Reflections in the Nile (32 page)

His grasp on her wrist was bruising. His mouth was on hers, hard and searching—angry, frustrated, and restrained. Chloe snaked her arms around his trim waist, pulsing with his energy. Cheftu pulled back, his voice harsh.

“RaEm, you are half out of your mind with a sleeping potion! You do not know what you are doing. You do not know what you are doing to me!” His gaze glittered in the dim light. “Please, take no offense. Just go lie on the couch and get some rest. We can, uh, talk about this again when you awaken.”

Chloe traced the whorls of his ear. “Do you want me to stop, Cheftu?” she whispered. “Am I so offensive you would rather spend your wedding night cold and alone?” His hands clenched the cloth of her sheath.

“RaEm, I am trying to be honorable,” he ground out. “I want to …” His voice died as she kissed down the column of his throat.

“You want to what?” She followed the line of his thigh with her hand, the fine linen soft on her palm, warm with his heat. Chloe felt every muscle of restraint the length of Cheftu's body. His breath was coming quickly. He spoke, his voice ragged, the words fast and angry.

“This is your final choice, Moonlight. If you touch me again, I am going to make us husband and wife.” He caught her chin in his hand and forced her to look into his eyes. “I will not be divorced. Either call a slave to undress us and I will lie to anyone about the validity of this marriage, or let me undress you and we will be together in flesh and spirit. No secrets and no boundaries.”

Chloe stepped back, trembling.

This was real: this man, this time, this marriage. The lines around Cheftu's mouth were white with strain, and his eyes were dark and shadowed. His stance was wary, his hands flexing by his sides. A fine sheen of sweat covered his torso, and the golden collar around his neck and broad shoulders rose rapidly with his breath. Why RaEm herself had ever rejected him, Chloe could not imagine. Cheftu was as genuine and three-dimensional and alive as it got. She swallowed, her voice breathy with nerves.

“Do you want me?” She slowly raised her eyes to his. Heat.

zipped through her body, heavy, rushing, liquid heat. There were no doubts in that look.

Chloe reached behind her head and unlatched the heavy silver collar that hung past her barely covered breasts. She untied her sash, releasing the rest of the linen dress, which slipped down her rib cage to her hips. Was he even breathing? She removed the silver circlet on her head, its two filigreed horns seeming to move with the tension in the air, and her sinning black hair fell free. She stepped close to Cheftu, so he could feel the heat of her body in the cool room.

“May I undress you, husband?”

He groaned as he pulled Chloe close, kissing her whole face, eyes, lips, hair, and neck. Chloe gasped as his lips traced down her body, his hands trembling as they caressed her. He was silent but thorough, filling her mind with a white haze of sensation. He stepped back, his eyes wide and dark on her, as if weighing choices. With impatient hands he wrangled out of his kilt and sandals. Finally he had shed everything except collar and headcloth, which Chloe yanked off before she stepped away.

Cheftu looked like a statue.

He was shaped from living bronze and feathered with soft black hair. She felt a tremor of fear as she looked at him and thought about the textbook technicalities, then all thoughts vanished as he pulled her onto the marriage couch. He would not leave her, this she knew.

Then there were no thoughts, only the feeling of Cheftu's hands running up and down her body. He kissed her, his tongue rough, then soft, intimating what would follow. Blood pounded in her temples, tingled in her fingertips, and rushed, centering itself in her body. They teased and touched and tormented until Chloe was panting.

She watched his mobile face, his amber eyes glancing up to melt her bones to honey. Cheftu's hand crept from her waistline, lower. He murmured against her mouth with the pleasure of discovery. Chloe's back arched; her skin felt singed below the surface. She was climbing a mountain of pleasure, each caress goading her along the path. She pulled him onto her, twisting beneath him, lost in a realm of experience.

“Are you ready?” he asked hoarsely.

She murmured unintelligibly, and Cheftu bent to kiss her as he entered. He froze when he felt the tearing in her body. She shrieked into his mouth, suddenly tense and rigid.

