He took her hands in his, gently rubbing his thumbs over them. She had short fingers, but oddly elegant hands regardless. “Why would you think that?”
“Because I despise myself.” She curled her fingers around his, giving them a little squeeze before pulling back. “No, don’t ask why—I just do, and I’m not going to explain it to you. Not now. Maybe later, but not until . . . not now. What’s your far-fetched idea?”
Half-tempted to tell her he wasn’t about to share his thoughts if she felt unable to do the same, he decided that was petty. Besides, the little stones with their riddles had interested him, especially given the idea that was growing in the back of his mind.
He held up one of the stones. “They could be nothing more than amusing graffiti, written on the wall to entertain, or as a joke.”
“I suppose so, although did the Romans use stone walls?”
“Yes, but not stone like this.” He ran his fingers over the slick plastic bag. Beneath it, the surface was smooth. “These stones have been finished, finely finished, which tells me they were meant for a decoration or other artistic item. And yet they don’t have a shape of, say, an urn, not that stone urns were common.”
“OK, so it’s not an urn or bit of wall graffiti. What is it, then?”
He hesitated, his eyes on the stone as he ran over the puzzles again. “A thief, a greeting, and a roof tile. What do they have in common?”
“Is that another riddle? Because I have no idea of what the answer is.”
“Neither do I. Which makes me wonder if it’s not some sort of puzzle itself.”
“How do you mean?”
He set the stone down, and picked up the second one. “It occurred to me that they might be, for lack of a better word, clues.”
“Clues to what?” she asked, leaning over the tray so that her hair swept over his arm. His wrist tingled in response.
“I don’t know. Perhaps the stones were left by someone as a joke for a friend. Or they might have simply been a way for a scribe to practice his writing. Or it might be clues to the location of . . . something.”
“What sort of something?” Her eyes widened as she sucked in her breath. “Like a treasure? Do you think the stones are clues to the location of a valuable treasure hoard?”
“Treasure hoard?”
To Gunner’s dismay, Sue appeared at his shoulder, accompanied by Roger. Thompson, he was relieved to note, was bending over one of the diggers, openly staring down her shirt.
“What treasure hoard?” Roger asked, excitement spiking his voice. “You found a treasure hoard and you didn’t notify me? Good god, man, do you know what that sort of thing will do to our viewership? It’ll go through the roof!”
“There’s no treasure hoard,” Gunner protested, but was quickly interrupted.
“She said ‘treasure.’ I distinctly heard the word ‘treasure’ being used.” Sue gestured toward Lorina. “What treasure are you speaking about? Did you find something that you didn’t report to us? You must know that anything valuable has to be reported to the government—”
“Yes, we’re well aware of the finds laws. And I haven’t found anything that you lot haven’t thoroughly filmed and documented.”
“Then where’s the treasure hoard?” Roger asked, looking disappointed.
Lorina looked at Gunner. He shrugged. “You can show them if you like, although I would like to remind you that I used the word ‘far-fetched’ when I mentioned that theory.”
Succinctly, Lorina explained about the mouse stones, showing them in turn to Sue and Roger.
“You can’t be serious,” Sue said dismissively when Lorina finished her tale. “That’s just utter rot. You’ve leaped to all sorts of conclusions without the slightest bit of evidence. No offense intended, Lorina, but that story is nothing but a tissue of wild guesses.”
Lorina opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, clearly so indignant she was speechless. Gunner gave her a grin before he said, “Actually, Sue, the suggestion was mine, not Lorina’s. And I admit it’s highly speculative, and likely not at all grounded in reality. It was just a thought that occurred to me given the odd nature of the stones.”
“I don’t know,” Roger said slowly over Sue’s hasty backtracking of insults. He picked up two of the stones and held them side by side. “It makes perfect sense to me. And just imagine what it would do to the ratings if we found the treasure.”
“There’s not likely to be any treasure,” Gunner felt obligated to protest. “It’s all just sheer speculation—”
“But speculation that could be grounded in truth,” Roger insisted.
“How so?” Gunner asked.
“Well, for one, we know now that we’re excavating a villa, not a military base,” Roger said, ticking the item off on his fingers. “That means a family of wealth, right? And then there’s the fire. Paul says there’s definite proof that there was a big fire at some point, and the villa could have been destroyed by it.”
“Yes,” Gunner drawled, frowning in thought. “Although from what I’ve seen of the artifacts, the fire was subsequent to an attack of some sort. Recall the skeletons in the temple in the grove.”
“Exactly!” Roger ticked off another item. “The skeletons with the cleave marks on their skulls. Paul said that was a sure sign that the villa had been attacked, most likely by a Boudiccan Revolt.”
“I never did understand who Boudicca was,” Lorina said, looking at Gunner. “I take it she didn’t like the Romans?”
“Not very much, no. You might know her as Boadicea, although that’s just a variation on her name. She banded together several tribes, and led them in attacks against the invading Romans around sixty AD.”
“And the stuff you found with the skeletons matches that date,” Lorina said, nodding her understanding.
“Roughly, yes. Give or take a year.”
