"Old Egyptian trick," he said.
"Taught to you by an old Egyptian?"
Laughing, he produced his wood key and, with a firm click, drove it home. A perfect fit. The door unlocked and swung open into velvety darkness.
Graham crawled through the doorway. When Jillian hung back uneasily, he glanced over his shoulder. "Come, habiba. We're nearly home. It's all right," he said soothingly. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Taking a deep breath and shoving aside her panic, she followed.
Graham assisted her, then helped her stand. She protested, fearing they would bump their heads upon the ceiling. He told her quietly, "Look up." She did.
The room they had invaded was even more a spectacle than she imagined Aladdin's cave. Graham went to one of the iron sconces on the wall and lit a torch—a torch that had not been lit in more than four thousand years.
The room was small, irregularly shaped and filled with geodes. Spikes of crystals—purple, deep blue, translucent, red—littered the ground. The same spectacular stalactites that were in the main chamber hung like crystal chandeliers here as well, but the ceiling was triangular instead of a dome shape.
"Like a pyramid," she realized aloud.
Graham laughed. "The old sly dog. He created his own pyramid out here in the desert."
Upon a small stone table fashioned from limestone, resembling an altar, an alabaster box resided. Graham's hands shook as he approached it.
The magic wishing casket! Jillian held her breath and nodded as he shot her a questioning look.
Graham broke the lock.
Inside the long, thin casket lay a gold crocodile bigger than a man's fist. In its yawning jaws rested a glittering emerald.
"Oh," Jillian said faintly. "Oh, my."
Graham could not move or speak. Before him lay a childhood dream. He caressed the alabaster box, stroking its surface as if it were a woman's thigh.
"The legend about this casket," he mused. "If you put a slip of paper into it that details your greatest wish, then put the casket under your bed at night as you sleep, in the morning your wish will come true."
"I don't believe in magic. Of course, I almost don't believe this is real." Jillian touched the emerald with a trembling finger. "With treasure like this, who would need to wish? These riches could buy any heart's desire."
"Some things in life cannot be purchased, Jilly."
She pressed his arm. "True. If I could, I would purchase your past, Graham, and give it back to you anew. But I can't."
Solemn, he locked gazes with her, then brushed a kiss against her cheek. Jillian smiled. They turned to leave.
As Jillian pushed open the door and crawled through, Graham took a last look then dropped to his knees to follow her. But the door suddenly closed. His stomach clenched. He pushed the door. It would not give. A worried frown creased his brow. He pushed again.
Dull panic spread through him as he settled his powerful weight against the wood, but the door did not give. It remained locked. He was trapped inside, without the emerald.
From the other side he heard a low, sly chuckle. "Come out, Caldwell. Slowly."
Graham froze. That voice from his deepest nightmares. Stranton.
The earl had clearly taken the map and gone to the village, lying in wait for his arrival. Stranton likely needed the treasure as much as he wanted Graham dead; it would provide enough money to live in anonymous comfort for years.
But Graham didn't plan to die today.
He slowly opened the door, crawling out on his belly. A light shone ahead in the distance. He kept crawling through the tunnel until he reached the open cave. There the sharp, pungent scent of bat droppings stung his nostrils.
He stood, glimpsing his enemy. Graham tucked the casket into his binish, raised his rifle to his shoulder. Head shot. Easy enough. But Stranton pulled his daughter closer, using her as a shield. Graham's finger hesitated on the trigger.
Jillian shook. Her face appeared pale and pinched.
"Let her go, Stranton," Graham ordered.
"Put the gun down, Caldwell. Do you really want to risk shooting her?"
"Stop hiding, bastard. This is between you and me. Neither of us wants to see her hurt."
"I have nothing left to lose now."
Graham felt a moment's despair, then he made a choice. "I'm putting down the rifle. Don't hurt her."
"Slide it over here to me," the earl ordered.
Stranton advanced with Jillian as Graham did as he asked. His gaze never leaving Graham's, the earl kicked the weapon away. It fell with a clatter into the crevice.
