Darkest Desire

by Darkest Desire(Lit)

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Heart in her mouth, Morgan rushed down the corridor to her boss’s office. Gus was all anxiety, wringing his hands together as he told her that the latest dating tests done on the torque suggested it was much more recent than originally thought.

  "But, I thought…?" Morgan knew that the original results had shown it to date from the fifth century BC, at a time when the Celts were only starting to become established in Europe.

  "Yes, I know, but it seems there may have been a stuff-up somewhere, possibly at the French end but maybe here. They’re now saying that contamination may have affected the original results and that the torque’s more likely to derive from the period around the birth of Christ." He sighed heavily. "They’ve apparently just had the other artifacts back from the lab and they’re definitely Roman, which would suggest first century BC."

  Morgan looked at him in shock as he paced up and down his office. This news undermined the whole thrust of the exhibition, which had Cernunnos at center stage on the basis of the torque and other recent finds.

  Until very recently, the horned god was thought to be a just one of hundreds of divinities worshipped by the Celts. Their rich and complex culture had been filed with the adventures of legendary humans and deities. Even King Arthur had never been proven to exist, despite the longevity of his legend and a link to England’s very real Tintagel and Glastonbury. Historians continued to debate the matter, some claiming it possible that there had been a supreme ruler by the name of Arthur to give substance to the legend, while others simply pointed to the lack of evidence.

  Cernunnos, by comparison, was far more obscure. While Arthur’s legend first arose around 500 AD, Cernunnos was centuries older. More than sixty depictions had been found of the god but just one identified him and, until recently, all the icons that had emerged--including the one from the famous Gundestrup Cauldron--were from around the first and second centuries BC, relatively late in Celtic development. Indeed, so mysterious had Cernunnos been that until last year just one of the artifacts had clearly identified the horned god by name.

  But then two discoveries had shed new light on the mystery. At a dig in northern France, the ornate tomb of an early fifth century BC warrior had been discovered. It had been disturbed at some stage, the bones and military accouterments dispersed and fragmented but for a near-intact shield bearing the visage of a warrior wearing a heavy necklet. Except for the absence of antlered horns, its resemblance to later representations of the horned god was uncanny. Shortly afterwards, a cave in Italy had yielded a series of ancient cave paintings bearing the same figure, on horseback, brandishing a sword as an army fell in behind him. They were dated from around the same time as the shield and seemed to be telling a story about a legendary warrior, with none of the mystical elements that had surrounded later Cernunnos finds.

  Though the evidence was still not conclusive, historians had begun to embrace the possibility of that the ghostly leader of the wild hunt was based on a flesh and blood man. And then Hunter’s discovery of the torque had set the archaeological world alight. No other necklet had been discovered to compare with it. It was clearly the mark of a great and noble warrior but was it the torque of Cernunnos?

  As fiercely as the debate raged, most historians knew the question might never be answered. The problem was that the Celts had never made a written record of their history and mythology. Though the Druids, the Celtic priests, were learned and knew Greek and Latin, they were forbidden to record their knowledge. The only records were in the tales passed down through the ages, and in the artifacts that survived the passage of time.

  Morgan suddenly became aware that Gus had stopped pacing and was talking to her. "I’m sorry." She looked at him quizzically. "What did you say?"

  "Riley." Gus glanced briefly at his watch. "He left for France on the weekend to try and sort things out. He’s taken the torque for a final, and hopefully conclusive, test. I’m just concerned about the timing." He pulled off his round glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I think we should delay the opening of the exhibition."

  "God, Gus, we can’t delay." Morgan was horrified. The museum would never recover from such an embarrassment. "It’s too late--we have only five weeks until it opens. We’ve been advertising it, promoting it everywhere. We have guest lecturers booked. The catalogues and postcards are printed." She pushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes. ‘What does the board think?"

