She unclasped her hands. Jonathan could make out the outline of fingers on the backs of them, suggested she’d clasped them too tightly, “I wish I could just keep my mouth shut. It gets me into such trouble…”

“Is something the matter?”

“I’ve just had a bit of a set-to with your brother-in-law, and I’m afraid he’d like to put me out of his house.”

“Really?” Jonathan said, looking pleased. “What on Earth could you have said to annoy him?”

“Well, he was reading the newspaper, and said as how the Germans should deal with their own problems and the rest of the world should stay out of it. Which is ridiculous, because if…oh, forget it. I don’t mean to get into it again. I suppose he had a terrible time in the War, and isn’t too keen about seeing another one. Was he in the War, do you know?”

The War. Jonathan found it odd to think of it without feeling the urge to down a stiff drink or three. “I shouldn’t think so. He’d have been too young to join up – he’s five years younger than I am, and I was only just old enough to enlist.” The ‘lucky me’ was not spoken, but was very much implied. “Though he was a Legionnaire, I believe.”

“Oh.” They sat silently for a moment. A bird of some feather squawked unmusically behind them. “It’s just that I’ve got cousins in Germany, you see. They’re trying to immigrate to America, but the new government has made it so difficult…”

“Ah. Did you tell Rick that?”

“No.”

“He’s not a bad sort, Katie. Just grumpy in the mornings. He won’t throw you out, don’t fret.” Jonathan took her hands to help her stand. If he held them a bit longer than was strictly necessary, neither of them noticed.

“He also implied that we were…involved,” Kate said. “That you had tricked me, or I had tricked you – I can’t remember which – into some seedy mercenary romance.”

Jonathan dropped her hands. “Why, that blighter! I must have a word with my dear brother-in-law…”

“No, Jonathan, don’t,” Kate interrupted, grabbing his sleeve before he stormed off. “I didn’t tell you that to make you angry. I just wanted you to know what he thinks of me. We have to tell them something – for all they know I’ve tricked my way into an invitation and am here to steal the silver.”

“We haven’t got any silver,” Jonathan said, diverted.

“Jonathan…”

“Oh, alright. I’ll tell them…something. But after breakfast. I dislike being trounced on an empty stomach.”

It was actually during breakfast that Jonathan spun a tale of such ridiculousness that his relatives actually swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. Kate nearly choked on her fried-egg-on-toast when Jonathan began to describe her dishabille – creamy white shoulders under torn dress – and the brute that had broken into her room while she napped, intent on doing her an injury. The heroic battle that then raged as Jonathan (who’d been conveniently passing by her room and was alerted by her terrified screaming) fought the intruder off also explained why her belonging were almost entirely destroyed.

It took a great deal of effort not to applaud when he finally fell silent, but Kate managed. Alex O’Connell was the first to recover from the tale, requesting that his uncle teach him the moves he’d used to “beat up the thug”. Jonathan had the grace to flush faintly, and told Alex that his mother probably wouldn’t approve of that particular plan.

Dr. O’Connell picked up her jaw and exchanged an alarmed look with her husband. “Of course you must stay with us as long as you need, Miss Pennington. What a dreadful thing to have happen on your first day in Egypt! I hope you won’t let that color your opinion of this whole beautiful country!”

“Oh, not at all, Dr. O’Connell. There are unsavory people wherever you go. Why would Egypt be any different? I’m just grateful that Mr. Carnahan was gentleman enough to come to my assistance,” Kate told her, shooting a hard look at Jonathan. She was quite determined not to let that amused smile slip out.

Fortunately for Kate, breakfast adjourned soon after this, and she and Jonathan once again escaped the confines of the house. The moment they were out of earshot, she turned to her companion and grinned delightedly. “Jonathan, that was brilliant. I can’t believe you thought that up on the spot! I can’t believe they believed it! I don’t think I could even have written that!”

“Thank you, dear lady,” Jonathan replied, and swept the Panama hat off his head in a graceful gesture. “It comes with practice. Did you happen to say you were a writer?”

Kate tripped over an invisible pebble. “Er…well, yes. Of sorts. Aren’t we all?” She laughed nervously. “I do a bit of scribbling now and then. I was hoping to turn this trip into a volume entitled K. N. Pennington Sails The Nile. What do you think?”

