Countdown (14 page)

It was strange standing here staring at this face that had already twisted her life in a multitude of different ways. The dreams, the episode four years ago that had nearly taken her life, and now the circle was returning, closing, with Cira in the center. Strange and mesmerizing. She forced herself to look away. “And is it inspiring?”

“No, but I enjoyed looking up at her after working on her scroll. It was almost as if she were in the room talking to me.” He frowned. “But didn’t I read on the Internet that Ms. Duncan did a forensic sculpture of a skull that resembled the statue of Cira?”

“No, that was pure hype. She did do a reconstruction of a skull from that period, which Trevor borrowed from a museum in Naples. But it looked nothing like Cira.”

“My mistake. I suppose I was so absorbed in her scroll that I was working on that I didn’t pay enough attention.”

“Her scroll,” Jane repeated. “I didn’t know anything about those before Trevor told me when I was coming here. All he said was that there were scrolls about Cira.”

“These were in a separate chest enclosed in the wall at the back of the library. Trevor said he hadn’t seen them before and the cave-in might have toppled the wall. He believes she tried to hide them.”

“She probably did. I’m sure when she was Julius’s mistress she wasn’t encouraged to do anything with her mind. He was only interested in her body.”

He smiled. “That’s evident from the scrolls he had written about her. Would you like to read a few of them?”

“How many are there?”

“Twelve. But they’re pretty repetitive. He was besotted with Cira and he evidently had a fondness for porn.”

“And what about Cira’s?”

“They’re more interesting but much less titillating.”

“What a disappointment. Could I read the Cira scrolls?”

He nodded. “Trevor called me last night and gave me permission. He said those would be the ones that you’d be most interested in.” He nodded toward an easy chair in the corner of the room. “I’ll bring the translation of the first one to you. That corner has plenty of light.”

“I could take it to my room.”

He shook his head. “When I first started to work for Trevor, I promised him I wouldn’t let the scrolls or the translations out of my sight.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“He told me that they were very important and what I was doing was dangerous because a man named Grozak was after them.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all I wanted to know. Why should I be curious? I don’t care what Trevor and Grozak are fighting about. It’s only the scrolls that are important to me.”

She could see that. His dark eyes were glowing and his hand gently touching the scroll was almost caressing. “I suppose Trevor has a right to set up rules about the scrolls, but I believe I’d be a little more inquisitive than you seem to be.”

“But then, you’re not me. Our lives were probably very different. I grew up in a village at the foot of a monastery in Northern Italy. I worked in the garden when I was a little boy and later they let me work in the library. I’d scrub the tiles on my hands and knees until they bled. And at the end of the week the fathers would give me an hour to touch the books.” His lips curved reminiscently. “So old. The leather of the binding was smooth and rich. I’ll remember the smell of those pages all my life. And the script . . .” He shook his head. “It was fine, a thing of beauty and grace. It seemed magical to me that those priests who’d written them could have been so learned and wise. It just shows that time doesn’t really matter, doesn’t it? Yesterday or thousands of years ago, we go through life and some things change, some things stay the same.”

“How many years did you work for the monastery?”

“Until I was fifteen. At one time I wanted to become a priest. Then I discovered girls.” He shook his head ruefully. “I fell from grace and committed sin. The priests were very disappointed in me.”

“I’m sure your sin wasn’t too extreme.” She remembered the tough streets where she’d grown up, where sin was a daily fact of life. “But you’re right, our upbringing was completely different.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company. Please stay.” He smiled. “It will be very exciting for me to see you sitting there and reading what was written in Cira’s scrolls. And bizarre. It will be like having her—” He broke off guiltily. “But of course now that I see you next to the statue, I can see there are many differences. You actually don’t—”

“Liar.” She couldn’t help smiling. “It’s okay, Mario.”

