The Unforgiven

by Joy Nash

  “A little late for a stroll, I’d say.”

  The rich male voice, reaching out from the darkness to shatter her bleak thoughts, arrested her forward motion. She spun about, searching for the speaker.

  His low chuckle sent a tingle racing up her spine, to sparkle like champagne at her nape. His words had been light and lilting, spoken in an accent that placed the hint of a question after each word.

  “Or, perhaps,” he added, “it’s a bit early, eh, caraid?”

  She saw him then, standing about ten feet to her right. He leaned back against a boulder, long legs extended in her direction, elbows propped behind him on the stone’s flat surface as if the rock were a table. She recognized him. She’d known it was him even before her eyes had found him. The new camp laborer. The one who’d caught her shamelessly ogling his half-naked body.

  He looked just as good close up, limned with starlight. Dark hair hung loose to his shoulders, thick and black and slightly curling. His torso was broad and still bare. Soft faded jean shorts, unbelted, rode low on his hips. His right arm, tattooed with Celtic markings, looked much darker than his left. The other tattoo, a jeweled dagger, decorated his right breast.

  “Caraid?” she said. “What’s that?”

  A flash of white teeth. “Little love. Darling, dearest, sweetheart . . .”

  She took a step nearer, bemused. “I’m not your sweetheart.”

  “It’d be bloody tidy if you were.”

  She couldn’t quite identify his accent. “Are you English?”

  “Hardly.” He straightened, arms dropping to his sides. “You know how to wound a man, don’t you now?”

  They stood only a few feet apart. Maddie was aware, suddenly, viscerally, of how very large he was. She was a tall woman, just a couple inches under six feet. He had to be six four, at least. She had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes.

  “Are you Scottish?”

  “No.” He stretched the syllable like taffy, giving it far more vowels than it possessed.

  She tilted her head. “Australian?”

  “I’m a Welshman.”

  She’d never met anyone from Wales. “You’re a long way from home, Mr. Welshman.”

  He grinned. “Not as far as you are, caraid.”

  A small stretch of silence ensued, during which neither Maddie nor her companion moved. The perfect cue for discreet withdrawal.

  Except that Maddie didn’t want to withdraw. She couldn’t bear to face that darkened hut.

  “Why aren’t you in bed?” she asked.

  His brows rose, and his eyes roamed down her body. She flushed but didn’t look away.

  “I prefer the night.” He opened his arms in an expansive gesture. “The quiet. The solitude. The freedom.”

  “Is that why you came to the Negev?”

  “No,” he said but didn’t elaborate further. Instead, he held out one hand. “Come closer, caraid.”

  She wasn’t sure why she obeyed. Why she wanted to get closer. The man disturbed her. Her reaction to him disturbed her even more. Her skin buzzed with sexual awareness. His extended hand caused a pulling sensation in her belly, as if he held the end of a silken thread and was slowly winding it around his fingers. He hadn’t touched her. And yet she felt him. Intimately.

  She took another step forward. Then another. He remained motionless. She halted within reach of his hand but didn’t take it. After a moment, he let his arm drop to his side.

  His scent teased her. Plain soap, mingled with dusty earth and clean masculine sweat. Insanely, she wanted to touch him. Taste him. Wanted him to touch and taste her.

  This is crazy.

  It was only with difficulty that she restrained herself from reaching for him. “I don’t know your name,” she said. “I’m Maddie. Maddie Durant.”

  “Cade Leucetius.”

  “Leucetius? That’s an odd last name. Is it Welsh?”

  “It’s Celtic. Well, Latinized. Leucetius, god of lightning.” He seemed to hesitate. “It’s not the name I was born with. I chose it when I . . . when I came of age.”

  She didn’t know quite what to say to that. She settled for, “So what’s a Welshman doing in the Negev?”

  “Today? Moving stones.”

  “You interested in archeology?”

  “Not particularly. Personally, I’d prefer the past to remain buried.”

  Like Jonas Walker? “That’s not always possible.”

  “No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

  He leaned back against the rock, resuming his earlier relaxed posture. A gesture of dismissal? Feeling awkward, Maddie started to turn away.

