by Jackie Ivie
“You’re not frightened, are you?”
Averill jumped slightly at his whisper, shook her head, and then lifted her eyes to him.
“Just thought I’d ask. You know…Averill. You’re the quietest woman of my acquaintance. Most ladies nearly jaw a man’s ears off with their constant chatter. But not you. You’re so different. You already know that, though. Don’t you?”
His voice lowered. He had one eyebrow cocked at his question, but she couldn’t seem to find any voice to answer him. It was difficult to tear her gaze away, but somehow she managed it. The grit-covered surface of her pallet was safer than the strange pull of his eyes.
She watched the pallet shimmer for a few more moments, before looking back at him. It would never do to avoid him, and it did nothing to delay. She fought not to give away how he unsettled her, by even the flicker of an eyelash.
“You were talking...about your family.” She was proud of the fact that her voice sounded as unconcerned as it did.
“Oh. You wish to hear more? Very well. My closest relative is my uncle, Theamus, the eleventh Earl of Tennison. And no, he’d never go by the name of Tenny. He’d drop dead at the mere thought, I think.”
“I wouldn’t have asked.”
He raised one eyebrow. “No?”
She gasped and lowered her eyes again. How can he guess what I want to ask?
“Theamus Tennison is a staid character – proud, arrogant, upright, and filled with his own importance. I’m sure you know the type.”
“Yes.” He sounds exactly like all the foreigners in the marketplace.
“He holds a seat in the House of Lords. It’s a branch of government that gives us a voice in politics and such. Otherwise, who knows what might happen? The monarch would have complete control, and royalty doesn’t concern itself much with matters of state. Perhaps you’ve noticed? No? Well, here you have Mohammad Ali. He doesn’t allow anyone much say in how he runs his country. Did you know he’s on the brink of declaring war on Syria?”
“But—”
She choked back the question. Captain Tennison was taking her to Damascus, and that was in Syria.
“I knew you’d guess it, so I’ll explain. I have my orders, and yes, we’re heading right into Syria. It shouldn’t be dangerous, even if war gets declared. We’re not in uniform. We’re not from any particular country, if you take my meaning. We can assume any nationality we like.”
“I’m Egyptian,” she replied.
“And since I already remarked on how little you look it, that’s a moot point. Besides, being with me is much less dangerous than living on a street in Cairo. Remember?”
She shrugged again. It was actually much more dangerous, in an odd sort of way. Only now, it was something illicit and sinful that threatened. She had to look away. He’d guess her thoughts. She ducked her head and worked on controlling the flush that was certain to be on her face.
The captain cleared his throat. “Well…even if it gets more dangerous, I have you with me. I can keep you safe.”
“No one asked you to.”
She flashed her eyes at him as she answered, and then had to narrow them. He probably thought she did it in anger, but it was to diminish the amount of him she could see.
It wasn’t working.
“True enough.”
He shrugged after his reply and then turned away. Her eyes widened in surprise. His pose was maddening. She wondered if that’s how she looked to him. He gave a great sigh, making his shoulders rise and fall. She was afraid her gasp was audible as she watched it.
“My uncle doesn’t have any progeny, so I’m the heir apparent, curse my luck. I keep hoping against hope that he’ll somehow sire a son.”
“What?”
“I’ve decided to bore you some more. You don’t mind, do you?” He was turning back to her as he spoke.
“What’s an heir apparent?”
“Next in line. To be earl. Complete with all the bondage, trappings, finances and traditions that come with it. That’s why I’m out here actually.” He stopped and stared out the doorway and into the darkness filled with grit.
That makes no sense. What does being next in line to an earl have to do with being in Egypt?
“It looks like a hellish night, and a long one. You’d better bundle up.”
He ignored the lantern and rolled onto his side, away from her. Averill watched the lump of him for a while, wondering if she dared ask for the rest of his story. He was an odd one to tell her as much as he had, and then stop. She gathered her breath and the sari about her at the same time.