  "We’re talking at noon." He looked frazzled at the thought. "I don’t know what to tell them. I’ve discussed it with Marshall and the others. And with Allison … from a PR point of view it’s a disaster, of course. No-one can agree on the best course of action. The board will expect a point of view from me and I simply don’t know what we should do for the best."

  He pulled at his little beard and looked so desperate that Morgan almost felt sorry for him, despite the difficult time he’d given her. Canceling or postponing were no solutions at all in her opinion. In fact, she thought Gus was over-reacting. Even if the torque turned out to be more recent than originally thought, they would simply change the focus. It would be difficult to do in the time available, and the replacement captions would have to be makeshift but they would be able to do something.

  One thing she definitely didn’t want to do was pre-empt the results of Hunter’s trip. Just because the other items found at the site were more recent, didn’t mean that some Roman hadn’t hoarded away his or her ancient treasure with contemporary items for safe-keeping, much in the way a modern day collector would, just as Hunter had speculated. Her problem was that Gus was already panicking and his anxiety might influence the board to jump the gun. She had to convince Gus to calm down and plastered a reassuring smile on her face.

  Gus looked at her accusingly, pulling at his beard. "I should never have let you talk the board into approving your slant on the torque. It was all highly speculative. No real evidence that Cernunnos was anything but one of many Celtic gods. "

  Morgan’s mouth twisted. Her boss’s reaction didn’t surprise her. He was the type to look for someone to blame rather than a solution. Resolutely she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.

  "Look, I think we need to say calm. Let’s wait to hear from Hunter. I’m sure he’s as anxious as we are to have this resolved. We may get prelim results from the tests within a few days, and we can make a decision based on that." Morgan hesitated and lifted a hand to fiddle with her pearl earring. "Um, did Hunter leave you a number?"

  "No. Just an email, sent from the plane I believe. Even his assistant’s gone with him so we’ll have to wait for them to respond to us."

  "Uh Gus, I’ll try and reach him in France." If she did get an email through to him, his reply might clue her in as to whether he had calmed down. "Ask him to get to get back to us with any news. And if you can convince the board not to make any hasty decisions that would probably be for the best. If we do have to rework some aspects of the exhibition, we’ll just have to work day and night to get it done. I’ll get the back-up captions ready just in case although I think there’s a good chance we won’t need to use them."

  She smiled reassuringly at her little ferret of a boss who nodded uncertainly. "Very well. I’ll take your advice. We had just better hope it’s the right thing to do."

  In her office, Morgan’s heart fluttered as she typed a message to Hunter. She debated for some time on what to say and how to say it, writing and rewriting until she was happy with it. Knowing that there was always a chance Gus would ask to see it, she excluded anything personal.

  Dear Hunter,

  Gus has explained the problem to me. Everyone here is very concerned, as I’m sure you’ll understand.

  Please touch base as soon as you have any information about the dating of the torque as it will have implications for the exhibition, as you know. We hope not but we do need to know.

  Morgan.

  Her hand hovered for agonizing minutes before she pressed the button to send, an
d then it was gone, winging its way into the ether. She hoped desperately that it reached him, and even more desperately that he didn’t misconstrue the business tone of the email. Morgan ached to see him, to tell him about the decisions she had come to about her life and that she wanted to talk to him about his wants and desires. She recognized she knew little about his work, how much time he spent in the country, even what he liked to do in his private hours.

  The day crept by, agonizing in its slowness. A thousand times Morgan checked her inbox for a reply. There was none. She knew that there was a time difference of several hours but, by the end of the day, she was feeling anxious and defeated in turns. Now she had resolved so much about her own life, she was eager to turn her decisions into action. Her energy and desire to do something, anything, curdled into a hard nervous ball inside her, churning her guts so that she jumped every time her phone rang or someone spoke to her.

  In the end she packed up early, worked out at the gym for an hour to try and relieve some of the stress she felt, and then headed out for drinks with Mary. Despite her workout, she felt drained and wan, and would rather have gone straight home to a hot bath and bed but she owed Mary an explanation for her odd behavior.

