Nicholas glowered. “There will be no surveying and definitely no forging.”
“Very well, then.” She paused, waiting for inspiration. Surely there was something to persuade him. She tossed him a sly smile. “Nicholas, you have seen the directions in the letter.”
“Yes?” His tone was wary.
“It indicates the gold is buried near the Temple of Isis on a spit of land thrusting into the river. If the river is high, it could be cut off. To get there we shall surely have to ford the river.” She gazed up at him with all the sweetness she could muster. “For that we shall need horses. Will we not?”
Nicholas looked like a man at the end of his rope. A rope she suspected he would most probably wish to hang her with.
“Sabrina,” he said in a voice obviously barely under control. “Your logic makes no sense whatsoever. I seriously doubt there is even the remotest possibility of problems with high water. However, we shall face that obstacle when, and if, we get to it. All I could find available for this trek on short notice were camels.” He nodded at the motley-looking collection behind him. “They’re damnably expensive too.”
“Nicholas.” She clutched his arm. “I cannot ride a camel.”
Nicholas sighed. “Surely if Belinda—”
“Look at them.” Sabrina nodded toward the beasts. “I cannot get on one. It’s impossible.”
“Sabrina,” he said impatiently. “In the name of all that’s holy—”
She blurted out the words. “They’re just so tall. So bloody high.”
Surprise widened Nicholas’s eyes. “Are you trying to tell me you’re scared of heights? Is that what your reluctance is all about?”
“Yes.” She glared, annoyed that he had forced this admission of weakness. “I have a dreadful fear of high places. I simply cannot abide them.”
Nicholas visibly relaxed. He smiled and pulled her into his arms. “We could ride together. Share one of the beasts. I would have no problem keeping you securely upon the animal and in my arms.” His eyes gleamed suggestively, and she laughed in spite of herself.
“I have the horses.” Matt’s voice wedged between them, and reluctantly Sabrina stepped out of Nicholas’s embrace.
Matt nodded toward the caravan. Four sleek Arabians stood near the camels, the contrast between the noble creatures and the beasts of burden almost comical.
“Matt, how wonderful.” Sabrina’s voice rang with delight.
Nicholas glared. “How did you accomplish this, Madison?”
Matt shrugged. “It wasn’t hard. You just have to know where to look and who to talk to. And, as you can see, I managed to find fairly good-looking horseflesh.”
Nicholas snorted. “Stolen, no doubt.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a thief, Wyldewood?”
A calculating smile touched Nicholas’s lips. “A thief, a rogue, a smuggler. Which suits best, Madison?”
The charge hung in the air like a venomous fog. Panic filled her, and her gaze leaped from one to the other. Surely Nicholas would not reveal his suspicions now? Surely Matt would not rise to the bait and divulge her secret? After her talk with Matt she had decided to tell Nicholas everything. But not now. At some point in the future, perhaps, when they were old and gray and in their dotage. Possibly when she or he lay on their deathbed. Then she would tell him. Not now.
“Enough.” She pushed her way between the scowling duo. “I don’t believe we have time for this nonsense. Nicholas.” She turned to her husband. “How long do we have before the annual flooding of the Nile?”
“Approximately a month, perhaps longer.” His dark, dangerous gaze still locked with Matt’s.
“And it shall take how long to reach the temple?” she said, urging him on.
Nicholas cast a last, disgusted glance at Matt and turned to her. “Ten days, two weeks; it’s impossible to say for certain.”
“Then I suggest we get moving.” Matt grinned. “Watch out for the camels, Wyldewood, they spit.” He turned to leave and threw Sabrina a wink only she could see. She released a pent-up breath. He would not betray her.
Matt took two strides, and Nicholas called after him, “Madison, I didn’t think you were planning to accompany us. To what do we owe the pleasure of your change of heart?”
Matt stopped and swiveled slowly to face them. Her stomach twisted at the impudent smile on his face. “Well, Wyldewood, this trek has been described to me as a grand adventure. I hate to pass on a good adventure. Beyond that”—his gaze flicked to Sabrina and back again—“you never know what you’re going to find when you go digging about in deserts or other things. I’d wager gold isn’t the only secret buried out here.”
