#*ll event

“Just a bit more, bunny, and then I think we’ll lose the light,” one hand reached for his forehead as he took a deep breath in, then out.

“Yes… just a bit,” she eyed his chest as it heaved and he grabbed for his tools. “I can finish this section, why don’t you check the water pails?”

While he was fit for his age, she was worried about Uncle Lamb in the heat. He had taken her on digs since she was a child, raising her amongst the legends and myths of ancient civilizations now reduced to dust.

A childless parent had met his match with the orphan born of a car accident. He had lost his sister and brother-in-law in one dark, rainy London night. His niece had become his stray to look after. A little girl brought up on stories of fairytales and quests for buried treasure, she had reveled in the unknown. She had sought new adventures in ancient dig sites as most children played games in their yards.

But now, Uncle Lamb lingered behind while she led the charge. Women had just earned the right to vote a short five years earlier in England, but perceptions held strong that women were better off listening rather than speaking.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. It was 1923- If grown men could dig in the dirt for a living then so could she.

Their research had led them from the Valley of the Kings, with sixty-three burial chambers and several promising artifacts, all the way to Cairo. They had traveled on the Nile, her memory floating to the story of Osiris and his brother Set’s trickery that ended in his burial along this river.

She would not be so easily fooled. No- she was an archaeologist. She was methodical in her research. She did not allow herself to become distracted. There was no room for mistakes. A female leading an expedition was all but unheard of; she needed to better than everyone else. She needed to be the best.

And she was.

“Claire,” His voice was heavy as he tried to hide his disappointment, “We’ve lost the sun.”

“I don’t understand,” she felt her brows crease as she surveyed the site. “We followed the text to the letter- it was supposed to be right here.” A face foreign to Pharaoh’s eyes. This statue was foreign, chiseled in a different style completely.

This is where it was supposed to be buried.

Behind her, some one hundred meters away she heard a deep hum of voices that crescendo’ d in loud cheering. She had been a step ahead of them for the last two weeks. But their leader, Dougal McKenzie, had had just hired a new guide- there were whispers he was a nephew, brought in to quicken the search. The mysterious new challenger had been to this site before, and more than that he seemed to translate the ancient script as well as she did- almost as well, she corrected.

She hadn’t met this new annoyance but had seen his handiwork in the competing camp. Knots were neatly tied as they created grids for excavation. He had implemented a significant improvement in process that expedited their progress at a pace that was both aggravating and impressive at the same time. Her eyes had not met his but she caught glimpses of his stature- straight shoulders and fiery red hair-standing at least a full head above the rest of his camp.

“Bloody Scots.”

She unceremoniously dropped her tools, reaching into her pack. Her hands searched for the narrow glass neck of the Glenlivet bottle as her eyes scanned the landscape. The other camp was just settling in, the lights from their lanterns dotting the horizon. Her eyes followed the glow and found a small patch of darkness, a cove between statues.

That’ll do nicely.

The last of the light slowly faded into the horizon as she popped the cork from the bottle and took along pull, enjoying the tingle of the liquid as it trickled down her throat. She set about starting a fire, small and compact, just enough to warm her as the desert chill crept in.

All those hours, weeks, months. She was so sure they were in the right spot. But they had come up empty. The other camp- that bloody Scot- had found some clue she had overlooked. They had discovered something at the base of the statue of Thoth- God of the moon.

Her hands sunk into her curls as she rested her elbows on her knees, fingers slowly massaging her scalp as she shook her head.

Thoth.

Foreign to Pharaoh’s eyes- his back facing the sun- facing away from the eyes of Horus- the Pharaoh himself.

How did he end up at the right site and her in a mound of empty sand?

What had he found that she had missed?

She took another long swig, watching as the moonlight glistened off the bottle, with small trails of whisky dripping down the bottleneck. Small flashes of gold dotted each droplet, growing larger. She squinted, focusing on the liquid embers as her head cocked, trying to find its origin. She heard footsteps grow near, steady and sure.

“Ye shouldna be this far from camp, lass.” His voice was deep and smooth, the lilt of his voice catching the last word.

Her eyes rolled as she let out a small laugh, feeling the humorless edge to the sound as she blinked slowly. She raised one hand in the direction of the voice, waving off the intruder.

