The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,87
Ian’s camp?”
For a moment, Sara just looked at her sister without absorbing the question.
Faith’s brow furrowed. “Ian. Remember Ian? Sara, I’m worried about you. You need to sleep.”
Guilt oozed down Sara’s spine. She’d been working through the night without telling her sister. And Ian... She hadn’t seen him in days. The only rest she’d gotten in weeks was the too-short space of time she had spent in his arms after making love to him.
Did he have any idea how she felt when they lay together in the night, silent and peaceful while the wind drifted and the ocean sighed outside?
She loved him.
I love him.
I have to tell him. She lunged to her feet.
The motion made her head spin. As her legs buckled underneath her, she registered only distant surprise.
“Whoa, easy.” Firm hands hooked her by the elbows and pulled her onto her feet.
She shook her head and looked up. Flintrop stood behind her with a concerned expression.
Faith hurried over. “All right, that’s it. Go lie down before I make you. I’m not kidding.”
Flintrop frowned. “Faith’s right. You need to take a break, even if you don’t sleep, Sara. Exhausting yourself isn’t going to help us finish the project.”
Sara heard her sister give a hmmph of surprise at Flintrop’s support. “Never thought we’d agree on something.”
Shaking her head, Sara tried pulling her arms away.
“We can get it done without you.” Flintrop hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her up. “Come on.”
She took a step and tottered again. Flintrop caught her. She didn’t have the stamina to resist as he swung her into his arms and carried her toward her tent. She fought to block out the head-spinning motion. “Will we finish in time?”
“In time for what?”
“I want to finish by tonight.”
“Yeah, I think so. What’s the hurry?”
She felt him step up onto a scaffold, then down the other side. “I will be fine,” she said. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be back out there.”
“You’re your own worst enemy. Did you have a reason for this deadline and the way you’re trying to kill yourself?”
She forced one eye open, but closed it again when the motion of his walking made her dizzy. She wanted to tell him she could get to her tent without help, but arguing took too much effort.
She’d been about to do something just before the collapse. What was it? Her head ached with trying to remember. Her thoughts drifted.
“You’re a lot more approachable when you’re half-asleep,” Flintrop murmured, bringing her awake again.
Lacking enough energy to glare at him, she settled for a long look of disgruntlement before closing her eyes again.
He pulled a blanket up over her, chuckling. “One of these days, you’re going to figure out I’m not half bad.”
Several minutes passed, and sleep danced just within her grasp. She forced conscious thought out of her mind, and reached hopefully for oblivion. Just as she hovered on the threshold of rest, it slipped away from her as it always did. Her body thrummed with the need to be awake, to be active, to do something. She whimpered in desperation.
“What’s wrong?”
Her stomach turned over with the nausea of fighting to still her singing nerves. In her turmoil, she forgot that the voice belonged to Flintrop. She curled into a ball on her side. Can’t sleep. Can’t be awake. Can’t function. What’s wrong with me? When had this started?
She saw a man’s shadowy face in her mind, dark-haired and blue-eyed. With her thoughts roiling in the middle ground between sleep and wakefulness, she couldn’t remember who he was, except that she wanted wildly to go to him. Safety. “Help,” she whispered.
The cot sank as someone sat beside her. A hand stroked her hair. “I’m right here, Sara,” the voice soothed. “What is it?”
The buzzing sensation rang in her ears, and she clamped her arms over her head, trying to squeeze it out. “Stop. Please make it stop,” she begged the shadowy apparition. “Help me.”
Whoever sat beside her gripped her shoulder. “Sara. Come on, snap out of it.”
His voice distracted her from the buzz surging through her body. Was that him? Shaking, she turned blindly toward the voice.
“Flintrop, I’ve got her. Go back to the dig,” she heard a new, female voice order.
Clarity swept though her. She seized it, fearing it might slip away again. “Faith. Jesus, Faith.”
Flintrop stood up, dividing a look between her and her sister. “I’ll radio for a chopper. She doesn’t have a fever, but she’s losing it, Faith. She needs medical attention.”