Читать книгу Historical Romance: April Books 1 - 4 - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 17
ОглавлениеChristopher pulled his tunic over his head, revealing a deeply tanned, lean and very muscled torso, his ribcage expanding as he raised his arms, the muscles of his stomach rippling. There was a smattering of dark-gold hair across his chest, which arrowed fascinatingly down to the belt of his trousers. His nipples were flat, dark discs, completely unlike her own. A scar, a pale, jagged line on his left side marred the otherwise sheer physical perfection of his body. ‘How did you come by that?’ Tahira asked.
‘The result of a slight altercation with a pasha’s bodyguard.’
Any other time, she would have asked him to elucidate, but right now, she was frozen, mesmerised by his body, so completely different from the illustrations in the explicit little textbook, so completely different from her own too. She wanted to touch him, but there was a world of difference between theory and practice, a world of difference between her fevered imaginings and the reality of this flesh-and-blood man.
‘Tahira, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You can change your mind at any point.’
‘I haven’t changed my mind.’ Embarrassment made her sound as if she had. If Christopher thought for a moment that she was unwilling, that she needed persuading—she knew enough of his demons to be certain it would put an end to the prospect of having even a swim together. I would never, ever take such vile advantage, he had said to her. That discussion had brought their perfect night to an abrupt end. This perfect night had barely begun. She would not make the same mistake twice.
Tahira took a deep breath and unfastened the buttons which held her tunic in place. Blushing, but keeping her gaze fixed on him, she let the garment slither to the sand. There was no mistaking the flare of desire in the way his eyes widened, in the sharp intake of his breath as he looked at her. Her breasts would be clearly outlined under the flimsy chemise, she knew. As his gaze flickered down, she could feel her nipples hardening. He liked what he saw. She liked what it did to him.
Gaining confidence, she kicked off her boots. Her toes curled into the cool, damp sand. She waited, casting him a challenging look and he laughed when he understood her meaning, kicking off his own boots. His feet were surprisingly slender and very pale. Tahira took a step towards him, untying the sash which held her trousers in place.
Colour slashed his cheeks, but his hand caught her wrists. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’
She smiled then, knowing that her desire was reflected in her smile, confident now, despite her lack of experience. ‘Certain, Christopher,’ she said, and this time he believed her. His gaze was riveted on her hands as she untied the sash, letting the wide trousers drop to the sands. A sharp exhale again. He said her name, a low groan as he looked at her, clad only in her chemise and her short dizlik drawers, tied with lace at her knees. ‘Do you think this is a suitable costume for swimming?’
‘There is only one way to find out,’ Christopher said, closing the gap between them. Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms and began to wade into the oasis.
Laughing, Tahira put an arm around his neck. Laughter and passion were a heady mix, she discovered as she looked into his eyes, bluer than the water. A blue she would never forget. He held her high against his chest. She dared to brush the soft smattering of hair with her free hand. Rougher than she had expected, his skin hot to the touch. ‘Kiss me, Christopher,’ she whispered, her mouth a fraction from his.
He let her go, but only to pull her tight up against him. The water lapped around her knees, droplets splashed her back, but she barely noticed as he wrapped his arms around her. ‘Your wish is my command,’ he whispered. And then he kissed her.
She kissed him back with a new abandon, desire fuelled by confidence, not of experience but of certainty. He wanted her. That was all the encouragement she needed to explore his body, to run her hands over his bare skin, the rippling planes of his muscles, the skin first smooth then rough with hair, hot, then damp with sweat and the cool waters of the oasis. His breathing quickened like hers. His touch became more urgent as hers did, his hands on her back, her bottom, her breasts. His mouth on hers, deep, scorching kisses that made her moan, that made her frantic. His mouth on her breasts now, that sweet tug on her nipple that made her insides knot.
Their clothing was soaked through. Pressing herself against him, she could feel the hard ridge of his erect member, the potent symbol of his desire. That most intimate of unions was forbidden in every way, it was the line Christopher would never permit himself to cross, but she had already crossed a line. She would begin her wedding night a virgin, but she would be no innocent. There were so few ways in which she could rebel. It gave a sweet, lethal edge to her passion, to do this. One of the few choices she could make. Her secret. The man who would own her could never have this.
