Mirage

by Monica Burns

  With a final glare of disdain, she returned her attention to the work spread out in front of her. Altair tightened his jaw. He had his work cut out for him when it came to healing the breach between them. But first, he needed to talk to Medjuel. He could only hope his suspicions were wrong.

  For the past three days, he’d never left the work site unless Alex did. He’d remained on hand in the event of an emergency, and now he hesitated to leave her unprotected. At that moment, Caldwell emerged from the palace, a wary expression on his face as he circled Altair. Although the scholar wasn’t the most rugged of men, he’d at least be able to keep Alex safe until he could return.

  “Caldwell, I want you to stay close to Miss Talbot. I won’t be gone long. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Of course.” The man nodded his head.

  Satisfied that Alex would be safe until he returned, Altair strode toward his horse and rode toward the Mazir encampment. The ride seemed interminable, but in less than a half-hour, he stood outside Medjuel’s tent.

  From where he stood, he could see his cousin reading one of the ancient texts reserved only for the Sheikh el Mazir. Without looking at him, Medjuel waved him into the tent.

  “Come in, cousin.”

  Altair stepped into the opulently decorated abode. His cousin’s tastes ran to more ostentatious decorations, and there were fringes, beaded throws and expensive furs throughout the vast tent. Uncertain how to begin his questioning, he just stood inside the tent’s door.

  Medjuel closed the book he held with a snap, then looked up at him. “I’ve been reading up on the prophecy. It seems your Miss Talbot is very close to finding Nourbese’s tomb.”

  “You sound as if that troubles you.” Tension coiled like a snake in his belly, waiting to strike. Something about Medjuel’s expression troubled him.

  “Not at all.” The Sheikh shook his head, his expression a picture of pleasantry. “I simply fear for the shagi emîra’s well-being. However, there is another issue I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “And that is?”

  Medjuel paused as if weighing his words carefully. “I’ve spoken with the elders, and it’s been agreed that you’re to step down as my advisor.”

  Altair stared at his cousin. He’d not been certain what to expect when he entered Medjuel’s home—certainly not this. His title of Sheikh had been an honorary one. Losing it was of little consequence to him, but it was his cousin’s decision to relieve him of his responsibilities that stung. Even more bruising was the notion Medjuel found him untrustworthy. A man he considered to be a brother. Loyalty had always been his first consideration when it came to the tribe and to Medjuel’s leadership. What had he done to make his cousin distrust him?

  “Why?”

  His cousin reached up to stroke his beard, his black eyes cold and emotionless as he studied him. “Because you’ve dishonored the family.”

  Taken aback, Altair glared at Medjuel. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You bedded the Ferengi, Altair.” The Sheikh raised a hand in a placating manner. “I can understand that, she’s lovely to look at. But you dishonored me and your family by bedding this woman without the vow of marriage.”

  Altair went cold. When had his cousin become so conservative in his way of thinking? There had always been room for an exchange of different ideas and culture between them. What had changed that? Not once had anyone ever questioned his actions before.

  He’d always acted as his own conscience decreed while respecting the tribe’s right to their beliefs. The Mazir had never disapproved of his actions before. What was different now? He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out at his cousin. With a level stare, he controlled his anger.

  “Even if what you say is true, my ways are not your ways, Medjuel. You know that.”

  “Your ways might not be ours, Altair. Nonetheless your dishonor forces me to strip you of the duties as my advisor and the title of Sheikh.” Medjuel sighed heavily. “Altair, this has been a long time coming. I need someone here all the time. Half the year you’re in London, and the other you’re with us. Each time you come home, you’ve drifted that much farther away from our ways.”

  The minor rebuff cut deep. Never before had his English heritage been a subject of criticism or displeasure. “I’ve done everything in my power to support you and the family. Whenever you’ve asked something of me, I’ve done it. You’re the Sheikh el Mazir, and not once have I failed to do as you asked.”

  “That is beside the point. The elders agree with my decision.”