  “Stay,” he said. “Please.”

  That had to be a bad idea. This god of a man could hardly be interested in a scarecrow like her. But she really didn’t want to face that dark hut.

  “All right.”

  After a moment’s hesitation she boosted herself up onto his flat-topped boulder. Just so he wouldn’t think she was coming on to him, she made sure there was at least an arm’s length between them. Turning her head, she saw his white teeth flash. Feeling awkward, she offered a tentative smile in return.

  His eyes were light, she thought. Blue, maybe? It was too dark to tell for sure. Starlight dusted his profile. His cheekbones slanted sharply. His bold nose and strong jaw matched in angularity. It was a supremely masculine face, unexpectedly softened by lush eyelashes and the supple fullness of his lips. A dark, restless energy clung to him. Something . . . angry. She sensed it keenly, on a raw, personal level. The emotion was so strong, it was a wonder she didn’t jump off the rock and run. Instead, insanely, she imagined herself soothing his rage. Inviting him into the refuge of her body.

  She was insane. That was all there was to it. Imagining things that weren’t there. The man wasn’t angry. His expression—what she could see of it—was amused. His tone had been light and teasing. And he was, simply put, gorgeous.

  Belatedly, she realized she was staring, like a teenager gawking at a rock star. What was she doing, letting her mind spin fantasies about this man? One look at Cade Leucetius was more than enough to tell her that even if she were beautiful and shapely, he was far too much man for a dying woman to handle.

  She drew up her legs and wrapped her arms around them. She rested her chin on her knees and trained her eyes on the open desert. She sensed him out of the corner of her eye watching her.

  “The DAMNers are right,” he said at last. “The past that Ben-Meir works to unearth would be better off undisturbed. If the man truly understood what he’s looking for, he’d pack up and leave tonight.”

  She turned her head and frowned. “That’s absurd.”

  “Is it, caraid?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Watchers were angels,” he said. “Angels who stole the power of Heaven and used it in pursuit of their own selfish pleasures on earth. It’s not inconceivable that remnants of their cursed magic remains under dirt they once trod.”

  She scoffed. “I can’t believe you really believe in angels. The Watchers, if they did exist, were human men. Powerful men, most likely, but men just the same.”

  “You came halfway around the world looking for mere men? Dead men, at that?” His eyes mocked her. “Somehow, cariad, that doesn’t seem worth your trouble.”

  A chill chased down her spine. No, she hadn’t come to the Negev looking for long-dead men. But explaining exactly why she’d come here was difficult. Perhaps the best way to describe it was that she’d been . . . pulled.

  She dropped her legs over the edge of the stone and slid to her feet. “It’s none of your business why I came here.”

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Have you ever wondered why, if Heaven is so wonderful, the Watchers left it in the first place? Why would they want to live on earth? Why would they trade eternal angelic bodies for mortal flesh and blood?”

  “It’s just a story,” Maddie said.

  “A very ancient one. According to the scribe Enoch,
two hundred angels abandoned Heaven to take human bodies and live on earth. They were forbidden only one earthly delight: sex with the daughters of men.” He laughed softly. “Doomed from the start, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Forbidden fruit is a common theme in ancient mythology. Adam and Eve faced a similar test.”

  “So we agree,” Cade said. “The whole endeavor was a prescription for failure. Samyaza, the first among twenty-one leaders of the two hundred Watchers, was the first to fall. I don’t imagine it took much to convince his one hundred ninety-nine brothers to join in the fun.” He grinned. “Not with so many nubile young Canaanite women about.”

  “Probably not,” Maddie admitted, amused.

  “And yet, Samyaza’s sins pale beside that of his brother and rival, Azazel. He was the last—and some would say the most powerful—of the Watchers’ twenty-one leaders.”

  “You know, for someone who believes the past should remain buried, you’re surprisingly well-versed in ancient legend,” Maddie commented. Her eyes narrowed as a sudden thought occurred. “You’re not one of those DAMNers, are you? Sent to sabotage Dr. Ben-Meir’s work?”

