page and picked it up. Maybe she was being silly, but she
would not risk having her story washed away by rain. If
she watched where she walked, she could find her way
back out again . . . maybe.
No noise but the thunder filtered through the labyrinth.
Birds flitted in and out of the shrubs. By the walls, the
grass was knee-high, but a path was kept clear down the
middle. As the sunlight dimmed beneath the assault of the
upcoming storm, she hurried faster, counting the pages as
she gathered them. She wanted to be certain that none of
them were lost.
The sunshine was brighter in front of her, glittering
off the page that was held in place by a small stone. She
tossed aside the stone and picked up the paper. As she
straightened, she realized she had reached the center of
the maze, for in front of her was an open area with a pond.
She stared in disbelief. The green walls surrounded
an oasis she had not guessed could be found in its innermost
section. Verdant grass woven with pansies dropped down
toward a pool that reflected back the maze’s walls and the
sunshine fighting to hold its own against the blackening
sky. In the center of the pool was a small island.
“Oh, my!” she gasped as she stared at the single
building on the island. She could almost believe she had
been transported back to Egypt, for on either side of the
door stood a statue. Even from where she stood, she could
see one was Thoth and the other Ra. The god of the moon
and the god of the sun guarded what was a much smaller
version of the temples she recalled from her childhood.
This one was not almost buried in the desert sands, but
instead surrounded by late-blooming flowers and decorated
with silk drapes flapping listlessly in the fickle wind.
She put her hand over the necklace beneath her gown
as she walked out of the maze and toward the water.
Lightning flashed overhead, but she did not pause. She
knelt to pick up another page which was held at the water’s
edge, like the previous one, by a rock. Directly in front of
it, stepping stones led to the temple.
She crossed them, drawn not only by the sheet of paper
set on the scales held by Thoth, but by her curiosity of this
piece of Egypt recreated here. Walking up to the temple,
she realized the stone roof was not quite as high as the
maze’s walls. That allowed the temple to be hidden until
one reached the maze’s heart.
“The heart,” she whispered, touching the stone feather
on the other side of the scales. In Jaddeh’s tales of the
ancient gods, it had been believed the heart of a dead person
was weighed by Thoth in judgment. If the heart was lighter
than a feather, entrance to the joys of the underworld was
granted.
Lightning crackled overhead, and Darcy pushed
through the silk to get out of the storm. She would have to
stay here until it passed. With a laugh, she reached back
out and plucked the page from the scale.
She sat on the stone floor and restacked the pages
neatly. Scanning through them, she frowned. The most
recent page she had written—the scene of the lovers
surrendering to their desire—was not among them. She
set the pages on the floor and looked through them and
her notebook a second time, wanting to make certain the
last scene had not gotten put in the wrong place. It was
not here.
Rising, she went to the statue of Ra. If the page had
been on his outstretched hand, it had been blown away by
the strengthening wind. The silk swirled around her as
she looked in both directions. She jumped back when
thunder crashed only seconds after a flash of lightning.
The sky grew darker, and she sank back to her knees.
She should have waited until after the storm passed before
she came out here. To be here in the dark . . . She glanced
up at the ceiling that was decorated with what looked like
hieroglyphics, and she shivered. So much stone above her
in the darkness. She closed her eyes as shudders streamed
across her.
The darkness. She could not stay here in the darkness.
Jumping to her feet, she gathered up her book and the loose
pages. She had to get back to the house. Risking the
lightning was better than remaining here in the dark.
“Running her hand up his deeply tanned skin, she
whispered, ‘Open your heart to me.’ His arms enfolded
her to him as he whispered, ‘Open all of yourself to me,
Beloved of Thoth.’”
As the words to her story resonated through the small
temple, Darcy whirled to see Simon emerging from the
shadows in its depths. In his hand was a single page.
“She raised her arms and welcomed him against her
breast, and she knew all that was familiar would never be
the same.” He looked up at her as he walked toward her,
then continued to read, “Every day to come would be
different because of this man for whom her desire was as
powerful as a Nile flood. It was perfection.”
She should chide him for taking her book and tearing
out the pages . . . and reading it. Yet as she heard her words
in his deep voice, she could only listen and recall the vivid
images that had been in her mind when she wrote them.
Vivid images which made her feel alone as never before.
