Chloe answered with a short nod. The smile she gave her brother, however, held no hint she shared whatever animosity had possessed him. Bright and warm, her eyes sparkled with familial love.
Odd. Lucan well knew discord between siblings. But experience taught him when one could look at the other with such obvious hate, ’twas not a simple one-sided misunderstanding. When emotions ran to such depths, good cause flowed between them. Yet Chloe’s smile contradicted the obvious. Could she mayhap be ignorant of hidden resentment?
As alarm bells rang in his mind, visions of his brother’s treachery took life. He witnessed again the lifeless forms of his father, mother, and young brother sprawled on the cold stone floor of Seacourt’s great hall. They bathed in their own blood.
He closed his eyes to cease the flow of memories and breathed deeply. In that moment, all the taint of suspicion rose from the depths of his soul and centered on Chloe’s brother. Every suspect act Lucan had accused Farran of, every ounce of mistrust he had harbored for his brother Tane, amounted to naught as he opened his eyes and stared at Julian Broussard.
“Look! It’s an ankh. Chloe, this is up your alley,” Tim exclaimed as he rocked back on his heels.
Spurred into motion by the calling of her name, Chloe edged free of Lucan’s hand and climbed into the four-foot-deep hole to inspect the reliquary. Her melodic voice drifted to Lucan’s ears, stirring an unfamiliar warmth in his veins. He held in a smile.
“Those are Egyptian marks, yes. This is Anubis standing over Osiris. It’s a depiction of the first embalming. Here, let me see that trowel.”
Though her voice held authority, her tone remained encouraging and kind as she related to her students. It also held a slight note of respect, as if she did not consider herself above those she educated, as so many in her field were apt to do. Lucan’s own pride stirred.
As he listened to Chloe, he watched Julian. Impatience marked his tight mouth, crinkled the center of his brow. He shifted his weight and stuffed his hands into his pockets. For a few seconds he rocked back and forth from heels to toes, then he withdrew a cell phone, flipped it open, and passed his thumbs over the keys. A blink of light indicated a quick response from whomever he had messaged. Julian scanned the screen, slid the face over the keys, and jammed the phone back into his coat. “Chloe, can you speed this up? It’s going to snow any minute. You can look at the box inside the trailer.” Again irritation edged his voice.
Lucan moved to stand at Caradoc’s side. Lowering his voice, he instructed, “Mind him carefully.”
“Aye, he has behaved most strange all morn. It began when he instructed the students to dig. I gather they waited on Chloe’s directive, as the man holding the camera protested they should wait for her arrival.”
“How soon did he instruct them to begin?”
Caradoc’s hazel eyes reflected the same unease that stirred in Lucan’s blood. “Within moments of arriving.”
Hardly time enough for anyone to assume Chloe was running behind. ’Twas as if Julian sought to omit Chloe from participating. And from what Gabriel had disclosed about the Broussards, ’twas most unnatural for Julian to take such a measure. Chloe had handpicked the team. Applied for and signed all the licenses. Her brother, per Gabriel, willingly deferred to her, his preference that of support, not leadership.
What then had brought them to odds?
A low hiss from within the trees behind them lifted the hairs on the back of Lucan’s neck. He dropped his hand to his waist, reaching for the sword he did not bear. A firm bump against his elbow drew his attention. He looked down to find his forgotten blade in Caradoc’s outstretched hand.
“’Tis no time to concern yourself with appearances. If she asks, tell her I retrieved it from the blacksmith’s shop for you this morn.”
Grateful that Caradoc had thought on the important matters, Lucan buckled the plain silver scabbard around his waist, and the ever-tightening knot of apprehension in his gut unwound by several degrees.
* * *
Excitement bubbled through Chloe as the front face of a two-foot-square, gold and silver overlaid trunk broke through the ground. The artistry, typical of the famous Mosan style, defied the imagination. Across the top and the facing side, masterful reliefs depicted religious iconology throughout different cultures, including the Egyptian scene of Osiris she’d first observed on the top right-hand corner. Beside it, dirt packed into the grooves around a stunning figure of Athena framed by two elaborate columns crowned with laurels. To the left of her, an oak tree, complete with intricate leaves, stretched massive roots beyond the goddess’s feet. On the lid, the Virgin Mary knelt in prayer. All four perfectly centered. All four surrounded by tiny jewels and hand-painted beads that had somehow escaped the wear of time.