“Good.” He let out a deep breath of relief. “Come sit down.” He carefully leafed through the pile of papers on his desk. “I translated the scrolls first from Latin to modern Italian, then to English. Then I went through them again and did it all over just to make sure I was accurate.”

“Good heavens.”

“It’s what Trevor wanted, and I would have done it anyway given the choice.” He drew out a thin folder containing several sheets of paper stapled together and took them to her. “I wanted to hear her speak to me.”

She slowly took the papers. “And did she?”

“Oh, yes,” he said softly as he turned and went back to his desk. “All I had to do was listen.”

Cira I
was printed on the title page.

Cira.

Dammit, she was actually nervous to start reading Cira’s words. She’d lived with her image and the story of her life for years, but that was different from reading her actual thoughts. It made her . . . real.

“Is something wrong?” Mario asked.

“No, nothing.” She sat up straight in the chair and turned the page.

Okay, speak to me, Cira. I’m listening.

Lucerne, Switzerland

M
ay I sit down? All the tables seem to be filled.”

Eduardo looked up from his newspaper at the man holding a cup of espresso. He nodded. “You must get here early to get a table. The lake is particularly beautiful from this vantage point.” He gazed out at the sunlight glinting on Lake Lucerne. “Although it’s lovely from wherever you view it.” He shifted his newspaper to make room. “It moves the heart.”

“It’s my first time here but I must agree.”

“You’re a tourist?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “But you look very much the native. You live here in Lucerne?”

“Since I retired. I share an apartment with my sister in the city.”

“And you get to come here every morning and enjoy this bounty. What a lucky man.”

Eduardo made a face. “One can’t eat scenery. My pension doesn’t allow me more than a cup of coffee and a croissant to start my day.” He gazed out at the lake. “But perhaps I am lucky. You’re right, beauty feeds the soul.”

“You know Lucerne well?”

“It’s a small town. There’s not that much to know.”

He leaned forward. “Then perhaps I could persuade you to show me other sights like this wonderful lake? I’m not a rich man, but I’d be glad to pay you for your trouble.” He hesitated. “If it wouldn’t insult you to accept my money.”

Eduardo sipped his coffee and thought about it. The man was courteous, well-spoken, and he didn’t throw his weight around like many of the tourists who flocked to Lucerne in droves. Perhaps he was a teacher or civil servant, because his clothes were casual and not expensive. And he obviously knew that pride was important to the poor. He was respectful, and the tentative eagerness with which he was gazing at Eduardo was very flattering.

Why not? He could always use a little extra money, and he would enjoy having a purpose again. The days were long and boring, and retirement was not what he’d believed it was going to be. He could understand why seniors gave up and faded away when they had no reason to get up in the morning. He slowly nodded. “Perhaps we could come to an arrangement. What do you wish particularly to see, Mr. . . .”

“Forgive me. How rude I am. Let me introduce myself.” He smiled. “My name is Ralph Wickman.”

T
he scribe, Actos, who gave me this scroll says I should not write anything that I would not want Julius to read, that I must be careful.

I’m weary of being careful. And perhaps I no longer care whether he reads this and is angry. Right now life seems very dreary and I cannot bear to have him suffocate my mind as he does my body. I must not be seen talking to anyone for fear Julius will find a way to hurt them, but I may be able to send this scroll to you, Pia. He does not know about you, so it may be safe. Julius is watching me all the time now since he found out that I took Antonio for a lover. Sometimes I wonder if he’s mad. He tells me he’s crazed by love, but he loves no one but himself. When he bribed Antonio to leave me, he thought that I’d come meekly back and live beneath his yoke.

I will not be a slave to any man. The only thing they understand is what lies between my thighs and the gold that crosses their palms. So I told Julius he could have my body again if the price was high enough. Why not? I tried love and Antonio betrayed me. But a chest of gold would keep us safe and free for the rest of our lives.

