Daughter of the God-King (25 page)

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.

“Do I need my safe passage?” she reminded Dimitry as he placed a boot against their boat to push them away.

“It was never intended for you,” he admitted.

She nodded. Apparently, the capture of the associate had been his object all the while, and securing the treasure only a means to that end. That he had also secured a wife was an unexpected boon that had caused only slight complications—he was indeed an excellent chess player. She wondered where they would deliver the associate and decided that the less she knew about it, the better.

“Clements will see to you,” he said softly as his figure faded away in the darkness, and then he was gone.

Masking her sadness, Hattie turned to face her impassive companion. “Hallo, again, sir. I believe we shall become fast friends, after all is said and done.”

Wooden-faced, the innkeeper began to pole the boat. His only reaction was to indicate with a gesture that she was to lie down.

With a sigh, she complied, wondering whence she was to be shuttled now. Hopefully it was somewhere that featured a hip bath, as she had never been such a mess in her life—not that Dimitry had offered any objection when he had joined his body with hers on the floorboards. She decided she didn’t want to think about him just now, and concentrated instead on the passing sky. After perhaps a half hour she could spy lanterns coming into view overhead, and propping on her elbows, she peered out and saw that they approached a small schooner, anchored in the river. As they slid quietly alongside in the shadows of the hull, a cabin porthole opened and Captain Clements’s head appeared, wordlessly indicating she was to stand and lift her arms. Hattie carefully stood, holding her arms out to keep her balance, then lifted them toward him, hoping she wasn’t to suffer the final indignity of the evening by falling into the Nile. The big man grasped her wrists and pulled her up so that she kicked off the hull and scrambled head first through the small opening, sustaining a few more bruises and scrapes in the process.

“Welcome aboard.” With an easy movement, he set her upright on the floor within.

“I am dying for a bath,” she responded without preamble.

He took her arm and steered her toward the interior of the cabin, indicating she was to sit on the low berth in the cramped quarters. “Not just now, I’m afraid. You must stay below decks and away from the windows.” At her look, he offered in apology. “I can feed you, instead—will that do?”

She brushed at her filthy skirts, then gave it up as hopeless. “Do we leave immediately?”

“I await one more passenger, but we leave within the hour, regardless.”

Eyeing him, she asked, “Where do we go?”

He shook his head. “I am not at liberty to say—not as yet, I’m afraid.”

She gave in with good grace. “Very well then—I will cooperate if you teach me a few words in Russian.”

The captain raised his bushy brows in surprise. “What makes you think I would know how to speak in Russian?”

With a shrug, Hattie offered a benign smile. “Just a thought.”

He was amused. “I’m afraid you will have to take your lessons elsewhere.”

She made a
moue
of disappointment. “I so wanted to surprise him.”

“Instead, you have surprised me.” He closed the door behind him.

After taking in her surroundings, she contemplated the undeniable fact that once again, she was uncomfortably enclosed in a small space. At least there was the porthole, such as it was. As she lifted an arm to examine a scrape on her elbow, the door opened to reveal Eugenie, looking very much put upon. “You look terrible,” the Frenchwoman pronounced with satisfaction.

“If you bring a hairbrush, you may insult me all you wish.”

“I am instructed to be of assistance,” explained her reluctant handmaiden, pulling a hairbrush from the storage cabinet. “
Votre
dragon
being absent.”

Dimpling, Hattie had the pleasure of informing her, “My dragon is betrothed to Mr. Smithson.”

“
Zut
alors
.” Amazed, Eugenie shook her head in wonderment. “Who would think she could attract the men, that one? She is like a stick with eyeballs.”

Unpinning the few pins left in her hair, Hattie noted, “I think they admire her for her mind, Eugenie.”

“Bah.” The woman made a gesture of repulsion. “Then they are not real men.”

“Not like the captain.” Hattie gave her a knowing glance as she started the long process of untangling her hair from the ends up.

But Eugenie was not to be discomfited. “Or Daniel.”

“Or Daniel,” Hattie agreed, thinking of the heated session on the fishing boat.

“He has left you?” It was asked with no real hope.

“Not yet, but I promise I will inform you immediately should it ever happen.”

Eugenie laughed her genuine laugh, and Hattie joined in. It was into this merry scene that Robbie appeared, opening the door and standing in bemusement on the threshold. The two women scrambled to their feet, Eugenie smoothing her hair with a graceful gesture and Hattie deciding it was not worth the attempt.

