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CHAPTER 3
Marguerite marched determinedly along the path, all the while muttering to herself under her breath. "Maybe I could pour some of that jam we got from the Zanga village into his hat," she murmured relishing the imaginary picture she had of the thick red jelly running down Roxton's face after he'd put it on. "Or maybe in his boots." A malicious smile spread across her features. "Maybe both."
So lost was she in her daydream that she jumped when she heard the sudden sound of a twig snapping loudly a little way behind her. Turning around, she swiftly drew her pistol and took aim in readiness.
"Careful now, Marguerite, it's only me," Roxton announced, holding up his hands as he came to an abrupt halt on the pathway.
The heiress glared at him and tutted in annoyance. The violence with which she shoved her pistol back into its holster told the hunter, much clearer than words, that she was far from happy to see him and that her anger hadn't abated at all.
Not that he could really blame her, he allowed as she silently turned away from him and stalked off. It was his rash actions that had resulted in this unfortunate outcome and, judging by the silent treatment he was now being subjected to, he was going to have a lot of making up to do over the next few hours. He only hoped his scant supply of patience would last out long enough.
As he started to follow her rapid progress down the track, a sudden breeze wafted over to him carrying the smell of the dung with it, causing the hunter to suffer a coughing fit.
Marguerite threw him an unsympathetic look over her shoulder. "Serves you right," she muttered coldly, before looking ahead again and speeding up.
"Your compassion overwhelms me," he managed to comment as his coughs subsided. "And will you please slow down a little until I catch my breath?"
"No-one asked you to follow me," she groused, still marching ahead.
"Come now, Marguerite, you know that I'd follow you to the very ends of the earth," he retorted sarcastically.
"Where hopefully you'll fall right off," she parried in a bright voice, alluding to the fact that people once thought the world was flat.
"Being a gentleman, I'd have to say ladies first," the hunter countered, his pleasant tone as obviously false as hers.
With a cry of frustration, Marguerite suddenly whirled around to face him. Hands on hips, she demanded, "Do you always have to have the last word?"
Roxton frowned and pursed his lips as though in deep concentration. "No," he replied finally with a mocking smile. Closing the distance between them, he added, "Unless I'm with you of course, where I must confess I do find the challenge extremely…" He paused and looked her up and down meaningfully before raising an eyebrow and murmuring, "…stimulating."
Momentarily taken aback at his sudden change of tact, Marguerite could only stare at him in open-mouthed surprise, as his grin widened and he moved past her down the path. A little way along he stopped and turned around to look at her. "Chop, chop, Marguerite," he instructed brightly. "You'll never make it to the pond in time if you keep dawdling like this." With a wink, he then turned back and continued along the path, whistling.
"Of all the arrogant, insufferable men…" she muttered petulantly to herself as she reluctantly set off after him. "I'll chop, chop you in a minute."
They walked on until they found themselves entering the clearing that was dominated by the reasonable sized water hole. Although she wasn't going to strip totally, she still looked pointedly at Roxton and smirked at the way he shook his head then slowly turned his back.
She undressed quickly then, still in her underwear, she waded out to the middle of the pond where she wet her clothes and vigorously rubbed them clean. Next, she briefly dipped under the surface ensuring that her hair got completely wet, then pushed her tresses over one shoulder and carefully began the awful job of picking out the mess.
Roxton stared aimlessly into the jungle and listened to the sounds of the soft splashing Marguerite made while bathing. To combat his boredom, he allowed a mental picture to form in his head of her sensuously running her hands over her soft skin as she cleaned herself. He expelled a deep shuddering breath at the sharp sting of desire that ripped through him and swallowed hard.
Everything within him begged to turn and look to see if his fantasies were anywhere near as good as the real thing, but he determinedly ignored temptation knowing it wasn't the decent thing to do. "It's times like these I really hate being a gentleman," he murmured morosely as he shifted his weight uncomfortably. With a sigh, he tried to convince himself that she couldn't possibly be much longer and resigned himself to more pleasant, if somewhat painful, daydreaming.
