She jerked up, crying out.
The figure disappeared. There were footsteps, running down the hallway. Emma burst in. She was in a nightgown now. She rushed to Kat and sat on the side of the bed. Kat almost smiled, the woman looked so funny in her nightcap. “What is it?”
Nothing, Kat realized. She had been dreaming, imagining giant wings, and she had dreamed a shadow. “I’m so sorry I woke you! I was dreaming.”
Emma looked at her anxiously, smoothing her hair. “You’re truly cool now, my dear. And not at all clammy. Do you feel better?”
“Much,” Kat assured her. “The guests are all gone now, I imagine?”
Emma nodded. “Your father knew that you must stay here. Hunter insisted on the doctor coming, and he did, but you were sleeping quite peacefully by then. He believed it must have been the champagne and the excitement, and he said that he doubted you’d been eating nearly enough lately. So…apparently, he was right. You’re much better.”
“I never get sick!” Kat said.
Emma smiled. Obviously that wasn’t quite true.
“Shall I make you something? Some tea, a bit of toast?”
Kat shook her head. “No…thank you. I’ll just…sleep. I think that’s what I need.”
Emma left her. Kat plumped her pillow and closed her eyes. Again, she drifted. This time, she did not dream. When she awoke again, it was because soft light, barely more than darkness, was seeping in through the curtains.
Again, she knew there was a presence in the room. But this time, it was not malignant. She felt a touch, fingers on her cheek, catching the hair that had fallen over her face. Very, very gently moving it back.
Fingers, like a breath of air, on her head, and then again, testing the temperature of her cheek.
A knuckle, ever so light, like angel’s wings, against her face.
She breathed, and she knew the scent. Hunter.
After a moment, he was gone. She slept very deeply again. When she awoke, Emma was there to ask if she wanted to try to come down, or if her father and sister should come up. It was nearly night again.
Her last night in England.
Tomorrow, they sailed.
Chapter 11
KAT HAD NEVER IMAGINED that it would be so difficult to say goodbye to her father. She knew that she loved him with all her heart, but it was only when the last whistle blew and she knew that he, Eliza—and of course, Lady Daws—must leave the ship that she realized just how a part of her would be missing when she was no longer with her family.
Maggie and Emma had managed to become close friends in a short period of time, and so Maggie was a pile of tears, which didn’t help Kat.
“Ah, luv, you can still come off the ship. But such a fine man will not come along again easily,” her father said, a twinkle in his eye.
She clung to him. She shook her head against the broad expanse of his chest. “I’m all right. It’s just that I love you so.”
“But I will be well. Eliza and Isabella will be looking after me.”
That, of course, was what she was afraid of—the Isabella part.
Then Eliza took her in a hug, squeezing her tightly. “I will look after Papa!” she whispered. “It will be fine!”
It must have been, Kat thought, that she was still simply so weak. When they walked away and she had to watch them standing, waving, on shore as they sailed at last, she knew that silent tears cascaded down her cheeks.
Hunter was behind her. They were in full view of many people, so it was natural that he took her in his arms. And it was most pleasant. She laid her head against his chest, and he put a hand on her head, soothing her. She realized for the first time that, somehow, he was truly her friend. Of course, that wouldn’t mean that they would get along any better. But she had so much for which to be grateful to him. She vowed that she would never fail him in the work that he needed.
Many people stood on deck, watching as England disappeared. And then, as they moved away, groups began to splinter and to seek out their cabins.
This first ship would take them across to France, where supplies would be unloaded and then reloaded on the train. Their overland journey would take them as far south as Brindisi, Italy, where they were to board a second ship, which would take them to Alexandria, where again they would pick up a train. The train would deliver them to Cairo, and from there, the groups on expedition would set out for their respective digs. Most of those aboard were heading to Egypt, though certainly not all were planning on a season of expedition. Many went merely to flee the cold winter months.
Thanks to Lord Avery’s title, esteem and money, their group had the best accommodations. Kat had a pleasant little room all her own, and there was space enough for a bed, dresser, slim wardrobe and small writing or dressing table. A door connected to Emma’s room, which was smaller, and from there to a sitting room, which in turn connected to Lady Margaret’s room. Lord Avery was across the hall with his valet, George, in the sitting room, and Hunter was down a few doors with a nicely elegant room of his own, which included a sitting room and an extra-small bedroom for Ethan. David, Alfred, Allan and Robert were on the opposite side of Lord Avery, each with a small cabin to call his own. There were minuscule baths for the ladies, while the men had to share. The Earl and Countess of Carlyle were at the far end of the hall, where they, too, had a suite of rooms. It was a ship, however, and space was tight, whatever one’s position or wealth.
There were, Robert Stewart had assured her, far worse accommodations. She should see how they were below!
And, of course, she believed him and was grateful.
Their first day at sea, after the initial excitement and exploration of cabins, was one that saw many passengers keeping to their cabins. The channel was rough. The captain apologized and told them that he was sorry, but it was often so in the northern waters.
