Title: The Wheel
Author: Danae Bowen
Pairing: M/R
Rating: PG-13 (mild language, mild intimacy)
Summary: Marguerite and Roxton are caught in a storm, lost in a cave, and
worshipped as gods... all while covered in mud. Adventure is as unfailing
as the rise and fall of the sun on the plateau.
Feedback: Oh, yes, please!!! logansfox@rogers.com
Archiving: Wherever, just please drop me an email and let me know you're
taking it.
Disclaimer: They oh so obviously don't belong to me. If they did, The Lost
World wouldn't be able to appear on television, so this is probably a good
thing. Really. They belong to New Line Television, The Over The Hill
Gang, et al. ... me? I just like to borrow them now and then and mutate
their inner voices. What can I say? It's fun.
Author's Note: My thanks to Lady P for proposing this challenge, giving me
something to do for two entire weeks! I now officially know way too much
about a certain series of ancient artifacts... but, man, is it ever fun
spouting off about 'em in conversations now. :P Quick thanks to my kid
sister for doing the rocking beta job; God knows what you people would be
reading now if it wasn't for her. :) And finally: I realize this has very
little plot... but give me a break... I'm used to writing naughty
fictions... the fact that this remained at a PG-13 level amazes me!
Side note: I really do hope you all enjoy this; it's not the greatest
fiction in the known world, but it was fun.
Side note II: I know the title doesn't make sense to a lot of people, but
anyone who watches Farscape should get the reference. Thought about going
with "Fall and Rise", but I just couldn't get Wait for the Wheel out of my
head. :) If y'all don't know what I'm talking about, go to Blockbuster,
rent Farscape DVDs and find out... c'mon... you know you want to. :)
The Wheel
"Come closer to the fire, Marguerite. You'll catch your death out in this ungodly weather."
"Might I remind you, Roxton, that it wasn't my idea to come on this foolhardy expedition? We had plenty of meat back at the tree house. There was no need to go hunting this week."
"Ah, but, Marguerite, with the temperatures dropping like they have been of late, the dinosaurs will be moving towards warmer climates. I realize the plateau's idea of winter has nothing on London's charming snow storms, however even the smallest drop in temperature will have such cold-blooded creatures seeking warmth. The larger our store of dried meat, the longer we will be able to survive on the meager prey that remains."
Marguerite Krux, intelligent, beautiful, turned her large gray eyes upon Lord John Roxton, the hunter who sat mere feet away from her, his own eyes hidden beneath the shade of his ever present hat. The shadows of the jungle grew longer and deeper as the last of the sun's light faded, taking with it the warmth of the day. With a shiver, Marguerite gave into Roxton's prodding and slipped closer to the fire and subsequently the hunter himself.
His smile was warm and welcoming as he pulled the dark haired beauty to his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her blanket over his own body so that they huddled beneath the same covering. Marguerite lifted a single refined eyebrow at his actions, and gave him a small sarcastic sniff.
"Ah, now I understand. It wasn't your need to be a gentleman that coerced me to the fire, but your want of my blanket."
He grinned at her teasing, leaning down to touch his forehead against her own. "On the contrary, Marguerite, I couldn't give a good damn about your blanket." His grin widened. "The warmth of your body against my own, however..."
"You, sir, are no lord. You're a lout."
"And you, my dear, are loving every moment."
A fallen tree supported the hunter as Marguerite curled against his body and he leaned back, seeking the most comfortable position in which to hold the heiress. With a gentle hand he stroked her soft raven hair and stared off into the fire, fantasies of future possibilities crossing his mind as Roxton held Marguerite close. Minutes passed and Marguerite's breathing grew slow and steady as she lay unmoving against his solid form, leading Roxton to believe she'd fallen asleep. Her gentle voice, however, gave him a start as her hand came up to softly press against his chest while she voiced her own thoughts. "Tell me something interesting, John."
He blinked in surprise, confusion coloring his expression as he glanced down at her. "What is it you fancy hearing?"
She shrugged softly, "Whatever you'd like to talk about."
"If you've nothing specific to ask, Marguerite, how am I supposed to answer?"
Again she shrugged. "Tell me the first thing that comes to mind."
He chuckled lowly, his fingers moving to stroke her back through the thin fabric of her shirt. "You don't want to know what's on my mind, Marguerite." His voice lowered. "I believe it would scandalize even you, my dear."
Her giggle was as unexpected as it was welcome. "Back to being the lout again, John? And I thought we'd passed that stage."
"Never, where you're concerned." His chin rested against her head as his fingers took up a slow, rhythmic stroking on her back. "So, you'd like a bedtime story, would you, Marguerite? Of what period... war... peace... prison... romance..."
She sighed. "Never mind. I was foolish to ask."
"You're rarely foolish, now what's all this about?" Roxton tipped her head so that she looked into his eyes but her gaze held no answers.
"Nothing, really. I was just bored a moment without a book to read and thought perhaps you'd talk a while before I fell asleep."
He grinned suddenly. "I'll talk, Marguerite, about what, I've not a clue, but I will talk."
Roxton's voice was low and melodious as he spoke; for a long while, he voiced thoughts on their expedition to the jungle, their adventures in the previous three years, the people they'd met over time. Later, as Marguerite's breathing grew deep, his voice lowered yet again, a low rumble in the night, as his thoughts turned to his life in England: his brother's tragedy, his father's demise, Roxton's own struggle to maintain his sense of self in the wake of all that followed the fated trip to Africa. He knew Marguerite never heard much of what he had to say, his eyes alternating from watching the jungle around them to watching her face as she slipped from a light doze into gentle slumber, but even he relaxed as he spoke. First his tense muscles began to ease, his eyelids began to flutter and, finally, his words faltered as sleep stole the train of thought from his mind. When his head drooped forward, his chin finding comfort on the top of Marguerite's head once again, she mumbled incoherently in her sleep and her body shifted, naturally forming to the hunter's strong frame.
The fire burned low as they slept, their bodies curling around each other for warmth and comfort while the night dragged on. Cocooned under blankets and in Roxton's warm embrace, even Marguerite couldn't complain of the unfamiliar chill that stole through the dark Amazon plateau.
******
Marguerite awoke slowly to the pleasant sensation of warm breath against the back of her neck. Roxton's stubble prickled at her flesh, but she didn't mind, quite the opposite. His scent filled her senses, his hard body pressed flush against her own soft frame, and gradually she became aware of the heavy pressure of his hand splayed against her flat stomach. Sometime through the night his fingers had worked their way under her blouse and his calloused flesh now rested against her own soft skin.
Her smile, unseen by the sleeping hunter, was brilliant. This was the smile she reserved for the occasions her true emotions were able to shine through. This was the smile with which she'd graced Roxton in *the cave* when he'd asked her if he'd told her how beautiful she was. This was the smile Marguerite knew only Roxton could coerce from her deeply protected heart.
With careful effort to not awaken the hunter, Marguerite moved her own hand under her blouse, covering his fingers, stroking the strong flesh beneath her touch. With a sigh she allowed herself a few moments to become lost in the warmth, both physical and emotional, of lying in Roxton's arms. Her fingers ceased their soft caress of his hand, however, when she felt his slow smile spread against her neck. Her breath hitched quickly as his tongue darted out to taste her briefly before his low voice sent shivers through her body.
"Warm enough, Marguerite?" His fingers began an upward journey, softly brushing the underside of her breasts, making her gasp quietly once again.
Her lips curled into a lopsided grin as once again she covered his hands with her own, drawing his wandering digits back to her hip and then to rest on his own leg before she turned to face him. "Warm, yes. Enough remains to be seen." She offered him a saucy wink before rolling out from under the blanket and into the sharp morning air. The wind had picked up unconditionally over night, causing her to shiver softly as she wrapped the edges of her too thin jacket around her rapidly cooling body.
"You're in quite a mood this morning." His grin matched hers as they worked together to quickly break down their small camp. "Do tell, whom do I owe what for the gracing of your better nature?"
Marguerite shrugged, her eyes sparkling brilliantly as she swung her pack over her shoulder and turned to face him once again. "It's a beautiful morning, we have no one trying to kill us, and I slept remarkably well; being cheerful certainly beats waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"I've got to say, Marguerite, considering the chill in the air, I was expecting a more subdued response to continuing our journey."
"Yes, well, don't get used to it. I'm sure I'll be back to normal before long." She offered Roxton one final teasing wink before turning towards the trail they'd decided upon the day before.
They walked in silence for a distance, occasionally stopping to readjust their coats against the growing force of the wind around them. Several times both had to grab at their hats to keep from losing them to the gusts that swept them by, but even still they continued at a sharp pace until they came to a clearing at the top of a high hill.
Marguerite began to pull fruits and dried meat from her pack as Roxton gazed out over the clearing, a frown building on his face. "I hate to say it, but I believe we may be in for somewhat of a storm."
Marguerite lifted an eyebrow in a delicate look of sarcasm. "You don't say?" Her eyes traveled to the black clouds gathering above them, hidden until now by the density of the jungle through which they had been traveling. Roxton afforded her a look of displeasure as she handed him his meal before turning back to the scene before him.
"It appears to be building strength in the south. I suggest we carry on to the north, stay ahead of the storm as long as possible." His frown deepened. "We'll need to find shelter, I'm afraid."
Marguerite sighed. "A cave?"
"Quite likely."
"You do realize we don't have the best of luck with caves?"
He shrugged. "We may not have much of a choice." He nodded towards a mountain range in the northeast. "Looks to be about three hours travel; we may be caught in the storm yet."
Glancing at the remains of her half eaten lunch, Marguerite issued a sound of regret before picking up her pack once more. "I suppose that's your way of telling me our break is over."
"Would you prefer we stay out in the open, Marguerite? I'm sure you'd have plenty of time for rest while you're recuperating from pneumonia." His eyes flashed something unreadable, frustration in his every feature as he turned and made his way back to the trees.
Marguerite frowned in response, sniffing indelicately as she jogged lightly to catch up to the quickly moving hunter. "Well you don't have to be so snide about it, John. I wasn't arguing, I was merely stating an observation."
"Observe later, Marguerite, for now, concentrate on moving. That storm's building up faster than I'd hoped."
Thunder rumbled in the near distance and both explorers could feel the crackle of electricity in the air as the skies darkened increasingly faster. In less than an hour the rain began, slowly at first, but before long both Roxton and Marguerite were soaked through. They stumbled blindly over downed trees and vines, moving as fast as was safe as they scrambled through the jungle.
"John, I don't mean to question your sense of direction, but if we're heading towards mountains, why are we going down?"
Her words were nearly lost on the wind, but Roxton managed to gather the jist of her query. "There's a valley between the hill and the mountain. Marguerite, listen to me now: this rain is getting heavier, which means the valley is going to flood. We have got to cross it before the passage is washed away!"
He reached behind him and grabbed hold of her hand, pulling her forward as he began a sharp run on the mud slickened decline. Marguerite gave a sharp squeak as her foot tangled in a root, her forward motion combined with Roxton's pull on her hand sending her completely off balance. She stumbled into Roxton's back, her free hand clutching at his shoulder as her feet slid in the mud beneath her. Roxton called out her name, grabbing for her as his own feet lost their grip and together he and Marguerite began a downward spiral off the hill. Roxton struggled without hope as his body spun in the mud, sliding him in a nauseating circle as he tumbled; Marguerite, having begun her slide with far more momentum than Roxton, tumbled once, twice, before landing on her back and continuing a straight slide to the bottom of the hill. When they at last came to a stop, they lay tangled in a shocked heap for several moments before Roxton raised a hand to his head and groaned.
"When I said to hurry, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind." Roxton tossed a rueful grin in Marguerite's direction, carefully climbing to his feet and extending a hand to the still prone heiress.
Lying on her back, the breath knocked from her body, Marguerite merely stared at Roxton for long moments before finally taking his offered grip. She gasped in pain as she stood, her lungs complaining violently against her sudden intake of air, leaving her with a harsh cough.
Roxton's grin faded into a look of worry as he held Marguerite still. "Are you hurt?" Genuine concern replaced the teasing previously in his tone and his expressive eyes shone with regret.
