Spirit of the Season

by Cate Dean

  “A horde. A cache. An unbelievable discovery. Your little seal box was just the tip of the iceberg.”

  Little seal box. Martin shook his head. “Will you send me some photos? I’d like to see this horde before I fight the weather to get back there.”

  “Already on the way, mate. Sorry about the early hour. I’ve been up all night, cleaning the artifacts.”

  As a fellow archaeologist, Martin understood the obsession after a discovery. By the tone of Geoffrey’s voice, it was a big one. As much as Martin wanted to pack up and run out the door, one person held him back from the impulse.

  Maggie.

  He leaned against the door. “I will take a look at the photos, then get back to you later this morning.”

  “Jolly good.” Geoffrey already sounded distracted, and Martin knew he was losing the man’s attention. “Ta.”

  He hung up before Martin could say another word.

  With a sigh, Martin straightened, opened the door­—and found Maggie and Ashton on the other side.

  “I am so sorry I woke you.”

  Maggie shook her head and moved to him, taking his hand. “Is it bad news?”

  “Geoffrey wants me back at the dig site.” He watched her shoulders slump, and hated himself for hurting her.

  “So, good/bad news. When are you leaving?”

  “I haven’t said yes.” He cradled her cheek, the need to touch her overwhelming. Ashton disappeared into the kitchen. “He sent some photos of what he calls an unbelievable discovery. If what he says is true, love, I have to return. This is—”

  “What you do.” She let out a sigh, and moved in to wrap her arms around his waist. “I know what I signed up for, Martin. I just—I’ll miss you.”

  He set the mobile on the small table next to the door, then slid his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin. It always surprised him how well they fit together.

  “If I do go,” he whispered. “I will be back by Christmas. I promise you.” She lifted her head, meeting his eyes. “I promise, Maggie.”

  She surprised him by grabbing the front of his t-shirt and standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

  His head spun with the need, and the love she poured into that kiss. He was grateful for the door at his back when his knees threatened to buckle.

  Maggie finally ended the kiss, just as breathless, her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t plan—not with Ashton—”

  Martin kissed her silent, fumbling for the door latch. He managed to get the door open, pull them both out to the landing, and close it, kissing her all the while. It helped that she had a death grip on his waist.

  When they both came up for air, Martin sank to the floor, taking her with him. Maggie curled in his lap, her face pressed against his throat.

  “Maggie?”

  “Okay.” She took a shaky breath, then lifted her head. There were no tears staining her face, but they filled her blue eyes. She blinked, and they slid down her cheeks, torturing him. “Stop looking so guilty, Martin.” With an impatient huff, she wiped her eyes. “I tend to get emotional when I’m startled awake in the middle of the night.”

  “Maggie—”

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” she said, “I know that you’re going to be called away at a moment’s notice. It’s who you are. I love that part of you, as much as I hate the thought of you leaving.”

  “I love you, Maggie.”

  She smiled. “Don’t forget, I said it first.”

  Laughter burst out of him. He kissed the top of her head, and breathed in the scent of her sleep tangled hair. Wildflowers and rain. He sobered, clearing his throat as the need to ask her welled up, undeniable.

  This was not the right time, or the romantic setting he had envisioned. But he needed to know, needed to have that commitment, before he left.

  “Maggie.”

  She lifted her head, frowning as she studied him. “What’s wrong? You look—scared is the only word I can think of.”

  He was terrified. “I need to ask you—” The door opened behind him. “Bloody hell—”

  “Sorry.” Ashton stared at them, and jerked when he met Martin’s eyes. “So sorry.”

  The door slammed, so fast it ruffled Maggie’s hair. She looked at Martin, and started laughing. He wanted to join her, but the bitterness of disappointment only allowed him a weak smile.

  Once again, he had lost his chance to make her his, for good.

  She stood, and held out her hand. “Ready to go see those potentially life-changing photos?”

