Author's Note: My longest Author's Note ever, I think – I'll say it now – I've never written for this fandom, but I've loved the character Ardeth since the first movie, which came out when I was in my late 20s (yes, I'm old! OK, middle-aged). I'm also insanely busy with my daughter's virtual school, my full-time work from home job, part-time graduate school, and other commitments I'm probably forgetting about. I also have a few open WIPs for Star Wars.
But the world sucks right now, and I was re-watching the first movie and then the second, and I want something to think about that takes me away from it. Updates won't be regular or frequent (well, they may come out faster at first and then slow down).
And yes, there's a "Mary Sue," because Ardeth deserves to have more to do than glower attractively while killing bad guys. There's a lot of set up here – it won't necessarily follow some of the more typical Ardeth/OCs, because I will not track the first movie much, though the second one will come into play a lot more.
Fair warning – this chapter is largely the OCs. But Ardeth and Evy both appear. From here on out there will be more of the usual suspects, but this is the set up for the OC, who I want to actually have some personality and depth.
Disclaimer per usual – I do not own The Mummy; just a fan with an idea. No profit here, just fun for me.
The University of Oxford, England, September 1922
"Miss Carnahan, do you have a moment?" Layla Gamal Easton rushes across the courtyard outside the school of Archeology, the humidity brought on by cool fall rain earlier in the day making her long, curly black hair fall from its loose bun in near ringlet curls around her olive-toned face.
The woman she is chasing is one of the only other women she's encountered studying archeology, and Layla wants to talk to her. She has heard stories about Evelyn Carnahan for a couple of years now, the young woman as obsessed with Egypt at Layla herself is. She also knows they both have a similar background in some ways, the least of which being that they both had Egyptian mothers, and they also met before, years ago.
Layla's father was an American doctor who was also a restless sort, exploring the world, lucky to be the only heir to a wealthy family from western Pennsylvania, a fortune made in the steel industry behind him. When both of his parents were killed in an accident shortly after his graduation from medical school, her father had started traveling, offering medical care to small communities around the globe, almost unheard of back in the late 19th century.
It was on one of those trips, this one to Cairo, when her father met her mother. According to Jacob Easton, he'd fallen in love at first sight with the beautiful young Egyptian woman, her mother, Zahra Gamal, at first sight. They'd married and settled in Cairo in time for Layla's birth in 1899, but Layla never met her mother, who died giving birth to her.
They'd stayed there in Cairo until Layla was eight, a nanny, Aziza Bay, helping her father with the child he'd never imagined he'd have to raise on his own. By the time Layla was six, she could speak English, French, Arabic, and a fair number of Ancient Egyptian dialects. She spent as much time as she could in libraries and museums, and she was able to read hieroglyphics with startling accuracy. Layla had met both Evy and Jonathan Carnahan at a small school in Cairo, but Layla hasn't seen either of them in nearly fifteen years.
When she was eight, her nanny had needed to return home to her people, a desert tribe that she'd told Layla stories of but never named. She'd only met Aziza's family a few times, odd, quiet encounters in the museum or at a market.
She doesn't remember much about those meetings except the black robes worn by the men, the fascinating tattoos on their faces, and the young boy, no more than a year older than Layla herself, peeking out from behind a man Layla guessed was his father. The boy was clearly not afraid, just quiet and respectful, his soft brown eyes meeting hers with a mix of kindness and curiosity in his gaze.
With Aziza's departure, Jacob Easton packed up their suitcases. They'd spent the next eight years traveling. Her father became her teacher, and she saw the world. When she was a young teenager, they'd spent nearly two of those years in the far East, in southern Japan, and Layla learned to speak Japanese and also to defend herself. Her father had been adamant, and she'd learned various martial arts, including being trained in a new developing style that her Sensei referred to as Aikido.
Her father also taught her how to shoot, use a knife effectively, and even to fence. She regrets never asking him why he was able to use the knife in particular. When Layla was 16, they'd returned to Cairo, as her father had begun to have health issues. He'd passed away suddenly, his heart failing. He left Layla an orphan, certainly wealthy, but completely alone save an elderly aunt in Pittsburgh.
