The Concubine's Tale (8 page)

Rather than slapping her again, he laughed. “Take her to the cart. I tire of this.”

The warrior dragged Nayari from the cave and threw her bodily into the back of the oxen cart. He climbed in after her and secured her wrists together with a leather thong. Musky darkness closed over her when he drew a tightly woven mat across her body. She lay there, sweltering, her hands tingling and her body aching with misery.

Somewhere along the journey back to Coptos, she fainted in the overwhelming heat, and her fevered dreams turned to Khanu and the precious life they might have created together.

Cait’s torpor began to lift as she told the rest of the story from Layton’s journal.

Though just as compelling as the account contained in the scroll fragment, she’d often wondered about the veracity of what came next. It seemed too fantastic, even for the mystery-shrouded world of ancient Egypt.

Beside her, Grant leaned on one elbow, his gorgeous eyes intent. He seemed to be drinking in every word. “Tell me Khanu rescued her,” he prompted, then he induced an electric shiver in her when he ran one hand over the curve of her hip.

She shook her head sadly, wishing the details were different. “He’d already been captured by Ammonptah’s soldiers, some of whom he had counted as friends only a few days before. Layton speculated that Khanu attempted to kill Ammonptah on the advice of Set and that some of the magistrate’s own men were loyal to Seti and tried to help. Those who were not discovered the plan after Khanu confessed his true story to a trusted few. Since none dared reveal themselves, no one could help the lovers, who were taken back to Coptos and bound to stakes on opposite sides of a windowless temple room. What happened next is largely speculation, but—”

Grant lowered his gaze. “Ammonptah tortured them to death, no doubt.”

“Worse.” Cait closed her eyes, trying to block out the more lurid details of the tale Layton had cobbled together from so many obscure references. She’d fallen in love with Khanu and Nayari, and she preferred to believe that somehow they’d escaped the terrible fate Ammonptah devised for them. “At that time, belief in the afterlife was the guiding force in Egyptian society. Their entire social structure revolved around preparations for life after death. The wealthy were almost assured a coveted place at the right hand of the gods, purchased with gold and the sweat of countless servants and slaves. The poor had a lesser hope of salvation, but they did whatever they could to gain favors that would help them into heaven.

“Ammonptah had once been a good man, so Layton’s journal says, but his association with Benak-Ra and his quest for power corrupted him. He decided that Khanu and Nayari didn’t deserve a place in the afterlife. Working with the wizard over the course of a fortnight, he devised a fabled object. It’s no more than a myth, but Layton seemed to believe in it.”

“The Soul Jar?”

Cait stared at Grant. His eyes shown in the dim moonlight filtering through the lace curtains of her bedroom. “You’ve heard of it?”

“I found one reference to it in my studies over the years. Supposedly it was an alabaster jar the size and shape of a heron’s egg. I had no idea what it was used for.”

“Apparently Benak-Ra put a spell on the jar and devised a ritual that would drag the souls of Nayari and Khanu from their bodies and imprison them in the jar forever.”

“A wizard that powerful could certainly help elevate Ammonptah to the throne.”

“According to Layton’s journal, the spell worked.”

Grant sat up, his brows drawing together and his lips tight in anticipation. “No wonder Layton wanted his finds kept secret. A theory like that would have destroyed his academic reputation.”

“He seemed to think the jar existed, but in all his years of research, he never found any evidence to support his belief.”

“So tell me what happened. This can’t be the end of the story.”

“Almost.” Cait drew the cool sheets around her body and crossed her legs. She felt like a teenager telling campfire stories at a slumber party. If only this tale had a happier ending.

Chapter Seven

On the fourteenth day of their captivity, Ammonptah entered the torch-lit cell where Khanu and Nayari lay barely conscious on the dry stone floor. Benak-Ra followed the magistrate, his hunched, skeletal body nearly hobbled by the weight of golden robes and a headdress that rivaled that of Pharaoh himself. The wizard hovered over Khanu first, anointing his head with foul-smelling oil. Then he moved to Nayari, his black eyes soulless and terribly cold.

Khanu roused himself, drawing on the last ounce of strength in his battered body to protect the woman he loved. “Don’t touch her!” he croaked through dry lips.

