Daughter of the God-King(77)

“Let us go outside.” There was an edge to his voice—almost a desperation. With a firm grip on her arm, he swung her out through the archway and onto the deserted veranda.

She looked up into his face without seeing it because a black, black thought was hovering around the edges of her mind and she refused to give it entry. Impossible to believe her father, devoted to his wife, would father a child on a local girl. Even more impossible to believe they would bring a baby with them to Egypt, especially on one of their earliest excavations. Indeed, it must have been just when Napoleon had begun his campaign—about the time her parents had made their bargain with the devil. Their bargain.

Hattie stood very still and the black thought could be refused entrance no longer. She remembered Eugenie’s sly comments and the scrutiny of the Frenchmen today. She had been heavily guarded when here as a baby, when the French had held Egypt—no, not exactly the French—it was Napoleon who held Egypt. She swayed slightly, and through the roaring sound in her ears she heard Berry speaking intently to her as he supported her in his arms, although she could not comprehend what he said.

Suddenly she was furious, and lashed out at him, hissing through her teeth, “You knew.”

“I love you, Hattie.” He pulled her close.

“I was a joke,” she rasped out into his shoulder, clinging to him so as to remain upright. “They named me after Hathor, the goddess of fertility—they said I was the daughter of the god-king—it was all a joke to them and nothing more.” Maddened by the horror of it all and perilously close to hysteria she gasped, “Oh, God.”

“I love you, Hattie,” he whispered. “It does not matter.”

She pounded her small fists against his chest, emphasizing the words. “You knew this—everyone knows—”

“No.” He took her hands and folded them into his, against the chest she had been abusing. Pressing his cheek against hers he spoke gently into her ear, “Few know. You must hush, Hattie; we will marry and I will send you to my sister’s home until this is over and then I will come for you.”

She drew back to gaze at him in scornful amazement, her heart still beating in her ears. “You speak nonsense—utter nonsense.”

“It does not matter, Hattie.” He was in agony—she could tell—but she couldn’t find any comfort for him, having none.

“Of course it matters,” she bit out. She then ruined the effect by resting her forehead against his chest and closing her eyes, wishing she could crawl inside him.

She was vaguely aware that Bing was standing in the archway, taking in the strange tableau without comment. “I will take her home,” Berry said in a tone that brooked no argument.

But Bing did not move. “Hathor?” she asked quietly.

“Please go, Bing.” Breathing in Berry’s scent, she didn’t move while he held her tightly. She was a bastard—and not just any bastard, but the bastard of her country’s greatest enemy. And the people everyone assumed were her parents were base traitors; in truth, she was hard-pressed not to howl in despair.

Hattie wasn’t certain how long they stood thus, but eventually her practical nature reasserted itself and with an effort, she stood upright. He immediately tucked her under his arm and led her across the way to a café, not speaking. Clinging to his side, she was content to allow him to navigate across the dusty road and once at the counter, he ordered a brandy and held the glass to her mouth until she drank a healthy swallow, then downed the remainder himself. Gasping, she felt the burning sensation in her midsection and the world came into focus again.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

It was not easy—she was ashamed and had been avoiding his eyes. But she gazed at him for several long moments, and then nodded, to show him she was recovered.

“There’s my girl,” he said quietly.

“I would like to speak to the old man,” she replied.





Chapter 32





“Who is he?” Berry asked as they returned to the visitor’s building, his hand firmly under her elbow.

“He worked here, and remembered I was here as a baby. He—he remembered my nursemaid. Apparently, I resemble her.”

He asked nothing further but stood nearby as she approached the old man again to address him in as level a voice as she could manage. “I am so pleased that you told me of my visit when I was a child. I would like to speak with Halima, if I may—only think how surprised she will be, to meet her charge from so many years ago.”

But the man was regretful and shook his head. “Halima followed her new husband to France—we have not heard from her in many years.”