Desire Me (21 page)

Once she had collected herself, she dressed quickly. The shirt and trousers felt unfamiliar. She’d never encased her legs
in anything but stockings, but the pants were surprisingly comfortable. Thankfully she’d brought along her travel boots, so
she didn’t have to borrow anyone’s shoes. She pulled the pant legs over her boots, then rolled them up twice so they wouldn’t
drag on the ground.

As soon as the clothes were properly fastened, she stepped around the screen and sat at the small dressing table. Quickly
she wound her hair up into a knot, then tugged the cap down onto her head. She stood in front of the chipped mirror to get
a look at herself.

The masculine clothes hung on her but did nothing to hide her feminine curves. Her waist might not be perfectly accented,
but the trousers did not hide her rounded hips, and the suspenders held up the pants but highlighted her breasts. In the light
of day, there was no way she’d pass for a man, but by the shrouded evening light, one might not notice with only a cursory
glance.

She made her way out to the front of the inn and caught up with Max near the stable. As she stepped into the barn, the color
drained from Max’s perfect face as he took in her new look. He visibly swallowed.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. She smoothed the fabric at her hips, then crossed her arms over her chest.

“There is a reason women wear dresses,” he growled. He shifted his stance. The stable boy also stood gawking at her. Max popped
the boy on the back of his head. “Keep your eyes to yourself.” Then he turned and headed out the door.

The woman inside her wanted desperately to smile. Max
was normally so charming, so smooth, she sometimes had difficulty seeing
past the debonair role to the man beneath. Until this moment, she had not gauged the depths of his desire. She knew she had
intrigued him, knew he wouldn’t say no to a dalliance. But she’d been uncertain if he craved her as she craved him, or if
she’d merely been a convenience. Just now, however, she’d seen pure lust in his gaze. Desire pooled through her body in response.

But Agnes’s life was in danger. The Chosen One had stolen the elixir from both of the other two guardians, and Agnes had all
that was left. Sabine could not afford to be distracted and risk failure in this quest. Firming her resolve, she waited by
the gate until Max had collected the items from the stable boy.

The church sat at the very top of the cliff overlooking Lulworth Cove. Walking along the darkened road, all was quiet with
only their breath and footfalls to break the silence. They began their climb and immediately she was thankful for the clothes
Max had brought her. Her dress would have increased the challenge tenfold. The rocky hill would not be easy to navigate in
sunlight. But with only a lantern and the moonlight, it was treacherous. As they climbed, the wind became so frigid, she might
have frozen without the pants covering her legs.

The farther they climbed toward the church, the nearer they came to the coastline. Suddenly the wind picked up and wailed
around them. The salt air brushed against her face, leaving a stickiness in its wake. Stray hairs escaped the confines of
her bun and whipped around her face. The cottage she had shared with her aunts in Essex was near the ocean. The scent of saltwater
brought a wave of nostalgia over her, and she found herself longing for the simple life she had led in their village.

Max carried the lantern and walked in front of her, holding his other arm behind him to help guide her along. His grasp was
firm and warm, and she had no doubt that he would catch her if she stumbled. Still, she concentrated on her steps so she would
not fall. The rocks and cratered landscape beneath her boots made the trek awkward.

Eventually they reached the top and found themselves on a trail that led toward the hollow ruins of the old chapel. The stones
to their left sat in piles as if the wall had simply melted into the earth. The grass, uncut for many years, stood long and
reedy and clung to their pants as they made their way to the back of the churchyard. A rusted iron fence lined the cemetery
and the aging gravestones.

“We’ll look here first and then go inside if we need to,” Max said.

“What are we looking for?” she asked.

“You tell me. You’re the one from Atlantis. If you see something that looks like it’s from your homeland, then we’ve found
it.”

“That’s so helpful,” she said.

Waves crashed on the rocks below them. Because of the darkness, it was difficult to determine precisely how high up they were
above the surging ocean below.

“You Atlanteans seem to favor cliffside coastlines,” he said. “I found the map in a cave at the base of a similar cliff.”

