Dark Truth (The Time Bound Series Book 3)

by Lora Andrews

  Folding his arms across his chest, Ewen simply peered at her and the monk in equal measure without saying a single word—an old teacher trick he’d used on her before. First, the evil stare, and then deadly silence until one of them cracked under the pressure.

  “I urged you to set sail for Iona,” the monk griped.

  Well, that didn’t take long.

  “You refused to listen to reason.” Brother Rupert lifted his arms in a what-could-I-do gesture. The movement stirred the dank air behind her, sending chills up her arms. “Therefore, you left me no choice but to take matters into my own hands.”

  “Enough.” Ewen stood. “I’m not in the bluidy mood to continue the same argument you’ve carried on since leaving Lochaber.”

  “Ye have only yourself to blame, boy,” the monk interjected. “If you weren’t so stubborn and hardheaded, we wouldn’t be arguing at all.” He met Ewen’s cutting stare with one of his own.

  “And yet ye refuse to answer my questions. Repeatedly.” Ewen’s accent had thickened until she could barely make out the words.

  Ooh, he was mad.

  “Let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind,” Brother Rupert said.

  Caitlin frowned.

  Did he just quote the bible?

  Ewen cocked his head, his gaze sharpening on the monk’s face. “Shall I wake Donald?”

  Brother Rupert’s cheeks puffed. “Now you’ve crossed the line, lad.” He shook his forefinger in the air. “I raised you better than to threaten your elders.”

  The vee between Ewen’s eyes compressed. “You taught me to judge a man by his actions. Now what conclusion shall I draw when I find you slinking around the manor using magic?” With her, the tilt of his head implied.

  “I was no’ slinking.” Brother Rupert’s chest expanded like a peacock about to flare its tail. “And what exactly are ye accusing me of, lad?”

  Quiet fury rolled from Ewen in thick, palpable waves, like smoke billowing in a hot room.

  Things were about to escalate quickly from bad to really, really, really, bad. The timing couldn’t be worse. She was two seconds away from confessing her origin. And in Ewen’s current agitated state…

  Oh, for crying out loud. Grab the bull by the horns, already.

  “Brother Rupert, please leave us.”

  The monk snapped his head in her direction, whiplash fast. His holy golden eyes bulged before they narrowed and honed in on her face. “Please leave” were probably the last two words he expected to hear her utter.

  “May I have a word with you?” He canted his gray head to the door. “In private.”

  She didn’t dare glance at the Highlander whose attention she’d very clearly caught. “I think it would be best if Ewen, um”—shoot, she had no idea how to properly address him in this time—“Mr. MacLean and I spoke. Alone.”

  That comment quirked one of Ewen’s sexy eyebrows higher, and she nearly crossed her eyes from straining her peripheral vision to gawk at him.

  Brother Rupert shook his head. “I would advise against it. I beseech you to seek an audience with Abbot Mackenzie.” He moved his body until his broad shoulders blocked Ewen completely from her view. “Bear with me a wee bit longer,” he whispered. “Hold yer tongue until we’ve reached the abbey. I promise you safe passage. You’ll find your answers there. Trust in me.”

  “And you!” Brother Rupert whirled to face Ewen before she could respond. “You know not the dangers your ignorance places upon this woman. Upon us all. You’ve closed your mind, and there is nothing more I can do to change it.”

  Ewen moved to speak, but Brother Rupert held up a finger. “I’ve taken an oath, a magical oath that binds me from revealing the truths you seek. For once in your life, boy, open your eyes and see beyond the limits of this physical world. Follow us to Iona.”

  Whoa. What?

  “No,” Caitlin blurted. Ewen would not be thrust back into the middle of this shit show. “No. You—” She grabbed hold of the monk’s arm and pushed him toward the door. “You need to leave. Now. I’ve made my decision. I will go with you to the abbey, but not before I clear the air with the big guy.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder to where the silent warrior waited.

  Like there was another big guy in the room.

  Sheesh.

