Daughter of the God-King

by Anne Cleeland

  She nodded, trying to match his calm manner, and they lay thus for some tense minutes. Straining, she could hear nothing but the river insects. To calm her, he kissed the side of her face, whispering in her ear, “I am sorry I put you in the sarcophagus.” He wound his arms around hers and interlaced their fingers, laying his cheek to her face as he rested the length of his long body over hers.

  She whispered in return, “Then we are all even; I am sorry I disrupted your plan.” As the water lapped on the hull beneath her head, she smiled, thinking the situation very satisfactory despite the perilous events of the day. It felt as though they were alone in the world with the thick, close darkness enveloping the small boat. “I do admire your beard,” she whispered. “You are handsome and rather sinister, which is appealing in its own way.”

  “You didn’t know me.” He said it in a mock-accusatory manner.

  “No—I’m afraid I was too busy dodging blows from the wicked baron.”

  “Mudak,” he said succinctly, and she decided it was best not to seek a translation for that particular word. Instead, she whispered, “Is ‘Sokol’ our family name?”

  “No.”

  “What does it mean?”

  He thought about the translation. “Falcon.”

  “What is our family name? Can you say?”

  There was the slightest pause. “Khilkov, but you must not tell anyone; not as yet.”

  She repeated it, trying to become familiar with the unfamiliar pronunciation. “Is it Russian?”

  “Yes.” He kissed her again.

  She smiled, feeling the whiskers of his false beard against her face. “It is a good name, Dimitry—and I must admit to relief; I would not have made a very good countess.”

  He made no response, and into the silence she sighed. “Best tell me the whole, husband.”

  She could feel his breath against her ear. “You are indeed a countess, and the House of Khilkov is fortunate to add your bloodstock to theirs.” The words were firmly said, and his fingers tightened around hers. “I will hear no more of it.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she teased, her tone light. There was no longer any point to being missish about her birth; she may already carry the heir to the House of Khilkov—may as well get on with it. Thinking of such things, she giggled. “Is that the mighty Glory of Kings I feel?”

  Laughing softly, he pressed his hips suggestively against her. “I cannot help myself, Hattie—you feel so good against me.”

  “Well, I cannot be any more bedraggled than I already am,” she said in an invitation, moving his hands to her breasts.

  “Quiet; we cannot give our position away,” he warned, but he was already turning her over beneath him and hiking up her skirts with an impatience that belied his caution.

  Twining her arms around his neck, she kissed the hollow of his throat, below the beard. “I will be as silent as the stupid sarcophagus.”

  “I am sorry to have done it to you,” he said again as his mouth trailed along her throat and he pulled at the drawstring on his trousers. “But it seemed the best course.”

  “I lasted for all of five minutes—which was a major accomplishment, I think.”

  “This may not last much longer,” he admitted, his voice husky in her neck.

  And so her husband made quiet and efficient love to Hattie in the bottom of a wooden fishing boat while the crickets resonated and the eternal stars of Egypt burned overhead. It is truly not such a terrible place, she thought, arching against him and biting her lip to keep from crying out; one need only meet the right people.

  Chapter 46

  Dimitry was shaking her gently. “Hattie.”

  She opened her eyes, disoriented for a moment. The last thing she remembered was lying with him in the boat after lovemaking, content to be silent while they rocked with the current of the river. She must have fallen asleep, and now Dimitry was crouched over her, his expression intent. “I must go.”

  This woke her as nothing else could, and she sat up, blinking, only to realize they were out in the silent river, another boat alongside. “I will meet up with you as soon as I may.”

  She nodded, her breast suddenly heavy. “Good luck,” she said, not certain of what one said in such a situation.

  He laid a hand against her face then leapt nimbly into the larger boat that abutted theirs. In the moonlight, Hattie could make out the cohort from the tomb manning the oars and the inert form of the associate stowed on the floorboards—they had been successful in spiriting him away, then. She turned her head to observe that the innkeeper from the Osiris Inn was now doing the honors for her own vessel.