He fell into a rage but in the end he gave it to me. He said I had to keep it in a room in the tunnel under guard so that he would know that I wouldn’t break our bargain, take it, and leave him. I know he hoped that he would tire of me and take back his gold. He will not tire. I will see that he doesn’t. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s how to please a man.

And he will not keep that gold hostage. It’s mine and will stay mine. I’ve already started to talk to the guards who are assigned to watch over it. It won’t be long before I get them into my camp.

Then it’s you who must help me, Pia. My servant, Dominic, will bring the gold to you with instructions on what to do with it. Then he must leave Herculaneum and hide in the countryside before Julius finds out that he’s helped me. I’ve told him he must take Leo with him because Julius will kill anyone who’s close to me once I leave him. He will not care that Leo is only a child. As I said, he’s mad.

You must also hide. I’ll ask Dominic to have you tell him where you’ll be and he will get word to me.

I hope I have a chance to send this to you. I don’t know whether it’s better to risk sending this missive to prepare you or just to rely on Dominic to show up at your door with the gold. I’ll have to decide soon.

I want to reach out and touch you with my words in case I won’t be able to see you again. I fear it’s a very real possibility.

Nonsense. All will go well. I won’t have Julius defeat me. Just do what I’ve said.

With all love I remain,
Cira

Good God, her hands holding the paper were shaking, Jane realized. She drew a deep breath and tried to compose herself.

“Powerful, yes?” Mario was gazing at her across the room. “She was quite a woman.”

“Yes, she was.” She looked down at the pages. “Evidently she decided it wasn’t safe to send this. You’re translating another scroll by her?”

He nodded. “I’ve just started.”

“Then we don’t know whether she was able to send the gold out of the tunnel before the eruption?”

“Not yet.”

“Do we know who Pia was?”

He shook his head. “Evidently someone she loved. Perhaps an actress friend from the theater?”

“Trevor told me that according to Julius’s scrolls she had no family or close friends. There was only a servant, Dominic, an ex-gladiator, and she took a street child into her home.”

Mario nodded. “Leo.”

“Trevor didn’t mention any name. I suppose it might be. But who the devil is Pia?”

“It’s possible Julius didn’t know as much as he thought he did about Cira.”

That was true. Cira didn’t want Julius to be intimate with her in any way but the physical.

As Mario saw her frustrated expression, he lifted his brows and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I told you, I’ve just started.”

But she wanted to
know
.

“I understand,” Mario said gently. “I’m just as eager as you are. But it all takes time to translate, not only the words but the nuances. I have to be very careful not to make mistakes. Trevor made me promise that there would be no possibility of misinterpretation.”

“And we wouldn’t want to disappoint Trevor.” She nodded resignedly. “Okay, I can wait.” She wrinkled her nose. “Impatiently.”

He laughed, picked up another folder from his desk, and got to his feet. “Would you like to read a few of Julius’s scrolls?”

“Sure. It might be interesting to get his view on Cira. But from what you’ve said I don’t believe I’m going to get any surprises.” She took the folder and curled up in the chair. “And maybe you’ll have something for me from Cira’s scroll later in the afternoon?”

He shook his head. “I’m having difficulty with this one. It’s not as well preserved as the first scroll. The tube containing it was partially damaged.”

She mustn’t feel frustrated. Cira’s letter to Pia had confirmed not only Cira’s character but had opened a new avenue of information. Julius’s scrolls might also prove interesting, and she had nothing else to do until after dinner, when Trevor had promised to show her this Run. She sighed. “Well, then I’ll just have to stay here and be an inspiration to goad you to work a little faster.”

8
                                                                                          

S
he’d made her way through four of Julius’s scrolls before she got up from her chair and carried the rest back to Mario’s desk. “Good God, he was a horny bastard.”

Mario chuckled. “Had enough?”

“For now. He’s not telling me anything about Cira but what remarkable private parts she possessed. I’ll try again later. I need a break. I’m going down to the courtyard and do a little sketching.” She smiled. “Then I’ll come back and nag you again.”

