Timeless

by Teresa Reasor

  Coira and Braden’s gazes met

  “If I do this thing—”

  “Coira—”Her name erupted on a breath. Braden turned away his body taut with frustration or anger. Quinn could not see his face to read it.

  ”I would ask that Braden be the only one present. And that you find some distraction for my brother. I will have him hound me no more.”

  “Aye, I will do that.” Nathrach said, his tone heavy with relief.

  Coira remained silent a moment. “’Twill storm the next two days. You must bring him before it begins. ‘Tis dangerous to enter the circle while the lightning strikes.”

  She turned aside, her hands bunched in the fabric of her shawl. Her gaze wandered to Braden’s broad back and pain flickered across her features. “I must prepare.”

  “I am grateful, madam.” Nathrach bent at the waist. “We will arrive midmorning.”

  Coira nodded.

  The man straightened, his shoulders pushing back as though he’d shed a horrible weight. “I am grateful. I will not forsake your kindness. Your brother will be kept away.”

  Coira bent her head in acknowledgement.

  As Nathrach brushed past, Quinn pivoted to one side to avoid touching the man. The Priest hurried up the stone stairs and his footsteps receded.

  For several moments, silence hung between the Coira and Braden as sharp as a blade.

  “It must happen this way, Braden,” Coira said, her voice a husky whisper. “We have spoken of this before.”

  “Mayhap it does not.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, and his tormented growl of frustration echoed through the room.

  Coira flinched.

  “Why must we forever relive these moments? And why can we not see what follows?” he asked.

  “Because we have not gotten it right. Fate canna show us the way. We must make the right choices ourselves.”

  “Not if we leave this place, Coira. We take the decision out of fate’s hands and put it in our own.”

  “You canna run from this, my love,” Coira shuffled to him, slid her arms about his waist, and leaned into him. “We have found aid this time.”

  “Do you really believe the man you told me about, the one who looks like me, is trying to help us?”

  “Aye, and help himself. Our lives are entwined with his and the woman’s.”

  “And what does Nathrach have to do with us or them?”

  “’Tis not him, Braden. ‘Tis his nephew who will play a part.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have seen it.”

  Quinn jerked as a hand fastened onto his arm. “Jesus, Regan.” His heart punched into a gallop. He’d been so intent on Coira and Braden’s conversation, he hadn’t heard her approach. “What are you doing here?”

  “You have to wake up now, Quinn. A storm is tearing the plane apart. You have to open your eyes.”

  Jesus. “How did you get here?”

  “I don’t know.” She frowned, a look of anxious confusion shadowing her face. She looked back the way she came. “Can you hear that? They’re trying to wake us.”

  “You have to go back, Regan.”

  “The plane’s being bounced around like a rubber ball. It’s shaking apart. We should have never flown. Until we get this thing figured out, we need to keep our feet on the ground.” Her gaze worked past him to the couple inside the room beyond. “Oh—”

  Quinn followed her line of sight in time to see Braden run a hand down the front of Coira’s dark blue surcoat and caress her swollen belly.

  “He warned me of Nathrach and of Ross. They will be there at the birth of our child,” Coira said as she nestled against Braden.

  “And I wilna be here to protect you.”

  The agony in Braden’s voice gripped Quinn by the throat, and his hands fisted.

  “I will be prepared this time, Braden. I wilna allow anyone to harm our child. I will ask one of the village women to stay with me until you return.”

  Regan grasped his arm. “She already did that. The woman left for some reason and Bryce was murdered by her brother or Nathrach.”

  “I can’t imagine the priest harming the bairn. Especially if she’s going to heal his nephew. Her brother seems driven to learn how to use the stones. Should he do that, he may want to get rid of them all.”

  “We have to find a way to warn her not to let the woman leave her.”

  “They relive the same bloody moments over and over, Regan. That has to be hell.”