  As it turned out, she didn’t need to say anything. She walked into Bernie’s Bar to find Mary sitting at a window seat. She immediately spotted the new addition to her left hand, and her mouth opened in shock. A diamond that sparkly would have been damned hard to miss.

  "When?" she got out at last.

  Mary beamed as though she’d swallowed the sun whole. "Tuesday."

  Morgan thought back. "But we spoke on … you didn’t say a thing!"

  "Sorry, I wanted to but it didn’t seem like the kind of announcement you make over the phone. Anyway, he hadn’t bought the ring at that stage. Just as well he waited for me to choose it." It was a known fact that Mary didn’t have a high opinion of Drew’s taste when it came to, well anything really.

  "So when’s the wedding?"

  "Probably 2027," sighed Mary, "seeing as it took him two years to propose, I’m thinking it’ll be decades before he decides he’s ready to marry."

  "He might surprise you," Morgan laughed. Mary’s company always cheered her up.

  "Yeah, well, any time before the end of the decade would be a pleasant surprise." She looked enquiringly at Morgan. "So, I take it your world isn’t one of pleasant surprises. What’s up, kid?"

  "Oh, nothing. Work problems but I can’t really talk about it because things are still being resolved."

  Mary gave her a long, probing look. "Girl, work problems don’t give you that look like your heart’s about to bleed all over the table. Now tell me the truth about hunky Hunter and you. What happened after the scene at the lecture when he caught you fleeing the scene?"

  Morgan smiled wryly at her friend. She had missed her sense of the ridiculous. Not to mention her caring. "Oh, Mary, I don’t want to talk about unhappy stuff when it’s such a fabulous time for you."

  Mary flapped an arm to wave away an approaching waiter. "Don’t be silly, hon. I’m nearly a boring old married woman. I have to practice living vicariously through my still-single friends."

  Morgan fiddled with the cocktail menu. "It’s complicated." She smiled weakly. "Aren’t all man-woman things?"

  "Go on." Mary prompted, leaning forward.

  "I stuffed up big-time, if you want to know the truth. And right now, I haven’t the faintest idea what to do."

  "Hmm, sounds like you got a few questions rattling around in your brain. When did you last see him?"

  "Uh, a few days ago."

  "And what happened then?"

  "He was pretty mad. Furious, actually."

  "Well I know you can drive people crazy," Mary said. "What did you do?"

  "We … ah … well we … I kind of left him in the lurch after we’d … you know. Then he got the wrong idea from something Gus said. He thinks I slept with him just to win a favorable outcome on a matter the museum’s negotiating with." Morgan looked ruefully at her friend. "He practically accused me of being a whore."

  Mary’s face registered astonishment, and then she burst out laughing.

  "Sex for sale at the Southern History Museum!" she chuckled. "If it wasn’t so ridiculous it would be damned funny." She paused briefly. "Actually it is damned funny. Does Hunter understand who he’s accusing. I mean you are still known as the Ice Queen by the guys in the packing room out at Great Western."

  "Still?" Mortified, Morgan sank her head into her hands. Was she the only discriminating woman in the city?

  "Don’t worry," said Mary cheerfully. "It’s just their juvenile way of dealing with the fact that none of them got in your pants."

  Morgan grimaced. "Funny, I was at the Museum to work. Not indulge in sexual liaisons."

  Mary shook her head. "Well, anyway, that’s in the past. I’m interested in how you’re going to kiss and make up with Hunter Riley."

  Morgan shook her head. "I don’t know, Mary. He’s had to fly out to France at short notice and maybe it’s for the best he’s overseas at the moment. At least it gives us some space so he can calm down and I can work out how I’m ever going to make it up to him."

  "Well, an apology would probably be an appropriate place to begin," Mary replied wryly. "Apart from anything else, it’s pretty bad behavior to run out on someone just after you’ve … you know. Unless they’re truly bad in the sack, of course. He wasn’t was he?"