She kissed the man she had chosen with renewed fervour. Kissed his mouth and then his throat, and then his chest. His nipple peaked when she sucked on it. He moaned. He said something in his own language as he scooped her back up in his arms, staggering through the deeper waters to the cascade, soaking them both with spray in his hurry. She braced herself for the heavy fall of water, but it was brief. Behind the waterfall was a cave, the floor soft sand. Christopher set her down, and the kissing started again.
More kisses, and more as they sank to their knees, as he tore her chemise from her, to burrow his head between her breasts, cupping her, teasing her nipples, taking her to new heights of delight. If passion was a colour it would not be the scarlet red of heat, it would be the blue of Christopher’s eyes, the gold of his hair. Glittering colours, sharp-edged, unforgettable.
They were entwined on the sand now, locked together, face-to-face, but as his hand trailed down her belly to the waistband of her drawers, once again he paused. ‘Are you sure you want to carry on?’
Her nerves returned as she reached to undo his belt, but she knew hesitation would be fatal, and she was determined that her satisfaction would not be one-sided this time. She tugged it open, shaking her head at him when he would have stopped her. ‘Christopher, I promise you, I want this.’
His chest expanded as he exhaled. His lids flickered closed for a tiny moment. ‘You know I will not...’
‘I know,’ Tahira said, sliding her hand inside his trousers before he could stop her. Silk and iron, the book had said, but as she wrapped her hand around the thick girth of him, there was no mistaking this for anything but hard, hot man.
‘Wait.’ Gently removing her hand, Christopher eased her out of her drawers, quickly ridding himself of his own trousers, before lowering her on to the sand. ‘By the stars, but you are beautiful,’ he said, lying down on his side to face her.
They were both completely naked. The sand was cool and gritty on her flank. The cascade was a shimmering, watery curtain which hid them from the world. It was intoxicating. Taking her cue from Christopher, Tahira ran her hands over his body, drinking in every detail of him, too absorbed by the rush of desire for shyness to take hold. Her touch made his breathing fast and shallow, just like hers. When he pulled her to him, her body instinctively moulded itself to his. Their kisses were languorous at first, their hands tentative, learning each other’s shape, but every touch seemed to ignite a tiny fire, and soon every flame was connected up, blazing trails from her breasts to her belly to the tension building inexorably between her legs.
When he touched her there, slid his fingers inside her, she shuddered, but when he tried to ease her on to her back she resisted. ‘Together,’ she said. ‘I want—please, Christopher, together. I know we can—that we cannot—but...’
‘We can. Do this much. Together,’ he said raggedly. ‘But I simply cannot...’
‘I know.’
She wrapped her hand around the hard length of him again, feeling the blood pulse as she stroked him slowly. Their mouths met in a tongue-tangling kiss, and her eyes closed as she surrendered to the rhythm he set, reassured by the way their breathing syncopated, that everything she was feeling he was too. She lost herself in his touch, in the tension mounting inside her, in the answering throb of him, the indescribable feeling of her climax, slowly building momentum, until it rushed up on her sending her soaring, making her cry out. Christopher’s harsh groan as he rolled away from her to spend himself added a new layer of satisfaction, and an odd sense of disappointment. Her body craved something more. Her body craved what he would never, for reasons which were still unfathomable, permit himself to give her.
Tahira forced herself to sit up. She did not trust herself. She would not tempt him to do what he was so certain would destroy him. Who was this man, that she had shared the most intimate of moments with? For a few seconds, watching his chest heaving, his breathing slow, she felt as if she was looking at a complete stranger. Then he opened his eyes. He sat up, pushing her tangle of damp hair back from her cheek and kissed her slowly, and he was Christopher again. Her dream man, who had tonight made another of her own dreams come true.
‘Thank you,’ Tahira said.
He laughed gruffly. ‘No, thank you. That is not what I had in mind when I brought you here.’
‘I meant thank you for granting another of my wishes. You have gone to a great deal of trouble to make them very special. And I know this wasn’t what you had in mind, I know that all you planned was my swim, but it is sharing all of this, together, that makes it so perfect. I hope you don’t regret it?’
His expression became serious. ‘Not if you don’t.’
‘Never.’ She smiled shyly up at him. ‘I thought the book exaggerated, but quite the contrary.’
