She awoke to the caress of Ra’s fingers, and the shock of her high perch. She glanced at Mut’s sleeping mat. It was empty. The ancient woman was already at work.
Wen gazed out across the land in amazement. The view from the second deck was much grander than from the first and she forgot her fear as she took in the glory of Alexandria.
There was the grand Canopic Way, the city’s largest street. And there was the blackened Library just near it, still standing despite the flames that had destroyed one of its sides. There was the battered Royal Quarter, its gardens destroyed, but its buildings still blindingly white. Wen could see the sprawling gymnasium, the steps of Serapeum Hill and the columns of Alexander’s tomb. She could even see the street where the brew house stood and thought she could discern its small roof.
It was all so very miniscule, so very trivial from such heights. Even the terrible roof from which she fell seemed almost comical in its size, like a small pebble on a large, rocky beach. That was when she knew that she was no longer afraid—not of heights or betrayal or even death. Nor would she ever be again, for she had become truly free.
She gazed out beyond the city walls and towards the east, where the natural border of Lake Mareotis ended and the land spread out in large, grassy fields.
There among the greens and browns she beheld an army at march. There must have been ten thousand men—all walking in perfect rows towards the gates of the city. Her heart began to pound. She squinted her eyes, dreading the sight of Ptolemy’s ceremonial headdress. Instead she perceived a tiny blue point against the fallow fields. It was unmistakable, even from so far away, as was its wearer. Titus.
‘Titus!’ Wen shouted.
Mut hobbled to Wen’s side. ‘What is it, my child?’
Wen could hardly think. She could barely speak. ‘Please, Mut, may we move the mirrors?’
Chapter Nineteen
He should have known better than to fall in love with an Egyptian. He should have known better, yet there had never really been a choice. She had surely cast a spell on him—one of those ancient Egyptian curses they whispered of in Rome. By the time he realised her hold on him, the magic was at work and the only way to lift it was to do his duty and abandon her.
And he would certainly never do that. Never, ever, in a thousand years. Curses on his duty and his philosophy and his wretched dignitas—he would not abandon the woman he loved.
The battle had been short and mercifully decisive. Ptolemy’s exhausted forces were no match for Mithridates’s fresh, well-provisioned ones. The prince’s men fought bravely and well, and quickly sent Ptolemy’s troops running for the River. For the first time in his life, Titus thanked the gods, for he knew that Wen would live.
Caesar’s own exhausted legion met Titus’s at the battle’s end. ‘It took you long enough,’ Caesar said.
‘I should say the same,’ Titus jested.
The Senate would have to think of another way to be rid of Caesar. Titus would not be the one to betray him.
Together they commenced their march towards Alexandria that morning and soon spied its high walls.
Titus was searching the base of them, hoping to catch sight of a welcome party, when a beam of light hit him in the eye. High in the northern sky, he beheld the Lighthouse’s flickering flame, enhanced by the reflection of its copper mirrors. He could hardly believe it. He had never seen the flame directed towards land. He did not even know it was possible.
‘It appears that at least some of the citizens of Alexandria are happy to see us,’ he mused.
‘Happy to see you and the troops you bring,’ corrected Caesar. ‘Though I will certainly take credit for the victory.’
Titus smiled. ‘I would expect nothing less.’
‘You may at least have your spoils.’
‘What spoils are there to be had from a besieged city?’
‘I think you know,’ said Caesar.
When Titus arrived outside the Queen’s palace, he burst into the Reception Hall. ‘Well met, Titus!’ said the Queen. She stepped down from her throne. ‘You have come to our rescue once again. We are indebted to you for our lives.’
‘It is my honour to serve you, Queen.’ His eyes darted about, searching for Wen.
‘I assume you are not searching for my sphinxes,’ said the Queen.
‘Apologies, Queen Cleopatra, I was searching—’
‘For Wen,’ finished the Queen. ‘I know.’
‘Is she here?’
‘She is not in the palace at present, though I can say that she has been awaiting your arrival for some time. She told me to tell you that you must find her. She said you should follow the flame. Take the most direct route.’
Puzzled, Titus walked down to the royal docks and stared up at the Lighthouse. The flame was no longer being directed towards land, but its familiar plume of white smoke twisted up from beneath its wide dome.
Are you there, Wen? he wondered.
He wandered down the dock, finding himself stopped where they had disembarked on that fateful night. Incredibly, their small sailboat was still there, still roped to the dock. He untethered the vessel and stepped aboard, resolving to take it to Pharos Island where he would dash up the spiralling ramp and seek the woman he loved.
But when he pulled back the deckhouse curtains, he realised that he had already found her.
‘Titus!’ she cried, leaping into his embrace.
