Treasures of Egypt
Chapter 38
The Bonds of Marriage
Copyright © 2008
HDKingsbury
"Chains do not hold a marriage together.
It is threads, hundreds of tiny threads which sew people together through the years."
~Simone Signoret
The next morning at the breakfast table, Erik and Elizabeth agreed with Professor Cutteridge that a civil marriage would probably be in order. Tongues would wag as it was, what with Elizabeth marrying less than a year after Leonidas's death; no need to add fuel to the fire by suggesting that there was something irregular in regards to their union. Cutteridge assured all that he had a few friends down at the town hall and that if they would leave the details to him, he would have everything set by afternoon. Excusing himself from the breakfast table, the professor bid all good morning and, with Min scampering at his heels, left for town.
Now it was just the three of them. Erik offered to help clean up after breakfast, but Millicent only chuckled and told the couple to make themselves scarce. Erik and Elizabeth immediately accepted Aunt Millie's offer and soon were outside, holding hands as they walked along the River Windrush – enjoying the warmth of a summer's morning.
"What do you think of our leasing a cottage of our own," Erik asked. "It's not that your father or your aunt are anything but gracious hosts, but…"
"…but you would like some privacy?" Elizabeth finished, her eyes sparkling mischievously.
"You know me. I value my privacy. Besides," he said, pausing at a bend in the path, "I have one in mind." He gestured towards a small stone cottage, set back a short distance away. A white plume of smoke wafted out of the chimney, and the mouth-watering aroma of scones drifted towards them. "I took the liberty of leasing it last evening, while you were helping Millie with supper. It came with a housekeeper. She is preparing our afternoon tea even as we speak."
"Erik! The old Hibbard cottage. It's…it's perfect! I've always adored it, admired the way it overlooks the river. The rose garden is exquisite!"
"It overlooks the cromlech," he said with unabashed devilment. He turned serious. "We can keep it, if you like. We could stay in it whenever we visit Burford. It's close enough to your home that your father and aunt may visit whenever they wish."
"Visit?"
A frown creased his forehead. "I…assumed we'd live in Luxor."
"I'd like that very much," she said, haltingly. And then, she brightened. "I'd like very much to be in Luxor, among old friends. I've missed Safa, Ra'id. I've even missed that scamp, A'aqil. And Talibah! How is she, I wonder?"
"According to the latest letter from A'aqil, she had turned my house into her raison d'etre," he said jokingly. "He suggests that we will hardly recognize the place when we return."
Elizabeth looked at him closely. "You miss it, don't you? You miss your home."
"I like having my own place. I've…I've never been a guest before. It is awkward at times." His eyes glinted in the morning light. "Last night, for instance. We're newlyweds. Wouldn't you have rather…?"
She blushed. Knowing that her father and her aunt were nearby had been inhibiting, but it was sheer heaven to sleep in Erik's arms. She reflected upon her previous five years of marriage, and how she never knew such passion, such bliss, and came to the realization that while she had liked Leo, she loved Erik.
As for Erik? While he may been new to the arts of lovemaking, what he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm and in his willingness to please her. Even those few times he had lost control, lost himself in his own passion, he made sure afterwards that she was also fulfilled. It was a point of personal pride to give her pleasure she'd never known until him.
"You've chosen the perfect honeymoon cottage for us," she said at last. She pursed her lips as she weighed the options. "We could spend our summers here, when it is too hot to dig in Egypt, and we could spend winters in your home in Luxor, when it is too cold in England."
"Our home, Beth," he said gently. "Our home."
They continued their walk to their new home, one of those quintessential English cottages made of Cotswold stone. Surrounding it was a low stone wall covered with rambling roses of varying shades of pink, their perfume filling the air, mingling with the aroma coming from the kitchen. Inside, they introduced themselves to the housekeeper, a silver-haired widow who looked forward to the old cottage being occupied once again.
