Pembroke Martin wiped sweat and dirt off his forehead, surveying the progress.
“Not bad,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “But not nearly enough.” Not if he wanted to return to Maggie by his personal deadline.
The farmer who owned the land, and had stumbled over the horde of Anglo Saxon artifacts, was a constant source of irritation. If Martin had been in charge of the dig, the man would be gently, but firmly escorted off the site whenever he showed his face.
Instead, Geoffrey Drummond-Doddington, the archaeologist in charge of the dig, fawned over him, to the point where Martin had to walk away before he made some remark he could not take back. Martin had decided from the first day that he would direct his focus on the students working the dig.
He caught the edge of the pit and hopped in, moving to the first two girls. They both stared at him, with a familiar look; one Martin had spent years ignoring when he was a professor at Oxford. He picked up the old habit quickly, smiling at the girls.
“What are we working on?”
“A small box, Professor.” Tina, the youngest of the girls, probably in her first year, sounded breathless when she spoke. “It looks like a seal box.”
Excitement overrode any discomfort, and he crouched next to them, picked up one of the brushes and started to gently, slowly push away the rich soil. The box was larger than any he had ever seen, and his excitement grew as he started to uncover the enamel decoration on the top.
Martin should call over Geoffrey, but he knew the man would shoo the girls away, and take all the credit for himself. He was beyond tired of the man’s ego.
“Help me with the rest of it,” he said, keeping his voice low. “And look bored.”
Both girls nodded, adopting an air of such tedium, they looked like they were on the verge of falling asleep. Martin almost laughed, but he ducked his head and joined them, his gaze focused on the box.
It took the better part of an hour before they finally brushed away the last of the stubborn soil. Martin’s hand stilled when he saw the symbol on the top of the box.
It can’t be...
He turned to Kate, the older girl. “I want you to go and fetch some water for us, and my bag. It’s in the small tent on the end.”
Tina stared at him. “You found something, didn’t you, Professor?”
“I want to check before I make any determination. Hurry, Kate, but don’t look as if you’re in a hurry.”
She grinned at his contrary statement, and did exactly as he asked. To Geoffrey, she came across as another faceless student, there only because the university was funding a good portion of the dig.
Martin turned his attention back to the box, carefully picking it up. He already knew the answer; he had seen this symbol countless times in his career.
He set it down when Kate brought his bag and an armful of bottled water, accepting one of the bottles. He drank half of it in one go. Despite the cold breeze, digging in the pits was warm work. The girls drank as greedily, taking the time to wipe sweat off, and redo ponytails. Then they looked at him, obviously eager to keep going.
“Give me one minute, ladies.” Martin pulled out his notebook.
Years of research, references, cross references, and notes filled the worn, leather-covered book. He flipped through until he found his notes on Yorkshire. There, in the middle of the third page, was a drawing of the same symbol, in faded enamel, on the lid of the box.
He stared at the box again, shaking his head. He had never heard of a seal box being used by Constantine—
“What do we have here, Pembroke?”
Martin flinched at his first name. He knew that Geoffrey delighted in using it—and had since they were at Eton together.
“These girls found an artifact, and I was assisting—”
“Without informing me?” He jumped down into the pit, and made his way to Martin. For all his pompous airs, he was a careful and respectful digger. “Show me.”
“They will show you,” Martin said. “The girls found it, and I want them given credit.”
“Of course.” Geoffrey waved him off, and crouched next to the girls. “Let us see what it is you’ve...” His voice faded, and Martin knew he had recognized the symbol. “This isn’t possible.”
“I thought the same.”
He looked up at Martin. “We need to keep this under wraps, until I can investigate further, see if this is an aberration, or more likely, a fake.”
“Of course. I want to be part of the investigation.” He raised his hand when Geoffrey started to argue. “My expertise will help, and I will only ask to be part of the process to the end. The credit will be all yours.” Martin wanted nothing to do with the inevitable chaos if the box proved to be authentic.
“Jolly good.” Geoffrey saluted him, and Martin fought the smile threatening. “Shall we get on?”
