by Jackie Ivie
“That night. When you told me I was of little interest to you, I listened. And I believed. I felt — I can only describe it by looking at your painting. That’s exactly how bereft and alone I felt. I’m amazed at your talent for capturing it, but I shouldn’t be. I must learn to accept some things as what they are. I know the truth, Averill. I don’t know how, I just do. I see it in your eyes and on your lips, and in the words you keep hidden. Tell me I’m wrong. Say the words to make me stop.”
She didn’t say anything. It was beyond her. The stone was dissolving, too, spreading warmth through her.
“You can’t speak them, can you?”
She shook her head slightly.
“I’ve done everything I can think of and nothing works. I can no longer deny how much I want you. I swear that I’ve tried.” He stopped speaking and licked his lips. “I’ve asked the Lord for help, and now I’m asking you.
“If I frighten you, you must tell me. I’m not like the other men you’ve known. I’ll never take what isn’t freely given. That’s one vow I’ll never break. But I’ll take care of you. I promise. And, if your answer is no, I’ll make arrangements to get you back to Cairo. Lady Brighten longs to sponsor you in the world. You’ll be a portrait painter. She claims you’ll never be without again.
“I’m saying this badly, but you must let me know.” He stopped and shoved the ghotra back, off his head. “You must tell me what you want, before I lose all control. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Thick silence followed his words. Averill welcomed the shock. She went over what he just said. Lady Brighten wanted to sponsor her as a painter. That meant she wouldn’t have to return to Sen-Bib. That was amazing enough without the last of his words. Captain Tennison had just admitted to exactly what she felt. He needed her and he longed to make her his.
He desires me. He might even love me!
She couldn’t stop trembling. Such thoughts were a sin. The sisters spoke of it often, but where were they when faced with the promise in Captain Tennison’s eyes? Then she considered what might happen if she did what her entire body craved. There might be a child. She couldn’t do that to another. The horrors of illegitimacy were too much to endure.
“Your sup, my lord.”
Averill tried to think only of food after the servant left. She was ravenous. But still took her time eating each bite, all the while avoiding the captain’s gaze. Perhaps, if we’re careful, there won’t be a child. She wondered how it was done. One of the sisters had spoken of it when they thought Averill was out of hearing distance. “If their mothers had been more careful, there wouldn’t be any bastards…”
“Averill,” Captain Tennison said, breaking into her memory. “You’re much too silent. I thought I was used to it. I was wrong. You make me regret speaking.”
Averill looked at him, unable to bear his tone. He looked different than ever before, almost unsure. “I....” She cleared her throat. “I’m not good...with words, Captain Tennison.”
“Call me Tenny.”
Oh my. The smile almost split her lip. He asked her to join his circle of friends.
“Oh God, but I can’t resist anymore, Averill, I can’t. May the Lord smite me for this. Right here. Right now.”
He reached for her, and she leapt into his arms. Her entire body altered. Became more sensitive. Alive. His arms wrapped around her, bringing her against him.
She sighed, the sound soft.
“Oh. Averill. Love.”
She had her eyes closed as a finger touched her chin, tipping her face up to his. And then he touched his lips to her. The sensation was warm. Intense. Hard.
He pulled back first, but she didn’t open her eyes for a bit. She was absorbing the wonder of it, how it belonged to the desert magic. She could almost paint it. She had to get it locked into her secret self, hidden away to where she could treasure it at her leisure, no matter the loneliness of the life ahead of her.
She slowly opened her eyes. “What if there is...a child?” she asked.
“I take it that is a yes. Oh, Averill.”
He chuckled slightly and then it changed as he seized her mouth again. He held her so close she swore their hearts touched. Averill’s hands crept up his neck so she could ruffle the silkiness of his hair. She trembled and felt the answering quiver of his body. The color she saw now would be difficult to match. She knew it even as she saw and memorized it. His hands moved beneath her arms, lifting her against him as he groaned.
He was breathing so harshly that it stole her thoughts and ripped into her conscience. Averill tipped her head back to more fully experience his kiss. She hadn’t any idea of what it would feel like!
Large hands molded to the back of her shoulders, holding her against his chest, where she matched him breath to breath and moan to moan. Averill wasn’t aware of what she was doing as her fingers tangled in his hair before shoving the ghotra further down his shoulders.
“No. Wait. Stop. Stop. Damn me!” He lifted his head from her even as his lips clung insistently to hers. “I can’t do this! I can’t!”
He twisted, placing her on her back on a pallet. Then he pushed up, taking all the warmth of the world with him. Averill clung, but he removed her hands. His features were shuttered and tight. Grim. And then he was gone.
There weren’t enough blankets to keep out cold that seeped into her very flesh. She clung to the center pole of his lean-to, shaking with emotion, as wave after wave of anguish ripped through her.
Why did he take her from Cairo, anyway? Wasn’t her life miserable enough? Did he have to add this?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Averill’s eyes probably reflected her torment as she went to her mount the next morning. Pegasus looked as if he spent an excellent night and was almost too frisky to handle. That was all right with her. Averill was so shaky, she wasn’t willing to try holding onto a brush.
