Mirage

by Monica Burns

  Alex started at the sound of the captain’s voice, and Altair’s gaze met hers as she turned her head sharply. Pleasure still touched her skin, and he wondered if she would take on such a glow after a night of lovemaking. Burying the thought with a grunt of annoyance, he looked up at the captain.

  “I believe you’re correct, Balfour. How soon before we dock?”

  “Within the half hour, my lord.”

  His stomach growling, Altair headed toward the dining room for breakfast. He’d need a hearty meal to keep him going until later in the day. As he entered the room, he sensed Alex’s tread close behind.

  “My lord, might I have a word with you?”

  The fresh tangy smell of citrus drifted through the air as he turned toward her. “What may I do for you, Miss Talbot?”

  “I’d…I wanted…” Hesitating, she bit her lip.

  Some mischievous part of him enjoyed seeing her at a loss for words. He folded his arms and stared down at her. “I’m quite hungry, Miss Talbot. Might I suggest we discuss whatever’s on your mind over breakfast?”

  With a sharp nod of her golden-brown head, she swept past him and took a seat at the table. Joining her, he picked up a napkin and snapped it in the air before laying it in his lap. He hid a smile when she jumped at the cracking noise the white linen square made. As the porter set a steaming bowl of porridge in front of him, Altair reached for the crock of honey in the middle of the table. He poured a steady stream of the golden liquid into the bowl before picking up his spoon. Keeping his gaze on his meal, he stirred the first course of his breakfast.

  “Now, then, there was something you wanted to ask me.”

  While she hesitated, he tested a spoonful of the hot gruel in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her toy with her place setting.

  “My lord, I know I can be stubborn, illogical and on occasion not consider the ramifications of my actions. However, if there’s one thing I do know it’s this—I’m going to find Per-Ramesses. I’m going to achieve what my father never had the opportunity to do, and I need your help to accomplish that.”

  “You’ve already secured my assistance, Miss Talbot. I’m not sure what you’re asking of me.”

  “We’re about to undertake a momentous expedition, and I feel that we’ve somehow gotten off on the wrong foot. I’d like to clear the air between us.”

  He coughed as his porridge went down the wrong way. Quickly reaching for his drink, he took a large draught of the cold milk. Good God, did the woman not realize how difficult it was to keep his hands off her? Did she think he disliked her?

  Lifting his head, he eyed her with curiosity. “Am I to understand you think we’re enemies?”

  Nervously, she fingered the tablecloth. “Well, I don’t think enemy is the word I’d use. Rather I think we’ve come to regard each other as wary adversaries. I’d like to change that.”

  Alarms went off in his head as he studied her carefully. What was she up to? She’d avoided him like the plague since their first night at sea, a fact for which he was grateful—but now she wanted to be friends? God help him. Friendship wasn’t what came to mind when he thought of her. He wanted a much more intimate relationship with Alex than the one she was proposing. Friendship with Alex Talbot would play havoc with his libido and they were about to embark on a dangerous journey. Respect for his authority was called for in this situation, not friendship and definitely not intimacy of the nature he was considering.

  “And what exactly is it about our acquaintance you want to change?”

  “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Her brow furrowed in frustration as she frowned at him. “All I’m trying to do is establish the basis for a pleasant working relationship. Without your help, it will be extremely difficult for me to succeed in realizing my dream and my father’s.”

  There was a note of fear in her voice, and regret pricked him like his morning razor. He leaned back in his chair and frowned. “I take it you have some ground rules for this working relationship?”

  “I do.” She leaned forward, an earnest expression lighting up her features. “I think we should treat each other as colleagues. Perhaps it might even help if you thought of me as one of your men so to speak.”

  Coughing violently to cover his laughter, he waved away the glass of milk she offered him. Did the woman really think he would ever think of her as just another male? The memory of dusky nipples embraced by white silk taunted him, and he swallowed hard. Caution urged him to ignore her plea, but he remembered his agreement with her father.