Marguerite waved him off, finally beginning to breathe easily once more. "A few scratches here and there," she murmured, raising a hand to her aching head.
"Are you all right to move on, then?" His eyes flicked between her and the storm that was rapidly over taking them.
She waved her hand again, letting Roxton take the lead as she struggled to keep her balance through the waves of dizziness threatening to upset her stomach. In mid fall, Marguerite's head had ricocheted off something hard, and again she raised her hand to touch the tender abrasion well hidden under her thick hair. She followed Roxton silently, his pace now much less grueling than previously as they neared their destination. Mercifully, the pounding in her head eased quickly, and Marguerite was able to push the remaining ache to the back of her mind.
"Bloody hell!"
Roxton stopped suddenly, twisting in the path, his hand shooting out a moment later to stop Marguerite from walking into him. She frowned, turning her body quickly to see what had gained the hunter's attention, but for all intents and purposes, they remained alone. With a smothered groan at the nausea the quick movement caused, Marguerite turned back to Roxton, displeasure written across her face.
"Have you lost your mind, Roxton? There's nothing here!" Snappish and irritable, Roxton's next comment caused her eyes to flash with undisguised anger.
"I've gone and lost my hat! The tumble down the hill must have knocked it loose!" He glanced back down the path from which they had just come, irritation curling his lip.
"What's done is done, John, we can't afford to go back now." Eager to be dry once more, Marguerite shoved her dripping hair out of her eyes and pushed past the hunter to continue down the path. She'd gone no more than twenty feet when she realized he was no longer following her. "For God's sake, John, it's just a hat! I am not risking being caught in a sudden flood or being drowned in mud to get that dirty old thing back! And if you think I'm going to let you kill yourself over it, leaving me to try and retrace our steps back to the tree house from here, you're sorely mistaken!"
With a sigh, John turned to face her once again. He knew she was right, but he hated leaving the hat behind, likely to be washed away and never seen again. He sighed once more before nodding to Marguerite and moving to catch up with her. The final few kilometers to the mountain were traveled in subdued silence, neither, for the moment, willing to communicate with the other beyond minor instructions when needed.
When the mountain finally loomed before them, a near black misshapen form against the dark skies, both explorers were grateful to see a ground height cave beckoning them inside. As a precaution, Roxton drew his guns, stepping in front of Marguerite as they entered. The sudden dark covering the Plateau was no comparison to the complete inky blackness that filled the interior of the cave. Drenched to the bone, neither Roxton nor Marguerite hesitated before stepping deeper into the dark, but her breath ruffling the short hairs at the back of his neck proved to John just how uneasy Marguerite was feeling at the moment. Her silent unease was echoed by her companion, and, only meters inside, Roxton came to a stop.
"It's not safe to go any farther without light." His voice was low, careful to not disturb any predators that may be waiting out of sight.
"And I forgot to pack the torches." Sarcasm dripped from every word as Marguerite flipped her hair over her shoulder, lifting a hand to massage the back of her neck.
"Marguerite, this isn't funny."
"Do I look like I'm laughing?"
John cracked a smile. "I can't say, my dear, you are truly hidden from my sight."
Marguerite's breath whispered past her lips in a heavy sigh, and Roxton heard the thump of her pack as it hit the ground. Colorful language, whispered harshly, filled the cave as Marguerite searched through her pack without the advantage of sight. Long minutes passed, silence broken only by occasional cursing, before Marguerite issued a soft sound of discovery. Another minute passed before John felt her hand against his arm, and soon a dry box of matches was pressed into his palm.
"I must admit I am impressed. How did you ever manage that?"
Marguerite shrugged, a motion lost on Roxton while they remained without light. "I wrapped them in a leather strip before we left," she replied simply.
Roxton's surprise was evident in his silence, but rather than waste time dwelling, he struck a match. In the flickering light, a dried, abandoned nest for some creature came to view. With a shrug, Roxton moved forward, listening for any sound, before picking up two of the largest sticks he could find.
"Care to donate a few strips of material?" His eyes twinkled as he allowed his gaze to rove her body, settling on the midriff of her blouse.
"You have got to be kidding me."
"I'm sorry, Marguerite, but we need dry cloth to keep the torches lit, and the tails of your blouse seem to have been kept out of the rain by some miracle."
"Yeah. Some miracle." With a chuff, Marguerite began to rip her blouse, tearing the material away from her stomach before handing it to Roxton in a lump and moving to sit against the wall of the cave. Roxton quickly lit the torches, moving towards the resting lady. In the light of both torches, Roxton was unable to miss the wince that crossed Marguerite's features as she carefully rubbed the back of her head. Her gaze met his, and a look of regret flashed through her eyes. "I hit it on the way down the hill." She shifted under his silence a moment, the strength of her gaze challenging the flash of reprimand in his. "No lectures, John, my head is harder than it appears. No damage done, permanently anyway."
"Even still, as soon as we get back to the tree house, we'll have Challenger look you over. Don't want to take any chances, now do we?"
Marguerite laughed, reaching up to take his offered hand and climbed to her feet. "Malone's had much worse, I assure you, Lord Roxton. I'll not curl up and die from a knock on the head. Not today, anyhow."
Roxton inclined his head in acceptance, although the look of concern didn't fully leave his features. Instead of forcing Marguerite to dwell upon her injuries any longer, however, he began their journey through the dark cavern, his senses on full alert for signs of any danger.
An hour passed as they traveled deeper into what they discovered to be a large, winding series of caves. They paused frequently for Marguerite to examine several promising specimens of geological nature, but for the most part each cavern appeared to be as empty as the first. It wasn't until the tunnel they were following began a downward spiral that the tiny hairs on the back of Roxton's neck began to rise. He held his hand up for Marguerite to stop, listening intently to the air surrounding them.
"What is it?" Her voice was a warm whisper next to his ear, and Roxton's frown grew deeper.
"Breathing. Not far off. Can you not hear it?"
They fell silent again and this time Marguerite joined him as they listened for the tell tale signs of another presence. Soon, she too could pick out the soft intakes of breath from somewhere just ahead of their current position. With a glance at Roxton, she pulled her pistol from her belt and Roxton readied his own weapons. He afforded her a quick nod before they both began to walk the final meters to the opening of the next cavern.
They entered the cavern in silence, their torches the only indication of their presence as they scanned the seemingly empty room. The breathing grew heavier the deeper they progressed into the cavern, however as far as both Roxton and Marguerite could see, they were alone. It wasn't until they reached the center that the depression in the floor became apparent; a deep hole, dark as night, loomed before them, and from within they could now hear the sharp snapping and hissing that accompanied the breathing. Marguerite met Roxton's gaze, both showing their trepidation, but both still moving closer. Roxton carefully leaned the torch over the edge of the crevice, his gaze instantly drawn to the set of razor sharp teeth suddenly attempting to close around his wrist.
"What the...!" Roxton fell back quickly, stumbling over a rock and landing on his rear three feet from the hole.
"What? What did you see?" Marguerite moved to the crevice, repeating Roxton's movements of a moment before. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the good-sized dinosaur pacing the confines of the hole. It leapt at Marguerite, it's teeth falling short by mere inches as it fell back to the ground once more. "My God! That... that's not a raptor, is it, John?"
"I don't know, Marguerite, all I saw were teeth." John's annoyed voice drew her attention from the dinosaur in the pit to where he sat, caressing his turned ankle with care.
"Oh, John, are you all right?" She abandoned the dinosaur in question for a moment, dropping to Roxton's side and handing him her torch. Her delicate fingers quickly worked off his boot and began to examine his ankle. "Doesn't look broken; can you move it?"
Roxton chuckled softly. "I'll be fine." He gave her an amused wink. "Can I have my boot back?"
She dangled the boot off one finger, leaning back as her eyes matched his humor. "This old thing? I'd think you'd rather feed it to whatever is in that pit." She wrinkled her nose. "These really need to be washed."
"Hmm, yes, well, I'm afraid that will have to wait until we get back to the tree house." He snatched the boot from her grasp, quickly lacing it back onto his injured foot. Using Marguerite's arm as leverage, he climbed gingerly to his feet, testing his weight on the wounded appendage. "Now, what were you saying about a raptor?"
Marguerite frowned as they moved back to the pit. "I honestly don't think it is a raptor. I mean, look at it; it's too small, the head is not quite right, and look at its claws."
Keeping out of the angered dinosaur's reach, Roxton leaned over the opening and checked out Marguerite's appraisal. "You're right; that's no raptor." His expression darkened. "If I'm not mistaken, however, it's of the same family." He thought a moment, reaching up to run a hand through his hair as he studied the creature carefully. "Procompsognathus, perhaps. They're about three feet high, theropod, five talons, carnivorous. They have a smoother muzzle than a raptor, but their teeth are just as dangerous." He pocketed his guns and withdrew his rifle, taking careful aim at the creature's skull.
"You're not just going to shoot it, are you?" Marguerite laid a hand on Roxton's arm, her eyes showing reluctance to shoot the creature without cause.
"Look at the back of the pit, Marguerite. There's an exiting tunnel; if we're going to explore this cave to it's full extent, the procompsognathus is going to have to die." He cocked his rifle, never taking his eyes off the still leaping dinosaur. "Who's to say, my dear, there may be gems beyond even your imagination hiding in a protected cavern. Maybe even a way off this plateau."
She sighed. "At least tell me this proco... procomp... whatever is going to count as part of the hunt?"
"Very well; dried out I'm sure it will taste no worse than raptor." His shot was deafening, but clean. The procompsognathus fell dead with a single bullet through its brain. "We'll leave it for the moment and clean and strip the body on the way back." He dropped the torches into the crevice, and held a hand out to Marguerite. "Ladies first."
"How uncharacteristically well-mannered of you, Lord Roxton." She flashed him a sarcastic roll of her eyes before taking his hand, allowing him to lower her over the edge of the pit. When her entire body was submerged in the shadows of the crevice, she glanced up to meet his gaze and nodded. He released her, watching with concern as she dropped to the ground with grace. Roxton lifted an eyebrow, the hunter in him duly impressed as the lady moved across the pit to check on the dinosaur, making sure the creature was truly dead before calling to John to come down.
Roxton's descent was more perilous than Marguerite's. With no one remaining to lower him the first six feet down the side, Roxton was left with a twelve-foot leap to the ground. Testing his still aching ankle, the hunter heaved a sigh before stepping forward. The ground came up out of the gloom more quickly than he'd expected, but still he managed to roll to his feet with little effort.
He was surprised to find Marguerite's hand on his shoulder a moment later as the dark haired beauty stood next to him and glanced up to the opening of the crevice. "So, tell me, John, have you thought about how we're going to get out of this pit on the way home?"
The hunter followed her gaze, his eyes suddenly concerned, but he smothered the look with a shrug, pulling her closer to his body, distracting her from her thoughts. "We'll worry about climbing out when the time comes. For now, I believe we have a new tunnel to explore."
She eyed him suspiciously, following him with a half grin curving her lips. "When did you become such a connoisseur of caves, John Roxton?"
His grin grew lopsided as he turned his head over his shoulder and wagged his eyebrows humorously. "Since I fell for a woman that can't keep her nose out of them."
"Cad," she muttered quietly, but pleasure shone in her gray eyes as she followed him into the newest tunnel, neither of them noticing that the entrance to the tunnel was wide enough only for a normal sized human being. Any dinosaur that was in the pit would have had to fall from above with no means of escape. Still, the thought of where the bodies of past trapped creatures had gone never crossed their minds as they continued even deeper under the mountain, blissfully unaware of a dozen pairs of ears listening to their every word.
****
They walked for what felt like forever, the darkness broken only by the light of their torches. Marguerite moved close to Roxton, partly to stave off the discomfort of not knowing what was around the next turn, partly to keep an eye on the still somewhat limping hunter, partly just for the chance to brush against him as they walked. Their conversation was limited by the possible need for stealth, so each took comfort in the brush of one's arm against the others, especially when the torches burned low and the shadows of the tunnel grew longer around them.
As the torches spluttered and flickered their last breaths, Roxton and Marguerite were finally able to spot the end of the tunnel. It broke open into a large cavern, back lit by clumps of glowing moss growing on the uneven walls. Both breathed sighs of relief at the natural source of light, both sighs, however, turning to gasps at the sight of what lay before them.
