Saved by Her Enemy Warrior Read online

  Entombed with her enemy...

  Will her heart remain unscathed?

  Left to die in the tomb of her beloved Pharaoh Tausret, royal adviser Aya would be silenced forever by those who seek power. But she is not alone! Egyptian soldier Intef is there to steal her mistress’s gold. Now they must work together to escape. This handsome warrior is Aya’s enemy, yet it’s passion not hatred that burns between them. Can their desire withstand the revelations that await them outside?

  Rejection. Cool and complete—like a rope being severed by a well-honed blade. Rejection of a proposal she had not even known she had made. But thank the gods for his good judgment, for in her mourning she had apparently grown weak and lost her own.

  No, Intef had said simply, and inside this dark place his meaning had been as bright as day. No, the kiss they had shared the night before had meant nothing. No, they should not give in to this inexplicable lust. No, for he was the self-proclaimed robber of Pharaoh’s tomb, and she was Pharaoh’s only defender. No, no, no, no. They were enemies, after all. They had become allies only by necessity. They could never, ever be more.

  She watched his torch float down the corridor and felt a wave of relief. His clarity of his thought was astounding; the content of it unimpeachable. The only feeling they should be allowing inside their hearts was the simple will to survive.

  Author Note

  In the ancient Egyptian language, there is no word for queen. Though ancient Egyptian women had more rights than their foreign contemporaries, the highest rank a woman could achieve in pre-Ptolemaic Egypt was chief wife. There are three verifiable exceptions: Sobekneferu, Hatshepsut and Tausret—women who ruled as pharaohs.

  This story takes place just after Tausret’s reign. Though little is known about her, she lived in a time of corruption, invasion and civil strife. It is this historic milieu that informed my best guesses about her life.

  The heroine of the story is Tausret’s adviser. She, too, must come to terms with Tausret—both how to serve her memory and how it may serve her. Trapped inside Tausret’s tomb, she must finally learn to live.

  In addition to Tausret, I reference these historical figures: Rameses II (the Great Ancestor), Merneptah, Seti II, Amenmesse, Bay, Siptah, Setnakht, Suppiluliuma II and Rameses III, who is considered Egypt’s last great pharaoh.

  I recently had the opportunity to visit Tausret’s magnificent tomb and would like to thank Alaa Aly Taie, the wonderful host of Villa Al Diwan, and the excellent guide Hassaan Alazzazy, for their inspiration.

  I hope you enjoy the story!

  GRETA GILBERT

  Saved by Her

  Enemy Warrior

  Greta Gilbert’s passion for ancient history began with a teenage crush on Indiana Jones. As an adult, she landed a dream job at National Geographic Learning, where her colleagues—former archaeologists—helped her learn to keep her facts straight. Now she lives in southern Baja, Mexico, where she continues to study the ancients. She is especially intrigued by ancient mysteries and always keeps a little Indiana Jones inside her heart.

  Books by Greta Gilbert

  Harlequin Historical

  Enslaved by the Desert Trader

  The Spaniard’s Innocent Maiden

  In Thrall to the Enemy Commander

  Forbidden to the Gladiator

  Seduced by Her Rebel Warrior

  Saved by Her Enemy Warrior

  Harlequin Historical Undone! ebook

  Mastered by Her Slave

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com.

  For my beloved aunty Kathy, our family’s reigning queen, who has loved and inspired me all my life.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Excerpt from The Passions of Lord Trevethow by Bronwyn Scott

  Chapter One

  1189 bce

  —Valley of the Kings royal burial ground,

  west of Thebes—modern Luxor—Egypt

  Aya was kneeling in prayer when she felt the guard’s hand cover her mouth. She tried to cry out, but his large palm muted the sound. ‘Do not scream,’ he muttered in her ear. ‘Remember your dignity.’

  He tugged her head backwards and she felt the cool of a blade against her throat. ‘It will be over soon,’ he assured her. ‘Close your eyes.’

  Aya did as she was told. Quickly, she thought. A merciful death.

  A bronze voice sliced the silence. ‘Cease.’

  Aya opened her eyes to discover the High Priest of Amun standing over her, the torchlight flickering on his powdered face. He blinked at the guard. ‘No blood may be spilled inside a house of eternity. Use rope.’

  There was a rush of movement into the burial chamber. Aya was seized by her arms and lifted, and her feet were pulled out from beneath her.

  ‘Behind the shrine,’ the High Priest directed and Aya was carried across the chamber like a goat.

  ‘Holy One,’ she said. ‘What is happening?’

  She was tossed to the floor beside the hut-sized golden container that had been constructed around Pharaoh’s sarcophagus. She tried to sit up, but the guard’s large palm held her down.

  ‘Pharaoh’s Most Beloved Advisor is irrelevant now,’ he muttered, his sour breath in her ear. ‘She will follow Pharaoh to the fields of paradise.’

  Aya perceived a rope being threaded between her bound arms and wrapped around the shrine.

  She heard the sound of men heaving. Her wrists rose up above her head, suspended by a rope she could not see.