In her sadness, she'd needed a new focus. She'd argued and tested her way into one of the few spots available to women at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, where she just completed her double advanced degrees in Archeology and History. Her intention is to return to Cairo, to work at the museum if she can, and she knows that Evelyn Carnahan has similar aspirations, though Evelyn is a few years behind Layla in age and in education, as Evelyn is probably 19 while Layla is 23.
Evelyn doesn't turn the first time Layla calls to her, so she tries again. "Miss Carnahan, Evy, do you have a moment?"
At the diminutive of her name, Evelyn turns, clearly ready to chastise whoever it is who used such a familiar name. Before she can speak, though, her eyes widen in surprise, her head tilting to the side as she stares at Layla. They are attired in decidedly different ways. Evelyn is dressed primly, a demure blouse and mid-calf skirt with a feminine jacket in soft pastels, and proper heels.
Layla is in attire that is similarly proper but a far more modern, a black pleated skirt that goes only to her knees, black, nearly-flat slipper shoes, and a v-necked, long cream sweater that is more of a tunic covered with a black fringed shawl. Instead of traditional pearls, Layla wears a few short gold necklaces as well as a longer gold chain with a gold charm given to her by Aziza with a promise that it would keep her safe and make her recognizable to Aziza's people. With her heels and superior height, probably 5'6" to Layla's deceptively slight 5'4" (deceptive in that she's more muscular and fit than most women), Evelyn looks down to meet Layla's eyes as she approaches.
Evelyn says, "Do I know you? I believe I recognize you, but I cannot recall from where."
Layla nods, shifting the large canvas bag she carries with her books and notes in it. "Yes. We met in Cairo years ago, when we were children."
Before Layla can go on, Evelyn brightens and smiles. "Layla! It's the eyes, such a brilliant green. You were older than I was, but I remember your eyes. My older brother Jonathan had quite the crush on you, according to my father."
"Yes! Layla Easton, Miss Carnahan. I'm so glad you remember." Layla smiles back at her. She ignores the comment about Jonathan. She's heard stories about him as well, much more negative, but not so bad that she's concerned.
Evelyn shakes her head. "Please, it's Evy."
Layla smiles again, but she notices that Evy shivers as a stiff breeze blows through the open courtyard. "Evy, would you like to come to my flat for tea? Are you finished with classes for the day?"
"That would be lovely. September seems colder than usual this year." Evy nods and follows as Layla motions in the direction of the small, shared house where she has a flat.
"I'm afraid it's a bit of a walk. I was only able to find it because the owner's tenant took a new position in America. He and I traded apartments, flats. His at Cornell in New York." Layla explains.
Evy shakes her head. "That's quite alright, I don't mind the walk. Cornell? Is that where you studied first?"
Layla nods. "Yes. I'm here to do a graduate capstone of sorts. I published my dissertation in May. This isn't that cold to me, to be honest. Ithaca, New York is lovely much of the year, but the winter there can be brutal, deep snow and very cold."
Evy shivers again. "I cannot imagine. Beastly cold and all those Americans." She blinks then. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Your father is from America, isn't he?"
Layla frowns slightly. "No offense taken, Evy. And yes, my father's family was from western Pennsylvania. He was born outside of Pittsburgh." She catches Evy's eye. "He died in '15. The doctors told me that his heart failed. We were back in Cairo."
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Layla. I remember those startling green eyes of his, so much like yours." Evy looks sad for a moment. "My parents have passed as well. Jonathan is already back in Cairo. I hope to be there in less than two years. I am hoping to go to work for the museum or the library, to gain admission to the Bembridge Scholars."
Layla snorts derisively, and Evy looks shocked. "Sorry, I mean no real disrespect. Those men may have a lot of information, but they lack true passion and empathy, in my opinion. They study Egypt as if it's a bug under a glass. As someone half-Egyptian, it's more than a little offensive. I dealt with the same challenges with my professors at Cornell, though I had to hold my tongue. Now that I have my degree, I'm admittedly less measured."
Evy sighs, nodding. "But they are the best way for me to study as I'd like to. Scholarly pursuits are all I have known. England, Cairo, schools; my experience is limited to those things. If I can establish myself with them, I might find opportunities beyond what is available now."
"I do understand, Evy. And I sincerely meant no offense." They arrive at Layla's home, and she guides Evy into the small flat on the lower level. There is already a fire in the grate, and the room is comfortingly warm.
