Passionate (26 page)

James raised his hand, halting the party. His horse shifted restlessly beneath him. “Move out of the way,” he said in French.

The leader sneered. “For you to cross, one hundred
dinar
.”

Behind him James heard Sir Edward’s sound of outrage.

“Ridiculous.” Khalil had ridden up from the rear. “Even my father would not charge so much. This is the Bey’s road, and you have his letter. There is no charge to travel. I will tell him.”

The two natives spoke angrily in Arabic, their voices growing louder as they exchanged what could only be insults.

“What is he saying?” James asked at last.

A frown lined Khalil’s face. “I will not repeat what that flea-bitten dog says, except that he insists now the price is two hundred dinars.”

James studied the ground in front of him. Fresh tracks led straight over the bridge and beyond. He bent low in the saddle to look, and then dismounted to examine something on the ground. He picked it up—the butt of a stubbed-out cheroot.

“The ones who came before us,” he said to the man on the bridge. “Did they pay?”

“No.” The bandit’s thumb stroked the gun barrel. “But you do not pass.”

“On whose command? Yours or the foreigner’s?”

His opponent shifted his eyes to one side and sucked his teeth.

“Three hundred dinars,” he said. Behind him, the other men stepped forward, their hands gripping the hilts of their swords.

James looked back. Sir Edward’s face was flushed with rage. “Huntington, we outnumber them four to one. It’s outrageous for them to stop us.”

“It is—but consider what we have to lose if we try and force our way across.” His gaze rested on Lily for a heartbeat, then Isabelle, Richard, the men from Brookdale. Which one would he be willing to endanger? They were all here because of him.

“We can’t afford to take risks. There must be another way.”

“Yes,” Khalil said. “There is a ford, though it brings us some distance from our chosen path.”

James swung himself into the saddle. “Take us there.”

The men on the bridge laughed—a raw, harsh sound like the conversation of crows. James did not look back. It would be harder going off the main road, but the bridge was closed to them.

The river path was overgrown with branches, and the party was continually molested by small black midges whose bites were painful all out of proportion to their size. James dropped back to listen every so often, but could hear no one following.

Conversation within the party dwindled as the path rose and grew rockier and the animals labored. The underbrush made it hard to see the river, but he could hear it, rushing louder. Finally the path widened again, sloping down to disappear under the muddy wildness the Medjerda had become.

Khalil sent a doubtful glance at the river, “It may be a difficult crossing. The rains.”

“Oh my,” Lady Mary said, looking at the water seething before them. “It is quite a torrent.”

James slung down from his horse to study the opposite bank. It would be possible—but not easy. The men and mules waited, as far back from the river as they could, and he could see the drivers were reluctant.

“Fetch a rope—a long one,” he said, stripping off his coat.

“I’ll go across and secure it to that tree.”

“It is too dangerous,” Sir Edward said. “Have Khalil go instead.”

The guide backed up, holding his hands in front of him.

“Allah have mercy. I cannot swim.”

“I didn’t expect you could.” James handed his coat to Richard.

“Let me go,” the young man said, adventure lighting his eyes. “I can swim splendidly.”

“I have no doubt.” James rolled up his sleeves. “You may have the chance to demonstrate your skills if the water is deeper than it looks, but stay here for now. I’ll need you to help guide the others across.” He took the rope and tied one end around his waist.

Lily was looking at him. “Be careful.” Her voice was low.

He gave her a wink. “I can swim splendidly, too.”

His horse snorted as he urged it into the river. The muddy torrent rose to the animal’s knees and then its withers. The water was cold and swift, but he was nearly halfway across. The current was every bit as strong as he had feared. Each step toward the far bank also pushed them downstream. He could feel the animal struggling.

And then it lost its footing as the bottom dropped away.

“James!” He heard the shouts behind him. The horse lunged, and lunged again, the animal’s powerful muscles surging against the downriver pull.

The rope was sodden and heavy around his waist, the length of it dragging behind them, and the water buffeted his hips. He could hear nothing but its angry rushing. Finally the horse’s feet found purchase and a moment later they splashed out of the river.