“I need to take care of one thing, and I will join you.” He was talking to the back of Geoffrey’s head, but he had witnesses who could confirm that he had spoken before he left.
He needed to talk to Maggie.
That last thought stopped him in his tracks. He had never needed to talk, or see, or connect with anyone, not the way he did with his sassy, redheaded Yank.
I am madly, irrevocably in love with you, Maggie Mulgrew.
Martin allowed that to fill him, and it washed away the tension, the aches from too many days bent over, and the deeper ache in his heart. An ache, he now understood, that had nothing to do with the sometimes dodgy food, and everything to do with Maggie.
He moved faster, almost running by the time he reached his tent. His mobile was buried under papers, and several chunks of rock. By the time he finally unearthed it, his hands were shaking.
“Fatigue, mate,” he muttered. “Add sleep to the to-do list.”
He tapped out the antique shop’s number, knowing Maggie would be there this time of day. When a male voice answered, he almost dropped his phone.
“The Ash Leaf, how can I help?”
It took a moment, but Martin recognized the voice. “Spencer?”
“Martin—is that you? Mags is with about eight customers right now, if you want to hang on.”
Martin wanted to smack his forehead. He had forgotten about the Christmas festival. They must be waist deep in tourists.
“Have her ring me when she has a moment. I just wanted to update—”
“Hold on, she’s about to yank the phone out of my hand.”
“Martin?” Maggie’s low voice filled his ear. “How are you? Have you found anything earth-shaking? I miss you,” she whispered. “When are you coming home?”
Home. He closed his eyes, his heart pounding. She was home, and heaven help him, he wanted to be there right now, looking into her crystal blue eyes, always on the edge of amusement. He missed her laughter, her scent, her presence.
“Maggie—I’m afraid I will be staying longer. We discovered something that may change the history of this area.”
“Whoa—that’s huge. Of course you have to stay, even if I want you here. An extra pair of hands would be helpful.” He could almost see her smiling, and winking at him. “I want every detail when you get home.” She paused, and he heard the noise in the background, of what must have been a heaving crowd. “Stay safe, Martin. Let me know when you’ll be back.”
Tonight, he wanted to say. Just hearing her voice intensified the ache in his heart.
“You will be the first, love. I miss you, Maggie Mulgrew.”
“Oh, Martin.” He heard the tears in her voice. “I wish I could be there with you.”
“Next time. I will enjoy digging through the past with you.”
She let out a watery laugh. “You do know how to romance a girl.”
“I try.” He cleared his throat, and took off his glasses. “I do want to have supper with you, Maggie. Not a nip down to the pub, but a proper supper, with suit and tie on my end.”
“A tie? Do you own one?”
He burst out laughing. “I believe I still have one from my uni days. Please, clear one night just for us, love.”
“I will. Come home soon, Martin.”
“As soon as I can.” He was already counting the minutes. “Go, Maggie. I can hear people clamoring for you.”
“Being popular does have its drawbacks.” She let out another laugh. “Spencer came in to help, and three hours later, he’s still here. I will nip down to the pub with him, as a thank you.”
“You’ve a good heart, Maggie Mulgrew.” Martin cleared his throat, and lightened his voice. “I will ring you again in the next couple of days. I should have a better timetable by then.”
“Okay.” She paused, and he barely heard her next words. “I love you, Martin.”
He stilled. “Maggie—”
“You don’t have to say anything.” She rushed to speak over him. “I just wanted to let you know, in case—I wanted to say it, out loud. I’ve been thinking it every time we’re together, and I don’t expect you to feel the same, but I needed—”
“I love you, Maggie.” He smiled at her sharp intake. “I wanted to tell you first.”
“So, I win.”
He burst out laughing. “There’s my girl. Go and sell an expensive antique to every person in your shop, and I will talk to you soon.”
“Bye, Martin.”
He ended the call, and stared at the mobile.
She loved him.
Martin wanted to dance around the site, shouting it to everyone. That would guarantee a speedy removal. Instead, he made a decision; one that would change both of their lives.
He was going to ask Maggie to marry him.