With everyone else apparently in their cabins, Kat chose to wander the deck. She loved the motion of the sea and the feel of the wind against her hair. She especially loved the strange feeling of power it gave her to stand topside and feel the lash of the elements.
She was leaning on the rail, enjoying the salt spray, when she noted another intrepid traveler who had not retreated to his cabin.
Hunter. He saw her at the same time and approached her. They were alone on deck, so there was no need for pretense of any kind.
“You’re not feeling the pain of the motion?” he queried, taking a stance beside her at the rail.
She shook her head. “I love the sea. I am never sick.”
He looked at her with a small smile on his lips. “Oh? Never?”
“Truly, I’m never— Oh. Well, once.”
“I’m glad that you are better now.”
She stared back at the water in irritation. “Perhaps…I must have eaten or drunk something bad,” she said.
She was startled to see a frown form on his brow. He stared at her. “You couldn’t have. There were many people there that night. No one else was ill.”
“Well, in my life, that is possibly the first time I have ever been ill,” she said. “So it must have been something I swallowed.”
“There was a great deal of upheaval and excitement,” he reminded her.
She groaned. “I have had worse days, I promise you.”
He seemed thoughtful, and she wondered if he might possibly believe her. He leaned against the rail, no longer interested in the sea but watching her. “If not the champagne, the excitement or the food—consumed by everyone—what?”
“Nothing! I cannot explain it.”
“You’re not suggesting that…”
“What?” she demanded.
“That someone perhaps slipped something into your drink.”
“I’d not have put it past Isabella!” Kat said.
“I had not even thought of such a possibility,” Hunter murmured. He still watched her with such speculation that she was uneasy.
“I’m fine now,” she said, looking away again.
“Yes, well, I should very much like it if you were to remain that way,” he responded.
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I am saying. Of course, it had to have been…a nervous disorder. There could be no one who would really wish me…dead,” she said. Still, even saying the word gave her chills. She shrugged as if it had been a casual statement. But he still watched her, and she knew it. She turned her attention back to him. “Oh, seriously, Sir Hunter! I am not rich, I have no power, nor do I even possess any knowledge about anything. Why would anyone want to hurt me?”
“Jealousy, revenge.”
“Jealousy?” She laughed.
He looked wryly amused. “Dear Miss Adair, I hate to shatter your total disregard, but there are those out there who just might envy your position as my fiancée.”
“But that’s preposterous. It’s not even real!”
“But we’ve hardly announced that, have we?”
“Camille is happily married, my sister would never hurt me, Margaret could have any man she chooses. I hardly think anyone at the party would want me out of the way because of you. Lady Daws, of course, would certainly be interested—I’m sorry, I’m afraid that’s not much of a compliment, for I believe she was interested at one time in any attractive man with any status whatsoever, though I do believe that she has set her talons on my father.”
“True,” he agreed.
“I did not mean to be offensive.”
“I wasn’t offended. It’s just that, well, I am afraid I must be a bit skeptical. First, you believe that someone intends harm to David.”
“Well, he was harmed! He was nearly killed.”
“And then…well, is the person attempting to kill David the same person who’s attempting to either kill you or make you deathly ill?” he inquired.
She shook her head, irritated anew that he was again mocking her. “I simply do not get sick, that is all. I will no longer say anything at all, since it seems that every word out of my mouth is an amusement to you.”
He laughed, and she turned on him in something of a temper. But he was smiling still, and it seemed with good humor rather than mockery, and for a moment, she was caught by the light in his eyes, by the curve of his smile and by the realization that everyone else was really quite right; he was an extraordinary man, tall, powerful and handsome. Striking, really. And when his lips had touched hers, she had felt…
Her knees felt weak with the mere memory, and she looked away. Angry with herself, she rallied, but he had put an arm around her waist.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes…it was just a second of the ship’s sway,” she said.
“Ah.”
“Tell me,” she asked, glad of him next to her, aware that she had come to know his scent well—soap and shaving talc, mingled with the scent of skin beneath. “What will it be like when we get there?”
“Cairo, you mean? Well, I believe that you will find the hotel fascinating. It’s the season, so I imagine there will be two or three hundred guests at Shepheard’s now. And they all gather on the porch, the restaurant, facing the arriving travelers. They are rich and poor, many are British or American, some German…and French. Others, of course, but those are the main groups of tourists. Some have come because they are ill, sadly. Many, many who suffer from tuberculosis come to Egypt, and there are doctors who swear that the weather can prolong life. Every time a new party arrives, all the people at all the tables speculate on who they are, what they do and if they are in Egypt for vacation or for work, if they will go down the Nile or enjoy the sights of Cairo. There are a number of new hotels, of course, and some very nice. But Shepheard’s is where you go if you wish to know who else is around.”
“It sounds…marvelous,” she said.
“It is,” he assured her.
She realized that his arm was still around her. And that she did not want it to move.