  After all, he couldn’t very well leave her to her own devices in Cairo or the desert for that matter. Someone needed to look after her. Otherwise, she was bound to hire the services of some reprehensible guide. At least she’d be safe with him. This last thought made him wince. He’d like to think she’d be safe from him, but would he be safe from her? Shoving the thought into the back of his mind, he cleared his throat.

  “I find it highly unlikely that I could ever consider you, how did you put it? One of my men? That said—I believe we can at least maintain a civil and professional relationship with a few conditions.”

  “What sort of conditions?” A wary spark gleamed in her hazel eyes.

  “Well, to start with, it’s important that you accept my word as law when we’re in the desert. It’s an inhospitable environment, and to disregard my instructions could well lead to your death.”

  “I understand, but I thought Sheikh Mazir was going to be our guide.”

  “He will, but as I understand it, you don’t speak the Berber dialect.”

  She sighed with exasperation. “Oh, all right. What else?”

  “We will have set hours for the search and excavation of any site. Working during the hottest part of the day is suicidal, unless you’re accustomed to the heat.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Finally, if anything seems odd or out of place to you, I expect you to report it to me immediately.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are warring factions in the desert that are quite dangerous. If you see someone or something that seems out of place, I want to hear about it.”

  “Fine, I’m willing to agree to your conditions. Now here are mine.” She tipped her head at him in a regal manner. “You’ll respect my knowledge, and when I say we need to go to a particular spot, we’ll go there, no matter how ludicrous the direction might be.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I expect you to treat me with the respect and courtesy you would afford any of your male colleagues.”

  “Understood.” He nodded his agreement to her demand, noting the gold flecks sparkling in her eyes.

  “And you’re not to notify the Museum if we find Per-Ramesses. I don’t want any interference from Lord Merrick or that stodgy board of his.”

  The demand took him by surprise. He’d expected something different. He didn’t know what, just not this. Studying her closely for a long moment, he remained silent, before leaning forward to resume eating his breakfast.

  “My lord, did you not understand my last condition?”

  “I did.” He didn’t look at her, but continued to eat his porridge.

  “Then I take it you agree to it as you did my other requirements.”

  The movements he made were distinct and deliberate as he pressed his napkin against his lips. From the corner of his eye, he caught her look of bewildered annoyance. He leaned back into his chair and beckoned the porter to take away his almost empty bowl. As the servant left the dining room, Altair arched an eyebrow at her.

  “No, I do not agree, Alex.”

  She stared at him in dismay, her hazel eyes darkening with irritation and a trace of fear. “I see. I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

  “I’m afraid not. You’re asking me to neglect my duties, and that’s somethi
ng I won’t do.”

  “Very well.” With a quiet sigh, she rose to her feet and left the cabin. The quiet manner in which she retreated astounded him. Bewildered, he watched her leave. Well, that was a surprise. Where the devil was that indomitable spirit of hers? With a baffled grunt, he shook his head. A plate of eggs with bacon was set in front of him, and he returned to his meal.

  The woman continued to amaze him. He’d expected her to rant and rave at him for having the audacity to deny her request. Well, perhaps she’d realized her condition was too difficult for him to agree to. At least she’d taken his refusal well. When they docked, he’d arrange for a trip out to the Pyramids. She’d enjoy that.

  He might even witness the same excitement and expectation he’d seen on her face earlier. The image lingered in his mind as he continued with his breakfast. He’d just swallowed the last bite of his toast when he heard the familiar scraping of the ship’s hull against dock pilings. He was home.

  Chapter Six

  Out on deck, he caught the pungent aroma of oriental spices on the breeze. Captain Balfour called out a number of orders and sailors scrambled to do his bidding. Altair inhaled a deep breath of air. The familiar scents allowed a warm peace to settle into his limbs.