"How is the fire already lit?" Evy looks enchanted by the small, charming space. There are drawings of Egyptian monuments all around as well as multiple photographs.
Layla puts her bags down and hangs up her shawl, taking Evy's jacket and hanging it up as well. "My neighbor, Mrs. Ashby. She's a widow, no children, and she makes sure that the tenant here, usually a student, is looked after. It's rather nice."
"That's lovely. The room where I stay always seems so cold." Evy makes a face.
With a light laugh, Layla says, "Well, I have a comfy sofa there," she points to the living room, "And I'll get you a key. Anytime it's too cold, come here to sleep or study. I don't mind at all. As much as I'm used to the cold, I don't like it when I get cold."
"Thank you so much, Layla. I'll likely take you up on that." Evy looks a little embarrassed. "But you don't have to do that."
Layla reaches out and squeezes Evy's shoulder. "Nonsense. No one should have to suffer to no reasonable end or purpose. And we women Egyptologists need to stick together, right?" Evy gives her a grateful smile, nodding. "Now make yourself at home."
Layla goes to her small kitchen to make the tea, and after setting the kettle on the stove to boil, she walks back over to Evy, who has kicked off her heels and is closely examining a photo of Layla and he Sensei in Japan. "That is my Sensei, my martial arts instructor and guide, in Tanabe, in the south of Japan. My father engaged him to teach me self defense when we were there providing medical care in some of the poorer villages."
"Self defense?" Evy looks shocked again. "Why?"
Layla shrugs, going back to the kitchen to pour the hot water over the tea leaves in the small pot. She brings it on a tray to the dining table with some sugar and milk. As Evy sits, Layla explains, "When we traveled, my father wanted to be sure I was safe. In addition to Egypt, we spent time in several countries in Europe, in America, Brazil, Mexico, Japan, India, Turkey, and Australia. He never wanted me unable to take care of myself. I can use a gun and a knife, as well."
"Oh my." Evy takes a sip of her tea. "I cannot even imagine. I don't think I could ever do anything like that!"
Layla smiles and shrugs again. "It's somewhat second nature now. Maybe you'll surprise yourself one day."
X
One Year Later, Cairo, 1923
Nervously smoothing down the colorful, tailored tunic she wears over fitted pants, Layla pulls the scarf from her hair and lets it rest around her neck. She peers around the museum as she walks, thinking that she's finally home.
"Dr. Bey?" Layla knocks on the doorframe of the Assistant Curator, rumored to soon be named Curator, of the Museum of Antiquities in Cairo. She just arrived back in Cairo after her year at Oxford where she completed a doctorate, one of the first women to ever do so. She spent the first week airing out the house she and her father shared here. It's near the museum, relatively small but well-appointed. She'd had caretakers looking after it for the last several years, and they live in a small apartment at the back of the house.
The man looks up from what appears to be a translation. "Yes? How can I assist you, Miss?"
Layla comes into the office. "We had an appointment, Dr. Bey. I'm Dr. Layla Easton, just arrived from Cornell by way of England?"
His eyes widen, and he stands and motions to the chair in front of his desk. "Dr. Easton! I must apologize. Your cables didn't mention that you are," he pauses.
Layla quirks a smile and sits. As Dr. Bey retakes his seat, Layla supplies, "A woman? No, I did not disclose that for fear that you would refuse the meeting. I apologize for not being completely direct."
Surprising her, the man shakes his head. "Your research is impeccable, Doctor, so I cannot be angry. And in fairness, you are likely correct. Now, are you certain you wish to join our excavations teams? They are made up of men with just a few female assistants."
She sits up straight in her chair. "I do, sir. I have some field work experience, but it's limited. I feel I should have to prove myself in the field as well as I have in the library and with a typewriter."
"I've read your papers. I'm not surprised that you're here outside of Bembridge projects. Your concern for the sanctity of sites and integrity of projects is admirable and refreshing." Dr. Bey sighs. "I wish more young Egyptologists were the same."
"This is the land of my mother, Dr. Bey, and I spent more than half of my childhood here in Cairo. Not only was my mother Egyptian, but an Egyptian woman helped to raise me. She was from one of the desert tribes." She looks at Dr. Bey, and she can see that he is interested. "Her name is similar to yours, Bay, but spelled B-A-Y. Aziza."
