A Midsummer Night's Romp

by Katie MacAlister

  “Oh, joy.” I thought of all those viewers watching Gunner and me. “Like that’s not going to give me nightmares for years.”

  “I don’t see why it should—Tabby said she didn’t get any shots of you, and kept the camera slightly off-kilter on Gunner so nothing untoward showed. Other than that, nothing much has happened, except this morning, before all of the excitement of finding you, Roger called a meeting and said that he wanted all the digging to be focused inside the castle. Paul tried to object, but Sue and Roger overruled him. As Paul said, we might be the archaeologists, but they hold the purse strings. All of which means today is my last day of doing proper archaeology.” She kicked at a tuft of grass. “This whole treasure hunt thing is beyond ridiculous, and it isn’t what I signed up for when I agreed to work for the CMA.”

  “I don’t blame you for being upset, but look at it this way—if we do find something treasurelike, then it’ll bring tons of attention to the dig, and that has to be good for archaeology, right?”

  “Eh.” She made a noncommittal gesture. “I’d rather just be allowed to do what I’m best at.”

  “I’ll get some shots of you this afternoon,” I promised, waving her off when she headed for the trench where two diggers were sitting and waiting, with nary a film camera in sight.

  She waved back, and I hurried off to the castle, feeling a twinge of guilt at joining in the treasure fever, but excited at the thought of another mouse stone. I wondered what Gunner would think of it, then wondered where he was and what he was doing, and whether he was thinking about me. A sharp little spike of jealousy stabbed me at the thought that he was with some other woman, but then I realized just how stupid that was.

  “I am not going to be one of those women,” I told myself as I entered the castle through the French doors that Gunner had taken me through the day before. “I am not so insecure in myself, nor doubtful of his character, to attribute to him that sort of heinous—oh, hello.”

  Sue emerged from a side hall, pausing when she spotted me.

  “I understand that Paul found another mouse stone,” I said.

  “Yes, he did.”

  She was as curt as she normally was with me, but I gave that no mind, smiling smugly to myself that she might have wanted Gunner, but I got him.

  That thought startled me the second it cohered in my brain. Was he really mine? Did I really want him? The joke about marriage aside, he had said that I needed him, and what was better, he needed me. Was he right? Did I need him? Dr. Anderson had quite a few things to say about women who needed men, but she also said I had to trust my judgment.

  The trouble was, I didn’t seem to know what to think about Gunner. The fact that he seemed to know I had been abused was disconcerting, but I wasn’t ready to face that just yet. No, more than anything, it was the word need that gave pause to thoughts of life with Gunner.

  Oh, the sex was fabulous, more fabulous than I knew it could be, but was that enough to base a relationship on? Did I even want to have a relationship with him? That brought me back to that “need” statement. And where did that leave me?

  “Confused,” I muttered to myself as we emerged into the section of the house where the kitchen was located. I turned down an unlit hallway that I knew led to the cellar door.

  Sue hurried after me, and we both descended the stairs to the cellar. I tossed the broken door that hung crookedly over the bolt-hole a black look when we passed it, but my attention was focused on the sounds of people and the sight of flickering lights that stretched out from the depths of the cellar. “Has Gunner already translated the stone? What does it say? I have to admit, I’m really starting to get excited about the whole treasure thing, and I didn’t believe in it when we began.”

  “I have no idea.” We arrived at the three storerooms that were currently hosting trenches. Sue murmured something about being too busy to speak with me, and escaped into the first room.

  I looked around in surprise. Roger had somehow managed to get some bright lights strung along the upper walls, which gave the gloomy cellar a strangely stark look. I almost felt sorry to have the lights on, since they stripped away all the mystery inherent in the cellar ambiance.

  I peered into the rooms until I found one with a large cluster of people. “Hello. Can I see the stone?”

  Everyone turned to look at me, including Tabby and her camera. I’m sure my cheeks turned bright pink when I noticed several of the people smirking, but I was determined to pretend nothing unusual had recently happened to me down in these very cellars. I sauntered up to everyone with what I hoped was calm self-possession.