  For the past two months, his cousin had excluded him from decisions and pushed him out onto the fringes of the tribe’s governing system. Now, Medjuel was removing him from his advisory position. It stung. Not because he cared about the title or position, but because Medjuel was a stranger to him. The decision to relieve him of his duties also fanned the flames of suspicion.

  His sojourns to England had never been an issue in the past. None of this had been a problem until he’d brought Alex out into the desert. From the very beginning, Medjuel had subtly tried to convince him to stop Alex in her quest. If anything, he should be anxious for Alex to find Nourbese’s tomb. The prophecy predicted wonderful rewards for the tribe. Why would Medjuel not want that for his people? Only a man with something to hide would act as his cousin was doing. But how to get Medjuel to reveal his secrets?

  “What are you afraid of, Medjuel?”

  Black eyes narrowing, the Sheikh shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Altair. I’ve explained my reasons for relieving you of your duties.”

  “I see. And what am I to make of all the other strange happenings since my return from England?”

  “I’ve always wondered where Kahlil got his vivid imagination from. It must be your mother’s side of the family.” Although his cousin’s tone was light and his lips curved upward, Altair caught a glimpse of fear in Medjuel’s eyes.

  “And is it my imagination that you ignored my warnings about Mohammed and the Hoggar?”

  “I didn’t ignore your warnings, I followed the situation closely.”

  “And is it my imagination that you never wanted Alex to find Per-Ramesses?”

  “That’s an exaggeration. I simply indicated concern for her well-being.”

  “Ah, yes. Her well-being.” Altair folded his arms across his chest and watched his cousin closely. “So how do you explain Mohammed?”

  “Mohammed? I don’t understand the question.” This time the fear in Medjuel’s eyes was plain to see, and Altair inhaled a deep breath of disappointment and betrayal.

  “You didn’t fight Mohammed outside Alex’s tent, did you? I never could figure out why I’d not heard anything, until this very minute. You made it look like the two of you had fought, but you killed the man in cold blood.”

  “You forget yourself, cousin.”

  “No, you’ve forgotten yourself, cousin.” Altair glared at Medjuel. “Did you kill him before or after the ipecac was added to Alex’s drinking water?”

  Silence filled the tent, and Medjuel stared at him for a long moment. Sharply turning away from him, the Sheikh strode toward a trunk in the far corner of the tent. Throwing the lid open, he rifled through the contents. “Come here, Altair. I want to show you something.”

  Wary of Medjuel’s conciliatory tone, he moved toward his cousin. He’d almost reached the trunk, when Medjuel yanked a rifle out of the trunk and swung it at Altair like a club. His cousin moved far too quickly for Altair to block the weapon’s metal barrel. As the rifle connected with the side of his head, his body exploded with pain. Unable to remain standing, his knees gave way as he slid to the floor. His eyes met Medjuel’s cold, flat gaze as his cousin raised the rifle again. Before the blow reached him, Altair pitched forward into a dark pit. The last thought flitting through his mind was of Alex.
He’d failed to keep her safe again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Damp with perspiration, the linen shirt Alex wore clung to her skin with the annoying persistence of a wet leaf. Even sitting in the shade of her work tent, the heat made it difficult to concentrate. No, that wasn’t true.

  Altair’s betrayal was what made it difficult. Despite all the warnings her head had screamed, she’d allowed her heart to guide her when it came to listening to his lies. Now she was paying a price beyond measure. She was in love with a man who thought nothing of using her to achieve his own goals.

  The memory of his cruel words inside Nourbese’s shrine tore at her heart. How could she love a man who lied to her time and time again? A man who’d betrayed her. A fat teardrop landed on the page of notes in front of her. With an angry swipe of her hand, she dashed the tear away. No. She refused to cry over a mess she’d created. She was responsible for letting Altair into her heart.

  Still, the pain of that moment in Nourbese’s shrine twisted her heart in ways she’d never experienced before. The physical sensation was acute. It jolted her body with every breath she took. Not even the deaths of her father and uncle had prepared her for such torment. Another tear followed the first one.