  “Coira gave us directions on how to contact her. We can try them as soon as we’re back at the site.” She turned as though someone had called her name. “We have to go.” She grasped Quinn’s arm and tugged.

  “And how do we get out of here?” Quinn asked.

  Regan shook her head. “I reached for you. Reach for today not yesterday. All we have to do is wake up.” She pivoted and strode toward the stairs.

  Quinn turned to follow. She was gone. He eyed the room. “Now what?” If he returned to where he had started, that might be the key. He mounted the stone stairs.

  *****

  Fog surrounded Regan, like the mist on the loch. A strange voice said her name. The words echoed over and over. Regan brushed at the pain in her shoulder and whimpered. Fingers dug into her shoulder and gave her a shake. She grasped them and tugged sluggishly.

  What was wrong with her?

  Regan forced her eyes open. The same flight attendant who had helped her shove her bag into the overhead stood over her. Her frown was a mixture of concern and suspicion.

  “What is it?” Regan asked

  “Have you taken some kind of medication?”

  “Aspirin. You gave it to me earlier.”

  “Something more?”

  Regan shook her head. “Have we landed?” She looked about the empty cabin. “How long have we been on the ground?”

  “We just landed.”

  “Quinn.” His name came out in a gasp. Their fingers remained interlaced, as they had been earlier but his grip remained loose. “Quinn—”She leaned forward and placed a hand against his chest. The steady beat of his heartbeat thudded against her hand. His skin appeared pale against the darkness of his hair and the five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw.

  “Quinn.” She shook him hard.

  Nothing.

  Was he trapped in the past, as he’d been concerned she would be?

  How could she help him?

  “Quinn.” The high-pitched edge of panic in her voice fed the harsh beat of her heart. It drummed in her throat and made it hard to breathe. Adrenaline pulsed through her limbs like electricity.

  “Quinn, you have to wake up.”

  “Aye.” He mumbled. “I’m awake.” He rubbed his hair, his movements clumsy. His eyes fluttered open. His hand tightened around hers.

  Regan drew a shaky breath. Thank God.

  The attendant, now joined by two others, one blond the other dark-headed, stood watching, their expressions stony.

  She had to say something.

  “Do you think there could have been some kind of exhaust leak or something, to put us both under like that?” Regan asked.

  “No one else was affected,” the blonde women said, her tone dismissive.

  “Should we go to the hospital for blood tests or something?” Regan asked. “Just to be sure.”

  “How do you feel?” the familiar flight attendant asked, a frown working its way across her face.

  “Shaky —” That wasn’t a lie. Regan recognized annoyance rather than concern in the woman’s face.

  “We’ve both been working eighteen hour days, Regan. It’s just exhaustion,” Quinn said as he ran a hand over his face. He unhooked his seatbelt, rose to his feet, and stretched.

  “How could you sleep during that storm?” A flight attendant with dark hair asked.

  “I’m used to sleeping on board a ship, lass. Storm or no storm, I could sleep through a hurricane.” He offered Regan his hand. She released her seatbelt
and grasped it. As she rose, her legs felt spongy.

  “Well, you’ve both slept through one of the worst flights we’ve ever had.”

  “Good. I feel much better for the nap,” Quinn said. He opened the overhead bin and reached for his carryon.

  Regan looked into the bin. Her fingers gripped Quinn’s arm. Her heart lurched, and the blood drained from her head. “My computer’s gone.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Quinn’s hand against her back guided her through the disembarking tube to the terminal.

  Regan struggled to suppress the urge to scream. “All my work—all my papers are in my backpack. My passport’s in it. Everything!”

  “Aye, I know. I watched you pack it.” Quinn pivoted and placed a hand against her shoulder. “What the hell were you about asking them if we needed a blood test?” Quinn asked, a frown darkening his features.

  “They thought we were on drugs, Quinn. I was worried they’d call the police.”

  “Fuck.” He took several breaths. “Without your passport you can’t leave the country.”

  “Yes, I know.” She studied his features. “I wasn’t planning on leaving anyway.”