The man's eyes widen. "You know Aziza Bay?"
"Yes. She was my nanny, and my father also taught her a lot of western medicine." She blinks. "Do you know her? Is she still alive?"
"Yes and yes, Dr. Easton. She is quite well. My family is from a neighboring tribe to hers. I can get her a message if you like." Dr. Bey eyes her. "Many of us were surprised when Aziza took what was considered to be an inferior role in a Cairo household. She'd been learning medicine, but I heard that she'd attended the birth of a girl where the mother perished, then didn't return for over eight years."
Layla swallows hard. "That was me. My mother, Zahra Gamal, died in childbirth."
"Ah. Ana aasef giddan." Layla blinks and nods, surprised that he simply expressed a sincere apology as opposed to the comment that things were as Allah willed it that she usually receives. He eyes her, and he seems to notice something. "Where did you get your necklace?"
Layla grips the charm on her long chain. "This one?" At his nod, she says, "It was a gift from Aziza when she went home. She told me it would keep me safe and make me recognizable to her people. She gave it to me, told me, 'Allahu Ma'ana,' and left." She smiles sadly. "I know that means God is with us, but it has been hard to remember that at times."
"She was right." Dr. Bey responds. At Layla's questioning look, he says, "God is with you, Dr. Easton, but I also recognize you and the protection Aziza wished for you, though you might not. I'll speak with the tribal Chieftain about finding you a guard for your expeditions."
With a frown, Layla protests, "That will not be needed, Dr. Bey."
"Aziza would have my head if I failed in this." Dr. Bey is clearly going to stand his ground.
"Then I'd like to speak with her. I'd like to anyway, but I certainly am not going to tolerate being watched over like a child. It's not needed and is a bit insulting, sir." Layla stands.
Dr. Bey stands as well, his hands raised in a placating manner. "Please, Dr. Bey. She is the aunt of our new Tribal Chieftain. I fear her wrath far more than yours or even our Chieftain's, but I do understand. Let me contact her, and you can take this up directly with her. It will take a few days, but the next expedition, the one you'll likely join, doesn't leave for at least two weeks."
Layla nods begrudgingly. "All right. Please let me know when she arrives."
"She'll likely come to you, if you live where you did before." Dr. Bey shrugs. "Do you?"
"I do. My father never had the heart to sell it before he died, and I didn't either. When I'm not here, that's usually where I will be." Layla turns to leave, but then looks back. "Is she truly well?"
The man's gaze softens. "She is. Getting older, but feisty and amusing. She is uniquely independent amongst the women of our tribes. She has spoken of her little lily quite often. I'm thinking that was you."
"It was." Layla meets his eyes. "I look forward to seeing her again. Shukraan, Dr. Bey."
"You're welcome, Dr. Easton. Allahu Ma'ana." He inclines his head.
"Allahu Ma'ana." Layla leaves, her mind swirling with everything that was just said.
Three days later, Layla is busily making sure her house is spotless, guessing that Aziza might appear at any time, at least based on what Dr. Bey told her. She has used the time to read up on the expedition she'll be joining and to buy suitable clothing for a dig in the desert, more comfortable tunics, split down the sides for easy movement on a dig but also for easy movement if she has to defend herself. She did buy heavy boots, heavier pants that will not tear if she kneels in them to dig, and more scarves for her hair.
She's not a practicing Muslim, but she does cover her hair out of respect. Her father used to acknowledge that, especially after the death of Zahra, his relationship with God was fraught. Layla has similar feelings, only amplified by the death of her father.
Today, she's in a more comfortable outfit, a fitted top and loose harem pants with simple flat shoes and a scarf that can act as a head covering or a wrap if needed, and her necklace is in place as always. She is placing a book on a shelf when there is a brisk knock at her door. She goes to the front of the house, peering through the window at the side of the door seeing a woman flanked by a large man in dark robes with a head covering down over his forehead and a scarf across his nose and mouth.
Ignoring the man, she lets go of a happy squeak, quite uncharacteristic for her, and she throws the door open. "Aziza!"