  “Nice to see you again,” Paul said with an impossible-to-miss inflection. It made my blush crank up a notch higher. “Yes, the stone is here. I’ve just been cleaning it, and have done a translation.”

  “Where’s Gunner?” I asked, glancing around.

  “Can’t go an hour without him?” Paul asked with a wink at the camera. “I understand Ainslie’s gone off to have his foot attended to.”

  “Oh no, has he hurt himself?” A little pang of worry had me wondering if I shouldn’t go find him, and then I realized I didn’t even have his cell number to call him. I started toward the door. “Maybe I should find him—”

  “No, nothing like that,” Roger said, bustling forward and shooing me over to a folding table that had been set up in a corner of the storeroom. “I understand he’s having his cast off. Here’s the latest clue in the hunt for the treasure. It’s not a lot to look at, but Paul assures me that it has another riddle on it. Or part of one.”

  I looked down at the roughly rectangular piece of stone. Half of one of the sides had been chipped away, making it look like some fantastical beast had nibbled off the edge. In the lower right corner was a faded outline of a familiar mouse, partially obscured with a black stain. Above it, pale gray letters were visible, a section of the plaster surface having been flaked off, but it looked to me like the bulk of the letters were present.

  “That’s definitely one of the mouse stones,” I agreed. “What does it say?”

  Paul held the stone up and angled it to catch the light. “It’s difficult to read since it’s so faded, and apparently part of it has been rubbed off. I do see something about an extremity, and little weight. And I think that line there says ‘making a good impression by day.’ Hmm.”

  Roger peered over his shoulder. “An extremity? Like an arm or a leg? That would indicate a statue. We haven’t uncovered any statues, have we?”

  “No,” Paul said, setting down the stone.

  I wished Gunner were here so he could see it, and sidled over to take a gander at it myself.

  “No statues, and the word extremity here could mean the extreme tip of something, so it might not mean arms or legs. It could be the top of a mountain peak, or highest point in a tower, or something like that.”

  “I see, I see. Hmm. But it could be a statue.” Roger stroked his chin for a few seconds, then exclaimed, “A statue that is pointing to where the treasure is hidden! Or! What if it’s a painting of a person pointing? I’ve seen that sort of thing before. Those Elizabethans, they loved to do that sort of thing. What if it started with the Romans?”

  I looked at him in amazement. “Wow, you really run with an idea when you get one, don’t you? Sorry, that sounded rude. What I meant was—”

  “I have vision, yes,” Roger said, thankfully not taking offense at what my mouth had spoken without my brain’s permission. “That’s why I’ve gotten as far as I have. Now, then, people, let’s look lively, shall we? There’s a statue or painting pointing to treasure to be found, and it won’t show itself! Tabby, you and Matt and Sam and Vic come with me. We’ll go to trench fifteen to film them lifting the skull from the skeleton. Viewers always like skulls. And then there’s that suspicious shape in trench sixteen that could well be a chest of some sort. I wonder if there’s a wall niche
as well. Didn’t Romans leave little statues of their gods in wall niches? One of them could be pointing. . . .”

  All five of them drifted out of the room, leaving behind Paul, Fidencia, and me.

  “The man’s an idiot,” Fidencia said with an unattractive sneer.

  “Yes, but one whose company is funding the dig, so it behooves us to keep such comments behind our respective teeth, hmm?”

  Fidencia rounded on him. “Oh, I like that! You weren’t being quite so circumspect when you ran out of condoms and wanted to go ahead despite my saying no, it was condoms or nothing. And speaking of our little rendezvous, I’m getting some sort of a rash that I didn’t have before you seduced me.”

  Paul cleared his throat loudly to interrupt her. My heart fell at her words, though. Even though she wasn’t my favorite person in the world, I didn’t want to see her cursed with an STD.

  He nodded toward me. “I think that talk is better left for another time, don’t you?”

  Fidencia evidently didn’t care about having an audience. She glowered at him as she said, “I have an itch, Paul!”