Groaning, Christopher wrapped his arms tightly around her. ‘It would be better for both of us if this were not quite so—if I did not find you quite so—if our passion were not so—Tahira, you are soon to be married.’
‘But not just yet,’ she said fiercely, burrowing her face into his chest. ‘Please don’t tell me this is wrong. I am not yet another man’s property. This cannot be wrong, Christopher, it feels too wonderful to be wrong. Please, let us not spoil the perfection of this night.’
He heaved a sigh, but he nodded. ‘You haven’t even had your promised swim yet.’
Relieved, she leaned in and kissed him. ‘And you always keep your promises. Shall we?’
* * *
Tahira stepped into the waterfall, letting out a squeal of shock as the icy water cascaded over her. Christopher watched her as she tilted her head back, closing her eyes, her hair streaming down her back, utterly unaware of her beauty. Her body was silky smooth all over, the tradition here in Arabia, he knew, though until today had not seen in the flesh. He wanted to kiss her, to taste every inch of that olive-toned, sweetly scented skin, to lick into the hot, wet core of her. The possessiveness he felt was both misguided and inappropriate, he told himself, a natural consequence of what they had just shared, nothing more. And what they had just shared—was that wrong? He simply couldn’t bring himself to think so.
Tahira held out her hand invitingly. He stepped into the cascade, relishing the sharp sting of the water on his skin, cooling his ardour, which had been returning with astonishing quickness as he watched her. It had been too long, that was all. And they had so little time.
He turned away to rinse the sand from his body, and to keep his eyes from the temptation personified showering beside him. Not that he was tempted to test his control any further. Tonight had not been a close call, he had not at any point considered acting on his body’s most insistent urges, but it had surprised him how strongly they persisted, how much he had wanted that ultimate possession.
That word again. Tahira could never be his. What he wanted for her was freedom to be herself, and that was something she could never have. He could not ignore the direct comparison to that other woman whose wishes had been similarly ignored, whose fate had been decided by the selfish passion of one particular vile man. Tonight Christopher had proved once again that he was different, that his blood, tainted as it was, did not define him. He should be proud of that fact. He should also be thankful that Tahira’s life would at least be comfortable, if not necessarily happy.
But he could not be thankful. The days, which at times these last nine months had passed with excruciating slowness, now seemed to be galloping by with the speed of an Arabian thoroughbred. Something else he should welcome, for it was hurtling him toward the future he yearned for, the moment when he could finally bury his hateful past, but perversely, he wanted events to slow down. Though he was more than ready to wave goodbye to his amulet, he was not yet prepared to say goodbye to Tahira.
‘You look so serious. What are you thinking?’
The tiny frown between her perfectly arched brows warned him he was in danger of breaking the spell they had woven around themselves. He could not resist pulling her into his arms again. ‘I was thinking that it would be a crime not to make the most of the little time we have.’
Tahira smiled up at him. Her nipples were hard against his chest. His manhood, nestled between her legs, began to stir. She tilted herself against him, twining her arms around his neck. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’
* * *
Tahira could not escape the harem the next night, for Juwan had organised a dinner to mark the first birthday of her daughter. There were five long narrow tables set out in the formal dining room reserved for the Crown Princess. Juwan sat at the head of the top table, not on cushions as would be the case for everyday dining, but on a low chair with a very high, intricately carved back. Flanking her were Tahira and Ishraq. Alimah and Durrah, as befitted the youngest of the princesses, were seated on the outside. The same pecking order was reflected at the other tables, set at right angles to the top table, which accommodated first Juwan’s ladies, then Tahira’s, Ishraq’s, Alimah’s and Durrah’s respectively. Tahira shifted impatiently on her seat. They had been at the table for two hours already, and the meal was not even halfway through. Though her little niece had been toasted with pomegranate and lime juice at the start of the meal, the talk had been all of the forthcoming new arrival, whom no one dared suggest would be another mere female.