"What the hell is that?" Roxton moved forward, his eyes tracing over the unnatural shape in front of them.
Marguerite followed him, her eyes wide as she took in the incredible freestanding object in fascination. Her eyes eagerly scanned the inscriptions in the rock and a smile of pure thrill lit her face. "It's an obelisk!"
"An obelisk? Here?"
Marguerite shrugged briefly, her concentration now fully on the ancient creation before her. "I don't see why not, John, after all, we did meet Nefertiti. Who's to say another Egyptian culture didn't find their way to the plateau. Who's to say this has anything to do with the Egyptians at all. You know, very few Obelisks are actually in Egypt these days."
A frown creased Roxton's features, but he moved closer to Marguerite as her eyes focused entirely on the nearly illegible inscriptions, a shiver of pure pleasure coursing through her frame as she ran her fingers down the millennia old creation.
"I'm sure you've seen Cleopatra's Needle in London, John. Sir James Alexander risked everything to bring that particular Obelisk to England's shores in 1877. He turned the Needle into an odd type of ship he called Cleopatra and attempted to sail her the entire journey. He nearly lost his life along the way, you know, but he was a determined man; rather reminds me of Challenger now that we're discussing it. Yes, well, through all efforts, it took exactly four months to the day before Sir James sailed the Cleopatra down the Thames, and eight months after that before she was put upright. From all stories, it was quite the occasion the day the Needle first appeared in the river... January 21, 1877. She was moored near the House of Parliament, exactly where she stands now, on September 12 that same year. It's beautiful, John... absolutely beautiful. To think in London we're always mere feet away from something that stood in front of the Ceasarian Temple. It takes my breath away."
John watched Marguerite in fascination, her eyes glowing, her touch gentle as she glided careful fingers over the surface of the rock. "Why, Marguerite, I never realized you were so well versed in ancient history."
"Yes, well, there is probably quite a lot you don't realize about me." She flashed him a rueful smile before continuing to examine the obelisk. "This one is quite different from the London obelisk, smaller, more compact. It was likely made as a personal project rather than as an actual monument to RA." Something flashed in Marguerite's eyes, and a frown creased her forehead as she turned back to the obelisk. "Hold on." She circled the conic trunk, bringing her low burning torch closer. She spent a moment studying the inscription down one side of the cone; another moment was spent running fingers over the undecorated remaining three sides. "That's odd."
"What?" Roxton stepped forward, far enough away to leave Marguerite uninterrupted, close enough to see exactly upon which she was commenting.
"Here. These three sides aren't inscribed. Generally, obelisks have writing on all four sides, not just one. Even parts of the pyramidon," at this she reached up, brushing the bottom of the pyramid shape that topped the obelisk, just out of her reach, "are sometimes carved with bas-relief. The obelisks symbolize the stability and creative forces held by RA." She shook her head in confusion. "The Egyptians believed that the solar rays brought a great vivifying power, even into the grave, which would thereby effect the resurrection of the dead. Leaving three sides uninscribed is very unusual, it would diminish the message left by the creator in the eyes of RA."
"Didn't you say this was a personal project, though? Perhaps the inscriptions were never meant to be read by RA. Perhaps they were for human eyes only."
Marguerite laughed gently. "All inscriptions were meant to be read by the Gods to which they were directed, Roxton, personal project or not." Again her eyes flashed, "Unless... bring your torch closer, I want to know what this says."
Finding himself unable to argue, Roxton drew closer yet, one hand resting on Marguerite's shoulder, the other holding his flickering torch near the ancient inscriptions. He listened closely as Marguerite began to read, stumbling periodically over certain words and tenses, backing up and starting again until the unfamiliar words flowed from her lips. When the words of the inscription came without effort, Marguerite's lyrical voice bringing beauty to the ancient language, she looked up, her eyes alight with excitement. "I don't believe it, listen!" She read the inscription again, her gaze encouraging the hunter to share in her discovery.
Roxton watched with barely suppressed amusement warring with outright curiosity. "That's all well and good, Marguerite, but I can't understand a word you're saying." He grinned. "Would the lady mind translating into the King's English for those of us who speak only a single language or two."
She sighed softly, her gaze apologetic as she returned her eyes to the inscription. "Amenhotep II made as his monument to his father, Khnum-Ra, the making for him of two obelisks of the Altar of RA."
Roxton blinked. "And, what?"
Marguerite rolled her eyes. "Don't you understand? The obelisk of Amenhotep II has been in Bentford since 1838! Duke Algernon of Northumberland was given the Amenhotep II from the Egyptian Viceroy in that year, and it's been kept in the Great Hall of Syon House ever since! This can't possibly be the Amenhotep II, which makes it the second obelisk built by Amenhotep for Khnum-Ra; an artifact that has never been found!" Her eyes flashed with undisguised excitement. "To the archeological society, this obelisk is probably worth more than every gem on this plateau combined!"
Roxton eyed the seven-foot plus ornament with trepidation. "Now, Marguerite, it's not like we're going to be able to transport that piece of rock out of this cavern, so I wouldn't get too excited about the prospect of returning with it to London."
She sighed in exasperation. "But now we know where it's located, John, and that information is invaluable to many people, many collectors. Once we've returned to England, I need only proof of its existence, then stand back and allow the collectors and archaeologists battle over who's going to make the return journey to bring this obelisk home."
"Marguerite, I don't think that..."
"Don't reprimand me, John, I'm not a child. That I am able to find a way to make this little adventure of ours profitable on our return is not a great sin. It's called looking out for one's self, which is something I have always been good at."
"No argument there, my dear." His gaze softened and he reached a hand out to softly stroke a stray raven lock of hair away from her face. A half smile curved his lips as his fingers strayed to her cheek, trailing over her soft flesh. "I know you'll do as you like, Marguerite, but we have a lot of time to think things over before we return to London. There's no sense in dwelling on it now."
Her defensive stance weakened, and Marguerite found herself leaning into his touch. Her eyes grew smoky gray, and ever so slowly her tongue darted out to whet her lips. A flicker of amusement crossed her face as Roxton's breath caught, and with a roll of her eyes she leaned up to press her lips against his mud streaked cheek. "I am who I am, John."
"I have no complaints," he touched his head to hers, a soft chuckle escaping his throat. "You certainly keep me on my toes."
"I aim to please." She gave him a mock bow before turning away, leaning down to pick up her hastily discarded pack. Roxton turned to take a last look at the obelisk, his attention drawn back to Marguerite only by her sudden loud gasp.
"What...?"
A dozen dark bodies stepped into the low light of the cavern, eyes and metal spears glinting simultaneously. Unconscious reaction forced Roxton to Marguerite's side, both pulling their pistols from their belts, eying the natives with trepidation. Their trepidation was surpassed by amazement, however, as the light of the native's torches lit the cave brightly, and their "attackers" dropped quickly to their knees in front of the explorers. Roxton watched in silent shock, while Marguerite slowly warmed to the sudden image of being worshipped.
"Well, now, that's more like it." She grinned in amusement, lifting an eyebrow pointedly in Roxton's direction.
"Take care, Marguerite, we have no idea what they want from us."
"Perhaps they're looking for Gods, and we're it."
Roxton scoffed lightly. "We've been worshiped as many things over the years, and not one of them has turned out for the better. We may want to approach this with caution."
"Approach with caution all you like, Roxton; me, I'm going to find out if they have anything to eat and drink."
His words of retort were cut off as Marguerite stepped away from him, moving towards the still kneeling natives. He bit back a groan of frustration, but lowered his gun and followed her forward. Roxton's eyes flickered back and forth between the natives and Marguerite as she slowly began to converse with them, easily picking up the new dialect. After a moment, she broke into a brilliant smile, and turned back to Roxton.
"We're going with them back to their village. They'll provide us food and water and show us a way out of these tunnels without having to climb out of the pit." Her smile faded as she glanced down at her mud-covered body and groaned. "Maybe they'll provide baths as well. We're absolutely filthy. It's disgusting really."
Used to Marguerite's changing thought patterns, Roxton merely nodded, walking next to the dark haired beauty as their new found allies led them away from the cavern, deeper inside the mountain. The walk was shorter than Roxton would have expected, making note of the dark slipping away from the tunnels as they grew closer to the native society. Soon, the pass ways literally shone with candlelight, homemade beeswax candles resting on rock shelf after rock shelf, until they exited the tunnels and entered a large domed cavern. The walls and ceiling of the cavern were unnaturally smooth, obviously painstakingly chiseled by many hands to give an unending circular appearance. The light of many large torches made use of candles obsolete, and as the natives dropped their weapons into a large bin at the base of the passage, Roxton finally began to relax.
Words passed again between Marguerite and the leader of the group that discovered the explorers; Roxton was left waiting rather impatiently for Marguerite to translate. His eyes narrowed as her eyes showed delight, her hand resting on the leader's shoulder as a soft laugh passed her lips and she continued talking. Her exuberance was plainly seen, her words coming faster, her hands and eyes talking with as much excitement as her lips. Roxton bit back a snarl as the other man leaned forward, taking Marguerite's hand in his own, pressing his lips to her hand before kneeling and pressing Marguerite's hand to his forehead.
With a muted growl, Roxton grabbed Marguerite's arm and pulled her back to him. "What are you saying to him?"
She afforded him a bemused expression, her eyes sparkling with the knowledge that Roxton's more primal emotions were affecting his reactions where she was concerned. "Nothing I haven't said to many men on occasion, John."
"I'd wager on that."
She rolled her eyes, pursing her lips as she gauged his mood and how far she could push him. Finally, she shrugged. "I only asked if they had a basin and water I could use."
He frowned. "And that spawned all the laughing and touching?"
White teeth glinted as her hair shadowed her face. "Laughing and touching? Why, Lord Roxton, I never knew you cared."
"That's bull, Marguerite, now stop playing games and let me in on your little secret."
"Honestly, John, I asked him for a basin and water. He agreed, which is when I laughed and touched him. in gratitude. I know you and the others often believe me incapable of paying thanks where it's due, but that's all that happened. I made a rather amusing joke regarding our being mud covered, and he went all serious and kissed my hand. Really, sometimes I think you don't trust me at all."
Roxton lifted an eyebrow. "And sometimes I think you'd sell your own blood if it meant getting your way, my dear, however I do believe you." He paused. "And right now, a basin of water does sound rather appealing." He rubbed at his mud-covered chin ruefully, and allowed his lips to spread into a smile. "Care to share?"
"Oh, really." She sniffed haughtily, laughter lighting her entire visage. "We've had this conversation in the past, I believe."
"Yes, but our situation has changed since then, Marguerite."
A stain of pink crept over Marguerite's cheeks, but somehow she managed to keep a dignified expression. "Well, you know what they say, John: the more things change."
He watched as she walked away, a pointed sway in her hips. A flip of the hair later, her arm was entwined with that of a native male's, and Marguerite made her way towards the water she sought. Roxton turned slightly, finding the leader of the original group of natives watching Marguerite as well. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Roxton caught the man's eye and gave him a hard smile. "She's some woman, isn't she?" The man said something beyond Roxton's comprehension, but the hunter merely looked away once more. "Yes, well, she's mine."
****
Roxton paced the main cavern nervously; Marguerite had been gone over thirty minutes and the hunter was beginning to become concerned. Not for the first time, he moved towards the tunnel into which Marguerite had left with the native man, and again Roxton found himself disappointed. There was still no sign of the dark haired heiress.
He paced to the other side of the cavern, surreptitiously examining the weapons used by the native group that had likely been moving towards the pit intent on killing the dinosaur within. Roxton shook his head; spears and arrows against dinosaurs, he could hardly fathom the danger into which these people placed themselves. He was just about to attempt communication with the leader of the group, try to demand the location of Marguerite, when something sent the entire village of natives into an uproar. Voices rose in confusion and anger, and Roxton found himself quickly thrust into the center of a milling group of bodies.