“I look forward to it.” His tone was abstracted. He was obviously already back in his translation.

She wished she could be so involved, she thought as she left the room. After all these years of anticipating reading Julius’s scrolls, they were definitely a disappointment. She’d already been told the details of Cira’s life by Trevor, and Julius’s sexual fantasies about her were degrading and annoying. She couldn’t wait to read the other Cira scroll.

Well, she’d have to wait. So forget about Cira and get involved in her own work. That would make the time pass until she could brace herself for another onslaught of Julius’s porn.

An hour later she was sitting on the edge of the fountain and finishing a sketch of the battlements. Boring. The castle was interesting and she was sure there was a colorful history connected to the place, but there wasn’t anything she could get her teeth into. It was rock and mortar and—

The stable door opened. “You’re angry again, aren’t you?”

Her gaze flew to the man who was standing in the doorway. No, not a man. He was a boy in his late teens or early twenties.

And, my God, that face.

Beautiful. He couldn’t be called good-looking any more than the statues she’d seen of Greek heroes could be described by that term. His tousled blond hair framed perfect features and gray eyes that were staring at her with a kind of troubled innocence. That’s right, Bartlett had said Jock Gavin was slow, childlike.

“Are you still angry with the laird?” he asked, his frown deepening.

“No.” Even that scowl couldn’t spoil the fascination of that face. It only gave it more character, more layers. “I’m not angry at anyone. I don’t really know MacDuff.”

“You were angry when you came. I saw it. You made him unhappy.”

“He didn’t make me overjoyed.” He still had that troubled frown and she could see she wasn’t getting through to him. “It was a misunderstanding. Do you know what I mean?”

“Of course. But sometimes people don’t tell the truth.” His gaze shifted to the sketchbook. “You’re drawing something. I saw you. What?”

“The battlements.” She made a face as she turned the sketch around so that he could see it. “But I’m not doing it very well. I don’t really like drawing structures. I’d rather sketch people.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Because it’s life. Faces change and age and become something different from minute to minute, year to year.”

He nodded. “Like flowers.”

She smiled. “Some of the faces I’ve drawn haven’t been in the least flowerlike. But, yes, it’s the same idea. Do you like flowers?”

“Yes.” He paused. “I have a new plant, a gardenia. I was going to give it to my mother in the spring, but I could give her a picture of it now, couldn’t I?”

“She’d probably rather have the flower.”

“But it might die.” His expression became shadowed. “I might die. Sometimes things die.”

“You’re young,” she said gently. “Usually, the young don’t die, Jock.” But Mike had died, and he had been as young as this beautiful boy. She said impulsively, “But I could draw your flower now and you could still give the real plant to your mother later.”

His expression lit with eagerness. “Would you? When could you do it?”

She glanced at her watch. “Now. I have time. It won’t take long. Where is it?”

“In my garden.” He stepped aside and gestured inside the stable. “Come on. I’ll show you where—” His smile disappeared. “But I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I promised the laird I wouldn’t go near you.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” She remembered Bartlett’s and Trevor’s words about not letting the boy bother her. They’d evidently gone ahead and talked to MacDuff in spite of her protest that the idea of the kid accosting her didn’t worry her. Now that she’d met him she was definitely feeling defensive. “It’s all right, Jock.”

He shook his head. “I promised him.” He thought about it. “But if I go ahead and you follow me I won’t really be near you, will I?”

She smiled. He might be childlike, but he wasn’t as slow as Bartlett thought. “By all means, keep your distance, Jock.” She crossed the courtyard to the stable. “I’ll be right behind you.”

W
hy are all the stalls empty?” Jane called ahead as she followed Jock through the stable. “MacDuff has no horses?”

He shook his head. “He sold them. He doesn’t come here very often anymore.” He had reached the door at the back of the stable. “This is my garden.” He threw open the door. “It’s only potted plants, but the laird says I can plant them outside in the earth later.”

