Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3)

by Jackie Ivie

  She didn’t know how Captain Tennison had spent the night, but he rode two different horses throughout the day, one of which walked beside him without a rider. They looked like a matched pair, although Averill wasn’t able to tell them apart until she noticed a subtle difference in their noses. One horse had a straight blaze, while the other sported two, separate ones. Captain Tennison was riding the split-blaze horse today. It made him look very official. Averill contemplated his profile at length as he spoke to another man, then he turned and rode toward her.

  She carefully blanked her expression even as she knew he’d caught her looking.

  “You don’t paint today?” he asked.

  “This beast won’t settle into a rhythm I can get used to. Either that, or I’m not as talented today.”

  She watched his eyebrows draw together as he considered that.

  “You underestimate yourself, Averill. I suggest adding the horse, Pegasus, and you have created a masterpiece. Are you fishing for compliments?”

  Looking at him was too dangerous. She studied the landscape beyond his shoulder, watching heat waves pulse across the sand. She waited.

  “Did you sleep well? I should have explained sooner, I suppose. I was avoiding it. I also should have avoided the side-track to the oasis. It was madness. Making up lost time is our penance.”

  “It was a side-track?” Averill moved her gaze back to him to ask it.

  He smiled. “The men are properly mystified, too. We’re expected at Apamea Palace. The arrangements were made, and I have my orders. I’m not at liberty to change them, even if I wished it. And it’s still some distance.”

  Averill watched him, finally realizing what he was saying. They weren’t stopping that night, either. “You’re apologizing for the haste?” she asked.

  “A Tennison never apologizes,” he replied, automatically.

  “No,” she murmured. “I suppose not.” And especially not to a woman from the streets. It seemed Captain Tennison wanted distance between them just as much as she did. He was just using an oblique, stuffy, foreign way to go about it. Her lips twisted.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Averill smiled in the same kind of way she’d used to for Sen-Bib’s customers. “It was lovely to bathe at the oasis, Captain Tennison. If you went that way on my behalf, I thank you.”

  “It was dangerous, though. But I think you were aware of that.”

  Averill felt herself pale and would have given anything to stay the reaction. “You had enemies there?”

  “That’s not the sort of danger I meant.”

  She kept her gasp inside and was surprised at that bit of self-control. She wasn’t as successful at hiding the flush. She was afraid to guess his meaning. She didn’t dare contemplate that he might be suffering an emotion akin to what she was. The thought made her skin feel too tight and her chest heavier.

  She kept her eyes on the camel’s neck in front of her, and waited for him to speak again.

  “We’ll be stopping later for a meal. It’s the best we can do. You’ll be able to keep your seat through the night?”

  “I have already proven that I can.” She answered evenly and without one bit of inflection. She was very proud of that.

  “Oh. Very good. Forgive the interruption, then.”

  He was already moving away, or she’d have apologized for speaking as she had. Then, she was glad of his action. If he thought her devoid of feeling, all the better. She blinked at the moisture coating her eyes, and blamed the sand.

  He might have saved her from the dangers of a Cairo street, but he’d not saved her at all. Quite the opposite.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  If Averill had thought herself sore the first day, it was due to naivety and inexperience. The saddle might have a horsehair padded seat, but it was digging into every blister she had, and felt like it was opening new ones with every sway of the camel. She’d given up finding a comfortable spot to sleep, and had simply endured a long, thought-filled night, while every bit of her body felt the loss of rest.

  They had reached a mountain range just after sunrise, and Averill had never seen such a thing. It mystified her why they ignored the trail winding into the trees, and seemed intent on following the arid land at the base. Perhaps the camels needed such footing. Who was she supposed to ask?

  She didn’t even try to attempt a painting. Leaning over the side to get the canvas would have been beyond her and her eyes felt grit-filled. Captain Tennison didn’t even call a halt as hard flat cakes were passed out for breakfast. She returned the favor, and turned aside every time he looked her way.

