Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3)
Read Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) Online
Authors: Susan Kiernan-Lewis
RACE TO WORLD’S END
BOOK 3 of the Rowan & Ella Time
Travel Adventure Series
From the relative civilization of 1925 Cairo to the
plundering recklessness of pirates scouring the Florida Keys in 1825 for
shipwreck treasure, Ella and Rowan find themselves fighting to keep the one
treasure they value over all else.
The third book in the series, “Race to World’s End” brings
you adventure on the high seas and thrilling revelations you never saw
coming…not to mention one pirate in particular whom Ella is destined never to
forget.
Race to
World’s End
Book 3 of
The Rowan
& Ella Time Travel Adventure Series
Susan Kiernan-Lewis
1
Cairo 1925
“Damn!”
Ella snatched up
the cloth on her lap and dabbed at the watercolor on her easel, trying to
remedy the errant brushstroke but it was useless.
“Damn, Mommy?”
Ella turned to
see her toddler son waddle across the sunlit salon toward her, carrying a fistful
of her sable brushes. She wiped her hands and held out her arms to him.
Is there anything worse than teaching your two-year-old to
curse?
“That’s
darn
, Tater Tot,” Ella said, scooping
him up and nuzzling his neck. She kissed the little heart-shaped birthmark at
the nape of his neck. She had an identical one but she loved seeing his. It
made him feel all the more hers.
He shrieked with
giggles and dropped the brushes as he squirmed in her arms. “Damn! Damn! Damn!”
he squealed.
“Alright,
alright,” Ella said, kissing him loudly on the cheek. “That’s enough linguistics
lessons for today.”
“Oh, there you
are, you naughty boy!” Halima slipped into the room, an unconvincing frown on
her face, her hands on her hips.
“It’s okay, Halima,”
Ella said to her. “Isn’t it, Peewee? Mommy’s done for the day anyway.”
Halima squatted
down in front of them and Tater flung his chubby arms around her neck.
“Damn!” he
crowed.
“I’m so good with
children,” Ella said drily as she screwed the lid on her water bottle and began
capping her watercolor paints.
“It’s very
pretty,” Halima said, glancing at the paper clipped to the easel. “Is it the
dig site from the cliffs?” A few years earlier, before Tutankhamun’s burial
chamber was found, Ella often rode her pony to the cliffs that overlooked the
valley to watch the gold of the rising sun bathe the ancient stones in
brilliant light.
“It’s supposed to
be.”
“I recognized it
immediately.”
“I wanted to
capture that moment when the sun touches the cliffs.”
“And you have.”
“Spoken like a
true friend.”
“It’s time to
dress for dinner.
Effendi
will be here
in time?”
“He swears on the
graves of several beloved ancestors that he will.”
“And you haven’t
forgotten about the tea on Sunday you said you’d host?”
“I said that?”
“You did. And
there’s drinks with the Cairo Ladies Luncheon League. You promised you’d help
with the flowers.”
“Dear God, how
did my life end up flower arranging and drinking tea?”
“Would you like a
teaspoon of
sal volatile
in water?
You look a little pale.”
A young woman
stepped into the room and threw her gloves onto the couch. “Pea green is more
like! How in the world do you manage it all, darling?”
“Julia!” Ella
said. “I thought you were still on safari.”
The two women
hugged and Halima used the opportunity to ease out of the room with Tater.
“I came back
early,” Julia said, settling on the couch. “It was dull. Oh! I hope you don’t
mind. I took the liberty of telling your man to bring in cocktails. I’m
parched.”
Ella grinned at
her friend and sat down next to her. “I’m so glad you’re here, Julia.
Julia pulled a
narrow leather case from her purse and extricated a cigarette.
“Oh, darling,
don’t tell me you’re still water coloring? You
must
be bored.” Julia stood up to light her cigarette and walked
over to the painting clipped to Ella’s watercolor board. The image clearly
showed the cliffs as they rose over the Valley of the Kings.
Julia stood in
front of it, studying it.
“It’s crap, I
know,” Ella said, then turned and smiled as a tall Egyptian butler came into
the room carrying a silver tray with two martini glasses on it.
“I would have
thought that valley would be the last thing you’d want to remember,” Julia
said, gazing at the picture. Ella wondered if Julia was remembering her desert
sheik. A man who brutally took her virginity—and her heart—and then
tossed her, ruined and broken, back to her people.
“Thank you,
Mohammed,” Ella said to the manservant. He set the tray down on the coffee
table in front of her and exited the room, the plush carpet extinguishing any
sound as he moved.
“Drinkies,
Julia,” Ella said softly, trying to break the spell. It had taken many long
months for Julia to emerge from her stupor of depression.
Julia turned
abruptly away from the painting and returned to the couch. She sat and lifted
one of the martini glasses. “Shall we toast a new adventure?”
Ella frowned.
Now what had Julia gotten herself involved
in?
She lifted her glass, but didn’t drink.
“There’s a new
dig on the other side of Luxor,” Julia said, her eyes glittering with
excitement over her glass.
“Isn’t there
always?”
“This one’s
different. This one’s being led by John McFellows.”
Ella looked at
her blankly.
“Oh, for heaven’s
sakes, Ella. I know you’ve turned into the most boring woman on the planet but
you do still read a newspaper at least?”
Ella took a long
sip of her drink.
“John McFellows is
North America’s preeminent Egyptologist and archaeologist. He makes Howard look
like a common grave robber.”
“Howard Carter
uncovered the most extraordinary archaeological find in the history of Egypt—or
the world for that matter—and, take it from me, it doesn’t get topped,
ever
.”
“Oh, pooh. If anybody believed
that
there would be no more
archaeological interest, not to mention
fever
.”
“So why exactly are
you all excited about this new dig?”