Sabrina slipped from her tent and cast a casual glance around the compound. Four days out of Cairo and the company had already fallen into a routine, a ritual that changed only in the site chosen and never in the arrangement of animals and people. With startling efficiency and impressive speed, the attendants threw up the flowing tents that served as overnight shelter. Their competence served as a mild distraction against what proved to be a monotonous excursion.
The trek southward along the Nile moved with the slow, steady beat of a metronome. All concerned grew more and more irritated by the tedious pace, the unrelenting heat, and the tiresome, unchanging landscape. Only Wynne among their company appeared to actually enjoy the never-ending journey.
Sabrina did her best to keep Nicholas and Matt as far apart as possible, although it wasn’t easy given their small numbers. But Matt seemed to cooperate with her attempts; at least he did not go out of his way to incite her husband. She marveled that Nicholas still did not appear to notice Wynne’s affection for the American. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look.
Sabrina glanced toward the fire, now burned low and scarce more than a glow in the night, barely illuminating the tent closest to it. These colorful structures, while airy and passably comfortable, also triggered a fair amount of irritation. Once again the women were quartered together. Nicholas, Erick, and Matt shared a tent, although on any given night one or more of them typically rolled up in a blanket and slept under the stars.
The camp had settled for the evening, and Sabrina smiled to herself. Nicholas stood on the opposite side of the clearing, a black shadow in the moonlight, tall and dark and compelling. He held out his hand, and without words she joined him. Silently they walked a short distance to a meager outcropping of palms, small but enough to shield them from any prying eyes that had not yet succumbed to sleep. They gazed at each other for but a moment before Sabrina threw herself into his waiting arms.
Locked in his embrace, she lost herself in the still novel sensations fanned to life by his demanding lips. His mouth slanted over hers again and again, as if to make up in intensity what they lacked in time. She twined her fingers in the silken hair at the nape of his neck and greeted him as eagerly as he hungered for her.
His lips traveled the curve of her neck, and she shuddered with need and growing frustration. They could not give in to their desire here, now. “Nicholas.” She gasped. “We must stop.”
He groaned and pulled away. “That seems to be the only thing you say to me of late. This marriage of convenience grows more and more inconvenient with every passing moment.”
“Tell me again why we do not have a tent of our own.”
He released a deep breath. “We do not have a tent of our own, my love, because you were in such a blasted hurry to begin this journey. Therefore I had to take what I could get.”
“It is an excellent excuse, Nicholas.” She sighed and leaned against him. “But it does nothing to subdue this altogether awkward desire you have awakened within me.”
He laughed and gazed into her face. She affected a teasing pout and hoped he could see it in the moonlight. “It seems, my dear wife, that we suit after all. I suspected it when we first met, but you have dispelled any lingering doubts. I look forward to a long and happy marriage of convenience.”
Her heart stilled.
“Do you?” she said under her breath. The teasing tone left her voice, the moment between them abruptly serious, heavy with a significance she did not intend. Or perhaps she did.
What did he mean? He already had her willingly in his bed, during those rare moments when they had a bed. What more could he want from her? She didn’t dare hope his words indicated he had at last succumbed to the lure of love. Another unrepentant, unreformed rake long ago had loved her. But surely such miracles did not happen twice in the same lifetime.
The swollen desert moon reflected in his eyes and outlined each chiseled feature of his face. He drew her hands to his lips and kissed them with a touch so light, yet so full of promise, that her knees ached from the effort to stand upright.
“Sabrina.” His voice was as gentle as his touch and just as weighted. “I feel we—”
A startled shout ripped the desert air.
“What the—” Sabrina whirled toward the camp.
“Bloody hell!” Nicholas grabbed her arm and ran toward the tents. “Come on!”
“What is it, Nicholas? What’s happened?” Sabrina struggled to keep up with his long strides. He pulled her behind him, half dragging her in his wake, and she fought to keep her footing.