Captain Tennison rode by, the flash of his burnoose the only sign that he looked her way. Averill turned her head away.
The memory and recrimination of last night was impossible to avoid. She had nothing else to think on. She wondered if Captain Tennison had done it on purpose, and then she wondered why. He’d asked for her to be his lover. She’d agreed. The sisters would have been horrified. Worse though, he hadn’t even seen it through. He hadn’t even made love to her before discarding her. He’d run from her as if she were something filthy.
No pain had ever pierced so deeply and no cold had ever been so bone-piercing. Despite the arid countryside they traveled, she wondered if she’d ever feel warm again.
The desert slowly changed to scrub brush. The transformation was blended together by the blur in her eyes. For one tempered by the streets of Cairo, she was amazingly soft. It was stupid. Shortsighted. The Lady Brighten had asked for her. That was where she would go as soon as this miserable trip was finished.
She smelled water before they were close enough to see it. Pegasus alerted her when he raised his head. There were large, striped tents in the distance amid palm fronds. They grew as he caravan neared. And then they were there.
“This way, ma’am.”
A different man was waiting for Averill. She dismounted and followed him to a large tent where he left her. Averill entered and was immediately surrounded by women.
“Do you speak Turk?”
Averill kept her head bowed, pretending ignorance.
“See? She’s as stupid as all the rest,” one of the women said spitefully.
Averill smiled. Her skills as a spy wouldn’t be too difficult if her intended targets were women like this. Then, she wondered why she bothered. The captain had finished with her. He probably didn’t need her skills, either.
“They may be stupid, but they’re surely handsome. Did you see the leader? That one can darken my tent door any time.”
“He probably has women a-plenty keeping his bed warm, Daisha. He’ll never look your way.”
“He will, too!”
“Will not! S
pite-filled—”
“Enough of this foolishness. We waste time. Here.”
They laughed and chattered, passing long, flowing, scarf-like material between them. That gave Averill time to force back the instantaneous reaction she’d suffered. That was such stupidity, she’d deserve their derision. She wasn’t supposed to know the language, but if they intended to discuss Captain Tennison’s handsomeness, her task would be difficult. She might even burst into tears.
“Welcome to our home.” An older woman stepped forward and spoke in Arabic.
“My thanks.” Averill raised her head and smiled.
“She’s an Untouchable! A half-breed. Why would they saddle us with one such as her? I refuse to serve—”
“Shush your tongue! She will be bathed and presented to Al-Hassen this eve. You heard the instructions!”
The older woman spun on the others. Averill watched them, pretending not to understand.
“This is their leader’s woman? This is the type he desires?”
“Losing your interest, Daisha?”
“I was never interested, only making small talk. Who would wish to bed with an English soldier playing at being a Bedouin, anyway?”
“I would!”
“Me, too,” another chimed in.
“He’d never look at you.”
Averill kept her eyes on the carpets spread about the bottom of the tent. It made a rich, colorful floor, she decided. Much nicer than Sen-Bib’s had been.
“Stop this ceaseless arguing and order the bath.”
“I wish it was me being presented.”
“Well. Mind your manners and your fork, and someday…it just might.”
Bursts of laughter followed that remark. It disguised Averill’s reaction. So. She was being bathed and presented to the sheik. Why had she been stupid enough to show the captain how she really felt? Why? At least when she was acting like she didn’t care, he wouldn’t consider sending her to a harem. Chills ran her flesh, but she kept her tears at bay. It was a small victory.
“Mind my fork? I have lush women curves. While you—!”
“What about me?”
“No man would be interested in such a scrawny—”
“Scrawny? I’ll show you scrawny!”
Averill’s attention went back to the two arguing women. She didn’t look, but she could tell they were grappling. It sounded like a street fight. Back in Cairo.
“Stop that, this instant! You’ll upset the plan, and for what? Daisha’s loose tongue?”
What plan?
“She says I’m unfit for any man!”
“So? Does she have one, herself? No. Come, we’ve wine to prepare. You know this. Welcome to our home. May your visit be looked upon favorably.”
Averill nearly missed the words spoken to her in Arabic. She raised her eyes and thanked the woman who spoke. Then she watched them file from the tent. The last two women pinched each other before the door flap fell back.
They could be doctoring the wine.
Averill wondered if it would be a sleeping potion, or something worse. But what was she supposed to do about it? She didn’t even know where Tenny was. But he had to hear what she had just heard and decide for himself. That’s what he’d supposedly brought her for.
She slipped a finger between the door flaps, making a sliver of space, and peeked.
For a camp intent on such evil, there was little warning of it. There were several men milling about the front of her tent. Averill thought she recognized them as Captain Tennison’s men. They would know how to find him. And luckily, they weren’t drinking anything.
She still had time. She whistled softly. One of the men stepped back toward her, as if he were switching legs to lean on.
“Find the captain for me,” Averill hissed. “I have information for him.”
He tipped his chin a fraction before stepping back to where he’d been. She saw the reason why. Two men were weaving through the crowd, carrying a claw foot bathtub. It looked heavy. Unwieldy.