"She deserves to know the truth, Caldwell. About what you truly are," Stranton sneered.
Graham went still, his heart racing. And so it goes, he thought in anguish. Jillian would know the truth at last....
Panic shredded Jillian's composure. She had emerged into the cavern to find her father standing there, cutting off her scream, a pistol at her temple. Her heart thundered faster. "Father, please. Leave us alone," she whispered.
"It was your husband who propositioned that boy, Jillian. He thinks he can get away with his vile crime. I'm taking him back to London to face authorities and put the blame in its rightful place. You liked it. Admit it, boy. Admit it. I want to hear the truth. It was your fault, Caldwell. Tell her the truth. You liked it," the earl taunted.
Graham sneered. "That's what you wanted me to believe. But you and I know the truth, al-Hamra."
Jillian stared at her father in horror, her stomach lurching. Oh dear God, it couldn't be. Her father was the one who tormented Graham's nightmares?
Graham's expression became carefully blank once more, devoid of emotion. Jillian recognized that tight control, for he was artful in cloaking his thoughts. Yet a pulse still beat wildly at the base of his throat. Dark turmoil swirled in his gaze.
"Are you ashamed, Jilly?" he asked quietly.
"How can I not be?" Her own father, taking advantage of a child who had trusted him? A desperate, small boy?
"Stop stalling, Caldwell. Hand over the treasure."
From inside his binish, Graham pulled out the alabaster casket. He stared at it. "No. It's mine," he said.
The earl laughed. "I had the hieroglyphics translated. You're a fool if you think that box has magical powers."
Jillian watched her husband's expression shift into a woebegone look. He looked like a lost child.
"I don't believe in the magic wishing casket's powers." The duke paused, his face stricken. "But I always wanted to. Long ago, when I found the map. It gave me hope. I dreamed there was such a magic box and it would change... everything. Including me."
And she knew then what this quest was about. To find the box had been a childhood dream—not merely to secure the treasure inside, but to possibly reclaim what he'd forever lost: his parents, his innocence—all those things in childhood he'd watched slip through his fingers.
Sweat glistened on his brow. His expression became as barren as the sands. He did not even regard her father, standing with a pistol in hand. Her husband looked terribly alone.
Her father shook his head. "Wish all you want, Caldwell. It won't change what you really are. There's no escaping the truth. Admit it to my daughter. You were just using her to get to me. She deserves a real man." Regret darkened his expression. "In America, where the scandal won't follow her, I'll give her part of the money I get from selling this treasure. Let my daughter find some happiness."
A huge weight pressed on her chest. For so many years she had longed for her father's affection, for a small sign of trust, of caring. He had never even embraced her. He'd kept her chained in the house, imprisoned under the harsh restraints and rigid rules. Now he was giving her, finally, what she had sought? Freedom to choose her own path?
Graham remained silent, but the plea in his eyes was all but a shout. Don't leave me, Jilly. Trust me.
Jillian struggled to breathe. The two men stood still as the stone columns nearby. Two differe
nt futures. She could easily now, with this money, seek her old dream in America, attend Radcliffe and never look back. Isn't this what you dreamed of all your life?
But when she looked at her husband, whom she loved, she realized sometimes dreams change.
No, she couldn't leave him. Nor could she repair the damage her father had done. But she could erase the horrible doubts she knew were tearing Graham apart. Especially since she remembered something else.
"Don't listen to him, Graham. He talks about himself, not you. Father is the one who can't escape the truth. He's always hiding from it, but he can't hide any longer. That time when I was six—do you remember, Father?"
The blood drained from the earl's face. His grip on his pistol wavered. "Jillian, stop."
"I didn't want to remember. I shut it away but it came back. Mark, the son of the head groomsman. We were playmates. Mother frowned at me playing inside with the servants' children, but you never protested. And that day upstairs, you took Mark down the hall and brought him into that room and you closed the door. You told me to go away and forget anything happened. I remember Mark's face, so pale and scared as you started to close the door and told him to remove his trousers..."
