that?”
“I have no idea.”
They stared at each other.
“The trumpet of God,” a voice called from behind them.
Alan released her suddenly. He twisted toward the voice and drew his sword, stepping protectively in front of her. She peeked around Alan to see an old man standing at the entrance of the tomb. He was dressed in a long white robe with a hood that came up over his head. A white beard framed his face, making him appear more like an aged scholar than any kind of threat.
“Who are you?” Alan asked, his sword still held at the ready.
“Where did you come from?” Jessamine stepped beside Alan. She frowned. Hadn’t she seen this man back at the Temple of Jerusalem?
“Jessamine, get back,” Alan warned as he kept his eyes trained on the man.
Leaning heavily on a gnarled cane, the old man stepped through the tomb’s entrance and onto the sand that a moment before had swirled about them. “I’m just an old man who knows his way around the desert. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Alan widened his stance. “That’s for me to determine.”
Chapter Ten
The old man before Alan appeared harmless enough. But the knight wasn’t sure he trusted that impression. Nothing had gone as he’d expected since they’d arrived in this hot, arid land. Alan’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He glanced at the old man, then at Jessamine, who still stood beside him, despite his warning to stay back. Both Jessamine and the old man watched him with curiosity.
Suddenly his weapon felt heavy in his hand. God’s teeth! Did Jessamine have to be so damn accepting of everyone and everything? Was she truly that innocent? The old man posed no current threat, but one could never be too careful. Especially when so much was at stake.
With a lingering glance at Jessamine, Alan gripped his sword. “What do you want, old man?”
“It’s not what I want, but what you need that brings me here.” His voice held a hint of challenge.
Alan frowned. The man’s dark gray eyes studied him. “And what is it you think we need?”
“A meal. A safe place to sleep.”
“A meal?” Jessamine repeated with longing in her voice.
The old man shot Alan a triumphant look.
Alan took Jessamine by the arm and led her to a private spot a few feet away from the old man. His shadowfell across Jessamine’s face. “We cannot risk this, Jessamine.”
She stepped to the side, out of his shadow, and gazed up into his face. “What are you afraid of?”
Resentment surged to the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t revealed his fear, and yet somehow she’d seen it—she’d recognized his fear that he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe.
Her fingers slid to his cheek. He felt the warmth of her touch like a brand against his skin. Against his will, he leaned into her touch, allowed it to soothe his irrational fear. “He’s an old man,” Jessamine said in a soft, gentle voice. “And he’s right. We need to sleep, and I don’t know about you, but I’m quite hungry.”
Turning, he stared at the old man, and then, slowly, he brought his gaze back to her face. “All right. We’ll go with him.” He sheathed his sword.
She smiled and he felt the warmth of her joy in his chest.
“Thank you, Alan.” Jessamine dragged him back toward the stranger.
He was being a fool, he knew it, to trust the old man. But unlike the malice that radiated from the conde, and from the assassins, the old man had a sense of peace about him. Could Alan trust that feeling?
Alan’s hand moved to his sword as it had so many times in the past. He’d stay alert. Watch the old man. One sign of danger and he and Jessamine would be on their way. Alone.
Alan and Jessamine followed the old man beyond the treasury and through the ancient and deserted streets of Petra, until another series of elaborately carved edifices came into view. “These are the Royal Tombs,” the old man explained as he hobbled across the sand, movingpast three separate rock
“I have no idea.”
They stared at each other.
“The trumpet of God,” a voice called from behind them.
Alan released her suddenly. He twisted toward the voice and drew his sword, stepping protectively in front of her. She peeked around Alan to see an old man standing at the entrance of the tomb. He was dressed in a long white robe with a hood that came up over his head. A white beard framed his face, making him appear more like an aged scholar than any kind of threat.
“Who are you?” Alan asked, his sword still held at the ready.
“Where did you come from?” Jessamine stepped beside Alan. She frowned. Hadn’t she seen this man back at the Temple of Jerusalem?
“Jessamine, get back,” Alan warned as he kept his eyes trained on the man.
Leaning heavily on a gnarled cane, the old man stepped through the tomb’s entrance and onto the sand that a moment before had swirled about them. “I’m just an old man who knows his way around the desert. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Alan widened his stance. “That’s for me to determine.”
Chapter Ten
The old man before Alan appeared harmless enough. But the knight wasn’t sure he trusted that impression. Nothing had gone as he’d expected since they’d arrived in this hot, arid land. Alan’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He glanced at the old man, then at Jessamine, who still stood beside him, despite his warning to stay back. Both Jessamine and the old man watched him with curiosity.
Suddenly his weapon felt heavy in his hand. God’s teeth! Did Jessamine have to be so damn accepting of everyone and everything? Was she truly that innocent? The old man posed no current threat, but one could never be too careful. Especially when so much was at stake.
With a lingering glance at Jessamine, Alan gripped his sword. “What do you want, old man?”
“It’s not what I want, but what you need that brings me here.” His voice held a hint of challenge.
Alan frowned. The man’s dark gray eyes studied him. “And what is it you think we need?”
“A meal. A safe place to sleep.”
“A meal?” Jessamine repeated with longing in her voice.
The old man shot Alan a triumphant look.
Alan took Jessamine by the arm and led her to a private spot a few feet away from the old man. His shadowfell across Jessamine’s face. “We cannot risk this, Jessamine.”
She stepped to the side, out of his shadow, and gazed up into his face. “What are you afraid of?”
Resentment surged to the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t revealed his fear, and yet somehow she’d seen it—she’d recognized his fear that he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe.
Her fingers slid to his cheek. He felt the warmth of her touch like a brand against his skin. Against his will, he leaned into her touch, allowed it to soothe his irrational fear. “He’s an old man,” Jessamine said in a soft, gentle voice. “And he’s right. We need to sleep, and I don’t know about you, but I’m quite hungry.”
Turning, he stared at the old man, and then, slowly, he brought his gaze back to her face. “All right. We’ll go with him.” He sheathed his sword.
She smiled and he felt the warmth of her joy in his chest.
“Thank you, Alan.” Jessamine dragged him back toward the stranger.
He was being a fool, he knew it, to trust the old man. But unlike the malice that radiated from the conde, and from the assassins, the old man had a sense of peace about him. Could Alan trust that feeling?
Alan’s hand moved to his sword as it had so many times in the past. He’d stay alert. Watch the old man. One sign of danger and he and Jessamine would be on their way. Alone.
Alan and Jessamine followed the old man beyond the treasury and through the ancient and deserted streets of Petra, until another series of elaborately carved edifices came into view. “These are the Royal Tombs,” the old man explained as he hobbled across the sand, movingpast three separate rock
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