Healer of Carthage (35 page)

He was the one who had convinced her to trade places with him that night in the emergency room. She’d let him blind her with that dreamy smile. Craig Sutton hadn’t cared about her hopes and dreams, what she wanted. He’d been more focused on his own career, on the triple gunshot surgery that would add another notch to his belt, than on even considering what would be best for his assigned patient and for the woman he supposedly loved. Even when he had offered to stand up for her at the morbidity and mortality conference, deep down she must have known his promise was nothing but another puff of smoke. Because if he’d really wanted to go to bat for her, he wouldn’t have hidden out in the OR during the exact time she was scheduled to report.

And then there was Cyprian. She was kidding herself to even hope . . .

Lisbeth stomped to the well and tossed the roped gourd down the dark cavern.
Thunk.
The last of her hopes and dreams
disappeared in the gurgling sounds. Hand over hand, she reeled the heavy gourd to the surface. Wrestling the water to the ledge, she bumped the empty jug with her elbow. Crockery shattered around her feet. Kicking at the pieces of clay in frustration, she turned and slid down the limestone, defeated.

She lifted her chin to search the sky, to find a star, any star, in the deepening darkness. Instead, her line of sight landed underneath the cistern’s rocky lip. Swimmers? Yellow and red hand-painted cave swimmers tucked out of sight.

Lisbeth flipped to her knees, her hands shaking as she visually examined the replica of the same three potbellied swimmers from Papa’s cave. The Hastings family, he’d called them. Eroded memories suddenly became whole, vivid, and compelling. The last thing she remembered was reaching for the painting of a crimson child with outstretched arms.

She’d found the way home. “Thank God.” Lisbeth scrambled to her feet and lifted her hand to touch the scarlet child.

CYPRIAN PACED
the length of the birthing bed, his eyes shamefully captivated by the sight of a mother nursing her child. How much more protective would he feel if that were his wife and
daughter? Desire so strong rose up within him that he thought his heart would burst. Lisbeth may not completely embrace his faith, but only a good woman would risk everything to deliver a child under such risky circumstances.

He glanced out the open door, noting that the stream of women returning from the well had trickled down to only an occasional passerby. Where was Lisbeth? She’d assured him she would not be gone long and that mother and child would sleep while she cleaned up, but he lacked her abundant confidence when it came to women and babies.

“I’m thirsty.” Eunike’s damp hair clung to her forehead.

“My wife has gone for water.” He jumped when the baby released her hold with a popping smack. “Can you wait, or should I fetch her?”

Milk dribbled from the baby’s tiny chin. If she’d had her fill, why did her mouth suck the air like a hungry carp? He had lots to learn before his child suckled at Lisbeth’s swollen breast. Desire pumped through his limbs, flooding him with a want he was wrong to even consider.

Lisbeth was his wife in name only, a bargaining chip he was playing in a deadly game. Tell himself what he may, he could no more wipe Lisbeth’s quick-to-miss-nothing eyes from his memory than he could yank out his conflicted heart. Her long, slender fingers had freed the trapped child before he could blink. Lisbeth of Dallas would just as easily free herself from him once she had her family safe and secure.

“Burp her.” Eunike thrust the fussy baby at him.

“What?”

“Put her against your chest,” Eunike said, panting. “And pat her back.”

As an only child, he’d never held a baby. Tossing Junia around made him nervous, and she was not as easily broken and very
capable of communicating exactly what she did and did not like. “Maybe we should wait for Lisbeth.”

“You.” Insisting had sapped the last of Eunike’s strength.

He didn’t have the heart to make an exhausted woman listen to an unhappy baby. Scooping the newborn from Eunike’s arms, his hand brushed against the intense heat of her skin.

“Oh, no.” Weightless bundle clutched in his trembling hands, Cyprian flew from the room. “Measles.”

“LISBETH!” CYPRIAN’S
voice carried through the mazelike corridors of the plebeian slums. “Lisbeth!” Breathless and toting a baby, he burst into the courtyard. “Eunike has fever.”

Lisbeth’s arm hung suspended between where she’d been and where she was going . . . immobilized in an excruciating vise of decision. Stay or go?

“Lisbeth?” Cyprian jostled the screaming infant. “Did you hear me? We can’t leave them here.”

Her eyes darted between the handsome man holding a baby and the bodies of the faded family clinging to the limestone. Father. Child. Mother. Tangible reminders of everything she knew. If she went home to Papa, she could save him and her old life. If she stayed in the third century, she could save Mama, Laurentius, and Cyprian’s city.

“Lisbeth!” Cyprian stuck his little finger in the baby’s mouth. “I don’t know what to do. I need you.”

If she stayed here . . . maybe the man she loved could save
her
.

45

M
AGDALENA WHISTLED AS SHE
filled the feeders in the bird cages. God had heard her prayers. Brought her daughter and son to safety. Her redemption was near. She’d felt the Lord’s hand upon her when the litter bearers had hauled Aspasius from her daughter’s wedding. Exactly how all of this was going to work out, she wasn’t sure. Would she and Laurentius go back to the twenty-first century with Lisbeth? Or would Lisbeth fall so deeply in love with Cyprian that she would stay in the third century with them? She’d seen the way those two looked at each other. They didn’t know it yet, but theirs was a love like she and Lawrence had once shared. As much as she longed to return to her husband, she wasn’t sure what she would do if the Lord asked her to leave her daughter behind . . . again.

Magdalena closed the container on the birdseed. What was she thinking? Planning ahead as if God had revealed the passageway home and given her options, which he had not. More than two decades she’d waited, and not once had she come across anything resembling a portal to her old life. And Lisbeth had no better recollection of her fateful entry than she.

