Chapter Nineteen
Danaë remained huddled on the couch for the rest of the night, wondering what manner of death the queen would devise for her if Uriah was not allowed to present the proof that she was innocent of the claims against her. She still had not closed her eyes in sleep as she watched the fingers of light creep across the patterned rug announcing sunup.
This time when the tapestry parted, it was Ramtat’s aunt who entered.
“You are to dress for a journey,” Zarmah told her, laying a robe and veil beside Danaë and placing a pair of soft leather boots on the rug. “My nephew says to dress with haste. You will barely have time to eat and bathe before he is ready to leave.”
Danaë stripped off her robe and obediently washed herself. “I’m not hungry.”
Zarmah handed Danaë a jar of scented oil and met her defiant gaze. “My nephew suspected you would take that attitude. I am to warn you that if you don’t eat, he will have you force-fed.”
Danaë nodded, wondering why Ramtat did not kill her and bury her in the desert where no one would be the wiser. After dressing in the robes of a Bedouin woman, Danaë did manage to eat some of the meat and a bite of cheese. A subdued Danaë pulled the veil securely over her face.
“You will find a horse saddled and waiting for you.”
“I understand.”
Zarmah reached out and placed her hand on Danaë’s arm. “I don’t understand. If you know something that will prove your innocence, tell it now. I fear what might happen to you if you don’t break your silence.”
“I balk at anyone’s attempt to intimidate me, especially your nephew.”
“I believe in you. Have I not seen your goodness and witnessed your kindness to those who served you?”
“Am I to go to my death?” Danaë asked with the weight of her hurt crushing down on her.
“This I do not know.” Zarmah’s eyes filled with sympathy. “But I feel I should tell you I have never seen my nephew as angry as he is at the moment. Be warned, Ramtat is not a forgiving man. He has always had a steadfast devotion to duty and has never been swayed by sentiment.”
Danaë knew she had done nothing wrong, and she was not going to defend herself, not even to Zarmah. “I feel like a small boat on a turbulent ocean being tossed about by swamping waves. Your nephew should know I have no power to harm the queen, and wouldn’t even if I had the opportunity.”
“Tell him that.”
“Nay. I will not.” Danaë stepped to the tapestry. “Will Lord Ramtat be accompanying me to Alexandria?”
“I am told he will be leading your escort. You must hurry—he is impatient to be away.”
Danaë felt her heart turn to stone. “I thank you for your kindness. You are the only one I shall miss when I leave here.”
Zarmah sighed. “I had such hopes for you and my nephew. If out of pride you remain silent, Ramtat will have no recourse other than to …” She could not finish. “Follow me: I will take you to him.”
Danaë attempted to close herself off from thinking and feeling. She knew not what awaited her when she reached Alexandria.
Her death?
Probably.
And if she did die, and Ramtat later discovered the truth, would he even feel regret for his actions?
The first day’s journey passed without incident. A hot desert wind was blowing, and Danaë kept her veil in place to prevent her skin from blistering. Her gaze would often go to Ramtat, who rode at the head of his Bedouin tribesmen and paid scant attention to her. She was positioned between two fierce-looking tribesmen, one of whom she recognized as the man who had questioned her when she was traveling with the caravan. She’d thought at the time he was a spy, and now it seemed she’d been right.
None of the men looked in her direction, and Ramtat paid no attention to her. It was as if they were strangers, as if he’d forgotten the intimacy they had shared, and the soft words that had passed between them.
It was a silent group that snaked its way across the desert, and as far as Danaë could tell, Ramtat spoke to no one. His followers dared not speak to him. Since she rode several horses behind Ramtat, she studied him without his knowledge. With his black robe flowing out about him and his head held at a proud angle, he seemed unapproachable. She could feel his barely suppressed anger, and it drove through her like a knife.
When evening fell, a small tent was erected for Danaë’s comfort while the men bedded down on the ground. In the dark of night she lay curled up on a soft goatskin mat, too weary to dwell on what would happen to her when they reached Alexandria.
She really did not care.
At the end of the second day, a brilliant sunset lingered, washing the sand dunes in red, reminding Danaë of an ocean of blood. When night fell, the darkness was total, for a thin layer of clouds covered the moon and stars.
Inside the tent, staring out through the tiny opening at the top, she cried.
And cried.
When she had no more tears left, she fell asleep and slept the night through.
The next day passed, much the same as the first two. Danaë was thankful that they were not making a frantic dash across the desert like the one they’d made when she’d been abducted from the caravan. If she had not known better, she would have thought Ramtat was purposely delaying their arrival in Alexandria.
Could he be reluctant to part with her? She shook her head—he wanted nothing more than to be rid of her.
It was mid-afternoon when Danaë noticed an enormous dark cloud rolling toward them from the east. Having grown up near the desert and spending much of her time there, she knew at once they were about to be hit by a sandstorm. She also knew it was perilous to be caught in such a storm.
As the wind grew stronger, Danaë’s horse seemed to sense danger and reared up on its hind legs. When she tried to control the animal, it shied sideways, trying to jerk the reins out of her hand.