Nayari stirred at the sound of his voice and pulled herself away from Benak-Ra’s bony touch. Unmoved, the wizard completed his task and turned to Ammonptah. “I believe she has conceived. We must perform the magick now, before the gods intervene to protect the soul of the child.”

Khanu rolled to his knees, his eyes focused on Nayari’s pale form. Could the evil wizard be right? Did she carry his child?

Two warriors entered the room on Ammonptah’s command and cut their bonds. Weakened by hunger and thirst, though, neither had the strength to break free of their captivity. Together they were dragged across the room to a stone altar on which sat an oval jar of the purest white alabaster.

Ammonptah stood before the altar and invoked all the powers of Min. Beside him, Benak-Ra called on darker forces with an ancient, forbidden chant.

The warriors who held them drew close together and, for the first time since he’d left her in the cave, Khanu felt Nayari’s fingers brush his arm. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice raw.

“I love you, my wife. We’ll be together on the other side of the sky. I promise you that.”

In Khanu’s ear, the warrior who held his arms tightly behind his back whispered barely audible words. “Forgive us, brother. Your sacrifice will be remembered by Pharaoh.”

Khanu’s eyes widened at the strange message, but he dared not ask any questions. He’d been betrayed by those he trusted with his story, tortured for all the information he’d learned from the acolytes at Min’s temple. Had someone taken the knowledge and used it to assure Seti’s safety?

Ammonptah turned at that moment, the small jar clutched in his hand. He raised the vessel and shouted an incantation that seemed to echo against the soot-stained walls.

Benak-Ra fell to his knees in supplication as a fine mist swirled forth from the open jar. Beside Khanu, Nayari struggled feebly in the arms of her captor as the white vapor settled around her mouth and nose. A moment later she hung limp in the soldier’s arms, her eyes open and lifeless. Khanu screamed, cursing the name of Ammonptah for all eternity. With the last of his strength, he reared back, holding his breath to avoid breathing in the poisonous smoke the magistrate had released.

Despite his efforts, his lungs seemed to still, and his heart slowed. His vision dimmed, then brightened momentarily, and he felt himself floating toward Ammonptah.

Something brushed against him, and he sensed Nayari. Her voice, strong now, renewed, reached his thoughts. “I’m here, my husband. I am with you always.”

He turned, but saw nothing but her lifeless body and then his own. Ammonptah’s soldiers lowered them to the floor, but Khanu felt nothing.

“It is done,” the wizard said. “Close the jar.”

Khanu searched for Nayari as darkness closed around him, and once again he heard her voice. “I am with you forever, my warrior.”

Grant shivered involuntarily. He didn’t want Cait to know how deeply the story of the ill-fated lovers had affected him.

He stole a glance at her and she looked away, wiping her eyes with a trembling hand.

“Good story,” he said. “I wonder how much of it is true.”

“The ancient Egyptians didn’t write much fiction.”

“No, but Layton obviously did. His wild speculation doesn’t diminish the value of the scroll, though. Tell Mr. Greer I’ll be bidding on it. And I intend to have it.”

Cait nodded. “I’m sure he already knows.”

Grant hesitated a moment, drew his fingers over her shoulder and up to the graceful curve of her jaw. “I should be going. We both have to get back to work in a few hours.” He hated to leave her, but he had a lot to do. If even half of what Layton wrote was true, there were far more valuable objects than the scroll that were yet to be found. He kissed her once and found he wasn’t too tired to be turned on by the taste of their lovemaking that still lingered on her lips. He forced himself to ignore the start of an erection and slipped out of bed. “Don’t get up. You sleep. I’ll call you.”

She blinked up at him, her bottom lip caught between her perfect teeth. He’d seen that look before. She didn’t believe him, and he needed her to. He bent and kissed her again. “I promise. I had a phenomenal time tonight. I don’t care what Greer says. I intend to do this again.”

Cait sat in her office three days later staring at the phone and hating herself for wishing Grant would call. She’d heard nothing from him, and neither had Mr. Greer, who seemed to be glaring at Cait more than usual. She supposed her boss thought she’d somehow talked Grant out of bidding on the scroll. Maybe she had. Giving him all of Layton’s wild speculations might have turned him off. Perhaps he’d only said he still wanted the artifact to be polite while he was climbing out of her bed.