"It's been standing here, all alone and neglected for the past couple o' years," said Mrs. Dumfries. "But I've got 'er all cleaned up, nice and neat, fer ye. It's ready for ye to be moving in. In fact, I was baking some scones as a kind of welcoming gift for ye. They're just out o' the oven. If ye'll have a seat, I'll brew up some tea. I've made some cucumber sandwiches, too. You can munch on them while you're waitin' fer yer tea."
Erik and Elizabeth exchanged glances, hiding their smiles behind gloved hands. "I think we've come to the right place," he managed to say.
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Erik and Elizabeth were settling into their new home. While they had all been in town, taking care of the small matter of their "official" wedding, the professor had arranged for some of the neighbors to move the newlyweds' furniture and clothing to what was being called the Honeymoon Cottage. It really didn't trouble Alpheus that his daughter was moving out. While he had enjoyed her company these past few months, he had also missed his privacy, too. They could enjoy the best of both worlds – solitude when wanted, but nearby companionship as well.
True to his word, Alpheus had arranged all the legalities. Their wedding in the town council had been solemn, private, and dignified. With Alpheus and Millicent standing up for them, Erik and Elizabeth said their "I do's" formally this time, signed their names to the official documents, and were pronounced husband and wife.
Until the last moment, Erik had been worried that Elizabeth would change her mind about marrying him. He'd paced the floor, waiting for the appointed hour, certain of his doom. He knew he couldn't survive without her. If she left him now, he wasn't sure he'd survive it. It simply wasn't possible to survive another loss such as this, and Elizabeth meant far, far more to him than anyone else he had ever known.
It was Elizabeth's father who talked him through it. He'd spent time with Elizabeth, telling her how proud her mother would have been to see their daughter happily wed. But Elizabeth had fretted over Erik, and begged her father to go see him and make certain he was ready. He'd scoffed, thinking Elizabeth was overly dramatic – until he saw Erik, white as a sheet, standing in the shadows outside the hall, looking for all the world like a hare seeking shelter from the hounds. Nervous as a bridegroom, no doubt about it. He'd chuckled to himself. What did Erik have to be nervous about? The French were famous for their…worldly ways. Could it be that he had waited for marriage? No, it wasn't possible. Elizabeth had said Erik was 38 years old. He'd always seemed commanding, self-assured, sophisticated – until today. And here he was, just like any other man on his wedding day, a bundle of nerves!
Erik had been shy, barely able to speak. He nodded in the Professor's direction, but averted his face, avoiding looking him in the eye. Obviously, the prospect of a wedding was daunting. "I recognize that look," Alpheus said, hoping to convey solidarity with the bridegroom. "It is the terror that grips every man on his wedding day. You're wondering, 'Am I the right man for her? Is she the right woman for me?' And, most of all, you're wondering, 'Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?'" He smiled warmly, waiting for Erik to respond.
Erik shook his head. He spoke in a whisper, and Alpheus strained to hear him. "I have no doubt that I want to marry your daughter. What scares me," he said, mentioning his fear in a moment of aching vulnerability, "or rather, what concerns me, is that she will come to her senses and decide at the last moment to run from me."
I'm not losing a daughter; I'm gaining a son, Alpheus thought. I must be kind, and set a good example for him. After all, he may be the father of my grandchildren one day. He took him by the elbow and steered him towards the door. "Courage, man. She's waiting for you inside. As we speak, a gaggle of old hens will be putting the finishing touches on your lovely bride. She's wearing her mother's dress, you know, although she's altered it so that it isn't as fussy as it was when her mother and I married." He brushed away a tear of his own. "She'd have been very pleased with you, Erik – Elizabeth's mother. She'd be as fond of you as Millie and I are."
Erik had gazed at him steadily as he spoke. "I will strive to be the man she deserves. She will want for nothing. She will--"
"She'll be happy with you, son, and that's all that matters." He leaned forward. "I know everything I need to know about you, young man, and that is, you're the man she needs." He winked. "And the man she wants. Something tells me that you're the only man who can make her happy."
Erik had been speechless, but felt his eyes welling up. He focused on the ceiling, knowing that if he looked upwards, it would be easier to control the tears that threatened to fall.