She was dressed formally as the occasion demanded. A dark-blue silk underdress with long sleeves, plain save for the beaded cuffs, hem and neckline, which weighted it down. The cerulean-blue overdress was sleeveless, fastened by a row of gold buttons studded with pearls, trimmed with gold braid and pearl beading, and lined with the same dark-blue silk as her underdress. A wide sash in many shades of blue, also trimmed with gold braid, was tied tightly around her waist to emphasise the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts. Thick white stockings and leather, beaded slippers curling up to points added to the heat and discomfort. Her long hair had been oiled and worked into a complex series of plaits which made her head ache, and the turban with its jaunty feather from which hung a filmy mantle of blue chiffon made it feel as if she was balancing a sack of sand on her head.
Her maidservant had assured her that she looked magnificent and even Juwan had smiled approvingly, but Tahira felt as if the entire ensemble was designed to constrain her, to remind her that all too soon her nights of freedom would be over for ever.
As the talk turned from Juwan’s son to Tahira’s forthcoming betrothal, boredom gave way to misery, and a black mood enveloped her. No one seemed to notice how little she ate, how strained was her smile, how few were the words she contributed to the excited chatter of the outfits to be worn to the camel race and speculation as to the wedding gifts Tahira would be showered with. Everyone assumed she was happy, and indeed who would not be happy, to be betrothed to such a paragon, to be looking forward to a life of such luxury. She was very fortunate, she told herself for what seemed like the thousandth time. Most women would kill to be in her place. And as for her husband—Ghutrif could have done a very, very great deal worse in his choice. Yes, she should consider herself very fortunate indeed.
Then why didn’t she? Why was reconciling herself to the inevitable proving almost impossible? Guilt added to the black cloud which hung over her. The reasons for marriage were compelling. She had always prided herself on protecting her sisters’ interests. She would be fatally harming their future prospects if she failed to make a match. Looking around as her siblings ate and chattered and laughed, she thought rather sourly that she had succeeded rather too well in concealing her warring emotions.
The air in the dining room was stifling. Not even Farah understood Tahira’s plight, though to be fair, she hadn’t confided her true feelings to Farah either. Only Christopher knew the extent of her impotent anger. Only Christopher sympathised with her. His outrage and frustration on her behalf could change nothing, but they were a great consolation to her none the less.
‘Perhaps a year from now, we will be celebrating the birth of your own son.’
Juwan was smiling at her. Not maliciously, not condescendingly, but a genuine smile. Tahira’s guilt increased. She tried to smile back, but the very thought of what she’d have to do with the unknown suitor in order to produce an heir repulsed her.
‘And perhaps a year from now, we’ll be celebrating my betrothal,’ Ishraq said excitedly, to Tahira’s relief turning the focus of the conversation away from her.
Yes, it was better for all concerned if her sisters followed Juwan’s example, embraced the inevitable, looked forward in happy expectation to their marriages. If Ghutrif did as well by them as he had done by her, she need have no fear for their future. Juwan had been right when she said that the time had come for Tahira to move away, leave her sisters behind. It was the natural order of things. This melancholy thought brought a lump to her throat.
‘Don’t be sad,’ Durrah said, leaning past Ishraq to speak. ‘You heard Juwan, we will be permitted to visit you at least twice a year.’
‘I’m not sad.’ Tahira forced a smile. She was becoming very adept at it. ‘I’m simply overwhelmed. It’s all happening so fast.’
‘A sign of how much your brother cares for you,’ Juwan said. ‘He is doing everything in his power to hasten your marriage. When your hand is given, the stain of shame which currently clings to you will be forgotten, your character quite redeemed. That day surely cannot come fast enough?’
So much for Juwan having softened her stance. ‘No, indeed,’ Tahira replied. The stain of shame would be so deep as to be ineradicable if Ghutrif knew about Christopher. Recalling the events at the oasis made Tahira’s toes curl with pleasure inside her slippers. Shame was the very last thing she felt. The memory heated her from the inside. Lying beside him behind the cascade, she had forgotten everything, everyone else, save him. His touch. His smile. His voice. Laughter and desire. He knew her in a way that no man ever would, in a way that only her husband should. Tahira’s self-satisfied smile wavered. If her husband could understand her as Christopher did, she would be looking forward to her marriage. But understanding was born from trust, knowledge and insight, and this stranger was interested only in her royal blood, in her pedigree and her famed looks, not in the person under the skin. While Christopher—oh, Christopher!
