Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3)

by Jackie Ivie

  The lamp was sputtering dimly. She watched it flickering on the rough weave of the tent.

  “It’s difficult to control myself when I’m near you, Averill. It’s also difficult to think of giving you up when this is finished, although I know it will happen. I can’t possibly keep you near me. The consequences are too vast.”

  He reached across her and twisted the wick into the oil. Averill watched the glow on the tent ceiling until it dissipated.

  “I’m in a tangle, and explaining it badly. You must help me. You’ve got to help me!”

  The whisper in her ear grew in intensity. She heard the sound amplified in his chest.

  He sighed. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Despite how poorly I did it?”

  “Yes,” she answered back.

  She understood all too well. His body desired her, but he’d never love her. He’d never marry her. He wouldn’t even take her for his mistress. She wasn’t acceptable. It was obvious he’d never look beyond her lineage. The truth was between them, as real as one of the pillars from the white room at Apamea Palace. Averill tried to harden her heart against him as his breathing evened out in slumber, but it didn’t work. She hoped she gained experience at handling such heart pain.

  And soon.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “It was a huge mistake to bring you, Averill. I shouldn’t need Harvey to continually point it out.”

  She looked up from her bowl of rice and caught his serious look. The bite she’d just taken almost choked. She didn’t know what she had done now.

  “The sultan of Turkey won’t cede Syria to Egypt. Perhaps you knew that was what Mohammad Ali demanded as payment for helping the sultan in his fight with the Greeks?”

  She shook her head.

  “The sultan asked your country’s help in a war against Greece a decade or some ago. As payment, Mohammad asked for Syria to be given to Egypt. Unfortunately, they lost the war. I suppose the Greeks would think that a fortunate event. It depends whose side you’re on, I suppose.”

  He winked. She smiled and immediately squelched it. She needed more practice at ignoring him and how much he altered the space about her whenever he was near. It was going to be difficult. Right now was proof.

  “Anyway...”

  He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze. Averill watched a flush rise up from the collar of his shirt, staining his cheeks.

  “Although the Ottoman Empire lost the war, Mohammad still demands Syria as payment for the troops he lost. There’ll probably be war. Are you listening?”

  His words stopped as she put her rice spoon down, pulled out a half-finished canvas and looked at it. It was of the oasis, complete with the small waterfall, and the rock she’d perched atop. It made her feel cooler looking at it. She wondered if she were brave enough to add his naked form to the water, and knew she wasn’t.

  “I’m giving you an explanation, Averill. The least you can do is pay attention.”

  Averill put the painting down. “I am listening.”

  “My country doesn’t want war. The route’s too important to the East India Company. Warring Arabs can’t be allowed to fight over country that Britain needs access to. Do you understand?”

  “It sounds a stupid reason to fight.”

  “There isn’t any good reason, is there?” He rose. “Look. I was supposed to get these weapons into the hands of Sheik Al-Hassen. His part was to get them into the hands of the Turk underground. So they’ll fight to keep the trade route open. My part was supposed to be finished. Done. Finis. Mission over. Now, that the man’s gone and turned on me, I’ve got two choices. Find his contacts and get the guns to them myself. Or haul them to the nearest British post and report my failure. I don’t like to fail. Let me rephrase that. I don’t remember ever failing.”

  Averill smirked. That was probably true.

  “So. That puts me in a quandary. To finish this mission, I have to travel through some very dark territory. It’s going to get…rough. I’ve got a lot of men, but I’m transporting a lot of guns. They’re heavy. Noticeable. This is raider country. Some of it unmapped. Dangerous. And, to add to all that, I’m bringing a woman. I probably should listen to Harvey and send you back to Egypt. I really should.”

  He paused. Averill held her breath.

  “Well. I never was one for listening to advice. He should know me that well by now. I’m keeping you with me. But, to make this work, we’ll have to assume a different guise. I can’t be a trader transporting wares anymore. Too vulnerable. It would be like painting a target on my back. So. To my plan. We’re changing. I’ll be an Arabian thief. I’ve done it before. We all have. But you’ll have to don a costume, as well. And apply kohl. Do you know how?”