"Now, now. Don't go getting Gallic on me," his soon to be father-in-law had said, patting him reassuringly. A knock at the door called their attention to the task at hand. "Come," Professor Cutteridge said simply, beaming at Erik. "It's time."
It was late afternoon by the time they arrived at the Honeymoon Cottage. Long shadows fell across the lawn; the sheep in their cote lowed a welcome as their carriage passed by. Thanks to Mrs. Dumfries' efforts, the Hibbard Cottage had been turned into a fairy tale romance. Flowers adorned every windowsill, and candles beckoned a warm welcome.
Erik lifted Elizabeth from the carriage, and as she nestled in his arms, he kissed her and touched his forehead to hers. "My wife," he whispered. "My wife." He carried her into the house as the carriage pulled away.
"Alone at last," Elizabeth giggled. "I thought we'd never get here."
He felt his palms grow moist and wished he could wipe them on his trousers, a nervous habit that he'd become uncomfortably aware of while standing in the church waiting for Elizabeth. The warmth flushed across his cheeks, under his mask, and he knew his ears were turning red. The thought of her…of their wedding day…their wedding night…. He swallowed, and stepped across the threshold with his bride in his arms.
A small fire burned merrily in the hearth, providing a cheery glow in the ancient surroundings. A bottle of French wine, two glasses, a loaf of bread, two types of cheese, and some fruit was set out for them, in case they were hungry.
"'A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou,' " Erik muttered, quoting the famous Persian poem.
She kissed his neck as he set her gently on her feet. "Oh, Erik! This is perfect." Elizabeth sat before the fire and spread her skirt around her feet. It pooled on the floor, the satin fabric catching the glow of the light. She gazed at him with eager anticipation, and he thought his heart would burst with happiness at the sight he had only imagined in his dreams. His bride. His home. His hearth. The thought of it, the very sight of it, warmed him through and through.
Now that they were alone, Erik couldn't wait to get out of the formal suit of clothes he'd been forced to wear all day, and put on one of the galabeyas he had brought to wear when he was alone.
Elizabeth admired how he looked. "My very own desert sheik," she said, and was surprised when she saw him bring a box out from his trunk and hand it to her. It was rather large, of a size that would often contain something from the dressmaker's, and it was wrapped in simple brown paper and tied with string. "What's this?"
"Safa asked me to give this to you. I was only to present it to you…if we married."
"Do you know what is inside?"
"I have a hunch, but no—she didn't tell me."
Carefully, Elizabeth undid the wrapping and saw that the box was from Mme Thérèse Chrétien's Dress Shop in Luxor. Nestled inside the tissue paper, she found that Safa had sent traditional Nubian wedding garments – layer upon layer of delicate gauze fabric edged with tiny bells, coins, and spangles – along with a note that read,
My brother writes this note for me. I asked Master Erik to give this to you, as I know you and he are of one heart.
Elizabeth held up the colorful pieces of clothing. "They're…beautiful. And so exotic!"
Erik smiled at her. "Perhaps you'd care to try them on?"
"I'll be right back." She snatched up the box and headed to the bedroom. As eager as he was to please her, he always seemed to be holding back, as if he were afraid of hurting her. He was a powerful man, much stronger than Leo, and yet he had never been anything but gentle with her. As she dressed in the Arabic clothing, she wondered if she could entice Erik to drop his guard a little more, especially when making love. And so, she dressed like the Arab women she'd seen on their wedding days. She donned the undergarments, the robes and the headscarf of a native, and tied a braided cord around her waist, watching the tasseled ends sway as she walked across the room. With the freedom that the sandals allowed her, her stride became longer. She was glad to rid herself of the tight but proper Victorian boots. She felt weightless, freed as she was from the confines of layers of heavy clothing and tight laces.
When at last she peered into her looking glass, she hardly recognized herself. "I look like a feminine version of Erik," she thought. "It's perfect." She headed for the study. He'd be there, bent over the piano forte he'd bought for the cottage. Wherever they lived, he said, there must be music. When she returned a few minutes later, she was no longer the practical Egyptologist he'd first met in his shop in Luxor all those months ago. In her stead was a houri – a dark eyed beauty come down from Paradise to be with him.
