The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (21 page)

With its nearly level surface halved by a small crater, the pyramid of Senusret III at Dashur resembled a volcano more than an Egyptian monument. Reddish brown sand stretched as far as the eye could see, marching up to the etched lines of the twelfth-dynasty structure. The pyramid’s ebony bricks, fashioned from sun-dried Nile mud, rose toward the sky. Kenneth studied the pyramid’s cleft, formed by previous excavations in 1839 by archaeologists attempting to discover the entrance.

Sunshine warmed his chilled blood. Glancing up at the cloudless blue day, he gauged the time as he had been taught by his Khamsin brethren. Afternoon. Kenneth squatted down, sifting the sand through his fingers. Like flour, it spilled down, blown away by the wind. Sturdy cream-colored tents dotted the area in small outcroppings—although the dig’s director, Jacques de Morgan, stayed in a nearby village, some of his team elected to camp near the pyramid. Kenneth stood, dusting off his hands. Sand kicked up by his leather boots whorled at his feet as he strode down to the camp.

The gold pectoral stolen from the dig site had been found in the northern section of the pyramid, in a series of galleries containing the tombs of Senusret and the royal family. Those sarcophagi had proven empty, the royal mummies long gone; Kenneth suspected they had been buried in another tomb for safekeeping, something not uncommon among the descendents of Egyptian royals, who feared having their remains disturbed by tomb robbers. However, the magnificent pectoral had been found layered in ancient dust at the foot of the granite casket, and so there de Morgan suspected a secret chamber lay below the galleries, a chamber used for storing precious artifacts buried with the dead for comfort in their afterlife.

Kenneth had given strict instructions not to explore that theory until his arrival. He needed to be present when the underground chamber was found. If more jewelry existed, Rashid would seize the chance to steal it. Then Kenneth would catch him and bring him back to the Khamsin for justice.

Steeling his spine, he strode toward the encampment, ruminating over the trap he’d prepared.

He washed at the basin propped on an empty crate in his tent and left for luncheon. Beneath a white canopy at a portable table, Victor and Jacques de Morgan dined off china plates and sipped fruit juice from crystal goblets. Kenneth’s austere soul winced at the opulence in the desert’s rugged simplicity.

On the distant horizon, a small cloud kicked up and horses’ hoofbeats thundered on the sand. Dust thickened and swirled. Shading his eyes, Kenneth stared at the sight.

Two Khamsin warriors came riding into the encampment on beautiful, sleek Arabians, guiding the horses expertly with their knees instead of bridles. Seeing them sent a ripple of unease through him, though he’d expected it.

Kenneth watched Jabari and Ramses dismount.

He knew the Khamsin leader would not simply let such a grave matter as tomb raiding rest in his hands. Tribe honor was at stake, and Jabari had a fierce sense of that. Likewise with Ramses. The Khamsin guardian despised tomb robbers even more than his sheikh did.

With a heavy sigh, Kenneth went to greet his friends.

Jabari’s keen gaze met his. "It is as you predicted, Khepri. Badra informed us de Morgan hired her to sketch the excavation. Rashid will be here with her soon."

Unease rippled through him. Jacques de Morgan had hired her? He wondered about the French archaeologist’s motivation. He nodded to de Morgan’s table. "I’ll introduce you."

As they approached the canopy, Kenneth caught the words, "If the necklace is stolen ..." His cousin glanced up, looking startled. He fell silent.

After introductions were made, Victor looked at de Morgan. He said, "I need to check on a few things. I’ll meet you at the dig."

Kenneth gazed after his departing cousin. What had he been discussing with de Morgan that he was so eager to hide?

The French archaeologist swept Jabari and Ramses with a curious gaze. "
Mon Dieu
, those weapons you carry!"

An air of quiet pride settled on Jabari’s broad shoulders as he gripped his scimitar’s ivory hilt, the symbol of his clan’s leadership passed down from generation to generation.

"But pistols and rifles are so much more sophisticated," de Morgan went on, fussily patting his mustache with a linen napkin. "I suppose it is the culture. Egyptians are so simple compared to civilized societies such as the French."

Kenneth’s gut twisted. Jabari’s mouth tightened in anger beneath his black beard. The sheikh gave de Morgan a look of contempt and stalked off, shoulders stiff with pride.

Left alone with de Morgan and a seething Ramses, Kenneth felt the awkwardness of his two worlds colliding.

Ramses’s silent gaze held his, questioning.
Which are you
, it asked.
Duke of Caldwell? Or Khepri? Are you our brother still?

A brother would not allow such a deep insult to pass.

Oblivious of the tension in the air, de Morgan stood, went outside the little canopy and brushed crumbs off his fine linen suit. Kenneth glanced at the bowl of gleaming, imported fruit on the table. Oranges and bananas. An idea surfaced. He took a banana, tossed it to Ramses, and said softly in Arabic, "Sit. Wait until my cue and then peel this with your dagger."

Interest shone in the guardian’s amber eyes. De Morgan returned and sat again as Kenneth leaned an elbow on the table.

"You say Egyptians are simple, Monsieur de Morgan. I have found living with the Khamsin that the warriors are fierce fighters, very courageous and oblivious to pain. And their weapons serve a useful purpose." He gave a dramatic pause.

Ramses took out his sharp dagger and held it aloft, admiring the blade. Mirth flashed in his eyes.

"As I was saying, the warriors are fearless, ruthless fighters, trained upon reaching manhood. When the training is complete, we undergo a ritual to signify our status as men." Hiding a smile, Kenneth continued. "Circumcision," he gleefully told the Frenchman. "A painful process, but one which guarantees, ah, a certain stoicism among the warriors."

