Siren's Secret

by Trish Albright

  She giggled against him.

  Success.

  He understood. Whenever she was in his arms he dreaded the moment when he would fall asleep. He wanted to spend every precious moment with her—talking, laughing, making love. Sleep was a hindrance.

  “You need your sleep, love.” He brushed back her long wavy hair with his fingers, loving the way it looked untamed after they made love. “We don’t know what tomorrow brings.”

  She turned and pushed him on his back, sliding over him, her hair creating a curtain of privacy, blocking out the world and tomorrow. “Then love me again. Now. Until we are too tired to care what tomorrow brings.”

  “I will always love you, Elizabeth. Always.” He spread her knees over his hips and did as she requested. Loved her until it didn’t matter what tomorrow brought.

  When they were through and she slept in his arms, he stayed awake watching over her, thanking God for making him the luckiest man in the world.

  Olivia had her journal next to the lamp, reading it and contemplating what to do. It was well past midnight, and still she had no solution. Perhaps they would not be able to visit the tomb tomorrow. Or she could tell everyone the truth: that there was no treasure, and she didn’t know where the secret astrolabe disc could be.

  The truth was her only recourse.

  She sighed. As if that would go over well.

  Just as she decided to pursue a course of truth, Samuel’s sister entered the tent, closing it carefully behind her. “Don’t want to let any asps in,” she said.

  Olivia checked the tent floor instinctively. Now she would never sleep.

  “What is it?” Olivia asked.

  “Do not go back to the tomb, Olivia. There is nothing left to find. And if you did find something, Moreau would kill you before you could make it public.”

  Olivia frowned. “He has no objection to our taking the scrolls. I don’t think it’s as dire as you think.”

  “Olivia, it is much more serious than you think. Moreau is a follower of the prophecy. I don’t believe he is working alone either.”

  “I know.” Olivia leaned against the desk, dismal.

  “Once they have your interpretation, your life is … I’m sorry, but it’s expendable.”

  “That’s indeed a blow to my self-worth,” Olivia said.

  “The legend of Lilith and the prophecy need to disappear,” Alex said.

  “Is that why you corresponded with my father? Why you came here? To destroy historical information?” Olivia’s voice was angry and accusatory. She was frustrated by everyone’s motives.

  Alex sighed, tired. “Actually, no. I came to see if any of it was real. If my life had been changed because of someone’s fantasy. If my mother had been murdered on a whim because she happened to inherit a disc that was part of a prophecy to predict the end of days.”

  Olivia gasped. She hadn’t known about Samuel’s mother. He’d never hinted or explained. And the duchess knew about the prophecy prediction—a transformation of the world.

  “You wondered about my clothes. And my jewelry. I don’t follow fashion because I like to be able to button my clothes without a maid. Because I cannot stand for anyone to see this.” Olivia stared while the duchess turned her back and pulled aside her hair. Then she revealed what her shirt hid.

  Olivia gasped in horror, knocking her ink to the floor—and nearly her lamp, when she backed into the desk. “What … what happened? Who … why? Why would anyone do that?” Olivia could not stop her tears. She could not understand or comprehend the magnitude of pain that could create the vision in front of her. The duchess’s entire back was covered with ugly scars, long welts crisscrossing so deep she was certain the woman had been cut to the bone. Other parts were puckered and uneven, her skin a mishmash of uneven colors. And then she saw something else—something primitive and barbaric. And she understood why Stafford had designed the necklace as he had.

  On the back of his sister’s neck was … No. Not possible. Olivia could not believe such a thing would be on the skin of a gentlewoman. She stepped closer, lifting the heavy red hair, and bit her lip hard to hide her innate revulsion. A tattoo. No wonder his sister covered it.

  “It’s the symbol of Lilith,” Olivia said. Her voice rasped, and she released the woman’s hair, turning away to find a handkerchief. She scrubbed her face fiercely while Alex buttoned her shirt. Olivia tried to compose herself, to prevent her face and eyes from revealing pity and shock … and the blazing anger she felt toward whomever could do such a thing.

  “I take it you did not request the tattoo,” Olivia said. She guessed something else as well. “You have part of the astrolabe.”

  The duchess’s silence answered for her.

  “Who did this? And why?”

  “People chasing the prophecy. The tattoo, for money. The whip”—Alex’s jaw clenched, her green eyes turned fierce—“because he could.”

  The duchess clearly knew something about survival Olivia hoped never to learn.

  “I showed you, Olivia, because you don’t realize that Moreau is one of these people. He hasn’t killed yet because he has control. Because he has you doing what he needs. When that’s gone anything can happen.”

  “My father and Lampley won’t allow that. This is not Moreau’s expedition.”

  “According to Nathan, Lampley is out of money. Moreau has paid all the soldiers today—personally—so they know whom to be loyal to, Olivia. And he brought fifty more soldiers with him. If there is a battle, we will be seriously outnumbered.”

  Olivia didn’t want to believe it. “What can I do?”

  “Destroy it. Destroy the evidence, and don’t get trapped in the tomb doing it.”

  The duchess flipped back the tent flap and left Olivia with even more to think about. The sun would be rising soon, and still she had no answers that anyone wanted to hear.

