Among Sand and Sunrise

by Stacy Henrie

  Other than Syble, all of them were watching him expectantly. The sudden arrival of their food meant their attention switched from Marcus to their meals, but it was only a matter of time before they would pounce again.

  He hardly tasted a bite, and he wasn’t the only one. Syble didn’t seem to eat much either. The other four women acted oblivious to or at least unconcerned by the tension hovering in the air. Would this weighted awkwardness be a common occurrence if he agreed to join the other dig? Knowing Syble, she wasn’t going to remain in the background as Florence and Rose would likely do. No, Adelle’s granddaughter would want to be in the thick of things, critiquing every step Marcus took.

  A day that had begun with such promise was fast deteriorating like dirt in a flood. And he and Syble had only been in each other’s company for less than an hour. Marcus fought a groan.

  He needed some air—and a chance to think without everyone staring at him. Or eyeing him suspiciously, as Syble kept doing.

  “I believe I’ll take a walk,” he said, setting his napkin beside his plate. “I promise to give you an answer tonight.” With that, he stood and exited the dining room. He didn’t stop walking until he reached the hotel’s terrace. Splaying his hands on the railing, Marcus stared at the Nile in the dusky light and tried to sort out what he ought to do.

  * * *

  “I said this wouldn’t work.” Florence tossed a pointed look in the direction of Syble’s grandmother.

  For her part, Nana didn’t bat an eye. “It will—eventually. But I admit he wasn’t as warm toward her as I had hoped.”

  Syble didn’t fully take in the conversation, her focus drifting instead to the retreating figure of Marcus as he left the dining room. A part of her felt relieved that he hadn’t agreed to their grandmothers’ ridiculous plan.

  Have Marcus help us with a project he doesn’t even believe in? No, thank you, she thought. We’ll be better off finding someone else.

  Rose blew out a soft sigh. “She wasn’t very warm either, though I do hate to say so, and I certainly don’t mean any offense by it.”

  Syble focused her attention on the table again. Marcus’s grandmother was shaking her head. “I fear Florence might be right,” Ethel said.

  “No. Not this time,” Nana insisted. “I have a feeling about this, and your dig, Ethel, is the perfect catalyst.”

  Syble waved her hand in the air in an attempt to capture their attention. “The catalyst for what? Will someone please explain to me what the four of you are discussing?”

  The words had barely left her mouth when the widows stopped talking and peered at her in unison. Had they actually forgotten she was there? A pinprick of worry soured what little food Syble had eaten for dinner. Did they need her on this trip because their legs were more wobbly—or for something more serious? Were the four of them becoming a bit forgetful as well?

  “Did something happen between you and Marcus on that river trip your families took years ago?” Rose asked her in a gentle voice.

  Syble gulped and glanced at Ethel. How much did she dare voice in front of Marcus’s grandmother? Or in front of all of them, for that matter? “Nothing really happened. It’s just that Marcus and I—”

  “They had a small argument,” her grandmother volunteered, “as stubborn youth often do. But that misunderstanding is far in the past. I’m sure they are both ready to move forward.”

  A headache throbbed in Syble’s temples. “I think I’ll go for a walk too.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

  If she stayed a second longer, she feared she’d tell them exactly what she thought of Marcus—both back then and now. The two of them couldn’t even make it through one meal without arguing. Coming on this trip—following the map and trying to find the hidden tomb—was supposed to be fun and exciting. Yet how was she supposed to enjoy it if she had to manage being around Marcus day in and day out?

  Syble glanced around at the table to find the widows once again engrossed in conversation. None of them acted as though they’d even heard her.

  “Ahhh,” she muttered, shaking her head. She might find Marcus infuriating, but tonight she felt equally as exasperated with her grandmother and her friends.

