Daughter of the God-King(110)

“No, it did not matter,” she agreed with her newfound confidence. “But it makes me wince, nevertheless—it is too new a wound, I suppose.”

“A wound that will heal, dorogoy.”

She sighed. “Do you truly think so? I have my doubts—such a secret is bound to come out—there will never be an end to it.”

He tilted his head, his gaze upon the road. “Then you must mount a defense; when anyone hints at it, you must arch those brows of yours and pretend to be flattered and amused by such a report. You must neither deny nor confirm.”

She thought about it. “I suppose it is my only choice, other than to drum my heels and howl.”

“If any offers you insult, I will introduce them to my blade,” he promised.

She was all admiration, thinking of the slain man in the tomb. “You are indeed handy with your blade.”

“Bestard; no one shall threaten you and live.” One of his hands moved to clasp her hand at his waist again.

Smiling, she brushed her cheek against his back, pleased to have inspired such devotion, however bloodthirsty—and equally pleased that he had reverted to his own accent, which she viewed as a high compliment. “I made use of the wretched sword, did you see?”

“I did. I will remove a gold ferrule from the grip so that your wedding ring can be fashioned from it.”

“An interesting conceit,” she acknowledged with amusement.

“It is only fitting—I am wed to the daughter of the god-king.”

She laughed so that he had to warn her to hush as he maintained his vigil. I will come about, she thought as she squeezed him in affection; now that I’ve remembered who I am.





Chapter 45





Hattie knew when Dimitry spotted the approaching British troops by the sudden tension in his torso, and tried to hide her apprehension. “Is there to be more racing?”

“Hold on very tightly,” he instructed. “You have done well.”

She realized he was waiting until they were spotted, outlined at the top of the hill in the moonlight; apparently he meant to lead the soldiers away from wherever the associate was being transferred. “Robbie will be frantic,” she pointed out with some concern. “He will not realize it is only you.”

“That is to be hoped,” he replied, unsympathetic.

“Dimitry,” she gently rebuked him, “I cannot do this to him.”

“It cannot be helped.” He gathered up the reins. “Too much is at stake.”

“Surely Robbie can be trusted with the truth?”

Briefly, he laid a hand on hers at his waist. “He comes with Drummond—and the others. How can one be told without the other? I cannot chance another situation where a weapon is held to you.”

Reluctantly, she saw his point; she was indeed a powerful bargaining chip—and for either side in this battle behind the scenes. “And you are not certain of Drummond?”

“I do not believe he is aware of the truth,” he conceded. “But I will not take that chance.”

Subsiding, she waited in tense silence. A party of perhaps fifteen mounted men filed into the valley, then made haste toward the tomb. They were almost past them when a rider pulled up his mount in surprise, and Hattie fancied she could recognize Robbie. A faint shout, “Hattie?” confirmed her surmise, but Dimitry had already wheeled around, urging his horse down the other side of the rocky hill. Burying her face in his back, Hattie concentrated on hanging on while the horse slid in a mad scramble down the slope, its haunches tucked beneath it and stones skittering away to either side. Once away, they rode in a straight line to another cliff, and Hattie realized there was a tomb entrance at the base, sloping downward into the recesses of the hill. Almost before they were stopped, Dimitry wrapped an arm around her and swung her down just before he leapt off.

“Stay quiet, please,” he warned in a low voice, and led her quickly into the entry. The horse balked for a moment, its ears forward and its eyes wide at having to confront the narrow, dark tunnel, but Dimitry spoke to it in his language and tugged on the bridle until suddenly the resistance was gone. They stood packed together in the tunnel, waiting—the scent of overheated horse mingling with the now-familiar musty scent of the ancient tomb. In a few minutes their pursuers could be heard over the sound of the horse’s breathing, the rocks and gravel clattering as they rode in haste up the valley floor.

“Quickly, now,” said Dimitry, and led her outside to mount up again. This time he circled around the base of the hill, heading toward the valley’s entrance. Despite the darkness and the uneven ground, only once did Hattie fear they would go down—but the horse regained its footing and they continued on. They slowed once the cliffs rose up on either side, signaling their proximity to the cleft in the rocks that provided entry to the Valley of the Kings. Dimitry shifted in the saddle and whispered, “They will have left a guard, as there is only the one way out. I will indicate you are injured—you must say nothing and stay at a distance.”