Chapter 21
Returning to his tent, Jack began piling up papers, shoving possessions into his trunk and cases. What had gotten into Onora, he couldn’t fathom.
Short as their acquaintance was, he’d believed their connection was out of the ordinary.
He never would have made love to her otherwise.
He’d thought he was the one she wanted. Instead, their dalliance appeared to have compounded her decision to marry Seton.
She’d made her position clear, back in her room, and the kiss he’d witnessed was the lemon-sour icing on that particular cake.
He’d get out of here first thing in the morning and hang the consequences. One of the men could help him row down to Petrie’s camp. With any luck, Flinders would offer him a job there and then, but he’d present himself as a voluntary worker if there was nothing else going.
Rowdy laughter and discordant music brought him out of the tent as a hedonistic procession make its way toward the temple. He couldn’t see exactly what they were up to, but the cacophony gave him an idea.
Seton was taking his partying into the dig site!
It was the final straw.
Jack had kept silent about a great many things, but it was time his almighty lordship received a piece of his mind, and his guests could do with being shamed too. Most of them should know better, including Onora.
He was setting off after them when Hassan called out to Jack with uncharacteristic urgency. “Sir! Balfour. Something is bad!”
“What is it, Hassan?” Jack turned to his friend as the man ran toward him. Never had he seen him so perturbed.
Breathlessly, he gasped his news. “A wind is coming. Like the khamaseen, but stronger—as if a demon is there, bringing the storm. Is hard to see but is fast coming. Fawzi is sure, and he is never wrong in the ways of the desert.”
Jack spun about, searching the horizon. It was entirely the wrong time for the hot, dry winds that tended to come from the south, and he could see nothing.
However, there was no doubt the night breeze was growing stronger, carrying with it an uncharacteristic warmth.
Without question, he trusted Fawzi’s knowledge.
“Lord Seton has entered the temple. We have to warn him, and the others.”
“If doors are shut, sand cannot enter.” Hassan tugged Jack’s sleeve. “Come! There is no time. We must get the animals inside and close all shutters. Everyone shall be safe.”
Jack turned in the direction of the temple.
Would she be safe?
He wasn’t so sure.
Suppose the partygoers made to leave, not knowing what awaited them. Crossing the sand to reach the villa, they could be caught in the storm. In that case, would Seton protect Onora?
Jack couldn’t risk it. He’d have to go in there and warn them, making sure they either stayed put or returned to the villa this instant.
Grabbing his lantern, he set off at a sprint.
Throwing open the doors of the sanctuary, Jack stood upon the threshold, too shocked to take in what was before him. Nothing in his imagination had prepared him for this—a torchlit orgy no less, in which the participants—some of advanced age—were indulging with startling fervor.
So engrossed were they in their activities that none paid him heed.
Where was Onora?
Surely not…
Jack felt bile rise in his throat. He refused to believe she was part of this—at least in any willing capacity.
And then he spotted them.
Seton was as naked as the rest of his cavorting guests and leaning over the sarcophagus of the high priestess. A young woman was prone beneath him, almost entirely bared, the flimsy gown rumpled about her waist.
Onora?
As if in answer, the woman turned her head, and he knew at once it was she, her features rigid and her eyes glazed with fear.
Dropping the lantern, Jack reached for his gun. In the enclosed space, the blast was deafening. There were screams, a chaos of commotion, and Seton groaned, clasping his shoulder.
Two of the women flew to Seton’s side and, in horror, Jack cast away the gun. He’d intended only to startle his fiendish uncle, to make him fall back. But recrimination could wait. Jack covered the space in a handful of strides and lifted Onora into his arms.
They were out of the room before anyone had a chance to intervene. Jack kicked the doors closed behind him, resting his back there, but he had to act fast. Seton was injured. Nevertheless, the others would surely make pursuit, and who knew what they were capable of.
The door barred from the other side, but Seton had taken to using a lock and chain on this outer portion. Jack scanned about and saw them, discarded upon the floor.
He had no choice but to lay Onora down, so that he might grasp the means to secure the handles. It was done with not a moment to spare, for the doors shook with forceful banging. Obscenities were shouted from within.
Onora lifted her head, looking dazed, but there was no time to offer reassurance. No time, even, to make her decent. Quickly he raised her up again and, scooping beneath her behind, set off with her over his shoulder.
As soon as he made it to the courtyard, he could see they were in trouble. Flurries of sand were spilling over the edge of the pit. He considered retreating to the hypostyle, but he was loath to remain in any proximity to the madness they’d escaped.
Hurrying across the open space and through the great entrance, he made it up the ramp and out onto the flat, where a gust hit them with such force, Jack staggered, almost losing his footing.
Onora whimpered as he set her down. The hideous hairpiece had been whisked away, leaving her looking far more herself. As best he could, he arranged her costume to cover her modesty, then transferred his neckerchief, raising it to cover her nose and mouth.
Whatever moonlight there had been was now obscured and, squinting through the whirling sand, he was barely able to make out the palms near the riverbank, let alone the villa. Swearing, he twisted about. The sheer cliff face was visible to his right, and a far closer refuge.
Could he carry her all the way?
The decision was made as Onora crumpled against him and he was obliged to hoist her up once more. He doubted she was comfortable, but she was in no fit state to push through the fierceness assailing them.
Making her secure over his shoulder, he lowered his head and plunged forward. With his feet sinking in the shifting grains, it was no easy task.
One step at a time. Just keep going!
He tried not to think about what he’d done—barging into Seton’s debauched gathering and letting loose with his gun. He doubted the wound was serious. Nonetheless, it would be a miracle if his uncle didn’t press charges.
Deal with that when the time comes.
