As she sat on her pony and watched the sun brighten the carved stonewalls of the cliffs across the valley, she noticed a flash of light—like a reflection of the sun—in the bushes on the hillside a few yards below. It was almost as if someone was signaling her with a mirror. She squinted and then saw it again.
The thought came to her that she might be on the verge of discovering some treasure dropped by ancient tomb robbers. Feeling a growing excitement, she slipped off her pony and pulled the reins over his head and dropped them to the ground.
“Stay,” she said, as she turned and scrambled down the steep hill, throwing rocks and clods of stone up as she went. How many times had she seen the villagers and workers maneuver up and down these hills? She could hardly believe she was doing it now herself without protective footwear.
The flash had seemed to come from a wide bush clearly visible in the hillside thirty yards below. As she steadied herself for the final few steps, she shrieked and fell, skidding on her stomach on the hard rocky ground. She gasped as there, beneath the bush, she found what she was looking for.
The tiny gold cross hanging from William’s slashed and bloody throat glimmered in the morning sun.
Chapter Twelve
The Nile, 1922
From the railing of the boat where Rowan stood, he could see the bare tips of the pyramids at Giza. When he had first arrived in 2013 Cairo, he’d been informed at the airport that the famous structures were a mere thirty-minute taxi ride from his hotel. But Marvel, who had visited them the day after she arrived, told him the trip to Giza had taken two hours by car. While she said she hadn’t been in the mood to scale the monuments many of the young people in her party had. He resolved that he and Ella would come back one day and do the tourist thing. Because of the 2011 revolution and resultant lack of tourists, the restrictions on climbing the pyramids had been lifted. He would photograph her on a camel just like she had talked about.
Marvel stood by his side as they watched the sunset bathe the quickly receding city in shades of gold and rose. Rowan knew he was taking advantage of her infatuation with him, but he also knew he needed her help in reaching the Valley of the Kings—and Ella. Traveling with Marvel and her big noisy party was the best cover he could hope for in distracting attention from the obvious fact that he was different from everyone else in 1922. As much as he tried, there were just too many things about him that stuck out.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Marvel said. She wore a long and flowing multicolor floral robe that imitated the typical Egyptian garb. The difference was her robe was made of the finest silk and her décolleté was embellished by a ostentatious string of semiprecious jewels.
Rowan wore khaki trousers and a long sleeve khaki shirt. The ensemble was a little baggier than he liked, but he accepted that it was the style and he was determined not to stick out any worse than he felt he already did. He had to admit the outfit was comfortable and while he had initially worried about overheating in the long sleeves, the protection from the evening mosquitoes was worth it.
“I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to crash your party,” he said.
He smiled as she glanced knowingly at him. She knew and he knew that from the minute she had laid eyes on him, she would be open to just about any kind of verb Rowan had in mind for her party or her person.
On the way down to the dining room, Rowan nodded to Ra, who was standing with some of the other young Egyptians hired to work on the boat for this trip. Rowan had employed Ra as his—as Ra called it—dragoman. With Marvel’s party, it would look odd not to have at least one servant. Rowan was grateful for the lack of questions he knew Marvel was entirely capable of hammering him with. Because he was not sure how long her attraction to him would keep the barrage at bay—especially after they found Ella—he was determined to do what he could, within reason, to play the part she had chosen for him.
Rowan took Marvel’s hand and tucked it under his arm as they moved downstairs. A quick look at her face confirmed the move was a right one. She blushed briefly and then was uncharacteristically silent as they took their seats at the dinner table.
* * * *
“Mr. Spenser says it looks like suicide.”
Julia spoke as she squinted into the hanging mirror in Ella’s tent and patted her perfectly coiled coif.
“How is it possible to slit your own throat?”
“I know little of these things. If Mr. Spenser says so, I must accept his greater knowledge.”
“He just doesn’t want to deal with a possible murderer in our midst.”
“William probably had a disagreement with another Egyptian. Mr. Spenser says we are not to interfere with local matters.”
“Mr. Spenser sounds like a moron.”
“I must say, Ella, I am very afraid that the longer we stay in these primitive conditions, the more coarse I see you becoming. You really are not behaving like a very suitable traveling companion.”
“That’s because I am not a traveling companion, remember? If anything, I’m the one you hired to off your husband.”
“That is completely untrue!”
“It doesn’t worry you that William broke your husband’s nose and now William is dead?”
“Are you saying Edward killed William? You are deranged to even suggest it.”
“I’m saying Edward plays with some fairly sinister friends like his buddy Abdullah there. You don’t think Abdullah couldn’t pull off a cold-blooded ear-to-ear in the dead of night? I think he was made for that kind of thing.”
“Shhh! Quiet. Someone’s outside the tent.” Julia reached over and grabbed Ella’s hand. She squeezed it so hard that Ella nearly yelped, but she could hear the footsteps too and so held her breath. They waited until the steps moved away. Julia let out a long breath.
“Has anyone seen Carter recently?” Ella asked. “Seems like Spenser has totally taken over.”
“Mr. Carter is busy at the dig site,” Julia said tiredly. “Domestic problems are too menial for a man like him.”