“Are ye alright?” His voice was a mix of mild concern and amusement. Her ears caught his tone as she felt the vibration of his voice creep under her skin.

Her gaze traveled up from the flicker of fire to take in the form in front of her. Long, lean legs set in a ready stance- his linen shirt was wrinkled, slightly stretched with the exertion of the day. A brown leather jacket encompassed his shoulders, muscles pressed against the material, auburn red curls grazing his collar. The glow from his torch traced the lines of his cheekbones, a deep curve from nose to his cat-like eyes. Dark blue and tranquil, they flickered from her face to the bottle and back again.

She shifted her eyes back to the fire, clearing her throat as she set the bottle down.

“Managing just fine on my own, thank ye very much.” Her tone fell short of a true Scottish lilt and he laughed.

“Oh aye- I can gather that much by the look of ye.” The humor in his voice was tangible.

Her eyes shot up to him as she responded with “Pffft.” And a hiccup followed.

“May I join ye?” He didn’t wait for her response as he stepped closer to the fire, kneeling down next to her.

She felt the heat intensify, rolling her eyes as she shifted her weight slightly, making room for him.

“Jamie Fraser,” he said as he reached out his hand.

One eyebrow cocked as she stared at him, her eyes narrowing slightly, taking in his intentions. She blinked twice and exhaled as she extended her hand to him in return. “Claire- Claire Beauchamp.”

The heat pulsed through her fingertips and up into her chest. He held her gaze, his eyes piercing into hers as his grip tightened slightly. She quickly pulled her hand back, feigning disinterest. He smiled as a small laugh emanated from his throat.

“Is that whisky there?” His eyes shifted to the bottle, his fingers twitching as he resisted reaching for it. “Been a long day, can ye spare a wee nip?”

She eyed the remnants as it glowed in the firelight, taking a swig before she passed him the bottle- her eyes following the amber liquid as it reached his lips. His eyes flickered to her face as he handed it back, and without breaking his gaze she took a sip directly from the spot his lips had touched.

“So-” He cleared his throat as a small smile crept onto his face. “What’s a lass like you doing out here on a night like this?”

“Oh!” She spit out indignantly as she stood up, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

He startled slightly at her outburst, his eyes widened as he took in her full form. Curls slipped loose from their nest atop her head as her eyes glimmered a fierce amber, he traced the line of her neck-ivory against the dark of night. His eyes traveled to her breeche, the curve of her hips evident against the firelight.

“So I’m just a helpless lass out for a nightly stroll, am I? I can’t possibly be an explorer like the barbarians you have in your camp then, can I?” She set her hips to one side and crossing her arms in front of her. “I may not have the pedigree of your fine kinsmen but I assure you I am just as qualified…” she paused as another hiccup escaped her lips.

His smile grew into a grin as a laugh erupted from his chest.

She took a deep breath before she set her shoulders and continued, “I am QUITE qualified to be here, Mr. Fraser.”

He put two hands up in mock defeat, “Aye, I dinna doubt ye, Sassenach.”

Sassenach.

She had heard the word countless times during this dig by the native workers- ‘ajnabi.Foreigner. A British woman traveling around the world in a man’s profession, she had heard every insult one could muster. Though somehow, the way his voice wrapped around the sound, it felt personal, cherished even. Her eyes pierced his, her jaw tight as she fought to keep her thoughts under control.“

I beg yer pardon, Claire.” He stared back, his eyes wide and honest. “I meant no disrespect, lass.”

Thoth.

But… what if. It… wasn’t.

Isis.

A woman.

An outlander.

Who else could be more foreign than a woman guarding this kind of secret?

Bembridge scholars had confirmed it referred to Thoth- born from the heart of Ra and the left eye of Horus. He was the God of many things- most notably the moon, but also secrets. There was just enough discrepancy in the translation where… it just might be possible.

Her upper lip curled as she exhaled in relief.

All hope was not lost.

She stood, taking two steps into the darkness as his voice crept into her thoughts.

“Where are ye off to?” His voice held trances of concern as his brows creased.

She paused, glancing over her shoulder as she grinned, “To find buried treasure.”

His eyes lingered long after her silhouette disappeared into the darkness.