Forbidden

Dana forced herself to stop speculating. She’d come to this island for herself. Perhaps the Calamar dig was a minor one, but she didn’t care about that. This was her chance at last to break out of the stifling mold of her old life.

And so she was excited. And nervous. Her emotions were pent-up. All these sensations roiled inside her.

“Please pull over,” she said in a very distinct voice.

“Ms. Morgan, I’m sure you’d like to admire the view, but–”

“You’d best pull over, Dr. Petrie.”

Thankfully, something in her tone prevented him from further argument. He brought the Rover to a halt. Dana clambered out her side of the vehicle and stalked off toward the underbrush. She had a vague notion of preserving some dignity for herself, but a second later she was doubled over in an ignoble fashion.

Nick Petrie knew exactly what to do. Without saying a word, he followed Dana and supported her head during the humiliating episode. His hand was cool and firm against her clammy skin. When it was all quite over, he held a canteen of water to her lips for a blessedly refreshing sip or two. Then he moistened a serviceable white handkerchief in the water and pressed it matter-of-factly against her face. She was trembling, and he held her steady with one arm. Giving up all hope of dignity, she leaned against him, silently accepting the strength he offered her.

“I usually don’t cause such a strong reaction in people,” he said. “I make them run away, yes–but I don’t make them sick. This is a first.”

She couldn’t even bear to look at him. Dana hated feeling out of control, the way she did right now. When she was quite sure she could stand alone, she moved away from him–although she’d ended up clutching his handkerchief and couldn’t seem to let go of it.

“I feel fine now,” she declared. “It’s all very embarrassing, what just happened–but it was the excitement, you know. I’ve been that way ever since I was a kid. I’d go on a trip, and I’d get so worked up about the adventure I’d be sick….” Her voice trailed off. She realized she was only making matters worse, conjuring up an image of herself as a spindly little kid who couldn’t even handle the anticipation of going to Disneyland. She could tell from the disgruntled expression on Dr. Petrie’s face that he didn’t want to hear any more about her childhood.

And yet, just a few moments ago, he’d been…compassionate. There could be no other word for the way he’d helped her. Gruffly compassionate. Maybe only the gruff part remained now, but she hadn’t imagined the other.

“I’m ready to go on,” she said.

“I doubt you’re up to working,” he answered brusquely. “I’ll take you into the village and let you rest for the day.” He made it sound as if he wanted to be rid of her, and that only strengthened Dana’s resolve.

“Absolutely not. I’m fine–really I am. I’m more than ready to work.”

He studied her with a skeptical expression, the harsh lines of his face hardening still further. There could be no doubt that he disapproved of her. But then he gave an abrupt nod, and led the way back to the Rover.

Dana clambered in beside him. He drove more slowly now, making the ride smoother. Dana suspected he was doing it out of consideration for her, but she didn’t know how to thank him. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her gratitude; he still maintained a beleaguered expression.

But at least they were on their way again, the road turning and making a path among the vine-draped trees. The jungle of Isla Calamar engulfed them. Branches scraped the sides of the Rover as the road grew more narrow and rutted. Now Dr. Petrie couldn’t avoid bouncing along, and Dana’s stomach clenched in protest. She willed herself to remain calm; she simply would not disgrace herself again.

They traveled for half an hour, perhaps more. Nick didn’t speak to her. The silence seemed a brooding one, broken now and then by the shriek of some exotic bird. The green shadows of the forest pressed in on the Rover, but at last Nick came to a halt. And that was when Dana saw it–the Mayan temple.

It jutted up amid the jungle with all the majesty of its thousand years. Mossy stone upon stone rose in narrowing terraces to the very pinnacle of the pyramid. Underbrush still tangled about the steps, and here and there gnarled tree roots had broken up the dark gray stone. Dana climbed out of the Rover and went to stand at the very base of the temple, craning her neck upward. She was filled with a sense of awe–and gratitude that she could witness this remnant of a vanished civilization. She knew there were more impressive ruins: the great Mayan cities discovered at Palenque, Tikal, Copán. That didn’t matter. This was her ruin, this temple hidden among the forest of mangrove and cypress.

At last she turned to Nick, who had come up beside her. “It’s wonderful,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He said nothing in return, but merely studied her in that disconcerting manner of his. In the mysterious shade of the jungle, his eyes were an even more intense blue than before–and his features even more stern. His gaze might be disapproving, but that didn’t stop her from feeling oddly drawn to the man, as if they shared something unspoken in common. For the space of several heartbeats she gazed back at him. His features had gone taut–perhaps a sign that he, too, felt this odd connection between them. Dana knew it didn’t make sense. Nicholas Petrie was a stranger to her. How could she therefore feel this disturbing sense of closeness to him?

She was the one who glanced away first. Firmly she reminded herself of the disaster with Alan. She couldn’t afford to be attracted to Dr. Petrie, of all people.

