The steamship Endeavor creaked and groaned. They’d been just a few days out to sea when Evy awoke from a nap feeling as though she had been adrift amid moving mountains and canyons. She couldn’t eat much, she couldn’t sleep, and last night Rogan had tied her into her bunk to keep her from falling. She was cranky and miserable.
Evy watched as the cabin door opened and Rogan entered, looking offensively cheerful and strong, and carrying a small tray. He encountered her gaze and smiled disconcertingly.
“At your service, madam,” he said with a bow. “I’ve brought my true love some food.”
“Go away—I think I’m going to be sick again.”
“Optimism, my little rosebud, always optimism.” He set the tray down. “Just a wee bit of soup and a dry biscuit.”
“No—”
“You’ll feel stronger after you’ve had something to eat.”
The small cabin dipped and rose, tilted, sank, and steadied again with an endless sickening rhythm, and the soup in the thick china mug slopped over the rim onto the tray.
“You can count your blessings, sweet, that we’ve had wonderful weather until now.”
“We’ve had nothing but ups and downs since last night.”
Rogan grinned. “Well, I warned you, didn’t I?” he said cheerfully.
“Where’s Mrs. Croft?” she moaned.
“Sick. In her cabin. Poor creature. I’ve just left her.”
She turned her head and looked into his earthy brown eyes, alive with mischievous good humor. “You’re looking after Mrs. Croft, too?”
“Alas! But aside from the old plum’s embarrassment at being down, I think I’ve won her eternal affection.”
Rogan sat down beside her. “You’ll soon settle down and get sea legs, as they say. Captain says we’ve good weather ahead too. Here, take a little sip—that’s it.”
The uneasy motion of the ship seemed to be lessening, or perhaps it was true that the soup had benefited her.
As the days passed, the weather did clear. At times the sea was as smooth and glittering as topaz, and the nights unveiled a shimmering display. On a number of occasions, Evy prepared herself to tell Rogan she was going to have his baby, but each time she broached the subject, something always seemed to interrupt. Mrs. Croft scolded her, wearing a perpetual, worried frown between her gray brows.
“Evy, dear, you’ve simply got to tell him. There’s no cause now to keep it secret. There’s no turning back even if you wanted. It’s straight to the Cape we’re going.”
“Yes, yes, I know, and I’m so miserable in not telling him.”
“Then why aren’t you doing it, dearie? Waiting won’t make it any easier now.”
They were on deck, for it was a pleasant afternoon with a clear sky and calm sea. Evy sat on a chair on the shady side of the ship sipping tea while Mrs. Croft attended her embroidery.
Evy made up her mind. She looked across the deck to where Rogan was having a conversation with the captain of the ship. She watched him go down to the cabin, probably to get his books and maps.
Evy stood. “I’ll tell him now,” she said firmly.
“That’s the way. Get it out in the open. He’ll soon forget all about your itty-bitty secret and be the beaming father-to-be.” Mrs. Croft was the one who beamed, looking at Evy with an endearing smile. She turned back to her work, embroidering the baby blanket.
Evy walked through the narrow, dim passageway and entered their cabin.
Rogan turned his head. “Captain wants us to dine with him tonight. Are you up to it?”
“That’s very nice of him.” She stopped short and looked at him with a moment of alarm. “What are you doing?”
He pulled a trunk out from under the bunk and was opening it.
“Odd … I can’t seem to find the trekking book written by Mornay’s father, Bertrand. I thought I’d packed it—”
She hurried to stop him, her hand on the lid as he began to lift the trunk lid.
“It’s not in here, Rogan.”
He looked at her, a curious gleam in his eyes.
“All right.”
She offered a quick smile and drew her hand away, smoothing her hair. Under his gaze she felt her cheeks warming. She turned away, casually, she hoped, and began glancing about the small cabin. “Let’s see … where might you have mislaid the Mornay book …”
“I’m wondering now if I might have been in too much a rush to include it in the box of books. By the way, what do you have in here, gold or the Black Diamond?”
