All at once a flicker of movement to his left caught his eye, and some of the weight of unreality slipped from him. He stopped. Someone was stalking him. I should have at least brought Amek with me, he thought, senses suddenly alert. I am a fool. He waited tensely for another flutter between the trunks. It came, and then Tbubui was walking towards him, threading her way barefoot, the delineations of her face and body blurred in the half darkness. Her hair was loose and tousled, a black cloud framing scrubbed features, and with an inward wrench Khaemwaset saw that she was naked but for a flimsy sleeping kilt tied about her hips. She came up to him and halted without the least surprise.
“Prince Khaemwaset,” she said. “I should have guessed it was you. The air is full of your presence tonight.
She had not asked what he was doing there. Unadorned by any jewellery, her face fresh and unpainted, she looked about sixteen. I am a young man in love, Khaemwaset thought happily. Oh Tbubui! “The thought of you makes me commit outrageous acts,” he replied. “I had planned to circle your house like a lovesick youth and then go home. Forgive my eccentric behaviour.”
“It is no more eccentric than mine,” she countered with a slight smile “I like to wander under the palms at night if I cannot sleep. And sleep often eludes me of late.”
“Why is that?” he asked quickly, his throat constricting. She raised dusky eyes to his.
“I am not sure,” she whispered, “but I know that I am lonely, Prince. Rest does not come easily to the discontented.” She clasped her hands together under her chin in an artless, youthful gesture. “My brother is not a communicative man though he loves me, and Harmin …” She shrugged. “Harmin is a young man carving out his own concerns.”
She began to wander away, not in the direction of the house but farther in under the trees. Khaemwaset kept pace with her. He took her hand and it was a natural, simple thing to do. Her fingers curled around his. She came to a halt in dense shadow and he pulled her to face him, fumbling for her other hand.
“I love you also,” he said urgently. “I think I have loved you from the first moment I glimpsed you walking in the dust along the river road. I have never been in love before, Tbubui, not with my body, mind and ka all crying out.” He released her hands and took her by the shoulders, touching her neck, the curve of her ears, brushing across her eyes in a kind of ecstasy. “I want to make love to you now,” he hissed. “Here, under the palms.”
“I long to lie in your arms,” she returned in a low voice. “I have wondered what it would be like so many times, and then when I looked into your eyes and saw my desire mirrored there …” She rubbed her cheek against his questing fingers. “But I do not give myself lightly, Khaemwaset, as some women might. I live sternly as the ancients did, and abhor the moral corruption of this age.”
Khaemwaset sank to the sand, pulling her with him. Her words had merely skimmed his mind, and all he clung to was the admission from her own lips that she longed to lie in his arms. Forcing her gently onto her back he buried his face between her breasts, his hands kneading her thighs. Feeling the soft kiss of linen there he loosened it and raised his head. She lay naked under him, concave belly lightly lifting and falling, the simplicity of her stark hip bones an agony of pleasure in themselves.
He began to draw his tongue over the skin between them, but she took his head in both hands and forced it up, her mouth seeking his. This time the kiss was hers, the moans of delight were hers, and she thrust against him with an urgency that rendered him momentarily weak. He broke away and straddled her, victory awe and passion a tumult within him, but she suddenly wriggled from his grip and rolled away, lying face down on the earth and panting. Khaemwaset put out a hand but she cringed away, then she sat up, pulling her knees to her chin.
“I cannot,” she muttered. “Forgive me, Prince.”
He wanted to shake her in his frustration. He wanted to fling her once more onto her back and hold her down, push himself inside her and release the dammed-up flood of pain that was now a constant burden, but he did not. He stroked her hair with one long, tender caress, then withdrew his hand. “I have a beautiful house on my estate,” he said steadily. “It is large and airy and full of precious things. Its garden is complete with a fish pond and a fountain. I have not entered it for a long time. My very few concubines live there.” He smiled wryly, but he did not think that she could see his expression for the depth of the shadows. “I have seldom bothered them over the years. Nubnofret was enough for me, but now …” He paused but she did not look up. Her forehead was resting on her knees. “Now I want you with me,” he went on. “Move into that house, Tbubui. Come as a privileged member of my household. Your every need will be met, yours and your son’s and your brother’s. Let me take care of you.”