"Jillian," the earl began.
"And the key turned in the lock and I couldn't move, my feet would not obey. I listened outside and I heard him scream and cry, and you were saying... you were saying..." She gulped down a trembling breath. " ‘Such a pretty boy. Come now, admit you like it. There's no escape from the truth. You can't hide from what you really are."
Her words broke Graham's inertia. His eyes blazed fire. "You sick bastard," he rasped. "How many lives have you ruined?"
But Jillian's father ignored him, his stricken gaze riveted to his daughter. "I told you to go away, Jillian. I told you..."
"I wanted to," she whispered. "But I can't hide from the truth any longer, Father."
A huge weight pressed her chest. It felt as if the cave itself was collapsing, squeezing the air from her lungs. Jillian could not look away from her father's face. The anguish there once would have broken her. It did not any longer.
In that moment Graham stormed forward. Her father swung his pistol up. Jillian cried out a warning and grabbed his arm. Thunder exploded. Ancient crystals splintered as the bullet struck a stalactite.
Graham ducked and rolled, his motion propelling him forward toward the crevice. Jillian's screams echoed through the cavern as he scrambled to stop, failed, and in one fluid motion, disappeared over the edge.
One hand clasping the treasure, Graham wildly grappled for purchase as he slid down the rock wall. A narrow ledge stopped his fall. Forcing calm, he struggled to maintain footing on the shelf. Above him, the slit showed light from the cavern. Crystals in the dome ceiling sparkled. He had never seen anything more spectacular. A fine sight before he died.
And so it ends this way, he thought with dull resignation.
Does it? a mocking voice asked. Isn't Jillian worth fighting for your life?
Graham sucked in a breath. His ribs hurt from scraping down the rough rock face.
Two heads appeared above, both red. Both with green eyes. One filled with wild panic, the other with grim satisfaction. Graham turned his gaze to the wall. He would not look up and see his enemy gloating.
"Graham, oh, Graham, hold on, I'll get a rope."
He glanced up to see Stranton restrain her. "Only if you toss up the treasure," the earl shouted.
"Never!" Graham cried. Sweat dampened his palm, loosening his grip on the box. His fingers desperately grasped it.
His future? His hope?
Shame filled him. He was a coward, and he could not bear the look of condemnation in Jillian's eyes if he looked up.
"Graham, please, look at me. Graham,'" she called out. "Don't give up. Hang on."
"Jillian, I forbid it," her father yelled.
"Quiet, Father," she snapped.
Graham heard the sounds of a scuffle, of her father pleading with her to listen to reason.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he gripped the wall. His hand splayed against it. His heart thudded dully in his ears.
Minutes crept by, then suddenly a rope slapped down next to him.
"Let go of the box, Graham," Jillian pleaded. "You'll need both hands to climb."
He could not. "No, Jilly. I can't."
"Please, let it go. I love you. I know you think the box will make everything bad go away, but it's not your fault what happened to you. You don't need magic boxes. I can't erase your past, Graham, but together we can build a future."
"You're ashamed of me."
"I am ashamed of him, and of what he did to you. Please. Come back to me."
"You've no reason to be ashamed of me, Jillian. It's his fault," Stranton rasped.
Graham's fingers curled around the alabaster case. His treasure. His shield. He could not release it. But Jillian's voice again came to him.
"Look at me. Look at me, not the box!"
Somewhere inside he found a thin thread of courage. Graham looked at his wife. He looked into her green eyes, shimmering like emeralds. He shifted on the ledge—and nearly slipped.
If he didn't release the box, he could die. But why not die? He had been ready before. He just wanted to end the pain.
But then he looked up at her again and saw her eyes shining with tears. "Please, Graham. Please come back to me. You asked me before not to leave you. I promise I won't leave you. Don't leave me."
He held the treasure. The box would give him money—money that would have satisfied Stranton twenty years ago and prevented the vile deed the earl had done to him. Money meant power. It always meant power.
"I need this," he grated out, gripping the box.
