Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2) (21 page)

           
“A
word, please.”

           
“Make
it fast,” Rowan said, turning back to the horses and not slowing his pace. “I’m
already hours later than I’d like to be.”

           
Spenser
caught up with him and clapped a hard hand down on Rowan’s shoulder. He swung
him around to face him and, to Rowan’s astonishment, pulled out his service
revolver from his belt. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere today,” Spenser
said, his face grim.

           
A
very rare and expensive
faience
cup had
been found wrapped in the folds of Rowan’s bedroll.

           
“Little
rushed to get gone, weren’t you, Pierce?”

           
“And
you know why, Spenser,” Rowan said between his teeth for the twentieth time.
“My wife is lost in the desert. Of
course
I was in a hurry.”

           
“Pretty
happy not to have me along, too, I noticed.”

           
“You
made it clear you had other things you’d rather be doing.” That was a cheap
shot but if the man didn’t dissolve into defensiveness, he might feel bad
enough about it to stand down a little.

           
No
such luck.

           
“But
now we got us a situation, Pierce. Fact is, I don’t have any proof at all that
you are who you say you are. I don’t know if you even
know
Miss Stevens, let alone are married to her. Could be it was
all a lie to get close to what every American newspaper in the country is
saying is the richest treasure hunt in the world.”

           
“I’m
here to find my
wife
,” Rowan said
firmly from where he sat on his camp bed.

           
“Maybe.
But married or not, stealing antiquities is a minimum prison term in Egypt of
twenty years,” Spenser said.

           
“I
told you, I never saw that cup before. Someone must have planted it.”
   

           
“Why
would someone do that?”

           
Good
question.
“Probably to
stop me from searching for the women.”

           
“Why
the hell would they do that?” Spenser settled his pith helmet on his head as he
prepared to take his leave. “Look, Pierce, I don’t like Digby any more than you
do, but even
he’s
not that lowdown a
scoundrel. You think he
wants
his
wife to die out there in the desert?”

           
“Don’t
you
?”

           
“No.
I think he’s a weak-chinned little limey who likes his comfort and who hated
having to sleep outside without his morning tea served to him on a silver tray.”
Spenser shrugged and moved to the open flap of the tent. There were three
guards posted outside Rowan’s tent.

           
“So
now what?” Rowan said fiercely. He was so frustrated as he watched the light
die through the tent opening—knowing it was just as dark and cold
wherever Ella was tonight—he could barely speak.

           
“You’ll
stay here until we find out a little more about who you are. Digby’s heading
out for Cairo at first light to get some answers.”

           
“And
the women?” Rowan blurted out. “Are you just giving up on them?”

           
“There’s
a good chance they’re in Cairo,” Spenser said.

           
“Like
the good chance that they’d be back at camp sipping lemonade?”

           
Spenser
gave him a dark look. “
Wherever
they
are,” he said, “you’re out of it, Pierce. Might as well accept that. You’re not
going anywhere.”

           
Rowan
slept badly that night. The light floral fragrance of the soap Ella had
used—combined with that indescribable and undeniable scent of
herself—lingered on her pillow and kept him awake.

           
So
close. So very close that her scent still remained!

           
He
was up before dawn and had his sentry escort him to a nearby bush to relieve
himself. Although he was pretty sure he could disable all three of the guards,
he was not at all convinced it would help. Even he had to admit,
wherever
Ella was, if she had not found
help or shelter, she was probably dead. Hurting innocent people in order to
steal a horse and run into the desert would not help at this point.

           
It
was too late. Maybe Spenser was right. Maybe the answer
was
in Cairo. But if so, Digby was the
last
person who should be sent to uncover it.
Was the man just tired of being married? Or was something else going
on?
Clearly, he or his man had planted the cup to prevent Rowan from going
out after the two women.
Did Digby want
them dead as part of some bigger scheme involving Carter and his dig site? How
did Ella fit into all this? Was she just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

           
The
sentry had left the tent open and Rowan watched the early rays of the sun
slowly illuminate the camp. A young Egyptian boy arrived with a tray holding a teapot,
teacup, and a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. Rowan found himself shaking
his head at the idiocy of providing a prisoner with so many opportunities to
fashion a weapon. He picked up one of the toast pieces and realized that it had
been over twenty-four hours since he’d last eaten. He devoured the contents of
the entire tray and poured every drop of tea into his little china cup.

           
So
civilized
, he thought, reaching for
the linen napkin on the tray and wiping the toast butter from his fingers.
It really is a different world.

           
“
Effendi
?” A small voice spoke from the
tent opening.

           
Well, well. The kid’s got guts,
Rowan
had to admit.

           
Ra
poked his head into the tent. He looked nervous.

           
As well he should,
Rowan thought.

           
“I
am to take the tray,
effendi
,” Ra
said, still not entering the tent.

           
“So
come in and take it,” Rowan said gruffly.

           
“Is…is
effendi
angry with Ra?”

           
“What
do you think?”

           
“It
was not me! I knew nothing of what they were doing in your tent!”

           
“You
just knew to get me out of the way.”

           
“I
am but a poor Egyptian,” Ra said, sidling into the tent and eyeing the empty
tray. “I must do as my white masters command.”

