Bannockburn Binding (Beloved Bloody Time)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Rob shook his head. “No.”

  Christian stood up. “It may never come to this, Rob. But if it does, do you really want the doctor to stand there trying to make some sort of ethical and moral decision and dithering over which way he should jump and letting them both die?”

  Rob looked at Tally, who was gazing at them both, her damp eyes steady. “No, he told Christian, his voice hoarse.

  “Do you really want some stranger to make decisions on your behalf? To make a decision about Tally and our son?”

  Rob glanced at Tally again. He dropped his gaze and shook his head.

  Christian stepped out of the way. “Tally wants you to kiss her.”

  Rob took a breath that lifted his shoulders and let it out heavily. “Ye can’t talk and ye still driving me insane, lass,” he told her. He bent over her and pressed his lips softly to hers.

  Christian laughed. “She’s complaining. She wants a proper kiss.”

  Rob looked at Christian, startled. Then at Tally. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t. Not enough to make the kiss worth passing up. I’m quoting her word for word,” Christian said.

  Morag smiled and moved her stool out of the way.

  Rob knelt by the side of the bed and gently turned Natália’s head toward him. He pressed his mouth against hers.

  That was when Nayara realized she had lingered at the doorway long enough. She had her answer. She straightened and moved out of sight of the intimate scene in the bedroom.

  Before she arranged for the transport of the two medical experts and had to face anyone else, she stopped off in Christian’s marvel of a fourteenth century bathroom and washed her face to remove any trace of tears.

  * * * * *

  When he arrived in the security area, Charbonneau immediately felt the uptick in tension since he’d left twelve hours before. He looked around, trying to analyse the cause and realized he knew almost everyone by name. Although he had not made it a mission to meet and get to know everyone at the station, it seemed he’d managed to do just that.

  Even Tinker was sitting at a desk, frowning over the controls. Charbonneau went up to the boy. “They pulled you in here, too?”

  Tinker shook his head. “Naw, I’m just filing a flight plan with Halfway Traffic Control. Got one of them secret visitors to shuttle over, you know?”

  “No, I don’t think I do.”

  Tinker grinned. “You should. You were one, seven months ago.”

  “I was a secret?”

  “Well, they didn’t broadcast who you were and why you were coming, but it’s not like everyone didn’t hear one way or another, anyway.” Tinker stabbed at one of the soft controls with some satisfaction and stood up. “I wouldn’t stick around here, if I were you. They’ll find you a job as soon as you cross your eyes.”

  “What’s happening? Do you know?”

  “You vamps are a suspicious lot. No-one will tell me.”

  “Is your mystery guest part of it?”

  “Who knows? I’m just the errand boy. It was a last minute arrangement, though. Which is why I’m stuck here doing flight plans, ‘stead of filing in comfort on Halfway. All I can tell you is his name. Dr. Isingoma Sophus, from Los Angeles.”

  “A medical doctor?”

  “I guess. If he’s from Los Angeles, that’s pretty much a lock, ain’t it? Medical capital of the world and all that.”

  “A human doctor,” Charbonneau said. “You’re right, that is interesting. There’s no one here for him to treat.”

  “There’s Pritti,” Tinker reminded him. “But she ain’t sick.” He shoved his thumb at the terminal screen. “I gotta run.”

  “Adieu,” Charbonneau murmured, as Tinker dashed away, his reading board under his arm.

  Charbonneau speculated on the mysterious healthcare expert and the unexplained business of the station for a few minutes, staring blankly at the readout screen Tinker had been using. Then he walked over to Brenden’s office and stepped in.

  The big man was hunched over his screen, typing with surprising efficiency with his thick fingers.

  “This is a bad time,” Brenden said, with the briefest glance up to confirm Charbonneau’s identity. “Hell’s hounds are loose and braying.”

  “So I understand,” Charbonneau said mildly. “Justin is resting and I suddenly find myself with nothing to do, which is intolerable. Give me work, Brenden.”

  Brenden stopped typing to look at him. “I can’t ask you to make any jumps.”