“I think I’d like to request a copy of the completed work, if I may, Miss Pennington. An authoress, eh? How thrillingly bohemian of you.” He smiled at her in easy admiration.

“Thank you, although I must tell you - my Aunt Agatha is an authoress as well, and she’s sadly respectable.”

“Ah, well. Can’t have everything, can one? I always say a thoroughly disrespectable relation or two spices life up a bit,” he quipped.

Kate smiled back at Jonathan, and relaxed a little. He had in fact, thanks to her slip, hit the nail on the head. But it worked out all right. How freeing to be able to admit the truth…more or less.

While she considered her fortuitous escape, she realized Jonathan was leading her down the garden path – literally, of course. Just outside the open gate, a car was parked on the dusty street. Kate looked at Jonathan quizzically. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“To deposit the papyrus somewhere safe?”

“No.”

“To uncover information about it’s fascination for El-Bassim?”

“No.”

“To speak with the authorities?”

“Lord, no.”

“Then…what…?”

He looked pleased with himself. “We’re going sightseeing, my dear!”

Kate gaped at him.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” she commented, stepping out of the car. The hem of her skirt drifted up in a sudden breeze and she held it down with one hand. “This is…stunning.” A great expanse of rough ground stretched around them, with only the faint outlines of the pyramids and Nile vegetation to their west. So very vast, Kate felt as if they were the last people alive.

“You came here to see Egypt, so by Jove you’re going to see it. Just as I promised,” Jonathan declared. Kate smiled at his exuberant manner.

“Thank you. I must admit I pictured it being more populated by sand dunes, like on those advertisements for soap.”

“Ah. Well, if you’re looking for sand dunes – frightful things, by the way – sand gets in all sorts of places it has no business being – they are actually to be found to the west and south,” Jonathan explained, pointing that direction. Kate squinted, but could only vaguely make out the horizon, wavering in the heat of the sun.

“Egypt, due to it’s lucky position of being smack-dab between the Mediterranean and Red Seas, as well as bisected by the Nile, is actually not too bad. Climate-wise, any way. The heat is something one must adjust to,” he continued, eyeing Kate’s flushed and gently perspiring face, “but it generally rains like clockwork. All-in-all, as m’dear sister says, not a bad place to start a civilization.”

His companion nodded thoughtfully and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. “No, I suppose not. How old is the Egyptian civilization, anyhow?”

Jonathan removed his hat, and fanned his face. “Er…since about three-thousand BC, I would say. Of course, that’s when the time of Pharaohs began. Actual Egyptians were puttering around this valley for some time before then.”

“You know,” Kate said, turning to him in admiration, “I think you’re far more clever than you let on, Jonathan.” Then she winced, realizing how terrible that sounded. However, Jonathan was not at all offended. In fact, he actually looked rather anxious.

“I don’t want you to believe that I’ve studied this, you know,” he said, rushing to clarify his statements. “But when you’ve lived as long as I have with a household of Egyptologists, one or two things are bound to sink into the old brain-box.”

They were silent for a moment, watching the sun shine on the broken ground. On the cliff above them, a goatherd shuffled his animals away from the edge, and disappeared from sight.

“Besides,” Jonathan finally said, “it’s never a good idea to let people know you’ve got a marble or two rolling about upstairs.”

“Why not?”

“Because then people expect things,” he said, sounding as though the answer should be obvious. “You’re expected to get an honest job, marry a sensible woman, and settle down into a dismal life of doddering boredom.”

Kate hid her smile by looking down towards the river. “Put like that, I suppose you’re right. It would be dreadful.”

“Yes. Well.” Jonathan clapped his hat back on his head and rubbed his hands together. “Why would any sensible person want that? I‘m free as a bird, coming and going as I please…free to stay out all hours or spend all day showing a pretty girl about.”

Kate smiled faintly at the sideways compliment, intent on the scenery. “I am grateful that you have the time, certainly. What’s going on over there?” she asked, pointing to the south. Through the swimming heat on the horizon, the outlines of a small city of tents and vehicles were visible. Jonathan squinted into the distance, trying to make it out.