“By domestic problems you are referring to murder and attempted rape?”
“Please don’t be melodramatic, Ella. As it happens, I have had a conversation with Edward about…about the set-to with William in your tent.”
“You did?”
“Yes, he admitted to me…and I think you should give him credit for this confession, that he made an inappropriate advance in your direction.”
“Oh, is that what they’re calling attempted rape now? An inappropriate advance?”
Ignoring her, Julia smoothed the creases in her gown. “He gave as his reason the perfectly understandable fact that he has waited so patiently for…for our situation to move forward.”
“Julia, honey. Rape has got nothing to do with the fact that he hasn’t had any in awhile.”
“It wasn’t rape.”
“Not thanks to your husband.”
“I have, at his urging, agreed to…” She cleared her throat and flicked away invisible dust from her dress.
“You’re moving into his tent.”
Julia looked at Ella with sad eyes. “I am,” she said.
“Did you talk about the once-a-month schedule? Although, frankly, I wish you’d just end the marriage and be done with it. Why would you want to make it work with a rapist?”
“We came to no arrangements,” Julia said. “As he said, I am his wife.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do this.”
“I have no choice.”
“You know you do.”
“Anyway, it’s done. My things will be moved into his tent. When you see me in the morning I will be married in every sense of the word.” She definitely looked sick as she said the words.
At dinner that evening, Ella sat across from Spenser and next to Julia, who sat directly across from Digby. Carter was already working in his tent. As Ella sliced into her rare roast beef, she willed herself to act cool and calmly. The fact that she was having a civilized dinner with the man
who nearly raped her two nights before and who almost certainly murdered her rescuer—and friend—was almost unbelievable to her.
What kind of world did these people live in where women could be abused and men killed with no consequence?
She stole a glance at Julia who was chewing quietly, and looking down at her plate. And the only reaction to the natural horrors of these crimes is denial? To say it didn’t happen? That’s how one deals with injustice in 1922? Ella looked at Digby who immediately stared back at her. He licked his lips and gave her a wolfish grin.
Unbelievable.
“Your beef is to your liking, Miss Stevens?” Ella looked up to see Spenser frowning at her. He probably saw me looking at Digby and is afraid I’m going to start something.
“Yes, it’s delicious, Mr. Spenser. Thank you.”
“And your dinner, Lady Digby?” Spenser said to Julia.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Spenser,” Julia said without looking at him.
Ella looked over Digby’s shoulder at the hulking Abdullah standing behind him. There is a fundamental law of nature, she found herself thinking as she watched the Egyptian, that there is a payoff to every set up. That being true, she thought as she watched him, you’ll get yours in the end.
The meal ended quietly with servants whisking away plates and thumping heavy crystal brandy decanters onto the table. Up until Carter had become a consistent no-show at dinner, the evening meals had been pleasant, entertaining and always informative. Ella had found Carter’s mastery of the understatement particularly amusing although she noticed that Julia only feigned amusement at his bon mots. But now that it was just the four of them—including the usually dull Spenser—the meal had become something to endure and get over with.
Ella stood up, prompting Digby and Spenser to stand, although the Viscount quickly sat down again in obvious disrespect to her. “I’m off to bed,” she said. “Been a long day.”
Julia grabbed her arm. “So soon, Ella? Do you not want to play cards?”
“No. I’m beat. I’m just going to take the double-barreled derringer that I found on poor William’s murdered body and tuck in for the night.”
Spenser blinked at her. “He was armed?” he said.
She noticed that Digby’s mouth had fallen open in surprise.
“Confusing, isn’t it?” Ella said. “Maybe you were right about him committing suicide because otherwise why didn’t he just blow the bejeezus out of the person trying to kill him? Doesn’t make any sense.” She looked directly at Digby and forced herself to smile. “I know that’s what I would do if someone tried to attack me. Well, goodnight, all.” Ella swept from the table and enjoyed beyond measure the stunned silence she left in her wake.
There was, of course, no derringer or any other kind of gun to prevent another attack by Digby.
But he didn’t know that.
Hours later, in the middle of a surprisingly sound sleep, Ella was bolted wide awake by a piercing scream. Groping for the cook’s knife she had stolen and put under her pillow, she jumped out of bed and struggled into her robe. In the silence that followed, Ella stood in the dark tent, breathing heavily and shivering in the chill of the night.
Had she imagined it? Had she dreamt it?
And then a long and agonized scream again rent the air. A scream of terror and pain.
Julia.
Ella was not the first to run up the gravel trail to Digby’s tent. Perhaps Spenser wasn’t as clueless as she had assumed. Although Ella had no doubt that Digby’s man, Abdullah, would have forcibly prevented her from entering the tent, he was not fool enough to stand in the way of a white man. The American knocked him aside and entered the tent before Julia had finished her scream. What he saw inside, Ella would not know, but she did know that, husband or not, Digby got his nose re-broken by the big American within seconds.
By the time Ella scrambled up the path to Julia’s tent, the bottoms of her feet ripped and bleeding, Spenser had wrapped Julia in a sheet and was ushering her out of the tent. As soon as he saw Ella, he gently propelled Julia into her arms. Julia fell against Ella and began convulsingly weeping on her shoulder. Ella glared up at Spenser.
