Twenty-four
As twilight descended over the campsite, Jonathan built a small pyramid of twigs and dried grass in a ring of rocks. A few strikes of the flint ignited a flame.
“I found more,” Evangeline said, emerging from the olive grove with a load of firewood hugged to her chest.
“Splendid work.” He blew gently across the flame, coaxing until it flickered, spreading higher, growing brighter. “Perfect timing, too.”
He hopped up to relieve her of the burden. Sweat glistened on her face, and her hair was a darker shade at her hairline.
“What should I do next?” she asked, slightly winded.
“Sit for a while. You have been on your feet all day.”
“So have you.” Her jawline firmed, her eyes burning with defiance. “We should set up camp before it’s too dark. I’ll work on our shelter.”
“We need water.” He nodded toward the small pot he had packed.
He didn’t explain about needing to boil it.
She wouldn’t appreciate it and probably already knew as much as he did about setting up a campsite.
She snatched the pot and headed toward the stream with Mount Parnitha slumbering like a beast in the distance.
Willpower and determination fueled her now, but he had noticed her gait growing wearier throughout the day.
Their journey was far from over. Tomorrow they would reach the base of the mountain. The terrain would grow steep and rocky, the climb arduous even for him.
What if they encountered more thieves? Beads of sweat broke across his forehead. Or worse, men like him?
This is a mistake. His heart thumped against his ribs, creating a loud rushing sound in his ears.
Then there was the Black Death.
He had heard tales in the field and received coded messages about their activities from the Consul. How they had played a role in Spain rising up against Joseph Bonaparte. About their deadly methods and unparalleled stealth.
Sweat dripped into his eyes. He swiped it away.
He never should have brought her. If she was harmed— His chest was too tight to breathe. He clawed at his shirt, ripping it over his head.
“Jonathan?”
He startled.
Evangeline plopped the pot at his feet and sat beside him in the dirt, retrieving a handkerchief from her waistband to wet it. “You’ve overtaxed yourself. You’re burning up.”
He shook his head. He should be reassuring her and taking charge, but he closed his eyes as she drew the damp cloth across his forehead, along his feverish skin, washing away the grime.
With each gentle pass over his face, shoulders, and chest, his mind quieted. The sound of water dripping each time she wrung out the handkerchief. Timothy’s muffled chewing as he ate from the feeding bag. Evangeline’s tender murmurs.
Every sound, every breeze on his face soothed his soul—carrying him back to evenings around the campfire with his parents. When life made sense and all was right.
She draped the handkerchief across the back of his neck, holding it in place. He blinked, found himself staring into her eyes illuminated by the firelight. She was beautiful, so very perfect in every way.
A crack split his heart, leaving a wound of aching loneliness. Because of who he was—what he had been ordered to do—she could never be his.
“Evangeline…”
She shushed him. “We will make it. I’m stronger than I look.”
He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak. When her lips brushed against his, he accepted the gift, and for this brief moment, he was just an antiquarian drumming enthusiast, sharing a kiss with the most brilliant woman he had ever met.
And the only one he had ever loved.
The realization didn’t shock him. It had been a whisper at the back of his mind, amplified by their time together today.
He deepened the kiss, savoring the faint sweetness of the figs she’d shared with him earlier. She sighed, sagging into him. Regretfully, he broke the kiss, still cradling her nape. Her riotous curls tickled his cheek as he rested his forehead against hers.
He should tell her the truth—including how he no longer intended to carry out his mission—but what if she didn’t believe him?
She was vulnerable in the wilderness with him.
And after what she had witnessed in the village, he might terrify her.
He would never hurt her, but she wouldn’t know his intentions.
What if she tried to escape in the night and landed in a truly dangerous situation?
Her skin heated against his. “Evangeline,” he whispered.
“I need a bath.” She sprang to her feet and bustled to their supplies, retrieving soap and a clean handkerchief.
He grabbed his shirt and slowly followed her toward the stream. “I will keep watch.”
“That is unnecessary,” she called over her shoulder without looking back.
He sighed. It wasn’t really. There were wolves and wild boar, but he didn’t want to concern her. “I would feel more comfortable. I will keep my back turned.”
A jackal yipped in the distance. She drew up short.
“It’s harmless,” he said.
She glanced back, studying him. “Very well,” she mumbled.
As she reached the bank, she draped a throw over a tree limb, waiting for him to turn his back. He searched the area to be certain it was secure and nodded before turning away.
The rustle of her removing her gown and trousers drowned out the night noises. He held very still. A breeze carried the earthy scent of sunbaked dirt and slightly bitter smokiness of the olive tree leaves.
Water lapped as she walked into the stream, followed by a gentle swish of submerging herself in the deeper waters. Every drip echoed, vibrating through him.