  But then she saw Apamea Palace and every bit of misery melted away. It was stunning. Beautiful. Jaw-dropping.

  Evening sun touched on pink-colored walls of an immense structure, bathed in the hues of sunset, and so richly designed, it looked like something from a dream. She couldn’t believe such bounty could exist in such a place. The foothills rose around it, enclosing it, and short, stunted trees tried to clamber up the rose-colored walls.

  “It affects everyone that way at first, Averill.”

  She closed her mouth and turned to the captain, not even wondering why he’d broken rank and was here, at her side, at the back of his caravan.

  “I had to make certain my artist still accompanied me, and hadn’t fallen from her mount,” he answered her wordless question.

  “Why should you care?” she asked.

  “Good question. I’ve asked myself that enough, you’d think I’d have an answer ready. I don’t.”

  “I’m fine, Captain,” Averill replied.

  “Do you regret coming with me?” he asked, so softly she had to decipher the words from his lips.

  She shrugged. “I should also have a ready answer, I think.”

  His lips tipped upward a fraction before he gestured to the wall beside her. “They imported most of it. Very expensive. Very impressive. I was impressed the first time.”

  “But not the second?”

  “No,” he replied. “Not the second. Nor any subsequent visits.”

  “Who owns this?”

  “Some Pasha or other. It’s not his to run, though. That duty belongs to his Minister, Al-Marabandi. That one bears watching. Slippery fellow. It’ll be all right, though. They’re loyal to the power of the moment. Since it’s the British, they put up with interferences such as us. We’re not exactly welcome, but we’re not openly unwelcome. Does that make sense?”

  Captain Tennison looked exhausted. He had dirt enfolded into every line of his face, and dark circles under his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat before she turned back to look at the palace wall.

  “It has a certain aura. I’d like to capture it.”

  “My invitation is for a rest, nothing more. I’m to find the Minister’s true leanings while we’re here. We’ll be lucky if we’re not escorted out tomorrow morn. You can stay up and paint, if you like. I, for one, am finding a comfortable bed and dropping into it. You’re welcome to join me. Forget I said that. Blame it on lack of sleep. I’ll see you at the steps.”

  His mouth had twisted strangely as he spoke. It bothered her as much as his words. And the way her eyes followed him.

  The town of Apamea was encased within the palace walls. More people than Averill had seen in the marketplace appeared to be encamped within there, too. She held the cloak tight about her, and kept her eyes on Pegasus’ neck until the column halted.

  But when the camel knelt, she couldn’t get her legs to move. As much as she wanted to dismount, all she did for a few moments was sit and look at the tiles beneath them. This Pasha must be exceedingly rich, to line his streets with tile. She wondered why he catered to any power, even the British. It made little sense. And she was too tired to care.

  She closed her eyes and that made it easier to understand the words coming toward her. She just couldn’t believe their content.

  “Ah! You’ve brought a present for His Eminence! A woman is greatly appreciated. Why didn
’t you say so sooner?”

  Averill opened her eyes. Captain Tennison was trailing a tall, thin fellow in a dark red cloak and a turban to match. Averill had a quick glance and looked down again.

  “She isn’t a gift.”

  “With preparation, an oiling, and the proper clothing, she’ll be a welcome addition to the harem. Such light skin, too! His Eminence has too many Nubians and the like. A comely woman will tempt him, for certain. Is she part European, too? That’s excellent. Come, woman.”

  He held his hand out for her. Averill didn’t move.

  “You listen poorly, my friend. I already told you. She isn’t a gift. I meant it.”

  “You’ve never traveled with a woman before, Captain.”

  “True, enough. Leave her. I have much to tell you.”

  “The harem will accommodate her.”

  “Oh. She’s not going into any harem,” Captain Tennison replied. “I already said as much.”

  “His Eminence will be displeased.”

  “Why? I’ve brought gifts, as always.”

