Saved by Her Enemy Warrior

by Greta Gilbert

  ‘Now feel this,’ he said. He took her hand and placed it on his own arm. His muscle bulged inside her palm, sending a strange flutter of excitement through her. She stretched her fingers wide, but still she could not encompass it.

  ‘I will allow that you are slightly stronger than I,’ she said.

  He laughed. ‘Slightly stronger? I am a lion to your lamb!’

  ‘It is not your strength that I question, it is your logic,’ Aya explained. ‘I am an inferior chiseller only because I am untrained—not because I am a woman.’

  He appeared to consider her argument. ‘Well, I suppose I must concede.’

  ‘You concede?’

  ‘You make a good point,’ he said.

  But you are supposed to be an unreasonable brute!

  ‘My own mother was quite strong,’ he added. ‘She once captured a crocodile in her arms and tossed it back into the river!’

  Aya laughed, then paused. ‘That was before your family fell into poverty, yes?’

  ‘Yes. Before my father died.’

  She had reminded him of his sad history and now hardly knew what to say. She noticed that she had not yet taken her hand off his arm. She gave it one last squeeze and the two fell silent.

  Finally, Aya spoke. ‘I know I should rest, but I do not feel tired.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ he said. ‘Though you are an exhausting woman.’ There was a smile in his voice.

  ‘And you are an exasperating man,’ she replied warmly.

  ‘We will be fortunate if we get out of here without killing each other first.’ His eyes lingered where he had touched her arm. It felt almost as if he were touching it again.

  ‘I am afraid that we have already tried that once,’ noted Aya.

  ‘And failed miserably, bless the gods.’

  ‘I suppose my dearth of muscles has served us in that regard, as well.’ She rubbed her arm in the place where he had touched it.

  Intef’s eyes acquired a sudden glint. ‘It is unfortunate that your underdevelopment is not limited to your muscles,’ he said.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I mean that your arms are not the only part of you that lack training.’

  The man lived to exasperate her! ‘You seem to have analysed my strengths and weaknesses in great detail,’ she said.

  ‘I am a soldier.’ He leaned back and his eyes slid up and down her torso assessingly. ‘It is what I do to my enemy.’

  ‘What other part of me lacks training, then?’ His eyes slid over her bare shoulders, following the straps of her sheath to the bumps of her breasts.

  He blinked once and returned his attention to her face. ‘Your aim.’

  She cocked her head in confusion.

  ‘You are haunted by memories of demons that you cannot hit,’ he said. ‘Perhaps if you could improve your aim while you are awake, they will not bother you in your sleep.’

  ‘I cannot control what I do in my sleep,’ she said.

  ‘Have you ever tried?’

  ‘Of course not.’ The very idea struck her as absurd.

  ‘Then how do you know?’ He raised one of his luxuriant brows and she felt her resistance crumbling. ‘If I am to help you protect the heir, then I must insist that you have at least some practice with the bow.’

  ‘You seem to have gathered up many good reasons to send arrows flying inside this sacred house,’ she replied.

  ‘Not flying,’ said Intef. ‘Hitting their target.’

  He stood and lifted the lamp and its low light flickered in his eyes. ‘Let me help you slay your demons,’ he said, and reached out his hand.

  She could not help herself—she took it.

  * * *

  Intef selected a small bow and a quiver of arrows from the weapons room and handed it to Aya. ‘Make yourself familiar with this,’ he told her. ‘Grip the wood. Test the strings. Practise manoeuvring it. You may even wish to give it a name.’

  ‘A name?’

  ‘Something to elicit the favour of the gods.’

  He strode down the corridor and into the main chamber, aware of the swift passage of time. He should have been getting the rest he needed, not preparing for target practice.

  But right then, helping Aya had suddenly seemed more important than any other concern. In three short days, he was going to deliver her to the twin lions of General Setnakht and his son. The least he could do was show her how to roar.

  Arriving in the main chamber, he searched the storage rooms. Target practice was best with some sort of human-shaped figure and Intef thought of the doll he had discovered inside the unfinished chamber.

  It was an enigma he could not seem to purge from his mind. Why would a boy child ever be given such a toy? And then there was the problem of the cradle and its mysterious plaque. Royal craftsmen were among the best trained of elite workers. How could a royal craftsman mistake the hieroglyphic for grandson?

  ‘For the granddaughter of Pharaoh Merneptah’ the plaque had read. If the heir was a woman, the contest for the double crown would be altogether different. Whoever wedded the heiress first would win.

  There would be no bloodshed at all in that case, for Rameses would be marrying into divinity. His legitimacy would be unassailable. His dynasty would be secure, Egypt would be unified and nobody would have to die.

  Intef was so lost in his thoughts that he practically stumbled upon a long wooden bed frame standing upright in one of the storage chambers. Its base was made of several long slats of wood—a fine target.

  He set the bed standing on its end at the entrance to the main chamber and found the coal brazier he had discovered the first night. Blackening his fingers with soot, he traced a small circle at the centre of the bed’s wooden base.

  He strode down the corridor and returned to Aya’s side. ‘Have you familiarised yourself with the bow?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And how do you find it?’