  Martin took her hand, squashing the urge to drag her back down and bury his face in her wild hair. He joined her, brushing a stray curl off her cheek before he opened the door and headed for his laptop.

  Ashton leapt to his feet, his hands clenched. “Professor, Maggie—I am so sorry.”

  “I am the one who needs to apologize,” Martin said. “I woke you, without any warning—”

  The window rattled behind him. Maggie freed her hand and moved over to it.

  “The wind is picking up. And it looks ugly out there. My guess is the storm Ian told us about is on the way.” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

  “I may not be leaving soon,” Martin muttered. He sat at the small desk, booting up his laptop. Geoffrey’s email was at the top of his inbox, and when he opened it, he wasn’t surprised to see at least a dozen attachments. The first photo had his heart beating faster. “I was right.”

  There, laid out on a black cloth, was a collection of Roman jewelry. Opulent jewelry, meant for a noble household. Or an Imperial one. Impossible items.

  “Martin?” Maggie laid her hand on his shoulder. “Is that a good or bad I was right?”

  “Impossible,” he whispered. He scrubbed his face, not aware until now that he was squinting because his glasses still sat on the bedside table in the bedroom. “I must go.”

  “Okay.” She squeezed his shoulder, and he knew she wanted to talk about his aborted question. When they were alone. “Who wants breakfast? It’s almost six, and I know I’m not getting any more sleep.”

  She freed Martin’s shoulder and headed for the kitchen. He wanted to join her, to laugh over making eggs and toast. To feel like a couple, one last time.

  Instead, he sighed and opened the next photo, and the next. Soon, the tempting aroma of coffee filled the flat, followed by the tantalizing scent of bacon and eggs. Martin’s stomach rumbled; he ignored it, and opened the last photo. A second seal box popped up on the screen, with the same symbol on it.

  Martin sat back, and ran one hand through his hair. It looked as if the simple excavation was about to become a history changing dig.

  Who knew how much was hidden under the waving grass? It could take years to uncover, and more years to catalog. Years spent away from Maggie, living in a tent. Not that long ago, he would have relished the thought. Part of him still did. The thrill of a new discovery sang through him, his personal siren’s song.

  A mug appeared in front of him.

  “Coffee?”

  He smiled up at Maggie, and took the steaming mug. “Thank you, love.”

  “My pleas—oh, Martin.” She leaned over his shoulder, staring at the screen. “Is that a Roman seal box? Wait—is that a Chi Ro on it?”

  Heaven help him, he loved her. He would never have to explain his work to her, or try to justify it. She understood.

  “This is the second box with the same symbol.”

  “You have to go back.” She looked at him, and he saw his excitement in her eyes. “This is too important for you to miss.”

  “It will mean a commitment. Perhaps a long one.”

  “Duh.” Her answer startled a laugh out of him. “I can come and visit. Maybe do some digging. As soon as I find a replacement for Spencer.” With a sigh, she leaned against him, studying the photos. “Say yes, Martin. Worst case, I close the shop and spend Christmas with you there.” She pressed a finger to his lips when he started to protest. “I don’t care where I am, as long as I’m wit
h you. Ashton can stay here, watch over the shop.”

  Ashton peered around the corner. “Yes, I can. Sorry to eavesdrop, but it’s difficult not to.”

  Maggie winked at him, and he blushed, ducking back into the kitchen. Martin slipped his arm around her waist.

  “I believe someone has a bit of a crush.” He kept his voice low, to save Ashton further embarrassment. “You are aware?”

  “Yeah.” She kissed him, and eased out of his embrace. “I’m going to go check on the eggs and bacon. You’re eating at the table, Martin. No argument.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her, happy to see her laugh before she walked into the kitchen.

  How could he leave her, when just watching her walk across the flat left an ache in his heart?

  With a sigh, he turned back to the laptop, opened a new email window, and started typing his response.

  ***

  Martin deserted her after breakfast, taking his laptop into the bedroom, so Maggie took advantage of his distraction. She dumped the breakfast dishes in the sink and sat down on the sofa, a pad of paper balanced on her legs. It was time to start making a list.

