Reflections in the Nile (31 page)

Cheftu's mind raced as the horses brought them ever closer to the little temple where this woman would be sealed into the annals of ancient history. She was holding the side of the chariot with a death grip, the silver of her rings cutting into her fingers. He wondered how to break through the facade, how to let her know they were the same.

Suddenly, with a scream from the horses, they were thrown to the side as the chariot halted, spilling them onto the sandy, stone-pocked street. Instinctively Cheftu reached for her and tried to shield her from the ground as they fell. As she landed, hard, on top of him, he acknowledged that this woman also weighed more than RaEm had. As they stood up, he looked behind him, madness churning in his mind. The standard-bearer's chariot was coming up fast.

Their driver came forward, a puzzled expression on his florid features. “My lord, I cannot explain it, but the horse seems to be dying.” His voice was full of confusion, but Cheftu rejoiced.

The other chariot pulled up and he walked over, his arm around the unresisting priestess. The darkness was almost complete; there would be no moon, just stars. He explained the need to get the “Lady of Silver” to the temple before the service. It was imperative that she prepare herself before she left the service of HatHor and joined the Sisterhood of Sekhmet, as all these particular priestesses did.

Thanking Amun-Ra that this chariot could hold only two people, he ousted the driver and the standard-bearer, claiming he would deliver RaEm to the prince.

Praying whatever had befallen the other horses would leave his pair alone, he whipped them through the dark streets, heading not toward the waterfront, with its torchlit temple and waiting prince, but back to a hidden Apiru village in a copse of trees.

Cheftu closed the door behind him, turning slowly to face Chloe, seated woozily on the couch. “We can stay with the Apiru, they will hide us. When they leave, we can go with them.”

Chloe hung her head in relief. “Thank the gods!”

Cheftu licked his lips nervously. “However, there are a few conditions.” He refused to meet her bleary gaze. “You cannot tell anyone about the goddess HatHor. Their desert god is jealous and is their sole deity. This is a special concern because many of the Israelites have embraced HatHor, which may bring trouble. Even while their unknown god smites Egyptians, Apiru flock to HatHor's temples and buy her amulets and statues.”

Chloe shrugged. It would be a relief not to pretend allegiance to a lifeless silver statue.

Cheftu sat on the folding stool across from her and reached for her hands. He seemed to have forgotten their heated words earlier this evening and was making every effort to help her. Warily he looked info her face. “Second, and most important, we must be wed.”

Chloe jerked her hands free and sprang from the couch. “Married! Why is that?” Inwardly she raged that she could not avoid matrimonial bonds in this lifetime. At least Cheftu was an improvement over her other two offers, even though he thought she was a whore. I acted like one, she said to herself, remembering with a shiver the throbbing handful she had held.

Cheftu lifted his hands in an almost European movement of resignation. “It is their culture. A man and a woman cannot stay together unless they are married. More important, it will protect their own people.”

“From what?”

He smirked. “From intermarrying with idolaters. If we are together, then the chances of us leading someone else astray are slimmer. They are suspicious—a powerful priestess and an erpa-ha joining their band? They will, however, do it out of gratitude for Meneptah's training.”

“So what does this involve?” Chloe asked, not certain she wanted to stay with people who didn't trust her. Not that anyone in the palace did. She sighed.

“They have a …” Cheftu searched for the words. “A ritual. After that we stay together in a room for eight days. Then we can join them and they will hide us as best they can.”

Chloe stared at the flaking whitewashed wall. Glancing over to Cheftu, she saw him looking at her, his face a slate of indifference.

“We have no choices, do we?”

He rose and came to stand beside her. Looking at her, he said softly, “Nay. No choices.” Staring into his golden eyes, she saw resignation, fear, and a little hope.

She turned away. “When?”

“Immediately.”

“Make the arrangements.”

He inclined his head and left. Chloe stared out the wide window that opened onto a walled courtyard. She looked down at her garments. Apparently this would be her wedding dress, despite the change in grooms.