“Probably a dig of some sort. I haven’t heard that anyone was digging in the area lately, but this whole country is being perpetually excavated. No doubt some egghead from Cambridge or Harvard has located a series of small walls.”

“Oh?” Kate’s sense of curiosity perked up a bit, and she would have suggested paying the mystery dig a visit, if it hadn’t been so damned hot, and the dig didn’t look to be miles and miles away. Her hair stuck to her forehead, and she glanced at Jonathan to see how he was coping with the brutal mid-morning heat. She was nonplussed to see that he didn’t even seem to notice the temperature. Resplendent in a pressed linen suit, missing his hat, he hardly seemed to be perspiring at all. In fact, against the bright azure sky, he cut quite a dashing figure. And, Kate thought, knowing what she did of his reputation, she was dead certain that she was not the first woman to think so.

“Across the river is Saqquara…known as the step pyramid. Have you heard of it?” Jonathan asked. Kate, embarrassed at being caught in such an intense perusal, shrugged non-committedly.

“It rings some distant bells,” she replied.

“Yes?” Jonathan seemed cheered at this, for some reason. “Well, we could head over in that direction, or perhaps you’re feeling very brave and would like to attempt to climb a pyramid? I may even be able to gain admittance into one of the tombs in the Valley…while my name may not stand for much in the archaeological community, people are usually willing to grant my Dr. O’Connell’s brother a favor or two…”

Again, Kate smiled faintly. It was ridiculous…she was a dumb Dora, having Jonathan go out of his way to show her a good time, and the being to hot and wimpy to enjoy it. “Sure…whichever you can recommend would be swell.”

Jonathan eyed her sharply, realizing for the first time that she looked a little faint from the heat. “It suddenly occurs to me, m’dear, that you’re hardly dressed for a good hearty exploration. May I suggest that we retire to the bazaars to remedy this, and then continue on with the tour when the sun isn’t quite so hot?”

“That sounds wonderful…I‘m used to a slightly balmier climate,” Kate agreed, turning with him and walking back to the auto. “The only trouble is that – eep! – sorry, the seat is rather hot – I‘ve hardly a clam left. I’ll have to wire home for a few extra dollars, and hope that the money arrives soon.”

Jonathan waved this away. “Nonsense. I can take care of it.”

“But Jonathan, Mr. O’Connell said…that is…”

“What did Rick say?” If she hadn’t believed him incapable of it, Kate would have thought he sounded rather bitter.

“Only that you’re a little strapped for cash at the moment, as well. I’d hate to inconvenience you.”

“My dear Kate, I’ll have you know that the Carnahan name still stands for something in this city. Provided we shop in the British Quarter, you can simply have your purchases billed to me, and then whenever your money arrives, you may reimburse me. If you must.”

The American had a brief mental image of her Aunt Agnes tutting and muttering about “kept women”. “Oh yes,” she told Jonathan. “I must.”

Experiencing the Bazaars and the exotic versions of staidly British establishments with Jonathan Carnahan was not something Kate felt she was likely to forget anytime soon. Jonathan was a very enthusiastic shopper – quite unlike the rest of the male population Kate had been acquainted with. This gave rise to the thought that perhaps Mr. Carnahan was a Bachelor, with a capitol ‘B’…until she caught him surreptitiously examining her rear as she knelt to tie the lace on her shoe.

She raised an eyebrow. Jonathan flushed slightly and muttered something about hats, and made himself scarce.

In addition to his insistence (much to the dismay of several Very Proper shopkeepers) at choosing rather inappropriate dresses and blouses for Kate to try on, he also genuinely enjoyed the people and activity through which they traveled. Jonathan was right, Kate decided – the quiet life was simply not for him. She tried to imagine the animated man before her being forced to trudge home to a tiny flat, have a fry-up for tea, and listen to the wireless before retiring to bed. It was like seeing the black and white, silent version of a full-color Gilbert and Sullivan musical.

“Masa alkhair, Carnahan Effendi!” a young Egyptian man said to Jonathan, stepping out of the crowd. He was garbed in the traditional white galabeyah and had an equally white, toothy smile.

“Karim, old chap!” Jonathan exclaimed, grinning broadly and performing some masculine ritualistic handshake that involved much backslapping. “Masa alnur! Kaif halak?”