Regret tangled the memories of the night she’d allowed a fight with Lawrence to send her stomping off in the dark. In her dreams she imagined him searching the desert, calling her name. And
every waking minute she wondered if he missed her as much as she missed him.

She would never know. Some decisions yield consequences that can never be undone. And some decisions change a person in such a profound way that she would be a different person without the consequences. Laurentius and his lopsided smile was a treasured consequence. That Lisbeth had granted her forgiveness for her inability to leave Laurentius was a huge consolation she would forever cherish.

Voices jarred Magdalena from her thoughts and drew her toward the open door to the garden. Tiptoeing across the atrium, she worked to place the men talking with Aspasius.

One was definitely that sneaky little scribe Pytros.

The other . . . Felicissimus.

46

M
OONLIGHT SPILLED ACROSS THE
bed, wrapping their bodies in a beautiful silvery blanket. Lisbeth pressed Cyprian’s arm across her chest and snuggled deeper into the perfect fit of their spoon. She’d wasted so much time and energy looking in all the wrong places for safety and happiness. Content in Cyprian’s embrace, the ancient swimmers on the cistern wall seemed a million miles away.

She was home.

“Are you still awake?” Her husband’s breath warmed the back of her neck.

Her husband.
“Yes.”

He lifted her hair from her neck and kissed the soft spot behind her ear. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

The last twenty-four hours had been packed with a flurry of physically and emotionally draining activity. A wedding. More plague patients. A complicated labor and delivery. Transporting and reuniting a sick mother with her ill family. And finally, after all this time and hesitation, locking eyes with Cyprian and knowing with surety that what had been growing between them was more than a ruse.

“The best kind of tired ever.” She turned to face him. “Why?”

“Because we never had that talk, remember?” He took her face
in his hands and kissed her, tenderly at first, and then with the passion that made her insides quiver. “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us,” he whispered. “Tell me who you are, even if you belong to another.”

His desperate need to know sent a painful jab to Lisbeth’s chest. She drew a deep breath. “Come with me.” She slid from his arms. “Don’t just lie there staring; come on.” While she wiggled into a shimmering robe, she watched him rise from the bed. A breathtaking male specimen. Rock-solid, yet gentle as a new kitten. And hers, if she could keep the truth as simple and painless as possible. She tossed him a loincloth. “Not interested in sharing you with the world.”

He twined the fabric around his middle. “We’re going far?”

“Farther than you could imagine.” She slipped her hand in his and led him through the open doors and out onto the balcony.

A sea-scented breeze swept her hair from her shoulders and ruffled the dark waves against the harbor rock. They moved across the cool pavers to the railing. Moonlight silhouetted Cyprian’s solid build. Call it selfish or simply self-preservation, either way, she took a moment to soak in the calm of his demeanor before shattering the peace they had found together.

The list of people she must take with her whenever she finally made her break for the twenty-first century was growing. His name was now permanently lumped in with Mama and Laurentius. However, she knew executing her plan and even evading capture would not be nearly as difficult as convincing Cyprian of his need to come with her. Not his need. Hers. She was the one who couldn’t imagine a lifetime without him.

He drew her into his arms and kissed her. He tasted of sea salt, their lovemaking, and hope. For a few seconds she allowed herself to feel safe, to rest in the security of her husband’s strong arms. But time and experience had exposed the futility of such an illusion.
Taming the danger of tomorrow was as futile as trying to erase the mistakes of yesterday. She pulled away reluctantly but determined to say what she should have said from the start.

“You better sit down.”

He reeled her back into his arms. “I’d rather hold you.” A long, slow press of his lips to hers and Lisbeth felt her resolve melt.

She wiggled free. “I’d rather look you in the eye.” She held him at arm’s length. “So you can see that everything I’m going to tell you is true.”

“Have you not always told me the truth?”

“Technically . . . yes . . . what I’ve
told
you is true.” Lying by omission was still lying in her book, a realization that didn’t make her feel any better. This wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe it was best if she took it slowly. “Please, sit.”

He bowed assent. “Your wish is my command.” He took a seat on a bench near the balustrade. “Speak, my love.”

Lisbeth hesitated; her courage suddenly vanished. What if he didn’t believe time travel possible? She really couldn’t blame him. After all, she would have admitted Cyprian to a psych ward if he’d fallen into her century spouting a story this preposterous.

His head cocked in an expectant manner. “Well?” He gestured for her to get on with it.

“You’re right. Let’s get this over with.” She perched on the opposite bench, her knees touching his for the added support. Whatever happened, for a few brief moments in time, everything had been perfect, and she would carry those memories with her forever.

She took a deep breath and dredged the truth into the open. Every incredible, unbelievable detail of the story, starting with Abra.

He pulled back. It was slight, but the distance was enough to make her reconsider this whole honesty thing. She reached for his
hand as if her touch would keep him from leaving her or declaring her insane. He didn’t withdraw, but something had changed between them. His face had hardened into an unreadable mask. Anxious to get this behind her, she continued on with the telling of the strange letter from Papa.

Nigel was right
, she thought as she explained flying to the camp. A person either loved endless horizons or hated them. Cyprian listened to her tale of cars, cell phones, and fast food with a baffled expression that made discerning his take on modern horizons difficult.

But she was in this far and he hadn’t bolted, so she risked a bit more. She told him about her parents and their quest to explore the Cave of the Swimmers. She recounted the night her mother disappeared, growing up in Papa’s excavation camps, her travels to a place called the United States so she could attend med school, and she even threw in her friend Queenie and her crazy ten-thousand-member church, a number so staggering she finally garnered a reaction from Cyprian—granted it was a head shake of doubtful amazement, but at least he was still listening.