She barely had time to assume an indifferent pose when they entered her tent, and settled the tub atop carpets that rippled beneath the weight. She watched them return, time and again, to fill it. No wonder the woman named Daisha was upset at attending Averill. She could’ve bathed in the pool as well as anyone, yet she would have a private bath. For one.
“My thanks.”
The men bowed and left. Averill waited until the door flap shut behind them before approaching her bath. She debated her options. She hadn’t many. The man would find the captain for her, she would tell him what she’d heard, and he would take precautions. If he comes.
Averill opened her cloak and shed it. Next was her sari. Even if the captain refused to see her, she’d make time to speak with him when she was presented. She could tell him in whatever language she chose. He would have to listen then.
She looked at her reflection in a large mirror. She would enjoy washing her hair. Travel dust clung to the black strands, dulling its color. And then she looked away, wondering why she cared.
The water was warm. Softened with herbs. It should have been refreshing against her skin. It wasn’t. Shivers continually ran her frame, chilling her. As if she had a fever. Averill lay back, listening to the sounds of the tent city outside the canvas walls. She shut her eyes and heard camel calls, laughter, jingling harness, and a shout.
The sounds intensified as the door flap moved. Averill opened her eyes to watch Captain Tennison enter. She ducked further into the tub and looked away before she was forced to endure his gaze. That brief glance was too much. He didn’t look happy. He was coated with dirt and his face was lined with trouble. And she loved him unbearably.
Why him? Why?
“You sent for me?” he asked.
“They are preparing the wine. There is a plan. It probably has to do with the gold you carry.”
“We no longer carry gold.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
His voice was getting more distinct. As if he approached her bathtub. She hoped she was wrong.
She smirked. “You must have lost it at the palace.”
“Sheik Al-Hassen is an arms dealer, Averill. We carry guns, now.”
“Oh.”
“How do you know about this plan?”
“The women are loose with their tongues.”
“Ah. You listened. Very good.”
Averill knew he was right beside her. She didn’t have to verify it.
“You may leave, Captain. That’s all I heard.”
“I’m glad you sent for me, Averill. I couldn’t stay away much longer. Surely you know that.”
She refused to answer. She turned her head and watched him go to his knees. And then he reached across the water for her. She skittered away. The bathwater sloshed with her motion. His hand froze.
“Tell me to go, and I will.”
She looked at him evenly, doing her best to avoid ensnarement in his soul-filled eyes. “What...do you want?”
“What I cannot have. Isn’t it obvious?”
He leaned forward, resting his weight on the sides of the tub, and then fitted his lips to hers. She shuddered with the same sensation that seemed to streak through him, but she kept her eyes wide open the entire time. He was breathing heavily when he pulled away to sit on his haunches, studying her.
“I’ve thought of nothing else all day. You?”
She tried to look away. There was no correct way to answer. To say anything was to invite more of his brand of heartache.
“You don’t have to say anything, Averill. Your eyes answer for you. I know. Don’t ask how. I can’t figure it out myself.” He tossed off his headdress, letting it drop to his shoulders and then he smiled.
“It was unforgivable of me to leave you last night. I know that. There’s no apology good enough, but it was also unforgivable if I stayed. Don’t torment me so!”
Averill turned away so he wouldn’t see her expression. Torment? These
foreigners had no concept of what that meant. It was his decree that she was unfit for love. Not hers.
He sighed. “Thank you for your warning. I’ll spread the word.”
Averill nodded.
“The sheik has sold us weapons, but he’s given us many gifts, too. He’s very slippery. It doesn’t show.”
She didn’t answer. After a span he continued.
“I’m having one of his gifts sent to you. It’s a silk dress. I was amazed when I saw it. It’s in the same shade as your eyes.”
He stood, sighed again, and put his ghotra back on. “I’m leaving now. I’ll come back for you. Don’t leave this tent with anyone but me.”
Averill turned to watch him stalk from the tent, throwing the flap aside with a gesture that made the cloth snap.
~ ~ ~
Sheik Al-Hassen had the girth of three men. Perhaps he only looked that large, because of his reclining position. It was hard to believe him the master-mind of any plot, as jovial as he appeared.
Averill ducked her head when she was presented and sat a few paces behind Captain Tennison. She looked around as the men talked, glancing slyly at one of the sheik’s dancing girls, then the next, who were serving Captain Tennison’s men. She thought she recognized the one called Daisha. Averill had to admit that she was rather scrawny with only sheer pants and a band across her breasts to cover her.
She also noticed that none of the men were doing more than tipping their wine goblets to the lips. In fact, she caught them more than once, spilling the entire contents as if drunken already.
Captain Tennison’s men were very good at games of deceit.
“Is this your woman?” the sheik asked suddenly.
Averill turned her head back to them. Sheik Al-Hassen was pointing at her. She quickly ducked her head again.
“This woman is my artist,” Captain Tennison answered.
They were speaking Turkish, so Averill pretended she didn’t understand.
“She isn’t your woman? She’s an artist? With features such as she possesses? What a waste.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Tenny replied.
“You, my friend, must be blind.” The sheik laughed after his speech. He had a loud voice. Everyone about them chuckled with him. Averill glanced at him again. “And look! She has eyes like the sky on the sunniest of days. How amazing.”