  ‘It is as any other.’

  ‘When your training is complete, it will be as a third arm.’

  She gave him a doubting smile. ‘You are quite sure of yourself, are you not?’

  ‘You have no idea,’ he said gravely.

  How easy it was to make her blush. The colour seemed to travel as quickly up her neck as the lust travelled down into his depths.

  ‘Do you see that long plank of wood at the end of the hall?’ he asked.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Can you send your arrow to the centre of the circle I drew?’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘Well?’

  She lifted an arrow from the quiver, placed its nock on the string, then drew and let fly.

  The weakly shot arrow wobbled through the air before shooting downwards and ricocheting off the floor.

  Aya was shaking her head. ‘Perhaps this is a bad idea.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he replied. ‘It was your first try. Try again.’

  She pulled another arrow, set it and drew it back. ‘Hold it there,’ he said. He reached around her from behind, his naked chest muscles pressing against her bare shoulders.

  It was not the only place their bodies touched. He could not tell what was more unfortunate, that his desire had found a resting place in the small of her back or that his thighs were pressing hard against the soft contours of her buttocks.

  He considered stepping away from her, but the bow had been pulled and she was waiting patiently for his counsel. He adjusted the position of her fingers and helped her pull back further on the string.

  ‘Do you feel that?’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘Um...yes,’ she breathed. He sensed her shudder.

  ‘What is it?’ He made the mistake of breathing in her scent. His desire stiffened against her back.

  ‘What is what?’

  ‘What is it that you f
eel?’

  She seemed to search for the right word. ‘Effort.’

  He felt the same. It was a huge effort not to toss the bow aside and pull her to the floor.

  The gods are cruel, he thought.

  He slowly stepped away from her.

  ‘Hold your stance,’ he said. ‘Now look at the target with your cleverest eye. Imagine it is an enemy. Think of someone in particular.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Now tell me who it is.’

  ‘It is the High Priest.’

  ‘Why is he your enemy?’

  ‘He wants to kill the heir.’

  ‘And you are not going to let him, are you?’

  Aya shook her head. ‘When can I release it?’

  ‘When you feel your heart is true.’

  She instantly released the arrow. It went flying down the corridor, missing the bed frame entirely.

  ‘A spectacular miss,’ he remarked with a grin.

  ‘It slipped from my grasp!’ She wiped her hands on her sheath. ‘It is so hot in here.’

  ‘It must be daytime in the world above,’ he remarked and watched in wonderment as she propped the bow against her leg and produced a cloth from beneath her belt. She patted her brow, then wiped down her sweat-glazed arms in long, elegant strokes.

  ‘Does it not seem stuffier than yesterday?’ she asked. She lifted her hair off her neck and fanned herself, and he noticed an unnatural mark on her skin.

  ‘You have a tattoo.’ He pointed to a small mark he had spotted at the back of her neck, just below her hairline.

  ‘What?’

  He stared at the mark. It was a tattoo for certain. ‘A triangle inside a circle,’ he said. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

  He saw a flash of awareness traverse her expression. ‘Nothing,’ she said, though he noticed her swallow hard.

  ‘Were you not aware you had a tattoo?’ he asked. He had seen the shape before, quite recently. But where? He tried to get a better look at it, but she swayed away from him.

  ‘I had no idea,’ she said. She placed her hand over the mark briefly, then let her hair down. ‘It must be from my infancy. Tattoos are important in the Libyan tradition.’

  ‘Do you not wish to see it?’ he prodded. ‘I can draw it for you. Or trace it against your skin.’

  ‘It is not necessary,’ she clipped. She tucked her cloth inside her belt and lifted her bow. ‘Shall we resume?’

  Puzzled, he handed her an arrow. She nocked it quickly and let it fly. It landed even further from the target than the first.

  ‘You are distracted,’ he said.

  ‘I am not distracted,’ she protested. ‘On the contrary, I have never wanted anything more than to hit that cursed circle.’

  ‘That is why you are not hitting it.’

  She shook her head and sent another arrow tumbling to the floor. He needed to get her mind off the tattoo.

  ‘You must first clear your thoughts. Then you must focus on the truth inside your heart.’

  ‘Perhaps the gods do not wish me to wield a bow,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps the gods are bored and wish to entertain themselves,’ he said, then added, ‘Cursed bastards.’ He waited for her exasperation to surface. Five, four, three, two...

  ‘You dare to curse the gods inside a house of—’

  ‘Do you wish to sleep soundly?’ he interrupted.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Do you wish to defend yourself against enemies yet to come?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then lift the bow.’

  She did as he commanded.

  ‘Your position is terrible. Square your feet. Lift your shoulders.’ She did as she was told, but her posture lacked conviction. He stood behind her once again.

  ‘Now tell me the reason you are living,’ he breathed into her ear. She was so close. He could smell her. He could sense her beating heart.

  ‘I do not understand,’ she said.

  ‘Why did the gods keep you alive, by Seth?’

  ‘To protect Pharaoh’s house.’

  ‘Why else?’

  ‘To protect the heir,’ she replied.

  ‘And who is it that would like to see you dead?’

  ‘The High Priest.’