  Her body ached with the memory of his brutal words. Their burning cruelty singed her heart once more. What was she going to do? Per-Ramesses was hers, and he’d handed it over to Merrick on a silver platter. It was her find. Her work.

  A bull kicking her in the teeth would be less painful to deal with than watching the British Museum come in and simply take over her father’s life work. No, it was her life’s work. Worse yet, she didn’t know how to fight it. She had more than enough money to see her through the expedition, but she didn’t have the power to keep the Museum out.

  “Excuse me, Miss Talbot?”

  Alex lifted her head to see the lanky figure of the man who’d revealed Altair’s betrayal. She pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose at the sight of him. Her heartache had expanded into a headache, and she grimaced at seeing the man’s bookish features. A typical British Museum scholar.

  “What do you want?” She returned her attention to her notes. If the bastard thought she’d hand over her notes along with Per-Ramesses, he could think again. Hell would freeze over before she helped this man, or any other for that matter, take over her dig.

  “Lord Blakeney indicated that I should see you about what was needed in terms of helping with the excavation. I’m quite skilled in hieroglyphic translation.”

  “I’m sure you are.” She raised her head and glared at the man. “So have at it. There are thousands of markings requiring notation.”

  “Actually—” the man cleared his throat with a nervous twitch of his cheek, “—I think it would be better if you instructed me where to start.”

  “Look—what did you say your name was?”

  “Reggie Caldwell.”

  Narrowing her eyes at him, she gave him an abrupt nod of her head. “Right. Now then, Mr. Caldwell, what makes you think I’m going to give you or the British Museum any help whatsoever with my find? Merrick refused to assist me in my search for Per-Ramesses, but now that I’ve found it, the Museum wants to take it over. How convenient for them and you. So if it’s cheerful cooperation you’re expecting, you better think again.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Miss Talbot. Lord Blakeney ordered me to get my instructions—”

  “Lord Blakeney can go hang for all I care.”

  “Please, Miss Talbot; I don’t think I’m explaining myself very well at all. Lord Blakeney was quite clear in his instructions. I’m to follow your directives in all matters with regard to the dig. He said in no uncertain terms that you were in charge.”

  The words echoed in her ears, but Alex didn’t really comprehend them. Staring at the man, she sank back in her chair in disbelief. What was Altair up to? Befuddled, she shook her head in confusion. What was he planning? Did he think to gain her help for the Museum? Her headache pounded against her temples. She didn’t want to think about any of this. She simply wanted everyone to leave her alone.

  “Mr. Caldwell, I’m not sure what Lord Blakeney meant by his directions, and until I do know, I’m afraid I can’t help you. Now, forgive my rudeness, but I’d like to be left alone.”

  With a sharp movement, Alex flipped open another notebook and bent her head over the detailed writing. Across from her, Caldwell remained still for a moment before he quietly walked away. As he retreated, she leaned back in her chair and heaved a sigh. Why would Altair tell the man she was in charge of the expedition if he’d been the one to contact the Museum? It didn’t make sense.

  She breathed in the hot, dusty air and suddenly longed for the cool dampness of the Palace interior. Working always helped ease her heartache. She’d discovered that fact when she’d lost Uncle Jeffrey and her father. Quickly, she gathered up her notes and tools before heading toward the palace entrance. She noticed Caldwell hovering nearby and stopped. Her mind made up, she strode over to him.

  “Mr. Caldwell, I think you need to go into the village and make sleeping arrangements. Unless, of course, you’ve brought your own accommodations.”

  The man stared at her as if she were breathing fire, and Alex bit back a bitter smile. He fit the description of one of Merrick’s minions well. Unlike Altair. She pushed the thought away. Without waiting for the man to speak, she headed back into the palace. The moment she entered the dark interior, the cool temperature acted like a soothing balm to her body and senses.

  Inside, she didn’t even need to think where she was going. Nourbese’s shrine was the key to everything, and she was determined to find Pharaoh’s wife before anyone else did. That, they wouldn’t be able to take away from her.