Now as his voice’s echo was swallowed by another
thud of thunder, those sensations exploded through her
again. She was once again standing as Meskhenet had stood
looking upon her lover within the darkness. Like
Meskhenet, she understood all she risked by remaining
here and was willing to jeopardize it.
Simon bent and placed the page where she had stacked
the others on the floor. Lightning flashed, emphasizing
every sharp angle of his face. She stared in astonishment,
wondering when Kafele had taken on his features.
Searching her memory, she could not recall how that had
happened. Now she could not envision Kafele except with
Simon’s eyes that were as green as Thoth’s and as
captivating as Meskhenet had found her lover’s.
“Welcome to Egypt,” he said in a hushed voice.
His words, so commonplace and so absurd, freed her
from the spell cast upon her by the story that haunted her—
the story she could not finish. As quietly, she asked, “What
is this place?”
“A folly built by my father years ago for my mother
who was even more enchanted with the East than he is.”
He smiled. “Maybe as much as you are.”
“The maze appears much older than your father’s
lifetime.”
“It is. Folklore suggests it was here even before
Rosewood Hall was raised, and it was the work of those
ancients who raised the stones in the woods.”
“A holy place?”
“So it’s said because of the spring which creates the
pool within it.” He went to the wall opposite the doorway
and lifted down some pieces of pottery. Coming to her, he
placed them carefully on her palm. “These were found
here.”
Darcy turned them over her hands. The edges were
not sharp, but eroded by their millennia beneath the earth.
“Your father’s workmen found these when the temple was
being raised?”
“My mother found them.” He chuckled. “She was
much like you, Darcy. She wasn’t afraid of getting her
hands dirty with work others would have considered not
proper for her station. She tried to identify them, but all
she could determine was they were old.”
When she handed him back the pieces, he set them in
the nook on the wall. Lightning brightened the interior. In
the thunder that followed, she heard rain splattering on
the statues outside the temple as it tried to find its way in.
The silk draperies kept it at bay.
Simon sat on the floor beside the single page. Holding
his hand up to her, he drew her down next to him. He took
her notebook and, opening it, reached to put the page within
it. As soon as he had, she snatched the book from his hands.
Again she held it to her chest. To protect it or for it to
protect her? She could not guess.
“You shouldn’t have looked at this,” she whispered.
“Why are you hesitant to have me read it, Darcy?” he
asked, his voice once again a low, deep caress. “I thought
you planned to have this book published.”
“Yes, I do.”
“But I can’t read it?”
“It isn’t finished.”
“No?” He gently took the book and opened it. He ran
his finger along the last line in the middle of the page. “‘It
was perfection.’ A lovely ending to your story.”
“It doesn’t end there.”
“Then tell me the rest.” He stretched out on the floor,
leaning on one elbow.
“I can’t.”
“I’ll share its ending with no one.”
She plucked the book from him and closed it. “Neither
will I, for I don’t recall how it unfolds from this point.”
Light caught her eyes. Not from the lightning still slicing
through the sky, but the fragile clouds of light that drifted
close each time she was tempted to open her heart to Simon.
Open her heart?
Meskhenet and Kafele had used those words in their
story. Were they her words any longer, or did they belong
to the characters who seemed to have more life than any
of the others she had penned?
Even as she watched, the two clouds took their place
near the roof. Her eyes widened when she saw the small
ball of light that had never moved from above her bed
until she came to Rosewood Hall.
“What are you looking at?” Simon asked.
She did not answer as the ball slid up through the
hieroglyphics and into the stone above it.
“They’re back,” he said when she remained silent.
“They?”
He pointed to the lighted clouds floating just below
the ceiling. “Our ghosts. I would offer to shoo them away,
but I don’t know how one rids oneself of a ghost.”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Let them stay.”
“While you tell me the end of your story?” he asked,
his smile returning.
“I told you I couldn’t remember how it ends.”
He untied the ribbons of her bonnet, drawing it off
and leaving her skin quivering in the wake of his touch.
“Remember? Aren’t you making up this story out of your
imagination?”
“This is a tale Jaddeh—my father’s mother—told me
when I was very young.” She ran her fingers along the
pages. “I find I don’t remember the ending of the story.”
“They lived happily ever after?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe they did.
This isn’t a fairy tale, but a story passed down through the
many generations of my father’s family. A cautionary tale,
I believe, although the ending eludes me.”