“Hattie.” Robbie came forward to embrace her. “Thank God.”

“I am sorry to have worried you,” Hattie said, disengaging from him and sliding her eyes toward the other woman with some significance—she didn’t want to discuss the latest turn of events before Eugenie; Hattie had duly noted that she did not know Dimitry’s true identity.

“Could you fetch me something to eat? I’m dashed sharp-set,” Robbie asked Eugenie with a smile.

“Eugenie is acting as my dragon,” Hattie said helpfully, and watched with interest while the other woman struggled to control her temper.

“She is not old enough,” Robbie offered promptly. “I shall have to chaperone the both of you.” For emphasis, he swatted Eugenie’s bottom as she walked through the door, earning a wicked smile for his action.

“Robbie; I am shocked,” remarked Hattie affably as he shut the door.

“I am the only one allowed to be shocked—I understand I am to wish you happy.”

With a broad smile she dipped a mock-curtsey. “You may.”

Brows drawn together, he stared in consternation. “How in the name of
all
that is holy did this come about?”

Hattie laughed at his professed amazement. “I fell violently in love one fine night—over the course of about ten minutes, I would gauge. It is my sincerest wish you suffer a similar fate.”

Shaking his head, he smiled and embraced her again, holding her close. “Then I am indeed happy for you.”

Hattie stumbled a bit, as the boat’s movement could be now felt. “Oh—we are away; do you need to leave?”

“I am to travel to Cairo with you. Berry—or whoever he is—was concerned you were worried about me.”

For some reason, this revelation brought a lump to her throat and she struggled not to cry.

He watched her with a thoughtful expression. “So—how much can you tell me?”

Reminded of her duties as a spy’s wife, Hattie offered delicately, “I believe he is an ally, and is involved in a livelihood that is similar to yours.”

“Yes.” He seemed relieved, and she had to smile; neither of them knew how much to reveal to the other. “And a good thing too—he has done us a huge favor.”

Tentatively, she suggested, “Drummond’s associate?”

“The very same; we suffered a breach of security a few months ago—one of our men had a wife in London who was selling secrets to the enemy. They used the information to send one of their best men to infiltrate our operations on the continent; we are lucky your husband put an end to it before more information was compromised.”

“A wife who was a traitor,” Hattie repeated in amazement, and then thought of her parents. And—now that she knew about this twist to the story—it would not be far-fetched to conclude that this was how Napoleon’s people were able to discover that her parents were secretly negotiating with the British; because of this treacherous wife. Which in turn meant they were summarily executed for their sins, with no mercy shown. “What happened to her—the wife who set this all in motion?”

“Dead.”

She looked up at him, stricken by these revelations, one after the other. “Let’s talk about something else, Robbie.”

But he bent to reassure her in a sincere tone. “Berry seems very resourceful, Hattie; I know it’s difficult, but I would have no fears on his behalf.”

Unable to suppress her pride, she disclosed, “He had something to do with Napoleon’s disastrous Moscow retreat, apparently.”

Robbie raised his brows. “Did he? I confess I am not surprised; we believe he is a member of the Hospitallers—the Order of St. John, and they are based in St. Petersburg.”

“What is that—a religious order?” She thought of the gold icon on the wall, hungry for any scrap of information he could relate.

“Well—yes, although with a military bent. They are otherwise known as the Knights of Malta—the organization includes what is left of the original Knights Templar, also. They’re rather mysterious, and”—here he tilted his head and glanced at her—“they are not always aligned with our objectives, I’m afraid. But all in all, they do good work, particularly in fighting the Barbary pirates.”

“I see.” Indeed, this recitation seemed very much in keeping with what she knew of her new husband, and she teased, “Don’t tell Swansea and her new husband that I’ve turned popish.”

“Good God; that is the least of my troubles; m’father always assumed I would marry you. He will think me a sorry excuse.”

Hattie found this piece of information very amusing, in an ironic sort of way. “Tell him it was not to be—only don’t bring home Eugenie in my place; he
would
think you a sorry excuse.”

He let out a bark of laughter and then admitted, “Mother would always tell him we were too familiar to marry.”

“Your mother is a wise woman.”

With a smile, he teased, “You’ll never tell her of my engagement to Madame Auguste? Promise?”