  Striding to the ship’s rail, he looked out onto the dock. The colorful sight of Medjuel and other tribe members in their native dark blue gambazes made him grin. He thrust his hand up in a gesture of greeting. Immediately, a roar rent the air in an enthusiastic reception. Rifles lifted above their heads, the fifty or more men on foot and horseback shouted their welcome as they waited for the ship to finish docking. Across their faces, they wore the henna markings of their tribe, ancient symbols of the royalty from which they’d descended.

  The moment the gangplank was set into place, he walked down to where Medjuel stood waiting for him. The grin on his cousin’s face echoed the one Altair wore. He halted in front of the Bedouin. A moment later, the shorter man embraced him in a warm, enthusiastic hug. Again, another cry of jubilance swelled up into the air.

  “God, be praised! You’ve come home at last,” Medjuel exclaimed in the native tongue of their Berber tribe. The sound of the Mazir language was a soothing balm to Altair’s soul. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed hearing the rhythmic sound, and it was easy to lapse back into the ancient language.

  “I take it you missed me?”

  “Missed you?” Medjuel laughed with a shake of his head. “Occasionally, but just when I lacked decent competition for a camel or horse race.”

  “Now that I’m back, you’ll no longer remain undefeated.” He grinned before asking the most important question of all. “My mother?”

  “Gameela is well and eagerly awaits your return.” Medjuel engulfed him in another brotherly hug. “By God, it is wonderful to see you. Each time you leave, I fear we’ll never see you again.”

  Elation at being home pulled a deep laugh from his throat. A moment later it died, as he breathed in the lemony scent Alex wore.

  “Sheikh Mazir, I’m Alexandra Talbot. You corresponded with my father, Professor Talbot.”

  Medjuel’s eyes scanned her with appreciation, and a spark of possessiveness danced across Altair’s spine at the look. Seeing his cousin was about to reply, he squeezed the man’s shoulder as he used their native tongue.

  “Have care, cousin. Let’s see what she’s up to.”

  With a wink, Medjuel nodded and remained silent. Altair turned around, his eyes taking in Alex’s determined expression. He waited patiently beside his cousin for her to continue. The confusion in her eyes made him want to reassure her, but he remained silent. She raised her chin slightly as she directed her gaze at Medjuel.

  “My father asked you to take him to Khatana-Qantir. I’ve come in his place, and I hope you will honor your agreement.”

  Altair folded his arms as he sent her a look of admiration. “Your Arabic is quite good, Alex, but what makes you think the Sheikh understands you?”

  “Very well, since the Sheikh doesn’t understand Arabic, tell him I no longer require his services.”

  Something about the mutinous tilt of her head bothered him. Despite their short acquaintance, he could tell she had a plan in mind. Altair narrowed his eyes at her. “So, just like that you’re giving up, going home?”

  “Oh no, my lord. Far from it. I simply intend to find someone else to serve as my guide. Someone who speaks Arabic, which means I’ll no longer have need of your services either.”

  Alex watched the shock quickly evaporate from the handsome features of the man towering over her. Harsh anger slowly darkened his face. Beside him, Sheikh Mazir stared at her in horrified amazement. The Sheikh’s expression confirmed what she had already suspected—the man had known all along what she was saying.

  She scowled at Lord Blakeney. “I thought you said the Sheikh didn’t speak Arabic.”

  “No. I merely asked what made you think he understood the language.”

  His stoic response infuriated her. The man knew full well how she would interpret his comments. “Well, obviously the man understood me, because his face tells me he thinks I’m crazy.”

  “You are! Where the devil do you think you’re going to find a reliable escort out to Khatana-Qantir? There are plenty of brigands in this city happy to lead you into the desert. And they’re the same villains who’ll slit your beautiful throat and return to Cairo with your money, where none would be the wiser.”