  The foursome hadn’t given her one ounce of trouble on their ocean voyage from New York to Africa or on the twelve-hour train ride from Cairo to Luxor. But this evening had been different, starting with their odd suggestion that she change her dress. They hadn’t been able to agree which one she ought to wear, though, so Syble had finally selected her favorite, a blue dinner gown—only to discover a few minutes later that they’d left without her.

  Had they been hoping she would make a better impression on Marcus in a different dress? Syble gave an incredulous sniff as she entered the hotel lobby. The effort had been wasted. Marcus would never see her as anything more than the supposedly naïve thirteen-year-old she’d been when they had last interacted. Not that she cared about his opinion—on her or anything else. He was the sort of person who could probably turn a circus into a tedious event.

  Syble exited onto the terrace that overlooked the Nile. Bright-pink bougainvillea flowers bloomed along the railing. She fingered a blossom as she glanced about. A short distance away stood Marcus. Syble froze. Had he seen her? He was facing forward, though, and focused on the view rather than on the other people enjoying the evening air. She debated going back inside the hotel, yet the scenery was even lovelier here than from her upstairs window.

  She remained in place, her gaze straying to Marcus again. The short black curls, green eyes, and glasses were all familiar. Still, eight years had changed him. His physique no longer resembled that of a boy on the cusp of manhood. Now he was a man, and one who didn’t mind hard physical work in the sun, judging by his tanned skin and muscled shoulders.

  For some reason, thinking of Marcus in such a way bathed her cheeks with warmth. Syble turned back to the river and attempted to ignore him. He was handsome, yes, in a scholarly sort of way, but it wasn’t as if she found him overly attractive. They treated each other very much as she and her brothers did, though there was far more affection in the debates and teasing she received from her brothers than between her and Marcus.

  Would he agree to help with Ethel’s dig? He’d acted as unenthused at the prospect as Syble. But would he change his mind?

  Something Nana had told her during the trip across the ocean flitted through Syble’s mind and drew a frown of frustration. “The archaeologist I have in mind for this dig,” Nana had told her, “is very experienced, though he may need some convincing to join us.”

  “If he says no, can’t we just find someone else as experienced?” Syble had asked.

  Her grandmother’s gaze held familiar determination. “He’s the best. If we can’t convince him to help us, we’ll simply have to call off the dig altogether.”

  Now Syble knew that the person Nana had been referring to was Marcus Brandt. And he would need a great deal of convincing. Otherwise, there would be no dig.

  The thought settled with sobering weight onto Syble’s shoulders. If there was no dig, then she would never know what extraordinary thing the map led to. Without that discovery, how was she supposed to hold her head up in a society that dismissed her from all consideration once she was deemed unsuitable for marriage?

  She needed this dig to prove she had something to offer the world—to show that there was far more to her than being a fun-loving, bold heiress whom no one wanted to marry.

  Unfortunately for her, that meant she needed Marcus’s help.

  Spinning to face him, Syble choked back her pride and tilted her chin upward. She had to convince him to oversee this dig, even though the idea of spending more than an evening in his presence made her grind her teeth. But she would endure it for the sake of discovery. For the sake of showing her grandmother and the other Wandering Widows that she was mature enough to join their ranks and live a life of adventure, without a man at her side.


  CHAPTER 4

  Syble knew the instant Marcus caught sight of her striding down the hotel terrace toward him. His brows rose above his glasses, and his mouth turned down at the corners. “Is there something you need…Miss Rinecroft?”

  “It’s Syble, Marcus,” she said, stopping along the railing in front of him. “Just Syble. Hearing you call me Miss Rinecroft makes me feel older than Florence.”

  His frown bowed slightly. “How old is Florence?”

  “I have no idea, and I wouldn’t dare ask her.” She made a face. “But I have it on good authority that she’s the oldest of the widows.”

  He chuckled. “Very well then, Syble. Is there a reason you came to find me?”

  Yes. I need to convince you to help with this dig.