The door opened and the room filled with Apiru women, who wore one shoulder uncovered yet veiled their hair. D'vorah, her hazel eyes glowing, embraced her, then directed the others. Chloe rinsed in the hipbath, then put her linen sheath back on. D'vorah rimmed Chloe's eyes in black kohl and applied ocher paste for lip color, then replaced her silver jewelry, including the headdress and pectoral that made this wedding official.

It also signed Cheftu's death warrant. Just exactly what would be the penalty for marrying the prince's intended? Beheading? Being flayed alive? Hot pincers? Chloe shivered. What could she do? They had to stay together so they could leave with the Israelites, and they surely couldn't return to the palace. Yesterday had amply demonstrated, however, that being alone with his gorgeous, irresistible body for eight days would result in sex. Period. She didn't even want to say no. Where was the fear? Would he leave her? Would she experience intimacy with a stranger and then be dumped?

Putting her head in her hands, she cast around for a single, pleasant, reassuring thought.

She remembered Cammy's wedding, all in white with orange blossoms; granted, the marriage hadn't lasted long, but the service had been beautiful. Her eyes filled with tears. Cammy should be here, reminding her she needed something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. Chloe sniffled.

Let's look at the glass half-full, she thought. The groom could qualify as the old, her coloring as the borrowed, the silver sash with blue embroidered ankhs … but nothing new. She wiped away her tears, trying not to smear the heavy kohl.

Someone knocked on the door. She rose to open it.

“My lady is ready?” inquired a wide-eyed woman who had introduced herself as Elishava. She explained that D'vorah was not allowed to assist from this point, as she was still a maiden.

Chloe shrugged. It was bad enough Cheftu thought the worst of her, but could she live with his death on her conscience?

Grasping Chloe's arm, Elishava led her down narrow steps into the courtyard filled with people. The apiru had managed to find a few lotus blossoms and arrange them in a jar in the center of the area, under a small canopy of striped cloth.

Elishava laid a restraining hand on Chloe's arm as she fumbled in the sleeve of her cloak and brought out a bracelet. Chloe accepted it with trembling fingers. It was exquisite.

The wristband was composed of three rows of malachite, lapis, turquoise, and glass beads, threaded between three silver spacers. The clasp was a malachite scarab with the inscribed verse “Love thy wife sincerely. Fill her belly and clothe her back. Oil is the remedy for her body. Make glad her heart all thy life. She is a profitable field for her lord.”

Something new.

Chloe placed a hand to her forehead. She was so warm. How could Cheftu be so hateful and yet so gentle? Obviously this was a gift from him; no Apiru would have a piece of jewelry crafted this painstakingly. For whom was it originally intended? She opened the clasp and slipped on the bracelet, watching the colors deepen in the torchlight.

She stood waiting to be summoned. It must be almost dawn. Although Cheftu had known the way, it had taken several hours to find this place. Perhaps Thut would encounter similar difficulties. Perhaps they would live. Chloe yawned behind her hand as her eyes burned and her head weighed an easy ton.

Apiru men and women milled around the courtyard. Suffering and hard work had aged them before their years. Nevertheless they were alive and content now, drinking beer and gathering together to observe the big happenings in their small village.

Her breath stuck in her throat when she saw Cheftu. He stepped from a house across the way, flanked by Meneptah and another, older, Israelite. Cheftu was magnificent.

His white linen kilt accentuated the bronzed muscle and sinew of his legs and upper body, tied around the hard flatness of his belly. A rush of heat flowed through Chloe. The stones on his collar and arms and in his ears caught the light and held it. His face was set, emotionless, but she thought she saw his pulse jump when he saw her.

Of course it did, she thought, he's looking at his executioner! Chloe was led out to him, her hand placed in his. She looked into his eyes, and he winked at her. She was startled. Did ancient Egyptians wink?

“You are lovely,” he whispered, and tucked her hand under his arm, smiling when he saw the bracelet there.

Was this the same man as earlier? The one who'd called her a slattern and said he felt sorry for her bridegroom? The one who'd said justice would be her death?

The ancient leader stood before them and spoke hurriedly. “According to the words of Moshe and the tribe of Israel, thou art consecrated, one to the other, from this time forth.”

