One minute, Hattie Williams is in a museum,sketching a gold necklace that belonged to Hatshepsut, first femalePharaoh of Egypt; and the next, she's lying in a room too archaicto be the museum, with a breathtakingly handsome, half-naked mannamed Senemut bending over her.
Hattie soon discovers she's been thrust intothe body and life of Hatshepsut, with no way back to her own time.Tuthmosis, the heir to the throne, hates her; the High Priest ofAmun and the commander of the army want to kill her and Tuthmosis;and the best bathroom facilities in the country are the equivalentof a cat-box.
To make matters more difficult, she's fallinghelplessly in love with Senemut, and soon, she's not sure she evenwants to return home. To protect Tuthmosis from assassination, thelovers arrange to put Hattie on the throne. But, what should she dowhen she suddenly finds herself, an obscure artist from Chicago,crowned ruler of all Egypt?
LADY OF THE TWO LANDS
Elizabeth Delisi
Tirgearr Publishing
Author Copyright: 2016 Elizabeth Delisi
Cover Art: Cora Graphics(www.coragraphics.it)
Editor: Christine McPherson
Proofreader: KA Lugo
A Smashwords Edition
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Thank you for respecting our author’s hardwork.
This story is a work of fiction. The names,characters, places, incidents are products of the author'simagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons,living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
DEDICATION
To my parents, who told me I could beanything I wanted
To my dear friend Lynne...I miss you everyday
And to Dan, my hero in this or anycentury
CHAPTER 1
There it was again—that prickling, crawlysensation, as though someone had run a velvety feather up the backof her neck, causing all the delicate hairs to stand on end.Harriet Williams snapped her head around, sure someone must bewatching her this time. But,as always, the room was empty. Sighing, she brushed away the damptendrils of wavy brown hair clinging to her forehead with the backof her hand.
The stone floor of the museum wasuncomfortable for prolonged sitting, but it was the only way tostay relatively cool in the warm, musty Egyptian exhibit room. Shestraightened her shoulders and rotated them a few times, stretchedto get the kinks out of her back. She’d only imagined someone waswatching her—what other explanation could there be? The museum wasclosed for the night, and she was alone. Hattie bent again over hersketchpad.
The scene of Hatshepsut being crowned rulerof Egypt took shape under the deft strokes of her charcoal pencil.She had Amun’s temple at Karnak in place, crowds of priests andcourtiers looking on while the High Priest of Amun placed thedouble crown on the head of the first woman to rule ancient Egyptas pharaoh.
The fragments of tomb paintings, gildedthrone, and scepters in the glass case provided for her a feelingof authenticity that she captured in the sketch. But theface—Hatshepsut’s face—refused to come to life. She couldn’t get afeel for her features, and they remained flat and lifeless on thepage.
Something tickled her ear, like the warmbreath of a whispering lover. Hattie jerked away from the touch andleapt to her feet. What in heaven’s name was going on? Herimagination was working overtime…but not on the problem of how torender Hatshepsut’s features in the illustration. Instead, shefound herself conjuring up visions of evildoers lurking in shadowydoorways.
Disgusted, she gathered up her pencils andpad and left the room through a small door in the rear marked “NoAdmittance—Staff Only”.
She wound her way down a dimly lit corridor,past closed wooden doors with names painted on them in black. Thelast door, marked “Thomas Harris, Egyptian Curator”, was stillopen, the overhead fluorescent light burning.
“Tom,” she said, bursting into the office, “Ican’t get her face right.” She slumped down onto a chair in frontof a battered wooden desk.
A heavyset, middle-aged man with graying hairand kindly features looked up from the papers spread across thedesk and smiled gently. “Calm down, Hattie. We have plenty of timebefore the manuscript’s due. When I asked you to do theillustrations for my book, I didn’t mean for you to get all workedup. I thought you’d enjoy it, and I knew you could use the work.”He raised his eyebrows. “So, what’s the problem?”
She sighed and ran her fingers through herhair. “I don’t know. I can’t seem to make Hatshepsut’s face comealive. Her statues are so stylized, I can’t imagine what she reallylooked like—the woman, not the queen. Here, see for yourself.” Shethrust her sketchpad under his nose.
He took it from her and studied the drawing.“This is really wonderful, Hattie,” he said after a minute. “You’vecaptured the spirit of the proceedings perfectly, all the ceremonyand splendor, the ritual, the crowds—just as I knew you would. ButI see what you mean about Hatshepsut.” He frowned. “I don’t knowhow much more help I can give you. The statues you’ve seen are theonly images of her in the museum. We don’t know if they reallyresemble her or not. But if they’re accurate, I’d say she looked alot like you. Your skin is probably a bit fairer, your hairlighter, but you have her expressive eyes and her slenderfigure.”
“You think Hatshepsut looked like me?” Hattieshook her head. “You must be imagining things, too. She was aqueen—a pharaoh! I’m sure she looked nothing like plain-Jane me.Nothing at all.”
Tom chuckled. “You’re much too hard onyourself. You’re a very attractive woman.”
Hattie snorted.
“Well,” he said with mock severity, “I didlend you several books on Egypt, with additional information aboutHatshepsut. Have you read even one of them yet?”
“No. I’ve only flipped through them,” shemumbled. “I should’ve known you’d scold me about that! But I dohave other commissions in progress, you know. Besides,” she addeddefensively, “ancient history is boring. I have absolutely nothingin common with a woman who lived thirty-five hundred yearsago.”
“I’ll bet you have