  “No,” she whispered. Adornment was forbidden at the mission.

  “Harvey will show you. He’s an expert at disguise.”

  She stiffened. Harvey?

  “We must look and act like the meanest of brigands. And that includes you. I’ll be back. After I fetch Harvey.”

  Averill watched him leave, absorbing all he’d just told her. He wasn’t sending her away, although he knew he should. He was going to keep her with him. Despite everything, her heart swelled with emotion, warming and comforting her. But the captain wanted her to outline her eyes with kohl? He didn’t know what he asked!

  Tenny had been accurate. Harvey was a master of disguise. If she hadn’t met him, she never would’ve known the lame beggar who next entered the tent. Averill gasped as he loosened his robes and smiled, his normally white teeth blackened and decayed-looking in his mouth.

  “Here,” he said. “Have a seat by the mirror, and I’ll have you looking exotic in no time.”

  “Exotic?” Her eyes went wide.

  “Only a woman of low morals and easy virtue would travel with such a group. It’s my chore to make you look like one.”

  Averill tightened her sari about herself. Tenny wanted her to look like a prostitute? Was he serious?

  “Here.” He held out a tiny pot of black paint and a paintbrush. Averill shrank away from the sores on his hand.

  “Now what? These? You run from such little things? They’re false, girl. They peel right off. Watch.”

  He set down the supplies and ripped off one of the sores, leaving unblemished skin behind.

  “Now I’ll have to reapply it, but are you satisfied?”

  She nodded.

  “Then sit.” She hurried to obey. “If water can be found, use it. If not, you can simply lick the brush. Hold still now.”

  Averill watched him pour a few drops of water from his canteen into a saucer. She shut her eyes when he told her to, and didn’t flutter them when it tickled. She tried not to move. She didn’t expect any gratitude from him for it. He disliked her too much.

  What he did to her eyes didn’t look too difficult. Anyone could do it. She stared at her eyes for a long time after he left. He wasn’t an expert. The line encircling her left eye was ragged. She licked her finger and tried to even it out.

  He’d never make an artist, but she knew what to do now. That part was simple. She refused to wear the gossamer outfit Harvey put on the bedroll, however. It left her midriff showing and her legs clearly outlined. She’d be attacked if she wore it.

  “You’re not wearing your clothes.”

  She looked up at the stranger speaking guttural Arabic and frowned. “Go away or I’ll scream for the captain!”

  He laughed in answer.

  “Tenny?”

  She jumped up so fast her stool fell over. His disguise was impressive. His nose had been shadowed at the sides, narrowing it. His eyelashes and brows were darker, and henna turned his skin into that of a nomad. He even had a scar painted on his mouth, lifting his upper lip in a sneer. She was amazed.

  “Will I pass?”

  She nodded. “Why must I wear such?” She pointed at the clothes. “I’m an artist, not a dancing woman.”

  “You’re much too spectacular to arrive as an a
rtist. Our experience has taught us that much about you.”

  “Sheik Al-Hassen was after the weapons.”

  “The only weapon in my tent was my own, Averill. The sheik wanted you. Every man I run across seems to want you. What is it you do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m teasing. Trust me. I know very well what it is you do. That’s why you have to wear the clothes. If I present you as my artist, my hosts may demand you, and then I’d be forced to insult them.” He spread his hands out. “Then, I’d lose my head for my efforts. Do you want that?”

  “No.”

  “If you go as my woman, openly flaunting yourself, they shouldn’t even ask. It’s the only way you’ll be safe.”

  “I won’t be safe from the others.”

  “My men know you belong to me. They wouldn’t dare.”

  She tightened her lips at his stupidity. “The other men that serve their masters. Rich, powerful men have guards, servants. Those kinds of men might want me. They wouldn’t care that I’ve been used, or that I am little more...than a half-breed. ”

  He lowered his head and looked at her from beneath his eyebrows. “I thought we had a pact.”