  “Reagan—” He drew her out of the traffic of disembarking travelers. He seemed to think through what to say. He shook his head and for a moment rested his forehead against hers, and then brushed her lips with a brief kiss.

  Her anxiety eased with his show of comfort and affection.

  “You’ll have to fill out a wee bit of paperwork about the theft,” he said.

  “I’m sure that’s another of your Scottish understatements.”

  “Aye, it is. I’ll collect our luggage and meet you there at the British Airways desk.” He pointed to a nearby counter. “We’ll decide what’s to be done about the passport then.”

  “All right.”

  He offered her a smile. “In the years I’ve been a salvager, I’ve learned one thing, lass.”

  Regan raised her brows.

  “To focus on one problem at a time until you find an answer, then move on to the next.

  “Go fill out the paperwork, and we’ll tackle the passport issue next.

  Regan drew a deep breath and beat back the anxious tremors attacking her stomach. She forced a smile to her lips. “All right.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  Regan smiled at his attempt at a Scottish Arnold Schwarzenegger.

  Quinn wove his way through the crowd down the terminal. After watching him for a moment, Regan approached the counter. How would she prove who she was without her passport or wallet? And would they allow her to fill out the paperwork without it?

  “Miss Stanhope.”

  Regan jerked around at the familiar voice.

  “You’re to come with me,” Andrew Argus said.

  Shock trailed through her system. “Come with you?” Regan eyed the two men on either side of him. The men Nicodemus had hired to investigate the ROV accident. What were their names? MacBean and—Lamont. They might be investigators, but they looked more like bodyguards. Both were muscular and fit and maintained an air of stoic menace. Wariness brought a painful tension to her muscles.

  “Mr. Nicodemus sent me to retrieve you.”

  What was this? Why would he do that?

  “We’re on our way back right now, Mr. Argus. I’m waiting for Mr. Douglas to collect our bags. I have to file paperwork at the desk. Someone has stolen my laptop and my passport. They carried it off the plane.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Argus said. Lamont lifted her backpack within view.

  Her shoulders fell as relief washed through her and as quickly grew taut again. “How did you get that?” Her voice sounded weak, its strength stolen by a sudden wave of anxiety.

  The intensity of Argus’s deep-set eyes, the beak-like nose, the stillness of his features left her with the impression of being eyed by some strange bird of prey. Anxiety drove a burst of adrenaline through her system. Her face grew hot and her fists balled at her side.

  “Why would you have someone watching us, Mr. Argus? And why would you steal my laptop?”

  “Your laptop was never stolen, Miss Stanhope. It was just borrowed for a time to make sure you didn’t disappear until we could speak with you.”

  “Speak to me about what?” Her gaze shifted from Argus to the two men behind him and back again.

  If she ran would they chase her? She took a step toward the British Airways counter, and MacBean shifted to cut her off. A numbing fear raced through her stealing the strength from her legs.

  “We went to Edinburgh to do research. We’ve been at the National Archives looking for information about the area. I have copies of some of the materials we discovered in my bag if you want to see them. There’s actually a very interesting journal written by an area priest that may answer the question as to when and how the stones were covered with water.”

  Argus made an impatient gesture. “We know where you’ve been, Miss Stanhope. But we also know you have knowledge about the stones you haven’t shared with us. Mr. Nicodemus wants to know what it is.”

  “I’ll be happy to share what I’ve learned as soon as I get back to the site, Mr. Argus.”

  “And what do you say about this?” Argus raised a digital recorder and hit the play button. Static crackled in the recording, but a woman’s voice was audible speaking in Gaelic. Coira’s voice. Dear God. Someone had nearly killed a woman for the recording. She had to get away from these men.

  Stay calm.

  “I don’t know who that is, Mr. Argus. And I don’t speak Gaelic. Well, just a few basic phrases and I can read a little.”

  “But you do hear Mr. Douglas’ voice on the recording?”

