Surprised, Quinn’s brows rose. “Strong enough to affect the underwater compasses or magnify a wrench?”
Regan opened the pack and dug out a drawing pad. “With the cofferdam separating them from the water, I wouldn’t think so, but no one has experimented with their magnetic fields enough to find out.”
“Why not?”
“Because everyone seems more concerned with getting the broken stones back in place and the others cleaned.”
The note he had received just that afternoon came to mind. “Nicodemus has been trying to hurry us along on the recovery. Or that’s what’s coming down through his assistant, Argus. Why do you think they’re in such a hurry?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Unless someone thinks there’s something special in the way they’re organized. Or there’s a timetable we’re unaware of.”
Regan opened the drawing pad to the first page. “This is the site from the hill as it looks now.
Quinn studied the pencil drawing. She had a way with light and shadow that captured the mystery of the place. “’Tis beautiful, lass.”
Regan’s cheeks grew tinged with pink. “It’s just a scale sketch.”
She flipped the page over to the next one. “This one is what the circle will look like completed.”
He remained silent for a moment studying the structure. “’Tis a miracle they survived beneath the water without collapsing.”
“At least half the posts are buried beneath the ground to hold them in place. But, yes, it is a miracle that their weight didn’t force them to topple after so long under water. And the erosion on their surface should have made a marked change in the hieroglyphs.”
Quinn breathed in the scent of apple shampoo that lingered as she leaned close, and forced his thoughts to stay on their discussion. “I remember reading in the paper about the group of scuba divers who found them. They were just young lads at the time. They’d be in their mid twenties by now. There was a lamgammachie about it.” He grinned at her confused look and explained. “A long rigmarole.”
“As there should have been.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”
“Aye. Just a bit. You get so serious and passionate about all this, and I can’t resist.” That she would turn some of that passion his way would be— He wasn’t going to think about it. There were other things they had to concentrate on.
He leaned forward to slide the drawing pad closer. “Show me what it is that you’ve been hiding from everyone.”
He maintained a relaxed posture beneath her long measured look. She’d have to decide to trust him or not, he couldn’t just say she could and expect her to believe it.
“You’ve heard about the Book of Ballymote.” It was a statement not a question.
“Aye. I’d say there are very few of Irish or Scottish decent who haven’t heard of the book.”
“It was written in the fourteenth century and contains a cannon for the Ogham alphabet. It’s been suggested the alphabet came to Ireland perhaps between three hundred fifty to four hundred A.D. But its true origin has been debated for years and there’s a theory that it could possibly be thousands of years older and actually came from Libya or Egypt.”
“Through the years, it’s been argued that it was actually a Pict script or Gaelic, numerical instead of linguistic, and is based on trees. And it was also suggested that some parts of the inscriptions were Old Norse.”
“Then it was decided that the symbols represented a kind of shorthand Christian monks used to inscribe messages about their teachings as they tried to wean the ancient tribes in Ireland and Scotland from their worship of pagan gods to Christianity.”
“Short messages were often carved on wooden sticks, sort of like carrying a bible verse along with you, or as a means of sending short messages. On stones, the hieroglyphs are typically written from the bottom, up and around the top, and back down the other side.”
Quinn made an observation. “But the ones we have here are even written on the face of the stones.”
“Yes. And they’re the only large cluster of stones found in Scotland with the inscriptions. In Ireland, there have been six hundred or more inscriptions recorded. Here, there have only been about thirty, and all but two are either on the east coast, the Hebrides, Orkney, or the Shetland isles.”
“If they’re not Pict, Gaelic, or Old Norse, what are they?” Quinn asked.
“There’s a theory that they’re Basque. And there’s been some success in translating the Irish script using that language as a basis. But so far it hasn’t been decided whether or not it’s definitive.”
Regan pulled a sheet from the pad and set it atop the others. “I’ve taken digital photos of the markings, but I’ve drawn them also.”
He studied them again. “They just look like a bunch of lines and dots, lass.”
She pulled out another sheet and placed it beneath the drawings. “And this is what they say.”
Out of time comes the answer. Out of love comes faith.
“How do you know this is what they say, Regan? You told me you can only speak a little Gaelic, but you can read Basque?”
“No. I’m not a linguistic archaeologist. And I can’t decipher the markings either, I’m not an epigrapher.”
“Then who translated these?”
“I did.” Her dark blue eyes looked into his. “When I touch the hieroglyphs, I know what they say.”
“Dear, God,” the words were jerked from him. It was impossible. Surely she was just teasing him, as he had done her.
“Not every inscription, but some of them. Just a word or phrase here and there. It’s been like a treasure hunt. I’ve been going from stone to stone as they’re cleaned to see what phrases come through. I’ve written them all out. But I don’t know what order they go in, if any.” She drew the pad toward her and thumbed through the loose sheets until she found the one she was looking for. “This is what I have so far.”
