Must Have Been The Moonlight Page 4

  “I will carry that, Sitt Donally.”

  “Take the trunk, please.”

  She set her camera outside as he dragged the trunk to her feet. Kneeling, she worked the knots out of the leather straps that bound the chest lid. “I’m lucky that I have anything left at all, I suppose.”

  “You are most fortunate that it was El Tazar who found you.”

  Still crouched, she braced an elbow on her knee. “How is it that you’re so familiar with someone called the Barracuda, Abdul?”

  “My cousin, he gives Fallon effendi information. The major, he allows my cousin to live another day. It is a simple trade.”

  “Simple?” She was appalled.

  At which point he smiled. “The major could have left my foolish cousin to rot in the gaol last year.” Abdul shrugged. “He did not.”

  She lifted the trunk lid. “No doubt extortion is an acceptable road to paradise.”

  He looked offended. “Show me a man without vice, missy, and I will show you a man who does not breathe.”

  Her attention was drawn to the top photograph in the pile. One of the few that came from the positives that had survived the massacre, only because she’d developed the plates, along with the others that she’d taken at the Coptic temple. It was the reason she and Alex had returned late to the caravan that fateful evening.

  Leaning closer, Brianna pulled a photograph off the pile and held it to the light. The young man featured was posed with his rifle across his chest. She’d only known him as Selim. Wearing the loose-fitting, ankle-length garment and headdress of his people, he stood with Napoleonic fervor beside a camel. He’d befriended her over a meal of couscous, joking because men did not do the cooking. Yet, he had shown her how to prepare the meal. And now he was dead.

  “Will her ladyship be all right?” Abdul asked after a moment.

  Replacing the photographs, Brianna looked across the desert. If only Christopher had been here. Tension that had gripped her since the attack tightened. She worried about how she would get Alex back to Cairo. Aristocrats were inherently helpless by birth. It was natural that she felt protective of her sister-in-law, considering all they’d been through.

  “You just find a way to get us back to Cairo. I don’t know if Major Fallon will see us that far. I only know that I can’t stay here.”

  “Do not worry, Sitt.” His arms filled with her camera pod, Brianna watched him weave a path around the cooking fire, before dragging the trunk filled with her chemicals back inside the tent. She wasn’t worried, she told herself.

  Major Fallon was leaning with his back against a tree when she passed the corner of the tent. She didn’t see him in the darkness until he spoke. “If you insist on walking around out here,” he said, and she swung around, “I suggest that you go armed.”

  It piqued her that he’d startled her with such ease. Unfolding his arms, he stepped toward her. She dropped her gaze to his hand. “It’s loaded.” He handed her the revolver that he’d taken from her at the watchtower. “Vigilance is the way of life out here, Miss Donally. I’d hate to see that with everything you’ve survived, you end up getting yourself killed because of negligence.”

  The message of his warning was punctuated by the glimpse of two guards standing at the camp’s edge. “Major Fallon?” She grabbed his forearm as he’d started to turn. “Thank you for everything that you’ve done. We would not be alive but for you.”

  The corners of his lips relaxed. “You’re no quitter, Miss Donally. I’ll give you that much.”

  “With five older brothers, if I’d have quit at anything, I’d have been trampled. One learns to survive.”

  His gaze went over her. They weren’t separated by more than a hand’s width between his arm and her shoulder. His tagilmust hung loose. “The beard bothers you, does it?”

  “Excuse me?” Amusement lurked in his gray eyes as he watched her flustered response. The unexpected question had thrown her off her guard, and her heart did a ridiculous flutter in her chest.

  “Did you want me to kiss you, Miss Donally?” he asked clearly, reading the look in her eyes, and remembering her comment in the tent.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t know any woman who finds facial hair inviting, Major Fallon.”

  “Then you speak from experience?”

  “You won’t shock me.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I’ve kissed many times.”

  “Aye, amîri.” Brianna felt his gaze go down the front of her caftan, the part not covered by the dark robe. The part only he could see. And she wasn’t wearing underclothing. “But how many were grown men?”