Roxton's eyes were drawn to the front of the group; he was dismayed to find Marguerite standing at the entrance to the cavern, her arms secured by two natives, confusion and anger plainly written on her face. She was speaking rapidly, apparently arguing with her captors as she caught John's eye and flashed him a helpless look. In answer, Roxton shoved through the crowd, surprised to find the group easily parting a path for him as he approached his companion. Once at her side, he narrowed his eyes at the two holding her, and was once again surprised to find Marguerite instantly released.
"What the hell did you do this time, Marguerite?" His voice was low and controlled, his gaze constantly scanning the crowd for any signs of explosive hostility.
"Nothing, John, I swear! All I did was clean up! They were perfectly content to watch as I washed, but as soon as I turned around, they started muttering and yelling about my being an imposter and how I've insulted their entire tribe! They went on about some ritual I had to perform to reaffirm my spirit to the Mother and then dragged me out here." Her lips curved in confused distain and she shook her head. "I still don't know what I've done!"
With a groan, John turned around, muttering softly. "It's always something, Marguerite. We don't know any of these tribes, we don't know their rituals, we're bloody stupid to do anything more than stand in silence some days." His eyes scanned the room until they settled onto the leader of the tribe. "But today, we're going to set this right, without bloodshed if possible." He raised a hand, gesturing to the leader to come forward.
Once standing in front of them, the leader began speaking quickly, his words sharp and angered. Roxton watched Marguerite's reaction to what the man was saying, trying not to allow the frustration at his non- comprehension to get the better of him. "What's he saying?"
She shrugged, "Basically the same as the others. I need to perform a ritual to reaffirm my spirit to the Mother. I need to take back the insult I've paid to the Mother. He just keeps carrying on with the same basic idea."
Roxton nodded, his jaw clenched tightly. "Ask him what this ritual is, and if we perform it will he allow us safe journey as he promised."
She quickly translated, and both were relieved to see the man nod vehemently; after several moments of listening to the leader speak, Marguerite turned back to Roxton once more. "It figures."
"What does?"
"The mud; it's the bloody mud that's caused all this uproar."
Biting back his frustration, Roxton forced his voice to remain steady. "What about the mud?"
She sighed. "Apparently, this tribe sees mud as a connection to the Earth. By covering one's self in mud, you are announcing your unconquerable strength and connection to the world around you, and by leaving the mud to dry on your body, you are claiming to be a valued servant of the Earth Mother, whom apparently this tribe worships as their Goddess. When I washed off the mud."
"You reneged on your pledge to the Earth Mother, and insulted the tribe." Roxton nodded quickly. "And how do we fix this?"
"It's simple really." Marguerite shot him a half amused, half rueful grin. "I take a mud bath."
Roxton blinked. "That's all?"
She shrugged. "That's all. By bathing in the mud, I'll confirm my loyalty to the Earth Mother and we'll get the hell out of here."
Roxton's face broke into a relieved grin, and suddenly his eyes turned teasing. "Why, Marguerite, how self sacrificial of you." He glanced down, noting the flaking mud on his own body. "You know, I could use a reaffirmation myself."
"I think not."
His grin grew wider. "I think so. After all, we wouldn't want the Earth Mother to be offended by my inadequate offering."
Marguerite's eyes rolled, her expression stern, but when the leader of the natives led her away to a secluded cave in which she could take her mud bath, Roxton followed.
Not a word was said to stop him.
****
"You know, I almost regret leaving." Roxton's smile was smug as he wrapped his fingers around one of Marguerite's arms, helping her step over poorly placed rocks on their path. When they exited the cave, they were surprised to find the weather had reverted nearly back to the tropical state to which they were accustomed. True, the air had a bit of a nip to it, but, with the rising of the sun, that faded into warmth and then heat once again. Whatever had caused the sudden change in temperature had been washed away by the violent storm of the day before.
"Yes, well, I regret many things about this trip; being covered in mud not once, but twice, and having no opportunity to wash it off, that we killed a creature and never even went back for the meat, and that I've gone and ruined yet another blouse, and you know, I've not many more."
His eyes sparkled mischievously. "That could become a rather interesting situation."
"Mind your manners, Lord Roxton, we're not back at the tree house, yet." She flashed him a pretty smile, her heart fluttering mildly as it did whenever he teased her. "Besides, we still have the little matter of a hunting trip to complete. We can't exactly go back empty handed, you know."
He scowled, "Yes, Marguerite, thank you."
They glanced around as they continued walking, realizing that the exit out of the mountain that the natives had shown them was actually several kilometers closer to the valley in which they'd slid off the hill. Within only an hour they were back at the sight of their landing, and Roxton lifted his rifle to his shoulder.
"Ground seems dry enough. Why don't you start a fire; we'll make camp here for now, and I'll see if there is anything worth eating wandering about."
"You do that." Marguerite turned her back to him, slowly gathering any wood that was dry enough to build into a fire. Roxton watched her for a moment, smiling at the sight of her infinitely shortened shirt, the only thing keeping it from being a match for Veronica's top being the jacket Marguerite had carefully tied around her waist. Finally, he shook his head, an amused smile softening his features, and he left to lose himself in the hunt that he was finally beginning to understand he loved second best.
****
Three hours passed and Marguerite climbed to her feet for the hundredth time, staring out at the jungle into which Roxton had disappeared. She'd heard two gunshots a half hour previously, and although the urge to attempt tracking the hunter was dominant, common sense prevailed, leaving her now on edge and clutching her pistol in a white knuckled grip. She knew he was hunting, knew the gunshots would likely result in dinner for their makeshift family, knew that Roxton was more than capable of handling himself, but still, the fear of what could have happened wouldn't let her rest.
Another half hour passed, and Marguerite clenched her teeth in determination. "I swear, if that idiot man has gone off and gotten himself killed, I'll feed him to the cannibals!" She muttered to herself as she grabbed her pack and headed off into the jungle, keeping her eyes open for the missing hunter.
Her emotions unbalanced through worry, Marguerite found everything along Roxton's trail annoyed her. Although she'd rinsed off in a nearby creek, the dried mud in her hair itched, driving her to distraction. Even with her jacket tied around her waist, branches, thorns and bugs still managed to bite at her exposed midriff, bringing up tiny droplets of blood as she continued through the brush. Everything was a cause for annoyance, and as Marguerite bit back a cry of frustration, she threw back her head, staring up at the sky and the large trees surrounding her. A small piece of fabric, held high over her head by a tree branch, caught her attention and Marguerite groaned.
"You seriously must be kidding me." She looked up at the sky once again, her eyes flashing sarcastic sparkles as she shook her head. "You're funny, you know." She spoke to God infrequently, but recent events called for some divine attention. "I'll have you know I don't appreciate this, and you'd better be sending some of your divine miracles our way for the next little while to make up for it."
Tossing her pack to the ground and re-holstering her pistol, Marguerite sent a final scowl up to the skies as she began a tedious climb from tree branch to tree branch, high above the jungle floor. "You had better appreciate this, Roxton," she hissed through clenched teeth as she balanced precariously upon a single branch, one hand holding the branch over her head, one hand reaching ever so carefully out to pluck the hunter's hat from it's lofty perch. She looked up then, realizing she could see several kilometers in either direction from where she rested, and a smile broke out over her face. Coming her way, no more than a half-kilometer from her position, was the unmistakable form of Lord John Roxton; a large wrapped package was slung over one shoulder as he picked his way along the dubious trail. Shifting herself so that she sat comfortably, Marguerite dangled her legs over the branch and waited for Roxton's arrival.
When he did finally appear beneath her, Marguerite's grin widened. "You know," she began, glorying in the hunter's start of surprise, "If I were an apeman, you'd be dead right about now."
"Marguerite!" he gasped, recovering his composure quickly. "What the devil are you doing up there, you silly thing?"
She shrugged, "Uncovering hidden treasures." With that she dangled his hat from the tip of her finger, watching his face break into an expression of pleasure. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to help a lady down... we can get out of this bloody jungle and back home."
Roxton broke into laughter, dropping his burden to the jungle floor and helping Marguerite out of the tree. Snatching the hat from her fingers, he placed it back on his head, adjusting it so the final rays of sunlight were no longer an imposition, and pulled Marguerite into his arms. "Have I told you how incredible you are?"
Marguerite laughed along with him, squeezing him tightly before moving away. "As long as you know it, Roxton, I'm satisfied."
He pulled her back, coaxing a gentle kiss out of the feisty woman. "If I ever forget, Marguerite, I'm sure you'll not cease to remind me." He kissed her again. "Every day."
***
"It can't be gone! Roxton, are you sure you took them to the right cave?" Marguerite paced frantically, running her hands through her long hair as frustration dominated her presence.
"It wasn't hard to find again, Marguerite. Everything was there except the cavern with the obelisk and the native tribe. Even the body of the procompsognathus still remained, but I'm telling you, the cavern was empty."
"How could it be empty? The obelisk was there! You saw it, John! We didn't dream the entire godforsaken experience!" Marguerite thumped back into a chair, covering her eyes with her hands as the knowledge of how close she came to legitimate fame and fortune truly hit home.
Challenger stepped forward, resting a hand on the distraught woman's shoulder. "Come now, Marguerite, it's not the end of the world. Very likely the entire cavern was on a shifting plane. You'll likely come to see the obelisk again at some point in the future."
"Sure, but at what point? Oh, forget it, George, it's useless. The obelisk is gone and I'll have to accept that."
With a shake of her head and one final sigh, Marguerite left the living area, moving down stairs to her bedroom and collapsing back onto her bed. She was still lying there when Roxton knocked gently against her doorframe.
"Can I come in?"
She waved her hand distractedly, never taking her eyes off her ceiling. "Every time I get close, something out here takes it away. Have you noticed that? All my gems... all our findings... most of my clothes... everything. It's practically a conspiracy."
"No conspiracy, Marguerite, just bad luck. Besides, not everything has been taken from you." He smiled lazily as he lay on his side next to her, resting a hand on her stomach. "Oh, and as to your clothes... while I was hunting, when I took so long?" He waited for her nod of understanding before continuing, "Well, I stumbled onto a village nearby and I found something that I thought perhaps you may appreciate." He flashed her a smile before reaching behind him and placing a carefully wrapped package on her stomach where his hand had been moments before.
Her eyes flashed interest, and the corners of her mouth began to curve upwards. "Why, John, and it isn't even Christmas." With a full grin she tore into the wrappings, deftly pulling the string holding the package closed. With a gasp of pleasure, Marguerite pulled out a delicate cloth blouse, similar and yet somehow more appealing than her original collection. "John! It's brilliant, thank you!"
His mouth curved into a lopsided grin, and his hand reached out to brush the hair from her eyes as he placed a kiss against her sweet lips. "I'm happy you're pleased, my dear. I felt rather bad I had to ask you to destroy yet another of your blouses, and hoped this would make up for it."
She grinned. "It more than makes up for it, thank you." Her lips found his scratchy cheek and she pulled back quickly, rolling her eyes. "You need a shave before you come back in here." With a laugh she pushed against his chest, rolling Roxton from the small bed, onto the floor.
"Was that an order?"
"If you ever expect another kiss, it is."
"Then my lady's wish is my command." With a mock bow, Roxton exited the room, chuckling quietly to himself. He brought his hand to his chin thoughtfully, and nodded. Yeah, he definitely needed a shave.
Back in Marguerite's room, the beautiful woman moved from her bed, holding her new blouse to her chest, checking it's fit and color. Yes, she was more than pleased with John's thoughtful action, and yet, still, she couldn't bring herself to be completely happy.
Throughout the final night and day of their journey and the three days that had since passed, Marguerite had allowed her mind to wander. Images of gaining actual legitimate credence among London society had never strayed far from her imagination. She'd imagined her speech to the archaeological society, imagined gracefully accepting the rather large check the circle of scientists would have paid her for specific directions to the location of Amenhotep II's second obelisk, but above all, she'd imagined the look of pride she'd have seen in Roxton's eyes as he watched her rise through London society ranks on her own, and for good reason.
Finding that the obelisk was gone, swept away onto yet another time plane, had crushed all her new dreams, and Marguerite hated that. It was a cruel God that dangled hope in front of a needy heart and then pulled it away, but Marguerite also knew that she'd survive.