He could not contain his joy. It burst from his pores and threatened to obliterate his armour. He squeezed her as tightly as he dared, burying his face in her hair and breathing in her scent. Tears came unbidden to his eyes. ‘It is as if I have been imagining this moment for a hundred years,’ he said.
‘And I for a thousand,’ sobbed Wen. ‘Did you see me signalling to you from atop the Lighthouse?’
Titus set her upon the deck. ‘That was you?’
‘Yes! The copper mirrors can be moved. There was an old woman. The Keeper of the Flame. She told me not to fear. Oh, Titus I could see your blue-crested helmet!’ She was breathless, the words tumbling out of her. ‘And the Queen knew my mother. And we ran out of water. And I learned to read and—’
‘Shhh,’ he said. He parted her lips with the force of his own, letting her feel the wind of his breath inside her. It carried the message of his longing for her, a message she received with a joyful sob.
‘Can I tell you a secret?’ he asked.
She exhaled hard, then took a step back. ‘I already know. You are a spy for the Senate. You are trying to preserve the Roman Republic from the threat of Caesar’s kingly ambitions.’
She might as well have delivered him a body blow. ‘How on earth do you know that?’ He looked around nervously, though they were snugly within the deckhouse, with only the seagulls outside to hear them.
‘I am an advisor to the Queen of Egypt. It is my job to know such things.’
He stepped forward. ‘You are an advisor and a sorceress.’
She stepped backwards. ‘And you are a very good liar. Now tell me why.’
‘Why?’
‘You were ordered to abandon Alexandria. Why did you return?’
‘I—’
‘You betrayed your own philosophy.’
‘I—’
‘You let Caesar’s ambition win.’
He was utterly confused. ‘How do you know that I spied for the Republic?’
‘I read you like a book, Titus. But that does not matter. What matters is that I agree with you.’
‘You agree with me?’
‘My mother was killed by a ruthless king, though her only wrong was educating his daughters. Kings are dangerous. They are like masters. They cannot exist if people want to be free. That is why I must know, Titus. Why did you return? Why?’
She would not let him come any closer until she had an answe
r, for she believed that was what she deserved. ‘Because I love you, Wen.’
‘You...love me?’ She looked around the room, blinking in confusion.
‘I have loved you from the moment I saw you.’
Stepping backwards, he watched her legs crashing against the lounging platform. She lost her balance and collapsed on to the mattress.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, crouching at her feet.
‘But you gave up your dream.’
‘You are my dream.’
‘You shunned your true duty. You failed to do what was right.’
‘It is going to take more than a single spy to save the Roman Republic. It must come from the will of the people.’
‘Is that what you truly believe?’
‘It is.’
She seemed satisfied at last, though her expression was vexed. ‘You love me?’
‘And I will prove it to you,’ he said. ‘Touch my heart.’
Slowly, she lifted her hand and laid it across his beating heart. ‘Do you feel that?’ he asked.
‘Poon-poon, poon-poon,’ she said.
‘That is the sound of my love for you. It never goes away, no matter how far apart we are. It is like the flame of the Lighthouse—it will always be.’
He lay down beside her on the mat and grazed his fingers gently up and down her arm. The tiny, soft hairs swayed beneath his touch like a field of wheat. Encouraged, he bent forward and planted a series of kisses down her neck. He was rewarded by a soft moan.
‘How I have missed you, my cara,’ he whispered.
‘And I have missed you.’
He dared to move his arm about her waist, drawing her atop him and pushing her tunic to her waist. His hands wandered across her soft thighs, then visited her shapely hips, then explored the small of her back until they found themselves caressing her soft bottom. His heart thrummed. He wondered if she felt it, too—this strange Pandora’s jar of desire, twisting open.
He pulled her lips on to his, waiting at the ready for her tongue, which settled just inside his mouth with a delicious uncertainty. Gently, he coaxed it into his own mouth, and soon their tongues were moving together in an easy, sensuous rhythm.
There was no helping it: they were matched. There was something about their kissing that resembled a dance, or music, or the crashing of waves on the shore. They were like no other kisses Titus had ever experienced and he felt that he could stay here for a thousand years, his lips locked with hers.
With a little encouragement, she scooted up his legs and came to rest straddling his waist. He could feel her feeling him and the jar twisting open just a little more. A wave of alarm traced her expression, followed by that small twinge of delight that sometimes played at the edges of her lips. He arched his hips slightly, letting her feel what she did to him. Her whimper of surprise was so resonant with desire that he thought he might be undone right then.
‘You want me,’ he whispered, letting his hands graze across her breasts.
‘Not at all,’ she said. And there it was—the twinge. Only this time it was playing at the edges of her voice and it made his insides coil with lust.