“As long as you’ll never tell her of my parents’ treason.”

He ducked his chin and ran a comforting hand down her arm. “Done,” he agreed, his voice gruff.

“I will be very happy to shake the dust of Egypt from my sandals,” Hattie pronounced with no small bitterness.

“I cannot blame you,” he said quietly. “Where do you go?”

She smiled. “To his sister’s.” Hopefully this answer would suffice, and before any further questions could be asked, the cabin door opened to reveal Eugenie, carrying a bottle of wine and a napkin that revealed bread and dates when it was unrolled on the berth.

“I am to remind you to stay away from the windows,” Eugenie said. “And there are no glasses so we must share the bottle.”

“Excellent work,” pronounced Robbie, and removed the cork with his pocketknife.

They settled on the berth and passed the wine bottle between them in the light of the single candle. “Easy, Hattie,” warned Robbie. “You are not used to spirits.”

“Only a sip,” she assured him in a meek tone.

“Shall we play cards?” Eugenie asked Robbie, running her fingers along his sleeve. “We can play for Hattie’s hairpins.”

He laughed. “I understand you tend to fleece those foolhardy enough to engage you in cards.”

“I shall be happy to fleece you, and more than once.” She looked at him from under her lashes and Hattie chuckled in appreciation, which drew an admonitory look from Robbie. It is so much better to be married—to understand the innuendos, she thought. But how I wish he was here, so that I could say such teasing things to him. Stifling a pang, she reconciled herself to the sad fact that she may not see her husband again for quite some time. I miss you, Dimitry, she thought.
Please
, please be careful.

Hattie sat cross-legged on her berth, writing a letter to Dimitry. They had transferred from the small schooner to the
Sophia
and were currently anchored at Cairo, but were to depart very shortly for points eastward. The night before, Robbie had said his farewells before slipping away quietly so as to draw no attention. Hattie did not witness his leave-taking because she continued to be consigned to the lower deck, and as a result of the forced close quarters she and Eugenie were ready to strangle each other—although to the good, Hattie was fast learning the finer points of cheating at cards. To pass the time and to fight claustrophobia, Hattie was writing the letter and striving to maintain a light and encouraging tone. As she and Dimitry knew so little about each other’s lives, she thought to relate the high points of hers up to the day they met. Unfortunately, the recitation thus far did not amount to more than a page and a half—truly, she had lived a very dull life until her trek to Paris, and then she had made up for it with a vengeance.

She was ready to be away, now that Robbie had disembarked—ready to meet her new family and begin the business of setting up her new life. And it would be a relief beyond measure to feel safe again—the small schooner had experienced a few tense moments near Helwan when local officials had boarded to make a search; apparently all vessels heading to the Nile delta were undergoing a search for reasons that were not explained but which Hattie could easily guess. Curled up tightly, she hid in a cupboard in the captain’s quarters, and Robbie told her later that their unnamed vessel flew a Dutch flag and Captain Clements spoke in that language to the boarding party as he presented his passage documents. Robbie had been instructed to say nothing unless asked, and fortunately the officials were too distracted by Eugenie to make any inquiries.

“I feared her bosom was going to fall out of her dress,” he confessed in amusement, “and I believe every man on board feared the same thing.”

“Hoped, you mean,” Hattie corrected him. “God bless Eugenie.”

During their trip down the Nile, the other woman had offered one of her dresses to Hattie, who had nothing but the bedraggled sprig muslin in which she had arrived. Hattie wore Eugenie’s dress now and was grateful even though it was several sizes too large and required her to lift the hem to walk.

Holding her arms over her head to stretch her back, Hattie wondered how much longer before they left for the open sea and she could go above decks and once more feel the sun. A soft knock on the door made her swing her legs over the side and straighten her skirts; Eugenie would not knock. “Come in.”

The captain poked his head through the door. “Would you come with me for a moment, madam?”

Lifting the too-long skirt, Hattie followed him to his quarters where he opened the cabin door and signaled her inside, making no comment. She stood within the cabin as the door shut behind her and stared at the captain’s berth, which featured the prone figure of her husband.