She looked out her window thoughtfully, allowing one last daydream of what it would have been like to be a respected member of London society to spread before her, before finally she sighed once more. "Damn," she murmured quietly, shaking her head.
Disappointment was bitter, but on this particular plateau, perhaps tomorrow something more valuable would come her way and give life to Marguerite's dreams once more.
Marguerite turned her head at the sound of a muffled yelp of pain coming from Roxton's quarters. She turned quickly, making the short trip into the hallway to stand outside his door; the hunter was dabbing a handkerchief to his wounded jaw line, a straight razor dangling precariously off the edge of his dresser. She bit back a giggle, considering turning away to give Roxton some privacy, but good sense never really prevailed in Marguerite's decisions.
She stepped into Roxton's bedroom, biting her lip softly, more than amusement shining in her beautiful gray eyes. No, she supposed, she didn't lose everything.
She managed to keep what mattered the most.
End.
The Wheel
"Come closer to the fire, Marguerite. You'll catch your death out in this ungodly weather."
"Might I remind you, Roxton, that it wasn't my idea to come on this foolhardy expedition? We had plenty of meat back at the tree house. There was no need to go hunting this week."
"Ah, but, Marguerite, with the temperatures dropping like they have been of late, the dinosaurs will be moving towards warmer climates. I realize the plateau's idea of winter has nothing on London's charming snow storms, however even the smallest drop in temperature will have such cold-blooded creatures seeking warmth. The larger our store of dried meat, the longer we will be able to survive on the meager prey that remains."
Marguerite Krux, intelligent, beautiful, turned her large gray eyes upon Lord John Roxton, the hunter who sat mere feet away from her, his own eyes hidden beneath the shade of his ever present hat. The shadows of the jungle grew longer and deeper as the last of the sun's light faded, taking with it the warmth of the day. With a shiver, Marguerite gave into Roxton's prodding and slipped closer to the fire and subsequently the hunter himself.
His smile was warm and welcoming as he pulled the dark haired beauty to his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her blanket over his own body so that they huddled beneath the same covering. Marguerite lifted a single refined eyebrow at his actions, and gave him a small sarcastic sniff.
"Ah, now I understand. It wasn't your need to be a gentleman that coerced me to the fire, but your want of my blanket."
He grinned at her teasing, leaning down to touch his forehead against her own. "On the contrary, Marguerite, I couldn't give a good damn about your blanket." His grin widened. "The warmth of your body against my own, however..."
"You, sir, are no lord. You're a lout."
"And you, my dear, are loving every moment."
A fallen tree supported the hunter as Marguerite curled against his body and he leaned back, seeking the most comfortable position in which to hold the heiress. With a gentle hand he stroked her soft raven hair and stared off into the fire, fantasies of future possibilities crossing his mind as Roxton held Marguerite close. Minutes passed and Marguerite's breathing grew slow and steady as she lay unmoving against his solid form, leading Roxton to believe she'd fallen asleep. Her gentle voice, however, gave him a start as her hand came up to softly press against his chest while she voiced her own thoughts. "Tell me something interesting, John."
He blinked in surprise, confusion coloring his expression as he glanced down at her. "What is it you fancy hearing?"
She shrugged softly, "Whatever you'd like to talk about."
"If you've nothing specific to ask, Marguerite, how am I supposed to answer?"
Again she shrugged. "Tell me the first thing that comes to mind."
He chuckled lowly, his fingers moving to stroke her back through the thin fabric of her shirt. "You don't want to know what's on my mind, Marguerite." His voice lowered. "I believe it would scandalize even you, my dear."
Her giggle was as unexpected as it was welcome. "Back to being the lout again, John? And I thought we'd passed that stage."
"Never, where you're concerned." His chin rested against her head as his fingers took up a slow, rhythmic stroking on her back. "So, you'd like a bedtime story, would you, Marguerite? Of what period... war... peace... prison... romance..."
She sighed. "Never mind. I was foolish to ask."
"You're rarely foolish, now what's all this about?" Roxton tipped her head so that she looked into his eyes but her gaze held no answers.
"Nothing, really. I was just bored a moment without a book to read and thought perhaps you'd talk a while before I fell asleep."
He grinned suddenly. "I'll talk, Marguerite, about what, I've not a clue, but I will talk."
Roxton's voice was low and melodious as he spoke; for a long while, he voiced thoughts on their expedition to the jungle, their adventures in the previous three years, the people they'd met over time. Later, as Marguerite's breathing grew deep, his voice lowered yet again, a low rumble in the night, as his thoughts turned to his life in England: his brother's tragedy, his father's demise, Roxton's own struggle to maintain his sense of self in the wake of all that followed the fated trip to Africa. He knew Marguerite never heard much of what he had to say, his eyes alternating from watching the jungle around them to watching her face as she slipped from a light doze into gentle slumber, but even he relaxed as he spoke. First his tense muscles began to ease, his eyelids began to flutter and, finally, his words faltered as sleep stole the train of thought from his mind. When his head drooped forward, his chin finding comfort on the top of Marguerite's head once again, she mumbled incoherently in her sleep and her body shifted, naturally forming to the hunter's strong frame.
The fire burned low as they slept, their bodies curling around each other for warmth and comfort while the night dragged on. Cocooned under blankets and in Roxton's warm embrace, even Marguerite couldn't complain of the unfamiliar chill that stole through the dark Amazon plateau.
******
Marguerite awoke slowly to the pleasant sensation of warm breath against the back of her neck. Roxton's stubble prickled at her flesh, but she didn't mind, quite the opposite. His scent filled her senses, his hard body pressed flush against her own soft frame, and gradually she became aware of the heavy pressure of his hand splayed against her flat stomach. Sometime through the night his fingers had worked their way under her blouse and his calloused flesh now rested against her own soft skin.
Her smile, unseen by the sleeping hunter, was brilliant. This was the smile she reserved for the occasions her true emotions were able to shine through. This was the smile with which she'd graced Roxton in *the cave* when he'd asked her if he'd told her how beautiful she was. This was the smile Marguerite knew only Roxton could coerce from her deeply protected heart.
With careful effort to not awaken the hunter, Marguerite moved her own hand under her blouse, covering his fingers, stroking the strong flesh beneath her touch. With a sigh she allowed herself a few moments to become lost in the warmth, both physical and emotional, of lying in Roxton's arms. Her fingers ceased their soft caress of his hand, however, when she felt his slow smile spread against her neck. Her breath hitched quickly as his tongue darted out to taste her briefly before his low voice sent shivers through her body.
"Warm enough, Marguerite?" His fingers began an upward journey, softly brushing the underside of her breasts, making her gasp quietly once again.
Her lips curled into a lopsided grin as once again she covered his hands with her own, drawing his wandering digits back to her hip and then to rest on his own leg before she turned to face him. "Warm, yes. Enough remains to be seen." She offered him a saucy wink before rolling out from under the blanket and into the sharp morning air. The wind had picked up unconditionally over night, causing her to shiver softly as she wrapped the edges of her too thin jacket around her rapidly cooling body.
"You're in quite a mood this morning." His grin matched hers as they worked together to quickly break down their small camp. "Do tell, whom do I owe what for the gracing of your better nature?"
Marguerite shrugged, her eyes sparkling brilliantly as she swung her pack over her shoulder and turned to face him once again. "It's a beautiful morning, we have no one trying to kill us, and I slept remarkably well; being cheerful certainly beats waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"I've got to say, Marguerite, considering the chill in the air, I was expecting a more subdued response to continuing our journey."
"Yes, well, don't get used to it. I'm sure I'll be back to normal before long." She offered Roxton one final teasing wink before turning towards the trail they'd decided upon the day before.
They walked in silence for a distance, occasionally stopping to readjust their coats against the growing force of the wind around them. Several times both had to grab at their hats to keep from losing them to the gusts that swept them by, but even still they continued at a sharp pace until they came to a clearing at the top of a high hill.
Marguerite began to pull fruits and dried meat from her pack as Roxton gazed out over the clearing, a frown building on his face. "I hate to say it, but I believe we may be in for somewhat of a storm."
Marguerite lifted an eyebrow in a delicate look of sarcasm. "You don't say?" Her eyes traveled to the black clouds gathering above them, hidden until now by the density of the jungle through which they had been traveling. Roxton afforded her a look of displeasure as she handed him his meal before turning back to the scene before him.
"It appears to be building strength in the south. I suggest we carry on to the north, stay ahead of the storm as long as possible." His frown deepened. "We'll need to find shelter, I'm afraid."
Marguerite sighed. "A cave?"
"Quite likely."
"You do realize we don't have the best of luck with caves?"
He shrugged. "We may not have much of a choice." He nodded towards a mountain range in the northeast. "Looks to be about three hours travel; we may be caught in the storm yet."
Glancing at the remains of her half eaten lunch, Marguerite issued a sound of regret before picking up her pack once more. "I suppose that's your way of telling me our break is over."
"Would you prefer we stay out in the open, Marguerite? I'm sure you'd have plenty of time for rest while you're recuperating from pneumonia." His eyes flashed something unreadable, frustration in his every feature as he turned and made his way back to the trees.
Marguerite frowned in response, sniffing indelicately as she jogged lightly to catch up to the quickly moving hunter. "Well you don't have to be so snide about it, John. I wasn't arguing, I was merely stating an observation."
"Observe later, Marguerite, for now, concentrate on moving. That storm's building up faster than I'd hoped."
Thunder rumbled in the near distance and both explorers could feel the crackle of electricity in the air as the skies darkened increasingly faster. In less than an hour the rain began, slowly at first, but before long both Roxton and Marguerite were soaked through. They stumbled blindly over downed trees and vines, moving as fast as was safe as they scrambled through the jungle.
"John, I don't mean to question your sense of direction, but if we're heading towards mountains, why are we going down?"
Her words were nearly lost on the wind, but Roxton managed to gather the jist of her query. "There's a valley between the hill and the mountain. Marguerite, listen to me now: this rain is getting heavier, which means the valley is going to flood. We have got to cross it before the passage is washed away!"
He reached behind him and grabbed hold of her hand, pulling her forward as he began a sharp run on the mud slickened decline. Marguerite gave a sharp squeak as her foot tangled in a root, her forward motion combined with Roxton's pull on her hand sending her completely off balance. She stumbled into Roxton's back, her free hand clutching at his shoulder as her feet slid in the mud beneath her. Roxton called out her name, grabbing for her as his own feet lost their grip and together he and Marguerite began a downward spiral off the hill. Roxton struggled without hope as his body spun in the mud, sliding him in a nauseating circle as he tumbled; Marguerite, having begun her slide with far more momentum than Roxton, tumbled once, twice, before landing on her back and continuing a straight slide to the bottom of the hill. When they at last came to a stop, they lay tangled in a shocked heap for several moments before Roxton raised a hand to his head and groaned.
"When I said to hurry, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind." Roxton tossed a rueful grin in Marguerite's direction, carefully climbing to his feet and extending a hand to the still prone heiress.
Lying on her back, the breath knocked from her body, Marguerite merely stared at Roxton for long moments before finally taking his offered grip. She gasped in pain as she stood, her lungs complaining violently against her sudden intake of air, leaving her with a harsh cough.
Roxton's grin faded into a look of worry as he held Marguerite still. "Are you hurt?" Genuine concern replaced the teasing previously in his tone and his expressive eyes shone with regret.
Marguerite waved him off, finally beginning to breathe easily once more. "A few scratches here and there," she murmured, raising a hand to her aching head.
"Are you all right to move on, then?" His eyes flicked between her and the storm that was rapidly over taking them.
She waved her hand again, letting Roxton take the lead as she struggled to keep her balance through the waves of dizziness threatening to upset her stomach. In mid fall, Marguerite's head had ricocheted off something hard, and again she raised her hand to touch the tender abrasion well hidden under her thick hair. She followed Roxton silently, his pace now much less grueling than previously as they neared their destination. Mercifully, the pounding in her head eased quickly, and Marguerite was able to push the remaining ache to the back of her mind.
"Bloody hell!"
Roxton stopped suddenly, twisting in the path, his hand shooting out a moment later to stop Marguerite from walking into him. She frowned, turning her body quickly to see what had gained the hunter's attention, but for all intents and purposes, they remained alone. With a smothered groan at the nausea the quick movement caused, Marguerite turned back to Roxton, displeasure written across her face.
