a wardrobe consisting mainly of cloak-like wrappings called saris, long gowns, and women’s slippers.
“That...is women’s clothing.”
“Yes, I know. You can stop pretending now. I know a woman when I see one, even if everyone else is blind.”
Tears filled her eyes—again, and she’d sworn never to cry again. She wouldn’t be able to go with him now that he knew. “Give me back...my own things.” She sniffed.
“Why are you crying?”
He was beside her, and she didn’t want him that close. She backed from him, but he followed.
“I...I can’t go with you now.”
“Of course you can. You have great talents. That’s why I hired you. Your gender is inconsequential. Truly. Tell you what. I’ll leave you to dress. When you’re done, open the door. I’ll be waiting.”
He walked to the door, as Averill watched intently.
“Please don’t think of escaping,” he said. “I didn’t mount a rescue only to lose you. Your servant.”
He bowed slightly. At her?
Averill’s mouth gaped at the closing door. And then she moved rapidly to the clothing pile, grazing her hand across the fine material of a gown. Why would he buy such a thing for her? She never wore native dress. And never anything this nice. At the mission, she’d worn correct European attire. It was badly fitted, and hopelessly outdated, but it was still European.
She pulled a yellow gown over her head and attached the belt. It barely clasped about her stomach, and she was small. She wondered if he bought the clothing at a children’s stall. And then she found a comb. Exactly as if he’d heard her musings!
She combed her hair with vicious efficiency, and then tucked it behind her ears. The dress felt strange against her bare legs. She didn’t like how it clung to her thighs, either. She wrapped herself in the matching sari, crossing it about her breasts, and then she opened the door. She looked up at him, and then her glance skittered away.
She swallowed. “I’m ready.”
Captain Tennison moved away from the wall where he’d been leaning. “I see you are. Harvey, bring the luncheon.”
Captain Tennison sat down to a full plate, and Averill’s eyes widened. He eats so much? In the middle of the day? It’s no wonder he’s so big. She reached for a date three times before finally picking it up and nibbling on it.
“You’ve been starving yourself, haven’t you?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“Or that character, Sen-Bib, took up the honor of starving you.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t know what he wanted to hear. The date was delicious, and so was the tea. Averill savored each flavor before swallowing.
“Where do you come from? It is a puzzle, and I rather enjoy those. Just look. From the streets of Cairo, badly treated and starving, I find an immense talent,” he mused. “Five languages so far…and your painted pottery is without equal. I look forward to seeing what you can do with canvas.”
She smiled and lowered her head. So do I, she thought.
“Then, there’s the other…issue. Not only are you talented, but you’re also a beautifully exotic woman. Almost a bit too much so.”
She set the half-eaten date back on her plate with a trembling hand. The sari was as bad as the robe would have been. It outlined her shape. She didn’t want to be thought beautiful. Or exotic.
“Don’t fret, Averill. I’m thinking aloud. You’ve nothing to fear from me. I honestly want nothing more from you than beautiful pictures. Truly. Do you believe me? Come along, look at me.”
She lifted her eyes and shied away again. She couldn’t look at him. It was dangerous and wicked. Her skin was telling her. Her lap was much safer to view.
He sighed heavily. “You’re painfully young, aren’t you?”
Painfully?
“Living on the streets…yet not near as hard as you should be. Interesting. You’re camel fodder out there. You know that, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer that, either.
“It’s the mixed lineage. And your gender. I’m going to assume you’ve no parents? I don’t know why I ask. No Egyptian family would allow their daughter to live as you have. Am I right so far?”
She felt the censure of the words, although his voice didn’t change. She nodded. “You’re not safe out there, Averill.”
“What do you care?”
“Good question. Without answer at present. I don’t know. All I know at the moment is that you’re safe…and I want to keep it that way. Is that enough?”
She shrugged.
“So, you’ll stay? And work for me? As we bargained?”
“But…you’re a man,” she replied.
He chuckled. “Oh. You noticed that, did you?”
She blushed. And then she nodded.
“All right. You have me, Averill. I’m definitely a man, but I’m also a gentleman. I’ve got standards. It’s an unspoken code, if you will. Do you understand that, as well?”
She nodded again. She’d been dealing with that her entire life. Of course, she understood.
“I’m not interested in anything from you other than your talents. Anything more would be unconscionable behavior on my part.”
She lifted her eyes and studied his face carefully. He wasn’t that old, perhaps thirty. She didn’t find him particularly good-looking. He had classic European features, from his slicked-back brown hair to the light brown eyes looking into hers.
“Others may think differently of us. Exactly as I intend. Do you follow?”
“No.” She wrinkled her brow.
He stood, walked to a book cabinet, turned, and stared over her head. “I’m going to keep you with me. Close to me. I have to. It should be obvious, as I’ve already pointed out. You’re beautiful. You’re exotic. You’re desirable. And you’re vulnerable.”
“I don’t want to be any of those things!”
