Among Sand and Sunrise Page 11

  That wasn’t the case, though, when he’d helped her with her gloves. In that moment, she’d been acutely aware of him—the feel of his fingers skimming hers, the masculine scent of his shaving soap, the sound of her own pulse pounding in her ears. For the second time that morning, her breath had been stolen away. But, unlike earlier, her interaction with Marcus had left her breathless in a wonderfully poignant, deeply thrilling way. It was a sensation she had never experienced before, even with Mr. Kirk, and it had robbed her of the ability to speak without stumbling.

  With a groan, Syble rested her arm across her eyes. What had prompted her to agree to let him remove her gloves? She should have insisted her grandmother would help her later. Then she could have avoided this swirl of emotions inside her, both from Marcus’s touch and from the way he had all but bolted to the door afterward. Had his hasty exit been triggered because he’d sensed how much he had affected her? She groaned aloud again.

  “Syble?” She opened her eyes as her grandmother entered the tent. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

  “Silly.” She sat up slowly and swung her legs off the cot.

  Nana took a seat beside her. “It was an accident and could have happened to any one of us. There’s nothing to feel silly about.”

  Syble didn’t bother correcting her. If Nana and the others were intent on doing a bit of matchmaking, it was best that she believed Syble was only talking about running into the man with the crate—not her response to Marcus just now.

  “How’s your head?” Her grandmother touched the back of Syble’s hair with a gentle hand. “Any goose eggs?”

  “I don’t think so. My backside took the brunt of my fall.”

  Nana eyed her doubtfully. “Do you want to rest a little longer?”

  Syble shook her head and stood. “Now that I’ve got my breath back, I’m feeling much better. I may not be able to sit down tomorrow when the bruises set in, but I don’t want to lie around on our first day of the dig. I’m supposed to be offering assistance to all of you anyway.”

  “You have, and you will.” Her grandmother rose as well and looped her arm through Syble’s. “That doesn’t mean we don’t welcome the chance to feel a bit needed ourselves every now and then.”

  Did Nana not feel needed anymore? “Of course you’re needed. I wouldn’t even be here, experiencing something this amazing and having the chance to find the hidden tomb, if it weren’t for you.”

  “I’m glad I could be of some help in making this dream come true.” Her grandmother squeezed her arm. “What will your next dream be, after this dig is over?”

  Syble followed her out of the tent, deliberately keeping her gaze from jumping to where they’d first found Marcus. Instead she peered around them at the site. “I’m hoping to take another adventure with you and the other Wandering Widows.”

  “That may be a possibility,” Nana said, smiling, “but traveling is something we do only twice a year. Keep in mind, Syble, that adventuring isn’t the same as living.”

  She squirmed inwardly at her grandmother’s words. They sounded far too much like those Marcus had voiced yesterday, when they’d been talking about what they were each passionate about.

  Syble had once been passionate about romance and courtship, with dreams of marrying and having a family of her own. But those dreams, unfortunately, had come to naught. What other course was left to her then? As a young woman deemed unsuitable as a wife, her life could now be one of adventure, independence, and discovery. Surely that would be as fulfilling as any of her old dreams that had always hovered just out of reach. And yet how could Nana or the other widows truly understand? Every one of them had been someone’s wife at some point, and they were all mothers.

  “I guess I’ll just have to figure it out as I go,” she answered with more assurance than she felt.

  Her grandmother’s next remark brought her as much comfort as her warm smile did. “You will, my dear. I’m sure of it.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so. You remind me so much of myself at your age, Syble, and I eventually figured things out too.”

  The thought of being like her grandmother pleased Syble. Maybe she was more understood than she thought. “Did you want to be adventurous and daring?”

  Nana laughed. “Absolutely. I flouted convention as much as I could—I still do sometimes. Yet before I could truly run off to embrace a life of adventure and unconventionality, I met someone.”

  “Who?”

  She patted Syble’s hand. “Your grandfather.”

  “But I thought Father said you and Grandfather didn’t marry for love.”

  Her grandmother nodded thoughtfully. “It wasn’t the main reason, no. But nearly from the first moment we met, he liked and respected me for being me. He also helped me see that, while the life I wanted might prove to be exciting, it wouldn’t be free of loneliness or heartache either.”

  Syble glanced away. She didn’t want to talk anymore about future plans or the lack thereof or the possibility of them bringing as much loneliness and heartache as the disappointments she’d already experienced.

  “Enough about that,” Nana said, as though sensing Syble’s reservations. “Marcus told us we could look around before lunch, and I intend to do just that.”

  A genuine smile lifted Syble’s mouth. “I’d like that too.”

  Movement caught her eye, and she looked over to find Marcus striding out of the tent, carrying stakes and balls of twine. His eyes met hers briefly before he looked away. A flicker of hurt cut through Syble.

  Did he regret helping her with her gloves? Perhaps he was afraid she’d gotten the wrong idea, and now he felt the need to warn her off. No doubt he found her overly vivacious and opinionated, just like all the other men she’d met. Her jaw tightened at the possibility.