"Have you lost your mind, Roxton? There's nothing here!" Snappish and irritable, Roxton's next comment caused her eyes to flash with undisguised anger.
"I've gone and lost my hat! The tumble down the hill must have knocked it loose!" He glanced back down the path from which they had just come, irritation curling his lip.
"What's done is done, John, we can't afford to go back now." Eager to be dry once more, Marguerite shoved her dripping hair out of her eyes and pushed past the hunter to continue down the path. She'd gone no more than twenty feet when she realized he was no longer following her. "For God's sake, John, it's just a hat! I am not risking being caught in a sudden flood or being drowned in mud to get that dirty old thing back! And if you think I'm going to let you kill yourself over it, leaving me to try and retrace our steps back to the tree house from here, you're sorely mistaken!"
With a sigh, John turned to face her once again. He knew she was right, but he hated leaving the hat behind, likely to be washed away and never seen again. He sighed once more before nodding to Marguerite and moving to catch up with her. The final few kilometers to the mountain were traveled in subdued silence, neither, for the moment, willing to communicate with the other beyond minor instructions when needed.
When the mountain finally loomed before them, a near black misshapen form against the dark skies, both explorers were grateful to see a ground height cave beckoning them inside. As a precaution, Roxton drew his guns, stepping in front of Marguerite as they entered. The sudden dark covering the Plateau was no comparison to the complete inky blackness that filled the interior of the cave. Drenched to the bone, neither Roxton nor Marguerite hesitated before stepping deeper into the dark, but her breath ruffling the short hairs at the back of his neck proved to John just how uneasy Marguerite was feeling at the moment. Her silent unease was echoed by her companion, and, only meters inside, Roxton came to a stop.
"It's not safe to go any farther without light." His voice was low, careful to not disturb any predators that may be waiting out of sight.
"And I forgot to pack the torches." Sarcasm dripped from every word as Marguerite flipped her hair over her shoulder, lifting a hand to massage the back of her neck.
"Marguerite, this isn't funny."
"Do I look like I'm laughing?"
John cracked a smile. "I can't say, my dear, you are truly hidden from my sight."
Marguerite's breath whispered past her lips in a heavy sigh, and Roxton heard the thump of her pack as it hit the ground. Colorful language, whispered harshly, filled the cave as Marguerite searched through her pack without the advantage of sight. Long minutes passed, silence broken only by occasional cursing, before Marguerite issued a soft sound of discovery. Another minute passed before John felt her hand against his arm, and soon a dry box of matches was pressed into his palm.
"I must admit I am impressed. How did you ever manage that?"
Marguerite shrugged, a motion lost on Roxton while they remained without light. "I wrapped them in a leather strip before we left," she replied simply.
Roxton's surprise was evident in his silence, but rather than waste time dwelling, he struck a match. In the flickering light, a dried, abandoned nest for some creature came to view. With a shrug, Roxton moved forward, listening for any sound, before picking up two of the largest sticks he could find.
"Care to donate a few strips of material?" His eyes twinkled as he allowed his gaze to rove her body, settling on the midriff of her blouse.
"You have got to be kidding me."
"I'm sorry, Marguerite, but we need dry cloth to keep the torches lit, and the tails of your blouse seem to have been kept out of the rain by some miracle."
"Yeah. Some miracle." With a chuff, Marguerite began to rip her blouse, tearing the material away from her stomach before handing it to Roxton in a lump and moving to sit against the wall of the cave. Roxton quickly lit the torches, moving towards the resting lady. In the light of both torches, Roxton was unable to miss the wince that crossed Marguerite's features as she carefully rubbed the back of her head. Her gaze met his, and a look of regret flashed through her eyes. "I hit it on the way down the hill." She shifted under his silence a moment, the strength of her gaze challenging the flash of reprimand in his. "No lectures, John, my head is harder than it appears. No damage done, permanently anyway."
"Even still, as soon as we get back to the tree house, we'll have Challenger look you over. Don't want to take any chances, now do we?"
Marguerite laughed, reaching up to take his offered hand and climbed to her feet. "Malone's had much worse, I assure you, Lord Roxton. I'll not curl up and die from a knock on the head. Not today, anyhow."
Roxton inclined his head in acceptance, although the look of concern didn't fully leave his features. Instead of forcing Marguerite to dwell upon her injuries any longer, however, he began their journey through the dark cavern, his senses on full alert for signs of any danger.
An hour passed as they traveled deeper into what they discovered to be a large, winding series of caves. They paused frequently for Marguerite to examine several promising specimens of geological nature, but for the most part each cavern appeared to be as empty as the first. It wasn't until the tunnel they were following began a downward spiral that the tiny hairs on the back of Roxton's neck began to rise. He held his hand up for Marguerite to stop, listening intently to the air surrounding them.
"What is it?" Her voice was a warm whisper next to his ear, and Roxton's frown grew deeper.
"Breathing. Not far off. Can you not hear it?"
They fell silent again and this time Marguerite joined him as they listened for the tell tale signs of another presence. Soon, she too could pick out the soft intakes of breath from somewhere just ahead of their current position. With a glance at Roxton, she pulled her pistol from her belt and Roxton readied his own weapons. He afforded her a quick nod before they both began to walk the final meters to the opening of the next cavern.
They entered the cavern in silence, their torches the only indication of their presence as they scanned the seemingly empty room. The breathing grew heavier the deeper they progressed into the cavern, however as far as both Roxton and Marguerite could see, they were alone. It wasn't until they reached the center that the depression in the floor became apparent; a deep hole, dark as night, loomed before them, and from within they could now hear the sharp snapping and hissing that accompanied the breathing. Marguerite met Roxton's gaze, both showing their trepidation, but both still moving closer. Roxton carefully leaned the torch over the edge of the crevice, his gaze instantly drawn to the set of razor sharp teeth suddenly attempting to close around his wrist.
"What the...!" Roxton fell back quickly, stumbling over a rock and landing on his rear three feet from the hole.
"What? What did you see?" Marguerite moved to the crevice, repeating Roxton's movements of a moment before. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the good-sized dinosaur pacing the confines of the hole. It leapt at Marguerite, it's teeth falling short by mere inches as it fell back to the ground once more. "My God! That... that's not a raptor, is it, John?"
"I don't know, Marguerite, all I saw were teeth." John's annoyed voice drew her attention from the dinosaur in the pit to where he sat, caressing his turned ankle with care.
"Oh, John, are you all right?" She abandoned the dinosaur in question for a moment, dropping to Roxton's side and handing him her torch. Her delicate fingers quickly worked off his boot and began to examine his ankle. "Doesn't look broken; can you move it?"
Roxton chuckled softly. "I'll be fine." He gave her an amused wink. "Can I have my boot back?"
She dangled the boot off one finger, leaning back as her eyes matched his humor. "This old thing? I'd think you'd rather feed it to whatever is in that pit." She wrinkled her nose. "These really need to be washed."
"Hmm, yes, well, I'm afraid that will have to wait until we get back to the tree house." He snatched the boot from her grasp, quickly lacing it back onto his injured foot. Using Marguerite's arm as leverage, he climbed gingerly to his feet, testing his weight on the wounded appendage. "Now, what were you saying about a raptor?"
Marguerite frowned as they moved back to the pit. "I honestly don't think it is a raptor. I mean, look at it; it's too small, the head is not quite right, and look at its claws."
Keeping out of the angered dinosaur's reach, Roxton leaned over the opening and checked out Marguerite's appraisal. "You're right; that's no raptor." His expression darkened. "If I'm not mistaken, however, it's of the same family." He thought a moment, reaching up to run a hand through his hair as he studied the creature carefully. "Procompsognathus, perhaps. They're about three feet high, theropod, five talons, carnivorous. They have a smoother muzzle than a raptor, but their teeth are just as dangerous." He pocketed his guns and withdrew his rifle, taking careful aim at the creature's skull.
"You're not just going to shoot it, are you?" Marguerite laid a hand on Roxton's arm, her eyes showing reluctance to shoot the creature without cause.
"Look at the back of the pit, Marguerite. There's an exiting tunnel; if we're going to explore this cave to it's full extent, the procompsognathus is going to have to die." He cocked his rifle, never taking his eyes off the still leaping dinosaur. "Who's to say, my dear, there may be gems beyond even your imagination hiding in a protected cavern. Maybe even a way off this plateau."
She sighed. "At least tell me this proco... procomp... whatever is going to count as part of the hunt?"
"Very well; dried out I'm sure it will taste no worse than raptor." His shot was deafening, but clean. The procompsognathus fell dead with a single bullet through its brain. "We'll leave it for the moment and clean and strip the body on the way back." He dropped the torches into the crevice, and held a hand out to Marguerite. "Ladies first."
"How uncharacteristically well-mannered of you, Lord Roxton." She flashed him a sarcastic roll of her eyes before taking his hand, allowing him to lower her over the edge of the pit. When her entire body was submerged in the shadows of the crevice, she glanced up to meet his gaze and nodded. He released her, watching with concern as she dropped to the ground with grace. Roxton lifted an eyebrow, the hunter in him duly impressed as the lady moved across the pit to check on the dinosaur, making sure the creature was truly dead before calling to John to come down.
Roxton's descent was more perilous than Marguerite's. With no one remaining to lower him the first six feet down the side, Roxton was left with a twelve-foot leap to the ground. Testing his still aching ankle, the hunter heaved a sigh before stepping forward. The ground came up out of the gloom more quickly than he'd expected, but still he managed to roll to his feet with little effort.
He was surprised to find Marguerite's hand on his shoulder a moment later as the dark haired beauty stood next to him and glanced up to the opening of the crevice. "So, tell me, John, have you thought about how we're going to get out of this pit on the way home?"
The hunter followed her gaze, his eyes suddenly concerned, but he smothered the look with a shrug, pulling her closer to his body, distracting her from her thoughts. "We'll worry about climbing out when the time comes. For now, I believe we have a new tunnel to explore."
She eyed him suspiciously, following him with a half grin curving her lips. "When did you become such a connoisseur of caves, John Roxton?"
His grin grew lopsided as he turned his head over his shoulder and wagged his eyebrows humorously. "Since I fell for a woman that can't keep her nose out of them."
"Cad," she muttered quietly, but pleasure shone in her gray eyes as she followed him into the newest tunnel, neither of them noticing that the entrance to the tunnel was wide enough only for a normal sized human being. Any dinosaur that was in the pit would have had to fall from above with no means of escape. Still, the thought of where the bodies of past trapped creatures had gone never crossed their minds as they continued even deeper under the mountain, blissfully unaware of a dozen pairs of ears listening to their every word.
****
They walked for what felt like forever, the darkness broken only by the light of their torches. Marguerite moved close to Roxton, partly to stave off the discomfort of not knowing what was around the next turn, partly to keep an eye on the still somewhat limping hunter, partly just for the chance to brush against him as they walked. Their conversation was limited by the possible need for stealth, so each took comfort in the brush of one's arm against the others, especially when the torches burned low and the shadows of the tunnel grew longer around them.
As the torches spluttered and flickered their last breaths, Roxton and Marguerite were finally able to spot the end of the tunnel. It broke open into a large cavern, back lit by clumps of glowing moss growing on the uneven walls. Both breathed sighs of relief at the natural source of light, both sighs, however, turning to gasps at the sight of what lay before them.
"What the hell is that?" Roxton moved forward, his eyes tracing over the unnatural shape in front of them.
Marguerite followed him, her eyes wide as she took in the incredible freestanding object in fascination. Her eyes eagerly scanned the inscriptions in the rock and a smile of pure thrill lit her face. "It's an obelisk!"
"An obelisk? Here?"
Marguerite shrugged briefly, her concentration now fully on the ancient creation before her. "I don't see why not, John, after all, we did meet Nefertiti. Who's to say another Egyptian culture didn't find their way to the plateau. Who's to say this has anything to do with the Egyptians at all. You know, very few Obelisks are actually in Egypt these days."