  Defeat tinged the corners of Brother Rupert’s mouth. “Is there naught I can say to change your mind?”

  She shook her head, guilt tightening her throat. “I’m sorry.”

  “Christ almighty,” Brother Rupert grumbled. “You’re as stubborn as he.” He expelled a tired-sounding breath. “Verra well. I’ve done all I can, I suppose. The abbot will be displeased.” He gave Ewen one last look and then reluctantly exited the room.

  Closing the door, she squeezed her eyes shut briefly and caught her breath. She rolled her neck and winced. Her whole body hurt from this morning’s session with the blacksmith. And yet despite her sore muscles, the wood-hurling stint seemed like a distant memory now that she stood feet away from him.

  She turned around. “I think it’ll be a long time before the good brother forgives either one of us.”

  “Matters naught.” Ewen twirled a dagger between his fingers. “Do you mind telling me how this blade ends up plunged into my body?”

  Bres’s dagger.

  She’d thought she’d lost it after the Fomorians attacked.

  Wait…

  Her feet carried her across the room. “What did you say?”

  “For the past two nights, I’ve dreamed of this blade lodged in my chest.” He shoved the dagger back into the sheath at his thigh. “Your blade. So I’ll ask you again, lass, is it you that stabs me in the heart?”

  “Me? God, no. No. I—” How did he know?

  “So, it’s true then? I’m to die by this blade, but it’s not your doing?”

  Her hands snapped to her mouth. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. For the past two nights, she’d relived the horrible moment Bres stabbed Ewen over and over and over in her own dreams. Somehow, he’d experienced her memories. But how? Had she wandered into his mind? Had she inadvertently shared her memories through the link?

  Or was this a bond thing?

  Through time or place, let my blood be the seal that binds my oath.

  He stepped toward her then, and for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t read his expression. His eyes were shrouded, as if he’d purposely built a wall around himself to shut her out.

  She’d spent her whole life walling herself from others. And now standing outside the wall he’d built to protect himself from her, every one of her defenses crumbled.

  “They tell me you’re a seer,” he stated softly. “Is this my death I’ve foreseen, or a warning?”

  Her heart twisted and snapped the tether imprisoning her grief. Tears flooded her eyes, burning her cheeks, and before her brain could register her actions, she wrapped her arms around his waist and dug her fingers into the material of his shirt, hanging on to him like he was a life preserver and she was drowning in a sea of pain.

  She pressed her nose into his chest. “I—I tried. God knows, I tried to save you.” His scent enveloped her. He smelled real. Like her Ewen. And his heart—his very much alive heart—thumped a steady beat against her wet cheek. “I couldn’t stop him in time. I’m so sorry. All I could do—”

  Was stand there helplessly and watch you bleed.

  Ewen froze. Every muscle in his body tensed. He held his arms stiffly at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Like she was some crazy woman who had latched herself onto him.

  Jesus. She had.

  And then his emotions ran through her. Alarm. Confusion. Uncertainty.

  Crap, he really doesn’t remember me.

  She jumped back like she’d been shot from a cannon. “I’m so sorry. I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She spun around, giving him her back, and rubbed her arms, tr
ying to pull herself from the brink of a meltdown.

  Deep breaths. Keep it together, Reed.

  For one brief moment, she’d forgotten all the pain.

  She wiped her cheeks and faced the man she loved. Yeah, loved. There was no use denying the truth when it stared her in the face. “You might want to sit down for what I have to tell you.”

  “I’ll stand.”

  “No, seriously. What I have to say is shocking. It’s nothing you’re expecting to hear.”

  He fingered the dagger’s hilt. “I watched a man I respect disappear into thin air. I think I might have a vague sense of what you might be telling me, lass.”

  She smiled. Oh, yeah...every now and then she saw a snippet of her Ewen. God, her heart hurt. “I’m not from this time. I was born in the twenty-first century.”

  His mouth went tight.

  He’d be sitting before the hour was through.

  “Go on,” he said.

