The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (37 page)

"It's like the enchanted cave I once dreamed about," he said, his face rapt. "When I was a boy, I used to escape to a place like this in my mind."

Love washed over her. Jillian squeezed his hand. "Aladdin's secret cave, filled with treasure. A place where you could feel safe."

His jaw tensed. "Let's do this quickly."

Minutes later they'd assembled their gear: a sturdy rope, their rucksacks, the rifle and jugs of water. Graham reached into his belt and withdrew the wooden key he had fashioned in Cairo.

He shouldered the rifle as they went searching for the door. Low-lying ceilings, too low for a man to squeeze under, prohibited them from exploring some portions. It was a small cave, and Jillian began growing frustrated. Her nose wrinkled at the odor of bat droppings.

But Graham insisted on thorough, slow searching, cautioning her to avoid a large crevice splitting the floor. They peered over the edge. Jillian shuddered as they dropped a small broken piece of stalactite into the darkness and did not hear it hit bottom.

Graham looked at her. "Slow and steady."

After about an hour, they came upon an opening in which they both had to squat. Graham pointed to a small cartouche, barely visible, carved into a delicate stalactite.

"Khufu," she breathed. "This must be it!"

She felt like Alice squeezing into the tiny house in Wonderland as they progressed. Finally reduced to crawling on her knees, Jillian wondered if the oppressive weight of the confined space could actually squeeze her lungs.

They came to a dead end no higher than three feet. Frustrated tears burned her throat as she stared at the limestone wall. Nothing. No keyhole.

But Graham showed no such emotion. He merely studied the wall, running a hand over its surface. The blank wall slid back, like a panel. It revealed another wall beyond. There was a large keyhole.

He turned to her, a boyish grin filling his face.

"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 different 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.