A frown creased Roxton's features, but he moved closer to Marguerite as her eyes focused entirely on the nearly illegible inscriptions, a shiver of pure pleasure coursing through her frame as she ran her fingers down the millennia old creation.
"I'm sure you've seen Cleopatra's Needle in London, John. Sir James Alexander risked everything to bring that particular Obelisk to England's shores in 1877. He turned the Needle into an odd type of ship he called Cleopatra and attempted to sail her the entire journey. He nearly lost his life along the way, you know, but he was a determined man; rather reminds me of Challenger now that we're discussing it. Yes, well, through all efforts, it took exactly four months to the day before Sir James sailed the Cleopatra down the Thames, and eight months after that before she was put upright. From all stories, it was quite the occasion the day the Needle first appeared in the river... January 21, 1877. She was moored near the House of Parliament, exactly where she stands now, on September 12 that same year. It's beautiful, John... absolutely beautiful. To think in London we're always mere feet away from something that stood in front of the Ceasarian Temple. It takes my breath away."
John watched Marguerite in fascination, her eyes glowing, her touch gentle as she glided careful fingers over the surface of the rock. "Why, Marguerite, I never realized you were so well versed in ancient history."
"Yes, well, there is probably quite a lot you don't realize about me." She flashed him a rueful smile before continuing to examine the obelisk. "This one is quite different from the London obelisk, smaller, more compact. It was likely made as a personal project rather than as an actual monument to RA." Something flashed in Marguerite's eyes, and a frown creased her forehead as she turned back to the obelisk. "Hold on." She circled the conic trunk, bringing her low burning torch closer. She spent a moment studying the inscription down one side of the cone; another moment was spent running fingers over the undecorated remaining three sides. "That's odd."
"What?" Roxton stepped forward, far enough away to leave Marguerite uninterrupted, close enough to see exactly upon which she was commenting.
"Here. These three sides aren't inscribed. Generally, obelisks have writing on all four sides, not just one. Even parts of the pyramidon," at this she reached up, brushing the bottom of the pyramid shape that topped the obelisk, just out of her reach, "are sometimes carved with bas-relief. The obelisks symbolize the stability and creative forces held by RA." She shook her head in confusion. "The Egyptians believed that the solar rays brought a great vivifying power, even into the grave, which would thereby effect the resurrection of the dead. Leaving three sides uninscribed is very unusual, it would diminish the message left by the creator in the eyes of RA."
"Didn't you say this was a personal project, though? Perhaps the inscriptions were never meant to be read by RA. Perhaps they were for human eyes only."
Marguerite laughed gently. "All inscriptions were meant to be read by the Gods to which they were directed, Roxton, personal project or not." Again her eyes flashed, "Unless... bring your torch closer, I want to know what this says."
Finding himself unable to argue, Roxton drew closer yet, one hand resting on Marguerite's shoulder, the other holding his flickering torch near the ancient inscriptions. He listened closely as Marguerite began to read, stumbling periodically over certain words and tenses, backing up and starting again until the unfamiliar words flowed from her lips. When the words of the inscription came without effort, Marguerite's lyrical voice bringing beauty to the ancient language, she looked up, her eyes alight with excitement. "I don't believe it, listen!" She read the inscription again, her gaze encouraging the hunter to share in her discovery.
Roxton watched with barely suppressed amusement warring with outright curiosity. "That's all well and good, Marguerite, but I can't understand a word you're saying." He grinned. "Would the lady mind translating into the King's English for those of us who speak only a single language or two."
She sighed softly, her gaze apologetic as she returned her eyes to the inscription. "Amenhotep II made as his monument to his father, Khnum-Ra, the making for him of two obelisks of the Altar of RA."
Roxton blinked. "And, what?"
Marguerite rolled her eyes. "Don't you understand? The obelisk of Amenhotep II has been in Bentford since 1838! Duke Algernon of Northumberland was given the Amenhotep II from the Egyptian Viceroy in that year, and it's been kept in the Great Hall of Syon House ever since! This can't possibly be the Amenhotep II, which makes it the second obelisk built by Amenhotep for Khnum-Ra; an artifact that has never been found!" Her eyes flashed with undisguised excitement. "To the archeological society, this obelisk is probably worth more than every gem on this plateau combined!"
Roxton eyed the seven-foot plus ornament with trepidation. "Now, Marguerite, it's not like we're going to be able to transport that piece of rock out of this cavern, so I wouldn't get too excited about the prospect of returning with it to London."
She sighed in exasperation. "But now we know where it's located, John, and that information is invaluable to many people, many collectors. Once we've returned to England, I need only proof of its existence, then stand back and allow the collectors and archaeologists battle over who's going to make the return journey to bring this obelisk home."
"Marguerite, I don't think that..."
"Don't reprimand me, John, I'm not a child. That I am able to find a way to make this little adventure of ours profitable on our return is not a great sin. It's called looking out for one's self, which is something I have always been good at."
"No argument there, my dear." His gaze softened and he reached a hand out to softly stroke a stray raven lock of hair away from her face. A half smile curved his lips as his fingers strayed to her cheek, trailing over her soft flesh. "I know you'll do as you like, Marguerite, but we have a lot of time to think things over before we return to London. There's no sense in dwelling on it now."
Her defensive stance weakened, and Marguerite found herself leaning into his touch. Her eyes grew smoky gray, and ever so slowly her tongue darted out to whet her lips. A flicker of amusement crossed her face as Roxton's breath caught, and with a roll of her eyes she leaned up to press her lips against his mud streaked cheek. "I am who I am, John."
"I have no complaints," he touched his head to hers, a soft chuckle escaping his throat. "You certainly keep me on my toes."
"I aim to please." She gave him a mock bow before turning away, leaning down to pick up her hastily discarded pack. Roxton turned to take a last look at the obelisk, his attention drawn back to Marguerite only by her sudden loud gasp.
"What...?"
A dozen dark bodies stepped into the low light of the cavern, eyes and metal spears glinting simultaneously. Unconscious reaction forced Roxton to Marguerite's side, both pulling their pistols from their belts, eying the natives with trepidation. Their trepidation was surpassed by amazement, however, as the light of the native's torches lit the cave brightly, and their "attackers" dropped quickly to their knees in front of the explorers. Roxton watched in silent shock, while Marguerite slowly warmed to the sudden image of being worshipped.
"Well, now, that's more like it." She grinned in amusement, lifting an eyebrow pointedly in Roxton's direction.
"Take care, Marguerite, we have no idea what they want from us."
"Perhaps they're looking for Gods, and we're it."
Roxton scoffed lightly. "We've been worshiped as many things over the years, and not one of them has turned out for the better. We may want to approach this with caution."
"Approach with caution all you like, Roxton; me, I'm going to find out if they have anything to eat and drink."
His words of retort were cut off as Marguerite stepped away from him, moving towards the still kneeling natives. He bit back a groan of frustration, but lowered his gun and followed her forward. Roxton's eyes flickered back and forth between the natives and Marguerite as she slowly began to converse with them, easily picking up the new dialect. After a moment, she broke into a brilliant smile, and turned back to Roxton.
"We're going with them back to their village. They'll provide us food and water and show us a way out of these tunnels without having to climb out of the pit." Her smile faded as she glanced down at her mud-covered body and groaned. "Maybe they'll provide baths as well. We're absolutely filthy. It's disgusting really."
Used to Marguerite's changing thought patterns, Roxton merely nodded, walking next to the dark haired beauty as their new found allies led them away from the cavern, deeper inside the mountain. The walk was shorter than Roxton would have expected, making note of the dark slipping away from the tunnels as they grew closer to the native society. Soon, the pass ways literally shone with candlelight, homemade beeswax candles resting on rock shelf after rock shelf, until they exited the tunnels and entered a large domed cavern. The walls and ceiling of the cavern were unnaturally smooth, obviously painstakingly chiseled by many hands to give an unending circular appearance. The light of many large torches made use of candles obsolete, and as the natives dropped their weapons into a large bin at the base of the passage, Roxton finally began to relax.
Words passed again between Marguerite and the leader of the group that discovered the explorers; Roxton was left waiting rather impatiently for Marguerite to translate. His eyes narrowed as her eyes showed delight, her hand resting on the leader's shoulder as a soft laugh passed her lips and she continued talking. Her exuberance was plainly seen, her words coming faster, her hands and eyes talking with as much excitement as her lips. Roxton bit back a snarl as the other man leaned forward, taking Marguerite's hand in his own, pressing his lips to her hand before kneeling and pressing Marguerite's hand to his forehead.
With a muted growl, Roxton grabbed Marguerite's arm and pulled her back to him. "What are you saying to him?"
She afforded him a bemused expression, her eyes sparkling with the knowledge that Roxton's more primal emotions were affecting his reactions where she was concerned. "Nothing I haven't said to many men on occasion, John."
"I'd wager on that."
She rolled her eyes, pursing her lips as she gauged his mood and how far she could push him. Finally, she shrugged. "I only asked if they had a basin and water I could use."
He frowned. "And that spawned all the laughing and touching?"
White teeth glinted as her hair shadowed her face. "Laughing and touching? Why, Lord Roxton, I never knew you cared."
"That's bull, Marguerite, now stop playing games and let me in on your little secret."
"Honestly, John, I asked him for a basin and water. He agreed, which is when I laughed and touched him. in gratitude. I know you and the others often believe me incapable of paying thanks where it's due, but that's all that happened. I made a rather amusing joke regarding our being mud covered, and he went all serious and kissed my hand. Really, sometimes I think you don't trust me at all."
Roxton lifted an eyebrow. "And sometimes I think you'd sell your own blood if it meant getting your way, my dear, however I do believe you." He paused. "And right now, a basin of water does sound rather appealing." He rubbed at his mud-covered chin ruefully, and allowed his lips to spread into a smile. "Care to share?"
"Oh, really." She sniffed haughtily, laughter lighting her entire visage. "We've had this conversation in the past, I believe."
"Yes, but our situation has changed since then, Marguerite."
A stain of pink crept over Marguerite's cheeks, but somehow she managed to keep a dignified expression. "Well, you know what they say, John: the more things change."
He watched as she walked away, a pointed sway in her hips. A flip of the hair later, her arm was entwined with that of a native male's, and Marguerite made her way towards the water she sought. Roxton turned slightly, finding the leader of the original group of natives watching Marguerite as well. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Roxton caught the man's eye and gave him a hard smile. "She's some woman, isn't she?" The man said something beyond Roxton's comprehension, but the hunter merely looked away once more. "Yes, well, she's mine."
****
Roxton paced the main cavern nervously; Marguerite had been gone over thirty minutes and the hunter was beginning to become concerned. Not for the first time, he moved towards the tunnel into which Marguerite had left with the native man, and again Roxton found himself disappointed. There was still no sign of the dark haired heiress.
He paced to the other side of the cavern, surreptitiously examining the weapons used by the native group that had likely been moving towards the pit intent on killing the dinosaur within. Roxton shook his head; spears and arrows against dinosaurs, he could hardly fathom the danger into which these people placed themselves. He was just about to attempt communication with the leader of the group, try to demand the location of Marguerite, when something sent the entire village of natives into an uproar. Voices rose in confusion and anger, and Roxton found himself quickly thrust into the center of a milling group of bodies.
Roxton's eyes were drawn to the front of the group; he was dismayed to find Marguerite standing at the entrance to the cavern, her arms secured by two natives, confusion and anger plainly written on her face. She was speaking rapidly, apparently arguing with her captors as she caught John's eye and flashed him a helpless look. In answer, Roxton shoved through the crowd, surprised to find the group easily parting a path for him as he approached his companion. Once at her side, he narrowed his eyes at the two holding her, and was once again surprised to find Marguerite instantly released.
"What the hell did you do this time, Marguerite?" His voice was low and controlled, his gaze constantly scanning the crowd for any signs of explosive hostility.
"Nothing, John, I swear! All I did was clean up! They were perfectly content to watch as I washed, but as soon as I turned around, they started muttering and yelling about my being an imposter and how I've insulted their entire tribe! They went on about some ritual I had to perform to reaffirm my spirit to the Mother and then dragged me out here." Her lips curved in confused distain and she shook her head. "I still don't know what I've done!"