How could she have been so dumb? Grant Pierson, after all, was what he was. Eccentric, arrogant, fantastic in bed—but he’d used her. At least after the auction today, she’d know for sure how royally she’d screwed up.

“Are you ready?” Jeri asked after a polite knock on Cait’s half-open door. “They’re here.”

“Who’s here?” Cait’s heart began to thud. Would Grant have the audacity to show up at the auction now? Would he have some half-assed excuse for not calling her? She whipped out a makeup mirror and reapplied her lipstick under Jeri’s scrutiny.

“There are at least five clients in the auction room. Greer is strutting around like a peacock. You’d better get in there and keep him from losing his feathers.”

“Right.” Cait smoothed her skirt and scooped up the newly printed auction catalog from her desk. Head high, her shell of professional aloofness intact, she headed for the auction room with Jeri on her heels.

Grant sat in the chair nearest the display case, his dark head bent, studying his catalog. Cait remained at the back of the room, her eyes boring holes in his skull. The nerve of him to show up without even saying hello!

Matthew Greer stepped up to the small podium from which he conducted his auctions. He nodded to Cait, who dimmed the lights in the room, and he began his spiel.

“Normally I would leave the most exotic object on the roster for last, but since several of you have other pressing engagements, I’ve decided to begin the bidding with our newest and most interesting item.” While he went into a brief but detailed description of the scroll, Cait zoned out, her mind on the evening she’d spent with Grant. He hadn’t even turned his head in her direction.

A tap on her shoulder startled her when the bidding began, and she turned to see Mack, one of the gallery’s independent auditors, standing at her side.

Tall and rugged, he resembled a blond Indiana Jones more than a buttoned-up bean counter. Cait liked him, especially his crisp Australian accent.

“G’day, love. You’re looking pensive this morning,” Mack said, his slate blue eyes sparkling.

“This is a big sale for the gallery. If it doesn’t go well, I’m sure I’ll get some flack for it.”

“No worries, love. You’ve got some players out there.” Mack leaned casually against the wall, taking in each of the clients that had begun bidding on the scroll. Cait noticed Grant seemed to be holding back. He hadn’t made a bid yet.

“Players is an interesting choice of word,” Cait mumbled. Fortunately Mack didn’t seem to have heard her. His attention seemed to be on a dark-haired woman in the front row who had jumped into the bidding with a vengeance. Cait tuned into the price war, scanning back and forth as different clients raised their hands or nodded to Mr. Greer. The bidding had reached several hundred thousand dollars when Grant finally raised his hand. The other clients seemed shocked that he’d joined in, and Mr. Greer seemed pleased that someone was going to jack up the price even further. In the end, to Cait’s dismay, it was the dark-haired woman who won the bidding after pledging an exorbitant sum. Mack nodded his approval and left Cait at the back of the room. She watched him congratulate the beautiful young woman, holding her hand just an instant too long. Grant smiled ruefully as he shook hands with Mr. Greer, and the two men exchanged a few words while Mack led the new owner of the scroll to the back where she could pick up her purchase.

Grant still didn’t look in Cait’s direction, and finally she left the auction room, annoyed at herself for caring what Grant Pierson did or didn’t do.

Jeri appeared at her office door again half an hour later. “That was the fastest auction ever. They’re all gone.”

“All of them?” Cait tried to sound casual.

Jeri nodded. “We must have made a mint, because Mr. Greer is ordering lunch for everyone. Do you want Thai chicken or Tandoori beef?”

“I’m not hungry.”

The soft knock on her door at half-past seven that night startled Cait out of a deep reverie. She’d been half asleep, her arms around a fat pillow, the television blaring an old romantic comedy she’d seen half a dozen times. Her mind had been in Egypt, with the souls of two tragic lovers who dared to break the rules of their complicated society.

She yawned and unfolded herself from the couch, brushing cookie crumbs from her blue sweatpants. Panic swept over her when she saw Grant’s dark eyes peering back at her through the security lens in her door.

“What are you doing here?” She hadn’t wanted to sound angry, but the words slipped out, loud and sharp.

“I’m here to apologize. I had to leave town for a few days before the auction, and I didn’t have a chance to call you.”

Yeah. There was the lame excuse she’d been expecting. “Ever hear of a cell phone?”