Tomorrow night, she would return to the turquoise mine. They were making excellent progress opening up the tomb. How many more nights did they have left together? Soon she would be able to count what remained in hours and minutes. Would there be time for them to uncover the secrets of the tomb and much more importantly, to solve the mystery of the amulet? If it did belong here in Nessarah, what would Christopher do? The very thought of him bringing it here to the palace was terrifying. But in such an unlikely event, he would ask for Ghutrif, or even her father, wouldn’t he? No reason to imagine that he’d encounter her. Or that her name would come up. And so she really had nothing to fear. Though still, the thought of it...
‘Tahira, how many times!’
Startled, her eyes flew to Ishraq, but the source of Juwan’s ire was fortunately obvious, scampering down the banqueting table with a large chunk of goat’s meat dangling from his mouth. Hugely relieved, Tahira jumped to her feet and with a mumbled apology, snatched up her sand cat and fled for the sanctuary of her divan.
* * *
The next night, Tahira’s heart was beating so wildly it felt as if it would leap out of her chest, as Christopher finally cleared an opening in the concealed tomb entrance large enough for them to pass through. Until now, it had been impossible to tell what lay beyond, if anything.
A dry, musty smell emerged from the thick blackness. Christopher’s hands trembled as he lit the second lantern. His eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes. No. I’ve never been so nervous in my life.’
‘Be prepared to be disappointed. In my experience, these places almost always contain nothing but rubble and cobwebs. Remember, we already have concrete proof in the form of the pot and the bangle that the tomb has been raided.’
‘But you think we’ll find something of significance, don’t you? I can tell by your voice.’
‘You’re right, I do. Ever since I first came to this mine I have felt—I have had a feeling...’ His voice broke. He took a shuddering breath. ‘You are not the only one who is nervous.’
Which admission made her own feelings seem quite trivial. Whatever lay beyond this wall of darkness might determine Christopher’s future. Until I am rid of it, I have no life worth living. He was utterly convinced of this, and though Tahira still couldn’t understand why, nor was any closer to understanding the real story behind his amulet, she could not bear to contemplate what failure would do to him.
Though her heart still pounded, as she picked up her own lantern and checked it carefully, a steely calm stopped her hands from shaking, gave confidence to her voice. ‘Well, we won’t find out what’s in there standing around out here. I’m ready when you are.’
‘There is a danger of rock falls. I think it might be best if I go first.’
‘We’re in this together,’ Tahira said, taking his hand, twining her fingers with his. ‘And if you expect me to wait out here while you go ahead—you would not be so cruel, and I would not be so obedient.’
To her relief he laughed at that, pressing a swift kiss to her mouth. ‘Onwards and upwards then,’ he said, turning towards the opening and holding up his lantern. ‘Actually, that should be onwards and downwards. Be careful, I can see a set of steps just inside the entrance.’
He led the way, carefully counting each tread. Six steps, not hewn from the rock but constructed of large stones. ‘I think this is some sort of natural cave, though it’s been extended considerably,’ Christopher said, stopping to examine one of the rock surfaces. ‘You can see the chisel marks clearly.’
The air was hot, dry, becoming dustier. ‘How long since someone stood where we are?’ Tahira asked, her voice a whisper now.
Christopher whispered too. ‘If we’re right, and this tomb dates from the time my amulet was fashioned, then that is...’
‘Fifteen hundred years.’ Over-awed, she stared up at him. ‘I’ve been so—so caught up in what this means to us, to you—Christopher are we desecrating a sacred place?’
He shrugged. ‘I have very mixed feelings about it, to be honest. This tomb has lain undisturbed for countless centuries. But aside from my personal interest in this site, I’m an antiquarian at heart. Places like these teach us so much about our history, and how small and insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. If we treat such finds with due reverence and respect—and trust me, many people don’t—then, no, I don’t think we’re trespassing here, but if you’d rather turn back...’
‘Absolutely not,’ Tahira said, lifting her lantern high again. ‘Let’s press on and see what’s at the end of this passageway.’
The darkness was all-enveloping, the flickering light from the lanterns penetrating the gloom only a few feet ahead of them. The floor of the passage was thick with sand. More sand had blown into heaps against the walls. The sealed entrance had clearly not managed to keep the desert or the elements wholly at bay. Christopher continued to lead, counting their steps aloud, having to stoop as the ceiling became lower, to the point where Tahira could feel it brushing her hair.