The watchers on the far bank let out a cheer, and he turned to wave, dismayed to see how far the current had pulled them. The others would have to start further upstream. He made short work of securing the rope and saw that Khalil had done the same on the opposite side. That would help.

Richard did not hesitate to urge his mount into the water, and shortly the young man joined him. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“It may be harder to convince them.” James nodded at the native men whispering together. “Stay here and help get people ashore. I’ll take the other side.”

Thank the gods for his horse—a solid dun that did not balk at re-entering the water. The return trip was easier, and with the rope to guide them they avoided the deep water. James rode up to Sir Edward.

“I think we should try and get the men across next,” James said. “Give them less time to think about it—since they don’t have the benefit of horses.”

The botanist nodded and James gestured Khalil and the men forward. It took some coaxing, some appeals to their manliness, and some outright threats, but one-by-one the bearers entered the river, clutching the rope, and cursing or praying as they were inclined. Richard, good lad, had ridden his horse several yards out. He encouraged and shouted, and helped them up the muddy shore until they had all arrived safely. The mules followed in a jangling, braying pack.

James let out a breath. The most difficult part was over.

“Who’s next?” He turned to the Strathmores.

“Richard gets to have all the fun,” Isabelle said, kneeing her mount forward. James followed her partway across, but the girl was a born horsewoman and was in no danger, though the current pulled fiercely at her skirts. She gave a triumphant cry as she gained the far bank.

Lady Mary was next, followed by Mrs. Hodges. There was a difficult moment when Mrs. Hodges’s mount halted halfway, but she prodded the animal forward before James could reach them, and made the rest of the crossing without mishap.

“Go along then, Lily,” Sir Edward said. “I’ll come right behind you.”

“Of course.” She smiled brightly, but James could see the anxious set of her shoulders, her tight grip on the reins.

Her horse pranced nervously and nearly shied as it entered the water. James rode over. Of them all, he knew Lily was the least-experienced rider. Too much time spent sketching flowers instead of riding through fields of them. He urged his own horse beside hers, trying to shield her from the brunt of the current, and she gave him a grateful glance.

When they reached the middle of the river something skirled past in the water, startling the horses. Lily’s mount let out a shrill whinny and reared wildly. The movement, combined with the current dragging at her, proved too much. Lily fell from the saddle with a splash.

“James!” she cried, reaching as the water tore her away.

“Grab the rope!” He kicked free of the stirrups and leapt after her. Where was she? He lifted his head above the fierce water, panic clutching his heart.

There—she was in the deep water, but had caught the rope, and now clung one handed, her skirts streaming out behind her.

“Hold on!” He did not know if she heard him. Her head dipped under as she fought to reach the line with her other hand.

In a heartbeat he had her, one arm slipping around her small form, lifting her up, the other hand joining hers on the sodden rope.

“James!” she screamed, her eyes wide.

He looked. Lily’s horse had gone down and the current was bearing it directly toward them.

“Hold on!” he shouted, and let go of the rope.

The water closed over their heads, dragging them with it. He tried to stand, but as quickly as his feet found purchase they were dragged out from under him. He could barely keep his own head above water. Lily had it worse, but he would not let go even when the water upended him.

A sun-bleached snag thrust out into the water some distance below the ford. James threw his arm around the branchless trunk before they could be sucked under, and then drew Lily to him. “Put your arms around my neck.”

Her hair was plastered to her face, dark against the pallor of her skin. She locked her arms around him and clung so tightly he could scarcely breathe.

Using the fallen tree for support, he inched them toward shore. Soon the water came only to his waist, then his thighs, his knees. He pulled Lily into his arms and stumbled onto the bank.

When they got there he let himself sink down, rewarded by the feel of solid ground beneath them. He looked into Lily’s face. It was pale, her lips almost blue. Spasms of coughing wracked her.

“That’s my girl,” he said, holding her shoulders until the coughing subsided. “Everything’s fine, love. Everything’s fine.”

She clung to him then, and opened her eyes. “I thought we were lost. Did we make it across?”