  “I’ve been jumping for months now.”

  “No time jumps,” Brenden amended.

  “I don’t have the courage to try that without the closest guidance and supervision. Justin is an effective fear-monger.” He grinned. “I suspect he laid it very thick for me, as I was a willing recruit.”

  “He did at that,” Brenden agreed.

  Charbonneau spread his hands. “I’ve administered extensive household and family estates and run multi-national corporations in my time. Crunching numbers is nothing to me. Neither is routine paperwork. Give me something to do. Give one of your staff a break out there. They’re all looking haggard.” He smiled to take the sting out of it. “So are you.”

  “I’m worried,” Brenden growled. “But if it’s work you want, work you’ll have. See Martina out there?” He pointed to a vampire at one of the desks, with screamingly short blonde hair and Chinese tattoos across the back of her neck. “She’s drowning. Get her to tell you what she needs done.”

  Charbonneau looked up to where Brenden was pointing and saw, beyond Martina’s shoulder, hurrying along the glassed-in corridor that led to the arrival chambers, a clump of people that included the white-blonde albino, Fahmido, a vampire who had specialized in medical research on vampire physiology and who was the closest thing the world had to a vampire doctor.

  * * * * *

  Nayara stood with her back to the closed door of the bathroom, facing Rob where he sat at the very end of the bench in front of the table. Lee sat next to him.

  “It’s going to get very weird for you for a while, Rob,” Nayara said. “We’re going to have to do things for which there won’t be time to give explanations. I’m about to bring strangers tramping in here, too.”

  “Do whatever it takes,” he said roughly.

  Nayara nodded. “Then here is the first strange thing I must ask of you. The male doctor is a human from our time. Not even vampire. He’s been paid an astonishing amount of money to ask no questions about the patient he must tend to, or the circumstances of her delivery.”

  Rob considered this. “He doesn’t know he’s back in the past, does he?”

  “He will have very strong suspicions that won’t be confirmed. Time-travel is an accepted fact in our world and doctors are smart people. But he will have no way of telling when he is and he doesn’t know the details of Natália’s conception. I’m running all sorts of risks screwing around with time this way, Rob. I have to minimize the potential damage. Will you help with the deception?”

  “My best help will be keeping my lips together,” Rob told her.

  Her glance slid over him, from neck to feet. It was done in a flicker of her big green eyes.

  Rob rolled his eyes. “I can change, of course. He won’t get clues from my clothes.”

  Nayara smiled. “Thank you.”

  He stood up. “Just hurry.”

  “Hurrying,” she assured him. “There’s a reason I’m guarding this door.”

  “They’re on their way?” Rob asked. His heart squeezed.

  She cocked her head a little and reached for the latch on the door. “They’re here,” she announced.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Ryan hurried into security, Charbonneau put down the board he was loading and followed Ryan into Brenden’s office. He entered in time to hear Ryan say, “…in labour.”

  “That would be your traveller Natália, then,” Charbonneau said.

  Ryan tilted his head, studying him. �
��You have always listened well. I see you’re also good at putting facts together correctly.”

  “Comes from a lifetime of deception.” Charbonneau crossed his arms. “You do know trying to keep a secret on this station is impossible, don’t you? With all the mind-readers, empaths and vampires who are sneaky by experience, if not by nature, you don’t stand a chance.”

  “I didn’t think we had imparted mind-reading to you, yet,” Ryan said mildly.

  “Not yet, but I don’t need it to figure this one out. Your traveller, Natália, has been stuck in Scotland for unstated reasons and she’s been there long enough for even the most rested and thriving vampire to have started experiencing severe stasis poisoning. People seem to be able to reach her—Nayara, amongst others—but no-one seems to be trying to bring her back.”

  Brenden leaned back in the reinforced chair tailored to his big frame and put his boots up on the desk. “How did you know that Nayara is back there?”