  She tasted the words on her tongue, their bluntness as familiar to her as breathing. Yet she pressed her lips over them at the last moment. Things might go better if she took a different, less direct approach—at least for now. After all, she could be ladylike and unobtrusive when she tried, even with Marcus.

  “Are you really that close to opening up the treasury room in your tomb?” Syble didn’t have to manufacture the note of excitement in her voice. She could imagine how thrilling it would be when they reached such a point with their own dig.

  Marcus dipped his chin in a nod. “According to my calculations we only need another week—ten days, at the most.”

  “What do you think you’ll find?” She gazed beyond the river, trying to imagine the type of work he oversaw every day. On her trip to Egypt eight years ago, Syble had visited plenty of temples and monuments, including the Pyramids of Giza, and she’d walked through several tombs. But the tomb Marcus was clearing hadn’t seen human activity for centuries. Just like the hidden tomb on her map.

  He faced the Nile as well. “I’m hoping the treasury room will still be filled with funerary items, unlike the other rooms we have cleared out thus far. Perhaps it will even hold something as large as an ancient Egyptian boat.”

  “That would be exciting. Maybe we’ll find something that large in this other tomb—if it’s fully intact and hasn’t been disturbed.”

  “You don’t actually want to find any tomb completely intact.”

  Was he teasing her? “Why not?”

  “Because,” he said, turning to look at her, “then, instead of dividing the artifacts between you and the Antiquities Service, you are required to turn everything over to them.”

  Syble frowned. “Everything?”

  Marcus nodded once more. “Most archaeologists who work here yearn to make a vast discovery, but we don’t necessarily wish for it to be inside a tomb that is entirely intact. That is why a little disturbance by grave robbers can be a welcome thing. However, completely empty rooms are far from ideal.”

  “You really want to see what’s in that treasury room, don’t you?”

  He stared at something over her head, his expression pensive. “I do.”

  “Why?” Was he also seeking to be remembered for something amazing? To be known for more than what others thought they saw? Or did he have a different motive?

  “I shall simply say it’s important to me—and will leave it at that.”

  Syble didn’t want to be content with his vague response, but the possibility of annoying him stopped her from pressing for more information. “Will you refuse to help with the other dig then?”

  Marcus blew out a long breath and rested his hands on the railing. “I don’t know.”

  His hands were far more lined and tanned than most men she knew—men of leisure or of business conducted in comfortable offices—and yet they were free of any dirt and could clearly wield a tool as well as gently soothe his grandmother’s distress.

  They’re honest-looking hands, Syble thought, before shaking herself. The moonlight spilling over the Egyptian landscape must be muddling her thoughts.

  “We need you, Marcus.” She never would have imagined voicing those words to him, but they were nonetheless sincere.

  He adjusted his glasses as he repeated, “We?”

  “Yes. Your grandmother, my grandmother, Florence, Rose.” When he didn’t reply, she huffed out a sigh. “Fine. And me.”

  “Why?”

  She scrunched her forehead. “Why do we need you? I would’ve thought the reasons obvious, especially after the conversation at dinner.”

  “No.” Marcus shook his head. “Why is this so important to you, Syble? Why are you determined to follow a map you are not absolutely certain will lead to anything at all?”

  She forced herself to take a calming breath and not let his veiled criticism of the map nettle her again. Ethel and Nana and the others believed her, and for now, that was enough. Once they found a tomb, Marcus would have all the proof he needed that she’d been right all along. That didn’t mean she had to share her true motive, though. Especially when he hadn’t been very forthcoming himself about his reasons.

  “Let’s just say it’s important to me and leave it at that, shall we?” She affected an innocent smile and suppressed a laugh when understanding lit his face. He’d realized she had parroted his own answer back at him.

  Maybe working with Marcus wouldn’t be all bad, if he agreed to help them. It would be an interesting challenge, since he would be involved in a project he had no confidence in. Then again, teasing him, even all these years later, was still as fun as Syble remembered.