The young man shrugged. “Al Youm? Ana bekhair, shukran.” Karim turned towards Kate, who was struggling to follow along with the conversation, wishing fervently she had thought to take her phrasebook with her. “And who is this?” he asked in careful English.

Kate extended her hand, and decided to “go for it”, as her college roommate used to say. “Marhaba, Karim. Ana ismi Kate Pennington,” she told him, glancing at Jonathan to see if she’d gotten it right. He smiled at her with…was that pride? and nodded slightly.

Karim took her proffered hand and pressed a kiss on it. Kate raised her eyebrows.

“Steady on, Karim,” Jonathan said.

Karim smiled unrepentantly. “Is that not how you honor your fine English ladies? This one is truly fine, Carnahan Effendi. By her eyes I see that Bastet smiled at her birth.”

Kate was about to inquire what he meant by this when he quite unexpected whipped out what appeared to be a flagrantly fake gold pitcher, and began attempting to sell it to Jonathan. Jonathan launched into a combination of annoyed English and complicated Arabic, and eventually Kate completely lost any idea of what he was saying. Karim gestured Jonathan to another covered booth and Jonathan followed him.

Watching her guide – and her purchases – disappear into the shelves of obviously faux antiquities under the red awning, Kate had to smile. Was this how Jonathan got himself into trouble? Because he simply couldn’t say no?

She was so busy watching Karim’s stall that only the faintest flash of black crossed the corner of her vision before she once again found herself being carted away. Her new handbag fell to the ground and spilled open. Really, Kate thought as a beefy hand closed over her mouth, this is getting tedious.

There was one thing to be said for this particular abduction – they were treating her a lot better. Rather than being flung around like a sack of onions, her captors – for they had been joined by another turbaned fellow as soon as they’d turned into the alley next to Woolworth’s – merely gagged and frog-marched her. They both smelled rather vile but there were absolutely no weapons being brandished. Kate decided it was a relatively safe situation to struggle in, and so she did.

“Mrph!” she said. “Mrph erph eph!” One of her heels landed on the large captor’s instep, and he howled. He did not, however, let go. “Erph eee!”

They approaching a truck – a Ford, the kind her cousins back home used to deliver eggs to the neighbors. The burlap bag shoved over her head a moment later was also familiar – her cousins used them to transport chickens. There was an irony there, she was sure of it.

Gagged and blind, Kate was more or less helpless when the two turbaned men lifted her and set her in the back of the truck on what felt and smelled like hay. She also thought that there might also be someone else back there, as her head was resting on something like shoe leather. So she was not surprised when someone very near her began to speak. What shocked her was that he spoke in English.

“You are sure this is the right woman?” Shoe Leather asked. “Did you check? Only the one is of use to us.”

“Aywa,” a turbaned man affirmed.

“Excellent. Drive!” he rapped on what was presumably the rear window of the truck.

The Ford rumbled to life.

As she lay in the hay, occasionally bonking her head on the wheel well when the truck passed over a particularly nasty bump, Kate considered her options. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t yell. Her hands were bound behind her. She had no way of knowing if Shoe Leather had a gun, and if he did, if he would use it on her. He’d said that she was of some use to…whatever they were plotting…and she had to assume that the plot required her alive.

If she passively cooperated, she may get through this ordeal alive. But Kate was not a stupid woman, nor unworldly. And even if she were, the films she’d seen clearly illustrated the universal fact that villain’s lairs were not safe places to find oneself in.

At the same time, thought, she had to consider that attempting to escape from a vehicle moving at, if she made her guess, thirty miles and hour, wouldn’t be much good for her either. “Erph!” she said, frustrated.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Shoe Leather said, speaking loudly to be heard over the engine. “You’re quite safe. Don’t struggle, and you’ll find you’ll be greatly rewarded.”

“Erph ew!” she cursed. Shoe Leather laughed – a great, booming laugh. Kate suddenly felt very, very afraid.

