He grumbled Gaelic swear words under his breath as he mopped the sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. After the dry coolness of China, and the humid warmth of Mexico, the dry heat of the Giza Port in Cairo was not the least bit pleasant. "It's damn hot here, Cathy."
Catherine looked at him with a teasing smile on her face. "I'm surprised to hear that coming from your mouth, after the time we spent in the jungle."
"Well at least it was wet. This is dry, and it doesn't feel very comfortable." He glanced over his shoulder, and watched as a group of men unloaded their luggage and the crates of artifacts that Catherine intended to give as presents to her friend, Evelyn Carnahan-O'Connell. Surprisingly, the crates outnumbered the luggage - that was something a little odd, given that he was traveling with a woman, and the heir to her father's title, at that.
Then again, Catherine Ashlar did not, in any way, fit in the mold of the typical British aristocrat. She preferred wearing trousers and shirts as opposed to the fancy confections that Andrew had seen some women wear in London. She preferred to go digging for ruins or hacking her way through the jungle in search of them, rather than sitting at home and having tea with high society.
Neither was she a traditional beauty. She was considered far too tall for the conventions of the British aristocracy. She also had none of the soft lushness that was appreciated in women: she often appeared to be too gangly, too skinny, too long-limbed. Whatever she had by way of breasts and hips was minimal, further adding to her gangly image.
The only thing that people considered beautiful about her was her face. Her striking gray eyes - something she had inherited from her father - were quite large, and framed thickly by long, black lashes. Her nose was fine and elegant, and gave sharpness to her features, which would have been judged far too soft because of her eyes and her lovely lips.
Catherine moved to stand beside him then, her hands resting comfortably on her hips as she watched the carriers unload the crates. "We can't bring all of these with us to the hotel," she said quietly. "Maybe we ought to just go straight to Evie's house, leave the crates there, and then go to the hotel."
Andrew stared at her. "You cannot be thinking of doing that, Cathy. You can't just drop by without warning your friend!"
Catherine shook her head, and waved her hand. "Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if I dropped by without informing her first. She knows that I'd be visiting anytime this month." She grinned wickedly. "And besides, I want to surprise her."
Andrew was about to argue the wisdom of such a move, when a loud noise came from somewhere further down the road. He turned to look, and blinked.
A rather skinny man who looked like he was in his mid-thirties was being accosted by a group of men burly-looking and gun-toting men, and it looked like they were very, very angry.
"I told you already: I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about!" The skinny man looked around, as if trying to see if anyone would help him, but apparently, no one would.
The leader of the gang - a heavy-set fellow who seemed to be all shoulders and no neck - snarled at the skinny man. "Stop lying, you filthy little weasel! I know you have it on you!"
Andrew rolled his eyes, shaking his head. The scenario was nothing new to him; he had seen it happen all the time, in many different places - and usually, it ended up with the thief, innocent or otherwise being pummeled to the ground.
But what surprised him to no end was that Catherine was striding her way towards the commotion, pulling her hat low over her face as she did so.
His jaw dropped as he watched her. What in hell's name did she think she was doing?! Didn't she know just what sort of trouble she was getting herself into? It was as if she hadn't learned anything at all from her experience in Shanghai, when he first met her.
"I think it would be a good idea for you gentlemen to leave him alone."
Andrew snapped back to reality. Catherine had placed herself between the skinny man and the bigger ones. If he ever thought Catherine was insane, this certainly confirmed his suspicions! Why was she protecting a total stranger?
The skinny man seemed to gasp, and then he uttered a name. "Cathy!"
Andrew blinked. This man knew Catherine?
Catherine looked over her shoulder at the man, a wry grin spreading on her face. "Gotten yourself into another fine mess, haven't you, Jon?"
Now things were getting very confusing. Catherine knew this man - Jon, as she had called him - and he knew her as well? But Catherine had never mentioned someone named Jon to him before...
"Out of the way, girl," snarled the large man, and his hand shot out to grab Catherine by the collar and toss her out of the way. But she smoothly dodged, and the man tripped over himself, his body thrown forward by the momentum of his movement.
Andrew strode over to stand beside Catherine. He gave her a stern look. "Since when did you decide to play the hero?"
"Since I realized that this was my friend." Catherine gestured to the skinny man behind her. "This is Jonathan Carnahan, Evie's brother. I don't know what sort of trouble he's gotten himself into, but I know that I have to get him out of it."
"What if he deserves to get into trouble?"
Catherine opened her mouth to argue, but the bright steel of a sword blade cut right between her and Andrew.
Andrew swore loudly, but instinct and training took hold. He lashed out with his right arm, catching the sword-user's arm above the elbow, thus immobilizing him to a certain extent. Hooking his feet behind his opponent's ankles, he sent the large man crashing down to the ground, dislocating his sword arm in the process.
Straightening up, he turned around to look for Catherine, but she was nowhere to be found. A thread of panic wended its way through him, tightening its noose around his throat.
"Cathy!"
