Lord of the Nile

by Constance O'Banyon

  He bowed to the queen and backed toward the door. When he was outside the throne chamber, he stalked down the marble corridor; his mind was already racing ahead of him. There had been something mysterious about Danaë from the very beginning, and she was definitely keeping secrets from him. But she was too educated and refined to be a slave.

  He suddenly felt sick inside. The royal pendant—who had given it to Danaë? The king? Or someone close to him? And what had she promised in return?

  His questions led back to Harique—why would the man lie when he knew it would mean his death?

  Ramtat rode into the night, stopping often to change horses. Once, at an oasis, he was so weary he lay on the hard ground, his eyes closing in an exhausted but troubled sleep.

  His dreams were of green eyes and a laughing mouth—a mouth that formed lies and practiced deceit.

  Nay. His heart told him Danaë was not the deceiver Harique accused her of being. She would confirm his trust in her. She had to be Lord Mycerinus’s true daughter.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Danaë had fought against loving Lord Ramtat, but once she’d yielded to him, her surrender was complete. She was lying in his bed, where she had slept each night since he went away. He had asked her to wait for him, and that was just what she would do. She opened her mind, trying to imagine him lying beside her, just as she had every night.

  No one had ever explained to her that love could be so all-consuming. Everything about her life had changed because of love. She no longer thought of herself as Ramtat’s prisoner, but rather the woman who awaited his return. Since realizing she loved Ramtat, everything was sweeter—the food she tasted, the air she breathed.

  How was that possible?

  The waiting was the most difficult part of all. She needed Ramtat beside her for the rest of her life. A deep longing tore through her like a devouring beast.

  He loved her; she knew he did—that was what made the waiting bearable.

  Danaë imagined being wrapped in his strong arms. He would chase all the shadows from her mind and take away her loneliness. She would belong to him and never again feel alone as she had since her father’s death.

  She closed her eyes and smiled. Ramtat had overpowering strength, and yet he was capable of such gentleness. She wanted to be everything to him, his love, his wife, the one who walked beside him in this world and followed him into the afterlife.

  It was the middle of the night when Ramtat reached the encampment. Despite the lateness of the hour, one of his tribe was there to lead his horse away for a rubdown.

  On the ride home, there had been a lot of time to think, and he had come to the decision that Danaë always seemed honest and open with him. She was so guileless, she would not know how to be deceitful. That meant the man who claimed to be Lord Mycerinus’s nephew must be lying, no doubt for some treacherous reason of his own—or perhaps his lie was part of a plot hatched by King Ptolemy’s entourage.

  Perhaps the man wanted to steal Danaë’s inheritance, and that was why he was attempting to besmirch her honor.

  Ramtat’s footsteps were hurried and noiseless when he entered his tent. He had hoped he would find Danaë asleep in his bed, and he was not disappointed. As he quietly pulled the curtain aside, there was just enough light coming from the single lantern to allow him to see her face. Her breathing was deep and even; she was asleep.

  Shimmering light flickered across her smooth shoulders and reflected on her dark hair. Passion tore through Ramtat like a knife—he had been denied her body for too long.

  But he dropped the curtain back in place and closed his eyes.

  What if Danaë had lied to him? If only he could know for certain.

  His mind swung first one way and then the other. One moment he wanted to thrash Danaë; the next he wanted to kiss her senseless. Was she a traitor or a pawn, a temptress or an innocent? He could not rest until he heard the truth from her own lips.

  As quietly as possible, he stripped off his dusty clothing and washed the sand from his body before slipping into a clean robe. Once more he stood beside his bed, his heart thundering inside him. Never before had he allowed his desires to overcome his strict attention to duty. But at this time, and in this place, Ramtat the man was battling with Ramtat the queen’s general. Whether Danaë was honest or deceitful mattered not to him. There was only one question that filled his mind.

  If he took her in his arms, would she come to him willingly?

  He eased his weight onto the bed and felt her stir. “Do not be afraid—it is only I.”

  He felt her hand on his arm as she raised herself up, and he was taken by surprise when she moved closer and laid her head on his shoulder. Passion smoldered inside him; it would take very little for his desire to burst into a roaring flame that he could not control.

  She pressed a kiss on his shoulder. “I feared you might not come back.”

  “I told you I would. I will always keep my word to you if I’m able.”

  She pressed her lips against his cheek, her hand on his chest, and his body trembled with need.

  “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asked in a voice thick with passion.

  “I know I am in danger from you. I know you are like stone, and if I give myself to you, you could shatter me into pieces.” She rose up on her knees and pressed her body fully against his. “And even knowing this, I am willing to take the risk,” she whispered. “I cannot seem to help myself.”

  Ramtat was close to losing control. He had intended to keep a clear head and question her about her past, but he was unable to fight the need that almost consumed him. He stared at her sultry lips, and he lost the battle. It didn’t matter if she was who she claimed to be; he didn’t care if she had deceived him from the very beginning.

  He only knew she was offering herself to him, and he would have her.

  Danaë was overjoyed at Ramtat’s return. Happiness such as she’d never known made her light-headed. She did not know if she was behaving as a proper maiden should, but she had to touch him, to press against him, to feel his skin and know he was really there.