She knew it was a popularly held belief that when a body was faced with peril, time slowed to a near standstill. It seemed to be true. The rumble of the truck faded into the background; she could no longer hear the voices of her assailants. She was blinded and her hands tied, but suddenly the metal of the truck bed was very hot against her too-sensitive fingers, and every smell of the street was more acute than ever before. The sound of a bazaar once again reached her ears, similar to the one she’d stood in when she’d been abducted, but with a few odd changes. The voices didn’t carry, quite as much. Kate deduced they’d moved several blocks, to a new bazaar with a wider, more open area.

It wasn’t for nothing that she’d poured over her Baedeker’s guide. Kate had always had a good memory for maps – at a very early age she’d manage to produce a nearly perfectly scaled representation of her Uncle’s farm. That ability served her well now, as she sorted furiously through her memory for the streets of Cairo. She and Jonathan had been near the river, in the British sector near the Shepheard’s Hotel. Currently, her head was noticeably cooler than the rest of her body, shaded by the truck cab. She deduced they were driving into the sun – east. The only large bazaar would then be….

The truck hit another hole in the road, and her nose hit the truck bed painfully. She squirmed for a better position, and ended up flipping onto her back.

Well, she thought, her hands were now pinned, but at least she wouldn’t break her nose.

With loud grinding gears, the truck began to slow, and the noise of people selling and haggling grew louder. Someone quite near shouted something in Arabic to, presumably, the driver of the truck, who then shouted back. Kate heard the nervous whinny of a horse, and then the truck came to a complete halt. The voices of people were now completely surrounding the truck, and the smell of perspiration and stale native perfumes reached her nose.

A gridlock, Kate decided. It’ll be now or never, she thought, and mustering every ounce of strength she had, she drew her knees up to her chest and kicked her feet up over her head. She rolled quite neatly off the back of the truck, and into the crowd of people.

Unfortunately, the remarkable escape was hindered somewhat by the fact that at the moment she left the vehicle, it began to move again. The sudden jerk caused her to miss her footing, and fall backwards. Amidst the alarmed gasps and exclamations of the shoppers surrounding her, Kate came to a complete stop at last – on her back, on something warm and squishy and smelling distressingly like a cow patty.

Someone pulled her to her feet and supported her swaying form while another removed the burlap bag. A gaggle of concerned Egyptians appeared before her eyes. “Shukran, shukran,” she told them gratefully.

And then, to her eternal dismay, Kate Pennington fainted dead at their feet.

Once inside the cover of the stall, Karim carelessly tossed the vase he’d been wielding aside. “Jonathan,” he said, “I have news for you, my friend.”

“Naturally, if you’ve gone to this trouble,” Jonathan replied, also in English. He generally took his linguistic cues from Karim, who was better informed than he as to what nationality of listeners his information might attract.

“It is not good news.”

Jonathan smiled broadly and clapped Karim on the shoulder. “When is it ever, my good chap? I dare say that if you ever brought me glad tidings, I should die from the shock.”

“It is about El-Bassim. You had great fortune at a game with him, yes?”

The Englishman nodded cautiously. “Yes…”

“He has called you a thief and a liar.”

It was nothing Jonathan hadn’t been called before, many times. Besides which, coming from the likes of Abdul El-Bassim, it might even be seen as a compliment, and Jonathan said as much.

Karim shook his head. “It is not. He has put a price on you, two hundred British Pounds.”

Hm. That was a rather offensive amount, really, when one thought about it. “Is that all?”

“It is not all. He also says, once he’s gotten his property back from you, the finder is free to do as he wishes with you. And my friend, you have many enemies in Egypt. Many friends,” he added, lest Jonathan think Karim was up to no good, “but also many enemies.”

“Ah. Well, when the offer is couched in those terms…oh,dear.” Jonathan longed to pace, but the size the space they both currently occupied, combined with the weight of the things he carried made such an exercise impossible.

His Egyptian friend caught his wandering attention again with hand gesture. “That is not all.”

“It’s not?” Did Karim mean that he had worse news?

Karim looked around nervously, as if he were afraid the wares around them were about to grow ears. “There are whispers on the street, Jonathan. The lady you are with is also sought by someone else.”

“El-Bassim?”

“They say that someone else, someone more powerful than even El-Bassim, wishes her for…for…” at this, Karim’s English failed him, leaving Jonathan to fill in the blank with any number of horrifying and dastardly thoughts.