She stood in complete shock for a moment, then advanced carefully. He was asleep, fully clothed even to his dusty boots, one arm flung across his forehead. Moving slowly, she knelt next to the berth and leaned back on her legs, drinking in the sight of him. She had never had the opportunity to gaze upon him unabated and she took it now, loathe to wake him when he was so tired that he couldn’t stay awake even while she was fetched. An almost unbearable feeling of protective tenderness rose within her breast, and she longed to cradle him against her. The lines on his face were deeper, his chin had not seen a razor for a few days, and there was dust in his dark eyebrows—she thought he was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

Careful not to move, she sat quietly for some time, watching him breathe as the boat gently rocked with the current. I will watch him thus for the rest of my life, she thought, and hugged the thought to herself, unable to believe her good fortune.

He stirred, and the brown eyes opened and looked into hers.

“
Dorogon
,” she said softly, trying to remember the word.

With a sleepy smile, he reached to caress her face with his hand. “
Dorogoy
,” he corrected in a tender tone.

She turned her head to kiss his palm. “Go back to sleep, if you wish. I do not mind.”

“I have little time,” he said with regret. “But I wanted to see you again.” Stiffly, he rose to sit on the edge of the berth, and took her hands in his. “You are well?”

“I am perfectly well.” She smiled at him from her position on the floor. “You must not worry about me—I look forward to staying with your sister.”

He nodded. “Clements will be needed in Lisbon, but he will commission another to deliver you—a curé, who can be trusted completely.”

“Can he deliver letters to you?”

“There are others who will see to it.” It was all that he offered, and remembering Robbie’s disclosures about his organization, she asked no further questions. Dimitry kept his gaze focused on her hands in his, his head bent.

“Tell me—whatever it is,” she said softly, watching him. “I promise I won’t have the vapors.”

He lifted his head to meet her eyes. “I wrote to him.”

There was no question as to whom he referred. She stared at him, speechless.

He continued in an intent tone, “I wanted to assure him that we are honorably wed—that I did not seek to take an advantage—and that there is a deep affection on both sides. I remember how I felt when the pistol was held to you; I would not wish such a feeling on anyone.”

“Oh—I see,” she replied, even though she didn’t see at all. I wonder if I will ever understand men, she thought, genuinely perplexed—or if I will ever understand the power of love; imagine his dilemma in contemplating marriage to me, but nonetheless he moved heaven and earth to accomplish it. His devotion has more than made up for all the lack of devotion I have ever experienced. “I love you.” She looked into his dear face, and meant it to the soles of her slippers.

“
Ya
tebya
lyublyu
.” He kissed her palms, one after the other. “I have a letter for you to give to my sister.”

But the kisses had started an entirely different train of thought, and she leaned forward because the loose dress did a very poor job of covering her breasts. “Do we have so little time?” she teased in a low voice.

He put a hand on the nape of her neck and pulled her to him, resting his forehead against hers. “I am not so selfish—I am content to speak with you; to look upon you while I may.”

She thought about this, fingering the button on his sleeve. “And if I insisted, what then? Would you draw your blade on me?”

Now it was his turn to think about it. “No,” he decided, and lifted her chin to kiss her mouth.

Twining her arms around his neck, she pushed him back and wriggled, allowing her dress to fall off her shoulders. “Shall I lock the door?”

“He would dare not enter.”

“I am not worried about the captain—Eugenie does not knock.”

With a swift movement, he pulled her over so that he was now atop her, his mouth on her throat. “She will have to wait her turn, then.”

Laughing, she punched his arm in mock outrage. “I thought you had so little time.”

But he became serious, and paused to rest his cheek against hers. “There is indeed little time—I have never missed anyone so much in my life, and there is so much more to come.”

It was nothing more than what she had thought a thousand times these past few days, but instead she stroked his hair and responded as she knew she must, “It cannot be helped, Dimitry. I would not change a single thing if it meant I was not married to you, and so I will accept whatever comes with a grateful heart.”

He lifted his head and brushed his lips against her mouth, the moment of vulnerability over. “You are
extraordinaire
.”

“I suppose that is true,” she teased, to match his changing mood. “Only ask the crowd at the British consulate in Cairo.”

“So, you can make light of it, now.” He pressed his curved nose against her straight little one as he worked her gown down her body. “At the time, it was not so amusing.”

“No, it was
ridiculous
; I am the last person anyone should confuse with a goddess.”

With an impatient gesture, he lifted off her for a moment to draw his shirt over his head. “The goddess of fertility, perhaps—we shall see.”

With a delighted giggle, she pulled him to her.