  Her fingers thrummed her elbows, waiting for him to return his attention to her face. “Come to think of it”—she flashed him a cheeky smile—“only one. But I fear he spoiled me for life.”

  She dismissed him and walked back inside the tent.

  Stroking the offending beard in question, Michael grinned appreciatively into the darkness. Miss Donally had a nice body.

  “How do you do it, Brea?” Alex said for the fourth time that morning, listlessly stirring a fork around in her bowl.

  “I don’t think about it, my lady.” Sitting on a carpet, legs crossed, Brianna continued to rub at the camera lens.

  “I wish there was some way Christopher knew that we were alive. I can’t bear to think what he’s going through.”

  This was a conversation they’d had a hundred times in the two days since they arrived. No reassurances seemed to soothe Alex. She’d wept, argued, and slept, all in the hopeless human need to do battle with forces over which she had no control. Clean from her bath and wearing a dark red caftan, at least she was finally eating something. “Do you think Major Fallon will get us back to Cairo?” she asked.

  Brianna looked up from beneath her caftan hood toward the pool where the subject of their conversation was bent over a small square mirror. A long rifle leaned against a date palm beside his burnoose. He’d ridden into the camp earlier and, after handing off the horse, walked straight past them to the pond. Her camera lay beside her, and her hands paused in their cleaning.

  He’d tried to insult her last night by suggesting she’d never kissed a real man, only boys. Though the insult hadn’t worked—mostly it hadn’t worked—he’d had nerve to imply that a man’s facial hair was a measurement of his masculinity.

  Yet, that side of Major Fallon had caught her pleasantly by surprise, contrasting 180 degrees to the man who wielded a knife with ruthless proficiency.

  To the man she watched shaving now.

  He’d removed his shirt and turban. Brianna raised a cup of tea to her mouth and took a drink. His hair was not nearly as black or as long as she’d expected. Indeed, it was cropped to his nape, thick and wavy at the top, shorter on the sides. His chest was tan, as if he spent a lot of time without his shirt. The defined, corded tendons and muscles of his shoulders were visible with each swipe of the razor.

  Brianna knew she should have been appalled that two grown women would be observing a man performing so intimate an ablution as shaving. Except she wasn’t finished looking. “Do you know him well, my lady?”

  Alex turned her head. “Do I detect a hint of malcontent, Brea?”

  Suddenly annoyed with herself, Brianna returned her attention to her camera, where she’d removed the outer box casing. “I think that I’m dissatisfied with the whole world order of things.”

  “You always are.” Alex’s voice seemed to smile. “I’ve seen Major Fallon at various functions since we’ve been in Egypt. But no one knows anything about him. Women have tried.” Lady Alex studied her fork with an intensity borne of a new perception. “It’s better they pant over him rather than my husband.” She resumed eating. “Cairo pulls in quite a winter crowd. Fortunately, this is also the time of year when sites open for excavation and I spend most of my time out of town. I try to stay busy and not think about anything else.”

  All of which Brianna understood. God only knew that she’d made her fa
ir share of mistakes to end up in Egypt in the first place, but the thrill of adventure had waned considerably since her arrival.

  It didn’t help that a derailed train had stranded them in an antiquated village for a week in September. Then there had been that dangerous altercation with their camel driver in October. As there was no notoriety in falling sacrifice to anyone’s brutal passions, Brianna had actually drawn her pistol on the turbaned brigand who was supposed to have been their guard. Then there was the horrible event last week…

  “Major Fallon was very disturbed when he’d heard that Captain Pritchards was the officer in charge of the caravan,” Brianna said.

  “The major was supposed to have been in charge of the caravan.”

  “I see.” Brianna focused on the lens in her hands.

  “Christopher didn’t want me to make the trip,” Alex quietly said. “You wouldn’t be here now if not for me, Brea.”

  “I’m here because I choose to be, my lady.” Finished cleaning her camera, she began to put it back together. Although the morning was crisp, the air was rapidly becoming hot. Within an hour they would have to return inside. “Does Christopher know about the baby?” She changed the subject.

