Daughter of the God-King(112)

She nodded, trying to match his calm manner, and they lay thus for some tense minutes. Straining, she could hear nothing but the river insects. To calm her, he kissed the side of her face, whispering in her ear, “I am sorry I put you in the sarcophagus.” He wound his arms around hers and interlaced their fingers, laying his cheek to her face as he rested the length of his long body over hers.

She whispered in return, “Then we are all even; I am sorry I disrupted your plan.” As the water lapped on the hull beneath her head, she smiled, thinking the situation very satisfactory despite the perilous events of the day. It felt as though they were alone in the world with the thick, close darkness enveloping the small boat. “I do admire your beard,” she whispered. “You are handsome and rather sinister, which is appealing in its own way.”

“You didn’t know me.” He said it in a mock-accusatory manner.

“No—I’m afraid I was too busy dodging blows from the wicked baron.”

“Mudak,” he said succinctly, and she decided it was best not to seek a translation for that particular word. Instead, she whispered, “Is ‘Sokol’ our family name?”

“No.”

“What does it mean?”

He thought about the translation. “Falcon.”

“What is our family name? Can you say?”

There was the slightest pause. “Khilkov, but you must not tell anyone; not as yet.”

She repeated it, trying to become familiar with the unfamiliar pronunciation. “Is it Russian?”

“Yes.” He kissed her again.

She smiled, feeling the whiskers of his false beard against her face. “It is a good name, Dimitry—and I must admit to relief; I would not have made a very good countess.”

He made no response, and into the silence she sighed. “Best tell me the whole, husband.”

She could feel his breath against her ear. “You are indeed a countess, and the House of Khilkov is fortunate to add your bloodstock to theirs.” The words were firmly said, and his fingers tightened around hers. “I will hear no more of it.”

“Yes, my lord,” she teased, her tone light. There was no longer any point to being missish about her birth; she may already carry the heir to the House of Khilkov—may as well get on with it. Thinking of such things, she giggled. “Is that the mighty Glory of Kings I feel?”

Laughing softly, he pressed his hips suggestively against her. “I cannot help myself, Hattie—you feel so good against me.”

“Well, I cannot be any more bedraggled than I already am,” she said in an invitation, moving his hands to her breasts.

“Quiet; we cannot give our position away,” he warned, but he was already turning her over beneath him and hiking up her skirts with an impatience that belied his caution.

Twining her arms around his neck, she kissed the hollow of his throat, below the beard. “I will be as silent as the stupid sarcophagus.”

“I am sorry to have done it to you,” he said again as his mouth trailed along her throat and he pulled at the drawstring on his trousers. “But it seemed the best course.”

“I lasted for all of five minutes—which was a major accomplishment, I think.”

“This may not last much longer,” he admitted, his voice husky in her neck.

And so her husband made quiet and efficient love to Hattie in the bottom of a wooden fishing boat while the crickets resonated and the eternal stars of Egypt burned overhead. It is truly not such a terrible place, she thought, arching against him and biting her lip to keep from crying out; one need only meet the right people.





Chapter 46





Dimitry was shaking her gently. “Hattie.”

She opened her eyes, disoriented for a moment. The last thing she remembered was lying with him in the boat after lovemaking, content to be silent while they rocked with the current of the river. She must have fallen asleep, and now Dimitry was crouched over her, his expression intent. “I must go.”

This woke her as nothing else could, and she sat up, blinking, only to realize they were out in the silent river, another boat alongside. “I will meet up with you as soon as I may.”

She nodded, her breast suddenly heavy. “Good luck,” she said, not certain of what one said in such a situation.

He laid a hand against her face then leapt nimbly into the larger boat that abutted theirs. In the moonlight, Hattie could make out the cohort from the tomb manning the oars and the inert form of the associate stowed on the floorboards—they had been successful in spiriting him away, then. She turned her head to observe that the innkeeper from the Osiris Inn was now doing the honors for her own vessel.