He resolved to make love to her slowly, torturously, and watch her thoughts turn to silt. It was as if all of the women he had ever known had only been preparing him for the goddess who now sat atop him in her victory pose.
‘We are matched, Wen,’ he said, marvelling at the rare and precious truth of it.
He only wondered if she could comprehend what that meant. There were millions of people in this world—in Alexandria alone, in fact—and she could spend her whole life searching without finding one who suited her half as well as he did. She leaned a little closer, closing her eyes and breathing him in. Then she collapsed on to his chest and laid there, her ear atop his heart.
‘You love me,’ he said.
The control was all hers now. She could do whatever she wished. More than anything, he wanted her to kiss him. On her own. Without any coaxing.
‘The boat is moving,’ she said.
‘Yes, I untied us from the dock.’
‘You what?’
‘Before I stepped aboard, I untethered the deck line. We are floating free now, Wen. There is no telling where we may land.’
Her eyes blazed with excitement, and her lips stretched into a heavenly grin. ‘I love you, Titus,’ she said. Then she leaned over and placed her lips upon his. Softly. Gently. Deliciously.
And they floated off together into the wine-dark sea.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story
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by Greta Gilbert
ENSLAVED BY THE DESERT TRADER
THE SPANIARD’S INNOCENT MAIDEN
Keep reading for an excerpt from CAPTAIN AMBERTON’S INHERITED BRIDE by Jenni Fletcher.
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Captain Amberton’s Inherited Bride
by Jenni Fletcher
Prologue
Amberton Castle, North Yorkshire—1862
‘There’s no way out, Lance. I’m trapped.’
Captain Lancelot ‘Lance’ Amberton turned his attention away from a particularly attractive redhead on the dance floor and fixed his twin brother with a speculative stare. From the tone of his voice it was obvious he wasn’t talking about the ballroom. He’d listened to Arthur’s railing against their father’s domineering behaviour a hundred times before, but the new note of despondency was unsettling enough that he almost missed the footman passing by with a fresh tray of drinks. Almost.
‘It’s your own fault.’ He darted a hand out, swiping the tumbler of brandy he knew was destined for their father. ‘You shouldn’t be so damned responsible all of the time. Do something shocking. Try saying no to him once in a while.’
‘Easier said than done.’ Arthur’s eyes, the same rich amber shade as his own, looked woebegone. ‘It’s not as if we can both run away and join the army.’
‘I had to run away.’ Lance tossed back a lock of dark chestnut hair. ‘He would have thrown me out if I hadn’t.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is and you know it. Father and I have done nothing but argue ever since Mother died. We get on far better at opposite ends of the country.’
‘I just wish you’d told me what you were planning.’
‘So you could have done the right thing and told him?’
Arthur
dropped his eyes guiltily. ‘He would have bought you a commission if you’d asked.’
‘That’s not the point. I didn’t want to owe him anything. I had the money Mother left us and I wanted to choose my own regiment. Father would have kept me in the local militia just to keep an eye on me.’
‘He’s still glad to have you back here tonight.’
‘So he can show off his ne’er-do-well son in uniform, you mean?’
Lance threw a scornful glance around the ballroom. As pleased as he was to see Arthur again, his family home held little appeal any more. After just two days’ leave, he was already itching to get back to his regiment. There were rumours that they were about to be posted abroad and he couldn’t wait to put Yorkshire behind him.
‘Don’t put yourself down.’ Arthur gave him a sympathetic look. ‘You’re a captain in the Fusiliers at twenty-two and doing pretty well by all accounts. That’s something to be proud of.’
‘I’m glad someone in the family’s noticed.’
‘He’s noticed. He’s proud of you, too, in his way.’
Lance gave a snort of derision. ‘That makes a change. It’s just a good thing I’m rejoining my regiment next week or we’d be back at each other’s throats—and this time I’m armed.’
‘Well, I’ve missed you these past six months. I’ve even missed the arguing. His lectures have got ten times worse since you left. He talks about duty and responsibility from the moment I get up until the moment I go to bed, which is early to escape. He tells me where to go, what to wear, who to talk to, even what to say. It’s exhausting.’
‘I’ve noticed.’
‘I don’t know how much longer I can stand it. I wish I had your stamina for fighting, but I don’t. I’m just...tired.’
Lance took another swig of brandy, trying to think of something reassuring to say and failing. Arthur had always been the thinker, the rational, peaceful son, whereas he... He was too much like their father, attacking first and asking questions later. All he knew was how to fight.
‘Well, don’t let it bother you tonight.’ He clapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood. ‘There’s enough pretty girls here to entertain both of us. Let’s have some fun.’
In Thrall to the Enemy Commander Page 23