  Whatever designs the widows might have for the two of them, Syble would not be swayed. She was here to find a tomb and secure her place within the adventurous group. Which meant that from now on, she would leave off discussing her dreams of the future in detail, with Marcus or anyone else. She wouldn’t allow herself to be in close proximity with him either or let him help her again in such a personal way. And most importantly, she would not respond with such foolishness to his touch ever again.

  CHAPTER 9

  Marcus withdrew his glasses from his face and rubbed at his tired eyes. Too bad the rest of him didn’t feel as weary. Perhaps then he would already be asleep.

  It had to be after midnight, and yet he still wasn’t dressed for bed. He had discarded his vest and unbuttoned the top of his shirt before stretching out on his cot to peruse his research books. That had been several hours ago. But rather than lolling him to sleep, his choice of reading material had invigorated his mind with new plans and potential places to dig. It had been that way each evening for the past week. At least now he had some possible plans to consider in the event that clearing out his tomb didn’t provide the treasures he hoped it would.

  He placed his glasses back on, shut his book, and set it on the upturned crate he used as a makeshift table. Then Marcus draped his legs over the side of the cot so he could sit up. Uncertainty warred with hope inside him as he contemplated his future.

  “Thou knowest my dream, Lord,” he whispered as he shut his eyes and clasped his hands loosely between his knees. “And while I’m grateful for all the work I’ve been given and the chance to help Gran, this current dig is a far cry from what I wish to be doing.”

  Opening his eyes, he stared at his looming shadow on the opposite side of the tent. So far, their dig hadn’t yet produced anything of real interest—other than some broken fragments of ancient pottery. Syble and the widows had taken those to be a sign of impending success. And Marcus hadn’t the heart to tell them, especially Gran, that the pottery shards amounted to nothing more or less than what they were. Yes, they showed that people had lived in the area at one time, but that was no guarantee of finding a tomb or any notable artifacts. Plent
y of people had unearthed similar things from other dig sites without the eventual discovery of something larger or more valuable.

  What had been successful, though, was his singular focus on the dig and his limited interactions with Syble. He saw her every day. However, even though she peppered him with questions about the dig at every turn, there’d been little time for private conversation. And certainly no time or opportunity for him to do something as idiotic and familiar as removing her gloves or holding her hand. But far from feeling relieved at the current state of things between them, Marcus found he missed speaking and bantering with her in private.

  With a growl of annoyance at himself, he ran his hands through his hair and rose to his feet. Things were better this way, even if there were moments he doubted the validity of his own reasoning.

  He blew out the lamp, intent on readying himself for bed. Would he finally be able to sleep? Mostly likely not, with Syble at the forefront of his thoughts. Hoping a little air and a change of scenery might help him clear his head, he exited the tent.

  Moonlight bathed the valley and surrounding hills, while overhead millions of stars illuminated the night sky. It was nothing short of breathtaking. No wonder one of Luxor’s main attractions remained viewing the temple of Karnak by the light of the moon. It was an excursion he hadn’t yet taken the opportunity to experience for himself, though someday he would. Perhaps after clearing his tomb.

  Movement to his right snagged his attention, and Marcus narrowed his eyes for a better look. A flash of white could be seen against the shadows of the hillside. His heartbeat quickened with concern. Was someone prowling about the dig site? If so, the person had made little effort to be discreet. Marcus could now see a lantern sitting near the pit where the individual was hunched over. Who would be out here at this hour, especially since the crew departed each evening before dinner?

  Curiosity mingled with slight apprehension inside him as he moved with quiet footsteps in the direction of the intruder. It was probably best not to startle the person until Marcus could ascertain who and what they were about. As he drew closer, he realized the white he’d seen earlier was a dressing gown—with lace along its edges.

  Only one person here owned such a dressing gown and would have any inclination to prowl about after dark.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Marcus slowly shook his head. He didn’t know if he felt more irritated at Syble for being out here at this hour or more curious as to why.

  He strolled the rest of the way toward her. Since she was bent over inside the pit, he could only see her back and the top of her head. Her hair lay unfettered around her shoulders and down toward her waist. In the light of the moon, the blond strands glowed nearly as white as her nightclothes. The object Syble struggled to lift, however, caught and held his attention more than her ethereal appearance. It was a basket weighed down with sand, and a trowel sat nearby on the ground.

  The purpose of her nocturnal activities made sudden sense. Or rather, at least he understood them now. In his opinion, there was nothing sensible about this scene.

  “Something tells me you didn’t venture out here to enjoy the night sky,” he said, coming to a stop a few feet away.

  Syble gasped and whirled around. Some of the sand spilled from her basket. “Marcus! You scared me.”

  “I scared you?” He crossed his arms against his chest and glared at her. “When I saw there was a person out here, I feared someone might be trying to profit off our dig. I might have threatened you with a shovel.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Marcus exhaled an exasperated sigh. “That is beside the point. What are you doing, Syble?”

  He thought he caught the defensive lift of her chin, though it could have been a trick of light and shadow. “I would think it’s obvious. I’m trying to speed things along.”

  “By digging alone, at night?”

  There was no mistaking her frown. “Why not? I’ve done it the last two nights.”

  “Isn’t that a bit underhanded, to confine your work to your chosen plot of earth?”