He stood as she entered the room, making a low whistle in appreciation of her transformation.
A quick, feminine curtsey was his reward. "Erik, I have a confession to make."
"And what would that be?" He encircled her with his arms and kissed the top of her head.
"Do you remember, when we were on The Eye of Horus, and Safa told you I'd been troubled with bad dreams?"
"Yes."
"Well…it wasn't exactly a bad dream. I mean…" She fumbled for the right words. "I mean, the dream was about…"
"Yes?"
"About you and me. In Ancient Egypt. You…you were a pharaoh…and I was…"
Erik's eyebrows went up. "You were what?"
"Your queen."
"Ah…but you are—"
The next thing he knew, she was sitting in his lap, pulling furiously at his shirt. She kissed his miserable face again and again before finding his mouth and kissing him passionately. He pulled her to his chest and kissed her hard, letting go of all his inhibitions. He kissed her the way the French do, catching her by surprise. He stopped when he felt her go rigid.
She'd never felt anything this exciting. So, the teacher learns from the student. Her hands darted beneath his flowing galabeya and she pulled it away, baring his chest. She put her hands on him, feeling his nipples beneath her palms, and smiled when he arched his back, pushing against her. "That's it," she whispered. "Show me what feels good to you."
"Everything you do feels good," he sighed. "Elizabeth, we must stop this, or I'll—"
"You'll what? Do what I've been wanting you to do?"
"Temptress," he said with mock indignation. A sly smile crept over his face. "Who would have imagined that underneath the very prim, very proper façade, lay a wildcat in waiting?"
"This wildcat wants one man," she said, poking him in the chest. "And she wants him now."
"What am I to do with you?" He swatted her bottom playfully.
"Whatever you wish." She batted her eyes and clasped her hands together, pleading not entirely in jest.
"You are too much," he said, laughing.
"Sometimes, drastic measures are required. You, my darling husband, require them on a daily basis."
"Are you hinting that I am overly dramatic? After that performance you just gave?"
She wriggled against him, enjoying the feel of him beneath her and the power she had to make him forget about everything but her.
Encouraged by her boldness, he tasted the side of her neck, leaving faint teeth marks here and there. She grasped his hand and placed it on the side of her breast, and threw back her head when he responded with a moan.
"My God, woman," he muttered. "What you do to me--"
"Isn't half of what you do to me," she responded. She threw off her Nubian headpiece and shook out her long brown hair, letting it cascade over them both.
He threaded his long fingers in her hair and pushed it away from her face, tucking it behind her ears. He pulled her against his chest and whispered softly, so softly she barely heard him, "I want you. I'd stand up and carry you into the bedroom right now, but I can't get out of this damned chair."
She giggled like a schoolgirl. "I wonder how many a young woman's virtue has been saved by the English cozy chair."
"Remind me to redecorate," he growled, struggling to rise.
She lifted herself up to look down at his loose Arab robe. It was not hiding anything -- and he was naked underneath.
"That does it," he said. He lifted her up as easily as a child lifts a rag doll and stood, panting slightly, as he momentarily considered what to do with her first. He turned her in his arms until her legs dangled, holding her tight against him. She felt the length of him, pressed against his growing need, and kissed him again.
In two steps, she was against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on tight. He leaned into her as he kissed her, and let his hands wander as he if had no control over them at all. He touched her breasts, teasing the nipples, before letting one hand wander lower. He stopped and looked at her, surprised, when she parted her legs to allow him access.
"Your pants," he said slowly. "They're split!"
She chuckled. "This is how Arab women wear them. Clever girls. It makes things ever so much easier."
Looking deep into her eyes, he let his hand move slowly, ever so slowly, until it rested on her provocatively. She squirmed slightly, showing him that she liked it.
He explored her with his fingers as he closed his eyes and imagined what he was feeling…what it would feel like when…
His was more than strong enough to pin her down as he moved against her, but she arched her back and, responding to her signal, he twisted around until his back was against the wall. She opened her legs fully. His muscular thighs supported them both, as the weight of her settled on him.