  “As have we all, my dear, but we don’t act on them in public, at least, not unless we take precautions first.”

  I rolled my eyes. Paul gestured toward the far end of the room, where the white stones of an uncovered Roman wall gleamed against the nearly black soil that made up the floor. “Shall we get back to seeing where that wall leads?”

  “All right, but if you’ve given me crabs or something, you’re going to be hearing more about it,” Fidencia said, stalking off.

  Paul smiled widely at me. “Such a volatile girl. And how are you doing after your little embarrassment of this morning? Judging by what I saw, you have clearly gotten over whatever bug blighted you a few days ago, so if you’d like to get together this evening, I’m sure I can answer those questions you said you had.”

  It was too good of an opportunity to miss. “Crabs,” I said to him.

  He looked mildly discomfited. “As I said, she’s very volatile, and she doesn’t like the idea that I have many interests in life . . . both in subjects and people.”

  “And if you’ve given her something worse than pubic lice?” I asked, my heart beating wildly. I’d dreamed of the moment when I could confront him with what he’d done to Sandy, but somehow, it wasn’t nearly as wonderful as I’d hoped it would be. It was actually a little scary. I desperately wanted Gunner there to help me confront Paul.

  Good heavens—did this mean that I really did need Gunner? I shook that thought away, not able to deal with it at that moment.

  Paul frowned, his voice going a few degrees colder. “Such as?”

  “Try full-fledged HIV on for size,” I snapped. “Have you told Fidencia how many lives you’ve ruined because you had unprotected sex? Have you told her how HIV can ravage your body? How it can leave you helpless or worse? How it can destroy the lives of sweet, innocent women who make the mistake of falling in love with you only to find out you’re a heartless monster? Have you told her all that, Paul?”

  “Who are you?” Paul asked, his face black with anger. His hands were clenched into fists, causing me to take a couple of involuntary steps backward.

  I lifted my chin. “My name is Lorina Liddell, and my best friend in the world is Sandy Fache.”

  His eyes narrowed on me. “That madwoman! I ought to have known that you had something to do with her. You’re just as self-righteous as she was.”

  “Is. She’s still alive, not that you’ve done anything to promote a long life.” I took a long breath, and made the meanest eyes I could. “And I’m here to see to it that you pay.”

  “Ah, I knew at some point that we’d get around to money.” His nostrils twitched as if he smelled something rancid. “Well, your little attempt at blackmail won’t work with me. I have nothing to hide.” He waved a hand to the side. “My life is an open book, and I most certainly do not have HIV. I would know if I did.”

  “Have you had yourself tested?”

  “Yes,” he said, taking me by surprise.

  “You . . . you have?”

  “I just said so, didn’t I?” He drew himself up to his full height and glared down at me. “A year ago I was a bit unwell, and had occasion to undergo some medical testing, and I opted to include several completely unneeded tests, as it turned out. So you can see that your attempt to squeeze money out of me is going to fail abysmally.”

  “But . . .” I shook my head. He had been tested? Sandy hadn’t mentioned anything about that. “But Sandy said—”

  “She lied,” he said loudly. Noticing a look from Fidencia, he dropped his volume to add, “Perhaps your friend didn’t tell you the entire truth about our little liaison, but I assure you that she was not as selective as you obviously were led to believe.”

  “Selective?” It was my turn to narrow my eyes, and I did so. “In what sense? In regards to men? Don’t be ridiculous—she told me she fell in love with you three years ago at the dig in Iraq. She wouldn’t sleep around if she felt that way about you, more sorrow her.”

  “Not only would, but did. I heard from a reliable source that wasn’t a digger, someone who was safe from her attentions. She was caught going at it like a rabbit on a stone altar that was in the middle of being excavated. Does that sound like a woman in love?” His voice was filled with mockery, and it just made me want to slap his face.

  “She’s not like that,” I protested, putting my hands behind me to avoid temptation. “She wouldn’t sleep around that way.”

  “My dear, naive Lori—there’s a reason Sandy was asked back to the dig for two years in a row, and it wasn’t due to her archaeological skills.”