“By the gods,” he gasped, “this is not possible! This cannot be true!” he said, his voice harsh. He caressed her face and tried his damnedest not to move. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, and her little pants were not from pleasure. She was hurting and scared. He had done this. Sweat ran down his back as he wondered what to do; how could he have known? Then her tension drained as her eyes closed. Her lush lips curled into a smile.

“This is nice,” she murmured, and when she moved, her quick-drawn breath communicated to his barely held control. Urging his response, she caressed the taut muscles in his shoulders and arms.

Cheftu braced himself like stone, trying to ignore the tight embrace of her body as he debated rapidly what to do. This was the answer he needed. This was more than he'd dared to hope. Everything was changed. She wasn't RaEm … but who was she? No one's wife, that was certain. Her voice was rough with desire, the caress of her hands inflaming. What could he do? In a moment the answer would be moot. With surprising strength she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Cheftu groaned and yielded.

Cheftu suddenly held her close, his eyes shut as he stroked her body inside and out. Once again he started her up the mountain, leading her until Chloe was immersed in a freezing pleasure that blacked out everything except his face. She felt his body tighten and release, then he laid her down as she drifted in the last gleanings of pleasure.

A few minutes later he brought her a linen cloth, dipped in warm water. With a gentle smile he pressed it between her legs. “This should stop some of the trembling.” He climbed onto the petal-strewn couch beside her.

Gathered to his chest, Chloe dropped off to sleep.

Chloe awoke as Cheftu entered the room, carrying a tray. Morning sun streaked the floor. He kicked the door shut behind him, and Chloe blushed. It seemed such an intimate thing, sealing them in alone, together. Remembering that he was an ancient stranger, she felt awkward suddenly.

“How are you this morning?” he asked, sitting beside her.

The memory made her blush … and smile. “My mouth feels like I have eaten papyrus stalks.”

He grinned. “The tonic. You took it all?”

“Aye.”

“I thought you might.” He handed her a goblet of beer and then kissed her after she had drunk. After a lengthy interval he pulled away.

“Moonbeam, we must talk.” His voice was breathy, but his look was serious. He withdrew to the stool across from her and watched her through saffron eyes that were deadly intense, despite the tremor in his hands.

He poured them milk. “This was your first time to be with a man.” It was a statement, not a question. “However, you miscarried a child at one hundred twenty-four days.”

Chloe bit into a hard roll and tried to chew slowly.

“What magic is this where a woman is pregnant, yet untouched?”

Bloody hell … she'd forgotten about that. Not the pregnancy, but that she was the one who had allegedly gotten pregnant and had also lost her virginity last night. She swallowed, thinking furiously. The truth? Yeah, right Although Cheftu seemed open to ideas beyond the range of his senses, how could he believe the truth? That concept of change was too far removed from the ancient Egyptian mind.

“Holy conception?” she offered with a weak smile. He looked stricken, though with Hatshepsut's entire reign built on the very concept of a god impregnating a human, she couldn't imagine why.

“I would think a god, especially, would batter down the maiden door,” he said sarcastically. “You are my wife. You made that choice yourself, even after I gave you the only alternative I could. We have seven more days here … until the end of the week. We apparently have a lot to learn about each other. I will not have a marriage with secrets or boundaries. Neither will I betray you. I have pledged myself, and will be true.”

Miserable, Chloe swallowed. She had heard of women in the desert who were like a virgin every time. What would be her excuse when after seven days she was not? Quite frankly, she didn't want to wait seven days. Cheftu was looking at her quizzically, his gaze full of … what?

“Cheftu … please believe me … but, I cannot tell you now.”

“Someday you will?” He stared at her a moment and then got up and stretched, once more relaxed. “You, assst, the time I came to heal you, you had been in the temple, correct?”

“Aye.”

“What happened to you there?” He turned to face her. “Did the god Amun visit you and fill you with his child?”

“Nay. I don't know what happened.”

He knelt down, his face level with Chloe's. “You are certain you don't know what happened that night? Where the blood came from? It was all over you. Your clothes were in rags, yet the priests in the adjoining room said you had been there since atmu. Where is the soldier you were meeting there? What happened to Phaemon? What is your secret?”

Chloe gulped. He knew. Somehow he knew and was giving her a chance to explain herself. Even she couldn't explain the blood. The man's tortured face flashed before her again. The soldier? Phaemon?

