Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [66]
He kept thinking about it all afternoon, abnormally conscious of his wife’s presence. She’d started to ask him something and then changed her mind. Did she know something he didn’t—something his mother had told her—that caused her to fear for him? Was that what had prompted that spontaneous, passionate kiss? It would be just like the two of them to decide they needed to protect him . . .
Selim had to speak to him twice before he responded. “Sorry, I was thinking of something else.”
Selim hadn’t missed his fixed stare at Nefret. He murmured, “And a happy thing it is to think of. But when will you all come to us? Daoud wants to have a fantasia, here at Gurneh.”
“Talk to Mother,” Ramses said. “Where is Daoud? He usually joins us.”
“A scorpion stung him.”
Scorpion stings were seldom fatal, but they were extremely painful and often debilitating, even for a man of Daoud’s strength. “When did this happen?” Ramses asked. “Why didn’t he come to Nefret?”
“This morning. There was a meeting of the creatures in his sleeping room, it seems,” Selim said with a grin. “The sting is on his foot and he cannot walk. But Kadija has taken care of it. He will be ready for work tomorrow.”
“The famous green ointment,” Ramses murmured. It probably would have the desired effect; Daoud was a firm believer in its efficacy, and the stuff did seem to work. “Tell him to stay at home if it is not better.”
Selim nodded and went on to speak of something else. Scorpions were only too common in Egypt, but it was unusual for them to be found indoors.
When they took their departure Ramses promised to speak to his mother about a date for the fantasia. The children had spent the entire time playing some incomprehensible game that involved running, hopping or rolling back and forth across the courtyard, and the twins were characteristically filthy and uncharacteristically limp with fatigue. Ramses looked down at the curly black head that rested against his chest.
“They should drop off to sleep right away,” he said hopefully.
Nefret chuckled. “Don’t count on it. The Vandergelts are dining, you know.”
“All the more reason to hurry.”
There was no hurrying the horses on the hillside, among the clustered houses of the village. They reached the level floor of the desert and he was about to let Risha run when he heard something.
“Listen,” he said, reining the horse in.
“I don’t—” It came again, and now Nefret heard it too—a high-pitched, wavering scream.
Ramses plucked his drowsy daughter off his shirtfront and held her out. “Take her. Quick.”
Nefret obeyed instantly and instinctively, cradling both small bodies tight in her arms. He thanked God she was a superb horsewoman and that Moonlight was responsive to her slightest word or gesture. The scream came again; this time it was followed by a cry for help. The words were English, the voice was a woman’s. Nefret’s eyes opened wide.
“Ramses, what—”
“Get the children home. Right now.”
He didn’t wait for a response. Glancing back as he headed Risha toward the hills, he saw that Moonlight had broken into her long, smooth gallop. If they had been alone, Nefret would have insisted on accompanying him, but the children’s safety came first, even though it was unlikely that the agitated female was in serious trouble.
The woman continued to call out; her voice was weakening and broken by long gasping sobs. He found her at last, backed up against a rock outcropping. The man who confronted her was laughing as she struck at him with what appeared to be a fly whisk. It wasn’t much of a weapon compared with his knife. He was deliberately playing with her, easily avoiding her feeble blows and cutting at her arms and face. He was enjoying the game so much he failed to hear the hoofbeats until Ramses was almost on top of them. He had to pull Risha up to avoid running both down. The man let out a bleat of alarm and ran. Ramses was about to go after him when the woman sank to the ground.