  She’d sent Ashton downstairs to light the woodstove. If the weather got worse in the next hour, she would keep the shop closed. Even if she didn’t open today, she intended to do some restocking, and catch up on paperwork. That pile of sales tags stuffed in the drawer under the counter kept taunting her.

  She pushed it aside, opened her pen, and started by creating one column for suspects, one for victims. Hopefully, that column wouldn’t get any longer.

  For suspects, she put Nick Reed’s companion at the top of the list. Second was Terry Harmon, since he was new, and there was something about him that didn’t sit right. With a sigh, she added Ashton to the list. He seemed to know—

  She almost jumped out of her skin when her phone rang.

  With one hand pressed to her heart, she picked it up, and smiled when she saw that it was Spencer.

  “Hello, Spence. You’re up early.”

  “Are you all right, Mags? I heard about the murder last night. I couldn’t make it up to the castle—too bloody much paperwork.”

  “I’m fine. What about you?” He sounded exhausted, and more stressed than she’d ever heard him. “Are you okay?”

  He let out a long sigh. “Some days, I wish I hadn’t accepted this position. Giles Trelawney was one unorganized, scattered, paperwork-phobic man.”

  Maggie covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

  “I can hear the laughter in your voice, Maggie Mulgrew. You are not the least bit sorry.”

  “I am, really.” She cleared her throat. “Can you make some time to come to the shop today? I’d like to pick your brain.”

  “Is now a good time? I desperately need to step away, before I set fire to the mess and be done with it.”

  “Sure.” She stood, dropping the pad on the coffee table, and moved to the window, relieved to see that the wind had died down. “The weather’s clear for now, but we better watch it while you’re here.”

  “Worst case, I’ll be trapped with you. That would be a disaster.”

  This time she did laugh. “Yeah, you’d hate that. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  She took the pad with her, stopping long enough to check on Martin. He sat on the bed, hunched over his laptop, muttering under his breath. With a smile, she quietly closed the door, and headed down to the shop.

  Ashton stood at the front counter, the woodstove pumping out heat. He looked up and smiled at Maggie.

  “The stove is filled, and I stocked more wood in the back room. I also started a pot of coffee.”

  “Thanks for that. We’ll definitely need the wood, and probably the coffee.” She glanced at the window, not surprised to see a gloomy sky. “Let’s turn on some more lights. I won’t open today, but I want to get ready for the inevitable rush after the storm headed our way clears.”

  “I will be happy to help.”

  A knock at the door had her rushing across the shop. Spencer must have sprinted up from the museum to get here so fast. She unlocked the door—and let out a gasp when Spence scooped her up.

  “I missed you, Mags.” He nuzzled her neck, and she laughed. He’d done that for years, after they’d been apart for any length of time. “Please tell me you have coffee.”

  “You’re in luck.”

  “I’m saved.” He set her down, then halted. “Who is this?”

  “Oh.” She’d forgotten that Spencer wouldn’t have met Ashton yet. “A temporary guest. Spencer Knight, meet Ashton Stewart.”

  Ashton moved out from behind the counter and held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure. Maggie has spoken of you, and quite highly.”

  “Good to know.” He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “She never mentioned you.”

  “Spence—you haven’t been around to tell.”

  He relaxed. “I’ll give you that one. So, how did you meet?”

  Maggie smiled. “Martin brought him in out of the cold. He’s staying with us, temporarily. Until he finds his own place.”

  Spencer smiled at Ashton, then grabbed Maggie’s arm and headed for the far end of the shop. “You just took him in, without knowing anything?”

  “I trusted my instinct, Spence. Like I did with you, the first time we met. Remember?”

  He let her go and ran one hand through his hair. The sun streaked blonde looked longer than normal, and more than a little shaggy. “Stealing that umbrella was a dare, and you know it.”

