Reflections in the Nile (50 page)

He looked away. “You do not understand. You think I see you as a possession, as a belonging, or a pet, to take care of because I ‘own’ you—” His voice broke. “I can never own you, Chloe. You are free to leave me any time you wish. You are free to make whatever decisions you will. I will see that you are safe to make those choices.” His look met hers, tormented. “Allow me this, Chloe.”

She turned away, ashamed and humbled by his words. She wanted to hold him to her, but the gap seemed so wide. They were all each of them had. Her head throbbed with unanswered and painful questions. After a while Cheftu touched her hair in a soft caress. “Be safe, my precious one,” he said and left. The cat bolted from her lap and followed, leaving Chloe alone under the soaring blue tent of the sky.

She worked all day, first clearing the fire area, then cleaning the largest cave with a palm-frond broom. When a large group of birds settled on the beach and on the acacia trees above them, she took her painted throwing stick and went hunting. After two hours she had two birds and an unlucky brown furry thing that had run through the grass by the trees. She'd leave that for Cheftu to skin. With mixed pride and revulsion she hacked the heads off the birds, pulled out their feathers, and cut them open.

Then she barfed up breakfast.

Uncertain as to her next step, she threaded them onto a stick and suspended them above the fire. Blood sizzled as it hit the rocks below. Chloe guessed they would take a while, so she went for a swim. The water was glorious, warm, and cleansing, washing the days of grime from her body. When she got back on shore her fire was surrounded by big, ugly birds, who were tearing at the flesh on the spit. Shouting, Chloe ran toward them, angry that they would ruin her hard-won dinner.

By the time she reached them they had flown away, taking the dead brown furry thing as well. Chloe looked into the sky: the sun was on its westward journey, probably about three hours to dusk. Determined, she grabbed her throwing stick, kohled her eyes, put on her kilt, and set off to kill dinner.

The sun was setting by the time she was seated next to the fire, three birds now stuffed with sea scallops, twisting merrily over the heat. She'd been sick again when she'd cleaned them, but the growling of her stomach had helped her get a grip on her queasiness much more quickly.

Keeping an eye on the fire, she went into the largest cave, taking some of the palm fronds and laying a bed dais that was softer and more cushiony. She'd found a squarish rock and set it by one side of the bed, then lit some incense to clean out the room's previous owner's smells. In the small cave where she'd slept the night before, she stored the food, or the little that was left, hanging the bags on broken branches to protect them from predators.

She'd even woven some fronds together for rather large and unwieldy plates. Then she waited. And waited, hunched in her cloak, as the moon rose. The cub came back first. She turned to see the sketchy outline of Cheftu's body scrambling down the cliff side. He walked to within range of the firelight, his body and clothing covered in muck. Handing her a fistful of speckled brown eggs, he looked approvingly at the fire, then went to wash.

The plates made him smile and they gave thanks quickly as they had done since joining the Apiru, then tore into the stringy, overdone bird. There was more than one cooked feather, but Chloe thought that all in all, it was edible food. Cheftu must have agreed—he sucked the bones dry and broke them open for the cat to eat the marrow.

“We need to name the cat,” Chloe said conversationally.

“Given his eating habits, ‘Thief’ would be a good name, and appropriate,” Cheftu answered as he pulled one of the unsucked bones away from the bundle of fur.

Chloe grinned. “I was thinking of something more petlike, since he seems to want to stay around.”

“How about ‘Miuw’?”

“I am not going to name a cat ‘Cat’! He deserves more, don't you, my precious,” she crooned at the purring animal.

“Bast?”

“That's almost as bad as ‘Cat.’”

“How about Ankh? I mean, he did show us the fresh water and saved our lives.”

“Just like an angel,” Chloe mused.

Cheftu scoffed. “If he is an angel, the rules are quite different than they were in my time!”

“Because he stole your fish?”

“Exactly. He also stole my noon meal. It is his way of life.” They looked toward the cat as he sat on his hindquarters, licking his belly clean, limp as a rag and more closely resembling a panda than a cat.

“Then he will be ‘Thief.’”

“Good choice,” Cheftu said, and took a long drink.