“This work is more dangerous than I expected,” she said softly. “Uncle Charles never let on. ”
The vulnerability in her tone almost made him turn, but he forced himself to stay.
“I have dreamed of leading my own digs for as long as I can remember,” she said. “But now…”
He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Expeditions have their risks, but you can minimize them. Once you build a trusted team, it won’t feel as daunting.”
She sighed, quiet again.
“I’ll share what I’ve learned if you like.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by a soft breeze whispering through the olive trees. She was more subdued this evening, less forthcoming. He didn’t know what to say to reach her.
“I’m finished,” she said at last. “Will you pass my throw?”
He averted his gaze as he retrieved the swath of fabric, extending his arm her direction. He waited, fighting the urge to fill the space with aimless chatter. Whatever she was mulling over required time.
“Should I stand watch while you bathe?” she asked and turned her back.
He smiled. It was important to her to be viewed as an equal in the field. “A brief dip would feel good.”
He stripped down to nothing and dived into the water. Refreshed, he dried off with her throw, dressed, and walked back to the campsite with her.
“We should set up our shelter,” she said, and he accepted her help.
Once they secured a tarp over a low branch, they sat together by the fire. Jonathan dug a wrapped bundle of salted cod from the saddlebag and offered her a piece. She waved him off.
“We need our strength for tomorrow,” he said.
She accepted the fish, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed it. When he took a hearty bite and smiled, she followed suit with a much smaller bite. She looked ready to spit it out but swallowed, grimacing the whole time.
“I know for certain there won’t be any fish on my expeditions,” she said. “That is awful.”
He laughed. “Sometimes there’s no choice.”
“Planning ahead is a must.” She swiveled toward him. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Always.”
“I find myself annoyed with Uncle Charles. He always encouraged me to strike out on my own someday. He called himself a lone wolf, but it never made sense. Wolves are pack animals. They need each other, so why doesn’t he want me to join him?
Working together like you and I have today is more logical. ”
Jonathan shifted on the ground, feeling slightly ill. Keeping her at a distance, lying to her, was like being buried beneath rubble. He was trapped, and she was unreachable.
“I—” He took a deep breath. “I think I understand a little about your uncle’s reluctance. It has nothing to do with you or your abilities. You’re an amazing asset, and I would love to collaborate with you. I do love it.”
She smiled and reached for his hand. He gave her fingers a light squeeze before standing to feed another log onto the fire, stoking the flames to avoid looking at her.
“During the war,” he said, “there was a movement to enlist the help of antiquarians to gather intelligence. It was work as usual, but we were told to listen.”
Her soft intake of breath made him wince. She came to stand next to him, taking his hand once more. When he looked down, her eyes caught the light.
“You were one of them,” she said softly.
He didn’t move. She wet her lips, her expression expectant.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“You knew what to do with the thief. He didn’t surprise you.”
“No, even listening can be dangerous. I learned how to defend myself.”
“Just like Uncle Charles.”
“I-I don’t know.”
Wedmore was no longer involved in the training by the time Jonathan was recruited. He had never seen Wedmore in action.
“The fire is going well,” she said, jarring him back to the present. “Come sit with me.”
She led him away from the overbearing heat and sat cross-legged on the ground. “Was it something you wanted to do?” she asked as he joined her.
He inhaled, trying to remember how he had felt when Farrin called at Ivymere Manor to pay his respects.
Jonathan’s parents had been dead a month, and he had been alone in the world.
Farrin claimed to know Jonathan’s father and mentioned how it would be a shame if Jonathan couldn’t carry on his father’s legacy.
Follow in his footsteps. Continue your research. I believe your father mentioned that you’re interested in ancient drums.
Jonathan had thanked Farrin for calling before admitting he lacked the funds to continue his father’s work. Farrin hinted that he had connections and left his calling card, telling Jonathan to contact him if he became interested.
“It was an opportunity to serve my country and continue my fieldwork,” he said. “I was never asked to do anything against my will.”
Until now.
“I was given grants to fund my expeditions.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “And you think Uncle Charles might have been enlisted, too?”
“Possibly.”
She nibbled her bottom lip, staring into the fire. Her mind was always at work. It impressed and frightened him equally.
“But the war is over, so why is he still leaving me behind?” She turned toward him, her knee brushing his. “Now there’s this mess with the Black Death and men looking for him… I think listening has landed him in the worst kind of danger.”
Hellfire! She was too smart for her own good.
“We have to find him, Jonathan. We’re likely his only hope."
He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Even heroines need their sleep. Do you want to put out the fire while I take Timothy to the spring?”
She smiled. “You’re learning I’m not helpless after all.”