Mirage

by Monica Burns

  Stepping back, he aimed at the mare’s forehead. His vision blurred, and he closed his eyes for a moment. The animal floundered again in agony. God give him strength. He took aim once more and waited for his finger to stop trembling on the rifle’s trigger. He couldn’t afford to miscalculate otherwise Desari would suffer more. A moment later, the rifle’s gunfire exploded in his ear and the mare went still. Sinking to his knees, he pressed his forehead against the hot barrel of the rifle, reeling from the grief at losing the beloved animal.

  Altair came to a halt outside Alex’s tent. The sides of the tent wall were rolled up to allow what little breeze there was to pass through the dwelling. Alex lay on a pallet inside, while several women hovered over her, fanning her with small towels and cooling her body with damp cloths.

  Gripping one of the poles that supported the tent, he inhaled a deep breath to suppress the fear coursing through him. From where he stood, he watched his mother brush her hand across Alex’s brow. He cleared his throat, and she looked up.

  The grimness of her expression marred the beauty of her creamy, caramel-colored skin. His heart sank as she approached him.

  “How is she?”

  “Time will tell, but I think she will live.”

  The words shuddered through him. He closed his eyes as relief washed over him. Thank God. She was going to be all right. He released the breath he’d been holding in preparation for the worst.

  Guilt seared him again. If he’d been more vigilant, she wouldn’t be lying in her tent having narrowly escaped death. He should have known she wouldn’t be able to resist going to the palace without him. If he hadn’t been so determined to talk to Medjuel this morning, she wouldn’t have been alone.

  The vivid blue of his mother’s headdress contrasted with her silver-lined black hair as she covered her head before stepping out from under the tent’s shadow. Gameela sighed.

  “You love her very much, don’t you?”

  The question swirled a knot of tension in his stomach. He wasn’t even ready to reveal the extent of his feelings to Alex, let alone anyone else. All he could do was evade answering the question.

  “I swore to protect her and I failed.” He’d failed miserably.

  “Nothing you could have done would have prevented this.”

  “Perhaps.” Averting his gaze from the spark of curiosity in his mother’s observant eyes, he cleared his throat. “But her safety was my responsibility.”

  “And are you responsible for Mohammed’s actions or traitorous thoughts?”

  “What do you know about Mohammed?” He watched the anger and disgust flashing in her cerulean eyes.

  “The whole tribe knows about his fight with Medjuel this morning. And we can be grateful that you found Alex in time to save her from the man’s attempt to kill her with poison as well.”

  He stared at her. “How do you know it was Mohammed?”

  “Medjuel told me he’d found an empty bottle of ipecac in Mohammed’s tent. He believes Mohammed had already poisoned Alex’s water bag before they fought this morning.”

  “And he didn’t think to mention that to me when were trying to find Alex earlier?” Anger warmed him like a hot fire.

  “Even if he had, would it have helped you find Alex sooner?”

  “No,” he said with great reluctance. He stared into the tent, his gaze falling on Alex’s ashen features. He’d almost lost her. It wouldn’t happen again. A gentle hand squeezed his arm.

  “Medjuel was right, my son. She is truly worthy of you. Now go to her.” Tenderness brightened her eyes, and she kissed his cheek before walking away.

  He entered the tent quietly and knelt at Alex’s side. A damp blanket covered her body from her neck to her ankles. One arm lay on top of the cool covering, and he enclosed her hand in his. The temperature of her body had cooled, but she was still too warm.

  A young woman dipped a cloth into a bowl of water then dribbled water into Alex’s mouth. With a gentle touch, he stopped the girl and took the damp rag from her. This he could do. Caring for her was something he needed to do. It would ease his sense of helplessness.

  The cool water skimmed over his fingers as he squeezed all but a small amount of fluid from the rag. Gently he dabbed her mouth with the damp cloth before parting her lips with his finger and sprinkling water into her mouth.