Ramses began peeling the banana very slowly and very carefully with his dagger.

"A sharp blade must be used for the process, and the warrior must stay absolutely still. One slip and ..."

A curse in English flitted from Ramses’s lips as the dagger jerked, scoring a deep notch in the banana. De Morgan blanched. Kenneth swore even the tips of his mustache paled.

"Khamsin warriors learn to endure," Kenneth added. "Women also claim it makes certain acts of love more pleasurable. Much more."

With a sly wink, Ramses chomped down on the peeled banana, chewing with relish. The Frenchman looked physically ill.

Ramses took another banana and offered it to de Morgan. The archaeologist mopped his brow with a handkerchief and shook his head, muttering excuses about overseeing the workers. When he bolted from his chair, Kenneth caved in and howled with laughter. Ramses joined him, holding out the extra fruit.

"Banana? Women love them." He winked.

"Only if it is peeled," he shot back, and they howled with laughter again.

Draped in her customary indigo
kuftan
, blousy trousers and blue head scarf, Badra surveyed the encampment for her contact, the digger whom Masud had told her stole the first necklace. Rashid, Jabari and Ramses busied themselves with setting up tents.

The sheikh and his guardian made her vastly uneasy. Jabari had told her Kenneth had made peace with him, and he’d decided to visit the dig site and observe the work. But the sheikh’s gaze was frank and steady as he explained this to her, and that made her nervous.

Committing theft in front of them would require all her wits.

A tall, thin Egyptian in an ankle-length
thobe
with distinct blue stripes, and a white turban sitting askew on his head, spotted her and gave a small nod. Badra tensed, nodding back. This was the digger who was her contact. She must take care, or all her carefully laid plans would collapse.

Or worse, she would weave a noose out of an Egyptian necklace for Kenneth to hang her.

Badra wiped clammy hands on her
kuftan
, trying to calm her heartbeat. Gulping in a breath, she turned rapidly—and nearly collided with the one man she knew she could never really deceive. Kenneth.

His two hands shot out, steadying her. His shadow fell over her as he gazed down at her. She stared at his chest and the white shirt he wore, then craned her head up to regard him.

"Hello, Badra," he said quietly.

She gazed up at his somber face, his piercing blue gaze holding hers, thick locks of dark brown hair hanging over his forehead. He wore a crisp shirt that showed little sign of sweat, despite the day’s relative warmth. Open at the throat, the deep V showed a triangle of dark hair. She stared at his chest, spellbound, remembering how he had curled up next to her. How he had cupped her breast, making her ache and pulse with a strange yearning she lacked the courage to explore. His library in England: how his powerful body had covered hers as she shoved at him, screaming for him to stop...

"Why are you here?" he asked.

She gave a tremulous smile. "Jacques de Morgan invited me to sketch the excavation. What of you? Are you readying everything?"

"He’s in charge. I’m not an archeologist."

Tension rose between them, thick as the shimmering heat from the dusky sand. Badra swallowed hard. "Kenneth, about what happened in England ..." Heat flushed her face. She did not know how to speak of the matter. Deep shame and guilt filled her. His steady, intense blue eyes held hers, frankly assessing, devoid of emotion. Her voice dropped to a choked rasp. "I hope we can both forget it and move on."

"I can’t. What happened, Badra? Why did you pull away?"

His expression remained impartial, as if he were still a Khamsin warrior. Or an English duke with the cool reserve of his breeding and culture. She couldn’t confess her brutal past, the fears and shame she felt each time he touched her.

"What do you mean?" Her voice sounded too loud, too protesting. Badra affected surprise, though she felt certain he could hear the thunderous drum of her heart. He towered over her like a tall limestone column in one of the ancient temples, equally solid, massive and imposing.

"Badra, were you afraid of me?" His voice was gentle.

For a wild moment she wanted to confess all, to confide in the man who had sworn an oath to protect her. All her sexual fears. The truth about Jasmine. Then Badra’s spirits sagged. She must do everything to protect her child. Masud had warned if she told the duke, Jasmine would be sold and vanish forever.

No, she needed to push Kenneth away. If he discovered she was here to find the necklace ... Badra worked up the courage to utter words she knew would hurt.

"Do you remember the night under the desert stars when you kissed me?"

His gaze softened. "I will never forget."

"Well, I acted the way I did in your library because I was curious to see if you desired me as much as you did before, Kenneth. And you did. I saw for myself, then changed my mind."

Steel glinted in his eyes, cutting through any previous trace of softness. "Admit it, Badra. You wanted me equally."

She lifted a shoulder. "I’ll admit I can act very well."

"Was it acting, Badra?" he asked softly.

Sweat beaded her forehead. How could she deceive this man? His gaze burned her. "Call it what you wish. I will call it what it was for me—a mistake. One I will not repeat."

"Sometimes the mistakes we make turn out to be the greatest lessons life has to offer us. And some of us must repeat the mistake over and over." To her shock, Kenneth clasped her trembling palm and pressed a kiss there. His lips were warm and firm.

"I would be most happy to help you learn your lesson, Badra," he added. His deep voice rubbed against her like velvet.

Badra gulped. "I assure you, I have no such need of any lesson from you."

"That remains to be seen," he murmured. His gaze bored into her as she stormed off.

It was no act. It couldn’t be. Kenneth knew a woman’s response, the signs of arousal. She had displayed all of them in his library. Why had she changed her mind? Was it because she wanted to tease him like she had when he was her falcon guard?