Lady of the Two Lands

by Elizabeth Delisi

  One minute, Hattie Williams is in a museum, sketching a gold necklace that belonged to Hatshepsut, first female Pharaoh of Egypt; and the next, she's lying in a room too archaic to be the museum, with a breathtakingly handsome, half-naked man named Senemut bending over her.

  Hattie soon discovers she's been thrust into the body and life of Hatshepsut, with no way back to her own time. Tuthmosis, the heir to the throne, hates her; the High Priest of Amun and the commander of the army want to kill her and Tuthmosis; and the best bathroom facilities in the country are the equivalent of a cat-box.

  To make matters more difficult, she's falling helplessly in love with Senemut, and soon, she's not sure she even wants to return home. To protect Tuthmosis from assassination, the lovers arrange to put Hattie on the throne. But, what should she do when she suddenly finds herself, an obscure artist from Chicago, crowned ruler of all Egypt?

  LADY OF THE TWO LANDS

  Elizabeth Delisi

  Tirgearr Publishing

  Author Copyright: 2016 Elizabeth Delisi

  Cover Art: Cora Graphics (www.coragraphics.it)

  Editor: Christine McPherson

  Proofreader: KA Lugo

  A Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not given to you for the purpose of review, then please log into the publisher’s website and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting our author’s hard work.

  This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  DEDICATION

  To my parents, who told me I could be anything I wanted

  To my dear friend Lynne...I miss you every day

  And to Dan, my hero in this or any century

  CHAPTER 1

  There it was again—that prickling, crawly sensation, as though someone had run a velvety feather up the back of her neck, causing all the delicate hairs to stand on end. Harriet Williams snapped her head around, sure someone must be watching her this time. But, as always, the room was empty. Sighing, she brushed away the damp tendrils of wavy brown hair clinging to her forehead with the back of her hand.

  The stone floor of the museum was uncomfortable for prolonged sitting, but it was the only way to stay relatively cool in the warm, musty Egyptian exhibit room. She straightened her shoulders and rotated them a few times, stretched to get the kinks out of her back. She’d only imagined someone was watching her—what other explanation could there be? The museum was closed for the night, and she was alone. Hattie bent again over her sketchpad.

  The scene of Hatshepsut being crowned ruler of Egypt took shape under the deft strokes of her charcoal pencil. She had Amun’s temple at Karnak in place, crowds of priests and courtiers looking on while the High Priest of Amun placed the double crown on the head of the first woman to rule ancient Egypt as pharaoh.

  The fragments of tomb paintings, gilded throne, and scepters in the glass case provided for her a feeling of authenticity that she captured in the sketch. But the face—Hatshepsut’s face—refused to come to life. She couldn’t get a feel for her features, and they remained flat and lifeless on the page.

  Something tickled her ear, like the warm breath of a whispering lover. Hattie jerked away from the touch and leapt to her feet. What in heaven’s name was going on? Her imagination was working overtime…but not on the problem of how to render Hatshepsut’s features in the illustration. Instead, she found herself conjuring up visions of evildoers lurking in shadowy doorways.

  Disgusted, she gathered up her pencils and pad and left the room through a small door in the rear marked “No Admittance—Staff Only”.

  She wound her way down a dimly lit corridor, past closed wooden doors with names painted on them in black. The last door, marked “Thomas Harris, Egyptian Curator”, was still open, the overhead fluorescent light burning.

  “Tom,” she said, bursting into the office, “I can’t get her face right.” She slumped down onto a chair in front of a battered wooden desk.

  A heavyset, middle-aged man with graying hair and kindly features looked up from the papers spread across the desk and smiled gently. “Calm down, Hattie. We have plenty of time before the manuscript’s due. When I asked you to do the illustrations for my book, I didn’t mean for you to get all worked up. I thought you’d enjoy it, and I knew you could use the work.” He raised his eyebrows. “So, what’s the problem?”

  She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know. I can’t seem to make Hatshepsut’s face come alive. Her statues are so stylized, I can’t imagine what she really looked like—the woman, not the queen. Here, see for yourself.” She thrust her sketchpad under his nose.

  He took it from her and studied the drawing. “This is really wonderful, Hattie,” he said after a minute. “You’ve captured the spirit of the proceedings perfectly, all the ceremony and splendor, the ritual, the crowds—just as I knew you would. But I see what you mean about Hatshepsut.” He frowned. “I don’t know how much more help I can give you. The statues you’ve seen are the only images of her in the museum. We don’t know if they really resemble her or not. But if they’re accurate, I’d say she looked a lot like you. Your skin is probably a bit fairer, your hair lighter, but you have her expressive eyes and her slender figure.”

  “You think Hatshepsut looked like me?” Hattie shook her head. “You must be imagining things, too. She was a queen—a pharaoh! I’m sure she looked nothing like plain-Jane me. Nothing at all.”

  Tom chuckled. “You’re much too hard on yourself. You’re a very attractive woman.”

  Hattie snorted.

  “Well,” he said with mock severity, “I did lend you several books on Egypt, with additional information about Hatshepsut. Have you read even one of them yet?”