Suddenly Ramtat was beside her, lifting her onto his horse so that she was seated in front of him. He had to yell to be heard above the howl of the wind. “Find protection for yourselves and the animals! This storm will soon be upon us. Take shelter quickly!”
To Danaë’s surprise, Ramtat gathered her close and raced toward the storm, rather than trying to outrun it as the others were doing. To her, it didn’t seem like a wise choice until she saw the outline of a steep rock formation jutting out of the sand. Of course, he knew this part of the desert, and he would know where to find refuge.
The storm was almost upon them—already Danaë’s face was stinging from the grains of sand that pelted her. Her eyes stung, and she closed them, pressing her face against Ramtat’s shoulder.
He slid off the horse with her in his arms and raced for the formation. He placed her on her feet and pushed her against the rocks, then covered her with his body. Gently he turned her face into his shoulder and pulled her to him.
She was puzzled when he drew back and removed her veil until she watched him lift his waterskin and dampen the filmy material.
“Are you frightened?” he asked.
She could have said that naught could frighten her while she was in his arms, and it would have been the truth. But instead she replied, “I have been in sandstorms before and have always been a little afraid.”
“With good reason.” He draped the wet veil over her face and tightened his grip on her. The wind howled, the dust swirled and stung those parts of their bodies that were not protected by clothing. It was stifling and difficult to breath, but Danaë was in Ramtat’s arms, and that was all that mattered.
It was difficult to hear anything but the screaming of the wind. Despite Ramtat’s efforts to protect her, Danaë felt as if she’d swallowed half the desert. Even with danger all about them, she became aware of the muscled body pressed against her. He was heavy, but she gloried in the feel of him. She turned her head, her lips touching his cheek.
“So,” he whispered near her ear, “it’s a distraction you seek. I can help you with that.�
� His mouth sought and found hers, moving softly, caressingly, stealing what little breath she had left. Danaë felt the swell of him against her thigh, and she knew he was as affected by her as she was by him. He ground his body against hers and deepened the kiss.
“Since I partook of the forbidden fruit of your body, I find I have a lasting hunger to taste it again.” He pressed his rough cheek against hers. “I will never have my fill of you.”
“I feel the same,” she said, pressing her face against his neck.
“Even with death at our side, you fire my blood. I cannot resist you,” he told her, placing his lips against her ear so she would hear his words. “But if I must die, let it be with your kiss on my lips.”
The kiss seemed to go on forever, and it certainly blocked out any thought Danaë might have of danger. All she could think about was the feel of Ramtat’s mouth, and his body moving sensuously against hers. She vaguely wondered how he could kiss her with such feeling if he believed her devoid of honor.
“You have captured me in your web like a spider,” he said, tearing his lips from hers. “I don’t seem to have an antidote against you.”
She could not see his face, but his lips descended once more in a kiss so consuming, she had to fight to breathe. His hand slid down her thigh, and he pushed her robe up to her waist. She was aware that the worst of the storm had struck, and the wind sounded very like the wail of a woman. But the storm did not matter—nothing did except what Ramtat was doing to her. He slid his finger inside her, and she was lost to everything but the pleasure he gave her.
“You like me to touch you like this.”
“Yes,” she managed to whisper.
“And I cannot keep from touching you. I need you like a man dying of thirst needs water.”
“It is the same with me.”
He pushed her robe farther up her thigh and drove into her, stealing what sanity she had left. His hardness filled her aching body, and she rode the waves of passion with him. She felt him stiffen, and his body tremble, but he stayed inside her, and after a long, drugging kiss, he hardened and took her again.
“To lose you will leave my life without purpose,” he growled into her ear. “I despise the need in me that hungers for you.”
Danaë could make no reply because her body trembled, and she held onto him, taking his quakes into her body.
For a long moment neither of them spoke. She noticed the storm had lessened, and night had fallen. In the distance she heard the cry of a jackal, but other than that, they were surrounded by an eerie silence.
“What will I do with you?” he asked, raising her chin so he could see into her eyes in the dusty light.
“I know not.”
“You are a traitor.”
“To whom?”
He sat up and rearranged her robe. She watched him stare into the gathering night, deeply troubled. “Our horses have run away,” he said at last. “My men will find them; then they will be searching for us. It will be difficult for them to locate us in the dark.”
“What will we do?”
He turned back to her. “I know what I would like to do—but each time I possess your body, I lose more of myself.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I take only what you give. You could always let me go and put an end to this torture for both our sakes.”
He rolled to his feet. “It’s too late to save me.”
“What do you mean?” she asked in desperation.
“I hear my men coming,” Ramtat told her. He grasped her hand and helped her to her feet.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge the sand that clung to her scalp. “What will we do now?”
“Ride through the night so we can reach Alexandria by morning.”
“What will happen to me?”
He refused to look at her as he said in an unfeeling tone, “That will be for the queen to decide.”
By now the Bedouin horsemen had dismounted, one of them leading both their horses forward. Ramtat lifted Danaë onto her horse and spoke in a low tone so none of the others could hear. “What happened between us was a mistake, and we both know it. It will not happen again.”