“Well, hello!” came a deep voice. Strangely, feeling an odd sense of guilt, Kat jerked away at the sound. “See, dear,” Brian Stirling said to his wife as the pair strolled toward Hunter and Kat, “there are others up and about.”
“Indeed, you two look hale and well!” Camille said, smiling.
Brian cleared his throat. “We did not mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” Hunter said. “In fact, Brian, I was about to go in search of you.”
“Really?”
“I’d have a word with you.”
“Excuse us?” Brian said politely, and the two men moved away down the deck.
“I am glad to see you so well,” Camille told Kat. “There was quite a fright over you the other night. Hunter was frantic, riding for the doctor himself, dragging the poor man out of bed.”
“I didn’t know that,” Kat said. Hunter had been frantic? “But I’m fine.”
“Amazingly so. The others are mostly abed.”
Camille was studying her strangely, but still smiling. Kat shook her head, shrugging. “I usually have a cast-iron stomach, so I’m very sorry to have ruined the party.”
“It was your party, Kat.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Well, it’s good to be started on this journey at last! Tomorrow, of course, will be quite a to-do, transferring from ship to train. And I believe, from all I’ve been told, that the train trip is long and tedious. But I understand that you will meet the art instructor tomorrow. You are still interested, aren’t you?”
“In the art instructor? Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, well, with your upcoming marriage…”
Kat moistened her lips, then reminded Camille, “You became Lady Carlyle, and there you were, day after day, at the museum.”
“Yes, well, it’s a passion, I’m afraid. I imagine art can be the same.”
“I have to admit, I did little more than sketch before. My father is the true artist.”
“For you to be an excellent artist would take nothing away from his talent,” Camille said.
The countess stretched, lifting her face to the wind. “There, the men are returning, filled with their secrets. Can you imagine? What do you think they were talking about?” she asked brightly.
“I don’t know.”
“Us!” Camille said with a laugh. “Or, I would hazard to guess, you. But then again, a fiancée can most likely wheedle such information from her intended.”
“My stomach is quite indecently growling!” Camille announced as the men returned to them. “Do you think that any of the cooks are still standing?”
“Perhaps,” Brian said. “Shall we see? Ah! Miss Adair. Perhaps we should not…”
“I’m quite starving myself,” Kat said.
“Then we shall eat,” Hunter declared.
OTHER THAN THE CREW, it seemed the people on board had retired. Hunter found that he could not do so. He prowled his cabin in his smoking jacket.
He wanted to dismiss Kat’s words about why she fell ill, but he simply could not. Tonight, he had been tempted to taste each bit of her food before her, to sip from her glass, to stand guard by her side.
But they had dined alone tonight, or alone with Camille and Brian, and he was quite certain that none of the crew had evil intentions.
In his conversation with Brian, he had told him about the things David had said to Kat, and then about the words he himself had exchanged with her. Also, that she had thought she had heard menacing whispers at the museum.
“I would put nothing myself past Lady Daws,” Brian had mused, “but she is not with us on the expedition, so how could she do either David or Kat harm? And as for David…” Brian had hesitated. “Interesting. If it were Alfred Daws, I would say easily, yes! If there were a plot afoot, it might well be instigated by his stepmother. His death would bring her the Daws wealth.”
“True enough. But David is the youngest of four brothers,” Hunter had pointed out. “Is this all silly imagination?”
“In the dark and in the desert, it is a
lways wise to be forewarned. And so we shall be,” Brian had assured him.
All very fine and good. But Kat was across a hallway now, and even with Emma in the next room, he didn’t like it.
He stopped his pacing, aware of footsteps in the hall. He listened, assuring himself that what he heard was real. And it was.
He opened his door silently and looked out.
David Turnberry stood before Kat’s door. He raised a hand as if to knock! Then his hand fell. Hunter was about to approach him in anger, but David turned away, walking slowly back to his own room.
Hunter frowned and waited. David did not return.
Hunter swore. He was to spend a sleepless night.
He swore again, then walked across the hall. He set a hand on her door handle. It was not locked. He cursed her in silence and stepped into the room.
She had been sleeping and his arrival awakened her. She jackknifed to a sitting position and was about to scream.
“It’s me, so hush,” he said, and she did.
Looking at her, he felt his body tense from head to toe. The light cotton gown clung to her form. The riot of hair that framed her face and fell in curls on her breast gleamed even in the dim glow from the night-light. He drew the chair from the dressing table or desk. Sliding it against the door, he took a seat.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Sleeping,” he told her. “And you should do the same.”
He could see her frowning. “You must be wretchedly uncomfortable!”
“I am.”
“Then—”
“You nearly had a night visitor.”
“What?”
“David. You didn’t invite him, did you?”
She stiffened indignantly.
“Then I’ll see that he doesn’t enter,” Hunter told her.
She stared at him a long while. She eased her head down again. It didn’t stay. She rose, taking the second pillow from the bed and giving it to him.
He wished she hadn’t done. The cotton of her gown was so thin she might as well have been naked.
“Thank you.”
She nodded, standing there, shivering.
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