  The sudden sensation of Alex’s lips moving against his fingers startled him. With gentle strokes, he brushed wet strands of hair off her face. She didn’t open her eyes, but again her lips moved. Her murmur was unintelligible. Elated, he bent his head so he could make out her words. “Tell me again, emîra. I didn’t hear you.”

  “Wa…ter.”

  With an impatient wave of his hand, he motioned for the woman closest to the water flask to pass it to him. The goatskin bag in hand, he slid his arm under her head and lifted her slightly. He gave her a sip then laid her back down.

  “Mo…re.”

  “Slowly, Alex, slowly.” Soaking the cloth he’d been using, he moistened her mouth then squeezed a few drops of water past her lips. “When this is dry, I’ll soak it again.”

  Her eyes still closed, she barely nodded before drifting back to sleep. Frowning, he brushed his fingertips across her brow. He needed to talk to Medjuel again. This morning, his cousin had been almost evasive in his explanations about what had happened between him and Mohammed. At the time he’d attributed Medjuel’s responses to the heat of the moment, but now he wanted to know everything his cousin did about Mohammed and the man’s activities.

  As Sheikh el Mazir, Medjuel was obligated to protect Alex by virtue of her presence in his camp. Although his cousin had done his best this morning, he wasn’t convinced Medjuel had done everything possible. He still couldn’t understand why there’d been no sound of a struggle. Then there was the vast amount of blood on Mohammed’s aba and gambaz. It was if there had been no struggle at all. But then Medjuel had been injured.

  He needed more information about Mohammed’s actions. The man’s treachery with the Hoggar had made him the most likely suspect for poisoning Alex, but there were still too many unanswered questions. If the Hoggar wanted Nourbese’s treasure, why would they kill Alex before she found the tomb? None of it made any sense.

  Satisfied that Alex was sleeping peacefully, he left her in the care of the women and headed toward Medjuel’s tent. Whatever discord lay between them, it was time to settle it. He wanted answers, and as his cousin’s trusted advisor, he was entitled to them. Striding through the camp, he ignored the calls of several people.

  Medjuel’s large, luxuriant tent was set off from the rest of the tribe. The main entrance flap was rolled up, and Altair respectfully waited for his cousin to ask him to enter. Almost as if he had expected him, Medjuel looked up from the collapsible desk he sat at. With a regal wave of his hand, the Sheikh beckoned him to enter.

  “Altair. Come in, cousin, come in.”

  Rising from his seat, Medjuel approached him and guided him toward the sumptuous bed of pillows that filled one part of the tent. “How is the shagi emîra?”

  “She’ll recover.”

  “Excellent, excellent.” Medjuel gestured for him to take a seat on the pillows then sat as well. Slim, dark fingers forming a temple, the Sheikh’s face took on a sorrowful expression. “I’m deeply sorry about Desari, cousin. She was a beautiful animal.”

  The reminder made Altair’s jaw tense as he silently acknowledged his role in the death of his horse. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. His head bobbed in a sharp nod. Medjuel eyed him carefully for a moment before he heaved a sigh.

  “It seems your suspicions were right about Mohammed. I should have listened to you. I’m sorry. I found an empty bottle of ipecac in his personal belongings shortly after you discovered Miss Talbot missing.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Medjuel shrugged. �
��I had no idea what he’d used it for until Kahlil and I found you.”

  It made sense. His mother was right, there was no way anyone could have known about the poisoned water.

  “I’m sorry I questioned you. I shouldn’t have.”

  “It is forgotten.”

  Altair frowned at his cousin. Something about the way Medjuel was looking at him set him on edge. It was obvious his cousin wanted to say something else, but he hesitated. This wavering was unlike Medjuel.

  “How is your arm?”

  “A flesh wound. Your mother is a fine healer. I doubt there will even be a scar.”

  “You were in no mood this morning to discuss how Mohammed died. But, I’d like to know what happened.”