  Morgan shook her head. "He was … it was...." The rosy blush on her face was detail enough.

  "What’s your problem, then?" Mary looked mystified. "Let me tell you, girl. If you find a stud that truly lights your fire, you want to hang on to him. There aren’t many good ones around."

  "I know, it’s just…."

  "Just what?"

  "Just overwhelming. I’ve no reference points for feeling the way I do."

  Mary’s freckled face looked sympathetic. "Hang on in there, hon. You’ll have your day in court, and if he doesn’t want to listen, just pin him down and show him!"

  Now that sounded like one way to convince Hunter she was serious, thought Morgan, as she waited for the bus home. If he would only give her the chance.

  * * * *

  Morgan had thumbed it so often that the comprehensive guidebook to world legends opened automatically to the section on Cernunnos. The illustration was of the exquisite Gundestrup Cauldron – the inner surface of which contained the most famous of all depictions of the horned god. A warrior torque was fastened about his neck, another clasped in his right hand. In the other dangled a long serpent.

  Morgan shivered and closed the book. Was the serpent symbolic of the temptation, the overwhelming urge to abandon every caution and take a bite of the forbidden apple?

  Either way, she had taken more than one bite. Had chewed, swallowed, digested and found the forbidden fruit much to her palate. She wanted to indulge again and soon. Every time she thought of Hunter, her breasts felt heavy and her core began to throb in expectation. At night, she was able to bring herself release but it did little to assuage her more fundamental need for his hard cock thrusting inside her, spurting his seed against her womb.

  Six days and still no word from Hunter. Gus got more anxious by the hour, more panicked by the day. He had taken to roaming the corridors and at regular intervals would appear in her office asking worriedly if there was any news. Morgan knew the board was on his tail, wanting to know the implications for the exhibition and how things would be resolved. Edwina, the museum’s director had begun giving local media interviews about the launch and, while she had been briefed to discuss the exhibition in a general sense, it had been impossible to avoid some of the more detailed questioning without seeming evasive. Now the media was on the scent of a story, and Gus was falling apart.

  Well, there was no point sitting at her desk worrying into the night, especially on a Friday. She had new captions for the displays mocked up and ready to go if the news wasn’t
good and the torque turned out to be from the wrong era; there was little more she could do tonight. She just wished Hunter would call.

  On her way out of the museum, Morgan swung by Gus’s office but he had already left. She left the latest progress report for her department on his desk and walked out the door. Just as she turned to head down the corridor, the phone rang. She picked it up without thinking.

  The line was faint, the static loud but she could just make out Suzie’s voice at the end of the line asking for Gus.

  "Suzie, it’s Morgan. Gus has left for the day. What’s the news?" Morgan felt adrenaline rush through her body. A combination of dread that she was phoning with bad news and anticipation that the developments were positive.

  Suzie sounded jubilant. "It’s good … testing not complete but … soil ... looking good"

  "Suzie, the line’s not good--"

  ".… field phone, poor … Hunter.… "

  "The line is really bad, Suzie, can you just tell me, yes or no, if you are confident for us to proceed with the use of the torque in the exhibition along the agreed lines?"

  "Yes, ok to proceed"

  Morgan took a deep breath. "Suzie, is Hunter there? Can I speak with him?"

  "Sorry … already in the air … tomorrow afternoon.…"

  "What time is he due in, Suzie? Suzie?" Morgan repeated the question but the connection broke and then died altogether.

  Morgan replaced the receiver, the blood thundering in her ears. Tomorrow. Hunter would be back home tomorrow….

  She got a grip on herself. She needed to ring Gus to tell him the news but she couldn’t find his cell or home numbers anywhere. Well, perhaps the director would have it. Morgan had only had cause to speak to Edwina twice before, but she felt certain that the director would want to share in the good news. She climbed upstairs to the executive suite but the director’s office was closed. Looked like Morgan was about the last person in the museum.