“You see!” Roger was on his feet, clearly running with the idea of treasure being hidden somewhere. “It all fits! If you know that Boudicca and her gang are in the area attacking Roman villas, what do you do? You hide your valuables.”
“But would you take the time to paint riddles on stones telling you where those valuables are?” Lorina asked.
Gunner gave her an approving nod. He was delighted that she could see the flaws in the theory.
“You might, if you didn’t want Boudicca to find it! Lord, what a stir we’ll make when we find it.” Roger rubbed his hands together. “It’ll make all the news stations. Hell, it could go global, just like when they found Richard the Third’s remains!”
“What we need,” Sue said, clearly thrilled by the idea of a treasure trove, “is to find more of these mouse stones. Roger, we should put the entire crew on locating stones. These clues don’t mean anything the way they are, so clearly there have to be more stones. We must find them to locate where the valuables were hidden.”
Gunner sighed, and looked at Lorina. She curled her lips at him, obviously as amused as he was.
What had they started now?
Chapter 12
“Morning, Cres—oh. Hello, Daria.” Startled, I clutched my bag of shower accessories and a damp towel to my chest. “I didn’t realize you were right there.”
Daria had an odd look on her face. “Did you—” She paused, looking indecisive. “Did you see him?”
“See who?”
“Paul. I was on my way out to one of the trenches, and I could have sworn I saw him coming out of your tent.”
I glanced around hurriedly. “I was in the shower, so I haven’t seen anyone. Although I thought Cressy was in there sleeping.” I moved the door of the tent open. “Oh. I guess she’s up already.”
Daria gave a little laugh, and rubbed her hand over her eyes. “This is what happens when you don’t have a cup of coffee before you start work—I must have been seeing things.?
??
“Maybe it was Cressy you saw. She’s as tall as Paul.”
“Most likely that was it. I’d better get to work before my brain completely leaves me. Are you coming by to do photos of me cleaning some archaeology?”
“Sure. We can do that in a few minutes, if you like.”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
I slipped into the tent and eyed the contents. Nothing looked out of place, or otherwise disturbed. Could Paul have really been into my things? And if so, why? He’d done his best to avoid me for the last six days, ever since I’d ralphed behind his RV, so if he had been in here, it certainly wasn’t from a desire to be nearer to me. Far from it—I’d had a devil of a time sticking to him, finally having to resort to telling him I wanted to do a feature on how he worked. Not that it had helped much—I was still struggling for some idea as to how I could get the proof I needed. The best I’d come up with was to organize a spontaneous blood drive on the dig site, but that idea wasn’t feasible on any level. I sighed, and prayed that something would occur to me soon.
Twenty minutes later, I knelt down next to an open trench where Daria was working.
“You’d think I’d have this protocol down by now.” I took a deep breath, and counted off the items. “Never step into a trench without first asking permission.”
“Because you could destroy something that is in the process of being cleaned.” Daria nodded, and continued scraping at a collection of stones that she assured me were part of a road that led directly under the castle.
“And you never dig out something without first spending copious amounts of time photographing and drawing it. That part I remember.” I grimaced to myself. All the archaeologists were well versed in taking photos of their dig sites, but I had been called on twice by Roger to take pictures of particularly thrilling artifacts. Both times I felt I had botched the pictures horribly.
“Always, always document.” Daria brushed her wrist across her head, leaving an earthy smear behind.
“And most of all, don’t walk over the spoil pile, because there could be hidden treasures in it. Oh, crap.”
Daria groaned. “You said the word!”
“I know, I’m sorry.” I glanced around quickly. The bulk of the crew was having a prebreakfast meeting with Sue and Roger, being briefed on their new treasure-hunting assignments. “Luckily, no one heard me. Why aren’t you at the meeting?”
“No one heard you now, but evidently they did last night.” Daria gave me a sour look.
“I said I was sorry! Besides, it’s not my fault if they eavesdropped on a conversation I was having with Gunner and took one of his comments out of context.”
“You and I know that, but the end result is that half the team will be in my trench mucking everything up, while the other half goes on a mad scramble to find more of those stones.” She shook her head to herself. “I decided to forgo the meeting, since Paul won’t listen to anything I have to say. Honestly, Lorina, at this point I almost wish I’d stayed home. This treasure hunt is going to be a nightmare.”
“Maybe if you talked to Paul—”
“Not likely. He’s as thrilled as the TV people, since it means additional attention for CMA. I just wish the board could see how he’s prostituting good archaeology for a bit of money. No, we’re simply going to have to write off this dig. It was promising, but once the treasure bug bites people, it’s all over. All they see is one object, and all else is trivial.”
I stood up from where I’d been kneeling on the edge of her trench, remembered I was supposed to be documenting her work, and snapped a few pictures. “I’d apologize again if it would do any good, but since Roger and Sue seem to have their minds made up, I won’t bother. Although you’d think Paul would have the good sense to put a halt to their treasure hunt.”
She gave an irritated jerk of one shoulder, and said, “You can try talking to him. Maybe he’ll listen to you. You guys appear to be pretty close these last few days.”