  “Do I need my safe passage?” she reminded Dimitry as he placed a boot against their boat to push them away.

  “It was never intended for you,” he admitted.

  She nodded. Apparently, the capture of the associate had been his object all the while, and securing the treasure only a means to that end. That he had also secured a wife was an unexpected boon that had caused only slight complications—he was indeed an excellent chess player. She wondered where they would deliver the associate and decided that the less she knew about it, the better.

  “Clements will see to you,” he said softly as his figure faded away in the darkness, and then he was gone.

  Masking her sadness, Hattie turned to face her impassive companion. “Hallo, again, sir. I believe we shall become fast friends, after all is said and done.”

  Wooden-faced, the innkeeper began to pole the boat. His only reaction was to indicate with a gesture that she was to lie down.

  With a sigh, she complied, wondering whence she was to be shuttled now. Hopefully it was somewhere that featured a hip bath, as she had never been such a mess in her life—not that Dimitry had offered any objection when he had joined his body with hers on the floorboards. She decided she didn’t want to think about him just now, and concentrated instead on the passing sky. After perhaps a half hour she could spy lanterns coming into view overhead, and propping on her elbows, she peered out and saw that they approached a small schooner, anchored in the river. As they slid quietly alongside in the shadows of the hull, a cabin porthole opened and Captain Clements’s head appeared, wordlessly indicating she was to stand and lift her arms. Hattie carefully stood, holding her arms out to keep her balance, then lifted them toward him, hoping she wasn’t to suffer the final indignity of the evening by falling into the Nile. The big man grasped her wrists and pulled her up so that she kicked off the hull and scrambled head first through the small opening, sustaining a few more bruises and scrapes in the process.

  “Welcome aboard.” With an easy movement, he set her upright on the floor within.

  “I am dying for a bath,” she responded without preamble.

  He took her arm and steered her toward the interior of the cabin, indicating she was to sit on the low berth in the cramped quarters. “Not just now, I’m afraid. You must stay below decks and away from the windows.” At her look, he offered in apology. “I can feed you, instead—will that do?”

  She brushed at her filthy skirts, then gave it up as hopeless. “Do we leave immediately?”

  “I await one more passenger, but we leave within the hour, regardless.”

  Eyeing him, she asked, “Where do we go?”

  He shook his head. “I am not at liberty to say—not as yet, I’m afraid.”

  She gave in with good grace. “Very well then—I will cooperate if you teach me a few words in Russian.”

  The captain raised his bushy brows in surprise. “What makes you think I would know how to speak in Russian?”

  With a shrug, Hattie offered a benign smile. “Just a thought.”

  He was amused. “I’m afraid you will have to take your lessons elsewhere.”

  She made a moue of disappointment. “I so wanted to surprise him.”

  “Instead, you have surprised me.” He closed the door behind him.

  After taking in her surroundings, she contemplated the undeniable fact
that once again, she was uncomfortably enclosed in a small space. At least there was the porthole, such as it was. As she lifted an arm to examine a scrape on her elbow, the door opened to reveal Eugenie, looking very much put upon. “You look terrible,” the Frenchwoman pronounced with satisfaction.

  “If you bring a hairbrush, you may insult me all you wish.”

  “I am instructed to be of assistance,” explained her reluctant handmaiden, pulling a hairbrush from the storage cabinet. “Votre dragon being absent.”

  Dimpling, Hattie had the pleasure of informing her, “My dragon is betrothed to Mr. Smithson.”

  “Zut alors.” Amazed, Eugenie shook her head in wonderment. “Who would think she could attract the men, that one? She is like a stick with eyeballs.”

  Unpinning the few pins left in her hair, Hattie noted, “I think they admire her for her mind, Eugenie.”

  “Bah.” The woman made a gesture of repulsion. “Then they are not real men.”

  “Not like the captain.” Hattie gave her a knowing glance as she started the long process of untangling her hair from the ends up.

  But Eugenie was not to be discomfited. “Or Daniel.”