  That did it. It pushed me right over the edge.

  “You bastard!” I gave in to the urge and slapped him, pulling back at the last minute so it wasn’t as hard as I wanted. “How dare you!”

  “That will be quite enough!” he snarled, shoving me backward. “And don’t waste your time coming across all high-and-mighty. Sandy, as my dear mother would have said, was no better than she should be. Ask the people who were there—they’ll tell you what really happened at that dig. As for me, I have more important things to do than to put up with this sort of accusation.”

  I watched him go to the trench with a growing sense of irritation and unease. Could he possibly be telling the truth? But if he was, Sandy had outright lied to me, and I had an even harder time imagining that.

  “No,” I told his retreating figure, straightening my shoulders. “I’m not going to let you make me doubt a perfectly wonderful woman. She has no reason to lie to me, and you have every motive to throw me off your scent.” Shaking my head at myself, I left the cellar and went upstairs to inquire if anyone knew what Gunner’s cell phone number was, and when he was expected home.

  I had several things I wanted to think over, and even more that I wanted to talk to him about . . . and an overwhelming urge to do the latter while lying naked on top of him. I felt extremely awkward wandering around the castle without permission while I looked for him, although I hoped a bit of latitude would be granted given that Gunner and I were . . . That thought brought my feet as well as my brain to a halt.

  Just what were we? A couple? Dating? Engaged? I laughed to myself at the last word, knowing full well that Gunner was pulling my leg about getting married—who in their right mind married someone after knowing her for a week? Such things did not happen in real life, and if they did, they ended up in a quickie divorce that was never again discussed.

  “Are you lost?”

  I twirled around at the voice, sighing in relief when Alice emerged from a room behind me. “In thought and in deed, yes. I was hoping to find someone who could give me Gunner’s cell number. Roger told me he went off to have his cast removed, and I wanted to find out when he was going to be back. There’s a . . . situation . . .
I want to discuss with him.”

  Her expression didn’t budge an inch, but a distinct look of mirth lit up her eyes.

  “Oh god,” I said, slapping a hand over my mouth before spreading my fingers to add, “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to speak in innuendos. I really did just want to talk to him. Not that I didn’t enjoy our time together, mind you, because the man is beyond talented that way, but you probably don’t want to hear that sort of thing about your brother-in-law, huh? Anyway, I did want to talk to Gunner about something, something else, and . . . I’m babbling now, aren’t I?”

  She laughed, and pulled me into a room. “If you are, you have the excuse of having spent an extremely trying night, even if it was spent with the delicious Gunner.”

  “Stop lusting after my brother, wife,” Elliott said without looking up from where a laptop sat on a large desk. “Else I’ll have to get the parrot out.”

  I stopped, feeling even more like I was an interloper. “Parrot?” emerged from my mouth before I could make a fast escape. “Sorry. I’m clearly interrupting—”

  “No, you’re not.” Alice went around to the back of the desk, reaching between the baron’s stomach and the desk. For a moment I thought she was groping him right there in front of me, but when she pulled her hand back, she was holding a small address book. “Sorry, my cell phone is on the fritz, or I’d look up his number on it. And the parrot is . . . er . . . a friend of ours. Kind of.”

  “Do not try asking her to explain—the answer will only confuse you,” Elliott said in his clipped British tone. Even though Gunner was adopted, I expected him to speak in a similar fashion, but it struck me then that Gunner’s voice, although sexy as hell with an accent, was much softer in cadence, and not so BBC upper-class.

  Elliott looked up and eyed me. “Alice tells me you have a mutual friend in her foster sister, and that she tried to get you to stay in the castle. You’re welcome to room here if you’ve had your fill of Cressy.”

  “Elliott, have you forgotten that everyone is going to be returning in six days?” Alice smacked him on the arm with the address book before leafing through it. “I wouldn’t wish the full force of your family on anyone, especially someone who’s had to put up with a bored Gunner. Ah, here it is. Let me write it down for you.”