  Samuel sat around a fire with some of the men. Merryvale continued to work into the night, logging and securing documents as they were brought from the tomb. The man was clearly in his element, oblivious to his daughter and completely unaware of the growing hostilities of Lampley and Moreau. Samuel decided it was time for a little chat.

  Merryvale didn’t look up when he approached.

  “I like you, Stafford. That might surprise you, considering you don’t think much of me, but I think you’re good for my daughter.”

  “If you are so concerned with the best interests of your daughter, why have you allowed her to be put in such a position?”

  Merryvale stopped his work and looked at Samuel. “It is you who have done this. Never in my life would I have thought my daughter would find her way to Egypt on her own.”

  “She had no one else to turn to, and she thought you were in danger. She risked much to come help you.”

  Merryvale sighed. “And I’m undeserving of her concern in your mind.”

  “Yes.” Samuel didn’t mince words. “You’re a father in name only, using her when you need her talents and skills. Selfish with your time and praise and encouragement unless it furthers your agenda. You needn’t worry that she knows better. She thinks you’re wonderful. Because she has no concept of what wonderful might be. No clue what it is to be part of a family, and though the smartest woman I have ever met, no idea that a thing such as love exists, because she never got it from the one person who mattered.”

  “You overstep yourself, Stafford,” Merryvale said. “You know nothing of the relationship between my daughter and me. And you would do well to stay out it.”

  Samuel had indeed overstepped—Merryvale was fuming. But he had no intention of retreating. “She needs to know you love her. Do you? You’ve had barely a word of welcome or gesture of affection at her arrival. Her life was in imminent danger every day of the journey, and she came regardless, determined to make sure you were safe. How do you think she felt when she saw you were happier to see the librarian’s cone than her?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I
love her. Can you say the same? You have forsaken her for sand, stone, and dust.” Samuel grabbed the man’s arm to make sure he was clear. “Where are your priorities, sir?”

  “Samuel!” Olivia shouted from her tent and ran over to them. “What are you doing?” She looked at his grip on her father, and he released. “How dare you.” She went around the table and inserted herself between them. “Are you unharmed, Father? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Samuel said. “Just having a chat.” Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy. She’d been crying. “Are you unwell?”

  “Of course I’m unwell. I’ve had a stressful day. And it refuses to end! And everyone around me is at odds, and it’s up to me to be the calm and logical one. Have you tried that lately? It’s exhausting,” she shouted.

  Samuel fought a smile and took her by the arm. “I’ll walk you to bed.”

  “I don’t need to be walked.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said. “I promise to kiss you good night too. You need it.”

  “I can survive without your kisses.”

  “But why suffer when you don’t have to?”

  “You’re obscenely arrogant tonight,” she said as he led her away. “I thought my father liked you. What happened?”

  “He does like me. He thinks I’m good for you. We just disagree over a certain matter.”

  “Do you think Moreau is going to kill me?”

  Samuel froze. He didn’t have a reassuring answer, but he wouldn’t insult Olivia’s intelligence with platitudes. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t think so,” she reassured herself after he didn’t. “I’m useful. And he has been incredibly tolerable all day.”

  “One day makes all the difference,” Samuel said.

  “You need to be more optimistic, Stafford. It’s not healthy going around thinking people want to kill you. I’ve decided it’s very unrestful.”

  Which explained why she wasn’t resting. He stopped at her tent and pulled her into his arms before she could make any more ridiculous assumptions.

  “You may kiss me now. I thought I should give you permission, since you were going to anyway and that would be rude. It seems I have to teach you manners on top of everything else.”

  “Thank you, that was most instructive,” he said. “Now hush.” Samuel lowered his lips to hers, grazing them back and forth teasingly until she clung to the lapels of his shirt for balance. She liked it. That was instructive.

  Once she was adequately focused on the matter at hand, he slid his hands up the side of her waist and over her rib cage, his thumbs stopping to make a tantalizing detour around the curve of her breasts, discovering her peaks and eliciting a welcome gasp of surprise.

  He growled with satisfaction as his mouth plundered the curve between her neck and shoulder. He lifted his head, observing the clean lines of her face in the moonlight, slumberous eyes fluttering open to meet his. Then she arched shamelessly against him.

  He gasped. And did the only thing he could. He reached both hands over the soft curve of her bottom and yanked her hard against him, giving her no doubt of what he wanted and the trouble she’d started. All right—he’d sort of started it. But she squirmed. God, she felt good. He pulled back for air.

  “No,” she whispered, desperate and aching.

  “Ummh.” Samuel took her hands and stepped away. “We have an audience.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I do,” her father said.

  Samuel scowled. Now he decided to take over his fatherly duties?

  Samuel slipped his hands through her hair, cradling the back of her head, and stole a long kiss.

  She sighed on release.

  That would give her something useful to think about for a change.

  “My daughter needs her rest, Stafford. She’s had enough for one day,” Merryvale said. “And I don’t think I like you taking liberties quite so far.”

  Before Samuel could react, the man’s fist was in his jaw. He opened his mouth and shook it off.