  His answering laugh was abrupt. “Hardly. I’ve merely been browsing a copy of Enoch I found in the mess tent.” His eyes glinted with sudden humor. “I can read, you know. Almost as well as I can haul rocks.”

  Maddie blushed. “I didn’t think you couldn’t.”

  “Azazel taught the art of war to men, and the art of seduction to women. Quite the sinner, eh? The bloke twisted Heaven’s magic, transformed good to evil. In defiance of Heaven, he committed any number of perversions, corrupted any number of humans. Until the archangel Raphael defeated him.”

  “Enoch isn’t literal history,” Maddie protested. “It’s a myth created by an ancient scribe. I hardly think the archangel Raphael actually swooped down from Heaven with a flaming sword to wipe out a band of rogue angels. Though I concede that the story might contain some small grains of historical truth. Dr. Ben-Meir believes a group of ancient human warlords called themselves the Watchers. Maybe the band came to a violent end—at the hands of their enemies, or fighting among themselves. Over the centuries, the story was embellished with angels, magic, fiery swords, and eternal curses. Makes for much better reading than everyday mundane violence, you have to admit.”

  Cade moved suddenly, abandoning his relaxed pose against the boulder. “If that’s the case—if it’s all so simple—why did you come here? Why waste your precious time?”

  Her precious time. She felt sick, suddenly. But no, she reasoned, he couldn’t know she was dying. It was just a figure of speech. But the spell was broken.

  “I think I’d better go,” she said.

  “No.” His tone was one of quiet command. “No, I think not. Not quite yet.”

  Stunned by his audacity, she opened her mouth to protest. Before she quite realized what had happened, he was standing close. Too close. His hands, warm and large, cupped the back of her skull. His lips were barely an inch from hers. He inhaled her startled breath and gave her a slow, wicked smile. Then he took her mouth in an aching kiss.

  The ground under her feet seemed to fall away. She grabbed for him, her fingernails digging into his bare shoulders. A guttural sound vibrated in his throat. His hands tightened on either side of her head, holding her still for the invasion of his tongue in her mouth.

  A burning finger of lust stroked down her body, touching her breasts, curling into her belly, contracting her womb. A hot wetness gathered on the insides of her thighs.

  Her first coherent thought was that this could not be happening. This beautiful man could not possibly want her.

  The second was that if it was happening, she didn’t want it to stop. Instinctively she found herself returning the kiss. She opened her mouth and tangled her tongue with his. He tasted so good, she thought in a daze. Like freedom. Like life. Why not have him? she thought recklessly. She’d vowed not to waste a minute that was left to her. Why not let him . . .

  Abruptly, he released her and stepped back. Cool desert air rushed between them. It felt like a slap in the face. She stared up at him, her lungs heaving. She was appallingly aware that her knees were on the verge of buckling. She reached backward; her trembling hands found the edge of the stone table.

  For several moments, she fought to regain control over her breathing. All the while, his eyes, shadowed and inscrutable, did not leave her face.

  At last she pushed free of the prop to stand on her own unsteady legs. The outline of Cade’s body silhouetted a faint glow of dawn.

  “I . . . I’ve got to get back.”

  He held out a hand. “Come to my tent.”

  She almost said yes. Every muscle, every nerve in her body urged her to accept his offer. In fact, she’d already begun to lift her hand, to place it in his, when an aura of red light appeared about his head and shoulders.

  Her lust evaporated, annihilated by a wave of debilitating fear. She spun away, clutching her midsection, gagging on a surge of bile. Oh God. It was back. Suffocating fear descended, paralyzing every other reality but the one she least wanted to face: death.

  “Maddie—”

  “No,” she choked out. Tears blurred her vision. She held up a hand, as if to ward him off. “No. I can’t. I . . . Please. Don’t ask me.”

  “Caraid, wait—”

  She didn’t. She ran.

  He didn’t follow.

  Chapter Five

  “So where did that new laborer come from?” Maddie asked Hadara with studied calm the next morning over breakfast. They sat at an outdoor table set up under a shade canopy near the trailer that served as their kitchen. “You know, the hot one with all the tattoos?”