           
“Especially
if they pay well enough. Cut the crap, Ra. I’m just glad to know where we stand
with each other. And for that, I thank you.”

           
Unsure
of how to react to Rowan’s thanks, Ra stood blinking at him from the tent
entrance.

           
“Take
the tray,” Rowan said, “and go find me a pen and paper. Can you do that?”

           
“Yes,
effendi
!” Ra snatched up the tray,
his face breaking into beams of the freshly-forgiven.

           
“I’m
a little short on cash at the moment, being a damn prisoner in my own tent, but
keep an account and we’ll settle up later.”

           
“Very
good,
effendi
! Thank you,
effendi
!” Ra scurried away.

           
Rowan
sighed and leaned back onto the bed. He wasn’t absolutely sure of how he was
going to work any of this out, but at least he had the barest outline of a
plan. At least that.

The Bedouin Camp

           
His
name was Ammon. When he wasn’t slapping her for reacting too slowly to whatever
command he had given that she was having trouble understanding, he largely
ignored her, for which Ella was grateful. They rode most of the night and
arrived at a rudimentary campsite of tents and camels, goats, dogs, women and
children.
A traveling village,
Ella
thought as she saw how the tents were lined up as if to create a sort of Main
Street. When she also saw the piles of garbage and smelled what could only be
the camp toilets, she began to understand why it was that Bedouins were a
traveling people.

           
Regardless
of where the sun was or wasn’t in the sky, Ella knew she had no idea where they
were or which way the river was. She had ridden the last few miles leaning against
Ammon, her fear and desperation slowly eroding to a hopelessness that she had
never experienced before. She didn’t know what awaited her at the Bedouin camp,
but she was one hundred percent sure it wasn’t going to be good.

           
When
they finally arrived, Julia and Ella were both ushered into a tent with an
older woman inside. The woman looked at them and frowned fiercely at Ammon who
sent the other men away. At one point, as he spoke to the woman, he nodded his
head at Ella, but his face gave no indication as to what he might be saying.

           
Julia
looked like the closest thing Ella could imagine to a bona fide zombie. Her
hair was down and badly tangled around her shoulders. Her face was pocked with
bright red splotches where she had obviously been slapped by her riding partner,
and her eyes were dull and lifeless.

           
Ella
noted that Ammon was taller than the others. His hair was black and he had
flashing cocoa-brown eyes that missed nothing. Ella couldn’t help but also notice
that his lips were full and well-shaped and his face, when not continually
gnarled into a frown, was pleasing. In fact, if he hadn’t just kidnapped her
and dragged her to his nomad encampment to do God knows what with, she would
have had to admit that he was in fact
gorgeous
.
Even to privately register the assessment made her blush. Meanwhile, she kept
her eyes on the old woman who was clearly taking her orders from the Bedouin
leader.

           
When
he finished talking, Ammon turned and left the tent without a word or a glance
at Ella and Julia. The old woman wore a
hijab
and a long black robe. Her hands were withered and freckled. She tossed down
the piece of cloth she seemed to have been in the process of mending and looked
at Ella. Without touching her, she looked at Ella’s clothes, her scratched and
bruised face, her hair wild about her shoulders.

           
Ella
got the distinct impression that this was a camp elder. She wasn’t sure what
was going on, but she thought she could detect some sense of order or etiquette
happening. This gave Ella a glimmer of hope that they wouldn’t be killed
outright. She could see the shadows of a few men standing outside. They were
laughing, spitting in the dirt. Waiting.

           
The
woman put her hand on Ella’s chin and examined her face from side to side. Suddenly,
she grabbed the front of Ella’s blouse and ripped it open, popping the buttons
everywhere around the tent. Ella gasped and grabbed her blouse to pull it close
again when the old woman slapped her hard across the face, knocking Ella down. Before
Ella could get back to her feet, the old woman crouched over her, and grasped Ella’s
bare breasts. Ella’s first instinct was to fight back but she forced herself to
resist. She took a long breath and waited. After a moment the woman pulled away
and stood back, looking at Ella on the floor of the tent. Ella carefully covered
herself with the shreds of her ripped blouse. Her heart was pounding hard in
her ears.

           
Without
warning, the woman grabbed Julia’s sleeve and with one hard jerk flung her out
of the tent into the group of waiting men.

           
Ella
heard Julia shriek and the men’s laughter. The old woman did not stop Ella from
bolting from the tent. Outside, she saw Julia surrounded by five filthy thugs
who were in the process of stripping her naked.

           
Ella
pushed into the center of the throng, elbowed one man in the nose and neatly
disabled another with a sharp knee to the groin. As she grabbed the head cloth
of a third, wildly kicking and punching, she felt a strong arm grab her around
the middle and lift her away. Ammon gave her a shake but spoke firmly to the
crowd. When Ella squirmed out of his grasp, she watched the men stop to listen
to their leader. Julia’s small breasts were bared for all to see, the slope of
her slim hips covered only by her thin cotton petticoat. She was breathing
hard, but seemed to be in a trance. Ella wrapped the thick head cloth that she
still held in her hand around Julia’s shoulders.