She could kill RaEm.

Cheftu stood and walked away with a sigh. Chloe watched him pace the room, his stride swinging the fringed edge of his kilt around his muscular thighs. She visually traced the curve of pectoral down to the ripples of his stomach. After a few minutes of seeing his bronzed body flex and release, she felt distinctly heated. “My lord?” She pulled back the sheet.

The physical sensations were drugging … but he was emotionally distant as he returned to her. Chloe kissed him harder as she felt tears prick her eyes. Her husband, yet they were married strangers in a world of mere sensation. He wouldn't even look at her. Cheftu rolled onto his back, pulling her above him.

“RaEm?” His voice was hoarse, his tone expectant.

Chloe swung her hair before her face, surrendering to her nerves and hormones. He still wanted RaEm. It was worse than her worst fears. She'd lost her heart, and he didn't even know her real name.

Chloe woke first and snuggled closer to Cheftu. She looked at his broad forehead, arched black brows, and almond-shaped eyes. With a butterfly's touch she traced his jawline, his long, straight nose, the wide lips that were capable even now of sending shivers to her most intimate interior. She curled up, her head on his chest. The despair of last night had faded. There really was something to that concept of being more relaxed after sex. Not making love, she reminded herself, just having sex.

“You look like the cat with the cream.”

“More like the cat full of cream,” she replied. He chuckled and kissed her forehead gently. Turning onto his stomach, he faced her.

“Look at me, my beautiful cat.” His voice was soft, his look pleading. “Explain the garden to me, please. Why did you say those things? Why did you want to hurt me so?”

“I thought the past was past, my lord,” she hedged. How could he think she was RaEm? Because he wanted her to be. He loved RaEm.

“It is past, RaEm,” he said. “It matters not, not really, but I am curious.”

Chloe fingered the linen sheet in front of her and took a stab. She'd been living a lie, why not another one? “We were so young. We knew nothing of life and needed more time to be sure.”

Cheftu looked down, the sun picking up blue highlights in his hair. “We didn't speak in the garden, RaEm. Do you not remember? This was our only conversation.” He leaned forward and placed his lips on hers, light as air and soft, melting her own. She gasped and opened her mouth, and Cheftu explored, slowly and provocatively, its interior. When Chloe was reduced to fluid, he pulled away. “Do you remember now?”

“If we didn't speak, why did you accuse me of saying unkind things?” she said.

Cheftu pulled away. “That too is out of your memory, Moonlight?”

Chloe shrugged, looking away. “There is a lot I do not remember before the accident.”

“It is hard to remember when you are not the same person, haii?” His expression was earnest, his gaze open and tender. “Who are you? From where do you come? Please, please tell me.”

“Why do you want to know more? … I am the priestess of—”

“Nay,” he said. “I know you are not.”

“Why do you want to know? You want me to be RaEm. My story would be madness. You wouldn't believe a thing,” Chloe said, half turning away.

He pulled her back to face him. “Oh, my beautiful sister, I will believe you … anything! I have bartered my life to protect you. I deserve your trust. Give me truth”

“What is truth?”

Cheftu looked at her intently, brushing the fallen hair away from her face, caressing her bottom lip with his thumb. Chloe fought to still her breath in his embrace. “Truth is that I knew RaEm.” He took a deep breath. “Intimately. I became a man with her.” Chloe tried to pull away, but Cheftu caught her close to him, her face pressed against his chest.

His voice resonated through his body. “You look similar—indeed, to most, almost womb-sisters. However, your bodies are not the same. Your mouths are not the same,” he said, pulling her back to look into his face. “RaEmhetepet only took from men. She never gave.” He smiled. “You give, even when you are hurting.

“You are so beautiful, both inside and out. RaEm had only physical beauty, though it took me almost to the marriage altar to find out.” His fingers traced her features, and Chloe looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. He caught a tear on his finger before it dropped and stroked the saline across her lips, his breathing becoming harsher. His gaze was intent yet calculating. He took another deep breath. “Also, because your eyes are different. They are so clean and fresh, like your soul. But they are also observant and appreciative … as green as the fields of ma belle France.”

PART III