  “Not when I caught you sneaking into Aunt Irene’s house.” It took all her control not to smile at the memory.

  “Point taken. I want you to be careful, Maggie. I’d be even happier if you had Ian do a background check on him.”

  “Spencer.” She took his hand, so grateful to have him in her life. “I love you for your concern, but I’ll be fine. Martin’s here, and...” Her voice faded when she realized that Martin would be leaving her. Maybe it was time for Ashton to go. “I’ll take your advice seriously. Now I need your opinion on something—and no snark allowed. Got it?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.” She handed over her pad, and watched as he read it.

  “Ashton is on the suspect list—”

  “Because he knows both men. And because—he’s running from someone who spooked him. Badly enough that he left his lodging without so much as a coat.”

  “So you still have doubts.”

  “I have to be thorough. Even if I don’t believe it, Ashton is part of what—”

  Her phone interrupted her. She swallowed when she saw Ian’s name on the screen. He would have more questions about last night. Questions she hoped she could answer.

  “Good morning, Ian.”

  His low chuckle warmed her. “How long have you been awake, Maggie? I was afraid I might wake you.”

  “For some time. One of Martin’s colleagues called at an unfortunate hour this morning.”

  “Will he be leaving again?”

  She closed her eyes, and turned away from Spencer.

  “Maybe.” She let out a sigh. “Probably. Did you need to talk to him before he does?”

  “I’d like to speak with both of you. Maggie,” his voice lowered, and she knew by the tone that he didn’t have good news. “We found evidence at the site. Evidence that points to your guest.”

  “Ashton?” She started to move away, but Spencer caught her arm. “But—he wasn’t anywhere near that part of the castle. Martin and I were alone—”

  “His fingerprints were on a secondary weapon. A knife in the victim’s left side. It had been hidden by his costume.”

  Maggie closed her eyes. “I’m sure he can explain, Ian.”

  “He will. I need you to bring him down to the station.”

  “Now? What am I supposed to tell him?”

  “That I have some questions. You won’t join us, Maggie. I need to speak with him alone.”


  “He’s a good kid, Ian. And remember that—he’s just a kid.”

  “I will. You have five minutes.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  She ended the call and leaned against Spencer.

  “How bad, sweetheart?”

  “Ian found evidence at the scene that implicates Ashton.”

  “Still trust your instincts?”

  “Yes.” She straightened. “I need to take him to the station.”

  “Did you want company?”

  “I shouldn’t keep you from your work.”

  He laid his hands on her shoulders. “That isn’t what I asked.”

  She let out a sigh. “I’d like you there. I need to tell Martin. And Ashton.”

  What was she supposed to say to Ashton that wouldn’t send him straight into panic mode?

  Several options whirled through her mind as she took Spencer’s hand and moved through the shop. All of them ended with Ashton reacting like a trapped animal.

  She let go of Spencer and moved to Ashton, watching him still as she approached. “Ashton. Ian just phoned. He has a couple of questions about last night.”

  His shoulders stiffened, and he looked exactly like she’d expected—trapped and terrified. “What—why does he want to question me?”

  “We’ll ask him that together. He’s waiting for you at the station.”

  “Maggie?” Martin walked across the shop. He had finally put his glasses on, and the overhead light flashed off the lenses, hiding his eyes. “What have I missed?”

  “Spencer came to visit.”

  He shook Spencer’s hand. “Good to see you still alive, mate. How is the museum treating you?”

  “Like a slave. Giles left behind a mess that would make Hercules shudder.”

  Martin laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m certain you will find your way to the end of it.”

  “I’m glad someone thinks so.”

  Martin’s humor faded when he turned to Maggie. “Talk to me.”

  “Ian just called. He wants to see Ashton.”

  “What exactly did Ian say to you?”

  “Just that he—”

  “The truth, Maggie.”

  She stared up at him, and fought the tears that threatened to choke her. “They found evidence.” She met Ashton’s gaze, and gentled her voice. “It points to you, Ashton.”