Anne Barbour (4 page)

She glanced over her shoulder at the wooden box affixed to the rear of the gig. In it were packed the artifacts she had removed from the villa site over the past months. It had cost her a pang to give them up, for she had not thoroughly examined them or sketched them as she had planned to do, but she was determined to restore them to their legal owner at the earliest possible moment. She had no intention of taking them personally to the odious Mr. Wincanon. She would simply travel to the site, remove her tools from the little shed, and replace them with the boxful of artifacts. She would then send him a dignified note apprising him of her actions.

“With any luck,” she confided icily to her companion, “I shan’t be obliged to see or speak to the wretched creature ever again. Hopefully, as soon as he has completed his work at the site, he’ll return to London, or wherever it is he resides permanently.”

Again, Jasper had little to say in response beyond an obliging woof.

Passing the tower, she grimaced at the stone altar, which could be glimpsed through the trees. So much for the efficacy of offerings to ancient spirits. A mutter of thunder echoed her reflections.

Upon arriving at her destination, she was surprised to behold a handsome bay tethered to a tree nearby.

“Oh, no,” she breathed, whereupon Jasper stiffened to attention. He bent his attention on the horse, but being trained not to offer gratuitous insults to neighboring equines, he merely sniffed the air inquiringly.

Halting the gig, Hilary glanced about before stepping down cautiously from the vehicle. Her feet had no sooner touched the ground than the sound of footsteps caused her to twist suddenly. She stumbled and fell to the ground in an ignominious heap. Her faithful hound, of course, sprang immediately to give her succor, subjecting her face to a thorough licking.

In the meantime, she found herself gathered into an embrace. At least, it might have been called that by some. To Hilary, it seemed as though she had been grasped by a piece of farm equipment. Two strong arms plucked her from the soil, dusted her off in a brisk fashion, and set her on her feet in a manner that fairly jarred her teeth.

Mr. Wincanon’s greeting was no more courteous.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he growled. “I thought I told you—”

“And good morning to you, Mr. Wincanon,” Hilary replied coldly, removing his fingers from her shoulders. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did,” said James peremptorily. “I thought I told you—” he began again.

At this point, Jasper, recalled to a sense of duty, took umbrage at this stranger in his domain, and the tone the man was taking with his personal human. He bared his teeth and uttered his most intimidating growl. The stranger merely glared at him.

“What the devil is that?” he inquired of Hilary.

“He is my dog, Jasper.” Her tone by now had become positively glacial, but Mr. Wincanon merely grunted.

“That’s not a dog. It’s something that fell off a cathedral.” He glanced around. “Is this animal your only companion. Lady Hilary? I wonder you should be careering about the countryside unaccompanied.”

“Jasper provides all the protection I need,” Hilary said stiffly. “What he lacks in beauty and form he more than makes up for in intelligence and devotion. I am perfectly safe in his company. In any event—”

Mr. Wincanon interrupted with a wave of his hand. “I thought I requested that you desist your activities on my site.”

“No, you did not request—you ordered, Mr. Wincanon.” She placed a hand on Jasper’s head. The dog was becoming increasingly hostile and, although she was almost tempted to bite the insufferable Wincanon herself, she did not wish to escalate the already high level of antagonism. “I am merely here to retrieve my tools and to return the artifacts I found here.” She indicated the wooden box with a disdainful sweep of her arm.

His interest in her presence abruptly evaporating, Mr. Wincanon swung about to approach the gig.

“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “This container is completely unsuitable. Whatever is in here must be completely shattered.”

“I think not,” said Hilary through clenched teeth. “I wrapped each of the items individually and placed them very carefully. I believe you will find them to be in the same condition as when I turned them up from the earth.”

“It would be better if you had not turned them up at all,” snapped her antagonist. “Now, I have no idea where they were found—information that would have told me a great deal, for—”

“On the contrary, Mr. Wincanon. If you would take the time to look before indulging in ill-timed accusations, you will see that I have begun a set of grid lines with string. I noted in my log where each artifact was found and made a sketch of its position in the ground.” She pulled a small notebook from her reticule and handed it to him.