“This has to be the work of Nicholas of Verdun,” she murmured as she carefully etched the dirt away from the left-hand side. “But even his aren’t so … perfect.”
“It’s like Michelangelo on a box. Only not,” Tim commented from her right.
She chuckled at his summation. Of all the things Tim excelled in, vocabulary wasn’t one. Sometimes it was hard to remember his skull housed a genius’ brain. He’d go far in the field if this dig yielded anything important. All of them would.
“Hurry up, Chloe,” Julian grumbled for the third time. “It’s starting to snow.”
Grinding her teeth together, she tamped down an exasperated retort. What the hell was with him anyway? He hadn’t even said hello. In fact, the last three days he’d been almost intolerable on site. Pushing the team to dig, dig, dig—no other time had he particularly cared when they finished their work or how much they accomplished. As long as he got to visit new places, sample the wine and the local women, and add his name on a few papers to prove he’d done something useful, he didn’t give a damn. One of the reasons she could trust him. The other—behind all his playboy attitudes, Julian revered his field of medieval culture and shared the same love she did for artifacts. He’d never take risks with priceless pieces of history.
Which made his current demands to hurry up that much more of a mystery.
She scraped away another clod of frozen soil and slipped her fingers into the shallow crater along the trunk’s edge. A firm tug loosened the box. She glanced over to Tim. “How’s your side coming along?”
“Just…” With the tip of the trowel he flicked aside a large chunk. “Got it. Try now.”
Chloe fitted her hand into the narrow crevice on the opposite side, and with gentle pressure wiggled the box side to side. Her training rebelled against the forced extraction. Any archaeologist would have her head for trying to pull the box free. She could be dislodging beads on the backside. Pulling loose parts she couldn’t see.
But the thick flakes that sprinkled on her shoulders and face warned of a heavy snowfall. She couldn’t risk this box to exposure, nor did she dare leave it sitting out for anyone who happened by to notice it sticking out of the ground. While this part of France saw few visitors this time of year, she didn’t dare take that kind of risk with such a priceless artifact.
She hoped Lucan and Caradoc would feel the same and not argue with Julian’s insistence she hurry. She couldn’t deal with testosterone today. Not with the overwhelming presence in the trees. Demons were bad enough. A fight between opinionated men would only delay their efforts further.
Another shimmy, and the trunk pulled free. She toppled to her bottom, the heavy object thumping into her abdomen. She inwardly rolled her eyes. So far, in twenty-four hours, she’d tripped up the stairs, overslept, neglected her makeup, and now a box off-balanced her. To Lucan, she must look like a class-A idiot. Lord, what she’d give to go back to yesterday and start over.
With a sharp frown, she reminded herself she didn’t care what Lucan thought of her and struggled to her feet. By the time she gained her balance, Julian stood in front of her, his hands reaching for the trunk. “Here, I’ll carry it inside.” His fingers closed over hers.
&n
bsp; Perturbed, she jerked away. “What is wrong with you? You know it’s got to be cleaned, and you gave that task to Andy. Go in the trailer. Find something to do before you drive me crazy and I throw this at your head.”
As she emerged from the pit, her gaze locked with Lucan’s, and her breath caught. Deep and intense, his eyes filled with silent messages. Everything from praise, to understanding, and above all, desire, flooded into her. She shivered under his intense perusal. Good grief, how could one person say so much without ever opening his mouth? And how in the world could he know she liked the way his appreciation lit her up on the inside—for certainly the self-satisfied upturn of the corner of his mouth indicated he was all too aware of how he affected her.
She turned away before she did something else foolish, like step on the shovel four inches from the toe of her boot. “Tim, log the site measurements. Andy, finish up the pictures here, then join me inside. Chris, Jeff, and Kevin, get everything inside before those clouds break.” She glanced at her brother, took in his annoyed grimace, and decided not to give him a duty.