‘Twenty-eight. And it ends here,’ he said. ‘Two more steps, and...’ His Arabic gave way to something low and filled with awe.
‘What is it, Chris...?’
Her own voice stilled as she held up the lantern to find herself in a perfectly square room. It must have been formed from an inner chamber of the cave, but the walls and ceiling were richly decorated, covered in paintings and symbols. Two sand-cat statues, much larger versions of the one they had uncovered at the entrance, stood sentinel in the doorway. Another was positioned at the far end, at the head of the large stone sarcophagus which was the only other item in the crypt. Sand had collected in heaps in every corner. The decorative plasterwork had crumbled to expose the rock behind it in places. An empty shelf on one wall stood testament to the success of the tomb robbers, but the lid of the stone sarcophagus looked undisturbed. Whoever lay within had been allowed to rest in peace.
A very young woman, judging by the painted effigy on the coffin lid. The air was thin here, it was hard to breathe, the temperature stifling, but Tahira barely noticed any of this as she laid her hand on the image and closed her eyes. A terrible, bone-deep sadness enveloped her. Tears leaked from behind her lids and tracked down her cheeks. Despite the intense heat, she shivered.
‘Tahira?’
Strong arms enveloped her. She turned gratefully, clinging to him, listening to the reassuring, steady beat of his heart, her cheek against the damp cotton of his tunic. ‘Did you feel it?’ she whispered. ‘Such sorrow and grief. Did you feel it? And she is so young too. She reminds me of my sister, which would make her fifteen or sixteen.’
‘Only sixteen.’ Christopher was looking grim.
‘I wonder what befell her. Sickness of some sort, most likely. It is tragic, a life cut so short.’
He muttered something quietly in English. ‘A tragic complication,’ he translated, when she looked at him blankly, then shook his head. ‘It’s very strange, there is nothing written on the coffin, not even her name.’ Raising his lantern, he surveyed each of the walls in turn. ‘There’s nothing to identify the person who was laid to rest here, which leads me to conclude that whoever buried her wished to erase her memory, possibly because she had been in disgrace. And so she was made an outcast in death.’
‘Oh, no, how dreadful. Though I suppose that would explain such pain, as I sensed. I wonder what happened, though I don’t see how we will ever find out.’
‘One thing is certain, she’s of exalted birth. The sarcophagus, the exquisitely painted and lavish decoration. The creation of the tomb itself would have been an expensive and time-consuming undertaking. Then there’s the magnificent quality of the items we’ve found. Could she even be a member of the royal family?’
Tahira’s heart leapt. Could this be why she’d felt such a strong connection? ‘But the Nessarah royal family have always been buried in the same place, the Mountain of the Kings, since time immemorial.’
‘The only way to confirm her lineage would be to gain access to the records in the royal palace...’
‘The royal palace!’
Her voice was a squeak. Christopher eyed her quizzically. ‘Where else would the history of its inhabitants be held? These murals here,’ he said, peering closely at the wall where the colours were brightest, ‘don’t depict the current palace of course, but they do show a very sumptuous building. And this symbol of a mythical bird—I’ve seen it on the insignia of the royal guards. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is the tomb of a princess of the royal blood. I wonder—by all the stars in the heavens!’
‘What is it?’ Thoughts whirling, Tahira crossed the small room to join him.
But Christopher seemed quite dumbfounded, his gaze locked on one of the murals, and could only point mutely. The scene depicted the young princess—for Tahira knew in her bones it was a princess—painted in life this time, seated cross-legged in a courtyard surrounded by trees bearing impossibly large lemons and pomegranates. Paint flaked from the image, in places only the outline remaining of the fountain, a cushion, but the image of the young woman was almost perfectly preserved. Ink-black hair. Vermilion lips. Huge brown eyes outlined with kohl. A rich dress of the same blue which Tahira had worn to Juwan’s dinner only last night. And around her neck...
‘It’s your amulet.’ Tahira almost dropped her lantern.
Christopher turned to her, his face alight, a smile which on anyone else she would have called serene, and which gave her goose bumps. Reverently, he touched the mural, his eyes drifting closed. ‘Finally, my quest is at an end.’