In moments, Layla is wrapped up in a powerful hug, a hug she remembers and that brings surprising tears to her eyes. The woman who holds her murmurs quietly, "There, there, my little lily. I'm am so grateful to Allah to see you again." Aziza was always taller than Layla, and she remains so, tall for a woman, still dwarfing Layla by four or five inches.
Layla nods against her shoulder before pulling back, gazing at her former nanny. Other than some silver in her long black hair and a few laugh-related creases around her eyes, she is happy to see that she hasn't changed much at all in all these years. "And I am so grateful to see you as well, Mama Aziza."
She frowns when she sees the darkly clothed man behind them tense, his hand already on his sword. Aziza notices, too. She clucks at the man, much to Layla's surprise. He's taller than both of them by far, probably between 6'1" and 6'2, and his dark clothes and weapons make him seem menacing. But Aziza certainly isn't cowed by him. She shakes a finger at him and bats his hand off of his sword. "Ardeth Bay, what possesses you to behave in such a way. I'll make you leave that sword outside if you touch it again."
Layla can't help but giggle softly when the man rolls his eyes and shakes his head, motioning to the door. "We should go inside." His deep voice in perfect English surprises Layla, and she scolds herself for that. She knows far better than to make assumptions.
She shows them inside, and as she closes the door, she's shocked when she turns to see Aziza reach up and pull the man's scarf down and knock his head covering off. "Ardeth, you are inside the home of a proper western lady. You should remove those things."
He rolls his eyes again, fully pulling off the head covering and scarf and laying them on a bench by the door. "Aunt Aziza, I was about to."
"Pfft," Aziza dismisses him with a wave of her hand, making Layla laugh again. Then she blinks in surprise when Aziza says, "I remember where the kitchen is. I'll make tea. Little lily, show Ardeth the courtyard. You may have to prove some things to us both."
Before Layla can reply, the woman bustles out, leaving her alone with the man she referred to as Ardeth. After an awkward moment, she looks at him. "Well, all right then." She smiles hesitantly. "I'm Layla, Dr. Layla Gamal Easton."
"Ardeth Bay," the man replies, bowing slightly at the waist. "It's good to meet the girl who my aunt claims as her only child."
Layla feels warmth at the thought, but then she frowns, her shoulders stiffening. "Woman, Mr. Bay."
"I'm sorry?" He looks confused.
"I am a woman, Mr. Bay, not a girl. Given that I'd guess you're not much older than I am, unless you'd like me to refer to you as a boy, I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from classifying me as a 'girl.'" She tips her head. "The courtyard is this way. Please follow me."
When they reach the door to the courtyard, he catches up with her, putting his hand on the handle before she can. "Please, my apologies, Dr. Easton. To Aziza, you are still a child, and that is how she refers to you. That is what was in my mind. I meant no disrespect." He lifts an eyebrow, obviously thinking for a moment. "I remember you. From the museum and the markets with Aziza when she'd meet with my father, the last Chieftain of the Medjai."
She furrows her brow, then she breaks into a soft look. "The boy with the curious and kind brown eyes."
His look mirrors hers. "And the girl with the breathtaking green."
Layla sighs, her shoulders dropping, all the tension draining out of her. "I certainly accept your apology, but I won't say it's fine, Mr. Bay. It's something I encounter far too often in my chosen field. I'd prefer not to encounter it in my own home." She peers up at him. "But I know it was innocently spoken. I should now apologize for overreacting."
"Ardeth, please, Dr. Easton." He nods and opens the door for her and motions her through.
She sees his words for the olive branch that they are. As she passes him, she softly says, "Layla, Ardeth. You may call me Layla."
As they step outside, neither of them see Aziza watching from the door to the kitchen, a pleased look on her face. She'd known almost twenty years ago about these two. She'd seen them watch each other as children, the quiet, smart girl and the headstrong but well-meaning boy who would write her and ask after the green-eyed girl after seeing her in the market the first time.
Her nephew worries the Council greatly, being nearly twenty-six and not even having considered courting any of the many eligible young women among the Medjai. It occurs to her that it might not be too long before the grumpy old men of the Council can quit their worrying.
X
Layla has to take a deep breath as she leads Ardeth to a table under a covered awning in the courtyard. She's never been truly shaken by a man before, but Ardeth Bay seems to have taken her by storm. She feels nervous and unbalanced as she sits, and she scolds herself for wondering if his hair, similar to hers, just shoulder-length instead of mid-back, is as soft as it looks.