“Captain Tennison?”
“Get some rest, Averill.” He sounded like he was yawning, but since he had his back to her, and had covered himself, she couldn’t tell for certain.
“What does being next in line as an earl have to do with being a soldier here? I don’t understand.”
He rolled lithely toward her, surprising her. She could tell he wasn’t tired by the brightness in his eyes. She wondered why he’d pose such apathy, and if it was for her benefit. He made no sense.
“So...you are interested in me? Maybe…a little?”
Averill glared a reply, although it didn’t dim his grin.
“I was beginning to doubt myself. It wasn’t amusing.”
He reached toward her chin and lifted her head. She shook off his fingers and set her mouth as she scowled across at him.
“I’m only curious about your story, Captain Tennison.”
She couldn’t keep looking into his eyes, even if he had his back to the light. It felt like he was trying to read her thoughts. They were the only thing she owned. She looked down at her lap. The conversation was getting out of hand.
“Oh. Very well.”
He was back to acting impersonal; the English soldier speaking to a street child. Averill stiffened. She didn’t like his tone, but it was far less dangerous. It was probably much better this way, too.
“Being Earl of Tennison is a boring duty. It’s one of the highest titles you can earn. My uncle acts it. Stuffy. Structured. Rigid. I don’t look forward to it. Quite the opposite. That’s why I stay out here in the sand. Speaking of which, I should close the door flap now, shouldn’t I?”
He was right. Sand was whirling in through the door. She watched him tie the canvas flaps together. She was still watching as he blew out the lamp and settled himself down to sleep. She wondered if he were truly sleeping this time.
The sides of their lean-to slapped her back with the wind. She knew from his even breathing that he slept, or that he was pretending to. She didn’t know what to think of him anymore. She already knew she shouldn’t think of him, at all. She waited a few more moments before sliding to fit herself against his back. He was the only thing that wasn’t slapping about with the wind. It was for the stability, she told herself, and no other reason.
And it still felt wonderful. Secure. Warm. Safe.
CHAPTER SIX
The world looked different when they woke. Sunlight gleamed off newly contoured dunes. There wasn’t a puff of wind anywhere. If it weren’t for the liberal powdering of the canvas under which she and Captain Tennison had slept, it would’ve been difficult to believe there was a sandstorm.
The captain had awakened first, pushing up onto his hands and knees before she opened her eyes. He hadn’t looked pleased to awaken with his arms about her, but it wasn’t she that had shifted. It was his fault. She didn’t meet his eyes. He’d crawled out, rose to his feet, brushed sand from his hair with his hands, and muttered the entire time. Averill smiled at his antics. She was glad she’d worn her sari tightly wrapped around her head as they’d slept.
“Mount up! Let’s off.”
He wasn’t speaking to her and paid little attention to her as he gave the orders. Averill found Pegasus by herself, mounted him, and then had to trot to catch up. The animal was more ornery than usual, but no more so than the Captain.
That made her smile. Maybe she’d start a new canv
as today, one filled with the sand swirls from last night…
~ ~ ~
“We bathe at an oasis tonight, Averill. I look forward to that. Do you?”
It was luncheon time. Averill looked up from her painting. “I’m not certain how to answer such a thing, Captain,” she answered.
“You don’t wish a bath? What kind of a woman would admit such a thing?”
“It isn’t the bath. I—it...you...said that we...uh—we—”
“Yes?”
Captain Tennison looked confused. Averill gathered her courage and spoke bluntly.
“I will not bathe with you, Captain Tennison.”
He fought against a smile. Averill looked away. It wasn’t amusing to her.
“It was a figure of speech, Averill. I’d never infer such a thing. Although, now that it’s mentioned...forget I said that. Let me see what you’ve started.”
Averill turned the canvas to him, and he studied the pinkish swirls.
“I’ll expect to see Pegasus winging through here before you’re done.” He gestured to one corner where the swirls began.