Avoiding Lucan’s heated stare, she started for the double-wide trailer that housed the large bathing tubs and the rest of their equipment. But as she stepped onto the pebbled path, Caradoc’s voice drifted to her ears.
“Stay with her, Lucan. I will stay here and guard the others.”
Anger blistered through her at what could only be a muffled inference to their clear distrust of her and her team. What did they think she’d do—run off with their priceless treasure? Couldn’t she just enjoy the find a bit before they started hashing out logistics and demanding she turn the relic over to its rightful state of ownership?
The sound of boots crunching behind her made her quicken her step. No way was she going to let these two think she hadn’t heard that statement. If they mistrusted her ethics so much, she was done with professional courtesy. Let Julian handle the both of them. His current bad mood needed an outlet, and he’d certainly find the words to put Lucan and Caradoc in their place. Maybe even land a good insult or two. Things her tongue would fail as soon as she looked at the handsome, dark-haired Lucan again.
She nudged the trailer door open with her boot and stalked inside. Julian, however, thwarted the satisfying slam. He entered behind her, catching the door inches from the frame. Gingerly, she deposited the trunk onto one of the chrome-topped tables and switched on an overhead lamp.
“Open it,” Julian urged as he bent over the opposite side of the table.
Resisting the urge to take the flat side of her palm to the side of his head, Chloe squinted at her brother. “Did you drink too much last night? Still drunk, maybe? We don’t open anything until we have everything documented exactly as we found it.”
He grumbled. Looking over the gilt top, he urged, “Let me see it, Chloe. Damn, it’s the nicest thing we’ve found. You don’t have to be so selfish with it.”
She arched an eyebrow but pulled her hands away and splayed them in surrender. A fierce gleam brightened behind his blue eyes as he turned the trunk around to look at the front side. He traced the high relief figures, ran his hands down the smooth silver corners. “Perfect,” he murmured beneath his breath.
“It’s got to be a Nicholas of Verdun work.”
“I know what it is,” Julian snapped. As she recoiled, he softened his inconsiderate words with a smile. “Sorry. I had suspicions the minute we turned loose the corner. Feels like I’ve been waiting days to look at this.”
She nodded, but studied the dark circles beneath his eyes, not yet ready to let go of a brimming argument. “You didn’t answer your phone this morning. Had you, you might have had this box out of the ground earlier.”
He gave her a nonchalant lift of his shoulders. “I left it in the hotel room. Fell asleep chatting with Miranda.”
Chatting … right. She’d bet the golden box that chatting wasn’t the extent of a late-night conversation with the girl back home in Tucson who Julian tended to fall back on when his current well ran dry. Their arrangement defied Chloe’s concept of logic. Why any woman would be content with a sometimes lover, fully knowing she wasn’t the only one to slide across his bed, she’d never understand.
“How is Miranda?”
A smirk twisted his mouth, confirming her suspicions. “Good.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Next time you might try remembering other people use your phone for work purposes.”
Nodding, he traced the outline of the Virgin Mary’s face. “Don’t scold. I wasn’t the only one with a late night.”
“What?”
Julian chuckled as he turned the box to examine the left side. “You’re never late to work. And you roll in with one of them. I saw the way he looked at you.”
Chloe spluttered as she grasped the meaning of his insinuation. “You’ve got to be kidding. You think I spent the night with Lucan?”
“So that’s his name, huh? Pretty name for a pretty face.” He looked over the top of the trunk, his gaze full of meaning. “Be careful. I don’t like him.”
“You don’t even know him.” That she was defending the very man she’d just sworn off crossed her mind after she spit the words out. Catching herself, she snapped her mouth shut.
“Just saying. He reminds me of Blake. He’s got that look in his eye. Next thing you know, he’ll be in here wanting to see the relic. Mark my words, when he leaves with it, your name won’t make the Vatican’s reports.”
Chloe’s stomach did a slow upside-down roll. She swallowed down a lump that rose to the back of her throat and cleared her voice. For her sake, more than her brother’s, she argued, “He’s not that way.”