Ardeth sits relatively near her under the awning, leaving ample space for Aziza to join them. After a moment, he says, "I don't mean any disrespect by saying this, Layla, but I am surprised that you are alone here. Your father was willing to let you return to Cairo unguarded?"
Layla sighs, trying not to be defensive. "My father died when I was 16, Ardeth. I'm 24 now. I've been just fine unguarded for quite some time now."
"No husband? No other family?" He presses.
She looks sharply at him, but she sees only curiosity and concern, no judgement. "My only living relative is a very elderly aunt in Pittsburgh, in America, who was determined that I not attend college or pursue my career. Luckily, the trust fund from my father paid for my education easily. And no, no husband. The only type of man interested in me when I was at Cornell and then Oxford was the type who assumed that a woman in a man's world wasn't a woman of character or morals. They pursued me with a single goal in mind. So, I have remained steadfastly single rather than dealing with men who would try to take liberties."
"I am glad to see that it does not seem to worry you, Layla, as those men showed you their own lack of character with their disrespectful pursuit." He frowns. "I hope none of those pigs harmed you in their pursuit of those liberties."
She smirks and catches his eye. "Some tried. Little did they know that Jacob Easton was very diligent in making sure his daughter could take care of herself."
A tray drops to the tabletop, making them both jump. "A wise man, the elder Dr. Easton was. I was sorry to hear of his passing, little lily. Your father was a good man."
"The best," Layla agrees. "I miss him every day, but I am glad to be back here, where I feel his presence more than anywhere else. He loved Egypt greatly, Mama Aziza."
"I know, little lily. But he also asked that I always protect you, reminded me of the vow I made to him before his passing." She pours tea for Layla, herself, and Ardeth.
"Vow?" Layla looks confused.
"Before I finally heeded my brother's, Ardeth's father's call to return to the desert to train the healers of our tribes, I promised your father that the Medjai would always protect you if you were in Egypt. He wrote to me before his death to remind me." She levels a look at Layla. "So, when I heard from Dr. Bey at the museum, I realized that your father never shared that with you."
"Mama Aziza, I can manage just fine on my own." Layla protests. "I do not need a guard, no matter what you and Dr. Bey seem to believe."
"I've spoken with Ardeth, now the Chieftain, and he agrees with us, not you." Aziza shrugs.
Layla glares at him, and he returns the look with no hesitation. "I do. Layla, this country is a dangerous place if you are unprepared."
She stands, dropping her scarf and tucking her necklaces into her tunic. She tightens her braided hair and walks to the center of the courtyard. Aziza and Ardeth both watch her, confused looks on their faces. "Come on then, mighty Chieftain. I'll show you how prepared I am."
He stands and approaches her, shaking his head. She drops into what might seem to be a defensive stance. He holds out a hand, clearly thinking she's a bit mad. She reaches out, lightning fast, and grips his wrist, spinning and using his own bodyweight as leverage to spin him away from her, pushing him as she releases him. He lands rather unceremoniously on his rear. Layla drops back into her defensive stance as Aziza laughs loudly.
Ardeth eyes her for a moment, assessing her stance. Then he gives a quick nod and rears back, leaping easily to his feet, fluidly removing his sword in its sheath and placing it to the side. He then centers himself and comes at her. She deflects all of his strikes, and even though he lands a blow to her shoulder, she spins and lands a kick to his back before spinning away. When they both reset to a ready stance, they exchange a look, and something warm bubbles in her chest when he growls, "Again."
Half an hour later, they are sweaty, aching, and tired, both sporting new bruises. Aziza claps her hands. "Enough for now, you two." She walks over to them. "I have a thought. Ardeth, you left your men in command, did you not? Told them this might take a fortnight?"
Ardeth has to catch his breath before picking up his sword and responding, "Yes, because that is what you asked of me, Aunt."
"Good. We both have bags on our horses, and they are in the stables," she says to Layla, "We'll stay with you, and Ardeth can work with you to be sure you're ready for your expedition. We'll stay the fortnight. Is my old room still open, little lily? Ardeth can sleep in yours, as I assume you've moved to the largest one."