“Not if it’s this lazy beast.” She got back onto her camel again. “Pegasus!” She rolled her eyes at the thought.
She’d been planning to paint a shelter in the center, something like theirs from the previous night. The captain hadn’t noted the similarity to when they’d awakened, or he’d have seen what she was doing immediately. She was painting a record of his journey, and she’d thought it a good likeness. She must not be as good as she thought.
“Pegasus? The idea.”
She shook her head and then decided to humor the captain. Soon, mist stirred to purple in the center, and the great white horse flew straight at her with Perseus on his back. She added the cliffs Andromeda was chained to in the bottom of her canvas before she stopped. There wasn’t room to capture the entire legend, after all.
She was finished by the time they halted for the night. To her surprise, when she looked up, she saw great palm trees overhead. It wasn’t yet evening, but it was cool beneath the trees.
“Come, Averill. I must show you something.”
He lifted her down from the camel without waiting for it to kneel. Averill should struggle, but his arms felt too strange. She didn’t want to think about what that meant. He set her down, and she looked in amazement at the rock under her sandals. In the midst of the desert he’d found trees and rocks?
“There’s a waterfall in the edge of the pool. Come.”
“But—! My brushes!” she exclaimed.
He pulled at her free hand. She had to run to keep up with him. When he parted some shrubs to show her, she held her breath in wonder. It wasn’t exactly a waterfall, just a spray of water in the rock ledge, but there was enough space under it for a shower.
“I brought soap and a towel,” Captain Tennison said in a light tone. “I’ll even stand guard on you, fair maid. Why do you still have your brushes?”
“You say I don’t speak, but when I do, you fail to hear.” She pouted.
“Don’t purse your lips like that unless you want them kissed.”
He reached toward her mouth with his forefinger, and she slapped it aside as she stepped back. The look on Captain Tennison’s face probably mirrored hers. He looked as startled as she felt.
“Make haste, Averill.”
His voice sounded strange as he turned away. She waited until she was sure he wouldn’t turn back before setting her brushes down, pulling off the burnoose, unwinding her sari, and then shedding her dress. Captain Tennison was right about one thing – she was pale where the sun hadn’t touched her.
She walked beneath the impromptu shower, glorying at the water’s touch. It felt delicious. She couldn’t repress a laugh as she soaped herself. She felt grander than the finest of ladies.
“I’ve finished, and I’ll need the towel, Captain Tennison.”
She spoke as she pushed her way through the water toward him. He still stood with his back to her. He tossed it over his shoulder. She darted out to grab it from the rocks and wrapped it about herself.
“I’m covered,” she announced.
He turned around, slid a glance over her, and then a nerve worked out one side of his jaw.
“Did you bring me fresh clothing?” she asked, in the long silence that followed.
“I forgot.”
He smiled suddenly, surprising her. Then he reached up, and started unfastening his headdress. Averill quickly looked away.
“Wait until I finish,” he said. “I’ll fetch clothing then. Fair?”
She couldn’t answer. He dropped his clothes almost at her feet as she twirled from him. She couldn’t breathe. Then there was a splash and an exclamation as the chill hit him. Averill counted silently. She tried humming. She tried to recall the chill of the water. She rubbed vigorously at her body with the towel. She did anything and everything she could think of, to ignore the fact that Captain Tennison was bathing in the same small pool she had.
Nothing worked.
Averill couldn’t resist.
She turned her head and peeked out from under her lashes and lost the ability to do more than gape. He stood, waist-deep in the water, arching his body backward, his hands holding back his hair as the water ran through it and over him. The waning sunlight turned the droplets on his chest into jewels.
She gasped and closed her eyes. Oh, sweet heaven! She had never seen such a specimen. He wasn’t white and fat, bloated like a fish like Father Sanders. Oh. No. Captain Tennison was lean, tan and muscular. He was every bit a man. So much so, that Averill moved two steps to a rock in order to drop there. She tried to control the trembling as she sat with her back to him.