The casual talk of his books, followed by the smooth reference back to the trunk and her reaction when he’d started to open it, brought a qualm. She was irritated with herself for reacting so defensively. Even if he saw the baby things, she could say they were gifts for Arcilla’s and Alice’s new babies.
She turned to look at him, trying to appear amused.
“The Black Diamond? Yes, darling, it was me all along who stole it and concealed it.”
His mouth turned into a brief smile. He looked down at the trunk, his hand toying with the lid, yet not lifting it. He looked at her again. “Now, what could be in here, my sweet? I’m almost afraid to look … Instead of the diamond, maybe it’s the head of Great-great-aunt Hortense.”
“Very funny. I don’t know why you’re making so much of the trunk.”
“Because you nearly had a fit when you saw me about to open it. It cannot be feminine—what’s the word?—modesty, over bits of lace and such?”
“Don’t be silly.” She was getting upset. She walked over to the trunk again and dusted an imaginary speck of dust from the lid. “You’re making much out of nothing, Rogan. Would you mind either opening it, or putting it back under the bunk please? It’s already too crowded in here without it sitting here staring at us.”
He smiled lazily. “I’ll open it. You have me extremely curious.”
She shrugged and folded her arms. “Go right ahead.”
“Thanks, I will. It’s always pleasant that two people married, sleeping in the same bed, have no undue secrets between them, don’t you think?”
She fluttered her lashes. “I’m pleased you see it that way.”
He opened the trunk lid. She held her breath. He stared without saying a word.
She bit her lip, feeling the heat growing in her face. Now what?
Slowly he removed baby’s booties, gowns, blankets, diapers, baby powder, baby lotion, baby bibs—
He held up the baby bib with an embroidered bear. He looked at her.
As she looked back, she saw his eyes darken with something that was uncommonly like anger.
“What is all this, Evy?”
Her throat went dry. She had imagined that keeping the secret from him until they were far at sea would upset him, but what she immediately felt frightened her with its reality. Gone was the warmth of passion and teasing amusement that he so often displayed when showering her with attention. She now saw something she had never seen before, and it caused her heart to constrict.
“I asked you an honest question, Evy, and I expect an answer. Or is that too much to hope for?”
She gasped. “What do you mean by that?”
He pulled out blankets and diapers and held them toward her. “Wasn’t this the trunk you begged to take, even though we already had one too many?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t see why that should suddenly make you angry.”
“Don’t you?”
“No,” she fibbed, and grabbing the things from his hands, she tossed them back into the trunk.
“Why did you find it necessary to bring a trunk full of baby things?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“If it was I wouldn’t be asking.”
“You’re being insulting—”
“All I want is the answer. I think I deserve the truth, though you, evidently, think not.”
“Rogan,” she gasped. “Don’t say that.” Her eyes pleaded with his. She suddenly felt sick and swayed slightly. He caught her, and she held to him, shutting her eyes, feeling miserable. He sat her down in the chair and stood looking down at her. His face was grave and his eyes cool and unsympathetic.
She pushed her hair from her neck and swallowed.
Very calmly he poured a small glass of water and handed it to her, still watching her evenly as she drank. He studied her like a physician might a stranger.
“I’m waiting,” he said.
“They’re gifts,” she murmured, looking down at the glass.
“Gifts?” His voice was expressionless.
“Yes, for Arcilla and Peter—for Baby Charles, or have you forgotten you’re an uncle now?”
“What I want to know is if I’m going to be a father.”
She finished the water in the glass so she wouldn’t need to answer at once.
“And some of the things are for Alice and Derwent. This is their third, I think—or is it their fourth?”
“Are you pregnant, Evy?”
The blunt but quiet question was such that she could not avoid it. Her eyes faltered, and she set the glass down.
“Yes.”
Her voice was so quiet that if he hadn’t responded by a small intake of breath, she might have thought he hadn’t heard.