Julia put her
drained glass down and inched closer to Ella in her excitement. “Because Professor
McFellows is my new beau,” she said.
“Oh, now things
are starting to make sense.”
“I don’t think I care
for your tone, Ella.”
“Look, Julia,
you’ll never find anyone who’ll marry you if you keep catting around like
this.”
“Well, I like
that! And I am certainly not
catting
around as you put it—”
“Are you sleeping
with him?”
Julia started to
speak and then clamped her mouth shut.
Ella shook her
head. “I’m just saying, 1925 British society in Cairo isn’t liberal enough to
handle you taking lovers without you paying a price for it. And I cannot
believe I need to tell you this.”
“I can’t believe
you have the nerve to tell me this,” Julia sniffed.
“I’m only
thinking of you when I say it.”
Julia stubbed out
her cigarette and tucked her case back into her purse. “May I assume you are
uninterested in accompanying me on this new dig?”
“Are you serious?
Is
that
what you’ve come to ask me?”
Now it was Ella’s turn to stare at Julia incredulously.
“Well, you just
got through telling me how my reputation will be in tatters if I go without any
sort of chaperone or—”
“Whoa, whoa,
whoa, Julia.
That
horse bolted its
stall a long time ago and you know it.”
“I guess I
thought you and I had one last adventure in us,” Julia said, standing. “I
should have known better. You know what, Ella? When you got married and had a
baby, you became boring. And oh, by the way? I’m only thinking of you when I
say it.”
Ella was angry but
words seemed to be stuck in her throat. What could she say? That what Julia
said
wasn’t
true? That she
wasn’t
painting pictures of a more
exciting time to prevent herself from feeling the ennui in her new life?
“Hello to Rowan for me, won’t you?” Julia
said. “If you pluck your courage and dare to venture out as far as Giza, you
adventurous girl, be sure and have a cup of tea at Shepheard’s and think of
me.” Julia exited the room, leaving a faint whiff of exotic perfume lingering in
her wake.
Ella sat back
down on the couch and, after a moment, drained the contents of her martini in
one swig.
***
Rowan
straightened the files on his desk then went to stand in front of the
floor-to-ceiling mullioned window in his office that overlooked Ramses Street. A
combination of horse-drawn carriages and automobiles competed with each other
for road space. Pedestrians in flowing Arabian robes or the light cotton linens
of the many British nationals wove around the traffic like an endlessly moving
mosaic. As long as he lived he knew he would never get tired of this view, this
life.
How is it possible to grow up with computers and televisions
and become dependent on all the technologies of the twenty-first century and
then to just…live without them with such relish?
He touched the
thick cotton cuffs of his starched shirt where they peeked from his wool tweed
jacket. His clothes, like all clothes in this time, were handmade to fit him,
stitch by stitch. The luxury of the 1920s—of its rituals, its attention
to style and form—astounded him on a daily basis. He realized that “back
home” he was always in a rush, even if it was just to get through the line at
Starbucks to get back to the apartment so he could catch a football game on
television.
What was all that rushing for?
His enjoyment of
sports now took the form of live-action matches—usually cricket—and
if he wasn’t watching, he was participating.
That’s life
,
he thought with satisfaction as he gently touched a tender bruise on his
elbow.
That’s what real life is about. Not watching someone else live it but
living it yourself. Bruises and all.
A faint tapping
on his door made him turn to see his secretary standing there, a tea tray in
her hands.
“Tea, Dr.
Pierce?” she asked, her midlands English accent crisp and pleasant.
God, yes,
Rowan thought.
What is life without a
stop for a nice, sane cup of tea?
“That’d be great,
Miss Daniels,” he said, turning back to the window.
As he watched the
pedestrians below amble or hurry toward their various destinations, he couldn’t
help but think,
It’s a great feeling to
know where you’re going
.
Although,
there’s something to be said for enjoying the journey.
He touched his
jacket’s breast pocket to feel the letter there he had received just that
morning.
Could life get any better?
***
Considering
everything, the evening went well. Lady Hamilton bored the rest of the dinner
guests with her account of her safari, which allowed Ella to sit and nod and
smile.
And fume.
Rowan was a
no-show for dinner.
Worse. The excuse
she gave for his absence—that he was working late—was shown to one
and all to be an outrageous lie when he showed up ruddily intoxicated and
oblivious to the fact he was meant to be hosting a dinner party that night with
his wife.
Ever jolly and
good-natured, Rowan slipped into the evening with charm and high spirits. Ella
watched him tell stories and laugh, as if he were
not
solidly in the doghouse and had not just embarrassed her in
front of two of the gossipiest women in Cairo.
After their
guests left, Ella tried to keep her anger in check as she joined Rowan in the
library. He poured two brandies.
“Frankly, I’d
prefer a Coke,” he said with a grin, “but when in Rome.”
“I can’t believe
you forgot about the dinner tonight.”
“I know, babe, my
bad. Really sorry, but I had some amazing news and a couple of the guys at the
office insisted on making me celebrate it.”
He handed her a
brandy and leaned in to kiss her cheek. He noticed the watercolor still on its
easel. “Hey, that’s cool. Looks just like the cliffs. Did you do it this
morning?”
Ella sipped her brandy.
It was no use being mad at him. And it felt mean-spirited to douse his good
humor when he so rarely let her down.
“No, yesterday. Halima
and I took Tater to the park today.”
“That’s nice.”
Rowan yawned.
Ella frowned at
him. “Well, it
was
nice, but I wonder
how much you’d enjoy doing it every day.”
He looked at her
in surprise. “I go to the park with Tater on the weekends.”
“I do it every
day.”
He drank his brandy in one gulp and set
the glass down on the desk for one of the servants to deal with. “I’m sorry
you’re bored, El. I don’t know how to fix that.”