  “Do I detect a note of jealousy?” She turned and poured out the contents of her basket. “You’re more than welcome to work on your spot.”

  “I have.” He stepped closer. “During the day, as any rational, levelheaded person would do.”

  She shrugged, a pert smile evident on her face. “Rational and levelheaded aren’t exactly my forte.” She bent down.

  “You can say that again,” he grumbled.

  Syble popped back up. “I said, rational and levelheaded—”

  He held up a hand in surrender and did his best to hide his smile. “I heard you the first time.”

  “I just want to find the tomb as soon as possible.” She crouched inside the pit once more. “And since Nana hasn’t yet conceded to letting me dig with you and the crew during the day, I figured this was one way for me to help.” She tottered to a standing position, another full basket balanced in her arms.

  What woman of his acquaintance, including his own sisters, would ever dream up, let alone act upon, such a scheme? Yet here was Syble, a well-bred young lady and an heiress to boot, dressed in her nightclothes and doing her bit to hurry the dig along. Marcus didn’t know whether to chuckle, scold, or offer his congratulations.

  “So you’re an avid observer by day but secretly an archaeologist by night?” He reached out to take the basket from her.

  As he’d hoped, she laughed. “Exactly.” She paused a moment, then relinquished the basket to him. He dumped out the sand and rocks, but he didn’t hand the basket back.

  “Would you be amenable,” he asked, “to my loading the basket and handing it to you instead?”

  The look of surprise on her pretty features felt well worth the sleep he was presently missing. “I would think you’d want to work on your spot, not mine. We are in a competition, after all.”

  “A fact I have not forgotten, I assure you. However, the work proceeds much faster with two.”

  Her grateful smile rivaled the moon and made him glad he’d offered to help. “All right.”

  He extended his hand to assist her out of the pit. Once again, she hesitated—even longer this time. Then, with that familiar lift of her chin, Syble finally pressed her hand into his and allowed him to pull her up. He was relieved to see a pair of shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of her dressing gown. She’d at least shown good sense in covering her bare feet.

  Marcus traded places with her and stooped to fill the basket. “This reminds me of the story of the Abderrassul family,” he said as he straightened. The basket wasn’t overly heavy for him, but he was still impressed Syble had managed it on her own for two nights.

  “Who are they?” She sat on the edge of the pit, facing him. After accepting his full basket, she emptied it before passing it back to him.

  “The family discovered a tomb near the temple of Hatshepsut in the late 1870s.” Marcus bent to load the basket again. “At first, they simply set out to explore the sand on the slope near the temple. They did not have a license to dig, so in order to keep whatever they found a secret, they only dug at night.”

  Taking the basket from him, Syble released its contents and handed it back. “Did they find anything?”

  “Indeed they did. An immense treasure trove of royal mummies, gold items, papyri.” He’d first heard the story of the Abderrassul family as a boy, and his fascination for it hadn’t faded in the years since. Their discovery was one of the reasons Marcus had wanted to become an archaeologist in the first place, though all of his digs would be done legally. “They lived off the sale of some of the items for six years, until their secret was discovered.”

  Marcus found his rhythm, and soon they were easily trading the basket back and forth. “Ever since hearing their story, I’ve dreamed of one day making a discovery as large and significant as theirs.”

  “Is that why you wanted to keep working on clearing your tomb?” Syble asked. “Rather than switchin
g to help with this project?”

  He wasn’t entirely surprised by her perceptiveness. Even eight years ago, he’d recognized that for all her vivacity, Syble could also be a discerning person. What he hadn’t counted upon was how much he wished there was someone who could understand, even a little, his drive to finish clearing his tomb.

  “Yes, I’m still hoping the treasury room holds enough rarities within it,” he admitted, “to move my name to the top of the list of archaeologists working in Egypt, past or present.”

  She nodded thoughtfully as she tossed out the sand from the basket. “Is there actually a list?”

  “Well, no.” He chuckled. “A formal list doesn’t exist. But certain names are always mentioned among those interested in Egyptology or by collectors and museum curators.” His family did not fall in either category, yet his half brothers would surely take notice if mentions of Marcus popped up in newspapers around the world.

  The vulnerability of what he’d shared had him lowering his gaze to the ground in mild embarrassment. “Perhaps that’s too lofty a dream.”

  “I don’t think so.” The conviction in her voice drew his head up. “God wants us to dream, to reach for things that aren’t easily in reach. Dreaming big isn’t wrong.” She handed him the empty basket. “It stretches us and often has us relying more on God than we otherwise would.”

  Her words resonated inside him, giving him a new perspective to ponder. “You’ve grown astute in your young age.”

  “Shh.” She put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone. They might think I’m practical and then be shocked to learn I’m not.” They shared a laugh. “What about with this dig?” Syble waved her hand, indicating the area around them. “When we discover a tomb here, won’t your name be recognized as well? You are the one helping us.”

  He noted her use of the word when instead of if they found a tomb. The possibility of a real discovery was still that—an unlikely possibility. And yet there were moments, such as these, when Marcus hoped for a different conclusion. If for nothing else, for his grandmother, Syble, and the others, who believed so greatly in the map’s validity.