The moments ticked by excruciatingly slowly.
The awful silence seemed to her to be laying brick after brick, raising a wall between them. Somehow she had to get through to him, to stop the wall from coming together, but how? It all seemed too late. As she realized this, she could see more clearly how foolish she had been. In wanting to have her way, no matter what the cost, she had put their relationship last.
She began to talk. He held up a hand to stop her rush of words. “How long have you known?
What would she say? In a moment she saw the obvious string of deceit and knew he would as well. Was it to be the truth now, or did she continue with another lie?
“When you went to see Dr. Tisdale?” he asked.
She let out a breath and lowered herself on the berth. She nodded. “Yes. But, Rogan, I—”
“So that’s why you acted so strangely on the ride in Grimston Woods. Now I see.”
“I was going to tell you then, honestly I was, but—”
“But you decided to withhold it from me because you had other plans? You wanted to come to South Africa, and you didn’t trust me to handle the truth.”
“That isn’t true. I did trust you, but—”
“But. You didn’t tell me.”
“I knew you’d insist I stay at Rookswood. I had to come! I had counted on this trip for so long I couldn’t risk losing it.”
“So you risked our relationship because you couldn’t trust me to at least try to do what was right for you, for us? I see. You trusted your own decisions and put our baby at risk.”
She sucked in her breath and stared at him. “Put the baby at risk? That’s uncalled for, Rogan! That’s completely unfair—”
“Well, what do you call it? Your plans and wishes mean more than mine or the child’s safety. You may not understand this even yet, but we’re going into danger. I set aside my better wisdom to let you come now because I knew how much it meant to you, but at no time did I ever fool myself into thinking there wouldn’t be risk, a cost with this decision. We’re headed into war, Evy. And you’ve decided nothing, not even our trust of each other, or the baby’s safety, means as much to you as meeting Jakob van Buren and learning a lot of musty history about your mother! I’ll tell you this.” And his eyes snapped with anger. “You’ve emerged more like the willful Katie than you have Mrs. Grace Havering or Vicar Edmund. Your careless indifference proves your relationship is not so vital after all with the God whom you’ve always said meant more to you than anything else.”
Evy slapped him. Then her hand flew to her mouth. She stared at him. But soon the tears dimmed her vision, and she could no longer see him. The last glimpse she had was a cool anger mingled with rejection.
“Can’t handle reality, Evy?”
She turned away, trying to hold back the emotional devastation.
“Well, you’ve gotten your way, Evy. You’ve made certain of that—we can’t turn back to England. Now you’ll have to bear the burden you’ve created. When we reach Bulawayo, Dr. Jakob will be all yours—for just as long as you want.”
She whirled. “What do you mean by that?”
“Just what I said. You’ve gambled everything we had going for us to sit at his table. You preferred Jakob to me. Now you can have him, his mission station, and anything else there you want.”
“Rogan, you’re not deserting me?”
“Don’t sound so melodramatic, my dear Mrs. Chantry. I’m merely going to live up to your expectations. I’m an adventurer, remember? I can’t be trusted with some of the most important information affecting our lives. So I’ll be proceeding with my expedition to find Henry’s gold—for as long as it takes me!”
She searched his face, seeing a hardness and stubbornness she had never come up against before. This was the Rogan Chantry others came up against, but he had never treated her this way.
“You blame me for everything,” she said bitterly. “Well, what of you? You’re allowing your hurt pride and anger to make you stubborn and … and … and yes, immature! You’re running away!”
His eyes narrowed. “Hurt pride? Maybe. But maybe just a realization that when a relationship isn’t based on mutual trust, there isn’t much to work with. You didn’t trust me. That, Evy, has damaged our relationship more than anything you may say now. Immaturity on my part? All right, have it your way. If I had known you thought all this about me when I dropped everything at Fort Salisbury and came rushing back to Rookswood, I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”
She swallowed the pain cramping her throat. Everything was falling apart around her. She had never dreamed he would react this way. She had thought he would be irritated she hadn’t told him, but not take it so devastatingly hard.