  As she entered the shrine, she moved to the center of the room and looked up at the ceiling where Altair had pointed out the odd protrusion. Something about where this bulge was positioned in the painting made her think it was deliberate. It rested in the exact spot where the Pharaoh’s ribs were. Stretching up her hand, she tried to touch the protrusion, but she wasn’t tall enough. Determined to examine the spot more closely, she remembered the step stool she’d been using to reach the wall border that edged the ceiling. She dragged the stool across the rough floor and placed it squarely under Ramesses and Nourbese.

  With the stool in place, she could easily reach the long narrow bump that curved its way around half of Ramesses’ chest. A rib. Ramesses’ rib. Excitement skipped its way through her until her stomach jumped with nervous anticipation. Surely, it couldn’t be that easy.

  But then what better way to protect Nourbese’s remains than right under everyone’s nose. In plain view. Her fingers trembled as she gently brushed over the narrow ridge of stone. A sprinkling of dust floated down as she stroked the curved protrusion. Beneath her touch, the painting gave way. It crumbled down onto her face and clothing. Sputtering slightly from the debris, she pulled out her tool brush and began to clear away the material that surrounded what looked like a metal bar.

  Her breath hitched in her throat as pigment dust floated downward. With each stroke of her tool brush, it became evident there was a bar beneath the paint. Her fingers trembling with excitement, she brushed away the last bit of pigment dust that had covered the short lever curving around Ramesses’ chest.

  Hesitating for only an instant, she reached out to touch the bar. Her fingers wrapped around the lever, she gave it a gentle tug. It didn’t move. She tried again and still nothing happened. Disgusted, she frowned up at the bar before glaring at Ramesses’ expressive face. Irritated, she slammed her fist into the flat edge of the metal bar.

  “Damn it! Give her up, you old goat!”

  The lever moved slightly. Had she been trying to make it go in the wrong direction? She pushed at the thin, but solid, metal strip one more time. This time it definitely moved. With all o
f her strength, she pushed on the lever. On the wall opposite Nourbese’s statue a large stone slowly shifted to one side revealing a black hole. Her stomach flipped at the sight.

  “Excellent, shagi emîra, Excellent.”

  Startled by the Sheikh’s unexpected appearance, she lost her footing and slipped off the stool. As her shoulder slammed into the floor’s stone slab, she cried out in pain. Instead of bending to her aid, Altair’s cousin remained where he stood just inside the doorway of Nourbese’s shrine.

  “Am I correct in thinking you’ve found the entrance to Nourbese’s tomb?”

  Bewildered by his strange behavior, she sat up and nursed her throbbing shoulder.

  “I think so. I won’t know for certain until I follow the passage.” Her eyes searched his face as he quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “You’re surprised to see me,” he said in a cool voice.

  “Puzzled would be a more apt description. I’ve never known you to visit the ruins before.”

  “True, I have no desire to uncover the past.”

  “Even a past that will bring wealth to your people?”

  The Sheikh folded his arms across his chest before he reached up to stroke his beard. Completely baffled by his odd manner, Alex got to her feet with a grimace.

  “I doubt the wealth you mention is there, Miss Talbot. But we shall see.” He pulled a torch from one of the wall sconces and moved toward the dark passage.

  As he disappeared into the low tunnel, Alex tightened her lips. She damn well wasn’t going to let someone else enter Nourbese’s tomb without her. Grabbing another torch, she followed the Sheikh into the passageway. Ahead of her she could see his hunched-over figure as he moved forward.

  A moment later, she saw his torch disappear as he reached the tunnel’s exit. Light filtered its way back into the dense crawl space from where the Sheikh was, and Alex hurried forward to reach the chamber. As she reached the end of the tunnel, she stared in amazement at the sight before her.

  Sheikh el Mazir stood in front of a sarcophagus situated in the center of the room. Aside from the stone coffin, there was nothing else in the chamber. Hopping down into the crypt, she looked around her in disappointment. If this was Nourbese’s tomb, where was the treasure? Suddenly throwing his head back, the Sheikh laughed. The maniacal sound lifted the hair on Alex’s arms.