The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,49
National Nature Reserve, and featured a large, mottled-brown bird on the front. She longed suddenly to rush back to Hvitmar, and Ian. Her imagination picked up where it had left off earlier. She was once again in his tent, kissing him, running her hands over his broad shoulders, lifting her chin so he could press kisses along her throat...
Flintrop passed behind her. She tore her gaze away from the brochure to a folded stack of sweaters resting nearby.
The second woman reached for the sweater on top and unfolded it. “These are all made right here in Unst. This one would look beautiful on you. Did you want to try it on?”
“Oh. Thank you, but no,” she murmured, moving on.
Her gaze landed on an assortment of books, including a thin, garish softcover titled The Sleeping Princess. The cover bore an illustration of what appeared to be Sleeping Beauty, her long blond hair strewn across the stone dais on which she lay. Sara took it for a common children’s book, until she saw what dangled from the prone woman’s hand in the drawing:
The amulet.
Or, if not the amulet, a necklace that could have been its cousin. Sara glanced behind her. Flintrop stood across the shop, surveying the available grocery items. She pasted an expression of polite interest on her face and picked up the book.
The necklace in the drawing didn’t exactly match the one hidden under her sweatshirt. No Celtic knot graced the pendant. The serpent didn’t intertwine with anything; rather, it circled the outer perimeter of the discus, but its center bore a gold-colored oval. She flipped through the pages, not really seeing them, and smiled at the elderly woman. “I’d like this, though. And on second thought, maybe a couple of those tarts.”
She waited on edge while the woman rang up her purchases. She had just finished putting the book in a paper bag when Flintrop returned to her side. “What did you get?”
“Just some touristy magazines,” she lied. “Oh...and a peace offering.” She handed him the small bag of tarts.
He shifted his groceries to one arm and looked inside the bag. “Snack food. How astute. Thank you.”
She tucked the bag containing her book under one arm. “We’d better go. Are you finished getting supplies?”
He nodded and let her lead the way out the door. They returned to the boat, and she drove them back to the island. Sara spent half the ride with part of her attention on their route, part on the awkward pre-shopping conversation with Flintrop, and the rest hovering anxiously on the little book in the bag by her feet.
As they neared the island, Flintrop took out one of the tarts and bit into it. His gaze settled on her like a cement block. “Are you going to get all distant for the rest of the project now?”
“What do you think that peace offering was about?” she asked over the hum of the boat’s motor.
He held up the tart. “While appreciated in its own right, pastry doesn’t necessarily denote reciprocal sentiments.”
It took a few minutes to find words. “Let me just say this,” she said. “I’ve spent the past ten years not liking you. Right now, pastry is about all I’ve got to spare.”
“What about Waverly? You never answered my question, earlier.”
Ian again. She gritted her teeth. “Which question? Am I attracted to him, or what’s he got on me that makes me want to be his friend?”
Flintrop shrugged. “Forget I asked.”
“Forgotten.” The boat drew close to the dock, and she cut the motor.
He stuffed the rest of the tart into his mouth, then jumped onto the dock to tie up the mooring lines. They secured the boat and pulled the cover on. As they gathered the supplies to return to camp, he said, “You just... I’ve been around you off and on for years, and I’ve never seen you so...animated.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Had she been so withdrawn before that even Flintrop could notice the difference? Was there a difference?
Oh, yes.
“I’m just asking about him because I’m worried about you,” added Flintrop.
God, he was like a gnat in her ear. She snatched her backpack from the floor of the boat. “Quit worrying. I’m able to take care of myself and whatever ‘animations’ I might have.”
They started the hike back to the dig, passing once again by Ian’s tent on the way. She scanned his camp, but it appeared he’d gone climbing. She looked away and caught Flintrop watching her. Pursing her