“I don’t exactly want it, either, but facts are facts. I’m leaving for Damascus. In two days. I need to keep you with me or release you back to the streets. And we both know it’s not safe out there.”
She didn’t reply.
“So. My decision? You’re going with me. And to do that, we’ll put on an act.”
“An act?”
“It’s not hard. It’s basically setting and costumes…and I bet if I introduce you to Sen-Bib right now, the man wouldn’t even recognize you.”
Averill smiled. He didn’t see it. He was still looking over her head.
“There you have it. We’ll both act. Nobody will be the wiser. You’ll be safe. And I’ll have a clear conscience. And somehow this knot will get untangled.”
“What am I acting…as?”
He cleared his throat. “You’ve a great gift with languages. You’ll hear things I can’t.”
“You want me to spy?”
“No. I want you to paint. But if you hear anything, make sure I know of it.”
“That doesn’t sound difficult.”
“Oh. There’s more. There’s the acting portion of this. I expect everyone will think of us as…um. Lovers. They’ll assume you’re my…uh…current favorite. You know.” He cleared his throat again. “My mistress.”
She gasped, and he shifted his gaze down to her. Averill tried to break contact with his eyes, but couldn’t. Something sparked deep within her breast. That was dangerous. Thrilling.
“You do understand what I’m saying?”
His mistress?
She looked away as she considered journeying with him. They would rid
e camels across the sand – a wonder to someone like her. She would see faraway places, like she’d only dreamed of before. Such a life was much better than being with Sen-Bib.
“You’re certain I won’t...appeal to you?” She spoke so softly, he had to lean forward to hear it.
“You have my word on it.”
She looked up and searched his face. Then, Averill smiled broadly. “I’ll do as you ask, Captain Tennison.”
PART TWO: THE JOURNEY
CHAPTER FOUR
Averill shifted her weight on the camel’s back, wondering where it was most comfortable. Any place seemed worse than the one before atop the continually swaying mount. It had been immensely enjoyable to leave the city. She looked forward to everything they’d be seeing, although she was at the end of the caravan, her canvasses strapped to the camel’s sides.
Hmm. She must think of a name for her mount.
The camel spat, and Averill followed suit.
Captain Tennison was again dressed like an Arab. He sat on his horse in a native long-saddle, looking very comfortable. Averill sighed and pulled her burnoose farther over her head to block the sun and see better. The captain was second in line. She wondered why he didn’t take the lead. It was obvious who was in charge, but perhaps the dignitaries they would visit were less observant.
The unfamiliar ride was going to leave blisters on her inner thighs but she refused to sit sidesaddle. She’d fall off. Perhaps, after they’d been out longer, she’d have enough experience to try that.
She’d kept Captain Tennison company whenever he’d asked it over the last two days, learning to act and walk like a woman again. She also tried out her new paints. The large canvas bumped against her foot, reminding her of its presence. She shook her head at the foolishness of that purchase. The little canvasses stowed easily, but the big one was a nuisance. Whatever she painted on it would be wiped off by the camel’s sway.
She already tried a landscape on a small canvas, but it went awry. The cliffs she’d imagined looked jagged and treacherous, but she’d seen a child’s face and a black bird in them and tried to paint it.It was a strange painting. Captain Tennison didn’t seem to like it, so she set it aside and started a still-life instead. He’d be forced to procure fresh fruit whenever she wished to work on it, and the thought of that happening made her smile.
She shifted again, trying to balance more on one leg than the other. Even a small bit of relief was painful. She wondered if she’d paint Captain Tennison, then wondered if she was skilled enough. He was growing more handsome the longer she knew him, and he had an air of authority about him that the others seemed to lack.
Their shelters were two sticks set in the sand with a blanket spread between them and a pallet on which to sleep. By the time Averill’s camel had stopped, several such lean-to tents had already been erected. She looked about for one that proclaimed it as belonging to the captain. It was a wasted effort. They all looked alike. His lean-to didn’t seem to stand out as much as the man did.
Averill was considering what to do as the camel knelt, taking its time about it, as with everything else. She lifted a sore leg.
“The captain wishes to see you, ma’am.”
It was his man, Harvey. He’d waited until she stood before approaching her. Averill followed him around the other camp spots, some of which already had fires. She sniffed the air appreciatively as they passed cook fires. He stopped at one of the lean-tos, lifted the door flap, and gestured her in. He didn’t speak to her. He addressed the captain inside.
“Here you go, my lord. As ordered.”
Averill ducked her head and climbed in, kneeling to sit at her place beside the captain, trying to ignore the length of him on his pallet. He smiled, and she instantly avoided his glance. That was worse, somehow, for his limbs stretched beyond her folded legs, drawing her eye.
“Did you see anything of interest to paint?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“You are the quietest thing, Averill. Do you know that? Most women jaw a man’s ear off. Not you. Oh, no. It’s like prying teeth open to get you to say one word.”
She kept her head bowed.
“Averill, could you look at me when I speak to you?”
