worried.” His voice was firm, but soft, and not intrusive. A small frown crossed his forehead.
“You always liked being the protector,” Conan said, standing in the tent’s opening. “Like you protected Anna? Your dear wife ... my dear sister.”
There was a hostile note in his voice, and a surprisingly mean look flashed across his handsome face. He slammed down a mug on the table. It splashed onto the open magnometer survey and the smell of whiskey filled the tent.
No one spoke. Then, with a heavy sigh, Nicholas said, “You know that was an accident and one we both paid for ... and I’ll always remember.”
“Yes, well you’re alive, and she is not.”
Conan turned toward Germaine. “Sorry, Madame Director. It’s some old business. Nicholas and I go back a long ways. He was married to my sister.”
She looked from one face to the other. What just happened? The air was electric with tension. She thought they were friends. Was he drunk?
Conan pulled a short, thin cigar from his pocket and struck a match on the sole of his boot. The sharp smell of sulfur and expensive Cuban tobacco drifted over the table. His bright blue eyes narrowed and fixed on Nicholas as he exhaled.
“Some other time, Nicholas. Just don’t cross me, I’m not in the mood for anymore interference tonight.” He grabbed his mug off the table and left.
Bewildered, Germaine looked at Nicholas. After a long moment, he shook his head slowly and heaved a sigh.
“It was eight years ago. We were driving home near Weymouth on the old coast road and had an accident. As you can tell, Conan still blames me. It comes up every now and then, usually when he is angry about something else. Or doesn’t get his way. You see, he is used to having his own way.”
He was looking down at the table, so she couldn’t see his face.
“But, of course, he wasn’t there to understand how it happened. We couldn’t get her to hospital in time, and they died.”
“They?” Germaine felt her throat tighten.
“Yes, she was pregnant. Conan has never really forgiven me. They were very close. He can’t let it go.”
Germaine gave a slight nod toward his leg. “And your leg?”
“The bones were crushed. We were both caught under the car for a long time. I could not save her.” He looked up at Germaine with the eyes of someone who was damned to always remember.
“But it was an accident!”
“Yes, but I had been drinking. We had an argument, and I lost control of the car. It was my fault . Sometimes even accidents have a real basis for fault finding. I’m afraid it will never be truly healed over with Conan. And like I said, it usually comes up when something sets him off and makes him angry. I’m just sorry it came up this evening. You have enough on your mind.”
He stood and picked up his cane. “It’s best if I leave.”
“You can’t go now! It’s dark!”
“I’ll get a hand lantern from one of the crew. Tavistock Farm is out in the country, so I’m used to walking around in the dark. I’ll come up again tomorrow and let you know the Druids’ response to the compromise.”
She stood at the tent opening and watched him limp away into the dark fields, until all she saw was the small light he carried, and then even that disappeared.
She went into her tent, wanting to avoid any more confrontations. She had no desire to see Conan until she figured out how to resolve their conflict, and still keep him as supervisor of the dig’s crew.
He left her alone. Probably ashamed of that scene with Nicholas, she thought. She moved the books into her own tent where one of the crew set up a folding table. A plate of sandwiches magically appeared and, ravenous, she ate them all. She carefully spread out the books on the table, not forgetting the price Aubrey put on Sir Mortimer’s book. She still smelled whiskey on the magnometer survey and shoved it away.
The tent was outfitted for her use. It was Spartan, but adequate: a camp bed with a thin
“You always liked being the protector,” Conan said, standing in the tent’s opening. “Like you protected Anna? Your dear wife ... my dear sister.”
There was a hostile note in his voice, and a surprisingly mean look flashed across his handsome face. He slammed down a mug on the table. It splashed onto the open magnometer survey and the smell of whiskey filled the tent.
No one spoke. Then, with a heavy sigh, Nicholas said, “You know that was an accident and one we both paid for ... and I’ll always remember.”
“Yes, well you’re alive, and she is not.”
Conan turned toward Germaine. “Sorry, Madame Director. It’s some old business. Nicholas and I go back a long ways. He was married to my sister.”
She looked from one face to the other. What just happened? The air was electric with tension. She thought they were friends. Was he drunk?
Conan pulled a short, thin cigar from his pocket and struck a match on the sole of his boot. The sharp smell of sulfur and expensive Cuban tobacco drifted over the table. His bright blue eyes narrowed and fixed on Nicholas as he exhaled.
“Some other time, Nicholas. Just don’t cross me, I’m not in the mood for anymore interference tonight.” He grabbed his mug off the table and left.
Bewildered, Germaine looked at Nicholas. After a long moment, he shook his head slowly and heaved a sigh.
“It was eight years ago. We were driving home near Weymouth on the old coast road and had an accident. As you can tell, Conan still blames me. It comes up every now and then, usually when he is angry about something else. Or doesn’t get his way. You see, he is used to having his own way.”
He was looking down at the table, so she couldn’t see his face.
“But, of course, he wasn’t there to understand how it happened. We couldn’t get her to hospital in time, and they died.”
“They?” Germaine felt her throat tighten.
“Yes, she was pregnant. Conan has never really forgiven me. They were very close. He can’t let it go.”
Germaine gave a slight nod toward his leg. “And your leg?”
“The bones were crushed. We were both caught under the car for a long time. I could not save her.” He looked up at Germaine with the eyes of someone who was damned to always remember.
“But it was an accident!”
“Yes, but I had been drinking. We had an argument, and I lost control of the car. It was my fault . Sometimes even accidents have a real basis for fault finding. I’m afraid it will never be truly healed over with Conan. And like I said, it usually comes up when something sets him off and makes him angry. I’m just sorry it came up this evening. You have enough on your mind.”
He stood and picked up his cane. “It’s best if I leave.”
“You can’t go now! It’s dark!”
“I’ll get a hand lantern from one of the crew. Tavistock Farm is out in the country, so I’m used to walking around in the dark. I’ll come up again tomorrow and let you know the Druids’ response to the compromise.”
She stood at the tent opening and watched him limp away into the dark fields, until all she saw was the small light he carried, and then even that disappeared.
She went into her tent, wanting to avoid any more confrontations. She had no desire to see Conan until she figured out how to resolve their conflict, and still keep him as supervisor of the dig’s crew.
He left her alone. Probably ashamed of that scene with Nicholas, she thought. She moved the books into her own tent where one of the crew set up a folding table. A plate of sandwiches magically appeared and, ravenous, she ate them all. She carefully spread out the books on the table, not forgetting the price Aubrey put on Sir Mortimer’s book. She still smelled whiskey on the magnometer survey and shoved it away.
The tent was outfitted for her use. It was Spartan, but adequate: a camp bed with a thin
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