  ‘Now tell yourself where you are going to put that arrow.’

  ‘Right in the middle of the—’

  ‘Cease!’ Intef interrupted. ‘Do not say it aloud. An archer never says where she is going to put her arrow—she just puts it there!’

  He lifted an arrow from the quiver and positioned it for her. ‘You must not allow anyone else to determine your fate,’ he whispered. ‘Ever again. Now aim and, when you feel certain of this truth, let fly.’

  And that was what she did.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The following nights were free of visions. Aya slept long, chiselled hard and lived to shoot arrows.

  Several times, she caught herself rubbing the back of her neck, wondering about the tattoo Intef claimed to have seen there. What a strange coincidence that she would have the same tattoo as Tausret’s heir—though surely there was some logical reason for it. Perhaps it was a mark bestowed upon every young person who entered into Pharaoh’s service.

  Once while Intef was chiselling, Aya wandered into the main chamber and rifled through Tausret’s jewellery boxes, searching for something she could use as a mirror. She stopped herself when she saw Tausret’s precious pectorals and bracelets all in a tangle.

  She said extra prayers that day, begging Pharaoh for forgiveness. In every other way, she had been trying to conduct herself with the utmost reverence. Indeed, when she was not chiselling, she was praying at Pharaoh’s shrine, or reciting purifying spells, or doing ritual cleansings of all the chambers.

  Still, no prayer could make it cooler or improve the quality of the air inside the tomb and, as the hours passed, her breaths were less satisfying somehow, as if she were not breathing air, but malevolent spirits.

  The darkness had begun to bother her, as well. She knew that the chambers in which they dwelled were large, but when she blew out the wick of her lamp they seemed to close in all around her.

  Archery was the only thing that seemed to comfort her. As soon as she had understood the essential role of her own heart in the act, her arrow had flown true.

  Each day she improved, and by the third day—or was it the fourth?—she was able to land the arrow practically wherever she liked.

  It was as if her archery were improving in direct proportion to the decrease in the quality of the air.

  * * *

  That evening, after Intef could chisel no more, she challenged him to a contest. ‘There can be only one person with the title of best archer in Egypt,’ she pronounced, trying to lift his spirits. ‘And I fear that person is no longer you.’

  ‘A jest!’ exclaimed Intef. ‘It seems that your sense of humour has improved along with your aim.’

  ‘So you accept?’ He shot a glance across the chamber to the tunnel. ‘Even if I started chiselling right now, I would still be tired in only four hours or so. We will not lose any time.’

  She did not wait for him to refuse her. Instead she pulled three footrests from Pharaoh’s furniture stash and set them out along the corridor along with three flickering lamps.

  ‘You dare to despoil more of Pharaoh’s sacred furniture?’ Intef asked.

  ‘I dare to despoil the reputation of the best archer in the land.’

  She offered Intef his bow and a quiver full of arrows. ‘Very well, then,’ he said with a grin. ‘I will go first. Prepare to be humbled.’ He took his place beside her and raised his bow.

  ‘Pharaoh Tausret was an able archer, you know,’ remarked Aya. ‘She rode out against the invading Shekelesh tribe in the second year of her
reign and defeated them.’

  Intef shook his head. ‘I did not know that,’ he remarked. ‘But I do know that you are trying to distract me.’ He inhaled sharply, then shot his arrow. It landed at the centre of the first footrest. ‘If only Tausret had been a man,’ he said.

  Aya raised her bow and waited for her anger to pass. If only Tausret had been a man? But Aya knew what he was about. ‘You are going to have to do better than that to distract me.’ She steadied her heart and let her arrow fly and landed it a finger’s width from his.

  ‘Well done,’ he said. In a single motion, he lifted his bow, set his arrow and sent it to the centre of the second footrest. ‘Your woman Pharaoh would be proud.’

  Woman Pharaoh? She would not let him draw her fire. ‘My Pharaoh would certainly be proud,’ Aya said coolly. She waited until her mind was clear and her heart true, then released her arrow. Once again, it landed just next to his.

  ‘Indeed she would be proud,’ he said, sending her an admiring nod. ‘Women do not often excel in wielding weapons.’

  He drew back his bow and released his arrow for the final time, landing it just to the right of the centre of the third footrest.

  ‘They certainly do not,’ Aya agreed, ‘for men such as you fear being bested by them.’

  She raised her bow and in an instant his arrow had fallen to the ground and her arrow stuck in its place.

  He stared at her in wonder. ‘Apparently I have just experienced that particular outcome.’

  ‘And how do you feel?’ asked Aya, setting down her bow.

  ‘Proud.’ She searched his eyes for mockery, or some hint of a jest, but found only a kind of softness that she had not seen in them before. ‘It appears that you have a gift,’ he said.

  ‘If a woman can shoot an arrow, then why can a woman not be pharaoh?’ she asked.

  He sighed. ‘A woman can certainly be pharaoh—just not Tausret.’

  ‘Why not Tausret?’ Aya asked.

  ‘She was a weak and ineffectual ruler. She bankrupted the country and failed to produce an heir. She was unskilled in diplomacy and could not keep Egypt united.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Who tells all the histories? The holy priests, of course.’