An Echo in the Darkness(92)

Mortified with embarrassment, Taphatha was too ashamed to speak. She had thought her feelings for him were secret and hidden, but now it was clear she had made a complete fool of herself. Marcus read her as easily as her father read the Scriptures and he felt nothing for her. Cheeks on fire, tears burning her eyes, she turned to flee the roof and him.

Marcus caught hold of her shoulders. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you,” he said roughly. He felt her trembling, and his hands tightened. She was far too enticing for a man’s peace of mind. He turned her around. Seeing her tears, tears he knew he had caused, he wanted to hold and comfort her. And that was the last thing he could allow himself to do.

He was too conscious of her awareness of him. She was awakening physically, like a flower bud opening, succulent and sweet. He had once enjoyed taking advantage of moments such as these, fulfilling his baser needs for pleasure. But Taphatha, daughter of Ezra Barjachin, was not Arria or a women such as she. She was like Hadassah.

Too much like Hadassah.

Marcus took his hands from her. “Another day or two and I’ll be leaving.”

Taphatha caught her breath and looked up at him, forgetting her embarrassment in her desire to have him stay. “You won’t be ready to travel that soon, my lord. Your ribs must heal. Your strength hasn’t fully returned.”

“Nevertheless,” he said, his mouth firm. He was more worried about her heart than his ribs. “It’s too comfortable here on this rooftop.” It was too heady a feeling having a beautiful young girl look at him the way she did now, tempting him to fall in love again. Loving Taphatha would be as hopeless as loving Hadassah had been.

“Father will dissuade you.”

His smile was rueful. “I think not.”

Ezra came up to the roof as evening fell. Marcus saw he wore his phylacteries and knew he had come to pray. Marcus went on with his exercises, slow movements designed to stretch and strengthen unused muscles. Surreptitiously, he watched Ezra walk about the roof, his lips moving, his hands lifting now and then. Sometimes he would stop and raise his head as though seeking the warmth of the setting sun. Then he would begin to walk again, speaking silently to his god. Ezra didn’t prostrate himself or kneel as Hadassah had done in the villa garden in Rome. Yet Marcus sensed his love for his god was as deep as hers.

Tired and in pain, Marcus eased himself down onto the bed beneath the canopy. He poured himself some water and drank.

Ezra stopped at the wall nearest the booth where the Roman reclined. He looked at the brilliant reds and oranges of the sunset. “Taphatha told me you intend to leave within a few days.”

“I’d leave tomorrow if I could arrange it,” Marcus said grimly. “I’ve caused your family enough grief without prolonging the situation unduly.”

“Do you speak of my wife or my daughter?”

Marcus glanced up sharply and hesitated. “Both,” he said after a moment. “Your wife has confined herself below while I’m on your roof, and Taphatha . . .” Ezra turned his head slightly. Marcus felt the impact of his eyes. His mouth flattened. “Your daughter is very beautiful, Ezra. And very, very young.”

Ezra said nothing for a long moment. He stared up at the stars. “Until you’re fully recovered, you are welcome to stay.”

Marcus’ mouth curved sardonically. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

Ezra turned and looked at him squarely. “Because my daughter is beautiful, and for the first time in her life she has looked upon a man with favor?”

Marcus hadn’t expected such calm frankness. His admiration of Ezra deepened. “There is that,” he said with equal bluntness. “It would be better if she didn’t come up on the roof. I’m a Roman, remember?” His smile was full of self-deprecation. “A raving beast, by Jewish standards.” His smile fell away. “Besides, my presence in your household has undoubtedly caused you no end of trouble with your people, not to mention your own wife. You would have been wise to leave me in that wadi.”

“Better to have trouble with man than trouble with God.”

Marcus gave a soft laugh of derision. “God,” he said under his breath, and a sharp pain shot up his side. He had overtaxed himself. “You’re a good man, Ezra, but a fool.” He leaned back slowly and stared bleakly at the canopy. “You should have dumped me at an inn.”

“No one would take you.”

Marcus began to laugh and then sucked in his breath as the pain licked across his ribs. Gritting his teeth, he tried to think of something besides the pain.

Ezra sat down on the roof. He untied the phylacteries and held them in the palms of his hands. “All men are fools in some way,” Ezra said. “Men want what they can’t have.”