  “There are gifts that are more welcome than others. Come, Captain, enough of this. Let me see her placed with the other women, and we’ll drink to your journey.”

  “She’s not going into the harem.”

  “It will be safe there.”

  “It will also be impossible to retrieve her when I leave.”

  “I am insulted by your statement.”

  “You should be,” Captain Tennison replied.

  Averill dared a glance again at the thinner man. He didn’t look insulted. He looked amused. She looked back down.

  “Where do you wish me to place her, then?”

  “As she’s with me, I would expect her to be put into my rooms, and treated accordingly.”

  “Your rooms?”

  “She’s my woman.”

  Averill ducked her head at hearing that statement coming from Captain Tennison’s mouth.

  “You should have said as much already. These words are a waste of time, while you and your men stay thirsty. Come then.”

  “I believe I’ll see her to my rooms, first. I wouldn’t wish her to get misplaced on the way.”

  “And perhaps end up in his Eminence’s harem? Oh, Captain. You do me a grave disservice.”

  “I’m only being careful. I would hate to have a diplomatic incident over such a thing.”

  “I could arrange for her to join the Heir, Al-Nasir’s, instead. He has reached the age of such things.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I brought a gift for the Pasha’s eldest, also. He can’t have the woman, either. She belongs to me. I’ll not repeat myself again.”

  Captain Tennison was getting irritated. It was probably due more to his exhaustion than any other reason. Averill watched the tall man’s eyebrows rise. She glanced away before he caught her looking.

  “I thought you British devoid of emotion, Captain.”

  “If I showed more emotion, you’d be facing a sword. Do I need finish?”

  The captain was smiling through the threat, although he had moved his burnoose, revealing his right arm. And his sword. Averill watched the thin man assume an affronted look. It was as false as his words had been. Captain Tennison’s reaction was one he’d been looking for. She’d swear on it.

  “Oh, very well. If you insist. Here’s a houseboy. Kuna! See the captain and his woman to the white rooms. Yes, those. Set a listener at the post. Report back to me when it’s done.”

  The man had spoken the last in his native tongue. Averill didn’t know if the captain understood the language. She’d tell him at the first opportunity, if he didn’t.

  “Averill? Come along.”

  The captain spoke and Averill nodded. It took an act of will, and the help of one arm, but she managed to lift a leg over the saddle horn.

  “Could you manage it a bit quicker?”

  “I don’t think my legs work.”

  “They already think me a soft-hearted fool after the display I just put on. Now, I need to carry you?”

  Anger made it easier to move, but Averill swayed once she stood beside him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Captain Tennison pulled her up into his arms without another word. He started walking. Averill turned her face into his neck. Hiding. Shivering.

  “This is getting difficult. Now you will have to sleep in my bed. Probably with me right beside you. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  Averill nodded. She didn’t dare trust her voice.

  “You do know why I’m doing this, don’t you?”

  “I understood every word,” she whispered.

  “What did you do to make him so insistent?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” he asked.

  “I didn’t even look up. I swear.”

  “Why do they want you so much, then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The Pasha’s harem already accommodates over two hundred women. At least, that’s the figure he quotes. I’ve never seen it. I’ve no desire to, either, so watch yourself.”

  “If I don’t know what I did, how do I stop doing it?”

  “I begin to think you were born to the art of temptation. You kept it well-hidden at Sen-Bib’s. My compliments.”

  She stiffened.

  “We’ve arrived. My thanks, boy. See to it that arrangements are made for a bath before you leave.”

  The houseboy bowed and left them. Averill waited until the door shut behind him. “They can hear everything we say,” she whispered into his ear.

  “Probably see everything, too.” He spun slowly in a circle, surveying the room with her still in his arms. “I suppose you know the bath is for me. I have to prepare for the sup. Women do not attend. It will soon be dark. That should be safe. Extinguish any lanterns and bathe then. Use as little light as possible. It’s best. I’ll place a guard at the door, too. This is getting ridiculous and way too complicated. I probably should have listened to Harvey.”