“I suppose that after they watched their homeland sink into the ocean, they wanted to be as high above the sea as possible,”
Sabine said. “How did you know where to look for it?” she asked.

“Determination and a heavy dose of luck.” Max laughed. “I had learned about some of the early villages of the Atlanteans,
and I went and spent an enormous
amount of time in the pubs. Not to mention a hefty sum buying blokes drinks to keep them
talking. One night I ran into the right fellow, and he said something so simple, he probably didn’t even know how important
the information was.”

Because Max didn’t always act the part, she often forgot he was a scholar of Atlantis, someone who’d studied her people and
their ways and had worked extremely hard to find their greatest artifact. There was something attractive about his dedication.

“What did he tell you?” Sabine asked.

“That people had never found the map because the cave disappeared. His words made no sense to me for a long time. But then
I happened to be reading an old text and came across a reference to a certain cave that, because of the ocean’s tides, only
appears every now and again. I tracked the tides and”—he shrugged—“well, we know how that one turned out.”

After stepping over the broken gate, Max asked, “What have you heard of this area?”

“Only what I was told in childhood stories. The first of my ancestors came to shore here, and they built this village.”

“So these people here”—he motioned to the graves surrounding them—“they are Atlanteans as well?”

She stepped over a broken tree limb that had fallen to the ground. “I believe so. The village changed a lot during the Crusades.
But this,” she said, motioning to the dilapidated church to their right, “was always my people’s chapel.”

“A temple to Poseidon?” he asked.

She smiled. “No. A chapel just as any other in England would be.”

They continued walking through the cemetery, trying
their best to avoid walking directly on the graves. The tombstones weren’t
laid out in a grid, though, so that was a challenge. One moment, the wind whipped through the trees, shaking the leaves and
emitting a low howling noise, and then it would settle and silence would shroud them. The combination added an eerie feel
to the darkened night. Gooseflesh scattered up her arms, across her neck, and then down her body.

“We could get arrested,” she said, thinking of a recent article in the
Times
Lydia had told her about.

“For what?” Max asked.

“Stealing bodies for medical research.” Sabine looked behind them, but in the darkness she could not see anything but shadows.
“They reported in the
Times
just last week about two men who were arrested doing this very thing.”

Max stopped walking and turned to face her. He chuckled. “Yes, but in London where there are fresh bodies to steal. No one
has been buried in this cemetery in nearly seventy years.” He tapped the shovel on the tombstone below them, and the sound
echoed across the hill. “There is nothing valuable for medical research here, except perhaps the two of us. Besides, I’m fairly
certain we’re the only two people mad enough to climb up that hill in the dark.”

She glanced around them to again ensure that they were alone, then nodded.

“Take a deep breath, Sabine. We’ll make it through the evening unscathed. I promise.”

As they moved through the grounds, the earth shifted beneath them. She was careful to match her steps with Max’s so she would
not fall. She scanned the names on the grave markers, hoping that one would sound familiar or trigger something, but nothing
came to mind.

“Why are we not looking inside the church?” she asked.

“Ah, churches are precarious hiding places.” His deep voice rumbled through the still night. “Political power shifts. Factions
within the church rise and fall. If you have a nosy parishioner offer to dust the rectory, anything could happen. No, churches
are useful for hiding treasures short-term. But if you wanted to protect something, keep it safe for a very long time, what
would you do with it?” he asked.

She thought for a moment before answering. “Probably bury it,” she said.

“Precisely.” He nodded.

She scanned the tombstones as they walked, searching for anything that resembled a dove on a carving or a relief, perhaps
even something in the Atlantean language that would translate to “dove.” She recognized some of the surnames, but nothing
that indicated it would lead to the dove.

Max walked slightly ahead of her, but close enough that they could share the lantern’s light. He brushed grass away with his
boot so she could better see the tombstones. They had moved through the entire cemetery when they finally got to a grave resting
against the back fence. The waves were louder here, but Sabine still couldn’t see the cliff’s edge.