Believe
Time shall pass in a blink of an eye
And travelers shall walk through byways
And thou shall travel to a land whose stones are iron
And thou shall write the words upon the posts of thy house and on thy gate
Out of time comes the answer
Out of love comes faith
Walk into the sun
Power
Her eyes had never looked so dark a blue as she turned them on him. “Do you believe me, Quinn?”
*****
As Quinn walked her back to her cabin, doubt rooted deep within Regan, eroding her confidence. Her stomach churned and she fought the urge to cry. Did he believe her? He had been so quiet since she’d shown him everything. Well, not everything. She hadn’t shared her dream about Ross, or what had happened during her dive. And he hadn’t spoken anymore of his experiences, his dreams.
As they walked from one end of the compound to the other, light danced between the tree branches and flickered across his face giving her only glimpses of his expression. With his dark brows knitted in a frown, his lean jaw taut, she found the brooding masculinity he exuded both worrying and arousing.
His fingers, laced with hers, tightened as they reached her cabin. Muffled voices came from inside the house. The porch light, pale yellow, etched the side of his face and shoulder but left his features in shadow. “I’ll be inside the SAT system, out of touch for a week or more,” he said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
“I know.” Anxiety tightened her shoulders, and she drew a deep breath. A brief flash of Coira watching Braden ride away intruded. What would she do if something happened to Quinn? Each moment they spent time together strengthened the feelings she had for him. She placed a hand against his chest. ”You’ll be careful.”
“Aye. Can I depend on you to do the same?” He set her pack down to one side and turned to draw her against him.
“Of course.”
“Your roommates are watching through the window. Ar
e they being protective, curious, or nosey?”
Regan smiled. “Probably all three. You’re an unknown element to them. Logan and Rob have been flirtatious and friendly with them. You’ve maintained a little more distance. And because you haven’t with me, they’re curious about your intentions.”
“And are you curious as well?”
“Yes.”
Quinn was silent for a moment, then leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead, his breath warm against her skin. “I think ‘tis a good idea for us to take things slowly between us. It all appears to be tangled about with so many other considerations.”
His lips grazed her temple, her cheek. Regan’s legs grew weak and her heartbeat quickened. If this was what he meant by slow, she could easily grow addicted. Her arms crept around his waist. She grabbed onto his sweater for support.
He tilted her face up with a crooked finger beneath her chin. “You and Coira are all twisted about inside me. I need to be able to separate the two of you, so there’ll not be any question about who it is my intentions are directed toward. Is that not the way it is for you, too?”
“Yes.” Her voice came out just above a whisper.
Quinn rubbed his beard-roughened cheek against hers and his accent thickened. “You’ll not get up to any mischief while I’m in the system, eh?”
With her pulse thundering at the base of her throat, Regan could barely draw enough air in to answer. A tempting arousal built hot and insistent between her thighs. She fought the need to pull him closer. “I’ll do my best.”
She nearly groaned when his lips hovered over hers but didn’t touch. As he lips covered hers, the slow easy thrust of his tongue met hers, at first gently, then with a sweeping hunger that drove her desire higher. Her arms tightened. The hard ridge of his erection pushed against her stomach. God, she wanted to be skin to skin with him. It took all her self-control not to rise on tiptoe and rub against him.
Quinn groaned as he broke the kiss, his breathing as unsteady as hers. “My run will end about three. If you’ll come to the ship at five every day, I’ll have had my shower and dinner, and we can talk. Would you want to do that?”
Her voice didn’t want to work. “Yes.”
“Everythin’ we say will be taped, and we won’t be able to talk freely, but I’ll know you’re okay.”
“All right.”
As she started to step away his arms tightened. “Just one more, eh?”
His lips stifled her soft laughter, and she gave herself up to the hot demand of the kiss and clung to him. When he finally raised his head and released her, she struggled up the steps on wobbly legs.
“You’re forgetting your pack,” Quinn said holding it up to her. Her fingers brushed his, and she wanted to grasp his hand and cling to him. Instead, she accepted it with a murmured thanks and turned to the door.
Quinn waited for her to step inside.
“Take care,” she said. He raised a hand as he took a step or two backward before turning toward his cabin.
With reluctance, Regan closed the door. Hannah, closest to the entrance, looked up from her chair. Helen and Sherri eyed her from the couch.
A look ricocheted between them that had her frowning. “Hey, guys.”
Sherri folded her arms against her, and Regan read anxiety in her features. “Someone’s been in our cabin.”
CHAPTER 19
Quinn bit into the peanut butter sandwich and chewed slowly. The helium, oxygen atmosphere in the pot, or Saturation Dive System, dulled his taste buds and leached the flavor from the food, making the texture of what he was eating more important than taste. It was one of the things he missed during blow down, the pressurizing process that acclimated their bodies to the depth at which they would be working.
The other thing he craved was privacy. When inside the pot with the other men, he realized his penchant for solitude. Living inside a cylinder four and a half meters long and less than three meters in diameter with five other men gave a whole new meaning to the words close quarters.