  Caitlin sucked in a breath then pushed the words past the jumbo-sized knot in her throat to begin her story.

  Ewen listened as the words spilled out of her mouth. She wove a fantastical tale for sure, one filled with ancient stones, time travel, crazy gods, and a war between man and the supernatural. At the heart of her story was a tale about humanity’s fight to preserve itself from a much stronger enemy.

  It was a theme he understood. Maybe too well. And, to his credit, he’d remained standing while her knees had given out fifteen minutes ago when she’d slid into the chair before him.

  “So you believe me?”

  Ewen scrubbed a hand across his face and forced out a breath that said I-don’t-want-to-but-god-help-me-I-do.

  Her heart resumed beating.

  He glanced at the fireplace, peered into the empty firebox, then re-directed his pensive stare back to her. “What of Rupert? How does he fit into this tale?”

  “I’m not sure. He appeared in my room tonight, insisting I go with him to Iona and keep silent about what I know. He wears a pendant that resembles the one I wore. I think his sect, the Brothers of Lumen, are involved with the gods somehow. But I have no proof except for the fact the similarities in the pendants are too much of a coincidence to ignore.”

  The headaches the pouch triggered bothered her.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He didn’t miss a beat.

  She rubbed her temple. “When Brother Rupert pulled out his herb pouch, I was overcome with a nasty headache and a sense I’d seen his pendant before. At first, I thought it was just the similarity to mine, but it’s more than that. I knew about the Fomorians in my time before Fionn told me what they were.” God, if he didn’t think her crazy before, he would now. “I think someone tampered with my memory.”

  “You think the Brothers of Lumen are responsible?”

  “I know it’s a serious accusation.” She shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t know. But then why would he barge into my room like that and offer to help me?”

  “Because I expressly forbade his request to take you to the abbey.”

  “Oh.” She picked at her fingernail. Getting around Ewen would prove tricky if he decided to block her from leaving Ardgour.

  He crouched before her, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say there was regret in those gorgeous blue eyes.

  “My loyalty is to my brother.”

  “Of course.” Was he planning to arrest her? “You want to be sure I’m not a threat to your clan. I understand.”

  “Are you? A threat?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “I wish I could say no, but given all I’ve gone through the past two weeks, being here puts your family at risk.” She looked away from his face, hating the fact she couldn’t reach out and touch him. “You have to let me go. You can’t keep me here.”

  He inhaled, his broad chest expanding, and he pumped the hand dangling over his thigh. He was thinking, and it was making her all kinds of nervous. She watched his forefinger flick, back and forth, back and forth, and when the muscle on his jaw popped, her pulse sped.

  She hadn’t told him the whole truth. She’d left out a few pesky details. Like him being a dragon. And the blood oath binding him to her.

  “Tell me…” His mouth tightened. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Were we involved, lass?”

  Air whooshed out of her lungs. Her face heated. She couldn’t bring herself to say yes, but she didn’t have to.

  He nodded and looked away.

  “But that’s not why you feel a connection to me. We—you, me, Fionn, and Valoria—we performed a ritual that linked our minds together before our confrontation with Bres. It was supposed to be temporary, but we’re still connected.”

  “’Tis temporary. You’re sure?”

  The relief she heard in his voice tore at her heart. How could she tell him about his oath now? He was free.

  “That’s what I was told.”

  His gaze lingered on her face. He stood.

  A moment of tense silence beat between them.

  Ewen broke eye contact first. Shaking his head, he looked at the door and muttered, “Bluidy monk.” Then he laughed a mirthless laugh that ended with a sigh. “Protectors of the lore, my arse. This was his plan all along. You’ll be on the next galley to Iona.”

  Oh, thank god.

  “And I’ll be takin’ ye.”

  What?

  Caitlin jumped from her seat. “No. Absolutely not. Haven’t you heard a single word I’ve said? You. Died. You died protecting me. You sacrificed your life so I could come back here and try to change things and, goddammit, I’m not about to let you throw your whole life away. One of us is getting our happy ending, and it’s going to be you if I have to—”

  Ewen grabbed hold of her arms. “Stop.”