  Medjuel shrugged. “There is little to tell beyond what I told you this morning. I noticed Mohammed lurking by Miss Talbot’s tent. When I approached him, he attacked me with his knife. We fought. Fortunately, I survived.”

  He nodded at Medjuel’s explanation. It was neat and concise, almost painfully so. He’d seen the knife wounds on Mohammed’s chest. Surely, such a struggle would have resulted in enough noise to wake the dead. And yet, there hadn’t been any sounds at all.

  Fear coiled in his stomach. Could Medjuel be lying to him? No. Impossible. They were of the same blood. They were brothers. But still he couldn’t silence the doubt.

  “It’s fortunate you were up and about early.”

  Medjuel rose from his seat to pace the plush woven carpet beneath his feet. The flowing gambaz he wore whispered against the colorful and intricately patterned rug. Why did he look so uneasy? Could he possibly be lying about his struggle with Mohammed?

  “Most fortunate, but I’m afraid there’s something else, Altair. I erred in thinking Mohammed wasn’t a threat to the shagi emîra. Now I have reason to believe he had an accomplice.”

  “An accomplice?” His blood chilled his limbs as it slid through his veins. Alex was still in danger.

  “Yes. When I searched Mohammed’s tent, I found not only the ipecac bottle, but this.” Medjuel pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from inside his gambaz and stretched out his hand. Taking the note from him, Altair looked down at the writing.

  We cannot wait any longer. She is too close to finding the tomb. She must die quickly. Meet me tonight in the village square.

  The drum of his heartbeat echoed in his ears as he stared at the words. There was someone else trying to kill Alex. He raised his head to meet Medjuel’s worried gaze.

  “Do you have any idea who it might be?”

  Stroking his beard, Medjuel shook his head. “No. I wish I did. But I think you should seriously consider convincing the shagi emîra to stop this pursuit for Nourbese until we can find Mohammed’s accomplice.”

  The statement pulled a mirthless laugh from him. He shook his head at his cousin. “That is the one thing I’m not able to do. Where this excavation is concerned, Alex would no more listen to me than she would the British Museum.”

  “Well, we’d better do something; and quickly. With Mohammed dead, the danger to her is even greater than before, because we have no idea who’s trying to kill her.”

  Altair closed his eyes as he tried to formulate a plan. What could he say to Alex that would convince her to stop her explorations for a while? He released a small noise of disgust. Getting her to stay away from Per-Ramesses was like asking a fish to stay out of water.

  No, he needed something drastic, something that would keep her safe. He needed to draw the killer’s attention away from Alex somehow. The obvious solution was right in front of him, but he ignored it. No, he couldn’t do that to her.

  He’d given his word.

  Logic continued to press at him. He shoved the thought aside, but it returned with reasons he couldn’t ignore. There was safety in numbers, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, they would come sooner or later.

  The British Museum.

  They had more resources than he did. They were better equipped to protect not only Alex, but the excavation as well. No, she’d never agree to it. But what other option was there? What would she do when she found out? There wasn’t even any point asking himself that question. He already knew the answer. The moment Alex discovered he’d contacted the Museum she’d be ready to skin him alive.

  He had no choice. Protecting her was his only concern. Her fury he could live with, but he couldn’t live without her. Opening his eyes, he saw Medjuel eyeing him with a questioning look.

  “I’ll talk to her, and I intend to guard her night and day. She’s not going to leave my sight.”

  An odd look flared in Medjuel’s eyes before it died a quick death, and for a brief instant, Altair thought he saw fear in his cousin’s expression. But Medjuel had nothing to fear. It was Alex who was in danger.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The setting sun hovered over the horizon as Altair strode through the Mazir camp. Reaching his mother’s tent, he paused at the open side of her dwelling. She was sitting on the carpet preparing the evening meal as his shadow fell across her face. Her brow furrowed with concern as she met his gaze.

  “What is it? What has happened?”

  “I need someone I can trust to take a message back to Cairo. I want to send Kahlil.”

  “No,” Gameela protested as she scrambled to her feet. “No. He’s just a boy.”