  She searched his eyes and knew he spoke the brutal truth. Fear slithered down her spine and a shiver cascaded through her. Still, she refused to have him accompany her into the desert. His refusal to agree to all her conditions illustrated she couldn’t trust him. She refused to let anyone from the Museum have access to her work.

  Desperate, she turned and looked at the short Bedouin watching the exchange with interest. For the first time in her life, she wished she had the ability to charm a man into doing what she wanted him to do. Instead, she settled for a heartfelt plea.

  “Sheikh Mazir, please, I must go to Khatana-Qantir. You agreed to take my father there, and I ask that you honor his request.”

  As if considering the request spoken in Arabic, the Sheikh raised one hand to stroke the short-cropped beard on his chin. A moment later, he lifted his head to converse in his native tongue with Lord Blakeney. The two of them argued heatedly before the Sheikh turned to face her.

  “I shall honor your father’s request, but only if Altair accompanies us. He is well loved by my people and me. I refuse to enter into a bargain where he is not included.”

  “Altair?” She stared at the Sheikh in confusion. Who was the man talking about? His translator? A guide? Not even the fact that the Sheikh had spoken in flawless Arabic punctured her bewilderment. What on earth was the man talking about?

  “I’m Altair.” Lord Blakeney’s quiet words made her frown. He was the most vexing man she’d ever met. Why on earth would he claim to be this Altair the Sheikh wanted to bring with him? She raised a hand to her forehead and rubbed her temple, thoroughly confused.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I told you I’m no stranger to the desert. I visit the Sheikh’s camp regularly and use the Arabic name given to me, which is Altair.”

  The Mazir had given him a name that meant soaring eagle. An image of the majestic bird filled her head. The name suited him. His arrogance and demeanor were worthy of the majestic bird, almost as much as her images of him as ruler of Egypt. Irritated with the way her musings distracted her from the current situation, she frowned.

  Lord Blakeney was Altair, and the Sheikh refused to be her guide unless Altair accompanied them. The idea of spending more time in his company made her nervous. The man was far too dangerous. He aroused her senses to the point that she longed to agree to the Sheikh’s demand. But how could she trust him? He couldn’t possibly understand what it was like
to covet the respect of one’s peers. As she teetered on the brink of refusing, Altair leaned toward her.

  “Think long and hard, ana anide emîra. I would hate to see that pretty neck of yours nicked by the cruel blade of a less than honorable man.”

  Images of a bloody death immediately made her stomach churn. Flinching at the uncomfortable sensation, she met his watchful gaze. She saw a calculated flicker of amusement in his eyes. The devil was enjoying himself, and at her expense. Incorrigible, that’s what he was. Incorrigible and maddening. What made him think she enjoyed being called his stubborn princess? But she did enjoy it.

  She winced. Well, her attraction to the man didn’t mean she enjoyed how he always managed to manipulate her. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t give in to his coercion. She refused to have the Museum interfering with her work, and that meant not having Lord Blakeney accompany her. Without a word, she spun about and stalked up the gangway. She needed to think. Somehow, she needed to find another way to Khatana-Qantir.

  As she reached the ship’s deck, a strong hand grasped her arm. Pulled to an abrupt stop, she looked up at Altair. Annoyed by the fact she was already thinking about him in terms of his Bedouin name, she scowled.

  “Unhand me.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to accept the Sheikh’s offer?” he asked between clenched teeth

  “Why should I? I’m certain I can find some other desert sheikh perfectly willing to take me to Khatana-Qantir and still keep my head.”

  “You little fool! You’ve no idea what you’re up against here. Why are you so adamant against me serving as translator and guide?”

  Yanking her arm out of his grasp, she glared up at him. “Because the moment I find Per-Ramesses, you’ll contact the Museum. The next thing I’ll see is Lord Merrick’s narrow-minded contingent of male Egyptologists arriving to take over my excavation, shutting me out completely.”

  “That’s it? That’s why you’re not going to accept the Sheikh’s offer?”

  “I think that’s a very good reason.”