Ten minutes later, clean and in a much more amiable mood, Marguerite waded back to the bank and glanced at the hunter to check that he was still looking away. Seeing that he was, she gave a contented sigh and allowed herself the luxury of letting her eyes roam over his tall, lean figure, lingering appreciatively on his taut backside. She positively envied those trousers at times, she acknowledged with a wry smile.
Tearing her gaze away, she wrung out her blouse and skirt then quickly slipped them back on, grimacing at the dampness and horribly wrinkled state of her attire. "OK, ready," she announced briskly.
Determined not to get drawn into another verbal battle with the heiress, Roxton turned and took in her rumpled appearance with a grin. "Feel better?" he asked lightly as he walked over. At her nod, he reached out and gently brushed some of her hair over her shoulder, his fingertips trailing lightly against her neck.
At his gentle touch, her head instinctively tilted back in invitation as he leaned in and inhaled deeply. "You certainly smell better," he murmured in a soft teasing tone, his grin widening.
As he drew back, Marguerite turned her head towards him, bringing their faces to within mere inches of each other. His gaze dropped to her lips that were tantalisingly close to his and he slowly bent his head, only to be brought up short by her taunting voice.
"How I wish I could return the compliment, Lord Roxton, but…after a morning's undoubtedly vigorous hunt and the added exertion of hoisting me over your shoulder, well…" She let the sentence hang in the air delighting in the indignant expression that clouded his face as her insinuation sunk in.
Eyes narrowed, he took a step back and cast an unhappy glance down at himself before sputtering angrily, "Just what the hell are you implying, Marguerite?"
"Nothing," she replied innocently, then glanced over at the water. "But since you're already here…"
"I showered this morning, thank you very much," he forced out between gritted teeth. The cheek of the woman casting aspersions on him after he'd put up with her reeking like, what he could only describe as, a walking sewer.
"Fine, whatever you say," she murmured dismissively and turned away from him. "I'm going back to the treehouse."
He watched her walk away for a moment then looked down at himself again in concern and gave a couple of cursory sniffs. Realising what he was doing, his worried look changed to a frown and he shook his head. "Damn infuriating woman," he muttered before setting off after her down the path.
**********************
Professor George Challenger crouched down and stared in amazement at the brightly coloured insect that was marching along the rock in front of him. "Amazing," he breathed, quickly unscrewing the top off of a jar and laying the glass container down in front of the unsuspecting bug. "Definitely an arachnid of some sort but not anything I've ever seen before."
As the spider walked on, Challenger strategically placed the lid behind it then, with one swift flick, the bug was safely ensconced within the jar and the lid was firmly screwed back on.
He held the container up and grinned delightedly as he studied the creature carefully. "You will make a most interesting addition to my collection."
Suddenly, the sounds of the jungle ceased around him and silence fell. His smile faded and he scoured the foliage around him as he slowly placed the jar on the rock and picked up his rifle.
Cautiously standing, he listened for any signs of the predator he was certain was nearby. The tell tale chatter of one of the most dangerous dinosaurs on the plateau had him draw in a sharp breath and raise his rifle in readiness. "Raptors," he muttered worriedly.
The foliage to his left moved and he turned to see the ferocious beast emerge with a loud roar. He fired immediately and the dinosaur let out a pained howl as it fell to the ground.
Knowing there would be more to follow, he gasped in surprise as a Raptor appeared out of the dense jungle either side of him. "Oh, this is very bad," he groaned as he anxiously looked from one beast to the other, trying to gauge which one would strike first.
A roar from the Raptor on his right, had him swing his gun around and take aim. He heard the roar of the second dinosaur behind him and knew that even if he killed one, the other would undoubtedly reach him before he could turn around and bring his gun to bear again.