  “No. I’ve only flipped through them,” she mumbled. “I should’ve known you’d scold me about that! But I do have other commissions in progress, you know. Besides,” she added defensively, “ancient history is boring. I have absolutely nothing in common with a woman who lived thirty-five hundred years ago.”

  “I’ll bet you have more in common with her than you think,” Tom said. “She was a woman, like you. She had a life, friends, family, a job—like you. She had favorite foods, probably enjoyed music and art, had some hobbies.”

  “Maybe.” Hattie was unconvinced. Surely a queen had a large family and many friends; she had people who depended on her, people who loved her. Hattie had no family left, few friends, and not even a cat to come home to at night. Her career was her life.

  Tom sighed. “So, what’s this about imagining things?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it.” She waved her hand. “I imagined someone was watching me. Naturally, no one was there, no matter how quickly I turned around. I’ve been at it too long, I guess. Or maybe I’ve seen The Mummy one too many times.”

  He laughed and handed back the sketchbook. “What are you going to do about Hatshepsut’s face?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe a good night’s sleep will give me more perspective.” She yawned hugely and stretched out her arms. “I don’t have any other ideas right now. I’m too tired to think straight.”

  Tom steepled his index fingers together and tapped them thoughtfully against his lips. “I have a suggestion. We have a necklace in our collection that’s reputed to have belonged to Hatshepsut. It isn’t being displayed cu
rrently, but I’d be glad to show it to you. Maybe it would help you to put a human face on a legend. What do you say?”

  “Why not? It might do the trick.”

  Hattie followed Tom down another dimly lit corridor to a room marked “Egyptian Artifacts”. He opened the door and turned on the overhead light, then ushered her in.

  She glanced around in dismay. The room looked like an oversized closet—windowless, dusty, and cluttered with storage cabinets. It was enough to make anyone claustrophobic. Tom strode to one of the cabinets, opened a drawer, and removed a large, flat box. He placed the box gently on a small table and removed the lid.

  Hattie gasped and her breath caught in her throat. Nestled in a protective bed of acid-free paper, a pectoral necklace glittered and sparkled in the muted light of the lone overhead bulb. Row upon row of turquoise, lapis lazuli, gold and colored glass beads formed the outspread wings for the central figure of a falcon, fashioned entirely of gold with inset eyes of green jasper. Inscribed hieroglyphics covered the body of the bird. Delicate golden links held the broad, flexible collar together.

  “Oh, Tom,” she whispered. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”

  Tom grinned. “I thought you’d like it. Do you think it’ll help?”

  “Yes. Definitely!” she said, her fatigue evaporating like mist in the morning sun. “Can I bring it out to the exhibit room?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” he said. “Even though the museum’s closed, I think it’s safer if it remains here in this room. Out there, I’d have to lock it away in a display case.” He spread his hands apologetically. “Can you work here? I know it’s a little crowded.”

  “Of course.” Hattie nodded emphatically. “I understand. Just give me an hour, and I should be finished.”

  Tom glanced at his watch. “I can’t wait that long. I’ve got to go. I have a dinner meeting with the museum board of directors in forty-five minutes.” He paused. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll lock the employee entrance on my way out. The museum closed fifteen minutes ago, and all the other doors are locked. You can take as long as you like, but put the necklace back in the cabinet when you’re through, and make sure the employee door locks behind you when you leave. And don’t forget to turn out the lights,” he added, winking.

  “Perfect! Will do, boss.” Hattie saluted smartly.

  Tom laughed, then left her alone. As soon as his footsteps died away, she flipped open her sketch pad to a clean page and set it on the table next to the necklace. Before she tried again to imagine Hatshepsut’s features, she wanted to make a detailed drawing of the collar.

  Within half an hour, she had the broad outlines of the necklace faithfully reproduced on the paper. Yawning, she laid her pencil beside the tablet. Even the beauty of the necklace couldn’t keep her awake forever. Maybe it was time to call it a day. She could duplicate the intricate hieroglyphs tomorrow.

  No sooner had she decided to quit than the back of her neck prickled, and a warm breeze stroked her cheek. Not again! She whipped around, determined to catch the furtive watcher this time. Her left arm hit the partially open door, which promptly slammed shut.

  Hattie reached for the doorknob and turned it, giving the door a jerk. It remained firmly closed. She jiggled the knob and pulled on it, but it was quite obviously locked. “Great!” she muttered. “Just what I need. I wonder how long that meeting of Tom’s will last?”

  Her mouth dropped open as a horrible thought occurred to her. What if Tom didn’t return after the meeting? What if he went straight home? “Tomorrow’s Sunday,” she reminded herself grimly. “I might be stuck here in this…this broom closet for two days!” There was no one at her apartment to miss her or report her absence—not even a dog to bark and alert the neighbors.

  Hattie banged on the door. “Is anyone there? Let me out!” She shouted and beat on the door with her palms, but all was ominously silent. If someone had been watching her, they had no intention of helping her out of her dilemma.