“Ah,” said Mr. Wincanon, looking more nonplussed than pleased. He swung about once more to the box.

“It’s locked,” he snapped.

Drawing a deep breath, Hilary dug once more into her reticule, this time dredging a key from its depths. This she also handed to him. Snatching it from her, he applied himself to the sturdy lock that guarded the contents of the box. Removing some of the packing, he uttered an involuntary grunt of satisfaction.

“Yes,” he could be heard, muttering to himself. “Unmistakably Samian ware. Excellent specimens. And the coins ... mm, yes.”

“The earliest of them dates back to the reign of Trajan and I did not find any later than the early years of Postumas, so I’m assuming so far that the villa was built around 100
A
.
D
. and abandoned some time after 250.”

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently, then straightened abruptly to look at her.

“Who figured that out for you?”

Hilary stiffened. “I calculated it for myself, Mr. Wincanon. It was quite simple, actually—as you must know.”

“Of course it is, to one who is familiar with Roman coinage and with the dates of the reigns of the Roman emperors.”

“Precisely.”

Unable to ignore the asperity in her tone, Mr. Wincanon grinned. Hilary almost gasped involuntarily at the change that swept over his features. Why, who would think that his appearance could be so improved with a smile or that it could take several years from his perceived age.

“Very well. Lady Hilary, I will concede, you have apparently learned a great deal in the few months you have studied Roman history.”

Hilary stiffened. “Mr. Wincanon,” she began carefully, “you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I was lying when I told you that I am a student of ancient history—particularly of the period when the Romans ruled Britain. I cannot understand why you think I would do this. Are you under the impression that I seek to curry favor with you?” Her gaze swept him over him contemptuously. “May I ask on what you base that assumption? I have been interested in antiquities since I was a child. In fact, long before I ever so much as heard your name.

“I will admit that I was pleased when I heard we were to be neighbors. I actually looked forward to meeting you, but this was solely because of your reputation in the antiquarian world. I have so longed to know someone with whom I could share my interest and further my education.” Her voice wavered for a moment, but she continued swiftly. “Can you imagine? In my ignorance, I thought we might become colleagues. Allow me to apologize for my temerity. Had I any idea that you are a boorish, conceited clod, believe me, I would never so much as spoken to you.”

She swiveled on her heel and hastened to the gig, followed by Jasper, who, though bewildered by this hostility on the part of his mistress toward an apparently nonthreatening fellow human, growled his support. Mounting the gig, Hilary turned once more toward Mr. Wincanon, who stood motionless with shock.

“I wish you joy of your remains, Mr. Wincanon. They possess neither warmth nor life, but then neither does their owner.” With which Parthian shot, she signaled her horse to move forward and sped from the scene.

Chapter Four

James stared after the rapidly diminishing vehicle.

Phew! he thought dazedly. What a little termagant! And Robert was right. She certainly did not seem lacking in intelligence. In addition, given the apparent sincerity of the imprecations she had hurled at him, one might almost believe she was, as she claimed, a devotee of the burgeoning science of archaeology. He smiled grimly. He had met females of this persuasion, but they were plain, no-nonsense sort of women, usually on the far side of forty and austere in appearance and demeanor. None of them were in the first blush of youth, nor were they possessed of eyes of molten gold, or hair like drifting fire. James shook himself irritably. She was merely another simpering damsel bent on acquiring his wealth and status for herself, and now she was furious with him for confronting her with this fact.

Which was a good thing. He certainly did not need any distractions in the work he had laid out for himself.

A rumble of thunder caught his attention and he frowned. The sky had become distinctly ominous, with low, roiling clouds the color of ill-polished pewter. He supposed he should not have let Lady Hilary set out on her return journey. The minx was likely to return home soaking wet, a fate perhaps well-deserved, but being a gentleman of sensibility, he hoped he was not the sort who would take pleasure in her misfortune. Ah well, it was too late to overtake her now. At any rate, with luck she would arrive home before the storm broke.