Julian gave the box another quarter turn. “If you say so.”
Annoyed with the turn of their discussion, she reached for the trunk. “Give me the artifact. I’ll start cleaning it up while Andy’s outside.”
Resistance met her gentle pull. His mouth once again a tight line of annoyance, Julian scowled at her. “Turn it loose, sis. I want to open it.”
The hair on the back of her neck lifted as he repositioned his hands and tugged the trunk closer to him. What in the world had gotten into him? She wrapped her arms around the heavy square of gold and silver and jerked it away. “I’m cleaning it. Sticking to protocol. Andy’ll be happy with the camera.”
Before Julian could argue, the trailer door banged open and Lucan stepped inside. Triumph gleamed behind the look Julian shot Chloe before he shouldered past Lucan and stormed out the door.
CHAPTER 6
Lucan slowly crossed to Chloe and the reliquary. Her stiff spine and abrupt about-face made it clear he was not welcome. She spun on the taps above a fiberglass bath with barely controlled fury. ’Twas time for this animosity, this unfeeling distance to come to an end. She must begin to understand they were destined for something larger, and she must come to trust him. Courting had its place, and whilst he would not pressure her, he would no longer stand idly by and allow her to keep him at arm’s length. Now that she had the Veronica, Azazel would soon arrive. To believe otherwise would be stupid.
He set his hands on her shoulders and leaned in close enough that her shoulder blades brushed against his chest. The urge to wrap his arms around her and snug her into his embrace flooded him. But the tenseness in her torso warned she would not welcome such forwardness. Instead, he lowered his head toward her shoulder, close enough she could not mistake his murmur. “I am no ogre, Chloe. I do not bite.”
She let out a derisive snort. “No, you just think I’m going to make off with your prize. Guard the others—you think I didn’t hear him? Good God, I was less than three feet away.” Frowning, she gestured at his sword. “Is that supposed to intimidate me? Where’d you come up with that anyway?”
Lucan cursed inwardly. Damnation, ’twas no wonder her gaze shot daggers when he entered. He must explain this to her, explain her purpose. But here, in a field trailer where anyone could interrupt the necessary conversation was not the place. Be
sides, here she had too many places she could run, should she revolt against the preordained.
He pressed his thumbs through her thick coat into her tense muscles and gave her shoulders a squeeze. Her subtle perfume tickled his nose as he inched his mouth closer to her cheek. “I am not here to chaperone your actions or intimidate. Caradoc gave me the blade this morn—I wear it to free my hands. You must trust me in this.” Before her smooth skin rendered him senseless and he yielded to the urge to brush his lips across her cheek, he straightened. With gentle pressure, he turned her away from the bath to face the reliquary. “Come. Let me tell you about your find.”
Allowing her to hesitate only long enough to turn off the faucets, he dropped his hand to capture her wrist and lead her toward the table. When she stood before him once again, he shucked his coat, then gave hers a tug. She obliged by unzipping it and shrugging it off. The heavy down coat fell into his hands. Lucan tossed both atop the table, then pulled the reliquary beneath the light. Bending over the polished chrome, he pointed to the painted ivory beads that created divine light behind the kneeling figure of Mary. “These were crafted by a name you would well know.”
Contradictory to her earlier reserve, she chuckled. “Tim said they could pass for Michelangelo.”
“Nay,” he answered with a grin. “’Twas not a mortal’s hand, but that of the archangel Gabriel.”
At the disbelief that passed across her face, he gestured to a rack of metal drawers to her right. “Have you a small knife?”
With a perplexed frown she passed him a utility knife. He placed the tip beneath the edge of one of the ivory beads.
“What are you doing?” Chloe cried. “Stop! You’ll destroy it.”
Her concern for the relic warmed him in ways he could not explain. It spoke of respect, for the labors of their shared ancestors, for the truths it could reveal. But ’twas unnecessary. He would no more harm it than she would. He gave her a smile. “Shh,” he chided as he popped one free from its golden bed. “’Tis meant for disbelievers.” He closed the bead in his fist and reached for her hand.
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