  “Simple. Ryan said she was, about four weeks ago. And despite being here for nearly eight months now, I’ve yet to meet her, when I’ve met everyone else on the station. Therefore, she’s back there and spending a lot of time back there. She must be returning here purely to rest and let the symbiot recover before going back.” Charbonneau spread his hands. “That might have been enough, but Tinker himself gave me the biggest clue about twenty hours ago. He told me the name of the mystery guest he was ferrying over from Halfway. Thirty seconds on a terminal gave me that man’s biography and resume. An obstetrics specialist.” He shrugged. “I also saw Fahmido heading for the arrival chambers. Hedging your bets, Ryan?”

  “She’s there to determine if the baby carries the symbiot, when it’s born.” Ryan glanced at Brenden, who was silently laughing. “He’s quite right, you great barbarian. Nothing is sacred here. You find that funny?”

  “Wildly so,” Brenden assured him. He brought his feet back to the floor. “I know how to run a tight ship. We may all know each other’s business inside the station, but I can guarantee nothing gets out.”

  Ryan sighed. “Yes, I’ll grant you that.” He waved Charbonneau to a chair. “You might as well stay and listen, now,” he told him. “We have more plots to hatch. Another sneaky mind will be useful.”

  * * * * *

  Rob clutched Natália’s hand as she moaned and arched her back and wished there was a way he could take some of the pain for her. Her hand was papery dry, almost brittle to the touch. He wondered if his grip wasn’t hurting her as well, but she continued to squeeze his hand, so he held on.

  He glanced across her body. Lee had hold of Tally’s other hand, while the physician worked between her thighs. Lee translated Tally’s words as needed.

  For a while, Lee had been acting as nurse, until the doctor had snapped at him irritably for offering too many suggestions. At that point, Nayara had stepped in, gently pushing Lee down onto the stool where Morag had been crouched and easing Morag into a sterile gown and gloves. Now Morag hovered silently at the doctor’s elbow. Despite her lack of modern medical knowledge, she seemed to be meeting his needs. If she didn’t recognize a technical word, Nayara or Lee were interpreting softly, or pointing to the right tool or implement.

  They were the only people in the room, although there were another handful of Nayara’s people in the big room beyond the door.

  Tally’s eyes had closed several hours before and had remained shut. That was shortly after the contractions had become distinctly harder and closer together. Lee kept assuring Rob that her mind was still focused. But Rob could see that Lee was worried, anyway.

  “She’s nearly fully dilated,” Nayara told him, when the physician spoke. “Soon, now.”

  “Does Tally know that?” Rob demanded.

  “She can still hear us, Rob,” Lee told him, as Tally’s hand squeezed weakly around his.

  “I can see the baby’s head,” Nayara said sharply. She leaned forward to assist the doctor, her attention sharply focused as he began to snap out orders.

  Both Nayara and Morag began reaching for and handing the doctor instruments.

  Tally’s grip tightened more and more, until her dry fingers and knuckles were white around Rob’s. The tendons in her neck were strained and her lips were parted. With a jolt, Rob realized that perhaps she was trying to scream and could not. He glanced at Lee for reassurance and saw tears on Lee’s face as he stared down at Tally, her hand clutched in both of his.

  Agony and dread both speared Rob at the same time, along with overwhelming, dreadful guilt. He had put Tally in this position. If he had not insisted, all those months ago, on pressing his attentions on her, then they would not be here now.

  Tally would not be risking death, if not for him.

  Lee’s fingers dug into Rob’s shoulder. Hard. A swordsman’s grip, sure and painful. “Tally chose you, Rob,” Lee growled. “I chose you. Don’t you dare try to carry all the responsibility for this.”

  Rob tried to pull together his wits. “How did you know?”

  “Tally told me,” Lee said. He gave Rob’s shoulder a shake. “You’re trying to let her hand go.”

  Rob looked down at his hand. He had uncurled his fingers and had flexed them, trying to force Tally’s shorter fingers to loosen and drop from around his.

  He covered her hand in both of his. “Okay,” he said, using Lee and Tally’s word for acceptance. “Okay,” he repeated. “Just live, Tally. Survive this. Then I can, too.”