Something rustled in the shrubs behind them. They both stopped walking, and Max reached around to pull Sabine close. This
near to him, she could feel the steady thump of his heart beating beneath the warmth of his chest. He held the lantern out
in front of them and turned the knob to widen the swath of light.

“Hello,” he called. With his other hand, he handed her the shovel, then retrieved his pistol.

The rustling increased. He aimed his gun, just as a large doe walked out from behind the bush. She looked directly at them,
chewing. Her eyes glowed in the lantern’s light.

Sabine sighed as relief washed over her like warm water.

“Damn deer,” Max muttered as he put the gun back in his waistband.

Together they turned back to the grave, and Max held the lantern up so that Sabine could read the name. “I think this is the
last one,” he said.

But there was nothing remarkable about this grave either. She glanced back at the church.

Together they walked toward the chapel. “We could go in there tonight,” Max said, indicating the church. “But without being
able to see clearly, and the risk of rotting boards…”

“It seems unsafe,” she finished his thought. Still, there was a deadline to consider, but that wouldn’t matter much if she
fell and broke her neck trying to maneuver through a dilapidated church. “Perhaps we should come back in the daylight. It’s
only a few hours away.” Then as if the mere thought of falling caused it, she tripped, her ankle turning beneath her.

Max caught her arm and prevented her from hitting the ground. “You all right?”

“I’ll be fine.” She placed her hand on the cold ground to give herself leverage, and she felt something hard beneath her fingertips.
“Wait a minute,” she said.

Max moved closer, bending next to where she knelt. The lantern’s soft glow illuminated an old grave marker,
lying flat on
the ground, mostly buried by overgrown weeds and grass.

“‘William Travers,’” Sabine read aloud. She shook her head. “That doesn’t sound familiar either.”

“Move the grass aside,” he said. “There’s more written on the stone.”

She did as he bade, pulling up grass and weeds.

Once he’d moved the light closer, the glow illuminated the entirety of the stone.

“There. See? That’s a bird,” Max said, pointing to a rough image carved beneath the dates. “Perhaps even a dove.”

Excitement coursed through her. “Yes, it is.”

Max handed her the lantern, then reached for the shovel.

She grabbed his arm to still him. “What are you going to do?”

“Dig up the grave,” he said simply. “Sabine, do you suppose we’re to whack the Chosen One on the head with the tombstone?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Remember, you said yourself you’d bury something to hide it. And perhaps there is no Mr.
Travers, and this is merely a false marker.”

The shovel hit the old earth, slicing through the ground as if it were nothing more than warmed butter. Sabine concentrated
on holding the lantern to provide enough light for Max’s work, but she kept an ear out for any sounds around them. That deer
had set her on edge and heightened her sensitivity to noise. But the only sounds were the wind, the hiss of the waves pounding
the cliff below, and Max’s digging. Soil mixed with chalk as he turned the ground over in a pile opposite Sabine.

Max stepped on the shovel to leverage it deeper and hit
wood. “Perhaps I was wrong, and this is an actual grave. I believe
we’ve found Mr. Travers.” Max looked up at her and grinned. “Hope he didn’t die of the plague.”

Sabine eyed him. “You’re not amusing.” Though she smiled in spite of herself.

He flashed her a brilliant smile. “I think I am. And I’ll have you know many others do as well.” He kept digging, removing
the dirt that covered the wooden coffin. “Particularly others of the female variety.”

“I don’t believe your sense of humor is what attracts them,” she said tartly.

“My rugged good looks then? My virility?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, that must be it. Watching you wield that shovel has me positively swooning.” With her hand, she
pretended to fan herself.

“You were looking rather peaked.”

“Finish up,” she said.

It took him another five minutes to finish digging around the coffin, then he fell to his knees. “Get down here with me so
I can see what I’m doing.”

Together they knelt above the grave. She held the lantern close as he scraped dirt away from the coffin. Sabine tried to ignore
the thundering in her heart. She’d seen enough dead bodies in the last couple of days to last a lifetime. Yet here she was
about to see another one, and this one without any skin. She shivered in trepidation. It seemed wrong to violate a man’s final
resting place, despite their good reasons.