Forbidden Ground (Cold Creek #2)(43)
“Then put it to good use, and I’ll be in touch. Really in touch, next time.”
Kate made a show of looking around as if she didn’t want strangers to see them together, see them kissing. She pulled her hands free and walked out.
*
Kate knew she was taking a big chance by sharing her photograph of the Beastmaster with Grant, but until Carson gave her mask back, it would have to do. Even the mere photo was so stunning, so compelling, that surely he would realize the possibility of the valuable artifacts within Mason Mound. She waited until they’d been home awhile and had enjoyed a glass of wine after dinner. Grant had even told her a bit about his and Brad’s boyhoods. She could tell he was worried about where Brad was tonight, not that he kept tabs on an adult brother, but the Lacey connection was obviously bothering him. Maybe this would take his mind off his worries.
“I’d like to show you a copy I have of a famous Celtic artifact that’s housed in a museum in Denmark,” she told him as they sat side by side on the couch before the fireplace. The June night was amazingly cool with rain streaking the huge picture window, so he’d built a fire.
“Not of something you found?” he asked, turning toward her with one bent leg propped on his knee. “I thought you were working in England.”
“I was, but I made a special trip, a sort of pilgrimage, just to see this in a museum. The Celts were all over northern Europe, too. Let me go get it.”
She rose from the soft leather cushions—his weight close to hers tipped her toward him, and she was so tempted not to move. She went to her room to get the picture. It always fascinated and chilled her to look at it.
“See,” she said, sinking down beside him with their shoulders touching again. “This silver bowl, called a cauldron, depicts the so-called Beastmaster. He got his name because he’s surrounded by various beasts or animals and appears to be in command of them. Scholars believe he’s the Celtic horned deity of fertility and nature named Cernunnos. Humans are always depicted as very small compared to him.”
Grant drew in a sharp breath, so she knew the impact got to him, too. He looked transfixed, his eyes wide, his lips parted. “Beautiful but in a bizarre way,” he whispered. “With his horns and holding a snake, it reminds me of some paintings of Satan.”
“I’ve thought of that. His cult and significance in the Celtic religion is unknown, but if I could just find anything shown on this cauldron in Adena art—especially depictions of the Beastmaster—it would really help me to prove my theory that their cultures are linked. What? You have the strangest look on your face.”
“Doesn’t it—he—have a terrible effect on you?” he asked. “So strange with those wide, staring eyes. I’ll bet you could have imagined this face when you saw a deer through a dirty garage window.”
She sighed in frustration. Did he always have to fight her about this? “Both the Celts and the Adena were larger than average people,” she told him, ignoring his attempt to sidetrack her. “Celtic skeletons have been found that show them almost as giants, some six feet seven, another six feet ten tall. And the Adena were tall, too. Even their skulls—the ones that aren’t smashed—are large. Smashed skulls were used in their burial rites somehow.”
“Smashed human skulls?” he whispered. “Like human sacrifices with other dead people, maybe the upper class?”
“Yes, possibly chieftains or shamans. I just want you to know how important more knowledge about these two cultures would be.”
He tossed the photo on the coffee table, then put his arm around her. “The truth is, Dr. Lockwood, this all kind of creeps me out, maybe partly because of Paul’s crushed skull. So, what’s that around the Beastmaster’s neck that looks like a rope, like he could be strangled?”
“That’s called a torque. See,” she said, leaning over to retrieve the photograph and pointing at it. “He’s also holding one in his other hand. It’s a rigid neck ring, kind of like a necklace. A sign, I think, of honor, as some have been found around neck bones both on the Celts and the Adena.”
“So there’s your link. You don’t need to be searching for other horrible Beastmaster images or masks.”
“But more proof than a style of jewelry is needed. Masks are too common to be another link, unless it’s a particular mask.”
“You’re really passionate about this,” he said, pulling her closer, turning her head toward him with one big, warm hand. “And,” he said, as his hand drifted lower to cradle her throat, “if a torque was solid metal, it stayed on for life, right?”
“Right,” she agreed, but with that short response, she knew her voice had gotten softer, breathier. Like a wedding ring for life, she thought. Like one she did not want from Carson, though for several years, she’d thought she did. But this close to Grant, almost in his arms...
They moved together in a mutual caress and kiss. You are really passionate about this, he’d said. But this sweeping, spinning feeling was a different sort of passion, not of the head but of the heart. She clung for one moment, not only to him, but to sanity, as well, to whatever she had been telling him, trying to get him on her side. But this—was this the way? Then why did she feel she was the one being convinced, converted to something he wanted?
She half sat, half lay across his lap as their kisses deepened, lengthened, as his hands moved over her. They sank into the couch as if they floated on a bed, pressed together, lying full length now, with his leg atop hers as if to hold her down when she had no intention of going anywhere. She couldn’t breathe—she, her family’s bright student, big achiever, going places—didn’t want to go anywhere but here. But something crazy that Carson had said crept in when they lay, holding tight, pressed together, gasping for breath. You don’t have to do things Grant Mason’s way. She began to tremble.