Grimly, he pulled the trigger, felling the beast in front of him and then tensed as he felt the hot breath of the other Raptor hit the back of his neck. Not one to go without a fight, Challenger turned and tried to bring his rifle up to shoot. The dinosaur lunged almost immediately and knocked him over. As he fell to the ground, the rifle slipped from his hand and slid across the jungle floor out of reach.
Looking up from beneath his hat, he saw the beast preparing for the kill and closed his eyes. So this was how it was going to end. Somehow he'd always thought he'd go out with a bang, not as a snack for an overgrown lizard. "I'm sorry, Jessie," he murmured, waiting for the pain.
Just then, he heard a shout and realised that the Raptor was moving away from him. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw a young man dressed in green standing nearby holding a sword. "Stay where you are," the stranger instructed, never taking his eyes from the dinosaur.
Challenger nodded and stared in amazement as the stranger fearlessly approached the dinosaur. The Raptor eyed the man for a moment then suddenly jumped towards him, pinning him to the ground.
The professor let out a cry of alarm and looked around for his rifle. Spying it nearby he scrambled over on his hands and knees then picked it up and turned. Before he could fire off a shot however, the stranger brought up his sword and in one swift motion he plunged it deep into the beast's heart. With an agonised howl, the Raptor dropped to the ground by his side already dead before it even hit the earth.
Challenger hurriedly got to his feet and ran over to the man. "Well done, Sir," he said as he dropped to his knees and began checking over the mans wounds. "I didn't think I was going to get out of that one alive and wouldn't have done save your timely arrival. Thank you."
"You're very welcome," the stranger gasped as he struggled to sit up.
"I don't think you should move until I examine the extent of your injuries," the professor told him, grabbing his arms and easing the man back down on the ground.
The stranger nodded and let Challenger perform a rapid examination. "Well?" he asked when the professor sat back.
"You're lucky. The scratches on your chest are only superficial but the one on your arm is going to need stitches," he told him with a frown. "I think you'd better come back to the treehouse with me. We'll get you fixed up in no time."
"We?" the man queried as Challenger helped him to stand.
"My friends," the professor answered by way of explanation as he bent to retrieve his rifle.
The man nodded then turned away and took a couple of steps over to the fallen Raptor. Grasping the handle of his sword, he placed his foot on the beast and with one sharp tug, he yanked the blade free. After wiping the sword on the grass to get rid of the blood, he sheathed it and turned back to the professor.
Challenger picked up his jar and after checking that the spider was still there, he placed it carefully into his pack. Looking over at the other man, he smiled then walked over to him and held out his hand. "George Challenger," he introduced himself.
"Alban," the man replied, taking his proffered hand and shaking it firmly.
"Well, Alban, let's get going shall we?" Challenger suggested then headed off towards his home with Alban in tow.
*******************
"Had any luck yet?" Malone asked as Veronica approached the table he was sitting at.
"No," she replied with a shake of her head. Sitting down next to him, she placed two of her parents journals on the table, one in front of each of them. "These are the last two. It'll be quicker if we both look."
The journalist nodded then opened his book and began reading. About halfway through, he paused and stretched then picked up the gem that lay on the table in front of them. "Are you sure you've seen this before somewhere?" he asked, holding it up to the light.
"Positive," she answered confidently, still flicking through her journal.
"Certainly is unusual," Malone commented to himself, seemingly unable to look away.
The sound of the elevator cranking into life startled the man and the emerald slipped from his fingers. Catching the edge of the table, the angle caused the stone to be propelled across the room and drop to the floor where it bounced a couple of times before settling at the bottom of the steps leading up to the elevator.
Before Malone could get out of his chair and retrieve the gem, a squabbling Roxton and Marguerite exited and started down the stairs. It wasn't long before the heiress spied the jewel glinting at her feet and she gasped in awe as she broke off her argument with the hunter to quickly bend down and pick the stone up. "Oh my God," she breathed as she held the emerald between her thumb and forefinger. "This is exquisite."