  ‘The pectoral,’ the High Priest intoned. Aya felt the weight of her golden pectoral necklace—the most valuable thing she owned—being lifted off her chest.

  She tried to kick, but her feet were already bound. They were being lifted above the floor like her wrists had been.

  ‘I beg you to cease!’ she shouted at last and, when she heard the High Priest’s bemused grunt, she began to sob. ‘For the love of Isis.’

  ‘Silence her,’ he snapped and Aya felt a blow to her stomach.

  ‘Holy Ones!’ she shouted. Another blow. ‘Guards!’ A blow to her side, her head, her face...nothing.

  * * *

  When her wits returned, Aya heard the sound of bricks being stacked in mud. If death had a sound, this was it. Scoop, swish, set. Her head throbbed and her heart filled with dread. She moved to cover her ears, forgetting that her wrists were tied.

  She opened her eyes.

  If death had an aura, it was the quality of torchlight. It flashed across the painted ceiling, illuminating the garish yellow stars. She was lying on her back, her ankles also tied, and now she knew why the men had bound her this way.<
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  Tied beside the shrine of the deceased, she could not show herself to the priests standing at the entrance to the chamber. She could not display her tears or appeal to them for mercy. She could not see them and they could not see her. She could only whimper in misery and stare up at those terrible stars, ablaze in the mocking torchlight.

  Myrrh.

  Its scent was everywhere. The priests had filled the chamber with its anise-tinged smoke. ‘The Breath of Isis’, it was called, because it was supposed to invoke the divine protectoress. But it only clogged Aya’s lungs, giving her the unusual sensation of drowning. If death had a scent, surely it was that of myrrh.

  She was seized by a spasm of coughs. She strained against her bonds, forgetting that she could not cover her nose. She could do nothing but let her lungs clear themselves in the sanctified air of the tomb, feeling all the while that she was despoiling it. She should not be here, but she was tied. Tied.

  She filled her voice with deference. ‘Is this some manner of test, Holy Ones?’ She pictured them lingering in the shadowy corridor just beyond the chamber, their bald heads gleaming in the torchlight. ‘Surely you do not mean to leave me here?’

  The practice of burying living servants with dead kings had been forbidden in Egypt for thousands of years and the men at the entrance to the chamber knew it. It was an abhorrence, an offence to ma’at, the principle of order and justice. Yet not a single voice responded to her query.

  ‘Venerable priests,’ she began. ‘I beg you. Do not condemn me thus. I have never stolen. I have never cursed the gods. I have never harmed an elder, or a child, or spoken ill of anyone. I have served the Living God in all...’ she paused ‘...in most things.’

  She awaited a response, but there was only the diminishing torchlight, the thickening air and the dogged rhythm of the bricks, as if the jackal-headed god of death himself were stacking them.

  Her voice cracked. ‘I refer you to Pharaoh’s funeral papyrus,’ she said. And to your own humanity, by the gods. ‘I am to be freed from service! It has been written.’

  But it was as if she were talking to the paintings on the walls.

  Scoop, swish, set.

  ‘If you do not free me, you defy the will of a god!’ she shouted. ‘You place Great Egypt in danger.’

  So why were the priests not responding? Aya searched her heart—the centre of all her thoughts—and a dark knowing descended. The priests did not care whether or not they offended Pharaoh Tausret, because they had never believed in Pharaoh Tausret at all.

  Because Pharaoh Tausret had been a woman.

  ‘I can pay,’ Aya lied. ‘There is a cache of gold hidden in Pharaoh’s Temple of Millions of Years. I can show you where it is.’

  She thought she heard someone grunt, followed by a breeze of whispers. Perhaps her lie had found some adherents among the priests and other officials. Perhaps the High Priest himself was considering her offer? She had long suspected his designs on the Horus throne.

  The High Priest was not the only man with such an ambition. General Setnakht, a rebel general with his base right there in Thebes, had sought the double crown throughout Tausret’s reign. It was rumoured that he, too, was gathering his army and that Setnakht and the High Priest would soon face each other in battle, with the Horus throne as the prize.

  There was only one problem with their efforts. Neither of the pretenders could prove a link to the royal bloodline. Without royal blood, none could win the loyalty of all the people. Royal blood was divine blood and only a god was allowed to sit on the throne of Egypt.

  Whichever man succeeded in taking the throne would claim a link to Pharaoh’s bloodline and Aya was the only person who could prove him wrong.

  Which was why it seemed that she was doomed.

  ‘You may save yourself,’ the High Priest said suddenly. The sounds of bricklaying ceased. ‘Tell me where I may find Tausret’s heir.’

  Aya bit her tongue. She did not know exactly where the heir resided, but she knew enough. It was a secret that Pharaoh had shared with Aya alone. How did the High Priest know she kept it?

  Perhaps he had only guessed that Aya knew about the heir. Perhaps he thought that the threat of entombment would be enough to coax her secrets from her.

  ‘Speak now, woman!’ the High Priest thundered. ‘Or be silent for ever!’

  It was her chance. If she would reveal the location of Pharaoh Tausret’s only living son, she could save her own life.