His hand on her arm turned her to face him. In his
eyes was the intensity that created fire in them when he
was deep in his research. As he sought the answer to a
puzzle that refused to give up its answer. Was that how he
saw her? As a puzzle hiding the truth from him? He knew
more of her secrets than anyone in England, and she knew
so little of him. A devoted son, an ardent scholar, a good
friend . . . and a passionate lover.
She looked hastily away, frightened by her own
thoughts. The tale Jaddeh had told was of the distant past,
not of this time when England was so far removed from
life upon the shores of the Nile. She could not let the
romanticism of two desperate lovers interfere with her own
life.
A single finger under her chin brought her face back
toward his. Slowly she raised her eyes past his beguiling
lips to his compelling eyes.
“Then tell me,” he whispered, sitting, “the ending to
the scene on the final page. The words you wrote are so
terse and unemotional after all the longing shared by your
lovers.”
“I don’t know what else to write.”
“Yes, you do.” His mouth brushed hers.
“Simon . . .” She arched her neck as his lips swept
along it. Thunder resounded around them. Or was it just
her heart beating with such anticipation of his touch?
“Tell me . . . Show me . . .” he whispered against her
ear. He drew her back onto the temple’s floor. “Share your
sweet kisses with me.”
His lips covered hers. The gentle, lingering touch
vanished as his mouth pressed eagerly into hers. As he
kissed her again and again, his breath growing ragged
against her, the strength of his desire flowed through her.
It washed away every bit of common sense warning her
this yearning was a dangerous madness.
When his mouth slid to the valley between her breasts,
directly over her necklace, she gasped in shock at the
powerful sensations rolling through her. She swept her
arms up around him, bringing him over her. She could not
deny him—or herself—the satiation of this hunger that
seemed to spring from some unknown recess far within
her soul.
Each breath she took brushed her against his hard body
until she wanted him all along her. When she heard him
whisper something not in English, she froze and pulled
away, staring at him.
“What did you say?” she whispered.
“I want you so much.”
She shook her head as she sat up. “No, you didn’t say
that. I heard you say something else.”
“What?”
“I heard you say mahbjb.”
“What?”
“It means beloved in Arabic.”
He chuckled. “I don’t speak Arabic, although I’ve
encountered a few words in my research. You must have
misheard me.”
“No. You said mahbjb and then . . .”
“What?”
In his cu
rious gaze, she saw the craving for her had
not dimmed. “You said Thoth.”
He laughed with a freedom she never had heard in his
voice. “Now I know you’re jesting with me.”
“And you’re belittling me yet again.” Darcy jumped
to her feet and picked up the pages of her story. Her furious
exit was ruined when she faced the heavy rain beyond the
sheer curtains. Standing by the door, she did not move as
she heard him stand and walk toward her.
His breath teased the wisps of hair at her nape when
he said, “Don’t go.”
“I will get wet if—”
“Don’t go because you think I was belittling you. I
wasn’t. I vow that to you. Don’t go. Stay here with me.”
When his mouth stroked the back of her neck, she
gripped the pages. His arm curved around her waist as his
hand rose to cup her breast. A shiver of excitement raced
through her at the caress of his strong fingers. Trying to
forget what they had shared, she had not put the wonder
of his touch from her mind . . . or her body which ached
for him. The rush of sensations, tantalizing her into
recognizing the depth of her need, softened her against
him.
One of his fingers brushed her pendant, and the
lightning still dancing overhead surged through her. Why
was she resisting what she wanted as much as he did? She
had dreamed and waited . . . She did not know how long
she had waited for this fantasy to come true. As Meskhenet
had wanted Kafele, Darcy wanted Simon now.
Letting the pages fall from her fingers to drift to the
floor and flutter about on the breeze, she turned to meet
his mouth. She wanted to sink into the sea-green depths of
his eyes and discover each emotion hiding there.
She met his mouth eagerly. She wanted every bit of
the ecstasy he offered. More than wanted . . . she needed
the satisfaction only he could give her to appease the
craving which preyed on her very soul. As his tongue teased
hers, his fingers stroked her sides through the few layers
of silk separating her skin from his. Her arms reached
around his back, yearning to pull him against her so she
could savor him filling the heated emptiness developing
within her.
She murmured, “Help me learn what I must to give
you this pleasure.”
“You know already.” His tongue brushed her ear, and
Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt Page 22