“So,” she said with trembling lips, “you’re—leaving me—and my baby.”
“Our baby, Evy. You’ve seemed to ignore that. The child you carry is as much mine as yours. I’ll be around. But according to your own plans, you’ll have everything you need with Dr. Jakob at the mission station. It won’t make much difference if I’m away.”
“I never said that, Rogan—”
“You said that louder than words when you decided it was really none of my affair that you were pregnant. When you set out to deceive me, so you could have your way. I don’t think you’re in love with me at all, if you want my opinion.”
“What!”
“You heard me. A woman who loved her husband would have run with joy to tell him she was expecting his baby.”
“But—you intimated you didn’t want a baby now. You shrugged it off and made light comments. You—”
“Then you don’t really know me, do you? What I said about someone else’s child is not the same as I think about ours.”
“You’re being unfair, cruel. You’ve been hurt, and you want to hurt back. I—”
“Well, you won’t need to suffer from my cruelty and indifference any longer.”
“Where are you going?” she cried as he went to the cabin door.
“To leave you in peace,” he said flatly.
She went after him, taking hold of his arm. “Rogan, can’t we work through this?”
He looked at her for a long moment. “No, not now. I’m not ready to forgive you yet.”
“Rogan!”
“I’m being honest. Painfully honest. You’ve angered and hurt me more than your glib ability to understand. The fact that you simply want to kiss and make up right now tells me you don’t really understand the damage to our trust, our oneness. And right now, I just don’t have it in me to get over it. Someday, maybe, but not now.”
Flabbergasted, she simply stared. She could not be hearing this. He opened the door and went out.
Evy stood there, devastated. She covered her face with her palms and burst into tears. She sank to the bunk, burying her face in the pillow, and wept. “This can’t be happening. He’ll change his mind. Before we reach Capetown he’ll change his mind. I’ll make him understand. He’ll forgive me and realize that—”
Realize what?
The indifference from Rogan continued through dinner and breakfast the next morning. Not that Rogan treated her badly. Oh, far from it. He was courteous enough, too courteous, especially when she wasn’t feeling well, but he remained distant, his emotions far from her reach. Their conversations continued much as normal, except he appeared detached, apparently less interested in the little things that he had once paid attention to. He was no longer warm and playful with her as he had been, but grave, and she missed the Rogan she thought she knew and had fallen in love with. She was depressed, angry with herself for what she’d done. If she’d only had the good sense that came so naturally to Aunt Grace and Mrs. Osgood. Mrs. Osgood’s words came back to haunt her. “You must tell him as soon as possible,” she had said. Even Mrs. Croft had seen it.
Sometimes she thought that if she tried a little harder she might possibly break through his barrier, but even when he held her in his arms, his emotions were kept behind armor, or so it seemed. Evy also withdrew and pretended her own cool indifference, building a structure of defense against the pain his behavior brought to her. It all seemed a vicious cycle that led nowhere, except to frustration and emotional exhaustion.
He’s stubborn. She narrowed her eyes. He’s trying to punish me. I never realized just how stubborn Rogan Chantry can be! I’ll show him I don’t need him at all.
Unaware that an order had been issued from the captain for passengers to stay below, she left the cabin and made her way up the companionway steps onto the deck, greeted by refreshing wind and an expanse of gray sea.
She breathed in deeply and watched the sun setting behind a reddish-gray horizon. She noticed the clouds, but the sea was still calm. She watched the sunset and prayed for Rogan and herself, but after a while, she became aware of increased rolling and pitching as the wind seemed to be strengthening. As the ocean swells seemed to be rising rather swiftly, she turned back toward the companionway steps but found herself grasping hold of the ship’s rails as the deck beneath her feet rolled steeply. She feared she wouldn’t reach the companionway in time when she saw the first waves starting to reach the height of the deck. She was grasping a post when she spotted Rogan rushing up from the steps onto the deck. A look of relief swept over his face when he saw her, before settling into frustration. The wind whipped his peacoat, and he scowled beneath his hat, somehow keeping his balance as he strode toward her. He latched hold of both her and the post, and they swayed together with the rolling of the deck as she felt the wind and cold sea flowing over her ankles and rising, then sucking her backward as it withdrew. Panic began gripping her as she clung to Rogan.