What was happening to her? Wasn’t it enough to know he’d never be interested in a woman like her? Did fate have to add unrequited love to her world?
Love?
Oh no. No.
“So. You willing to share your towel, Averill? I neglected to bring two. I wasn’t planning on bathing, yet, but…well. I admit it. I couldn’t resist.”
The words came from behind her. She shook her head. Lank pieces of damp hair hit her shoulders with the motion and clung with wetness. She couldn’t possibly give him her towel!
“Oh, very well. I’ll let the sun do it for me.”
Her back straightened, but her mind conjured the image anyway. The captain…naked and resplendent in the setting sun? She ducked her head, closed her eyes as tightly as possible and called herself every kind of fool imaginable. Nothing worked. She knew exactly when she failed. Averill shifted sideways, turned her head ever so slightly, and opened her eyes a fraction.
He had his back to her. His buttocks and thighs rippled with muscle. His waist was slender, his shoulders wide. He was waving his arms back and forth, stirring the air. Averill was stunned. Awed. Alert. Bothered.
This time, she welcomed the flush as she slammed her eyes shut. When next she opened them, she kept her view on contemplation of the stone beneath her toes. It didn’t help. Captain Tennison was indescribably handsome. And she’d seen it.
Averill held each breath for long moments before releasing it, feeling a burning sensation as she did so. She watched the ground shimmer with moisture she kept blinking back. She’d convinced herself that she hated men. She’d also hated everything about being a woman.
Until right now.
“It’s all right. I’m ready. You can open your eyes now.”
He stood before her, fully clothed in dark trousers and a long shirt, buttoned up the front. Only the wetness of his ghotra betrayed his impulsive bath. Averill tried, but couldn’t look him in the eye. She’d seen him naked! She put her hands to her cheeks in a vain attempt to cool them.
“What is it?”
She didn’t answer. He finally sighed heavily.
“Oh, very well. Keep your own counsel. I’m getting used to it. I’ll return with clothing for you and some cleaning solution for your brushes.”
She igno
red him, and a moment later, he left.
~ ~ ~
Pegasus wasn’t remotely agreeable two days later. Averill longed to box his ears as he strutted along, upsetting her canvas again.
“Stupid beast!”
She lunged for the board before it fell to the sand, then she sighed. She didn’t feel like painting, anyway. Captain Tennison hadn’t spoken to her at all the previous day, leaving her vaguely depressed. He hadn’t called a halt, either, leaving them to sleep as best they may aboard their mounts. Averill had managed it by pulling her legs up under her and leaning on the saddle’s high pommel. She smiled to herself. She’d probably had the easiest time of it. Unlike Captain Tennison and his men, she was used to sleeping anywhere and in any condition.
She wondered what had happened to the leisurely pace. It couldn’t have anything to do with her, could it? He hadn’t guessed how she might feel about him, and was making as much speed as possible, to get away? That wasn’t it, was it? And if it was, he didn’t have to worry. She refused to be in love with him, or even think that she was. That was too horrid to contemplate. If she loved him, she might be tempted to obey the lusts of the devil and sin like her mother did. Father Sanders had warned her often enough about it. She shouldn’t need to remind herself.
“Your mother’s sin is yours to bear, Averill,” he’d said to her more than once. “As a bastard child, the Lord can be your only lover. No other man would ever accept what you offer. Only by giving to a man of the faith, can you be saved. That’s the only man that will have you. The only one. A man of the faith. Like me.”
She’d wondered if she dared tell the sisters what happened to her in the confessional, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. They acted like lovesick fools around Father Sanders. It was what had decided her on this escape, after all.
Averill shook her head, trying to eradicate the memory. The day wasn’t meant for self-pitying thoughts. It was difficult enough already.
Captain Tennison’s horse rode in the middle of the group. That was odd. There were twenty horses and eighteen camels in the caravan, most burdened with gifts for their hosts. Averill wondered if she’d be expected to paint a gift for when they arrived. Perhaps she should start another picture for that reason.