“Er . . . well . . .” I managed to not make a face.
“I didn’t mean to pry. You look like you’re savvy enough to know how to take care of yourself around a man like him, so I’m sure I don’t have to point out the obvious.” She glanced up and saw the obvious look of surprise on my face, and laughed. “Sorry. That’s what comes from being the wife of a man who spends his day doing health and STD tests. I’m forever warning women to be sure to use protection when they’re having dig romances.”
“I . . . There’s nothing like that going on,” I protested. “To be honest, he’s been avoiding me ever since I didn’t feel well at dinner. He thought I had something contagious. Evidently he’s a bit of a germophobe, which is ironic considering—” I stopped, horrified that I was once again so close to blurting out the truth.
Damn that Gunner. What was it about him that had me lowering my commonsense defenses? He didn’t even have to be here and I was still in “tell everyone the truth” mode. I stiffened my resolve to stop talking.
“Considering what?” Daria asked without lifting her head.
“Considering he spends his day grubbing around in dirt.” It sounded lame, but she accepted it.
“Well, if you can get Paul to see reason, more power to you. But I don’t hold out much hope—I’ve seen this happen before, and I know how good archaeological practices can get trampled in the lust for high-publicity finds.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I said, tucking away the camera in its little case. “Good luck preserving your road.”
She snorted, and tipped her head toward the castle. “I had been hoping to ask the owner if I could extend it across his lawn to the pasture, but now Paul won’t let me have any diggers go in that direction. They’ll all be focused on the other end of the trench.”
I waved good-bye, and hurried to the tent area, planning on leaving off the camera and its bag of accoutrements while I went in search of breakfast. Cressy had returned from taking a shower, and was pulling on her usual pair of shorts and grubby T-shirt.
“Ah, you’re back. Good morning,” I said, feeling horribly awkward. Although we were sharing a tent, I hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to her since that terrible night when I burst in on Gunner’s dinner. My own embarrassment and the fact that I was sticking to Paul in hopes of finding some way to get a blood sample, along with Cressy’s busy schedule, had guaranteed that we’d see each other only briefly.
“Hiya.” She twirled her damp hair into a knot on the top of her head. “I haven’t seen you in a while. If I didn’t see you sleeping at night, I’d have thought you left.”
“I’ve been busy.” I remembered the camera bag and held it out toward her. “Taking pictures. Digging. Doing bits with your father in front of the camera.”
“Sounds like fun. I’ve been at the stable every day. Did I tell you about my riding lessons?”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“So much!” she said, hugging herself. “I get to clean the tack and wash down the horses, and Madame Leigh said that she’ll let me help lead the tourists on their cross-country hacks. Won’t that be awesome?”
“Totally,” I agreed, and tucked away the camera. “It sounds like you’re spending your summer very productively.”
“Yeah, it’s great. Ugh, I’m so hungry I could eat a whale! Gran’s not up yet. Are you going to get some breakfast?” She strolled with me out of the tent.
“I was, but I don’t think there is any breakfast yet. It looks like the entire crew is still at their meeting.” The tables clustered around the cooking trailer were empty.
“Yeah, I heard that Roger guy yacking when I went in to take a shower.” She tugged at her T-shirt, and made a face. “I’m going to die if I don’t get some food.”
“I’m a bit famished, myself. I didn’t get much dinner because your father . . .” I stopped.
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“Because Gunner what?”
I didn’t want to tell Cressy that a conversation with Gunner had left me frustrated and angry with myself, so angry I had left the discussion of treasure the night before lest I drag Gunner off and have my womanly way with him.
I blushed a little just thinking about that. How had I gone from wanting to avoid him to the point where I just wanted to touch him? And kiss him. And be with him, no matter how dangerous that proved to be.
“Lorina?”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry, I was distracted.”
Cressy screwed up her face. “Are you still mad at Gunner? Because if you are, you really shouldn’t be. He’s not mad at you, even if Gran says he’s acting like a dickwad. That’s my word, not hers. Gran would turn cartwheels before she ever said that word. But Gunner isn’t mad about you telling me to tell him you’d rather eat with Paul than us. I mean, he was at first, but then he chilled, and now he’s totally copacetic.”
“I’m delighted to hear that. And no, I’m not mad at him. Far from it—” I swore to myself. Really, my mouth could not be trusted to speak around anyone. “I was having quite a pleasant conversation with Gunner last night while he translated some interesting texts for me.”
“Oh, the treasure thing.” She made a horrible face. “Ugh! Stomach growling! Let’s go up to the castle and make Gunner feed us.”
“Er . . .” I stopped, not sure if I wanted to face him again so soon. Although we’d parted amicably enough the night before, I still felt all shades of uncomfortable around him despite the fact that we did several short bits in front of the camera each day. I’d done so much lying. . . . Where was it going to end? And what would I do when he found out the truth about me? Worse, I seemed to be losing the desire to keep him at arm’s length, as I’d previously decided. Weakly, I protested, “Maybe he’s busy. We have to do a piece later about the possibility of treasure.”