“Are you mad?” he cried in the wind. “Why did you come up here against the captain’s orders?”
“I … I didn’t know—”
“You could have been washed overboard!”
She mistook his fervency for anger and felt even more miserable. With waves of self-pity washing over her heart, she cried back, “That should please you!”
“Don’t be absurd!” He clasped hold of her and waited a moment. “Now,” he shouted, then they fled toward the companionway door before another swell flooded the deck. She went down the steps, and he quickly closed the bolt as some water splashed in and dribbled down.
Mrs. Croft was waiting at the bottom of the steps, wringing her hands. “Thank God you’re safe!”
Soon Evy was safely back in the cabin with Rogan, and Mrs. Croft had returned to the cabin she shared with two other ladies who were traveling companions. Evy and Rogan were both wind-tossed and wet. He held her tightly, almost fiercely.
“I might have lost you,” he gritted.
She winced from the strength with which he held her. Was he angry? He looked at her, narrowing his eyes, sea water dripping from his hair. She was confused. Was it anger, or was he actually frightened that he might have lost her?
As she looked up at him, trying to see beneath his armor, he released her and whipped off his hat and coat, turning away from her scrutinizing gaze. He grabbed a towel and dried his face.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t hear about the order to stay below.”
“It’s my fault. I should have made certain you knew.”
The tense silence grew between them. Her heart thudded. She longed to throw her arms around him and vow her undying love, begging him to forgive her for hurting him over the secrecy of their baby. She tried to speak but bit her lip, finding such words stuck in her throat.
“The captain had heart failure sometime this afternoon,” Rogan said woodenly. “We found him on the floor in his cabin.”
“Oh no, how dreadful for him!”
“For all of us. I doubt he’ll pull through.”
“Then who will take over?”
“The first mate. And there’s been another change. We’re headed for a stop at the nearest port. I hope it’s short. This brings a delay we could certainly do without.” He tossed the towel on the stand and looked at her. His gaze took her in with one sweeping glance, her windblown hair and her wet frock. His expression changed to one that she could not easily read. He walked over to her.
“Feeling all right?”
She looked at him quickly, hopefully, searching his face for what she needed to find, but it was smooth and blank. The emotion that had enveloped him only minutes ago had ebbed.
“I’ll be fine.”
His hand dropped from her arm, and he turned away, reaching for a dry tunic. “Better get out of those wet clothes while I’m gone,” he said flatly. “I’ll see what I can dig up to eat from Cook—if I can bring back the treasure without spilling it all. That sea is getting rougher by the minute.”
Evy looked after him, her hopes wilting. The ship’s timbers creaked and groaned like an arthritic giant. She wouldn’t give up. Rogan must still care! Had not the fear she’d seen in his eyes told her so, or had she imagined what she desired to see?
The storm eased during the night, but Mrs. Croft still remained upset when she came to Evy the next morning.
She entered with a sigh, reaching down to massage her knees. “One must learn to stiffen the wobblers. I came near being washed overboard myself yester eve before I found Master Rogan.”
“Then you sent him on deck to find me?” She kept the disappointment from her voice, but Mrs. Croft knew her too well to be deceived, for Evy could see the look of sympathy in her sharp, beady eyes.
“Tush, it was me, dearie. When I didn’t find you in the cabin, I knew you must’ve gone on deck as usual and not heard the warning to stay below.”
“Well, I’m truly sorry you got knocked around searching for Rogan.”
