A Love That Never Tires (Linley & Patrick #1)
Allyson Jeleyne
“Heart, are you great enough
For a love that never tires?”
Marriage Morning by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
PART I
CHAPTER ONE
Morocco, 1913
For the first time in a thousand years, sunlight warmed the walls of the palace, and Linley Talbot-Martin was the first person to see it. The sleeves of her damp linen blouse were rolled up to her elbows. It may have once been white, but now carried the permanent yellow tinge of sweat. She hadn’t bathed in days, water being too scarce to waste, but if she were filthy and sweaty, so was everyone else.
“Come down, Papa!” she called through the opening above her head. “You must see this!”
A man lowered himself down the length of rope. He too was dirt caked, and red sand dusted his white beard, turning it almost pink. Bedford Talbot-Martin was one of the world’s foremost archaeologists. That same red sand had worked its way into his heart, and now flowed through the veins of his only child. If he was the face of their operation, Linley was it’s driving force.
“I’ll have someone send word to Schoville,” she said, studying the faded paint of the intricately carved walls. “He’ll be sorry he missed all this. But first, we need photographs of everything, measurements, detailed renderings…”
Linley’s mind leapt into action before the dust settled on the floor of the ruins. Members of their team spilled in through the hole of blinding light cut into the ceiling. There were archaeologists, artists, and hired laborers, as well as representatives from the French government kind enough to allow the Talbot-Martin team to carry out research deep into French territory.
While her father busied himself studying the treasure of well-preserved artifacts, Linley organized and recorded everything to be boxed up and taken back to the museum. If they worked as efficiently as possible, they might be on their way by the next afternoon. It was better to move quickly, staying one step ahead of bandits and looters who always threatened the success of a find such as this.
“Ne pas toucher, s'il vous plait!” Linley called out to one of the government officials as he reached out to run his fingers along a delicate piece of pottery.
The man jerked his hand back.
Mr. Talbot-Martin turned around to face his daughter. “Were you talking to me, Button?”
“No, Papa,” she said. “To one of the Frenchmen.”
Her father nodded and resumed his work, leaving Linley to hers. At twenty, she had been part of the team longer than anyone. She may not have had an Oxford education, but she received all her learning in the field. To the men, she was more than just their employer’s daughter, she was an equal in terms of knowledge and experience.
Linley dusted her hands on her khaki jodhpurs and hoisted herself through the opening in the ceiling. Topside, miles of red sand and rock rolled onto hills and dipped into valleys before melting with the harsh blue of the sky. It was hard to believe the palace once sat above all this, and that a thousand years of shifting sands almost erased it from the earth.
The tents of their camp glared white in the sun, and Linley shielded her eyes until they adjusted to the brightness. She listened to the men speaking in Arabic, the pawing of the camels tied into their corral, and the squeaking of the pulleys as each container of precious ancient pottery was hoisted from one world into another.
When she opened her eyes, she saw a sunburned face smiling down at her.
“We were right all along, Linley!” he said. “Everyone said it couldn’t be done, but by God, we’ve done it!”
The man was Archie Gwynne, an archaeologist who studied under Flinders Petrie before joining her father’s team. Although he was in his early forties, she regarded him as one of her dearest friends.
“Before we celebrate, I have to send word to Schoville,” she said. “He’ll need to prepare everything at Rabat or none of this will ever make it to the museum.” Linley raked her brown hair from across her forehead as a fresh barrage of sand pelted down on her. “Can you spare a Berber and a camel?”
“I suppose so.”
She walked to the nearest tent and pulled back the flap.
Archie followed her inside, watching as she fished through a chest for paper and a pen. “I’m afraid you’ll also need to ask him for more money.”
Linley’s head jerked up. “More money? Are we running short?”
“We’re always running short.”
“After word of all this gets out, we’ll be turning investors away.”