  * * *

  Marcus wasn’t taken in for a single moment by Syble’s charming smile. The clever-tongued girl he well remembered was still there, even if she had grown into a woman. She was also holding as tightly to her reasons for wanting to do this dig as he was to his motives for wanting to finish his project.

  He didn’t need to know her reasons—he’d merely been curious. But contrary to his expectations, she hadn’t spilled the answer to him in a rush of words as she likely would have at thirteen. Had she curbed her tendency toward directness, or was there some reason she’d chosen not to share more?

  The longer he remained silent, the more her smile increased, until her countenance radiated brightness, pleasure, and confidence. Marcus found it a rather heady combination on someone as pretty as Syble.

  Breaking eye contact, he directed his annoyance toward the river. What was wrong with him? This was only Syble. It wasn’t as if he was some enamored suitor of hers.

  The idea of courting her was as ludicrous as this map of hers. Yet in this moment, he could almost understand why his friend Elijah Kirk had enjoyed her company. When she smiled like this and wittily tossed his own oblique remark back at him, she struck him as less irritating and more…likeable.

  That didn’t mean he was eager and ready to go help with her and Gran’s dig, though. What was more, he couldn’t understand why Syble had changed her mind about involving him either.

  “Tell me,” he said, meeting her gaze directly. “Why the sudden change of heart? Back in the dining room, you were quite set against me joining my grandmother’s dig. Did the four of them insist you come outside and speak with me?”

  The curve of her shoulders drooped a little, while in contrast, her jaw and chin took on a stubborn line he well recognized. “No, they didn’t insist I come speak with you. I chose to do that myself.”

  “Because?” He wouldn’t accept a clever, vague answer this time.

  Syble matched his silent look, then finally rolled her eyes. “The truth? I’m not overjoyed about you joining this dig, but my grandmother was very clear. If you won’t help us, the dig will be called off.”

  That was something he hadn’t considered. “They would let the entire idea go so easily? Does that mean Gran doesn’t actually want to do this?”

  “No, on the contrary, she very much wants to fund this dig.” Syble’s features softened as she added, “Ethel seems very excited at the prospect of doing this, especially about working with you.”

  “But you didn’t know before tonight that they wanted my help?”

&n
bsp; She gave him a familiar pointed look. It was one she’d performed with precision on multiple occasions eight years ago. “Absolutely not. If I had, I might have talked your grandmother out of the whole thing.” Syble cocked her head. “On second thought, I would’ve just tried to convince them to find another archaeologist.”

  “Let me see if I have this correct then.” He pocketed his hands and rocked back on his heels. “You aren’t any more thrilled with me helping than I am. However, if I don’t, the contents of your map will remain a secret—at least for the time being.”

  “A map that you firmly believe doesn’t contain a secret at all,” she countered. “But yes, you have the rest of it correct.” She looked down at their shoes in what he could only deem was a rare show of uncertainty. “Does this mean you’ll agree to help us?”

  If he turned down this project, Marcus would be saying no to more than just Syble—he would be letting down his grandmother and his current patroness too. On the other hand, could he truly walk away from his tomb, when he was so close to unearthing whatever lay behind the door of the treasury room? Whichever way he chose, strong disappointment would likely be the inevitable outcome.

  He still believed Syble’s map to be a hoax. Yet she firmly believed in it. If he refused to help with their project, the dig would be abandoned, and Syble would view him as the one who had crushed her dream. The thought sat uncomfortably with him—especially since he knew all too well what it meant to have dreams just out of reach.

  Would it be so terrible to help them, if only for a little while? It would please Gran and her friends and would offer Syble a bit of the adventure she still seemed to crave. It wouldn’t take long to firmly establish that the map led to nowhere. After a few weeks, when nothing turned up, the five of them would have had their fill of digging, and they could all go back to the way things had been. The Wandering Widows and their young companion would return to the States. And Marcus would return to the project of his heart and to hopefully making archaeological history.