“Nary a thing to worry about. Seems we’re to dock this afternoon at some heathen port called Tangier. There’s talk of a new English captain, or even a change of ships, for some who want to get speedily on with the voyage.” Her tufted brows lowered in irritation as she peered down at Evy over a pointed nose. “Tangier, my foot. A nest of vipers. Thieves on the prowl, I should say. A mistake getting off in a heathen place like that. I thought Africa was dangerous enough.” She looked at Evy with shifty eyes. “You won’t be having any outrageous idea about going ashore now, will you, dearie?”
Tangier … Casablanca … Evy felt a ripple of excitement dance along her spine. She looked off dreamily. “How thrilling to visit a bazaar.”
“Now, now—”
“Aha, Mrs. Croft, no use to prickle and frown like that. Tangier is perfectly safe, I assure you.”
“Safe, my foot. No place’s safe outside Grimston Way, I’ll be bound.”
“Naturally I want to go ashore.” Evy heaved a sigh and looked around the small cabin. She threw up her hands. “I’m sick of these four walls closing in on me tighter and tighter. I want to see a few things while I’ve the chance to get my feet on solid ground again.”
Mrs. Croft’s voice changed to a whiny protest. “But, dearie, with your being in the delicate way as you are, don’t you think it’s prudent to stay here in a nice deck chair?”
“No,” Evy smiled sweetly. “I don’t. I’m going ashore to shop. There’s bound to be wonderfully exciting things at a bazaar. Spices, perfumes, silks—”
“Beggars and thieves, I daresay.”
“We’ll have Rogan to escort us.”
Mrs. Croft tilted her gray head with a birdlike look. “Master Rogan’s not likely to want you roaming bazaars. Not when he was so upset with you wandering the deck with the wind and waves rising.”
“That was different.” She refused to feel mollified. She told herself he was merely worried about the baby—not her.
“My mind’s made up. I’m going ashore. It’s a perfectly logical thing to do. I’m not worried about thieves.”
When the ship had docked, she waited for Rogan to come for her. Her excitement grew at the prospect of seeing Tangier. Rogan didn’t come but sent Mrs. Croft. On first glimpse of the victory reflecting in the woman’s gray eyes, Evy folded her arms and tapped her foot, waiting for what Mrs. Croft would announce. Two spots of color tinted Mrs. Croft’s face.
“The master says he thinks it best you stay aboard until he returns.”
“Where is he?” Evy asked stiffly.
“Gone ashore to see about getting us passage on a different ship for the Cape. Said we can’t afford to waste time on this delay. I must say I agree. I’m sure we’re missing nothing on shore.”
So he had gone off and left her, knowing full well that she had wanted to visit a bazaar!
“Better get your hat and a cloak, Mrs. Croft. I’m all dressed to go ashore—and I’m going.”
“But, Miss Evy, dearie—”
“Don’t dearie me. Are you coming with me or not?”
Mrs. Croft frowned. “Speaking about mules—”
“Which we were not,” Evy stated airily, catching up her hat, handbag, and short-waisted coat.
“But you and the master can both be just as stubborn.”
Evy smiled, unperturbed. She looped her arm through Mrs. Croft’s. “Come along, my dear Mrs. Croft. There’s no time to squander.”
The topaz waters of Tangier glimmered in the white sunlight. A withering gust whipped at Evy’s hair and blew the hem of her skirtline. The bazaar near the harbor was teeming with Arabs, Frenchmen, and Spaniards. Groups of mercenary soldiers, legionnaires, jostled one another while camels grumbled beneath their heavy loads. Thin donkeys flickered their pointed ears to chase away the flies. Arab women wore long, hooded robes of dark cloth called haiks, balancing water jugs or fruit upon their heads, or holding them on their hips. A section of cloth called an itham covered their faces. Evy and Mrs. Croft were enveloped in the throng of hawkers and traders.