The camp was in utter chaos. Everywhere, bodies and beasts gyrated in an odd, confusing dance. Firelight and moonlight reflected and shadowed and revealed and hid. It seemed it all moved too fast for her to comprehend, or perhaps she moved too slowly.
“Damnation, they’re stealing the horses!” Matt’s outraged yell cut through her bewilderment and the baffled fog that had enveloped her.
“Nicholas.” She clutched his arm. “They’re stealing the horses!”
“I can see that!” His voice thundered above the din. “I suppose you want me to go after them?”
Sabrina’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course, Nicholas. Go! Now! Before they get away!” She shoved him in the direction of greatest pandemonium.
“Come on, Wyldewood.” Matt sprinted toward them, Erick a step behind. Both men held reins for camels who looked none too eager for this latest venture. “We’re going after my horses.”
“Your horses?” Nicholas said.
“Yes, they’re my horses. Every damned one of them. Bought and paid for. They cost a small fortune too!” Even in the scant light, Matt’s glare was unmistakable. He tossed her a quick glance. “Not that it mattered, mind you.”
“Of course not,” she murmured.
“Nicholas! Captain!” Wynne dashed forward, her glasses precariously askew on her nose. “What on earth is going on?” She swiveled her head from side to side to take in all the commotion around her. “Is this some kind of raid?” Her voice rose with excitement. “Bedouins, do you think?”
“No, Wynne, I do not think it’s Bedouins.” Nicholas’s voice was as sharp as possible given his current attempt to hoist himself upon the camel. “If it were tribesmen, we should very likely be dead by now.”
Matt already balanced astride his beast. “I doubt they’d kill us, Wyldewood, at least not right away.”
“Oh, that is good news,” Wynne said with barely suppressed enthusiasm.
Matt ignored her, obviously chafing to get under way. Nicholas wheeled his camel about in a surprisingly graceful gesture. “Let’s get this farce over with.”
“But if it’s not Bedouins, then who?” Wynne called after them.
Matt released an impatient breath. “Tomb robbers, my love. It’s practically the national profession. No doubt someone’s heard about our expedition to recover artifacts, thanks to His Royal Lordship’s little fable, and wants us stopped.” In the golden glow of the moon, his lopsided grin was evident. “Sorry it couldn’t be Bedouins for your first adventure. Tomb robbers will just have to do.” He tossed Wynne a jaunty salute and took off after Nicholas and Erick.
If it weren’t for the gravity of the situation, the scene would have been positively funny. The three men mounted on camels, giving chase to a virtual fleet of handlers and attendants who’d taken off after the stolen horses on foot, black silhouettes against the desert moon. Silence descended over the camp, and they were utterly alone.
“Tomb robbers.” Sabrina groaned.
“Tomb robbers,” Wynne said, excitement rising in her voice. “This is a grand adventure.”
Sabrina stared. “My dear, you have an interesting definition of adventure.”
“Well, I simply believe that if—”
A scream pierced the now peaceful night.
“Good Lord! Belinda!” Terror surged through her, and Sabrina bolted for her daughter’s tent. Wynne followed close at her heels. Her heart pounded in a frenzied rhythm. Fear for Belinda’s safety pushed her legs faster and faster, and she seemed to fly above the earth. Something caught at her, and she crashed to the ground.
“Wynne, watch out!” Obviously Wynne had overrun her in their anxious sprint. She rolled to her feet, only to be dashed to the ground once more. Sabrina glanced upward to see a rough blanket descend over her head, bundling her in its folds, heavy and suffocating, smelling foully of man and beast. Panic for herself and her child fueled her resistance and she flailed wildly, to no avail. Her arms were pressed flat against her sides as if a rope wrapped around the outside of the crude material that imprisoned her.
“Let me go!” Her cries seemed smothered even to her own ears. Dimly she realized that no doubt the same nefarious devils who had stolen the horses were now abducting her as well. Muffled cries in the distance indicated the same fate had befallen Wynne and Belinda.