  Hadara sipped her coffee and smiled. “The god, you mean?”

  Maddie spread more jam on her bread. “Yes. He’s not Israeli. In fact, he’s Welsh. What’s a guy like that doing hauling rocks in the Negev?”

  The Israeli woman shrugged. “All I know is that he showed up a few days ago asking for work. I don’t think Dr. Ben-Meir asked too many questions. He wants the new site cleared quickly, and that Welshman is strong as an ox.” She grinned. “And . . . how do you say it? Eye candy?”

  Maddie laughed.

  Ari and Gil joined them. Hadara shifted over to make room. Maddie hid a smile. From the sour expression on Ari’s face, he’d overheard Hadara’s last comment.

  “We will open the new area in a few days, I think,” he said, pulling up a chair very close to Hadara’s. “Then the laborers will be dismissed.”

  Hadara caught Maddie’s eye and smiled. “Perhaps not,” she said. “Dr. Ben-Meir may have other tasks for such strong men.”

  She sent a significant glance across the excavations, seemingly oblivious to Ari’s scowl, though mischief danced in her dark eyes.

  Maddie followed Hadara’s nod. Sure enough, Cade Leucetius was already at work, his dark head wrapped against the sun. Her body responded, tensing and softening in various places. She couldn’t quite remember why she’d run from his unexpected proposition last night. So what if she was seeing weird lights? So what if she was scrawny and nothing great to look at? In a few months she’d be dead. If she could only stop thinking about the end, she might be able to enjoy all that strength and beauty. At least for a little time.

  Why not? Because he frightens me so badly. She wasn’t exactly sure why. She only knew that as strongly as Cade drew her, an instinctive fear tugged her in the opposite direction.

  In a few days he’d likely be gone. The thought set her stomach churning. But why should it? He was nothing to her. As for his kiss—In the light of day, the whole episode had taken on the quality of a bizarre dream. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if it had even happened. Maybe she’d been asleep in her bed the whole time.

  Her gaze crept back to him. He had his back to her. An angry red scar angled above his left shoulder blade. A recent injury? It looked like a knife wound. She sucked in a breath. She kne
w nothing about Cade Leucetius. Nothing. Just what kind of man was he?

  He inserted a crowbar beneath a stone and applied force. Muscles rippled. He shifted his grip and half turned, revealing the tattooed dagger on his chest. The jeweled hilt looked real enough to grasp.

  Hadara laughed softly. “Still watching our friend, I see.” With some difficulty, Maddie tore her eyes away. Ari and Gil had moved on, leaving her alone with Hadara.

  “It’s kind of hard not to.”

  Her roommate inhaled a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke on a sigh. “So large! And what muscles he has.”

  Maddie stirred her cooling coffee and tried to look nonchalant. “If you like that kind of thing.”

  “If I like? If I like? What, I ask you, is not to like?”

  The way I feel when he looks at me, as if I’m something he’s about to consume.

  Maddie forced a nonchalant laugh. She and Hadara carried their cups—and Ari’s and Gil’s, damn the lazy males—to the wash station. Hadara left to prepare for the day’s excavations, but Maddie lingered by the trailer, her gaze once again drawn, quite against her conscious will, to Cade Leucetius.

  He heaved another stone into the wheelbarrow. Her pulse raced. He straightened and looked toward her, as if he’d known all along that she was watching. Which, she realized, he probably had. Their eyes met. Hers, she was sure, showed her chagrin. His were laughing.

  Mortified, Maddie spun around. She headed toward the parking lot where the volunteer bus, just arriving, churned up a cloud of fine white dust. It was Day One for this week’s crop of American volunteers. The group, mostly teenagers, hailed from a synagogue on Long Island. Their parents had paid a steep program fee for the privilege of having their offspring work Dr. Ben-Meir’s dig. Housed for two weeks at a hotel in the nearby village of Mitzpe Ramon, the kids would dig during the day and swim in the hotel pool each evening. Trips to local tourist sites had also been arranged.