  “I am making you aware of what might happen if I wear these clothes. I’m afraid to do so. I want you to know this.”

  “I’ll protect you.”

  She glanced at him but didn’t say a word.

  “You’ll have to be my shadow, Averill. It’ll be difficult, but I have no other choice. We’ll just have to be careful. You’ll help me with it, won’t you? Why do I ask? You’re already arguing. I told you I should send you back.”

  Her heart stopped. It reflected in her next words, spoken in a low voice. “I’ll wear the clothes, but only under my sari.”

  “You’re wearing a different cloth now.” He unwrapped a length of silk, dyed to a bright orange color.

  Averill blushed. “I can’t wear that. It would mark me —”

  “As a woman of low morals,” he interrupted her. “I know. It’s only acting, Averill. We must make you look like you’ve got more hair, though. Whatever possessed you to cut it?”

  “How do you know I did?”

  “A skilled barber would’ve done it straight. You cut it short on impulse, probably to escape that Sanders fellow. It makes no matter. We’ll devise a headdress to disguise it.”

  “Why can’t I be a boy again? It would be easier.”

  “You’re way too pretty. I don’t want anyone thinking I favor boys.” He shrugged. “Look. I already told you I shouldn’t have brought you, Averill. Thank you for making it a certainty.”

  “I’ll wear the new wrapping, too.” She stared at the floor.

  “Thank goodness! Here I thought you were quiet, yet you argue just like a woman.”

  He turned, his burnoose billowing behind him as he left the tent.

  I am a woman!

  Averill turned to her new clothing. The silk was smooth and cool against her skin, although her rough palms snagged it occasionally. The light-green pants were slit up the side, baring her legs. Averill gulped at the sight. But that was before she donned the top. That garment was a small square of material heavily encrusted with seed pearls. They emphasized the swell of her bosom. She couldn’t believe the difference when she looked at herself in the mirror. The outfit outlined what she cursed, hated, and kept hidden for years.

  “Are you finished?”

  “Yes. Come in.”

  He did. And then he stopped dead while his eyes opened and his lower jaw dropped. “Mother of—!” He gnashed his teeth as he bit off the rest of his exclamation. “Put on the sari. Now.”

  His words were clipped. Gruff. Deep. Averill hurried to obey. She felt the pants parting every time she moved. And the orange cloak was useless as a covering. The silk clung to her curves and outlined them.

  “You’ll ride directly behind me. Do you understand?”

  He strode from the tent, flipping the door flap out of his way and muttering about finding boy’s clothing, after all.

  Averill ducked her head.

  Well. She had warned him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Captain Tennison, or Kareem Turiz, as he called himself now, grumbled to himself as they rode north, while behind them the oasis town blurred in the distance. Averill watched him most of the day, ignoring the canvas on her lap. Pegasus carried her things as before, but she was on a horse now, and it wasn’t conducive to painting.

  Tenny’s mood had soured from the moment they’d arrived last night, sent scouts about a town that consisted of eight buildings, none of them one that she wanted to enter. That’s when they learned they’d have to leave again, this time toward Selantepe. Averill tried to understand the situation. The men they sought weren’t there. They’d left over a week earlier. The news was unwelcome and angered Tenny. It was easy to see why his guise as Kareem worked. The man did nothing but complain and curse and shout at people. Occasionally, he glanced at her, as if wishing she’d disappear.

  The oasis had been abuzz with rumors. Mohammed demanded Syria. The Sultan of Turkey refused. That meant war was imminent. And that meant their days of traveling in stifling costumes and makeup weren’t ending anytime soon.

  Averill was forced to learn how to sit sidesaddle. The flimsy trousers weren’t protective enough for her thighs. She would’ve asked for more liniment, but she didn’t want to ask for it from Kareem. She didn’t want to speak to him at all.

  There was very little talk from any of them. Averill glanced back more than once to make sure the men were still there. They were silent. Stealthy. Angry-looking. If she hadn’t seen them before, she would’ve had trouble recognizing even one. They all appeared to be part of a travel-weary band of brigands, just as they portrayed.