Speeding toward Whiteleaves, Hilary was immersed in the same sort of reflection. Peering at the sky, she was dismayed to observe flashes of lightning accompanying the thunder that had phased from ominous mutterings to muted booms. An unladylike expletive escaped her as the first drops of rain spattered in the dust of the road.

To be truthful, a good measure of her invective was directed at James Wincanon. Not only had he practically driven her from his land with a fiery sword, but he had accused her of trying to hoodwink him in the most underhanded manner! Lord, he must think himself a combination of the god Apollo, King Solomon, and— and Ball Hughes, reputedly the richest man in England. Well, Mr. Wincanon
was
wealthy, but surely—dear heaven, did he think she was after his money?

Another crash of thunder wrenched her thoughts from this unpromising path and she unfolded her umbrella against the worsening rain. The protection afforded by this convenience, however, proved meager. The wind had picked up, driving the rain into her face, and even by dint of tilting the umbrella, she was soaked through within a few minutes.

She glanced at Jasper, seated beside her, seemingly unaware that it was raining at all, though water streamed into his eyes and through his shaggy coat. How fortunate it was that he was unafraid of thunder and lightning, thought Hilary. When another bolt flashed, Jasper merely opened his cavernous jaw in a doggy grin and thumped his tail soddenly on the seat.

Hilary peered into the curtain of rain. Goodness, it was only eleven o’clock in the morning, but the world had darkened to an unhealthy twilight. The wind increased, producing an odd, keening sound that seemed to writhe through the heavy air in an ominous warning. Sylvia, the placid mare that pulled her gig, snorted suddenly and reared on her hind legs. She whinnied loudly in agitation and it was with difficulty that Hilary forced her to her task.

The wind rose to an even higher pitch. The air felt thick. It was hard to breathe, and in a few moments Hilary felt herself engulfed in the same primal, instinctive fear that affected Sylvia. Her pulse pounded. It was becoming harder and harder to control the horse. The wind was a howling, destructive entity that tore at her clothes and the umbrella.

The Roman tower loomed in the near distance, and making a decision, Hilary drew on the reins. The tower would not afford much protection, but she determined to take shelter in its crumbling remains at least until the rain abated a little.

She was able to see now only by the lightning flashes that lit the scene in eerie, jagged images. Clutching her umbrella in one trembling hand, she descended from the gig. Jasper scrambled after her. Hilary led Sylvia, still harnessed to the gig, to the side of the road. Leaves whipped at her face and tree limbs tore at her skirts. Tying Sylvia to a sturdy oak, she gathered Jasper in her arms and attempted without success to lift him from the ground. Giving up, she tugged at his collar and began to lead him toward the tower.

At that moment, a bolt of lightning rent the sky with such force that it seemed the whole universe must be shattered with its force. It arced overhead, in a blinding, sizzling crackle that culminated in a fiery explosion at the top of the tower. In the next instant a cataclysmic crack of thunder sounded. It shook the ground in a roar that seemed to presage the end of the world.

With a shriek, Hilary flung herself to the ground and scrambled under the gig, with Jasper, at last as terrified as his mistress, plunging right behind her. Throwing an arm about him, she buried her face in his coat, almost sobbing in her fright. For what seemed an eternity she remained thus, listening to the reverberations of the lightning strike. A sharp, pungent odor filled the air, which fairly throbbed. Hilary’s heart pounded an accompaniment to its electric rhythm.

Then, suddenly, all was still.

After a few moments, Hilary cautiously poked her head out from under the gig. Oddly, the rain had completely stopped, although a heavy mist clung to the surrounding trees. The wind had died and once more birds twittered as they went about their business. The only other sound to be heard was an abrupt clink of metal, coming from the tower, and the cry of a human voice raised in obvious fear and startlement.

The next moment, through the mist, an apparition hurtled from the narrow aperture at the bottom of the tower, his mouth open in a terrified scream. Hilary stared in disbelief. It was not the figure itself that riveted her attention. He was apparently middle-aged and somewhat overfed. It was his style of dress that caused her eyes to start from her head. The man was clothed in some sort of armor! In fact, he looked like ... She halted, dazed, unable to complete her thought.