Catherine ran through the narrow streets and alleyways of the town that had sprouted up around the Giza port, taking random turns in the hopes that she would be able to lose the idiots who were chasing her and Jonathan.
She glanced at her companion, who seemed more than glad to get away from his assailants. "Just what did you take from them, Jonathan?"
Jonathan chuckled nervously. "Ah, well, let's just say that it's something quite valuable to me."
"It was something that belonged to Evie, and then you lost it in a bet, so now you have used your dubious charms to get it back."
Jonathan blinked. "How did you know?"
"I didn't." She halted then, and looked around. They had reached an intersection, and she could either go left or right. "Which way should we go?"
Jonathan looked left, then right, and then left again. "Erm... Maybe we should go left."
Catherine nodded, and the two of them started running down the left-hand alley. But, as she turned round the next corner, she collided painfully with one of the thugs that had been chasing her and Jonathan.
With a screech she landed on the ground, knocking Jonathan down with her. She cursed her reflexes and her senses, knowing that she should have been faster in reacting, rather than running smack into their pursuers. Moreover she cursed herself for not bringing her swords with her the moment she and Andrew had disembarked from the ship. The Giza Port was not exactly the safest place in the world, especially for foreigners, and she knew she should have had enough common sense to remember that and bring at least one of her swords with her when they got off the ship.
She glared up at the thug as he drew a dagger from his belt, leering maliciously at her. "Well, well, well! Not only do we catch the weasel, but we get a vixen too!" He licked his lips as he raked his gaze up and down her body, and Catherine would have loved nothing more than to kick him in his groin, but she couldn't exactly do that in this narrow alley, where it would be easy for her assailant to knock her down again.
"If you so much as breathe on me I'll make you regret it," she muttered, glaring ferociously up at the thug.
The man let out a loud, disgusting laugh. He said something in Arabic that Catherine knew in her bones was not very pleasant, and then he said, in English: "But even if you are as skinny as a twig, you have a pretty face, and that is enough." So saying, he reached his grubby hand out towards her.
She then heard a loud whooshing sound, a sound that Catherine recognized as something very, very sharp moving through the air at high speeds. She flattened herself against the ground, noting that Jonathan had done the same, and heard someone scream in pain. Before she had time to look up, she felt strong fingers grasp her by her elbow, and lift her up from the dusty ground.
"What in the-" She was about to demand whoever it was had pulled her up to let her go, but her words died on her tongue when she gazed into twin dark, smoldering pools.
Whatever anger she had felt at the insult of being hauled to her feet like a sack of corn meal melted away when she looked into what she now believed were the most incredible eyes she had ever seen. "Who are you?" she asked softly.
"I am afraid that we do not have time for introductions right now. We must hurry and make our escape before the others come." The voice that spoke those words was deep, almost sensual in the way that they were accented and cadenced. If warm honey could be made into a voice, she was sure that it would sound like this.
And then it suddenly dawned on her: the accent was Arabic, meaning that this man was an Arab. The sharp realization of that fact made her want to get away from him. She struggled against his firm grasp, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but near him. "Let me go!"
All of a sudden, Jonathan appeared at the strange Arab's side. "Don't worry Cathy, Ardeth's a friend. We can trust him."
Catherine blinked. Ardeth? Hadn't Evie mentioned that name somewhere in her letters?
A gunshot rang out from nearby. The man who was still holding her arm in a death grip tugged her forward, insistent enough to make her know his intentions, but not enough to make her fall forward. "Come! We must hurry!"
Catherine nodded at the promptings, and ran, being tugged this way and that by the man Jonathan had called Ardeth, since the fellow hadn't yet let go of her arm.
And then, she remembered Andrew. "Wait!" she cried as she tugged against Ardeth's grip. "I have to go back! I have to go get my friend!"
"There is no time!" Ardeth hissed at her as he tugged her more forcefully.
"But I can't just leave him there!" Catherine pulled against him again, knowing that she was probably getting bruises already, and not caring in the least.
Ardeth's eyes flickered with irritation, and Catherine sensed that his patience was beginning to run thin. "Is this Andrew a very tall man with green eyes and a strange accent?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then you need not worry; he will be alright." He pulled her again, and this time, his actions and the tone of his voice showed that he would brook no argument from her.
The three of them emerged on what seemed to be another end of the port town, and she spotted a taxi waiting for them there. Before she could do anything, she was pushed into the back seat of the taxi, and Jonathan shoved in next to her. Ardeth spoke rapidly in Arabic to the driver, hearing the name "O'Connell" spoken in there somewhere. The driver nodded, and when Ardeth had moved away from the taxi he stepped on the gas pedal and was off in a flash.
Indignant at the way she had been unceremoniously pushed into the car, worried about Andrew, and very much in pain from the handling she had received, she twisted around in her seat to give that arrogant bastard a piece of her mind - only to find that Ardeth was no longer there.
Huffing, she straightened in her seat, and glanced at Jonathan, who only smiled wanly at her, and shrugged. "Welcome to Egypt, Cathy."