Roxton watched the way her face lit up as she examined the stone and felt a fleeting stab of jealousy. Such unabashed happiness was rare on her face. Why couldn't she look at him like that more? It suddenly struck him how idiotic he was being and he hurriedly turned and walked away to put his rifle back in the rack.
Oblivious to the hunter leaving her side, Marguerite continued to stare at the gem in her hand in wonder. "It's flawless. Where did you get this?"
Malone glanced over at Veronica who grimaced slightly then shrugged her shoulders in resignation.
"We found it," the journalist finally replied. He got up and went over to the brunette, holding out his hand. "Can I have it back please?"
"Found it where?" she asked, ignoring his request and moving past him towards the balcony.
"Under a bush on the trail," Malone told her, following her out onto the deck.
"It was just laying there?" she queried incredulously as she held it up to allow the sunlight to filter through.
"Well, no, it kind of dropped out of nowhere," he admitted, rubbing his still tender head. "Hurt like hell." Marguerite made a vaguely sympathetic sound but Malone realised her sole focus was on the jewel she held. Moving to stand beside her at the railing, he added, "Veronica thinks she's seen the stone in one of her parents journals. We were just checking when you came back."
"Well, don't let me stop you," she said airily.
Malone sighed in resignation and went back to sit down next to Veronica again. "Looks like that's the last we'll see of that," he murmured to his companion unhappily.
"That might not be such a bad thing," she returned, avidly reading the page in front of her.
"You found something?" Ned asked eagerly, leaning in to look over her shoulder.
"I think so," the huntress answered absently, still scanning the journal.
***********************
Having stowed his hat in his bedroom and quickly changing his shirt, Roxton walked back up the stairs to the main room of the treehouse and over to the rest of his friends. Veronica and Malone were giving their rapt attention to a book, so when he spied Marguerite on the balcony, he went out to join her.
"Are you still staring at that bauble?" he asked incredulously. "You'll be seeing nothing but green spots in front of your eyes if you're not careful."
"Fine by me," she retorted, flicking him an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "There's nothing else of interest to look at around here anyway."
The hunter's jaw tightened in irritation. "Maybe not, but just remember that it's not yours to keep. Veronica and Malone found it."
"No they didn't, it found them," she replied.
"What do you mean?" he queried in a puzzled tone.
Annoyed at his continuing intrusion, Marguerite sighed and quickly told him what the young reporter had said in the hopes that he'd go and speak to Ned thus leaving her alone with the stone.
Roxton frowned at the tale and looked at the gem warily. "I think we should put it right back where they found it."
"What?!" the heiress exclaimed, staring at him as if he were mad. "Not on your life…"
"Marguerite, jewels that perfect don't just fall from the sky without good reason," he cut in reasonably. "There's something more to this; something we probably shouldn't get ourselves involved with."
"Oh, you just worry too much, Roxton," she dismissed lightly.
"Usually with good reason in this place," he retorted. "Haven't you learned anything from the time we've been here?"
"Yes," she snapped. "I have. I've learned that you're determined to see me get off this plateau empty handed."
"Oh, for once, Marguerite, I just wish you'd forget about your bloody jewels and listen to me when I'm trying to talk some sense into you," he raged, losing his temper.
"Oh really," she exclaimed, taking a step towards him. "Do you want to know what I wish?" Before he could say anything, she continued, "I wish I was as far away from you as I could possibly be, happily gathering stones like this to my hearts content without ever having to listen to one more word of your tedious lectures on making me a better person."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her surroundings shifted sharply and changed from the brightness of the treehouse balcony to the interior of a dimly lit cave. Eyes wide, she looked around herself in shock and saw that people dressed in rags were kneeling nearby, digging away with pickaxes at the cave walls.
Looking down at herself, she realised that, she too, was dressed in rags and a feeling of utter dread overcame her as fear began to claw its way up her chest. "Roxton," she whispered nervously. "Where are you?"
END CHAPTER 3