  Damn. Should’ve seen that one coming.

  “Father! It’s not what you think,” Olivia said.

  “Yes, it is,” Samuel contradicted.

  “It’s … It’s …” She couldn’t come up with anything to say.

  Samuel and her father said it for her—together. “Good night, Olivia.”

  “Humph.” She spun into the tent, slapping the loose door shut behind her.

  Samuel rubbed his jaw. “Good one, sir. Was it sincere?”

  “Good night, Stafford.”

  Having provided enough entertainment for the night guards, Samuel went back to the fire and got some sleep.

  With the odds stacked against them, he was going to need it.

  Moreau finished the last page of the letter. It was an account of the entire journey thus far. His mistress would be pleased. He was in possession of the funerary cone and had indeed used it to unlock the chambers of the librarian. Tomorrow they would complete the task. He was certain to succeed in finding the disc and putting them one step closer to finding the ancient realm of Lilith. It was what they had all worked for and sacrificed for these many years.

  He sealed the envelope and called a trusted messenger. He’d brought three such messengers who were responsible for delivering the correspondence personally. While hopeful of success to report in the near future, he also knew he could not risk waiting any longer to send news. If something were to happen to him and there was no record, the loss would be significant.

  The messenger would leave at first light.

  Moreau sat back and relished the moment.

  Soon he and his mistress mastermind would be another step closer to claiming the elusive treasure of the seas and harnessing untold power of the ages.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The next morning came despite Olivia’s prayers. She decided to stay in her tent with the flap closed, hoping to be left alone. She was hiding. Knowing she was hiding made her extremely thirsty. And hungry. Her tent suddenly became a stifling prison. But she felt certain that if she didn’t leave her tent, nothing bad would happen.

  She would tell them she still needed to study the translation. It might take a few days.

  Olivia nearly believed in her strategy, when Moreau interrupted her. She thought it a bit rude that he didn’t warn her before entering her father’s tent.

  “Sir Jason,” she said. “How are you this morning?”

  “Discouraged, my dear. Very discouraged.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She noticed some guards outside the tent. It made her uneasy. Were they guarding him or her?

  “I just know the missing piece to the astrolabe is here in the tomb.”

  Olivia didn’t say anything.

  “Any success with the interpretation, dear?”

  “I wrote out what I understood. I’m afraid it won’t be of much help. It’s largely generic information about the family, lineage, children, et cetera. The text from the astrolabe room is more interesting, but also nothing that is not already known.”

  She stopped. He nodded, listening. He seemed to be taking it well.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He patted her hand. “So am I, my dear. I thought you were smarter.”

  Olivia snapped back insulted. “Sir Jason, there is just nothing there to explain any further. I believe the secret was that the astrolabe was sent to the ends of the earth. And the treasure is a metaphor … or I have misinterpreted it.” Olivia thought. “That’s very possible. I could be wrong about that meaning.”

  “I see. Very well.” He stepped from the tent. “Why don’t you join us down in the tomb? Maybe that will stimulate ideas.”

  “I’m going to keep working on the translation today, thank you. I’m still exhausted. Some sunlight will do the trick.”

  Moreau stopped in the entrance. “Nonsense. Gather your things.”

  Olivia begged off, but he sent two guards in to wait for her. She didn’t move. One of them spoke some
English, so she told them she was staying there to work. They insisted, and she told them to leave. Then they poked her with the bayonets on their muskets to get her to move. She knocked their guns away, infuriated, and shouted for them leave, calling to her father. Her father came and told her to gather her stuff—immediately.

  The guards stepped outside and waited.

  Olivia took her time. She was wearing her professor clothes and put on her long jacket to cover her body. She packed her leather carryall with her journal, inking pen, and fresh ink. Then she finished her water and put her poison pouch over her other shoulder. It was half full. She prayed she would not need it.

  When she stepped outside, a guard pushed her. She kicked him in the groin, furious with the manhandling. “What is the meaning of this? Get your barbarians off me, Moreau.”

  “They are merely being cautious, my lady,” Moreau said, intervening and taking her arm to guide her. “There’s still a missing treasure to discover. We don’t want anyone to leave the site with information before we can secure it.”

  “There is no treasure,” she said. “Only what we found yesterday.” She yanked her arm free of his hold, intending to find Stafford, but froze instead.

  Her companions, the crew, and their local servants were in the center of the camp surrounded by several rows of guards. The men looked ready to fight their way out bare-fisted.

  She ran to their aid. “Father. Explain this please.”

  He looked at his partners, then at her. “I can’t. I’m sorry, dear. It seems my partnership with Lampley has reached the ultimate parting of ways.”

  Olivia moved to stand with her friends, but Moreau grabbed her, his grip digging into the muscles of her shoulder. She stepped sideways and backward, breaking his grip, fury building inside her. She tried to give Elizabeth an encouraging look. Her friend nodded, leaning into her husband for safety.

  “You had to know this would happen if you did not cooperate, Lady Olivia,” Moreau said.

  “I have cooperated. I’ve helped you get into the tomb at great risk to myself and my friends. I’ve told you all I know. There is no treasure of material value. The librarian’s greatest treasure was love.”