  “No.” Alex dabbed the edge of her sleeve against her eye. “I’m thirty-two years old. Neither of us ever thought it possible.”

  “My lady—”

  “Brea…” There was unexpected affection in Alex’s tone. “Why do you remain so stubborn? You’ve always had permission to use my name.”

  Brianna respected her sister-in-law more than any other person in the world. Alex was everything that she struggled to be. Intelligent. Daring. Independent. She’d made people proud of her. “Be still, my heart.” Brianna laughed. “Your real name? All ten of them?”

  “You’re such a fraud, sister-of-mine. And far more headstrong than you should be.” Alex thrust her fork into her bowl and speared a piece of meat. “Did you know that this tastes almost as good as Major Fallon’s chicken stew?”

  “Truly, my lady”—the absurdity of the statement coming from someone so worldly hit Brianna—“did you see any chickens clucking about the watchtower?”

  Alex’s green eyes widened. Suddenly they were both laughing. Hysteria bubbled at the surface, but Brianna didn’t care. They were raving lunatics in a hostile world. Heaven only knew their will to survive had been all that had stood between them and vanishing forever in the desert. Better to lose one’s mind now. Instead, it was as if a safety valve had suddenly opened to let out the steam.

  Alexandra lay back on the sand. “It hurts to laugh.”

  Brianna fell beside her and nearly on top of the pair of dusty boots that had suddenly appeared. Major Fallon was looking down at them. He no longer had a beard, and if he had been noteworthy before, he was devastating to her female psyche now. Brianna turned on her stomach. A woman could drown in eyes like his.

  “Major Fallon.” Alex struggled to her elbow. “We were just touting your culinary expertise.”

  “Your praise is obvious.” If he felt insulted, it didn’t show.

  Beneath an open caftan that hung to his knees, his torso was bare save for the dark thatch of hair that narrowed and disappeared in the low waist of his baggy pants. In one hand he carried the long rifle. He knelt, bringing with him the scent of his shaving soap. Fine black hair shadowed his armpits.

  “I’m glad to see that you’ve both recovered, amîri.” His eyes seemed almost a caress on hers.

  The feeling inside Brianna was so unexpected, she wondered what was wrong with her. “We Donallys are forged in iron, Major,” she managed in the spirit of the moment.

  “That’s reassuring,” he said, his voice silky dark. He stood. “Because I’ll be needing your clothes. Tomorrow night we’re riding back into hell.”

  Chapter 3

  “It’s never my luck that anything might be simple.” Alex wrinkled her nose. “Or that Major Fallon couldn’t have found clothes from a man who’d bathed within the last year.”

  Brianna struggled with the binding around her breasts, then slid a robe over her head. “I only hope he knows what he’s doing.”

  “My lady, are you prepared to leave?” Abdul said from the other side of the screen after they’d finished dressing. Brianna looked up to find Alex working the turban over her head. A strand of Alex’s hair, bleached honey by the sun, had escaped captivity, and Brianna tucked it behind her ear. She worried that Alex felt feverish. “Walk with stride in your step, my lady.”

  Major Fallon entered the tent as they stepped out from behind the partition. Earlier, he’d stopped to say something to the feminine versions of themselves, eating dinner outside beneath the awning. Their disguises complete, people had to believe Brianna and Alexandra were still in camp or Major Fallon’s plan would fail. The night was still.

  The very image of a desert warrior, Major Fallon turned when Alex approached, and the front of the tent flap dropped as he stepped inside.

  He’d been implicit in his instructions. Alex would leave first. She was dressed as one of Christopher’s cooks.

  “You’ll be staying with the foreman’s family for two days before the caravan leaves. Everything will be packed,” he said, when he caught Lady Alex’s gaze going over the photographs on the shelves.

  “I’m sure you’ve seen to every detail, Major Fallon.” Alex’s reply was every bit that of a lady. “I’m not worried for myself, only for my husband.”