  But it was a confession she could not make. She had been a poor counsellor and an even poorer protector, but a traitor she was not. She would keep the heir’s existence hidden for ever, for that had been Pharaoh’s dying wish.

  Scoop, swish, set.

  Now it was Aya who said not a word and the moments seemed to stretch into years. She had failed Pharaoh in many things, but she would not fail her in this.

  ‘I will find him, you know,’ snapped the High Priest. ‘And I will kill him.’

  Aya heard another brick slide into place and the sound of voices moving further and further away. ‘You will not find him,’ she whispered, as if merely saying the words could somehow make them true.

  She would not allow herself to cry, though tears seeped from her eyes anyway. She needed to remember her dignity, as the guard had said. She had begged and grovelled and debased herself enough. Now it was time to quietly accept her fate.

  ‘The will of Osiris,’ she whispered and a stream of tears dribbled into her mouth. They tasted of kohl and brine, of sour and salt. They were the taste of suffering, of a long, slow, terrible death.

  There was not a single sound now and even the painted stars had ceased to shine. And Aya was alone.

  Chapter Two

  Intef held his breath, testing the quiet. It had begun only moments ago, when the voices had faded and the sound of stacking bricks had ceased. Bless the gods for the peace. The woman’s grief-stricken ravings had been almost too piteous to bear—and so very loud.

  ‘I am to be freed from service,’ she had cried, betraying her advanced age. It seemed that the old woman had served Pharaoh all her life, for her freedom had become so precious to her that she was threatening to remain in the burial chamber if she did not receive it. She had even offered to lead the priests to gold in exchange for it.

  She had obviously been overwhelmed by grief and in the end they had had to bind her limbs with rope just to extract her from the chamber.

  That had been at least an hour ago, but Intef knew he could not yet emerge from the stuffy chest in which he huddled. The tomb was not yet empty. A whole gang of servants were currently filling its long entrance corridor with earth. He thought he could hear the faint spilling of their buckets. If he could hear them, then they would be able to hear him.

  Another hour, he decided.

  He exhaled, forcing his breath through the layers of linen surrounding him and reminded himself to stay calm. He had nine days, after all. That was how long the tomb workers had assured him that one man could survive inside a tomb before the spirits of the Underworld claimed him.

  Intef turned away from the morbid thought. He had more immediate concerns, such as how to adjust the angle of his throbbing neck. He was not sure he could wait much longer. He was wretched with hunger and thirst and both his legs had gone numb.

  How many hours had it been since the priest Hepu had stuffed him inside this wooden prison? Twenty at least, for it had been late the previous night when Intef had met the priest outside Tausret’s mortuary temple. He thought back to the strange encounter.

  * * *

  ‘You are Setnakht’s beetle?’ Hepu asked. Like Intef, the priest had been working in secret for the rebel Generals—first Amenmesse, then Setnakht—for most of his life.

  ‘I am indeed, Holy Brother,’ Intef replied. ‘It is nice to finally meet you.’

  Hepu looked disappointed.
‘You are too tall for the chest I had planned.’

  ‘Do you have another? Something with a rooftop bed and a view to the river?’ Intef jested.

  ‘You are nervous,’ said Hepu.

  ‘On the contrary, I am delighted to begin my adventure.’

  The priest shook his head. ‘You should be nervous. I know not of a single living man who would do what you are about to do.’

  ‘How difficult could it be?’ asked Intef. ‘I will relax inside a chest for the next few hours, then get carried by royal chest bearers into the dusty hills. After another short rest, I will emerge from the chest into a lovely tomb, then chisel my way out through a bit of stone.’

  ‘When you realise what you have done, you must not panic,’ said the priest. He gazed at the hammer and chisel Intef carried. ‘You think those are your greatest tools, but they are not.’

  Intef sighed. How priests loved to give advice. ‘What, I beg, is my greatest tool?’

  ‘Calm,’ said Hepu. ‘Come, we must hurry.’

  Hepu sneaked Intef into the pillared staging hall and they stumbled amid the deceased Pharaoh’s sacred grave goods. ‘I have replaced the beer with water in a dozen amphorae bound for the tomb,’ he whispered. ‘They will be on the second shelf in the northeast storage room.’

  ‘Remind me again, Hepu, where is that particular room?’

  Hepu expelled a heavy sigh. ‘Nobody has instructed you in the layout of the tomb?’

  ‘The men in the tomb workers’ village said it was very long, with two large chambers.’

  ‘By Horus,’ Hepu held out his arm. ‘Imagine this is the tomb,’ he said. He ran his hand down his forearm. ‘This part is simply a long corridor leading down to the chambers. After Pharaoh—and you—are entombed, it will be filled in with earth.’

  ‘I knew that much,’ Intef said.

  Hepu arched a greying brow, then opened his palms and held them slightly apart. ‘This is what you will be left with—two large chambers connected by another corridor.’ He raised his left hand. ‘Your journey will end when you reach the second or main chamber. It is the deepest part of the tomb.’ He touched each corner of his hand. ‘There are four storage rooms adjoining the main chamber. Your chest will be placed inside one. In one of the other storage rooms you will find the water containers I mentioned, along with beer and bread.’