"Graham, you don't. You want it to protect yourself from anything bad ever happening again, and I understand. But I don't care about money or your title. I'd love you even if you were a poor chimney sweep. Ramses told me the darkness inside a man can make him lose his soul. Don't keep the darkness inside any longer. Let it out and let me in."
He looked up and saw Jillian, and his heart went still.
Here was the real treasure. His wife openly stated her feelings. She loved him, despite all his many transgressions and what he was. She was living flame to his darkness. And for the first time, he felt the darkness pushed back, fleeing from the living light she shone inside him.
Yes, the real treasure was his wife.
But for so long he'd held onto his pain and his fury, intertwined like threads on a carpet. Could he finally release them? Graham looked at her and the pain in his chest eased. At last he had something worth living for instead of something he wanted to die from.
His fingers uncurled around the box. Peace settled over him as he felt its heavy weight fall into the darkness. It slid down, crashing onto a jutting shelf mere feet below. Jilhan's father screamed.
"No!" Stranton grabbed the rope and scrambled down. Landing on the shelf below Graham, he reached wildly for the box. But the ledge cracked and the earl lost his balance and fell. At the last moment, he caught himself.
Stranton grasped the ledge with his fingertips, dangling. Great gasps of panic shredded the air. Graham stared down at the man who had abused him, who had violated his trust, who was now in mortal peril. He looked up at Jillian.
Cautiously, he reached for the rope that she swung toward him. Catching it, he wound it about his waist, tied it, then reached down to the earl. "Let me help you," he said harshly.
Stranton looked up at his daughter. Something dark and haunting touched his face. "I never wanted to hurt you, Jillian. I tried so hard to keep you away, to keep you from being tainted. That's why I always disciplined you.
"You were the only good thing in my life, so pure and beautiful. I was proud of you, and kept thinking your goodness reflected me. But now... I can't hide behind you any longer. I can see it in your eyes. They're like a mirror..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I see what I really am."
&nbs
p; Graham felt brief sympathy for Stranton, forced to confront the darkness inside and seeing only the ugliness of his soul staring back.
The earl's pleading gaze met his. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Forgive me."
Graham squeezed his eyes shut. He thought of the pain of his past. He thought of Jillian and the hope of his future. Opening his eyes, he managed to utter words he'd once thought impossible. "I... I forgive you."
Peace settled on the earl's face. "Take good care of my little girl." Then Stranton released his grip on the rock, falling into the darkness. Jillian screamed.
Graham knew he must get up to her. Dear God, she was all alone, and she needed him. His muscles clenched and strained, but he pulled himself up slowly to his wife. He pulled himself slowly back to life.
Through her tears, Jillian saw Graham emerge from the crevice. He pulled her into his warm, strong arms. Laying her head against his broad chest, she sought comfort in his sheltering embrace. For several minutes she sobbed and he simply held her. When she finally pulled back, he touched her damp cheek, brushing a lock of stray hair from her face.
"I'm sorry, my love," he said softly.
"I can't believe he's gone. I... I'm relieved he'll never hurt you or anyone else again, and yet, oh, God, he was my father. All those years wasted, thinking that I could never be good enough to meet his rigid standards. All I wanted was for him to love me, and he couldn't—not the way I wanted. In a way, he used me like a shield to hide behind."
A troubling thought struck. She looked at Graham beseechingly. "What did Father mean when he told you to stop using me to get to him?"
Blood drained from her husband's face. His throat muscles worked as he swallowed. "I don't quite know."
A sudden sick feeling hit her. I don't want to know. But I must. She worked up her courage and whispered, "I think you do."
Graham drew in a ragged breath. He looked her directly in the eye. "Yes, Jillian. No more hiding from the truth. He reasoned that I used you to become friendly with him, to devise a means to ruin him."
Her heart shattered. "Is that why you married me, Graham? To get at my father? Was I a pawn to you and nothing more?" Please, tell me the truth. But I don't know if I can bear it if you used me as Father did, the lies and betrayals...
The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) Page 25