Unable to say anything else due to her surprise, Layla shakes her head. "No, I'm in my old room. I could not bear to move into Father's room. Ardeth can have that one. It's more proper, as it is to the far side of the stairs from you and me."
"Perfect." Aziza nods, then looks at Ardeth. "I'll go fetch our bags. You help little lily take the tea things in, Ardeth."
Before either of them can argue with her, Aziza goes inside, chuckling. She exchanges an awkward glance with Ardeth, then goes back to the table, putting the tea things on the tray. She's about to lift the tray, but she nearly jumps a foot when she feels a warm palm on her shoulder.
She turns, and Ardeth is there, towering over her, and he gently wraps her scarf around her neck. "I'm sorry for Aziza. I can talk to her tonight if you don't want us here. But I can train you. You're very good, and you even have some moves that I'd like you to show me. I cannot stay longer than the fortnight, but at the end of that time, I know both Aziza and I will be able to rest well with you on your own."
Before Layla can reply, he goes on, "It would be best to not have to send one of my men with you. There are rumors about that a group of soldiers march this way from Libya to try to loot one of our most sacred sites, and as Medjai, it is our responsibility to stop them. But they are not expected to arrive at," he pauses, "At the site until at least three weeks from now. So, I have the time. Will you allow this, Layla Gamal Easton?"
"I'll allow this, Ardeth Bay." She scolds herself mentally when she realizes how flirtatious that sounded.
He seems unfazed, but a glint in his eye makes her think that her flirtation was effective. He looks her up and down appraisingly, managing to not seem lascivious. "You are stronger than you appear, little lily."
She blushes lightly. "And you move faster than I thought you might in all those clothes." She looks up at him through her lashes. "Will you be offended if I wear less feminine clothing when this testing of me begins? I assume it will be more of this and then some?" She motions to the red mark she made on his wrist and the light bruise rising on her shoulder.
He winces when his eyes land on her bruise. "Forgive me for marking you."
She shakes her head, "Only if you forgive me for doing the same to you."
She then picks up the tray and heads inside. Once Aziza returns with hers and Ardeth's bags, Layla excuses herself, going upstairs to change after telling Ardeth how to find her father's old room. Her clothes are soaked with sweat, and she can only imagine how she smells right now.
Downstairs, Aziza eyes Ardeth. "My little lily has flustered you, nephew. I'm not sure I've seen you flustered since you were a teenager."
Ardeth turns to his aunt, irritated. "Aunt, this was what the Americans would call a set up, was it not? I know you are one of the chorus who is worried for my solitude. This was a clear attempt to choose a wife for me."
Aziza has the wherewithal to look a little embarrassed. "Ardeth, I'm not choosing anything. If it is Allah's will, you will choose one another."
He notes that she didn't deny that this was a set up, just sidestepped that issue. "Aunt, you claim to know Layla well, and I think you imagine you know me. Neither of us is likely what we seem. You seem to think we're both just pigheadedly single-minded, but I sense the same fear in her that I feel in myself. I believe we are both alone by our own choice." He picks up his bag, sighing, thinking of his parents, his sister, and the first girl he'd been betrothed to, a girl he'd grown up with and learned to love, all of them lost in a bandit ambush in the desert, one that he'd barely survived.
He walks to the stairs. Without turning to look back at his aunt, he quietly says, "To love is to lose, Aziza. I would guess that your little lily and I both are acutely attuned to that fact. Please do not press us in your usual way. I also sense that Layla will be someone important to me, but in what manner will be for Layla and I alone to determine. I'll not let you drive her away with your meddling. Tread lightly here, Aunt. Give us space and respect."
Aziza inclines her head as he disappears up the stairs towards Layla's father's room, quietly proud of her nephew. He usually ignores the chatter around him, but in this she realizes that even Ardeth's walls can be scaled by the right person. She can only hope that he has the courage to show Layla how to do it.
What she assumes neither of them know is that Layla heard their entire exchange from the top of the stairs, tears forming in her eyes at Ardeth's quiet defense and protection of them against the meddling of his well-meaning but clearly interfering aunt. She slips into her room before Aziza can come up, leaning her back against the door. She's stunned by how clearly Ardeth saw her fear of further loss. But more than anything, she's stunned by his quiet confidence that they will be something to each other, almost as stunned as she is by the fact that she wants very badly for that to happen.