“Will he be allowed to roam free now?”
Spenser rubbed his knuckles and glanced in the direction of Carter’s tent, clearly preferring to pass the baton on this one. He looked back at Ella. “Go on,” he said. “Take her with you.”
“I know, I know,” Ella said, tugging Julia down the gravel road. “We’ll deal with it in the morning. But I want a guard on my tent!”
She heard him turn away, cursing under his breath.
Minutes later, the sound of bare feet in front of her tent could be heard. A moment later, another sentry was posted at the rear.
Ella held her trembling friend. Julia’s weeping had stopped but she couldn’t bear to separate from Ella. They curled up on Ella’s bed, the light from the lantern blazing, illuminating the tent interior.
“Oh, Ella,” Julia said, her voice a hoarse croak.
“I know, sweetie,” Ella said, patting her shoulder. “I know. Now we kill him.”
The next morning, Ella slipped out of bed and was instantly reminded of her own injuries from the night before when her sore feet touched the floor. She crept gingerly to the tray of tea the servant had just delivered, and carried it to the wooden crate that served as her bedside table. She dribbled milk into one teacup and poured tea from the little teapot.
“I’m awake,” Julia said from the bed.
Ella stirred the cup and handed it to her. “How do you feel?”
Julia took the tea and sipped it before answering. Her eyes met Ella’s. “He’s a monster,” she said.
Ella nodded and poured her own tea. The two drank in silence for several moments.
“Were you serious last night about killing him?” Julia asked.
Ella allowed a wry smile. “Well, I probably was last night,” she said. “But it doesn’t sound like my best idea in the light of day.”
“I suppose not.”
“Do you want to talk about it? About last night?”
Julia squeezed her eyes shut tight. “No,” she said, shuddering. “Please, no.” She looked suddenly horror-stricken. “Mr. Spenser saw me,” she said, “…naked.”
Ella saw that she was about to start trembling again. “It was just for a flash. I’m sure he will recall nothing. He was too busy punching your husband in the nose to take much notice. Trust me.”
“What do I do now, Ella?” Julia said. “If you’re sure we can’t kill him.”
“I don’t know,” Ella said. “But I’m working on it.”
Julia refused to leave Ella’s tent that day. She said she didn’t feel safe even with the guards and insisted that Ella stay with her. Except to make a quick run to Julia’s tent to gather clothes, Ella stayed with her.
Digby ate a hearty breakfast. He had opted to skip the dig site this morning—just in case that bastard Spenser had poisoned the well with him against Carter. In his experience, a few days for everyone to cool off usually did the trick. He threw a piece of bacon to one of the camp dogs, wiped his fingers on his linen napkin and returned to his tent. It was too hot for a ride before lunch but he had a book he could enjoy. He glanced down the rock path toward the American woman’s tent, now housing his difficult bride. That had been pleasant, he smiled. Then he thought of Spenser attacking him.
I should have a word with Carter, he thought. Tell my side of things. Tell him to call off his dog. She is my wife after all.
As Digby approached his tent, he saw Abdullah standing in front of it with one arm blocking entrance and staring down at none other than the little American bitch. She stood in her trousers, the revealing lines of the snug pants showing the luscious cleft of her bottom, each cheek outlined perfectly like a ripe peach and ending in those long legs. Hello. Perhaps the morning would be interesting yet.
“What is the meaning of this?” Digby called out in his most imperious voic
e.
She turned, literally shoving her large breasts up at him, accentuated as they were by her hands resting on her hips.
I’ll show you a little bit about mastery, my girl, he thought forcing his face not to mirror his thoughts.
“I’m here to get Julia’s clothes,” she said to him. Brazen and unafraid. Digby could feel his member stiffen at her haughty tone. “Tell your thug to get out of my way.”
Digby made a dismissive gesture to Abdullah and the man vanished behind the tent. Nearby, if needed, but invisible.
“After you,” Digby said, bowing gallantly and indicating the opening in the tent with his eye.
She quickly pushed past the flap and entered the tent. Digby took one step behind her into the tent when she whirled around, grabbed him by the elbows and brought her knee up hard and solidly into his crotch. She pushed him backward out of the tent and as he fell, excruciating pain emanating from every pore on his body, he heard a pathetic croak come from his lips—too soft to alert Abdullah. After that, all his effort was on the body-wracking agony that left him immobilized and stricken. She vanished into the tent, and returned with his slop pail which she dumped onto his head pail and all. Then she grabbed a stack of Julia’s clothes and headed down the path to her tent.
The Nile River, 1922
“Guess you’re pretty excited about reaching Luxor tomorrow?”
Rowan turned from his position at the starboard rail on the prow of the boat. Marvel was an outdoors woman, something Rowan liked in a woman. She didn’t mind the sun and seemed impervious to the weather. She had dressed this morning in a split-skirt with a loose silk blouse tucked into the waist. He could not help but notice that she was not wearing any foundation undergarment.
Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2) Page 12