  “Harvey?”

  “Forget I said that.” He bent to place her onto a rolled cushion. “Don’t leave this chamber. I may not be able to rescue you if you do.”

  “I’ve no wish to be a concubine, Captain Tennison.”

  “Don’t say that too loudly.” He winked. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to be portraying, remember?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “You must be doing it very well, too.”

  “They’re not interested in me, Captain. It’s a lie.”

  She spoke in Spanish, her voice barely making sound, and he knelt beside her to hear it.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I watched him as he spoke.”

  “I did too.”

  “You heard the words as truth, though. He doesn’t want me. He’s very good, though. I almost believed it.”

  “I must be too tired.” Captain Tennison’s brow was wrinkled as he said it.

  “Look at me. I’m worn, dust-covered, smell like a camel, and kept my head bowed the entire time. No one saw me and I locked glances with no one. What could be so enthralling that they’d risk your anger to steal me?”

  “Are you looking for compliments? Because I’m too exhausted, if that’s the case.”

  He sighed heavily and made as if to stand. Averill put her hand onto his sleeve to stop him.

  “He gave himself away when he said I could go into either harem. If the Pasha wanted me, would he allow such? And you’ve never traveled with a woman before. He believes us lovers. He wants you thinking of my safety, and only of my safety. It’s the best way to keep you from thinking of other things.”

  He smiled and patted her hand. “I’ve got a dinner to prepare for, Averill. Oh, good. Here’s my bath, now.”

  Captain Tennison lifted her fingers from his arm and stood, while she thinned her lips and narrowed her eyes.

  “Make certain your men guard the camels and horses. If you have written orders,
make certain they’re hidden. If you don’t believe me, at least take precautions. Please?”

  “Why don’t you practice hiding yourself when we next visit a head of state? That would be more opportune.”

  “It’s a lie, Captain.”

  “And, if it isn’t? Are you prepared to take that chance? Because I’m not.”

  Averill looked down. He wasn’t going to listen. “That’s exactly what they’re counting on.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish, Averill. I’ve already told you what an exotic and beautiful woman you are. I’m doing my utmost to ignore it. To think them enthralled is easy. Oh, hell. Forget I said that. Just allow me to bathe in peace. And all this time, I thought you a quiet one.”

  She couldn’t face him. She could barely take her next breath. Her entire body was feeling the whisper-like tremors she’d relegated to the realm of her fantasy dream-land. It sounded like Captain Tennison was admitting an attraction to her.

  Somehow, that amplified hers a hundred-fold.

  ~ ~ ~

  The rooms deserved their name. They were white, and the furnishings were white. And all of it glowed like an iridescent pearl as the moon rose higher. Averill leaned across the balcony ledge, watching it.

  She felt replete. Warm. Clean. Drowsy.

  Averill had bathed, dressed in a plum-colored, silky robe left lying for her, and combed through her hair. She’d eaten some of the fruits and cheeses and flat breads they’d left just outside the door for her. She hadn’t needed artificial light. The moon was shedding plenty. And she knew the room layout. She’d had time to study it while Captain Tennison bathed earlier.

  There was a small antechamber with rolled-end cushions on the floor and low-lying marble tables. It led to a massive chamber that held the bed. Two rooms opened off opposite sides of the bedchamber. One of them held a deep tub, crafted from marble. It was large enough to hold Averill, but Captain Tennison had to bend his legs to fit. She wished she didn’t know that much. Such peeking wasn’t going to make it any easier to leave when the time came. She also wished it wasn’t so compelling.

  The bedroom chamber was more than forty paces in any direction. Carved columns were spaced every five paces about the center of the room. The architect had cut away a section of the roof, allowing moonlight to stream in, highlighting the bed. It was stirring, breath-taking, romantic…and yet frightening, too.