Cheftu took her hands in his and looked into her eyes, searching. “By all that is holy,” he repeated after the leader, “I take thee, RaEmhetepet, to be my wife, both now and forever, in heaven and on earth.” He stopped and swallowed. “I do pledge thee my undying devotion.”

The scribe handed them a document, and Chloe glanced at it, her brain in an uproar, and carefully signed her name in hieratic. Cheftu followed suit, and they were surrounded by the singing Apiru, led by a grinning Meneptah.

Grasping her around the waist, Cheftu kissed her forehead, and they were guided back to the house. Amid blessings of many children and a good night they were pushed into the same room as before and handed a hastily prepared tray, and the door was bolted behind them. Chloe thought the entire process took less than an hour—yet she was married.

They were captured on the third floor, with no escape except to jump from the window. That they had nowhere to escape was the problem. Because she had rejected Thutmosis, they had to run from his anger. Now Cheftu would pay the price. At least, she hoped she wasn't messing with history.

“Come, lady,” he said. “Let us drink some wine and talk. It has been many Inundations, and we have eight days to relive every moment.” He poured two cups and they began to sip. He seemed jittery.

So she was supposed to consummate a relationship with a stranger who had been dead 3,500 years before she was born? So much for true love and romance! Shakily she downed the rest of her glass.

Cheftu refilled it. “Please, do not fear me,” he said, his voice low. “I know this is not what you wanted. I am sorry I could offer you no alternative.” She looked into his eyes, darkened in the half-light. He moved slowly toward her. “Moonlight, I will not hurt you. I have cared for you, protected you, and although this is unexpected, we can make it work. I am sorry for the things I have said; let us forget them.” He was watching her very carefully, his golden gaze intent. “Let us start again, as two new people.”

Chloe tried to speak, but her voice sounded strange in her ears, and her tongue felt as though it were wrapped in cotton. “I am also sorry for you,” she managed to say. “You are forced to marry a woman who once betrayed you …” Her words were stilled by his finger on her lips.

“This is past. We live today. Today we are together, and I hope stronger for it. You will be safe. That is my first concern.” The tenderness in his gaze robbed her of breath. He reached for their cups. They both threw back their drinks as if they were tequila shots and not honeyed wine.

Chloe closed her eyes as the warmth traveled through her chilled body, mixing with the drugs she had taken earlier. When she opened them again she saw Cheftu had walked to the window and stood facing out, his sculpted body in black relief. She walked over to him and kissed his shoulder. He was warm, solid, and slightly salty. She kissed again, opening her mouth to taste more of his satiny skin.

Pleased with the sensations coursing through her, she trailed kisses down his arm, nipping at the cut muscles, licking his skin. Cheftu stood immobile, jaw clenched. “If you could do anything tonight, Cheftu, what would it be?” she asked running her fingers down his tensed arms.

He exhaled. “RaEm.” He swallowed. “RaEm, I would put you to sle—Ah, nay. I would see that you get—” He winced, his hand moving to his stomach. She saw fine moisture bead on his cheekbones. Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed his face, the tinge of salt tingling her lips. Cheftu's eyes were closed and his jaw was clenched. “I am sorry I hurt you before,” she whispered. Clumsily she touched his chest, his bronze skin warm beneath her fingertips. “You know what I would want tonight?”

“What?” he barked.

“I want you to open your eyes so I can see your thoughts.”

He opened his eyes. Their amber depths were warm but guarded. He probed her with his gaze. Gratefully resigned to being with him, she reached up and touched his lips with her own. Although they were pressed tightly together, they were warm and yielding. Cautiously she took the tip of her tongue and traced their outline. He exhaled loudly but didn't move toward her.

His reaction was her strongest encouragement, and she ran her hands over his smooth chest, the ropes of muscle and tendon throbbing at her touch. Chloe leaned her forehead against him. “I have always thought you beautiful, my lord,” she said. “We've treated each other harshly—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “That is in the past, RaEm.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated. “Assst …”

“Will you seal it with a kiss?” She was being bold, throwing herself at his ancient feet. Chloe felt blood rush to her face. He'd married her to save her skin. He didn't really want her. All the guys who'd tried to take her to bed and the one she wanted … She turned away, humiliated.