  The soil changed as the day lengthened, becoming the most arid they’d crossed yet. Desolate. Dry. Dreary. Averill sighed and looked down at her blank canvas. It was full dark when Tenny finally called a halt. Within moments, fires were started and tents erected. Averill watched the activity from atop her perch, wondering why she felt so sore.

  “Come down, Averill,” Tenny said. “I believe you’ve flaunted yourself enough for one day.”

  She’d wrapped the reins around the pommel when he approached, ready to leap down beside him. She stopped at his words and raised her eyebrows above the little veil shielding her nose and mouth. “I am not flaunting myself. I only do as you ordered.”

  He lifted his hands to her waist. “I know. And I should probably apologize. Again. I knew it was wrong to bring you. I knew it was foolish to dress you so blatantly. I realized I might have trouble over it…but I never stopped to think how it would affect me.”

  Her eyes widened. Her heart pulsed. And everything else seemed elevated, energized, and not remotely sore or tired. He set her on her feet and took her hand, pulling her along to where the men were finishing with his tent. She kept her eyes on the ground, ignoring any glances the men may have given her.

  They entered his tent. Averill sat on the unrolled bed mat beside him. They ate in silence. And then he broke it.

  “You ride a horse well, Averill. Have you ridden before?”

  “Only behind you, in Cairo…that day in the city.” She grinned. “Perhaps I only ride well because I don’t want to fall off. Your horses are great beasts.”

  “They’re Arabian. I’m toying with shipping them home. They were expensive, but my uncle won’t fault the purchase. What am I saying? He probably won’t even notice. He’ll just be relieved that I returned.”

  Her good humor evaporated. It was such a joy to be in eyesight and earshot of him, even when he was in a temper. Averill wondered what it might feel like when he left her and returned to England. And then she wondered if he spoke of it for just such a purpose.

  As a warning.

  “Come. Enough talk. I need some rest. And I’m not getting any while protecting you.”

  Tenny patted the blankets beside him. She blushed and turned away
.

  “I must change. The pearls won’t sleep well.”

  “Harvey got you a gown. Over there.” He pointed at his small trunk.

  “You’ll need to dim your light first.”

  “Oh. Forgive me.” He was curt and blunt as he shut down the wick.

  Averill stripped out of the top and pants as quickly as possible. She knew he couldn’t see her, but her trembling increased the longer it took. And then she slid under the blanket and turned her back to him. Her breath caught as he spooned himself around her. She had her eyes shut tightly, her limbs locked, and still everything felt alive. Alert. Bothersome. And then warm, evenly-spaced breath caressed her cheek. Averill realized he slept.

  She only wished for the same. And each day of that particular journey got worse.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It wasn’t difficult to tell where Tenny –Kareem, she reminded herself – was leading them. If she squinted against the blazing heat, she saw trees ahead. That meant civilization and water. She didn’t have to tell the horse about it. It was already straining against her control, trying to go faster. The city of Selantepe looked enormous, looming up from the sand, built into what hills there were and surrounded by desolation. Sounds of revelry carried on the wind. Tenny…no. Kareem had told her about it.

  When Kareem told her they were going to Selantepe, Harvey’s reaction had been interesting. He’d spoken to Kareem in French, trying to make it so she wouldn’t understand.

  Averill had caught Tenny’s eyes on her as the words flowed. Selantepe was home to all kinds of brigands that looked like them. Harvey looked forward to finding the Turks that they were to give the guns to. He was also looking forward to watching the scene Kareem was setting up.

  Averill didn’t know what that meant. She wasn’t interested in finding out, either. She put the thought aside and watched Selantepe’s sandstone buildings grow as the daylight faded. She wondered what a home for groups of brigands would look like.

  She pulled her cloak closer, grateful that Kareem let her use a dark-colored one over the brazen orange one. She was still wearing the pearl top and revealing pants, though. Flashes of her thighs appeared occasionally as the horse moved. There wasn’t anything she could do to prevent it.