  “I won’t let you die. Not again.” She scanned the room as if the answer to her dilemma lay tucked in the cold stone. “Besides, you need to stay here. You need to protect your clan from another attack.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her.

  Well, two could play that game.

  He released her. “If what you’ve said is true, then your presence here has already altered my clan’s destiny. Are you forgetting I spoke to the Cameron chief?”

  “Shit. You’re right,” she blurted, then clamped her freaking mouth shut. Agreeing with him would not help her case. Think. Think. Think. She raised her arm to stab her fingers through her messy hair, but winched at the ache burning in her shoulder.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Just sore.” Freaking blacksmith. All men were nothing but pains in the ass.

  Ewen folded his arms across his chest and glowered.

  “It’s nothing. Ewen, listen to me. Your place is here.”

  “My place is of my choosing.”

  “He was right, you know. The monk. You are as stubborn as a mule.” And then some.

  “’Tis one of my many special talents,” he said with a wink.

  “Don’t remind me.” She ignored the psychotic butterflies bouncing around her stomach. “Have I no say in who escorts me to the abbey?”

  “No.”

  This can’t be happening. She sighed. “When do we leave?”

  “We’ll embark first thing in the morning.”

  Not if she could help it.

  FIFTEEN

  HER SECRETS were out.

  Well, most of them, anyway. Ewen told Donald everything, and now she was on a Viking-like boat manned by real-life Highlanders. The first part of her master plan was underway. The thought made her giddy with nervous anticipation. She leaned over the hull and stretched her arm over the side, letting her fingers skim the surface of the water.

  The forty-foot birlinn sailed Loch Linnhe, heading south to Mull and then west to Iona. The skies were a vibrant blue except for the monster clouds hovering near the horizon. From Caitlin’s position on the narrow bench, the view was breathtaking no matter which direction she turned her head. Ben Nevis towered behind her. Up ahead, mile after mile of deep blue s
ea. To the east and west, rugged mountains and lush green and gold countryside swooped up in gigantic slopes and valleys reaching the skyline.

  Sitting quietly beside her, Deidre wove a narrow ribbon of pliable willow around a series of short sticks resembling the spokes of a wheel. The beginnings of a basket. The guards—two side by side by the bow and two by stern—manned four of the sixteen oars while singing a Gaelic tune beating in time to the pull of each man’s oar.

  “Mouth music” Deidre called it.

  The halyards snapped against the single mast reminding her of the course she’d set herself upon.

  Literally.

  There was no turning back.

  She yawned and pulled her hand from the hull, shaking the water loose. Access to the documents Brother Rupert had hinted would chronicle both her clan’s history and the forgotten legends—legends the monks had lovingly copied and protected from Viking raids throughout the years—was finally within her reach. She wasn’t naive enough to believe these books would hold the key to destroying Bres, but it was a start, and if nothing else, she’d gain a better understanding of the events leading up to the creation of the veil, and maybe—if she was lucky—Brigid’s hiding spot. Which led to bullet point number two.

  Who had tampered with her memory?

  And why.

  Untangling this piece of the puzzle would be tricky, especially if the monks were involved.

  They are involved.

  A truth every fiber of her cerebral cortex clung to with indisputable certainty.

  But proving it would be another story.

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. It killed her that she couldn’t remember why. Getting answers from the abbot would be harder than pulling teeth, especially now that she’d witnessed the monk’s magic.

  And then, of course, there was the matter of self-defense. She had a kick-ass sword, a dagger, and residual memories at her disposal belonging to a warrior woman she respected. But she needed more. Even though he kicked her ass, her one training session with Faolan did wonders for her confidence. More than anything, she wanted to be worthy of strapping the blacksmith’s sword to her back. But if she couldn’t defend herself from a few scary humans, she’d be lost when the time came to confront Bres.