His eyes opened wide when he realized how close they were to becoming one. "Elizabeth…"
"Shhh," she said. "Keep going." She was drunk with passion, her eyes heavy-lidded and full of fire.
He looked at her, astonished, not sure she knew what she was doing. This was wanton behavior on both their parts, but it felt…wonderful. He stopped thinking and did as she asked. He kept going.
"More," she sighed.
He lurched forward a few steps, staggering as the feel of being buried deep inside her threatened to make him lose control. Holding her as he walked, he felt the edge of the piano hit the back of his hands and set her down on the top, letting it support her weight. He bent her backwards as she spurred him on, the piano strings humming atonally as they made love.
"Yes," she cried. "That's it!"
Deep inside him, his muscles tightened. He was losing control. "Elizabeth," he said. "Elizabeth." He growled, making a low and feral sound that unhinged her.
"I…oh, god!" she cried, arching her back in ecstasy. "Erik!"
"Give yourself to me once more," he moaned. "You are mine, now and always, and I am yours." He joined her over the edge.
When he could move again, he straightened up and lifted her into his arms. Then, unable to walk, he settled on the floor with her in front of the piano while they caught their breath.
She put her perfect cheek to his marred one as she whispered into his ear. "That was amazing." She rose on one elbow and kissed him. "You were amazing."
"I was rough with you," Erik said. "I shouldn't have…right here…." He moved her hair away from her face again, tucking it behind her ear.
"Nonsense. Couldn't you tell how excited I was? Besides, I shan't break." She chuckled in a way that dismissed all his fears as she fixed her gaze upon him. The right side of his entire head was bright red with exertion, his scars standing out brazenly in the firelight. The hills and valleys of them ran with perspiration from his exertions.
He averted his eyes. He knew she was looking at his miserable excuse for a face. He closed his eyes tight, and a few tears escaped.
"What is it?" she asked, catching his tears with her fingertips. "What is the matter?"
"Elizabeth," he said, with ominous seriousness. "There's something I've…." He stopped.
"Yes, love?"
He scooped her into his arms and looked down the hallway with fixed determination. "We'll continue this in the bedroom. We'll be much more comfortable there."
"Erik, anywhere you want to go, I will go too."
"Well, that is good to know. I wasn't planning to leave you in here, freshly ravished, while I go to the bedroom alone."
"You may ravish me whenever you wish."
"Good, because I intend to start now."
Her laughter filled the room, and it filled his heart. No more talk of sadness, he thought. I have what I've always wanted.
"I love you, Erik," Elizabeth said, as he laid her down on his soft bed.
He undressed her slowly, taking his time. Curiosity was greater than his lust, and he delighted in learning all the warm, unspoken secrets that had been denied him before Elizabeth came into his life.
"I love you, too," he responded, as he settled next to her. "With all my heart." Erik threw a leg across Elizabeth as he pulled her closer to him. He breathed deeply, inhaling her sweet scent as he held her in an iron-tight grip. A contented smile played across his lips, revealing that he was not quite asleep. He'd never felt more relaxed nor happier. He felt soft, unguarded…peaceful.
She stroked his shoulder, delighting in the soft, perfect skin beneath her fingers. Down, down moved her hand, exploring gently each of his curves and muscles, until it came to rest at the small of his back. The contrast of the smoothness and the hardness of him made her bold. There was much more to learn about this man – her man – endless explorations and revelations that she would delight in discovering. This man -- her husband – was worth the effort. She pulled him towards her, indicating her willingness. Her desire.
Beneath a shock of sandy hair, he looked at her askance. His vivid green eyes feigned surprise. "Again?" he teased -- but his body gave him away. He wanted her. Erik took to his nuptial bliss with abandon. At first hesitant and afraid of disappointing her in any way, his own instincts had taken over and provided them both with a profound understanding of the joys of the flesh. Several times, in fact. Exhausted and sated, they'd collapsed in each other's arms and fallen asleep, contented in the knowledge that their love was finally, at last, irrevocably confirmed.
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