Evy found herself pursued by Arab vendors robed in dusty djellabahs, their brown faces as baked and cracked as dried mud in the sun. They gathered around her like a flock with their wares. Competing voices shouted in a hodgepodge of Arabic, French, and Spanish. They pushed and shoved, waving baskets and trays of green sweet figs, ripe oranges, lush dates, and bright melons. Everywhere there were big, lazy flies that clung to cut fruit, the smell of Arab tobacco, along with champoraux, an Algerian drink of strong syrupy coffee, thick with sugar and throat-scalding brandy. Drugs were sold boldly—cannabis, mixed with tobacco, and hashish. The various ship passengers were in a consuming mood, and English pounds, French francs, and Spanish pesetas were passed back and forth as fast and loose as chips on a gambling table.
There were still more passengers jamming the cabanas in the souk, the market, vainly hoping to find a lavatory. In the crowd and confusion, Evy became separated from Mrs. Croft. She stopped and turned back, but Mrs. Croft was nowhere to be seen.
Oh no! Where could she have gone? She couldn’t have gotten that far behind.
Then Evy remembered Mrs. Croft’s arthritic limp, and she berated herself for such thoughtlessness. She had rushed on her way without so much as a glance behind to see if her dear friend was keeping up. Mrs. Croft had once called out to her, but Evy thought she was pausing to look at blue beads at one of the stands. But Mrs. Croft knew Evy was going to the silk stall, and she would surely go there to meet. Evy gave one more searching look around before turning once again toward the cabana at the far end of the souk. Surely Mrs. Croft would show up if Evy just waited there.
It was terribly hot and dry, despite the nearby blue water of Tangier Bay. The sunlight was glittering and hurting her eyes. Her throat grew dry with thirst, and she looked about for water to buy. She proceeded forward, determined to find the bolt of silk she wanted.
Evy made her way through the sluggish throng toward the other end of the souk to one side of the harbor. She paused when she saw some Arab men watching her. Had she not seen these same men before? When she had disembarked from the ship? Were they following her?
A French legionnaire standing just ahead was questioning some uncooperative Arab traders with camels. The men were seated in the dusty shade of a tamarind tree. The presence of the French mercenary soldiers made her feel a little safer. She walked on in search of Mrs. Croft and the silk cloth.
She came near the whitewashed walls at the edge of the souk. Here some Berber women sat on the hard, swept ground, wearing striped blankets and straw hats adorned with black pompons—a remnant of old Spain that had once ruled the Sahara before France. The women were guarding their piles of eggs and dried medejul dates. Evy paused, dug into her handbag for some English coins, and handed them to one of the Berber women in exchange for the dates, but she was too thirsty to eat them now. She wondered if Rogan would enjoy them aboard ship.
She walked forward, glancing in all directions for a sign of Mrs. Croft. She couldn’t have gone far. She hoped she would suddenly appear. What would she tell Rogan if she lost poor Mrs. Croft amid the bazaar?
She stood in the dusty square, her concerns becoming as heavy as the bag slung over her shoulder. She tried to assure herself there was little reason for alarm. So they had somehow separated from each other; that was no cause for panic. Even now Mrs. Croft might already be at the cabana, among hats and bolts of cloth, waiting for her. Yes, that surely must be. After all, Mrs. Croft knew she wanted to buy silk, so she would move toward that spot. Evy quickened her steps.
An Arab walked by hawking his drinking pitcher and his tin cup. Water! If she didn’t get some soon, she’d begin seeing mirages! Mrs. Croft—and water—that was it! Mrs. Croft had gone for water …
She called for the Arab to stop. “How many English shillings?”
The stoic-faced trader held up five fingers. He suddenly grinned at her, showing a missing tooth.
“Five shillings!” She didn’t have that much loose change. “That’s robbery,” she murmured, sure he couldn’t understand her English.
“For you, two shillings.”
“One shilling and these dates.” She pushed both toward him.
“Allah will reward you.”
“Um—I’d prefer not. Just the water, please.”