She followed him out into the sunlight. Flowers. The tiny cobblestone area resembled a patio, but there was barely room to walk for the vases and pots overflowing with blossoms of every description. A glass roof overhead made it into a perfect greenhouse. “Why not now?”

“He’s not sure where we’ll be. He said it’s important to take care of flowers.” He pointed to a terra-cotta pot. “This is my gardenia.”

“It’s beautiful.”

He nodded. “And it will live when the winter winds blow.”

“That’s beautiful too.” She opened her sketchbook. “Is the gardenia your favorite flower?”

“No, I like all of them.” He frowned. “Except lilacs. I don’t like lilacs.”

“Why not? They’re very lovely and I’d think they’d grow well here.”

He shook his head. “I don’t like them.”

“I do. We have lots of them at home.” She began to sketch. “The blossoms of your gardenia are drooping a little. Could you tie up the branches until I finish?”

He nodded, reached in his pocket, and drew out a leather cord. A moment later the gardenia was upright in the pot. “Is that what you want?”

She nodded absently as her pencil raced over the pad. “That’s fine. . . . You can sit down on that stool at the potting table, if you like. It will be a little while before I finish.”

He shook his head as he moved to the far edge of the patio. “Too near. I promised the laird.” His gaze went to the cord around the gardenia. “But he knows I really don’t have to be near. There are so many ways . . .”

W
hat the hell are you doing here?”

Jane glanced over her shoulder to see MacDuff standing in the doorway. “What does it look like?” She turned back and made the last few strokes on the sketch. She tore it off her pad and held it out to Jock. “Here it is. It’s the best I can do. I told you I did faces better.”

Jock stood still, not moving, his gaze on MacDuff. “I’m not near her. I didn’t break my promise.”

“Yes, you did. You knew what I meant.” He took the sketch from Jane and thrust it at the boy. “I’m not pleased, Jock.”

The boy appeared totally crushed and Jane felt a surge of anger. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. I could
hit
you. Stop it. I offered to make the sketch. He didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, shit.” MacDuff’s gaze was on Jock’s face. “Shut up and get the hell out of here.”

“I will not.” She went to the gardenia and carefully untied it. “Not until you tell him you’re sorry for being a complete ass.” She crossed to Jock and handed him the cord. “I don’t need this anymore. I hope your mother likes the sketch.”

He was silent, looking down at the cord in his hand. “You’re going to hurt him?”

“MacDuff? I feel like throttling him.” She heard MacDuff mutter something beside her. “He shouldn’t treat you like that, and if you had sense you’d take a punch at him.”

“I couldn’t do that.” He stared down at the sketch for a long moment and then slowly put the cord in his pocket. “And you mustn’t do it either. I have to keep anyone from hurting him.” He glanced at the sketch again and a slow smile lit his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled back at him. “If you really want to thank me, you could do me a favor. I’d like to sketch you. I promise it will turn out much better than your gardenia.”

Jock looked uncertainly at MacDuff.

He hesitated and then slowly nodded. “Go ahead. As long as I’m present, Jock.”

“I don’t want you, MacDuff.” She saw Jock begin to frown again and sighed with resignation. There wasn’t any use in making the boy fret. The laird seemed to have him firmly under his thumb. “Okay. Okay.” She turned and headed for the door. It was time she got back to Cira and Julius and away from this beautiful boy and the man who seemed to control his every move. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jock.”

“Wait.” MacDuff was following her down the row of stalls toward the courtyard entrance. “I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t like the way you treat that boy. If he has problems, he should have help, not coercion.”

“I am helping him.” He paused. “But you might be able to help him too. He didn’t react the way I thought he would back there. It could be . . . healthy.”

“To be treated like a human being and not a robot? I’d say that’s healthy.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “The rules are the same for you as for him. I’m with you when you’re sketching Jock. No exceptions.”

“Anything else?”