  Lee let go of his shoulder. “She says ‘deal’.”

  “Last big push,” Nayara warned. “Natália, you really need to give it all you’ve got, now.”

  Rob’s fear bubbled up. In the next few minutes, he would learn if their child would live—could live in this strange world they found themselves in. Then in the few minutes after that, he would have to say goodbye to all three of them.

  Rob caught and held Lee’s gaze. He didn’t need to be able to share his mind with Lee’s mind know they were thinking the same thought. Lee’s fear and sadness was written as plain as words on his face.

  * * * * *

  Finally, the three men in Brenden’s office found there was no more planning to be done. Instead, conversation turned to speculation and they began to wait.

  And wait.

  “You’re watching the arrival chamber alarms, right?” Ryan asked.

  Brenden rolled his eyes, all the answer he gave. It made Ryan feel that of the three of them, he was coping the least with the novel idea of waiting for the birth of a child. Despite centuries of living and a vampire’s keen and accurate sense of the passage of time, this short wait was near impossible to tolerate.

  Brenden leaned back in his oversized chair, making it creak. “Why do vampires dabble with this pretence at love? Any relationship is damned, even those between vampires. Time has a way of ending all of them. Humans mate to procreate. We don’t have that genetic imperative messing up our lives, but we still insist on sticking our fingers in the socket even though we know it hurts.”

  “Is that the Spartan or the cynic that speaks?” Charbonneau asked. “Because it appears that vampires may well be able to procreate, after all.”

  “Procreation is a fancy name for creating new individuals of a species,” Ryan said dryly. “Whenever a vampire makes another vampire, they’re procreating. Just because they’re not giving birth doesn’t discount it as a biological regenesis. The race of vampire continues because of a making. Ego, procreation.”

  He stood up, to break the dour mood that was settling upon them. “A wager,” he declared. “A wager on the gender and weight of the baby. Let’s look at the positive side of this, shall we?”

  Brenden’s scowl lightened. “For how much?” he said, failing to hide his eagerness.

  “How much do you want to lose?” Ryan asked.

  “I regret I cannot enter such a wager,” Charbonneau said.

  “Why not?” Brenden demanded.

  “It would not be fair,” the Frenchman replied.


  Brenden’s brows lifted, as he absorbed that. “You’re a confident son of a bitch, I’ll give you that. What, too many generations of watching women bear children?”

  Charbonneau shook his head, but remained mute. But he was smiling a little, hiding a broader amusement.

  Brenden seemed to sense his humour, for he grinned back. “Ah, will you listen to us? We sound like a trio of coddled old maids. You’d think we’ve never before waited for a baby to be born.”

  Ryan sat back down again, relaxing. “It’s been a long while. We’re out of practice.”

  Charbonneau nodded. “Very rusty indeed,” he agreed. “But it might be something vampires have to get used to again, no?”

  * * * * *

  Rob stared down at the pink, delicate baby asleep on Tally’s chest, feasting on the sight. Remembering it. Time was trickling away with a speed that seemed to be accelerating.

  The doctor had been hurried away, his job done. The strange white woman with red eyes had taken their son away for a short while after his birth and then returned him, apparently unharmed. Fahmido, he assumed. The vampire doctor.

  Morag and Nayara had cared for Tally, touching her carefully and tending her needs. They had refused to let Lee, the medically trained one, near her. Lee was the only one Tally could reach now and he acted as translator for all.

  Rob kissed Tally’s forehead, barely touching her with his lips. He could feel the dryness and thinness of her flesh by that touch and by the feel of her hand in his. He had not let go, not even to hold his son. “You made it, Tally,” he murmured. “He’s a fine boy.”

  She looked at him and smiled a little. She seemed to be trying to tell him something.

  There was a whirring noise that Rob has swiftly learned to associate with the instruments and machines that Nayara and her crew had brought from the future. He looked up and saw Nayara pulling a device away from her face. She plucked a thin sheet of something from the front of it.