As he poured she looked about uneasily. “Tell me, have you seen an English lady with gray hair, tall, rather large, wearing a flowered hat and carrying a straw bag—oversized?”
He poured the trickling water into the tin cup. I don’t care if a camel drank from it, I’m thirsty, she thought.
She took a chance in drinking from the cup, but she felt feverishly hot. Her lips were dry and cracked and her throat such that she could hardly talk.
“Veery beeeg lady, mademoiselle? Like thees?” He held his palm up a foot above his own head, grinning amiably.
“Well … yes, I suppose, that is rather overdoing it, but … and wearing a blue frock with large puffed sleeves?”
“Ahh!” He nodded vigorously, watching her with the same hungry smile, his shiny black eyes fully expectant. He pointed behind him. “I see madam go that way—behind the hanootz.” He pointed to one of the now empty bazaar stalls. “I bring you there, yes?”
“Evy! Don’t drink that!”
She whirled, stunned by Rogan’s shout. He was pushing his way toward her through the throng, his dark hair damp beneath his hat as he rushed up.
“It’s drugged, no doubt,” and he grabbed it from her and whiffed it, tasting it. He spat it out, threw down the cup with a clatter, and grabbed the Arab by the front of his djellabah.
The man pleaded for mercy as Rogan shoved him angrily to the dust. “I ought to break your neck.”
The Arab groveled in the dust, covering his head with both arms and rolling up into a knot. Evy grabbed Rogan’s arm. “Mrs. Croft. She’s disappeared. He was going to lead me to her.”
Rogan’s eyes flashed. “That’s an old trick. He hasn’t seen Mrs. Croft. She’s waiting for us back near the front of the souk. This ruddy camel trader was going to drug you and sell you to an Arab trader. You’d have likely wound up in some Arab sheik’s tent somewhere. Slavery is rampant around here.”
“Slavery—” She gasped and stared at him, a cold chill running through her blood. A harem.
Rogan steadied her, drawing her into the safety of his strong arms.
“Darling, didn’t I ask you to stay aboard ship and wait for me?”
“You didn’t tell me anything,” she protested. “You told Mrs. Croft.”
His dark eyes flickered. His jaw tensed. “All right, I was a little arrogant in not explaining to you myself, but I was in a ruddy hurry. An English ship is leaving for the Cape in the morning, and it was important we had space on it. Look, Evy,” he said more gently, “I apologize. I didn’t take you seriously about wanting to see the souk.”
She clenched her jaw to keep from crying. She had almost been taken into slavery to be sold into some Arab’s harem! Oh, Lord Jesus, thank You for looking after me in my ignorance. Thank You for sending Rogan in time. I should have listened to him and not willfully pushed ahead with my own wishes. A tear welled up in her eyes and suddenly, despite the throng, she found herself in Rogan’s embrace. He was holding her so she could hardly breathe.
“Evy, darling, if anything had happened to you—”
Mrs. Croft came rushing up, sweating and breathing hard, her face flushed red with heat and anxiety.
“Oh, thank God he found you, Evy, dear lamb. I was so afraid. I turned around, and you were gone. I didn’t know where you’d disappeared to. I went straightaway back to the harbor and saw Master Rogan coming this way. He was like a mirage. I was so happy to see him.”
Rogan watched the Arab, who was crawling away under one of the stalls. “Come, let’s get out of here. I don’t like the looks of him. He’s likely got a ring of thugs waiting on the other side of the souk.”
He took Evy’s arm and Mrs. Croft’s and led them toward the harbor. He looked down at Evy. “Shall I carry you?”
“No.” She smiled nervously. “I’m all right now. But I don’t think I’ll ever get over shuddering when I remember what could have happened to me.”
Some of the same gravity and irritation sparked in his eyes. “Now do you see why it would have been wiser to stay at Rookswood and good old Grimston Way?”
Evy looked away. She knew he still had not fully forgiven her deception of withholding from him the conception of their baby.