  “I’m sixteen, Mother.”

  Altair turned around to see his stepbrother watching them closely from the edge of the tent. There was an assuredness in the young man’s posture that told him Kahlil was more than equal to the task he needed done. As a pure-blood descendant of Nourbese, the boy was direct in line to eventually take the reins of leadership from Medjuel. A day that might come sooner than either of them expected. Clenching his jaw, he didn’t allow himself to consider the origin of that particular thought.

  “I won’t have it.” Gameela snapped. “I won’t.”

  “You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.” Altair tightened his jaw at his mother’s reluctance. Didn’t she realize if there were another way, he’d have chosen it rather than asking Kahlil to deliver the message?

  “What could be so important that you find it necessary to send your brother back to Cairo alone?”

  “I wouldn’t send him alone. I’d have Omar go with him. But I need Kahlil to go because he’s the only one I trust with my message.”

  “What is this message that is so important?” Gameela said in a tight voice.

  “I need to get a wire to the British Museum. I need them to send an expedition team to Khatana-Qantir as soon as possible.”

  “But I thought the excavation was under Miss Talbot’s direction,” Kahlil exclaimed.

  The statement sliced through him. Kahlil was right. The credit for Per-Ramesses belonged to Alex, but she’d be far safer if the British Museum were here working under her supervision.

  “It is her project, but someone is trying to stop her from finding Nourbese’s tomb.”

  Gameela stared at him confusion. “Mohammed is dead. How can he hurt her now?”

  “He has an accomplice.” The astonishment on their faces made a muscle in his cheek twitch as he tried to keep his fear at bay. His gaze settled on his mother’s disturbed expression. “I can’t leave her to go myself. Her safety during the day wouldn’t be an issue, but I won’t leave her alone at night.”

  “But why Kahlil? Why not someone else?”

  “Kahlil is the only one, aside from Jemal, who I trust. And we both know Jemal’s absence will be noticed more quickly than Kahlil’s.”

  His brother stepped forward and touched her shoulder. “Let me go, Mother. I’ve enjoyed Miss Talbot’s company at dinner over the past several weeks. I’d like to help.”

  “How does asking the British Museum to come here protect Alex?” Gameela ignored Kahlil’s plea as she
arched her eyebrows at Altair.

  He heaved a sigh and turned away from his mother. Moving to the center tent pole that supported the abode’s roof, his hand rubbed the smooth wood as he contemplated the question. The answer was elusive. It could very well not be of any help at all. The only thing he was certain of was that Alex would be furious with him.

  “I don’t know that their presence will be any help at all. I just hope that whoever wants to stop Alex will give up once they’re faced with a number of people seeking Nourbese’s tomb.”

  “Safety in numbers,” Kahlil murmured.

  “Precisely.” Altair sent his brother a look of approval, pleased at the youth’s quick thinking. He turned his gaze back to his mother. “What do you think Jemal would say to my request?”

  Gameela shot him a frigid look. “You know very well what he would say.”

  “Then let Kahlil go. Omar will look after him.” Indecision caused her to bite her lip, and he pushed the advantage. “Alex’s life is at stake, Mother.”

  She sighed and turned away from him and Kahlil. Her soft words barely crossed the small space between them. “Very well.”

  The hushed words sent relief coursing through him. He turned to his brother and quietly ordered him to find Omar. He watched Kahlil dart off before turning to see his mother wipe at her cheek.

  Aware of her fears, he stepped forward and hugged her close. “He’ll be all right, Mother. Omar will watch out for him.”

  “I know.” She frowned. “And what of Alex?”

  Releasing her, he shook his head as he studied her worried features. “I’ll protect her.”

  “You must realize that despite all your efforts to protect Alex, you may still fail. Not because you don’t try, but because whoever is trying to kill her must be very desperate.”

  “You say that as if you know who’s trying to kill her.”

  “No, but I think Alex is a threat to whoever is trying to kill her.”