She turned from him, and saw a black-striped iguana dart across a rock. Insects buzzed around her. So far this morning her repellent wasn’t doing the job, and she had to resist the urge to slap her arms.

“What types of artifacts have you uncovered in the vicinity?” she asked, needing to fill the silence between herself and Nick. “Monuments, stelae, that sort of thing.”

When she ventured to glance at him again, she could swear she saw a restrained humor hovering in his expression now. His change of mood annoyed her. What did he find so funny, dammit? She slapped her arms after all, as a swarm of whining bugs strafed her. Why didn’t any of them seem to be attacking Nick?

“We’re excavating for remnants left by the Mayan farmers who lived near this temple,” Nick said. “But don’t get too worked up, Ms. Morgan. We’re not likely to make any stunning discoveries. I’m not the first archaeologist to descend on the island. Different groups were here during the 1920s and 1950s. They didn’t find anything particularly noteworthy. We’re here as follow-up.”

His impassive tone made her glance at him more sharply. “You’re not excited about this place?”

“The capacity for excitement is something I lost a long time ago.” He seemed to lapse into his own thoughts then. The silence felt more strained than ever to Dana, but she didn’t know how to fill it this time. She was almost startled when Nick spoke again a few moments later.

“This was once a shrine to the goddess Ixchel,” he said. He still seemed lost in his own contemplations as he gazed at the temple. “Superstitions about it have circulated the island for centuries now.”

The air was heavy, like a shroud of heat wrapping itself around Dana. “What superstitions?” she asked.

Nick seemed to stir from his reverie. “There’ve been stories about the temple ruins being haunted by a woman of the ancient Maya. You know the type of thing–people out to scare each other with talk of a ghost, and evil curses if anyone dares to climb the temple steps.”

Dana was not prone to superstition herself, but she supposed this jungle was the place for ghost stories, all right, with its gloomy shade and aura of deep isolation.

“Exactly what do the stories say?” she asked, trying to evince nothing more than scientific interest.

“Ixchel was the Mayan goddess of fertility, and women once came to the island on pilgrimage to worship her. The story goes that one of these pilgrims knelt to beg Ixchel for a baby and then died mysteriously while still at the temple. They say her ghost haunts the place, refusing to leave until she obtains her child. People also say that the ghost curses anyone who ventures near the temple to disturb her mourning.”

“Hmm…a ghost and the goddess Ixchel.” Now the temple rising up before her seemed more grand than ever to Dana. She could almost picture a young Mayan woman climbing the steps reverently and hopefully, going to petition her goddess, unaware of the fate that awaited her….

“Does the story frighten you?” Nick asked, making Dana start.

“No–of course not. It’s just sad, that’s all. I feel sorry for the woman who never got her baby. But you aren’t trying to scare me off, are you, Dr. Petrie?”

“And why would I try to do that?” he asked gravely.

“I don’t know. Maybe you like to scare people off.”

He surprised her again, this time with just a flicker of a smile. Then he glanced beyond Dana. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw a young boy sitting at the far end of the temple steps, quietly observant. It was disconcerting to see the boy; surely he hadn’t been there a few moments ago. He looked to be no more than eleven or twelve, with dark tousled hair, dark eyes and the sun-burnished skin of an islander. At Nick’s glance, the boy came over to stand beside him. The two exchanged no greeting, no acknowledgment of any kind, yet seemed accustomed to each other’s presence. They stood there together, apparently satisfied with the silence between them. Dana got the feeling that if anyone was going to speak, it would have to be her.

“Hello,” she said to the young boy. “I’m Dana Morgan.”

The boy stared at her, as if she’d breached some obscure code of etiquette by actually introducing herself. But at last he gave a brief nod in return.

“I’m Daniel,” he said, his pleasing Spanish accent at odds with his grudging tone.

The conversation threatened to die there, but Dana had always been good with kids. She tried again.

“My grandfather was a Daniel,” she said. “I was christened for him, in fact.”

This tidbit of information didn’t seem to inspire young Daniel in the least. He continued to look disapproving. As for Nick…well, he observed Dana with that subtle hint of amusement she already found annoying.

She refused to be daunted by two such closemouthed individuals. As she searched for a more fruitful line of discourse, at last Nick spoke.

“Daniel works with me part of the time. Come along, Ms. Morgan, we’ll show you where we’re excavating.” Nick strode away, the boy following him like a small shadow. Dana brought up the rear, wondering why Daniel seemed so prickly and difficult. Maybe he was just trying to emulate Nick Petrie’s charming demeanor, she told herself ironically.

Almost immediately the jungle engulfed the three of them. Ferns and vine tendrils brushed Dana’s face. Orchids and other bright flowers she couldn’t identify clung to the trees. Patches of bamboo reeds impeded her progress, but she fought her way through. Already her cotton shirt had grown damp with perspiration in the tropical heat.

Nick held aside a tangle of stalks so she could pass. “Half the time I carry a machete with me. A lot of my work involves cutting back the jungle, as well as digging in the ground.”