* * *
Tahira had reluctantly departed some time ago, much later than her customary hour. She had begged him not to linger too long and risk discovery by the miners, so earnestly that he’d been forced to lie to her for the first time. Now Christopher’s lantern was burning dangerously low, the shadows cast on the walls of the tomb distorted, but still he remained, gazing at the image of the young princess wearing his amulet.
It was his amulet, no doubt stolen by the same looters who had dropped the silver pot and the serpent bangle. He could not resist taking it from its pouch and comparing it one last time, the fingers of one hand tracing the mural image, the other the real thing. Diamonds and turquoise and gold. And at the centre, not a precious stone after all, but another image. A golden cat, quite clearly and distinctively a sand cat, with turquoise for eyes. Turquoise which Christopher was now certain must have been mined here. Not that it mattered any longer. He had all the proof he needed, though it would have been satisfying to complete the final link in the chain.
It was over. Nine months after that fateful discovery, six long months of searching, and it was finally over. He could put his past behind him, forget all about that dreadful day, claim the future he had been planning for so long. Clutching the symbol of his suffering to his chest, Christopher waited for relief to flood over him, but the emotion he felt was distinctly different.
It was over. His time here in Nessarah was over. Tonight was a beginning, but it was also an ending. A farewell to the past, but soon, very soon, a farewell to Tahira. His heart gave another lurch. He had known this day would come, of course he had, but because he had been too frightened—yes, he could admit to fear now that he was safe—to consider the possibility that his quest would not be successfully concluded, he hadn’t dared contemplate the conclusion of these nights spent with Tahira.
But it was not over quite yet. Before he faced up to that prospect, there were still some loose ends to be tied up. Such as how best to engineer the return of the amulet to its rightful owner, who was presumably King Haydar. And what about the tomb? They’d need to seal it up again as a matter of urgency. Any day now, the mine would be in production, which meant a night guard would be posted. They couldn’t risk this sacred place being discovered, for the sake of the tomb’s ancient inhabitant, as much as for their own sakes.
He and Tahira both had far too much to lose. Now that he was on the cusp of his new beginning, the very last thing Christopher wanted was to be called to account by some over-zealous Nessarian official, hauled over the coals for trespass, perhaps even temporarily detained on the orders of Prince Ghutrif himself. His various official papers would ensure his eventual release, his trusty scimitar would ensure his eventual escape if need be, but he would be a fool, a complete and utter idiot, to expose himself to such unnecessary peril.
Christopher tucked his amulet safe back into its pouch, and took a last, lingering look at the large stone sarcophagus. Sixteen, not quite a child but definitely not a woman. Buried at exactly the same age as that other woman-child. At least she had been given an official burial in the family vault—or so he must suppose. At least that other young woman had been spared an eternity spent alone, with only guardian cats for company.
He really must go, but still he lingered with his thoughts. Tahira would be married very soon. If she was discovered here, what would happen to her? Nothing worse than the fate she faced, she had told him once, dismissively, but now he pondered the question properly, he feared for her. Her vindictive brother would not tolerate disobedience, but would his desire to punish her be stronger than his desire to have her married?
Though it made his heart sink, Christopher knew he had to put an end to their encounters. Their work was done. His quest was all but over. They could not justify the level of risk any longer. Picking up his lantern as it flickered dangerously, he made his way back out of the tomb. Dawn was already breaking. There was no time to cover their tracks, he would have to pray that their luck would hold for one more night. Just one, was that all there would be? It felt wrong that their precious time together should end with the sealing of a tomb.
As he crept with stealthy speed towards his camel, he racked his brains for a more fitting ending. Gathering up the reins, hauling his ship of the desert into something resembling a trot, it came to him. Changing direction and heading for the city, he passed a group of miners heading in the other direction. Cursing, Christopher checked that his headdress was pulled over his face. He could have come from anywhere, but there was no denying the mine was the most obvious place. He could not afford to arouse curiosity.
Despite the fact that his dress was unremarkable, this camel a workaday beast, the miners stopped to stare. Was it his lethal scimitar which caught their attention? Whatever it was that made him stand out, Christopher cursed it, turned his head away, and continued on. Tonight, they would have no choice but to close up the tomb. The last grain of sand had just dropped through the hourglass.