  “Or Daniel,” Hattie agreed, thinking of the heated session on the fishing boat.

  “He has left you?” It was asked with no real hope.

  “Not yet, but I promise I will inform you immediately should it ever happen.”

  Eugenie laughed her genuine laugh, and Hattie joined in. It was into this merry scene that Robbie appeared, opening the door and standing in bemusement on the threshold. The two women scrambled to their feet, Eugenie smoothing her hair with a graceful gesture and Hattie deciding it was not worth the attempt.

  “Hattie.” Robbie came forward to embrace her. “Thank God.”

  “I am sorry to have worried you,” Hattie said, disengaging from him and sliding her eyes toward the other woman with some significance—she didn’t want to discuss the latest turn of events before Eugenie; Hattie had duly noted that she did not know Dimitry’s true identity.

  “Could you fetch me something to eat? I’m dashed sharp-set,” Robbie asked Eugenie with a smile.

  “Eugenie is acting as my dragon,” Hattie said helpfully, and watched with interest while the other woman struggled to control her temper.

  “She is not old enough,” Robbie offered promptly. “I shall have to chaperone the both of you.” For emphasis, he swatted Eugenie’s bottom as she walked through the door, earning a wicked smile for his action.

  “Robbie; I am shocked,” remarked Hattie affably as he shut the door.

  “I am the only one allowed to be shocked—I understand I am to wish you happy.”

  With a broad smile she dipped a mock-curtsey. “You may.”

  Brows drawn together, he stared in consternation. “How in the name of all that is holy did this come about?”

  Hattie laughed at his professed amazement. “I fell violently in love one fine night—over the course of about ten minutes, I would gauge. It is my sincerest wish you suffer a similar fate.”

  Shaking his head, he smiled and embraced her again, holding her close. “Then I am indeed happy for you.”

  Hattie stumbled a bit, as the boat’s movement could be now felt. “Oh—we are away; do you need to leave?”

  “I am to travel to Cairo with you. Berry—or whoever he is—was concerned you were worried about me.”

  For some reason, this revelation brought a lump to her throat and she struggled not to cry.

  He watched her with a thoughtful expression. “So—how much can you tell me?”

  Reminded of her duties as a spy’s wife, Hattie offered delicately, “I believe he is an ally, and is involved in a livelihood that is similar to yours.”

  “Yes.” He seemed relieved, and she had to smile; neither of them knew how much to reveal to the other. “And a good thing too—he has done us a huge favor.”

  Tentatively, she suggested, “Drummond’s associate?”

  “The very same; we suffered a breach of security a few months ago—one of our men had a wife in London who was selling secrets to the enemy. They used the information to send one of their best men to infiltrate our operations on the continent; we are lucky your husband put an end to it before more information was compromised.”

  “A wife who was a traitor,” Hattie repeated in amazement, and then thought of her parents. And—now that she knew about this twist to the story—it would not be far-fetched to conclude that this was how Napoleon’s people were able to discover that her parents were secretly negotiating with the British; because of this treacherous wife. Which in turn meant they were summarily executed for their sins, with no mercy shown. “What happened to her—the wife who set this all in motion?”

  “Dead.”

  She looked up at him, stricken by these revelations, one after the other. “Let’s talk about something else, Robbie.”

  But he bent to reassure her in a sincere tone. “Berry seems very resourceful, Hattie; I know it’s difficult, but I would have no fears on his behalf.”

  Unable to suppress her pride, she disclosed, “He had something to do with Napoleon’s disastrous Moscow retreat, apparently.”

  Robbie raised his brows. “Did he? I confess I am not surprised; we believe he is a member of the Hospitallers—the Order of St. John, and they are based in St. Petersburg.”

  “What is that—a religious order?” She thought of the gold icon on the wall, hungry for any scrap of information he could relate.

  “Well—yes, although with a military bent. They are otherwise known as the Knights of Malta—the organization includes what is left of the original Knights Templar, also. They’re rather mysterious, and”—here he tilted his head and glanced at her—“they are not always aligned with our objectives, I’m afraid. But all in all, they do good work, particularly in fighting the Barbary pirates.”