Chloe got up and gave the rest of the birds to the cat. Cheftu watched her. “Are you going to sit here by the fire?” she asked him.

He stood, facing her, his body limned in red. “Should I?”

Chloe's breath caught in her throat, and heat rushed through her body. “Nay, Cheftu. Take me to bed … please.”

He stood silently for a moment. “We are still angry with each other.”

“I do not care. I want you.” She reached out, touching his warm skin. “Please.” She grabbed his belt and pulled him closer. He smelled like earth, and Chloe realized that he was covered in dried mud. She kissed a patch of clean skin just above his collarbone.

“To want me is not enough,” he said, grabbing her shoulders and holding her back. “I have given everything for and to you, Chloe. Still you want. Always it is what
you
want.”

“Cheftu?” Chloe was appalled. Was that the way he saw her? Grasping and greedy?

“Tonight I am not bending. I love you. I would die for you. However, I will not suffer to be your convenience.” He stepped away. “I realize you do not want to be with me forever.” His glare impaled her. “Although it is what I want. Tonight, whether it is petty or not, I cannot bear to be close to you.”

Chloe stood still as a cenotaph, then sank slowly to the ground.

“I will find a way home for you,” he said, and walked away.

Tears burned furrows through the dust and sand that covered her face like a mask. Home for her had never been a place; it was people. Now home was Cheftu. Too bad she hadn't realized it in time.

CHAPTER 16

M
orning dawned and Chloe stretched luxuriously in the blanketing. Cheftu lay on his stomach beneath her, his upper back her pillow. A soft kiss was rewarded with a sleepy grunt. Out of the doorway, she saw the beach. The tide was going out, the sky barely tinged with violet pink, and orange in the early morning clouds. Birdsong drifted in the wind and Chloe smiled. Thief was curled up on them both, his head resting on Chloe's leg, his body curled into the space supported by Cheftu's calves. Chloe ran her hand down the sloping planes of Cheftu's body, relaxed in sleep.

He murmured, but he didn't move when she kissed his back and neck, so she turned onto her stomach and looked out at the rosy morning. The sky was silver lined the air dense with the call of birds.

Cheftu's hot hand traveled across her back to her shoulder. Chloe turned to face him, her body welcoming his sleepy passion. Silently they moved together, Cheftu awakening more with every movement his stamina wearing Chloe down. He drew back, pressing one of her feet to his chest, kissing it, intensifying his movements.

“Look at me!” he commanded hoarsely. Chloe opened her eyes, dazed. “I want to see you… I want you to know it is me.
I
am making you burn;
my
body moves inside you—and for all the years you live I will have been the first. I have marked your soul. Give me you, Chloe.”

His words were guttural and hardly discernible, but Chloe saw the ferocious intensity of his dark features. She felt a breaking inside, a melting of all that was her, a loosening of herself—her identity, her goals, her life. With it came a laser-bright awareness of this man, of who he was. Of what he meant to her.

Cheftu gasped as he tried to maintain control, piercing her innermost being with his anger, his love, and his frustration. “When you leave you will remember me…
settlement!
”

She clung to him, panting and sweating, the climax twisting like wire inside her, emotion and sensation binding her to him. Cheftu took all she offered and gave himself—his hopes, dreams, and disappointments—his soul. As the wires finally tore loose and Chloe was released, she stared into his eyes, and felt his brokenness meet hers, felt their melting, their completion. Just as she thought it was over, Cheftu drove her to delirium. “Join me!”

Waves of pleasure engulfed her, jolting her body as she clung to Cheftu. With a final groan he sagged, his crouched legs shaking. He fell beside her, brushing her sticky hair from her face as their breathing returned to normal.

The awkwardness returned.

Cheftu pulled away first. “I must get to the mud pit,” he said, reaching for his kilt. “In a few more days we will have a mud-brick house.”

Chloe wanted to reach to him, tease and laugh, but he was withdrawn, uncomfortable. She scrambled after him, tying on the ragged remains of her dress. He grabbed his pouch, then halted and drew out a handful of seeds.

“What are these?” Chloe asked.