  At last, resigned to her fate, she returned to her sketchpad. “If I’m going to be stuck in here, I might as well finish my work,” she murmured. “Tom’s bound to come back—I’m sure he will.” Her voice echoed unconvincingly in the dusty, claustrophobic room.

  Picking up her pencil, she focused deliberately on copying the tiny hieroglyphics with extreme precision. Gradually, she became absorbed in her work and forgot her predicament. Minutes flowed by with the only sound in the room the scratching of her pencil on the paper.

  At last, she completed the final symbol on her detailed drawing and set down her pencil with a twinge of disappointment. She was curiously drawn to the glittering possession of the ancient, yet strangely modern woman. Hatshepsut had ruled Egypt fifteen hundred years before Christ, at a time when women were considered no more important than servants or dogs. How had she managed it?

  The vagrant breeze whispered past her face again, leaving a whiff of exquisite perfume in its wake. A rustle, like the caress of costly linen against bare skin, drew her attention. She felt a strong presence, though she knew she was alone in the tiny room.

  “Touch it.”

  The words were so faint, Hattie wasn’t sure she’d actually heard them.

  “Who’s there?” she asked, though she didn’t expect to get a response. The room was too small to hide anyone.

  “Touch the necklace.”

  Hattie spun around, searching for the source of the barely audible words. “Tom, is that you? If it’s you, I don’t think this is funny! Open the door right now.” She thumped it with her fist for emphasis.

  There was no response.

  Hattie turned back to the exquisitely fashioned falcon. Maybe it was her overworked imagination playing a trick on her, but the advice seemed sound. Perhaps if she touched the necklace, she could make a connection—psychic, empathic?—with the long-dead monarch. The necklace was strangely compelling, like a long forgotten yet treasured memory.

  She reached out slowly, cautiously. As her fingertips gently grazed the golden bird, an electric shock pulsed through her and a sudden wave of dizziness sapped her strength.

  “Come to me,” the ghostly voice whispered, stronger now. “Come to me. I have need of you.”

  The sweet, cloying scent of incense filled Hattie’s nostrils, and flashes of light exploded behind her eyes. Her vision blurred; she felt as if she were reeling, falling down a long, dark tunnel. Gasping, she reached out blindly for something, anything, to steady herself. Her fingers skimmed across the surface of the table and fastened around the necklace. Clutching it, she fell heavily to the floor as everything went black.

  * * *

  Hattie opened her eyes, but she saw nothing. Everything was still as black as midnight. Her heart leapt to her throat. Was she blind? Had someone overpowered her and locked her in a dark, eerie cell?

  Suddenly, a cooling breath of comfort filtered through her and she relaxed, sighing. She felt the ghostly presence again, but she was no longer afraid. She turned and saw, glowing like a lamp in the darkness, a lovely, slender woman wearing a diaphanous white gown and an array of glittering jewels. Her reddish-gold hair was braided intricately, and her slim feet were encased in delicate sandals. She looked like Hattie, and yet she didn’t. She exuded an aura of graciousness, elegance—and antiquity. It was as though Hattie stared at the portrait of a long-dead ancestor.

  “Who…who are you?” Hattie whispered. “Do I know you?”

  “Yes—and no,” the woman responded.

  It was the same voice she’d heard in the storage room of the museum. Hattie was sure of it. She felt the woman’s words in her head more than she heard them with her ears. “What do you mean, yes and no?” she asked.

  “I am your past, and your future.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Hattie shook her head. “Where am I? Why am I here? Did you bring me here?”

  “I have searched for you for millennia,” the mysterious woman responded. “
I have waited many ages for the one who could fulfill my destiny and my life, which was unjustly cut short so long ago.”

  Hattie shuddered. This woman was definitely out to lunch. “Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I suggest you let me go at once. Tom will be looking for me, you know.”

  The woman shrugged slightly as the glow around her diminished and brightened, like a star twinkling in the dark night sky. “I am sorry, but I have need of you. The thread of my life was severed before its time, and you must finish what I started.”

  Hattie tried to edge away. Hadn’t she read somewhere it was important not to challenge the delusions of a crazy person? “Why me? I have a life of my own. I don’t want to fulfill your destiny.” As an afterthought, she added, “I’m sorry.”

  “Ah…but my destiny is your destiny. You are fated to perform the task stolen from me. Only then can you resume your own life.”

  “And what is that task?” Hattie asked suspiciously. “Do you want me to bring you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West?”

  The woman laughed, a sparkling sound like water splashing in a fountain. “Some have called me witch, but none could truthfully claim I was wicked. Nay, the task you must fulfill is to protect the heir to the throne, my stepson, Prince Tuthmosis. You must determine the identity of the betrayer who cut short my life and who also threatens the young prince. I was close to discovering the name of the traitor, but he learned I was a danger to him and had me killed.” She smiled grimly. “I knew the necklace would bring you to me. Now, you must find him. Only then can I resume the path of my life as the gods intended, and you can return to yours.”

  “Tuthmosis? Traitors?” Hattie backed up another step, giving up all hope of going along with the crazy woman. The conversation was so ridiculous, it was difficult to participate in. “Even if what you say is true, why me? Why am I the one who has to go back and solve your problems?”