“But why?” he asked. “Why Kate? She’s just a tourist – she’s only been here a few days. Why her?”

“I can only tell you what I hear, Jonathan,” Karim said in Arabic, a little reproachfully. Jonathan sighed, and nodded.

“Of course, Karim. You are, as always, a good friend to me.”

The Egyptian smiled brightly, almost managing to dispel the gloom he’d just created. “I am a good friend. And you are a good friend. You owe me five pounds.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. Juggling the packages, he retrieved his new billfold and handed over the money. In a flash, both the money and Karim were gone.

“Cheeky chap,” Jonathan muttered, and made his way out of the stall. He was trying to think of something witty to say to Kate to explain why he’d allowed himself to be carted away, but when he walked out onto the street the words died on his lips.

In the middle of the street lay Kate’s new handbag, it’s pale blue fabric turned gray by dust. After the fuss she made over getting a new handbag, Jonathan thought, there is no way under Heaven that she would have accidentally dropped it. Added to the fact that she was nowhere in sight, Jonathan began to get a very, very bad feeling.

He turned in a circle, looking for anyone standing nearby. He caught the eye of a black-garbed woman, standing next to a stall of silk scarves. “Did you see which way the Inglisi Sitt went?”

The woman nodded. “Three men,” she said in Arabic, holding up as many fingers. “They took her away in a truck. Very quickly. They went that way,” she told him.

Jonathan looked in the direction she pointed. It was an alley that ran along side the Woolsworth building and turned onto a main thoroughfare. “Did they turn right or left?”

“They went straight. Straight on, straight on.”

“Shukran, Sitt,” he said, thanking her. “Would you hold these?” Without waiting for an answer, he deposited the parcels in her arms and took off down the alley at a run.

The alley widened a bit after several blocks into a fair-sized street. He was losing time, and losing Kate, and the knowledge gnawed at him. After ten minutes of frenzied, futile searching, he was forced to pause for breath. An elderly woman sitting in the doorway of the house he all but collapsed against took pity on him, and said she, too, had seen the truck. It had turned right at the next street, she explained in rapid Arabic, and nearly ran over her grandson’s dog.

He pulled himself together and followed her directions, and was abruptly confronted with hundreds of people. It was market day, and the street was clogged men in dusty gallabeyahs, camels, mules, and carts. Jonathan muttered an expletive, and pushed his way determinedly through, jogging and jumping at intervals to get a better look above the crowd.

He’d gone about a block further when he entered the bazaar in Tahrir Square. Carts and stalls surrounded the statue of some historical figure, immortalized in bronze and riding a rabid-looking horse. It was chaos. Jonathan saw three trucks, none of them carrying anything but produce or children.

She was gone, he realized. Those bastards had snatched Kate out from under his very nose, and he’d let it happen. He knew first-hand what kind of techniques El-Bassim used against his enemies…what would he do to a woman? What would he do to Kate? Appalling and horrific thoughts entered his mind, causing his skin to break out in an icy sweat.

Thoroughly panicked, Jonathan almost failed to notice particularly concentrated group of chaos. It consisted mainly of women, all of whom seemed enraged about something. Knowing something about the tempers of Arabic women (his mother had been Egyptian, after all), Jonathan wagered that whatever had occurred to provoke the women to such an extent must have been great.

Curious, he stepped towards them.

“They are sons of jackals!” one young woman said in Arabic. “Does not the Koran tell men to treat women with kindness, lest he mistreat something of Allah himself?”

“It’s not safe for an honest woman to be on the streets, with men such as those free to do as they please,” another agreed.

An older woman, swathed in black, spoke. “Surely her husband will be looking for her. English women never travel through the city alone.”

“Excuse me?” Jonathan interjected. “Please forgive my intrusion, ladies. I overheard what you were saying. You have seen the English lady?”

“Seen her?” the old woman replied. “She dropped on top of us!” Two sharp black eyes peered out from her veil. “Are you her husband?”

Jonathan had never really known his grandmother – his father being estranged from the rest of the Carnahan bunch after marrying his mother, added to the fact that as a general rule, George and Zahira Carnahan had preferred Egypt to the damp, foggy English climes. However, he could easily imagine that the woman’s piercing gaze had made her a rather formidable matriarch in her own family. Jonathan felt himself beginning to squirm under it.