The faint smile she gave him was bittersweet. “Your aunt said you would never choose love over duty. I almost pity you, Lord Ramtat. You are destined to be a very lonely man.”
Helplessly Danaë watched Ramtat turn away from her and mount his horse. She knew he was ashamed of the feelings he had for her, and she wanted to hate him for that. Even though his rejection of her was causing her pain, she could never regret what had happened between them.
Silently the column galloped through the desert with Ramtat riding at its head.
Danaë’s pride was all she had to sustain her as she faced an uncertain future.
She was innocent, and there were many who could testify to that—but most of them were under Harique’s control at the villa, and he had probably threatened them if they spoke in her support.
She thought of Uriah and Minuhe, who would not be moved by Harique’s threats. What if he had done something to them to keep them silent?
One thing she knew for certain. She would rather face a quick death as a traitor than fall under Harique’s evil power.
The descending night seemed a little darker, and she shivered, though not from the cold.
Chapter Twenty
When they entered Alexandria just past the noon hour, their horses’ hooves echoed through nearly empty streets. Danaë glanced about, wondering where all the people were. As they galloped past a silversmith’s shop, the hammers were silent. A leather shop that was usually bustling with clients was closed and barred.
There was no one about. No one.
When Danaë looked questioningly at the Bedouin who rode beside her, he frowned and fastened his gaze on the roadway ahead.
The Bedouin knew that if he spoke to the sheik’s woman without permission, he would be severely punished, so he remained silent.
As they continued on toward the center of the city, Danaë heard the sound of clashing swords, and her eyes widened with fright. The fighting seemed to be advancing from street to street, and it sounded as if it was coming in their direction.
Ramtat raised his arm to halt his cavalcade. Danaë assumed he told his men to leave, because they dispersed, and Ramtat grabbed the reins of Danaë’s horse, leading her back in the direction they had just come. As they wound through streets and backtracked several times, the sound of fighting became distant and more muted.
Ramtat kept one hand on the hilt of his sword, held the reins of Danaë’s horse with the other, and controlled his horse with the sheer power of his leg muscles.
“Have no fear—you’re in no danger,” he told her. “We’ll soon be out of the city. Be assured, the fighting has not yet spread to the rural area.”
Until now, the war had not seemed quite real to Danaë. Her gaze skimmed along the horizon, and she now realized that what appeared to be clouds was actually smoke. Refusing to admit she was frightened, Danaë pulled her veil across her face and turned her head away from Ramtat. The heaviest fighting seemed to come from the direction of the palace, and she realized the war between the different factions must have escalated.
As they rode down a long, tree-lined street, everything suddenly seemed familiar to Danaë. She yanked the reins out of Ramtat’s hand and spun her horse around. Just a few paces away was her very own house!
Ramtat reached over and jerked the reins out of her hand. His eyes were smoldering, and his jaw was clamped in an angry line.
“Don’t try that again,” he said abruptly. “I’m not letting you go to your home.”
She searched his features, then turned away to watch a man in a white robe rush across the almost deserted streets, hoping it would be Uriah. But of course it wasn’t him at all—the man was too short, and his girth too round.
She removed her veil, fully exposing her face and hair, hoping some of her own servants might be about and reco
gnize her. That hope was dashed when they left the city behind and galloped across open country.
They rode for some time in silence, and Danaë wondered where Ramtat could be taking her. They slowed to a canter when they came to a curving road lined with cypress trees, and she saw they were entering a great estate.
“What is this place?”
Ramtat merely glanced at her, making no reply.
“I thought you were taking me to the queen.”
Again he said nothing, but she saw the muscles tighten in his jaw.
Never one to give up easily, Danaë moved her horse closer to Ramtat’s and pressed on with her questions. “Who is fighting in Alexandria?”
Ramtat glanced into the distance. “I would assume it’s King Ptolemy’s troops taking on Caesar’s legions.”
She paled. “If only they would reach a truce, this war would end.”
He looked at her in irritation. “A truce can’t settle what lies between Ptolemy and Cleopatra.”
“A war isn’t the answer either; it leaves us vulnerable to an outsider like Caesar, who will only cause more devastation for our people.”
“It’s Ptolemy who cares little that his people and nation are being destroyed,” Ramtat accused.
“It’s like the end of the world,” Danaë said sadly.
Ramtat glanced sideways at her. “It is only the death of folly.” He turned his full attention to her. “Even now you defend this king. Surely you can see he must die.”
She shook her head. “I do not see it.”
He nudged his horse to a gallop, and since he still held the reins of her horse, she was forced to hold on tightly to remain in the saddle.
The roadway wound past several small outer houses, vineyards, and wheat field—in the distance she noticed thick walls of an outer courtyard. When they neared the gate, Ramtat rapped with his fist.
“Open—’tis I.”
Ramtat nodded at the gatekeeper as they rode beneath the arches. He had intended to take Danaë directly to the palace and ask for a private audience with the queen, but the fighting in the streets made him decide on an alternative plan. At least that was what he told himself. In truth, he did not want to release her into anyone’s care—not even the queen’s. Not until he discovered what Danaë was hiding from him.
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