His skin colored as he looked beyond her. “Giant fennel. A preventative; so I do not get you with child.” His expression was solemn. “I would not have you return to your time with the disgrace of a baby in your belly. Swallow one… after… after…” He inhaled and focused beyond her shoulder for a long, silent moment. “It should keep you safe. Make sure they are taken with plenty of liquid and after you have eaten something.”

Now was the time to tell him she didn't want to return. Instead she stood silently, watching as he walked away, back up the cliff, leaving her alone under the blue bowl of sky.

She took the seed as she contemplated what to do. How could they have come through so much and now, when it was all over, fall apart?

Her grandmother Mimi had always been her anchor… the string to her kite, allowing her to safely fly and explore and be free, with no fears of getting lost. When Mimi died Chloe felt the string had been cut. No one else had been closer, known her more intimately, accepted her as totally.

When she traveled back to Egypt, it suddenly made sense, Mimi's death. It had been the final bond holding her to that time. She loved Cammy, but the loss wasn't nearly so great. She knew Cammy was consumed with guilt, and she wanted to ease that but couldn't. Her parents, as long as they had each other, would survive. They would understand.
Here
she had discovered love. It was messy and painful, but with the grit and tears and sex and blood was the realization that this was real life. Not observing others and sketching down what they did or wore or where they lived but living and doing and wearing and loving herself.

She was alive, gloriously alive. Why did she want to return to an existence of malls, McDonald's, and machine guns, if only to stand on the side? Cheftu was here; he loved her, she loved him. All her life, all her experiences, it all had prepared her for this.

She got to her feet. He wanted a helpmate who would stay for always.

She would.

T
HE SUN SCORCHED HIS BODY
as Cheftu shifted another mud brick. His inventory now stretched from the east side of the mud pit all the way to the windbreak before the desert began in earnest—probably a hundred bricks in all. His skin prickled and he spun around, scanning the trees close by. He could barely hear the sounds of someone moving at the mud hole.

Carefully he laid down his brick, grabbed his dagger, and crept stealthily through the trees. Thief lay undisturbed, so Cheftu relaxed and looked around, pausing to wipe the sweat that dripped down his brow. Apparently nothing was amiss. He walked back to his bricks, gathering brush along the way.

Minutes later, while shaping another brick, he heard Chloe's voice. A shiver went through his body … even her voice intoxicated him. She was speaking loudly and in English. “Oh, don't you give me flack!” she shouted. “I'll be out in a second….”

Curious, Cheftu walked back. The mud hole was somewhat shaded, and he saw the white remnants of her dress hanging from one of the trees. Then he saw her in the bog, mired up to her waist. Thief, his paws muddy, was sitting on the side, a speculative expression on his face. Her black hair just touched her shoulders, which were dark brown from the sun. She bit into her lower Up as the muscles of her arms flexed and struggled against the sucking mud. As Cheftu watched silently, he felt himself hardening. She looked like a woodland nymph, earthy, sensual, yet innocent. What
flavor
would this be?

As she wriggled in the mud, it gradually sucked her lower. She was struggling with all of her might, stubbornly refusing to admit defeat to the patient, passive bog; but obviously the mud was winning. Cheftu continued to watch as she worked her way up slightly, only to sink back in a bit farther with each additional movement. This continued until the mud had engulfed her to her chest and she stopped sinking, the smooth, shiny muck supporting her weight and cushioning her breasts. Desire flared through him at her little cries and squeals. So this was the woman who did not want to be rescued? The way she looked, trapped, defenseless, and unspeakably erotic, he thought she just
might not be
rescued, at least for a while.

“I lost my probing stick there,” he shouted out. “Are you fetching it for me? You did probe the depth before stepping out, didn't you?”

She spun her head around. “It seemed solid and then …
whoosh!
”

“I did not know you liked mud,” he teased. “In some cultures it is considered quite sensual. Were you going to seduce me?”

“Nay, I was trying to get the cursed cat unstuck,” she fumed. He looked at her hanging clothes. “I was not about to ruin the only linen I had.” She wiped her brow with a mud-caked forearm and, realizing the mistake, shook her head, sending brown speckles flying.
“Assst!
”

Cheftu glanced back toward Thief, noting his hindquarters were encrusted with mud. He looked back at the helpless woman before him. She was a beautiful, brown, living statue.