“Er…yes?” he asked more than answered. The eyes sized him up, considered him for a moment, and apparently decided he was worthy.

“Very good,” she told him. “We have found your wife. You must take better care of her, Effendi, for a woman against three men can only do so much.”

Jonathan grinned broadly. “She’s here? She’s all right? Oh, thank God!”

The woman beckoned him through the gaggle of women, to a well-stocked fruit stand. And there reclining against a pile of summer squash was Kate Pennington. Her hair had fallen down, her face was bruised and scratched, and she was rather comically trying to politely refuse a glass of tea by using extravagantly expressive hand gestures. But she was there, and she was alive.

Jonathan couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He slumped in relief, the fear that had held him captive for nearly an hour leaving him so abruptly he was forced to grab one of the awning poles to remain standing.

“I say…” he began. Then Jonathan, scrubbing a hand over his face, realized he really had nothing to say. He wanted to gather her up, shake her, hold her close, give her a stern talking-to for frightening him, and beg forgiveness for failing her. All of those options would probably alarm her further, if not actually make her question his sanity. So he settled for leaving it at “I say,” and felt like a proper prat.

Kate looked up at the sound of his voice. “Jonathan…” she said, eyes wide. “Boy, am I glad to see you.” She climbed slowly to her feet, favoring her right foot. “These guys – they’re nuts. They just picked me up and carted me off. In broad daylight! Right there in the middle of everybody!” Her voice ended in a squeak.

He extended a hand to steady her. “And right from under my nose,” he said. As a bodyguard, he was ruddy awful. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that,” Kate mumbled, breaking away from him and rearranging the black habarah over her tattered sundress. It was a robe worn by native women whenever they went outdoors, and Jonathan wondered which of the Egyptian women he’d just spoken to had donated it.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said don’t,” Kate repeated. “You’re very…kind. Chivalrous. Maybe it’s an English thing, maybe it’s just you…but…it’s not your fault whenever something bad happens. For Pity’s sake, I’m a grown woman. I should be able to look after myself. I’m old enough to…” she stopped, and took a shaky breath. Her eyes were suspiciously bright. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even see them coming. They didn’t even give me a chance to scream...”

“Well, that sort of thing happens when you’re popular…” Jonathan said, trying to prompt a smile out of her. Instead, a single tear made a trail down her dirt-smudged cheek.

“Oh, my dear…”

“I don’t understand what they’re after, Jonathan,” she said, viciously wiping the tear off with her palm. “I haven’t done anything. They don’t even know me!”

The Englishman sighed. “This is a very peculiar turn of events, to be sure."

He flagged down a cab, sent a local urchin after their purchases of the day, and climbed in. Katherine slipped in next to him, completely disregarding the empty seat across from him and completely undermining, once again, his resolution to behave like a gentleman.

“Oh, Jonathan,” she said, sagging against him, “I’m not sure how much more I can take today. I’ve…I’ve had…” she yawned. “Such a long week…you see…an’ s’only Monday…”

With that, she dozed off. Jonathan looked down fondly at the curly head resting on his shoulder. Her hair was fully unbound – combs long since lost – and looked as though it had been freshly brushed. The work of those marvelous Egyptian women, do doubt. As he watched the evening sun cast copper streaks in her chestnut locks, he decided that he should definitely go out of his way to buy produce from their stall, the next time he was in the market. He was terribly gratefully that they’d been around to take care of Katie after her ordeal, especially when he’d once again made such a muddle of things.

But the day hadn’t been easy on Jonathan, either. His wild sprint through the streets after Katie had upset his ribs, and no matter how enjoyable it was imagining how Kate would look in the various garments he’d picked out, the actual mechanics of clothes shopping with a woman was exhausting.

So he leaned back against the seat of the cab, bringing her dozing form with him. And since she wasn’t awake, and nobody was watching – not that he gave a damn what people would think, anyway – he picked up a lock of and breathed in the scent of her hair.

It smelled quite strongly of horse dung.

To be continued in a chapter simply entitled, "Return of the Medjai - Damn It All!"