He smiled down at her. “Yes. We made it across.”

“Lily!” Richard shoved his way through the underbrush, his face frantic, his clothes dripping. “Are you all right?”

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and James felt her relax suddenly in his arms. “Yes. I am.”

Her cousin’s expression lightened. “You should have heard Isabelle scream when your horse went down.”

The others were shouting to them and making their way down the shore. James lifted Lily and stood with her in his arms. He could not let go. Not yet. The feel of her against him—warm, breathing—was too precious, the twine of her arms around his neck all he needed.

“James,” she whispered into his ear, “I believe we are on solid ground. You can put me down.”

Evening was laying long shadows across the hills when at last they straggled back onto the main road. The westering sun deepened the cinnamon-colored soil to a rich orange and gilded the limbs of cork oak growing beside the river.

“Where are the ruins you spoke of?” James asked Khalil.

“The animals are tired.”

“Not much farther.” The guide pointed to a small rise ahead.

“Just the other side.”

“Take some men ahead to set up camp. I’ll see to the rest of the party.”

By the time they reached the camp set in the ruins, lanterns were burning and the tantalizing smell of lamb kebabs wafted from the cooking fires. The tents were standing, rugs and cushions strewn about the interiors where oil lamps winked and glimmered.

“Here we are,” Richard said.

Lily dismounted before anyone could offer help, and looked about curiously. “Wherever
here
is. It makes a lovely composition.”

Firelight flickered against stone walls, bits of geometric carving running along the top, visible where the stone had not crumbled away. Fluted columns stood sentinel at the edge of the rise, barely silhouetted against the fading light. Beyond, a few early stars twinkled. James swung down to assist Lady Mary.

“Thank you.” She smiled tiredly at him as he steadied her.

Sir Edward moved slowly over to them. “I’m a bit stiffer than I’d like. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure, though.”

The accident at the crossing and the long road had left them all feeling subdued, but dinner revived the party considerably and they lingered over cups of tea. Richard excused himself and went to squat with Khalil by the open fire, likely after a cup of Turkish coffee. During their trips to the
souq
he had become a convert to the dark, heavily sweetened brew served in tiny cups.

“Your son is going native,” Sir Edward said to his wife.

“At least he is not drinking out of a gourd.”

“Don’t the ruins seem mysterious?” Isabelle glanced into the shadows. “Especially in the moonlight.”

“Worth exploring, I’d say,” Richard said, approaching. “I don’t feel sleepy at all.”

James looked over the camp. Why not? The men would be on watch. The family needed something to take their minds off the near-tragedy of the afternoon. “If you enter the ruins beware,” he said in a stage whisper.

“Why?” said Richard and Isabelle together.

James raised his hands above his head, curling his fingers. The light from the fire cast his shadow, huge and grotesque, on the ruined wall behind them.

“Evil djinns.”

“Rubbish,” Mrs. Hodges said.

Everyone else laughed.

“Do you feel up to going, Lily?” Isabelle asked.

“Of course I do. I’m quite resilient when it comes to falling off horses, although I’d prefer to fall onto a pile of folded linens or a mound of hay and not into a raging river next time.”

James offered his hand, smiling.

“Go along then.” her uncle said. “Roman ruins by moonlight. Perfectly splendid! We crossed the Mediterranean for adventures like this.”

She let James draw her to her feet and he folded his hand over hers. Life was too precious and uncertain to be locked away for the future.

“Do take lanterns,” Lady Mary said.

“We will,” Richard said. “If there’s a djinn to be found, I don’t want to walk past it in the dark. They grant wishes, you know.”

“Really.” Isabelle tossed her head. “There’s no danger…Is there?” She looked to James for reassurance.

“Giant spiders,” Richard said. “The ghost of Hannibal.”

“Ha.” She drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

“It should be safe,” James said. “Khalil scouted the area before we arrived.”

“Come on,” Richard tugged Isabelle’s arm. “Do you think that’s a skull over there?” Without a backward glance he headed deeper into the ruins, his sister close behind.