  Regan cocked her head as though listening. “Well, the vocal quality is similar, and he does know how to speak Gaelic. But actually it could be anyone from the area. If you’ll play it for Quinn, I’m certain he can translate it for you. He’ll be here any moment with our luggage.” She looked down the terminal in the direction Quinn had walked.

  “Where did you get the recording?” she asked.

  “I think you’re well aware of where we got it, Ms. Stanhope. While you were in Edinburgh, you saw a hypnotist.” It was a statement not a question.

  Regan paused. “Yes, I did. I’d heard hypnotism could help you overcome things.”

  “And what things were you trying to overcome?”

  “I’ve had several close calls since coming here. First the diving accident, then falling in the chamber and almost drowning. I’ve had some nightmares because of it. I was hoping Dr. Reinhart could help me stop having the dreams.”

  “And did she?” His dark eyes probed her features.

  “I won’t know for certain until I return to the site.”

  Nicodemus fast-forwarded the recording, then pushed play. Dr. Reinhart’s voice came across clearly. “Leave. Now. Both of you. Or I’m calling the police.”

  “Get yourself together,” Quinn’s voice carried well. “And what would you tell them? That your patient caused a lightning storm in your office? We’ll leave as soon as Regan has recovered.”

  The woman’s voice sounded shaky. “She’s possessed. You don’t need a hypnotist, you need a priest.”

  Argus raised his eyebrows. “Do you still insist you know nothing?”

  Regan took a step back from the men. Twisting around she was poised to run when the back of her sweater was snagged, bringing her up short.

  She gasped at the sharp prick as a needle jabbed into her arm. “No.” She twisted, jerking the syringe free, and breaking away. She half staggered, half ran down the terminal. The drug slammed through her system like a runaway train. She forced her legs forward as though she were running through knee-deep sand. Her vision blurred and the open aisle before her swam.

  Regan braced a hand against the wall to retain her balance. A sign for the ladies room loomed above her. She pushed through the door and staggered across the tile floor into a stall. Bracing herself against
the wall, she squeezed her eyes closed and fought against the nausea crawling up her throat. Her arms bent like rubber as she tried to hold herself over the toilet while she gagged and heaved unproductively.

  Had they overdosed her? Was she dying? Where was Quinn? Was he safe?

  The door behind her was shoved open striking her hip and knocking her off kilter.

  Regan covered her head as she fell across the toilet and slid off onto the floor. Harsh fingers grasped her arm and dragged her free of the stall. She caught a glimpse of MacBean’s brow as he lifted her from the floor. Her head fell back. The world spun like a tilt-a-whirl, triggering another bout of nausea.

  Forcing her heavy lids open, she spied a familiar face and reached out. Her face felt numb and her tongue refused to function. “Hep—” The bathroom door closed between them and the world faded to black.

  *****

  Quinn pushed the luggage trolley ahead of him. He scanned the area around the British Airways counter for Regan. When he didn’t see her, he strolled the small strip of restaurants in search of her.

  “Mr. Douglas.”

  He twisted around at the sound of his name. One of the flight attendants stood just inside the doorway of the information office.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you and the woman you were with, but she collapsed in the restroom about ten minutes ago and was taken away by a man.”

  Quinn’s heart leapt into his throat. “Jesus. What happened?”

  “She appeared ill or on drugs.”

  “Regan doesn’t do drugs, and neither do I.” His voice rose. “Did you call the police or security?”

  A security guard started toward them Quinn ignored him. “ What did the man look like?”

  “He was big and had dark hair. There were actually two of them.”

  “And you didn’t think it strange that two men took her away after you saw we were traveling together? Fucking amazing.”

  The woman flinched.

  The guard came to stand close by.

  Fuck him. A hell of a lot of sodding good he’d be after the fact.

  “She fainted or passed out, and they loaded her into one of the wheelchairs and rolled her away.” A defensive tone had crept into her voice as well as her expression.