Under A Desert Moon. Laura Martin
Ahmed and the Englishman turned to her in surprise.
‘You heard the lady,’ the Englishman said. ‘I have a protector.’
Emma’s eyes narrowed. She thought she’d detected a hint of amusement in his voice.
Mohammed snorted. ‘I should slit you from throat to belly and watch your thieving guts spill out.’
Emma stepped forward, but she felt Ahmed’s hand on her arm, restraining her.
‘It would make rather a mess,’ the Englishman mused. ‘And you’d be the one scrubbing the deck.’
Emma had never seen someone with a sword to their throat before, but she rather thought normally people in fear for their lives didn’t joke quite as much.
For a few long seconds Mohammed and the Englishman stared at each other, then they both broke out into wide grins.
‘It seems you owe me your life, Oakfield,’ Mohammed said as he clapped the dripping Englishman on the back.
‘Shall we call it even?’
‘You know each other?’ Emma asked, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks.
‘Alas, it is true. As much as I am loath to admit it, I have been known to associate with this lowlife,’ Oakfield said.
Emma snorted. ‘I think it is probably Mohammed who is ashamed to associate with you.’
The Englishman laughed. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He took her hand in his own and raised it to his lips.
‘Sebastian Oakfield at your service, madame.’
As he lifted his head he looked directly into her eyes and Emma felt something tighten in her stomach. His eyes were a vivid green, a colourful splash against his bronzed skin and sandy blond hair. Emma could see he had tiny lines around his eyes; he was obviously a man who liked to smile a lot.
‘Please relinquish the sitt’s hand,’ Ahmed said, stepping closer.
Sebastian turned to Ahmed as if seeing him for the first time but still did not drop Emma’s hand.
‘Please forgive my forwardness,’ he said, not looking in the least bit repentant. ‘But it is not often you get a woman with beauty to rival Nefertiti sailing down the Nile.’
The compliment brought Emma to her senses. She slid her hand from his and took a step back, trying to look unaffected by his honeyed words. She reminded herself she wasn’t a young, inexperienced girl any longer. She was a woman of twenty-five. And although she might not have much worldly experience she knew better than to believe the insincere compliments of a rogue. Maybe once...but no longer.
‘Step away from my guests, scoundrel,’ Mohammed said, swatting Sebastian on the shoulder. ‘They don’t want to be harassed by the likes of you.’
‘Young ladies don’t want to be courted by dashing and adventurous gentlemen?’ Sebastian said, speaking to Mohammed but his eyes wandering to Emma.
‘How do you know this man?’ Ahmed asked Mohammed, trying to push his way between the dripping-wet new arrival and Emma.
Emma took a step forward; she didn’t want to miss this story.
The glint of humour left Mohammed’s eyes and he said seriously, ‘I owe my life to Mr Oakfield—without him I would be nothing more than a carcass in the desert.’
Emma glanced at Mr Oakfield, who seemed a little uncomfortable about this revelation. He seemed to be the sort of man who didn’t take sincere compliments well, preferring to laugh them off.
‘Three years ago, I was attacked by a group of bandits in the desert. They took my money and my clothes and my horse. They left me to try to make my journey on foot—a feat for a man even half my age. Mr Oakfield found me and brought me to safety.’ Mohammed paused, as if there was more to the story. ‘And he helped me to track down the bandits, who are now languishing in Cairo’s most grim prison.’
Mohammed smiled quickly, then turned back to take control of his flotilla. Emma was just about to say something when a shout from the bank of the Nile made everyone turn to look. The six men in white billowing robes had now reached the water’s edge and were gesticulating angrily in their direction. None of them, however, seemed prepared to get wet.
‘What have you done, Mr Oakfield?’ Emma asked, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. He must have done something extremely reckless to be chased by six very angry-looking men with swords.
‘You mean apart from losing my heart to the most enchanting woman north of the Equator?’
‘You’ve just met me, Mr Oakfield. I hope you’re not one of those foolish men who believes in love at first sight.’
‘Foolish, lovesick...’
Emma heard herself snort again. Mr Oakfield didn’t seem to bring out her most ladylike side.
‘Did you knock your head when you dived into the Nile?’
He looked as though he was about to deny it.
‘I sincerely hope you did,’ she murmured.
‘May we start again?’ Sebastian asked.
Emma gave a gracious nod.
‘Sebastian Oakfield, at your service, madame.’
‘And tell me, Mr Oakfield, what made you risk life and limb diving into one of the most dangerous rivers in the world?’
Sebastian grinned at her and Emma found her disapproving facade waver. He was a very good-looking man. With an infectious smile. A disarmingly infectious smile.
‘I’m so glad you asked, Miss...?’
‘Knight. Emma Knight.’
‘Miss Knight,’ he repeated, his voice low, and Emma knew immediately it was the voice he used with his lovers. A shiver ran down her spine despite the warmth of the late afternoon sun. ‘Would you like to see something spectacular?’
Emma allowed him to take her by the hand and lead her over to the scattered cushions she had been sitting on before he’d boarded the felucca. He sat down and gestured for her to sit beside him. Ignoring Ahmed’s tut of disapproval, Emma sank into the cushions. She found she was holding her breath as Sebastian reached into the bag he had over his shoulder and pulled out an object that fitted neatly in the palm of his hand.
‘Here,’ he said, placing the heavy stone object in her hand.
Emma turned it over in her palm and studied it carefully. It was beautiful. It was made of a rock that she didn’t recognise, the stone a dark grey in colour, and it was carved into a figure of a man. The features were still visible on his face and the details of his elaborate headdress were obvious even after all these years.
‘It’s a—’
‘Shabti,’ Emma interrupted.
Sebastian looked at her appraisingly.
‘Late third-century BC, if I’m not mistaken. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say it was from the tomb of a very wealthy man.’
Emma glanced at Sebastian. He was momentarily lost for words. Emma didn’t think it was an occurrence that happened often.
‘How do you know that?’ he asked.
Emma shrugged. ‘I’ve studied a little around the subject.’
That was an understatement. Egyptology had once been a hobby for her, but in the last few years it had become more of an escape. When all else had seemed bleak, Egyptology had been her saviour.
‘How did you come by this piece?’ Emma asked.
Sebastian studied her for a second, as if contemplating whether to tell her the truth.
‘It