With a groan, John turned around, muttering softly. "It's always something, Marguerite. We don't know any of these tribes, we don't know their rituals, we're bloody stupid to do anything more than stand in silence some days." His eyes scanned the room until they settled onto the leader of the tribe. "But today, we're going to set this right, without bloodshed if possible." He raised a hand, gesturing to the leader to come forward.
Once standing in front of them, the leader began speaking quickly, his words sharp and angered. Roxton watched Marguerite's reaction to what the man was saying, trying not to allow the frustration at his non- comprehension to get the better of him. "What's he saying?"
She shrugged, "Basically the same as the others. I need to perform a ritual to reaffirm my spirit to the Mother. I need to take back the insult I've paid to the Mother. He just keeps carrying on with the same basic idea."
Roxton nodded, his jaw clenched tightly. "Ask him what this ritual is, and if we perform it will he allow us safe journey as he promised."
She quickly translated, and both were relieved to see the man nod vehemently; after several moments of listening to the leader speak, Marguerite turned back to Roxton once more. "It figures."
"What does?"
"The mud; it's the bloody mud that's caused all this uproar."
Biting back his frustration, Roxton forced his voice to remain steady. "What about the mud?"
She sighed. "Apparently, this tribe sees mud as a connection to the Earth. By covering one's self in mud, you are announcing your unconquerable strength and connection to the world around you, and by leaving the mud to dry on your body, you are claiming to be a valued servant of the Earth Mother, whom apparently this tribe worships as their Goddess. When I washed off the mud."
"You reneged on your pledge to the Earth Mother, and insulted the tribe." Roxton nodded quickly. "And how do we fix this?"
"It's simple really." Marguerite shot him a half amused, half rueful grin. "I take a mud bath."
Roxton blinked. "That's all?"
She shrugged. "That's all. By bathing in the mud, I'll confirm my loyalty to the Earth Mother and we'll get the hell out of here."
Roxton's face broke into a relieved grin, and suddenly his eyes turned teasing. "Why, Marguerite, how self sacrificial of you." He glanced down, noting the flaking mud on his own body. "You know, I could use a reaffirmation myself."
"I think not."
His grin grew wider. "I think so. After all, we wouldn't want the Earth Mother to be offended by my inadequate offering."
Marguerite's eyes rolled, her expression stern, but when the leader of the natives led her away to a secluded cave in which she could take her mud bath, Roxton followed.
Not a word was said to stop him.
****
"You know, I almost regret leaving." Roxton's smile was smug as he wrapped his fingers around one of Marguerite's arms, helping her step over poorly placed rocks on their path. When they exited the cave, they were surprised to find the weather had reverted nearly back to the tropical state to which they were accustomed. True, the air had a bit of a nip to it, but, with the rising of the sun, that faded into warmth and then heat once again. Whatever had caused the sudden change in temperature had been washed away by the violent storm of the day before.
"Yes, well, I regret many things about this trip; being covered in mud not once, but twice, and having no opportunity to wash it off, that we killed a creature and never even went back for the meat, and that I've gone and ruined yet another blouse, and you know, I've not many more."
His eyes sparkled mischievously. "That could become a rather interesting situation."
"Mind your manners, Lord Roxton, we're not back at the tree house, yet." She flashed him a pretty smile, her heart fluttering mildly as it did whenever he teased her. "Besides, we still have the little matter of a hunting trip to complete. We can't exactly go back empty handed, you know."
He scowled, "Yes, Marguerite, thank you."
They glanced around as they continued walking, realizing that the exit out of the mountain that the natives had shown them was actually several kilometers closer to the valley in which they'd slid off the hill. Within only an hour they were back at the sight of their landing, and Roxton lifted his rifle to his shoulder.
"Ground seems dry enough. Why don't you start a fire; we'll make camp here for now, and I'll see if there is anything worth eating wandering about."
"You do that." Marguerite turned her back to him, slowly gathering any wood that was dry enough to build into a fire. Roxton watched her for a moment, smiling at the sight of her infinitely shortened shirt, the only thing keeping it from being a match for Veronica's top being the jacket Marguerite had carefully tied around her waist. Finally, he shook his head, an amused smile softening his features, and he left to lose himself in the hunt that he was finally beginning to understand he loved second best.
****
Three hours passed and Marguerite climbed to her feet for the hundredth time, staring out at the jungle into which Roxton had disappeared. She'd heard two gunshots a half hour previously, and although the urge to attempt tracking the hunter was dominant, common sense prevailed, leaving her now on edge and clutching her pistol in a white knuckled grip. She knew he was hunting, knew the gunshots would likely result in dinner for their makeshift family, knew that Roxton was more than capable of handling himself, but still, the fear of what could have happened wouldn't let her rest.
Another half hour passed, and Marguerite clenched her teeth in determination. "I swear, if that idiot man has gone off and gotten himself killed, I'll feed him to the cannibals!" She muttered to herself as she grabbed her pack and headed off into the jungle, keeping her eyes open for the missing hunter.
Her emotions unbalanced through worry, Marguerite found everything along Roxton's trail annoyed her. Although she'd rinsed off in a nearby creek, the dried mud in her hair itched, driving her to distraction. Even with her jacket tied around her waist, branches, thorns and bugs still managed to bite at her exposed midriff, bringing up tiny droplets of blood as she continued through the brush. Everything was a cause for annoyance, and as Marguerite bit back a cry of frustration, she threw back her head, staring up at the sky and the large trees surrounding her. A small piece of fabric, held high over her head by a tree branch, caught her attention and Marguerite groaned.
"You seriously must be kidding me." She looked up at the sky once again, her eyes flashing sarcastic sparkles as she shook her head. "You're funny, you know." She spoke to God infrequently, but recent events called for some divine attention. "I'll have you know I don't appreciate this, and you'd better be sending some of your divine miracles our way for the next little while to make up for it."
Tossing her pack to the ground and re-holstering her pistol, Marguerite sent a final scowl up to the skies as she began a tedious climb from tree branch to tree branch, high above the jungle floor. "You had better appreciate this, Roxton," she hissed through clenched teeth as she balanced precariously upon a single branch, one hand holding the branch over her head, one hand reaching ever so carefully out to pluck the hunter's hat from it's lofty perch. She looked up then, realizing she could see several kilometers in either direction from where she rested, and a smile broke out over her face. Coming her way, no more than a half-kilometer from her position, was the unmistakable form of Lord John Roxton; a large wrapped package was slung over one shoulder as he picked his way along the dubious trail. Shifting herself so that she sat comfortably, Marguerite dangled her legs over the branch and waited for Roxton's arrival.
When he did finally appear beneath her, Marguerite's grin widened. "You know," she began, glorying in the hunter's start of surprise, "If I were an apeman, you'd be dead right about now."
"Marguerite!" he gasped, recovering his composure quickly. "What the devil are you doing up there, you silly thing?"
She shrugged, "Uncovering hidden treasures." With that she dangled his hat from the tip of her finger, watching his face break into an expression of pleasure. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to help a lady down... we can get out of this bloody jungle and back home."
Roxton broke into laughter, dropping his burden to the jungle floor and helping Marguerite out of the tree. Snatching the hat from her fingers, he placed it back on his head, adjusting it so the final rays of sunlight were no longer an imposition, and pulled Marguerite into his arms. "Have I told you how incredible you are?"
Marguerite laughed along with him, squeezing him tightly before moving away. "As long as you know it, Roxton, I'm satisfied."
He pulled her back, coaxing a gentle kiss out of the feisty woman. "If I ever forget, Marguerite, I'm sure you'll not cease to remind me." He kissed her again. "Every day."
***
"It can't be gone! Roxton, are you sure you took them to the right cave?" Marguerite paced frantically, running her hands through her long hair as frustration dominated her presence.
"It wasn't hard to find again, Marguerite. Everything was there except the cavern with the obelisk and the native tribe. Even the body of the procompsognathus still remained, but I'm telling you, the cavern was empty."
"How could it be empty? The obelisk was there! You saw it, John! We didn't dream the entire godforsaken experience!" Marguerite thumped back into a chair, covering her eyes with her hands as the knowledge of how close she came to legitimate fame and fortune truly hit home.
Challenger stepped forward, resting a hand on the distraught woman's shoulder. "Come now, Marguerite, it's not the end of the world. Very likely the entire cavern was on a shifting plane. You'll likely come to see the obelisk again at some point in the future."
"Sure, but at what point? Oh, forget it, George, it's useless. The obelisk is gone and I'll have to accept that."
With a shake of her head and one final sigh, Marguerite left the living area, moving down stairs to her bedroom and collapsing back onto her bed. She was still lying there when Roxton knocked gently against her doorframe.
"Can I come in?"
She waved her hand distractedly, never taking her eyes off her ceiling. "Every time I get close, something out here takes it away. Have you noticed that? All my gems... all our findings... most of my clothes... everything. It's practically a conspiracy."
"No conspiracy, Marguerite, just bad luck. Besides, not everything has been taken from you." He smiled lazily as he lay on his side next to her, resting a hand on her stomach. "Oh, and as to your clothes... while I was hunting, when I took so long?" He waited for her nod of understanding before continuing, "Well, I stumbled onto a village nearby and I found something that I thought perhaps you may appreciate." He flashed her a smile before reaching behind him and placing a carefully wrapped package on her stomach where his hand had been moments before.
Her eyes flashed interest, and the corners of her mouth began to curve upwards. "Why, John, and it isn't even Christmas." With a full grin she tore into the wrappings, deftly pulling the string holding the package closed. With a gasp of pleasure, Marguerite pulled out a delicate cloth blouse, similar and yet somehow more appealing than her original collection. "John! It's brilliant, thank you!"
His mouth curved into a lopsided grin, and his hand reached out to brush the hair from her eyes as he placed a kiss against her sweet lips. "I'm happy you're pleased, my dear. I felt rather bad I had to ask you to destroy yet another of your blouses, and hoped this would make up for it."
She grinned. "It more than makes up for it, thank you." Her lips found his scratchy cheek and she pulled back quickly, rolling her eyes. "You need a shave before you come back in here." With a laugh she pushed against his chest, rolling Roxton from the small bed, onto the floor.
"Was that an order?"
"If you ever expect another kiss, it is."
"Then my lady's wish is my command." With a mock bow, Roxton exited the room, chuckling quietly to himself. He brought his hand to his chin thoughtfully, and nodded. Yeah, he definitely needed a shave.
Back in Marguerite's room, the beautiful woman moved from her bed, holding her new blouse to her chest, checking it's fit and color. Yes, she was more than pleased with John's thoughtful action, and yet, still, she couldn't bring herself to be completely happy.
Throughout the final night and day of their journey and the three days that had since passed, Marguerite had allowed her mind to wander. Images of gaining actual legitimate credence among London society had never strayed far from her imagination. She'd imagined her speech to the archaeological society, imagined gracefully accepting the rather large check the circle of scientists would have paid her for specific directions to the location of Amenhotep II's second obelisk, but above all, she'd imagined the look of pride she'd have seen in Roxton's eyes as he watched her rise through London society ranks on her own, and for good reason.
Finding that the obelisk was gone, swept away onto yet another time plane, had crushed all her new dreams, and Marguerite hated that. It was a cruel God that dangled hope in front of a needy heart and then pulled it away, but Marguerite also knew that she'd survive.
She looked out her window thoughtfully, allowing one last daydream of what it would have been like to be a respected member of London society to spread before her, before finally she sighed once more. "Damn," she murmured quietly, shaking her head.
Disappointment was bitter, but on this particular plateau, perhaps tomorrow something more valuable would come her way and give life to Marguerite's dreams once more.
Marguerite turned her head at the sound of a muffled yelp of pain coming from Roxton's quarters. She turned quickly, making the short trip into the hallway to stand outside his door; the hunter was dabbing a handkerchief to his wounded jaw line, a straight razor dangling precariously off the edge of his dresser. She bit back a giggle, considering turning away to give Roxton some privacy, but good sense never really prevailed in Marguerite's decisions.
She stepped into Roxton's bedroom, biting her lip softly, more than amusement shining in her beautiful gray eyes. No, she supposed, she didn't lose everything.
She managed to keep what mattered the most.
End.