  “Five armed men from the outpost will be traveling with you. It will look like you’re part of your husband’s staff. If anyone is watching tonight, they will see me leaving with you and Miss Donally.”

  “I don’t have to tell you to be careful.” She held out her hand, and he brought it to his lips. “Salaam aleikum. Go in peace.”

  Bowed over her hand, he responded in kind. Abdul gave her a silver tea tray. Together they walked out of the tent.

  Brianna remained where she’d been left as she watched Major Fallon observing Alex’s departure. A skein of jealousy lifted her chin. The strength of it caught her by surprise. A single tallow lamp lit the cavernous space of her brother’s desert abode. The plan was that she would wait thirty minutes. A guard would ride into camp, enter the tent, and she would ride out in his place.

  Abdul had promised earlier that her photography equipment had already been packed. She didn’t want to fret over something so frivolous. She shifted her thoughts. The way Major Fallon had looked with his robe off that morning came to mind as she found herself alone with him. Brianna caught him regarding her, his expression indolent. And her heart did that strange flutter that she didn’t like.

  His eyes went to the long winding cloth in her hands. She’d been unable to make the turban stay on her head. “I’m afraid my hair is not the sleek, glossy tresses of which legends are made.” With one hand, she whirled her braid like a lasso. “I swear, I’m cutting it off when I return to Cairo.”

  “That would be a shame.”

  “Why?”

  His soft leather boots making no sound on the carpet, he took the cloth from her hand. “I imagine it looks decent when brushed.”

  “Goodness, Major”—she flapped a hand in front of her face in a mock swoon as he stepped closer—“you have a poetic way with words.”

  He was taller than Christopher, who stood inches above most men. “Turn around.”

  “My mother’s hair was blond and wavy,” she said.

  His hands worked the turban around her head with deft ease. Unsettled by the novelty of her sensual interest in him, she schooled her features, ignoring his warmth against her back. “Not one person in my family inherited anything from her except the predisposition for wavy hair. She was English. Her family disinherited her when she married Da.”

  Now if he’d been any other man, he’d have offered her condolences or sympathy and they might have diverted to a topic of dialogue. “British families are like that,” he said.

  He suddenly became more fascinatin
g. “What horrible sin did you commit that your family would disown you? Or did you disown them?”

  The dark look he slanted her told her that the topic wasn’t up for discussion. Normally, she wasn’t so easily cowed, but these weren’t normal circumstances. Sizing up his mood, she elected to abstain from questioning him. Whatever softness might lie inside him was guarded and deep, and he had a way of closing himself off; except from Alex, she realized.

  “As much of an aggravation as my family is, I love them very much,” she said quietly. “Stand against one Donally and a person stands against all.” Brushing her hands over the robe, she felt the push of her breasts against the tight bindings. She didn’t know how she was going to manage the constriction all the way back to Cairo.

  And that was when she felt it all over again, the sense of dread that kept dogging her. She was comforted to know that she and Major Fallon were allies, so to speak. He’d shared her outrage, had a personal connection to the victims, and she welcomed his ability to think rationally. “Will there be a cart to take Lady Alexandra into the village?” she asked. “I’m concerned about her walking.”

  “How far along is she?”

  “I…” Brianna flushed hotly, and was glad he was hovering over her head and couldn’t see her face. She didn’t make the mistake of accidentally touching him, and kept her hands at her side.

  “Surely someone who is never shocked isn’t struck speechless?”

  “I’m not speechless.” Her nose was pressed to his chest as he tugged and looped the cloth around her head. “Nine, maybe ten weeks,” she said. “A logical conclusion, considering she didn’t know when we left Cairo. I mean, the last time she and my brother…they were together in Giza. They shared the same camel, all right?” She could feel his grin as she stumbled along making a fool of herself. “Are you sure this plan will work?”

  He tipped her chin and looked down into her eyes. “My presence on that caravan will not make you any safer.” He returned his attention to her turban. “In fact, it’ll probably make you less safe. At least this way, if someone is out there watching us, they’ll be following me.”