  “I missed you,” she admitted, almost shyly.

  His breath hissed through his teeth as he laid her down on her back and gathered her close, swelling against her. “And I, you,” he admitted. “Surely you can feel how much I need you.”

  She touched her lips to his briefly and then gazed into his glorious eyes. “I feel it.”

  Ramtat dropped passionate kisses onto her face while his hands deftly found all the right places to make her moan with pleasure. His hands drifted across her shapely hips, and he pulled her against him. “I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life.”

  “I know,” she whispered, nibbling at his lips. “It’s the same with me.”

  He gasped in pleasure when she bit his lip. He was certain she had never been with a man before, yet her feminine instincts were driving him wild. His mouth skimmed hers, and she leaned into him to deepen the kiss. In the back of Ramtat’s mind was the question of her deceit, but it was pushed aside by the feel of her trembling lips beneath his.

  He had no control over his hands; they roved over her body at will, pressing her tighter against the swell of him. When he pulled back to catch his breath, her hand drifted up his arm to clamp on hard muscle.

  Danaë thought she would die if he didn’t do something to relieve the longing building up inside her.

  She moved her lower body to accommodate his, and lost her breath when he raised her robe and gently caressed her, making her hips rise off the bed. Even knowing she was behaving provocatively, Danaë could not stop herself. She ached with a hunger that rocked her body.

  “Please,” she pleaded.

  He needed no further invitation; he could take no more torture. Gently he parted her legs and paused. “You’re sure?” he asked gruffly.

  She raised her hips, taking him into her warmth. “I am sure,” she managed to say. But she could not have utte
red another word when he eased farther inside her. She gasped and twisted when he drove deeper.

  “Sweet green-eyes, you have stolen my heart,” he said, sliding halfway out of her and lunging forward once more. Ramtat brushed his mouth across her ear. “I knew you were made for me alone when first I saw you.”

  Danaë took his face between her hands and brought his lips to hers. Plunging into her, Ramtat knew their joining was like nothing he could have imagined. His life-giving seed poured into her, and still he wanted more. Surprised he was still hard, he took her again, and yet again, until they both lay back in exhaustion.

  He brushed his knuckles down the side of her cheek. “From this night forward, you’re mine.”

  “I believe we both know that.” Danaë snuggled closer to him, her body still throbbing from his lovemaking. She had the feeling that every part of her belonged to him.

  He moved her head to rest against his chest. He had been right about her being chaste—no man had touched her before him. Ramtat was even more sure she was not guilty of what Harique had accused her of. With Danaë’s help, he would expose the man as a fraud. He wished he did not have to subject her to the ordeal of condemning the man. But he must put the questions to her so he could assure the queen of Danaë’s innocence.

  He touched his lips to her cheek. “I saw Queen Cleopatra while I was in Alexandria. I attended her audience.”

  She could hear his words rumbling through his chest. “Then she is safe—I know that makes you happy. Have she and her brother forgiven each other?”

  His fingers drifted down her arm. “Nay. That will never happen.”

  “ ’Tis a pity.”

  He chose his words carefully. “And you? How do you feel about the queen returning?”

  Having been taught to speak her mind by her father and Uriah, Danaë took a moment to ponder the situation. Now that the queen had been brought back to Alexandria, it would surely cause more unrest and bloodshed. “I believe we will pay a terrible cost for her return.”

  “You speak of the war escalating?”

  “I do. If the brother and sister do not get along, war cannot be avoided. If it were within my power, I would send Cleopatra away.”

  Ramtat felt a tightening in his chest. “Perhaps to her death?”

  “That would not be my choice. But for the peace of Egypt, either she or her brother must die—surely you can see that. And if one of them must die, I prefer it to be her.”

  “I have never heard you speak so. ’Tis treason.”

  “And you would have the brother die? Which of us speaks treason?”

  “It is a thin line you walk. That is why I must ask you some questions that may offend you.” He tilted her chin up so he could see her eyes. “Do not speak false, or I shall know it.”

  Danaë was confused; where he had been warm and loving moments before, Ramtat was now cold, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. It was as if they had not just made love and exchanged sweet words afterward. “I have always told you the truth, except for the times I held back from saying anything at all.”

  “I remember you once spoke to me about a man named Harique …” He watched the color drain from her face, and her bottom lip trembled. “Tell me all you know about him. Is he Lord Mycerinus’s nephew? Is he the heir to everything your father possessed?”

  Danaë hesitated for only a moment. “Yes, he is the nephew, and he inherited most of my father’s land.” She clutched Ramtat’s arm. “Why do you ask me such a question? Have you seen him?”

  Ramtat watched her eyes darken with fear, and then they became secretive—or was it his imagination? He watched her even more carefully before he asked: “Are you Lord Mycerinus’s true daughter?”

  Danaë was quiet for so long, he thought she might not answer. He waited, hoping his growing suspicions were unfounded. He gave her a shake. “Answer me—are you Lord Mycerinus’s blood daughter?”