He’d planned everything down to the last clip and cable. They shouldn’t be in the pot for more than two weeks. Less if everything went as he’d designed. Sitting on Grannos’s deck in this tin can, watching the comings and goings on the dock, was somehow worse than being out in the ocean where the scenery never changed.
At least the fifteen hours they had been inside the SAT system had passed quickly. While the other men had slept, he’d brooded over everything Regan had told him. His stomach muscles tightened. The two of them were tangled up in something neither had any control over. And he found it damned disturbing.
Struthers Macintyre and Bruce Mac Alistair, having finished eating, played a last game of chess on a small travel board before locking into the bell.
The other three divers, Craig Drummond, Leith Mac Intosh, and John Murray passed the time reading, listening to their MP3 players, and napping.
Quinn washed down the last of his sandwich with bottled juice that tasted as bland as water. At the end of the chamber he stepped into the transfer lock that housed the narrow washroom. After doing his business, he requested a flush from the topside CCV, control console van.
“’Tis time,” he said interrupting Struthers’ and Bruce’s game. The men donned the dark blue Lycra under suit, long johns, and thick neoprene hot water suits.
The weight belt filled with lead ingots hung clunky and hard around Quinn’s waist as he fastened it in place. Gathering the six-pack of bottled water and extra sandwiches, he locked out into the diving bell. The interior of the submersible decompression chamber measured only three meters in diameter and was painted a sickly gray-green. Setting aside the food and drink, he paused to look through one of the small portholes positioned between the tanks of emergency gas fastened to the exterior of the bell. Logan and Ronald Mac Fie, another member of the crew, moved within his range of vision as they inspected the bottles.
He bent to look overhead and studied the cloud cover. The forecast was for clear and cool, but the wispy cirrus clouds promised rain. Visibility would be bad enough without a storm stirring the water and kicking up the bottom. An unexpected weather change could also make things interesting during the lowering and raising of the bell.
His attention focused on the cofferdam thirty meters to starboard. The structure blocked his view of the monoliths and the team of students and volunteers that cleaned them, but uneasiness still coiled in the pit of his stomach.
Was he losing his nerve? No. It was this place. And the stones. Something about them, the look of them, the anxiety he experienced when he was about them, made him edgy. And now he was going to bring another up out of the water and set it back in place. It felt-—dangerous.
Anger spun through him like a whirlpool. Bracing his fists against either side of the porthole, he fought the urge to punch the side of the bell. God damn the bleeding rocks. He wished he’d never agreed to come here. Wished he’d never signed the contract.
But he had a responsibility to his brothers, and to the salvage company they were building. He couldn’t walk away. Their business depended on the reputation they were developing.
Drawing a deep breath, he shoved aside his anger and growing concern. “Rob, I’m ready to go over the systems checklist.”
“Roger.”
He read off the readings on every gauge. Seventy meters beneath the cold water of Loch Maree was not the place to have a problem with equipment.
Struthers and Bruce locked into the bell behind him as they finished. Struthers stuffed his dive gloves behind one of the stainless steel seats that folded against the bulkhead of the chamber and came to stand beside him. He pulled his stringy blond hair into a ponytail and secured it with a rubber band. “Rob said you’d had a run in with one of the students from America. He said something about her stealing your song.”
Quinn raised a brow. “She didna steal it.” He heard the defensiveness in his tone and shook his head. Coira-Regan, who was he defending? “She
sang the tune at the pub.”
Their voices sounded high-pitched from the helium-oxygen mixture they were breathing.
The man’s pale blond brows rose. “Why would she do that?”
Quinn shook his head. What was he to say? “I dinna ken.”
“Maybe she just hoped to gain your attention,” Bruce said from his seat.
She had gotten that before the song even came into play. As soon as she’d stepped on Grannos he’d been drawn to her. Because of the dreams. But what of now? The sense of familiarity and desire he experienced when they were together made it difficult for him to keep his distance. It was as though his body remembered her from another time.
Reincarnation. They had danced about the concept without ever saying it. He was a Catholic, not Hindu. What did he know of such beliefs?
“She’s a bit on the wee side for my taste. I like me girls with a little more meat in the right places.” Bruce cupped his fingers against his chest.
“I prefer a nice bum m’self. Gives you somewhere to rest your hands while you’re settling into your rhythm.” Struthers grinned. He picked up his diving gloves and, pushing the seat down, slouched against the bulkhead.
Bruce laughed, the pitch flute-like and shrill.
“This is control. Ready to begin the run,” Rob’s voice came through the speaker overhead.
“Roger, topside,” Quinn answered. He took his seat and braced his feet against the gentle sway of the bell as it was lifted from the system. Through the porthole, the deep green surface of the loch reflected the snow-covered peak of Mt. Slioch and the clouds above it like a mirror. The pitching movement intensified as the chamber swung out over the water.
They braced themselves. The bell hit the water with a jolt and bobbed, giving them a hard shake before submerging. Liquid rushed upward, covering the portholes and blocking out the exterior world.
The water went from pale green to emerald as they left the light behind.
Timeless Page 15