  “I see.” Indeed, this recitation seemed very much in keeping with what she knew of her new husband, and she teased, “Don’t tell Swansea and her new husband that I’ve turned popish.”

  “Good God; that is the least of my troubles; m’father always assumed I would marry you. He will think me a sorry excuse.”

  Hattie found this piece of information very amusing, in an ironic sort of way. “Tell him it was not to be—only don’t bring home Eugenie in my place; he would think you a sorry excuse.”

  He let out a bark of laughter and then admitted, “Mother would always tell him we were too familiar to marry.”

  “Your mother is a wise woman.”

  With a smile, he teased, “You’ll never tell her of my engagement to Madame Auguste? Promise?”

  “As long as you’ll never tell her of my parents’ treason.”

  He ducked his chin and ran a comforting hand down her arm. “Done,” he agreed, his voice gruff.

  “I will be very happy to shake the dust of Egypt from my sandals,” Hattie pronounced with no small bitterness.

  “I cannot blame you,” he said quietly. “Where do you go?”

  She smiled. “To his sister’s.” Hopefully this answer would suffice, and before any further questions could be asked, the cabin door opened to reveal Eugenie, carrying a bottle of wine and a napkin that revealed bread and dates when it was unrolled on the berth.

  “I am to remind you to stay away from the windows,” Eugenie said. “And there are no glasses so we must share the bottle.”

  “Excellent work,” pronounced Robbie, and removed the cork with his pocketknife.

  They settled on the berth and passed the wine bottle between them in the light of the single candle. “Easy, Hattie,” warned Robbie. “You are not used to spirits.”

  “Only a sip,” she assured him in a meek tone.

  “Shall we play cards?” Eugenie asked Robbie, running her fingers along his sleeve. “We can play for Hattie’s hairpins.”

  He laughed. “I understand you tend to fleece those foolhardy enough to engage you in cards.”


  “I shall be happy to fleece you, and more than once.” She looked at him from under her lashes and Hattie chuckled in appreciation, which drew an admonitory look from Robbie. It is so much better to be married—to understand the innuendos, she thought. But how I wish he was here, so that I could say such teasing things to him. Stifling a pang, she reconciled herself to the sad fact that she may not see her husband again for quite some time. I miss you, Dimitry, she thought. Please, please be careful.

  Chapter 47

  Hattie sat cross-legged on her berth, writing a letter to Dimitry. They had transferred from the small schooner to the Sophia and were currently anchored at Cairo, but were to depart very shortly for points eastward. The night before, Robbie had said his farewells before slipping away quietly so as to draw no attention. Hattie did not witness his leave-taking because she continued to be consigned to the lower deck, and as a result of the forced close quarters she and Eugenie were ready to strangle each other—although to the good, Hattie was fast learning the finer points of cheating at cards. To pass the time and to fight claustrophobia, Hattie was writing the letter and striving to maintain a light and encouraging tone. As she and Dimitry knew so little about each other’s lives, she thought to relate the high points of hers up to the day they met. Unfortunately, the recitation thus far did not amount to more than a page and a half—truly, she had lived a very dull life until her trek to Paris, and then she had made up for it with a vengeance.

  She was ready to be away, now that Robbie had disembarked—ready to meet her new family and begin the business of setting up her new life. And it would be a relief beyond measure to feel safe again—the small schooner had experienced a few tense moments near Helwan when local officials had boarded to make a search; apparently all vessels heading to the Nile delta were undergoing a search for reasons that were not explained but which Hattie could easily guess. Curled up tightly, she hid in a cupboard in the captain’s quarters, and Robbie told her later that their unnamed vessel flew a Dutch flag and Captain Clements spoke in that language to the boarding party as he presented his passage documents. Robbie had been instructed to say nothing unless asked, and fortunately the officials were too distracted by Eugenie to make any inquiries.