tonight,â he said, deftly sliding his pistol into his belt. âIâm an optimist, but hate to be proven wrong so letâs seek shelter at the fort.â Her hand came up to brush away a few remaining grains of sand on her face when his arm snagged her waist, taking her roving hand in his. âNow.â
She glanced up, looking uncomfortable at his touch. âThis is entirely unnecessary,â she said, âand highly unsuitable, bundling me off like no more than a sack of coal. The danger, if you havenât already noticed, has long passed.â
âDonât be too sure.â Suddenly more impatient than heâd ever been, he strong-armed her along the rubble-strewn path leading back to the low walls of the fort, half carrying her. An unfamiliar anger built within him with every step, directed at Spencer, at Meredith and, worse still, at himself.
âWe should do something about the body... .â she said, trying to pull away. âLord Archer!â She planted her heels, dragging to a stop. âPlease slow down.â
âNever mind the body. I shall deal with it once I have you out of sight.â He jerked her into motion again, using his size to force her along. âWe are not slowing down and if you struggle, I shall be compelled to throw you over my shoulder.â
âDonât be ridiculous,â she muttered, allowing him to drag her towards the far side of the fort and behind a low wall. He placed her behind him with a firm push, smiling slightly when she yanked her arm from his grasp and stood rubbing it, watching him with her familiar arrogance.
âPlease sit,â he said, gesturing to the ground. âWe have a long evening ahead of us.â In the corner he had secreted a small bag of supplies.
Her chin shot up and her brows pinched together in displeasure. âDuring which you will no doubt tell me why you have been shadowing my footsteps, Lord Archer.â
Archer looked her up and down. Tiny bits of sand still clung to her, littering the linen of her jacket. A few specks of blood appeared on her cheek and he fought the urge to wipe them away. Instead, he surveyed their small enclosure, gaze roving around what had once been a storeroom at the fort. Surveying the desert sky overhead turning an inky blue, he removed the pistol from his waistband once again.
âSit,â he said. This time, she dropped to the ground, hugging her knees, suddenly like a young girl, and Archer fought the urge to pull her into his arms. âI will return shortly. Donât move.â It would help if she looked even a little bit grateful, but she didnât; her lips were set in a firm line. He retraced his steps quickly, intending to bring the corpse in from the night and away from the desertâs animal marauders.
His movements were efficient, hauling the body into a low dugout at the entrance of the fort. Pocketing the manâs pistol, he checked briefly for additional weapons which he hoped would not prove useful in the coming hours. A pouch at the manâs waist divulged several heavy coins and a cylindrical object wrapped in red silk. He shook his head with increasing incomprehension, as the soft folds of fabric revealed a childâs kaleidoscope made from copper and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Its fine markings of cherubs and angels were indisputably English, and about the last object in the world heâd expected to find on the corpse of a dead Egyptian. He ran a thumb over the detailed engravings and then held it up to one eye. A spill of changing patterns formed by colored glass pieces tumbled and fell as he turned the scope, clearly intended for the delight of a child.
Archer returned to Meredith a short time later. He needed a drink, and not water. Judging by Meredithâs pallor, they both did. She did not stir from her place on the ground, watching as he reached for the leather bag of supplies and extracted another flask, this one