Right now, nothing matters but getting Onora to safety and making sure she stays out of harm. Whatever she needs, I’ll move mountains to make it so. I’ll escort her all the way to Oxford if need be!
There was no doubt in his mind that she’d been coerced into whatever had been going on, thanks to some romantic notion of who Seton was. Her eyes had certainly been opened, yet Jack could take no joy in that.
His cheeks were raw from being blasted by stinging sand, but they were close now, approaching the narrow track between the rocks that would take them to the cave in which he’d been working.
To his dismay, as he took the first upward steps, his legs faltered and he lost his grip upon Onora.
She slithered down his chest but, this time, she stood firm.
Her hand found his, there was a squeeze, and it was she who led the way, keeping her face turned to the rock, until they reached the opening and stumbled, exhausted, inside.
He thanked all the gods he’d had the foresight to leave supplies here. By feel alone he located a lantern and the means to light it. The modest glow was as welcome as sunshine after the bleakest winter.
They moved well in, out of the sweep of the rampaging wind which had already blown a drift of sand against one wall.
She tugged down the cloth he’d fastened about her head, blinking and coughing.
Damping a fresh kerchief with water from one of the canteens, he passed it to her, and she dabbed her eyes, smearing the bright pigments that had adorned them.
“Here, let me.” He took it from her, making sure to wipe her skin clean. Only then did he refold the cloth, wetting it again, to press to his own face.
He passed her the flask and she took a long draught of water, then accepted a blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, so ashamed!” Looking up at him, Onora’s expression was pitiful, her eyes wet with tears. She buried her face in her hands.
Crouching down, Jack sat beside her. He hesitated a moment before putting his arm about her shoulder. She leaned into him and they sat in silence. Whatever she’d been through, he wouldn’t make her explain. She’d confide when she was ready, or not at all.
The wind whistled outside their haven. All was inky black beyond their small circle of light.
Jack woke, stiff and aching and chilled, and experienced a lurch of fear, realizing Onora wasn’t beside him.
His relief was immediate, seeing she’d made her way to the mouth of the cave.
She was standing very still, silhouetted against the first morning light, staring out, with the blanket wrapped close.
As he watched, she pulled something from her left hand, then cast it emphatically away.
Maneuvering past the sand blown in at the opening, he came to stand beside her. “What was that?”
“Something I’ve been meaning to get rid of for a long time.” She spoke quietly and, from the way she didn’t meet his eye, he knew better than to pry.
The storm had passed sometime in the night, vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared.
The breeze was gentle once more and all was quiet.
Even the birds seemed absent, though it wouldn’t be long before they ventured out.
He supposed, like themselves, they’d sought refuge in the caves and nooks honeycombed through the cliffs.
The sun was rising, sending long shadows over the tawny desert, turning the river from silver to soft gold.
The encampment was gone—buried or blown clean away. Perhaps he’d find his trunk, or perhaps not. From what he could discern, the villa seemed intact, though the western side was covered by a slant of sand reaching the roof.
It took him a moment to notice what else was gone.
There was no sign of the temple.
“Can they be dug out, do you think?” Onora was staring below, where the pit had been.
He couldn’t imagine how long that would take. The volume of sand to be moved was immense.
“I’ll speak to the men—get them to call back the others, as many as we can persuade.” Jack tried to sound hopeful. “But it will take weeks. I’m afraid…it’s impossible anyone will be alive.”
He thought about that for a moment, horror blending with contrition. His locking them in had sealed their fate. Perhaps they’d get through the sanctuary doors, but what good would that do them? They were entirely buried, with no way out.
No one deserved to die like that.
“You’re blaming yourself, but you mustn’t!” Onora grasped his arm. Traces of green remained across her lids, and her coppered curls were dusty with sand. “Whatever you might have said, they never would have come with you, and if you hadn’t done what you did, I’d be buried down there too.”
He was grateful that she wanted to comfort him, though it didn’t stop him from feeling guilty.
“As for…Seton,” she said his name with difficulty. “I can’t feel sorry for him.” Anger was written upon her features. Where she held the blanket her knuckles were clenched white. “I trusted him, as did my father. I wanted to believe…”
“Don’t think about him. I could have told you things, warned you better. I feel responsible.” Taking a shuddering breath, Jack pulled her into his chest, hugging her tightly.
He’d come so close to losing her—and what she’d been through, he couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“I made those choices. I think I knew all along Seton would hurt me.” She made a choked sound. “Can we find a way back? You and I?”
“Hush now.” Jack stroked her hair. “If you want to return to England and forget any of this ever happened, I’ll help arrange that, but I don’t know what’s in store for me.
” He gulped down the emotion welling up.
“If anyone discovers what I did—shooting Seton, and locking them in…You must know, I love you Onora, but I’ve no idea what the future looks like.
I don’t want your name attached to mine if…
” The weight on his shoulders seemed insurmountable.
Love was meant to conquer all, but this story, of himself and Onora, wasn’t like any fairytale he’d read. It was hard not to feel responsible for the deaths of those people. He’d never know if they might have saved themselves, had he given them a chance.
“Neither of us is blameless, but we can be good for each other. I want us to be.” The way Onora was looking up at him made his heart leap. Her eyes were glistening, but she was smiling, too. “I’ll stand by you, no matter what’s coming. I love you and I want you, above all things.”
He cupped her cheek, wanting to capture this memory forever—of the moment she let him in; properly this time.
If the gods saw fit, perhaps there would be a happy ending for them or, rather, a happy beginning, with the past laid to rest.
He kissed her with that wish upon his lips—for all the days to come, to love one another, and to fight for that love. She was greater than any treasure he’d ever dig out of the ground, no matter how long he searched. He intended to cherish her, until the last beat of his heart.