  Danaë saw his jaw settle in a firm line while he stared at her with growing mistrust. Her father had warned her that Harique would attempt to discredit her as his daughter. She imagined that had already happened, since Ramtat was asking these questions. She had proof that her father had adopted her legally. It stung a little that she had to defend herself against whatever accusations Harique had lodged against her. Danaë watched Ramtat’s eyes suddenly grow dull with mistrust. “You have spoken to Harique, have you not?”

  “Let us say I heard him speak. He made some very damaging accusations against you.”

  Her chest was so tight, it was difficult for her to breathe. “What kind of accusations?”

  “That you are not who you claim to be.” He watched her closely as he spoke the next words. “He told the queen you were his slave, and implied you might be a threat to her. You, yourself, just admitted that you wished Queen Cleopatra dead.”

  Danaë shook her head in disbelief. Clutching the coverlet about her, she slid off the bed and fumbled with the netting until she found the opening. She was devastated that Ramtat suspected her of contriving to do harm to the queen. She could only guess at what Harique had said about her.

  “So,” Danaë said in a pained voice, “you have it all worked out in your mind. You think I’m involved in some devious plan to slay Queen Cleopatra?” She shook her head. “Did you come to me tonight with the intention of awakening my passion, prompting me to confess all my dire plots?”

  He slid off the bed and stood beside her. “Nay. That was not my hope. Just tell me that Harique lied about you. Say you are innocent, and I shall believe you.”

  Tears burned behind her eyes, and she refused to look at him lest she cry. If he could believe she was capable of such evil, if he was willing to take Harique’s word against hers, she would say naught to defend herself. “You can believe what you want. I will say no more.”

  He gripped her arms and turned her to him. “If your cousin speaks a lie, confess it now, and I will believe you!”

  “He is not my cousin, and that is the truth.”

  Ramtat looked puzzled. “But he is blood kin to Lord Mycerinus, is he not?”

  “Aye.” She was so angry, she wanted to push him away. “Harique is blood kin to the House of Sahure, while I have not a drop of that bloodline in me.”

  He felt betrayed. Her grief for Lord Mycerinus had seemed genuine, and she had drawn him in with her stories of growing up as the Royal Animal Trainer’s daughter. He flung her away from him, and she stumbled, falling onto the couch. Burying her face in the soft leather, she wanted to weep, but she would not allow herself to give in to that weakness. She was disappointed in Ramtat—he seemed on the verge of believing Harique’s vile lies. If he had only asked her the right questions, she would have gladly told him the truth of being her father’s adopted daughter.

  “Give me something, anything, to take back to the queen. Were you forced to fall in with someone’s plot against Cleopatra because you feared for your life? Did someone threaten you? Was King Ptolemy in on the plot all along?” He watched her raise her head, and he saw the angry glow shimmering in the green depths of her eyes. “You don’t understand the danger you are facing. Tell me everything so I can help you.”

  Danaë was furious. With every word out of Ramtat’s mouth, her resolve grew stronger. “I will not tell you anything.”

  The couch shifted when he sat down beside her, and she stiffened when he pulled her into his arms. “You cannot know what they will do to you if you have been involved in plotting against the queen.”

  Danaë wriggled out of his arms and stood. Without a word, she marched through the tapestry into the connecting room. Slumping onto the sofa there, she hung her head in despair. If Ramtat suspected her of dishonesty and treachery, she would not lower herself by begging him to believe the truth. No doubt he would be taking her to Alexandria, and that was what she wanted to happen. She would ask that Uriah be summoned to speak on her behalf; he could produce the documents to prove Harique’s claim was false.

  Danaë had bee
n through the grief of her father’s death, had been forced to flee from both her father’s house and her home in Alexandria. She had been kidnapped and imprisoned by the man who was now hurling accusations at her. The fact that she had come to love him and he had merely used her only compounded her grief.

  She raised her head as everything fell into place. Ramtat must have suspected her from the very beginning when she’d presented the cheetah to King Ptolemy as a gift. It all made sense now—that was the real reason he had taken her captive.

  Danaë picked up a cushion and threw it across the room. She could see it all now: When nothing else worked to wring a confession from her, Ramtat had wooed her and professed to love her, hoping he could make her talk.

  She laid her head back and stared as the wind rippled the top of the tent. It had all been a game to him.

  And she had been the fool who walked into his trap.

  Hearing footsteps, Danaë realized Ramtat had come after her. She raised her head, fighting back tears, and saw the determined look on his face. “You can do what you will to me,” she declared, turning her back on him. “I will say no more.”

  He seemed coldly detached when he said, “If you are part of a plot to slay the queen, I will find out—never fear.”

  “I remember that day at the palace when you warned me to keep silent about your identity—even then you suspected me for some reason.” Danaë stared past him. “Leave me alone.”

  “I will leave you to consider what will happen to you if you don’t speak in your own defense. If there is anything you want to tell me, I’ll await you in my quarters. It would be better if you confess all to me and name those who plot against the queen.”

  Oh, how that hurt.

  He thought her devoid of decency and honor.

  As Danaë heard his retreating footsteps, she bent almost double and silently cried. Ramtat could wait until the sands of time ran out for them both; she would never again go to him.