“If you tell Trevor, he won’t let you do it. He’ll think Jock will hurt you. He knows he isn’t stable.” He met her gaze. “It’s true. He could hurt you.”

“He couldn’t have been more gentle to me.”

“Believe me, all it would take is a trigger.”

She gazed at him, going over the scene that had just taken place. “And you’re the trigger. He’s very protective of you. You should try to talk him out of—”

“Do you think I haven’t?” he said roughly. “He won’t listen.”

“Why not? You don’t appear to be in need of protection.”

“I did him a favor and he feels obligated. I’m hoping it will gradually fade away.”

She shook her head as she remembered Jock’s expression when MacDuff had told him he was displeased with him. Total devotion. Total dependence. “If you wait for that to happen, it may take a long time.”

“Then it will take a long time,” he said harshly. “I’m not stuffing him behind bars and having him prodded and poked by a bunch of doctors who care not a whit about him. I take care of my own.”

“Bartlett said he was from the village, and Jock mentioned his mother. Does he have any other family?”

“Two younger brothers.”

“And his family won’t help him?”

“He won’t let them.” He added impatiently, “I’m not asking that much. I’ll keep you safe. Just be with him, talk to him. You said yourself you wanted to draw him. Have you changed your mind because there may be a risk? Yes or no?”

She had enough on her plate right now without helping that beautiful boy. Yes, she wanted to draw him, but she didn’t need another complication. She found it hard to believe that he was as unstable and dangerous as MacDuff claimed, but there was no doubt that it must have some substance if MacDuff felt it necessary to warn her. “Why me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. He saw Trevor’s statue of Cira and asked me questions about what Trevor was doing here. He’s very visual, so I dug up the story on the Internet about Cira and you figured prominently in it.”

Cira again. “And he believes I’m Cira?”

“No, he’s not stupid. He just has problems.” He amended, “Well, maybe sometimes he get confused.”

And MacDuff was obviously as protective and defensive about Jock as the boy was about him. For the first time she felt a surge of sympathy and understanding for MacDuff. It wasn’t only duty that was driving the laird to take care of the boy. “You like him.”

“I watched him grow up. His mother was head housekeeper and he was in and out of the castle from the time he was a lad. He wasn’t always like this. He was bright and happy and—” He broke off. “Yes, I like Jock. Will you do it or not?”

She slowly nodded. “I’ll do it. But I don’t know how long I’ll be here.” She grimaced. “You obviously don’t appreciate me being here.”

“The situation is already too complicated.” He added gravely, “But it’s good that you’re going to be of use to me.”

She looked at him in amazement. “I’m not one of your damn ‘people’ and I won’t be used by—” He was smiling and she realized that he was joking. “Good Lord, do I detect a sense of humor?”

“Don’t tell Trevor. One mustn’t lower one’s guard. Are you going to tell him you’re going to draw Jock?”

“If I feel like it.” But she knew what he meant. She’d been on guard with Trevor since he’d come back into her life. “But it doesn’t concern him.”

“He won’t agree. He wouldn’t have brought you here if you didn’t concern him.” He opened the stable door for her. “If you’re not here tomorrow, I’ll understand.”

The bastard was saying the one thing that would firm her determination to come. He was almost as much a manipulator as Trevor, she thought in amusement. Why wasn’t she irritated, as she would have been with Trevor? “I’ll be here at nine
A.M.
”

“I’m . . . grateful.” He met her gaze. “And I repay my debts.”

“Fine.” She started across the courtyard. “It’s good that I can make use of
you,
MacDuff.”

She heard a surprised chuckle behind her but she didn’t look back. She was probably making a mistake becoming involved with Jock Gavin. He wasn’t her concern. No sketch was worth the risk MacDuff had warned her about.

To hell with it. Orphans and lame ducks seemed to be her downfall. She’d never been able to walk away just because the going got tough. It wasn’t her nature. If it was a mistake, then it was
her
mistake and she’d live with it.