Her feet left the ground, and she kicked out helplessly. With a soft thud that knocked her breath away, she landed on her stomach across what could only be a horse. Like some felled animal, trussed and ready for a spit, she sprawled crosswise on the beast, feet and head dangling on either side, uncomfortable and terrified. In a moment a solid form wedged next to her. She suspected this was her kidnapper and angrily shoved against him. A coarse laugh sounded above her and a sharp slap smacked her buttocks. Even the horse uttered a grunt of protest, and they were off at a gallop. Within moments, Sabrina was too sore and tired to continue any attempt at resistance and gritted her teeth, determined to bear this as best she could.
Fears she’d had no time to consider before now filled her head. What did these marauders want? What had they done with her daughter? With Wynne? What were their plans for them? For her? Would they kill her? Or would death be preferable to whatever fate they intended?
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. She’d handled herself well back in her smuggling days. She knew how to wield a knife and command the loyalty of men. But never had she faced danger of this sort. Unknown and deadly.
The horse pounded on endlessly, and she slipped into a dazed stupor of ache and exhaustion and fear. Nicholas’s image shimmered in her mind. Would she ever have the chance to tell him everything? What was he trying to tell her before the raid so abruptly pulled them apart? Did he, as she hoped, love her after all?
Perhaps… Blackness beckoned and she accepted it with relief… It no longer mattered.
Chapter 16
A sharp jolt jarred Sabrina fully to her senses. She lay curled on her side, still wrapped in the coarse, pungent blanket, the ground beneath her strangely yielding, like bread dough not yet risen. Fear kept her motionless and silent. She strained for any noise, any sense of movement, any indication of where she was.
A soft thud and a grunt sounded to her left. A second thunk and a pathetic cry echoed in the air. Cautiously she stretched aching limbs. The wrap about her was loose. She ripped it off, hurled it away, and scrambled to her feet.
Only the stars far above illuminated her prison, some sort of very large hole or trench or pit. A musty scent, dry and unfamiliar, settled around her. A dark shadow lay nearby. She stumbled toward it and reached out a tentative hand. Immediately the shape lunged.
“Do not dare touch me, you fiend!” Wynne’s muffled
voice came from beneath the rough covering.
“Wynne, it’s me. Keep still, let me get this off.” Sabrina struggled with the tangled cover and the loose ropes holding it in place.
“Where are we?”
“We’re in the middle of your bloody adventure,” Sabrina said impatiently. “Now where’s Belinda?”
“Mother?” a weak voice called from the dark.
“Belinda?” Sabrina groped toward her daughter and nearly tripped over the huddled form. Belinda too was wrapped in the abrasive, coarse material. Sabrina pulled off the offensive cloth, helped her daughter to her feet, and gathered her in her arms.
Belinda sobbed. “Mother, where are we? What has happened?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, but I suspect we’re safe.” Her eyes strained to adjust in the blackness. “At least for now.”
Feet shuffling in the sand and a murmur of deep voices drew her attention upward. Several figures leaned over the pit, dark cutouts against the starry night. Anger surged through her, dissipating her fear. “Who are you? What do you want with us?”
“We will not harm you, English lady.” The coarse voice taunted her, heavily accented but understandable. “You will stay here for a time. Yes?”
“No!”
She could hear the shrug in his voice. “Very well then, leave. Go. Shoo, shoo.” His companions echoed his rough laughter.
“What do you want?” she said again, attempting to quell her growing irritation. “Why have you abducted us?”
There was a pause, as if her captor debated the wisdom of honesty. “We do not permit all those who wish to steal what was left to us by the ancient ones to do so.”
“Of course not.” Relief flooded her. If she could just get him to understand they were not here for artifacts left behind by early Egyptians but for something left far more recently by the French, without revealing that something was gold, then perhaps… “I can see where you’d be quite offended at your heritage being stolen. I can assure you—”
His laughter ripped the air above her. “We care nothing for the stones and statues that have littered our land for as long as anyone can remember. But you do. Europeans pay dearly for that which once belonged to our ancestors. For their gods and their temples and their mortal remains.”
The Perfect Wife Page 22