He put out his hand to raise her chin and she jerked free, hoping her glance showed her anger. He didn’t say anything for so long, she turned her head to see why. He was looking out at the darkening desert. She watched him as he sat, silhouetted against the reddish sky. He had a very strong chin, she decided, and his upper lip curled just slightly upward. She hadn’t noticed that before.
“Did you enjoy our first day out?”
He turned quickly, surprising her. Averill caught her breath and moved her gaze back to her folded hands. If she had to study him, did she really have to be caught at it? Her throat closed off. She didn’t think she could force words.
She felt, rather than heard his sigh of breath before he spoke again.
“All right. I’ll move on. Have you decided your next subject to paint?”
“I...think so. I’ll need trousers, though, Captain Tennison.”
“What?” He choked on the word.
Averill look up and smiled, but he probably couldn’t see it. Darkness came swiftly out in the desert. One moment it was light, the next, Mother Nature pulled down a black curtain over it, dimming everything.
“I’m not used to riding, Captain.”
“You have blisters, don’t you?”
His voice was so gentle! She swallowed the reaction before replying.
“I have salve. I’ll get it for you.”
She could barely see him go, and sat staring after him, amazed at his gallantry. He was fetching medicine for her? Sen-Bib would never believe it. The Captain scrambled back into the shelter and handed her a small bottle.
“Spread it on lightly. Your blisters won’t hurt as much. I’ll rig up a light.”
“What is this?”
Averill uncorked it and sniffed, drawing in her nose at the smell. She had to wait, for he lit a lamp before answering her.
“Liniment. For the horses.”
She snorted in the amusement. Sen-Bib would believe it, after all. Captain Tennison gave me horse medicine!
She pulled up her skirts and exclaimed over the raw flesh she saw. There were three ruptured blisters on one thigh alone. She spread a fingertip dot of the ointment on them and immediately felt better. She glanced up to thank him, but he wasn’t looking her way.
“My thanks, Captain. It feels better.” She smiled.
“I’ll go fetch you some pants.”
He spoke in an odd tone before crawling to their doorway and standing. He wasn’t gone long. Averill was examining the other thigh, relieved at finding unruptured blistering when gauzy material hit her face, before landing in her lap.
“Here.”
His voice accompanied his movement back into the shelter, and Averill scooted from any contact. The word hadn’t been much, but it showed his irritation with her. She should have kept the pain to herself. She should have been more stoic. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden. She thanked him before pulling the trousers on, rolling her hips, in a swaying motion from the pallet. Captain Tennison sat looking out their doorway the entire time.
“Captain? Ma’am?”
One of the men handed Captain Tennison a bowl of soup which he passed along to her. There was some bread, too. Averill accepted it gratefully, although she’d never be able to eat it all. The broth was seasoned with salt, pepper, and perhaps, garlic. She didn’t know for certain. She couldn’t remember tasting food that was flavored with spices such as Captain Tennison ate. The mission was barely able to afford salt.
“Are you finished?” Captain Tennison asked a few minutes later.
“Thank you, Captain.” She smiled and handed him the bowl. He looked at what she’d left, and then at her. Averill couldn’t meet his eyes.
“You’re welcome, although you need to eat more than this. He
re. I’ve an extra blanket for your use. You might need it.”
He was very formal, as if distancing himself. She accepted the blanket. Was he putting her in her place? He didn’t have to worry. He was too old, too staid, and much too European. Besides...he was a man.
The pallet was more comfortable than it looked, and it was immeasurably better than the street. She snuggled into her blanket, and felt him do the same beside her. Then, the light went out.
I think I’ll paint him on horseback, she thought sleepily, properly dressed in his full, formal, military clothing. Actually... She yawned, interrupting her thought. He would look better astride his horse, wearing only his trousers. I wonder what he’d look like with his chest and arms bare.
Her eyes flew open.
She didn’t want to know what he looked like with any part of him bare. She didn’t want anything to do with him. He was a man. And men were hateful, horrid creatures who took what they wanted, and hadn’t a care to who they harmed. She pulled away from any contact with him and rolled herself into a ball, securely wrapped with her extra blanket.
~ ~ ~
“I think I shall name you Pegasus.” Averill giggled at the thought of her ugly steed being named after the creature in Greek mythology.
“You studied Greece, too?” Captain Tennison asked.
Averill nudged her mount. It lumbered to its feet, placing her just above the captain’s head. She didn’t know he’d followed her. “Some.” She finally answered.
His face darkened. “Where could you have studied it? And when?”
She waited. She didn’t answer. She could tell he didn’t like it.
“Just how old are you, anyway?” he asked.
She shrugged as if she didn’t know. “How old are you, Captain Tennison?” She asked it evenly, keeping her eyes on his.
“Twenty-nine. And you haven’t answered me.”
“I probably won’t, either.”
Averill looked beyond his shoulder to where the others were mounting up. She shied away from the glances she intercepted. She didn’t like the other men watching her, especially when she was doing her best not to be noticed. But that wasn’t going to be possible with the captain seeking her out. She frowned.
