by Lora Andrews
Standing by the cell’s gate, MacInnes watched Ewen with the same morbid fascination of a buzzard watching its dying prey.
God’s teeth. With or without these medicines, Ewen was as good as dead if he remained trapped in this time. Very well. He’d move his pawn ahead one space on the chessboard, but he’d keep his eyes narrowed on the queen. He had no intention of losing this match to MacInnes.
He stretched his cramped body, his tired muscles firing in protest, and toggled his chains. “Agreed.” The guard was at his wrists unlocking the restraints before the breath dried on Ewen’s lips.
“A wise choice,” MacInnes said over his shoulder as he left the cell. “My men will assist you with your ablutions after which time we will finalize our negotiations.”
Clenching his teeth, Ewen followed the guards out of the cell to the narrow set of winding stone steps leading to the manor. He fisted his hands at his sides, every instinct clamoring to fight, to free himself from the invisible shackles the man fettered him with.
The bastard sauntered down the hallway, his laugh echoing in the tall ceilinged space of the manor, inflaming Ewen’s out-of-control urge to strangle his enemy. One of the guard’s nudged him from behind.
Ewen growled. He should have killed Simon MacInnes when he’d had the chance.
FIFTEEN
Catlin woke gasping for air, clawing at the dirt covering her face. Dirt that weighed heavy on her chest and kept her bound and imprisoned inside a dark, cramped space. The scent filled her nostrils.
She opened her eyes. Beige walls. Stone fireplace. Frowning housekeeper.
Frowning housekeeper?
The girl who’d been accosted in the hallway leaned over the bed, brows crinkled, prodding slim fingers into Caitlin’s shoulder.
The manor.
Caitlin closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She’d been kidnapped, not buried alive. Thank god for small miracles.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” The girl straightened and pulled her hand away, flipping her dark ponytail behind her shoulder. “I knocked. When there was no answer, I was told to wake you. You were dreaming.”
“That’s all right.” The nightmares always left her feeling exposed and battered, her muscles raw like she’d been running barefoot through the woods for hours. She blinked away the grogginess clouding her mind and rubbed her eyes.
Wait. Why would she be told to wake her?
Caitlin bolted upright. Her head spun. “Is something wrong? What’s happened?”
The girl took a step back. “No, everything is as it should be.”
The jolt faded into relief. “What time is it?”
“It’s early yet, only eight in the morning.” The housekeeper rolled the hem of her burgundy tunic between her fingers. A large, fancy capital M was engraved in gold above her left breast. Pointy black lapels and folded sleeve hems complemented the burgundy fabric.
“Oh, okay.” Caitlin did the math in her head. Eight o’clock Scotland time was three in the morning in Massachusetts. No wonder she felt dead to the world.
“Mr. MacInnes has asked you join him for the morning meal.” She released the hem and smoothed the fabric over her black pants. “He expects you and the rest of the party to depart the manor in a half hours’ time.” The young woman moved to the foot of the bed. “You must hurry. Marcus will escort you to the dining room, but I’m to wait here until you’re done dressing.” Her brown eyes were apologetic.
“And did he tell you where we’ll be heading in a half hours’ time?”
“No, miss, he did not.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Caitlin shoved aside the worry. Where the hell was MacInnes taking her first thing in the morning? And who were the members of this party the girl referenced? Did it include Ewen?
By her uniform, it was clear the girl was part of MacInnes’s household staff. Caitlin snorted. Apparently, child labor wasn’t off limits to the man, either.
“What’s your name?”
“Marissa.”
Caitlin managed a half smile. “I’m Caitlin.” She swung her legs over the bed and planted her feet to the floor. The hammers in her head pounded a loud and obnoxious beat.
“Your belongings have been unpacked and hung in the wardrobe. I’ve set out your outfit for today.”
“You’ve set out my clothes?” Caitlin couldn’t remember the last time anyone had picked out her clothes, maybe her mother when she was five or six, and that had consisted of her plaid catholic school jumper, white peter pan blouse, navy blue socks, and her favorite pair of saddle shoes. Her mother had always been so particular about everything.
A lump formed in her throat. She should have taken the call. She should have talked to her mother when she’d had the chance. She should have swallowed her pride and listened.
“Is it not to your liking?” Marissa asked.
On the other side of the humongous king-size mattress, Marissa had laid a pair of dark wash jeans and a light blue sweater. Socks, undies, a water-resistant coat, and peeking out from beneath the floral bedspread, a pair of hiking boots to complete the ensemble. All name-brand clothing. Yep, those were definitely not pulled from her closet. And neither was the black sheath dress she’d slept in. MacInnes had everything figured out, right down to what she’d wear.
Unbelievable.
Caitlin shrugged. “It’s fine, thanks.”
A bruise along the side of the girl’s face caught her attention. “Did he do that to you?” Gary, MacInnes’s beast of a guard, deserved to be castrated.
Marissa shook her head. Dark bangs bounced against her forehead. “You needn’t get involved.” Tight lines formed at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll leave these in the changing area.”
“Look, I know you don’t know me, but if you feel unsafe—”
“I’m fine.” Marissa busied herself with moving the clothing to the sitting area, looking anywhere but in Caitlin’s direction.
Caitlin couldn’t blame her really. Although sincere, her offer was empty. How could she protect the girl when she was doing a shabby job of protecting herself? She winced when she stood. A stabbing pain shot up her foot from her tender toe.
Hobbling over to the bathroom, she glanced at the young woman straightening the bed. Every teen in the U.S. had a phone. The same had to be true in Scotland. If Caitlin could get ahold of Lila, she could send her cousin Jimmie, a FRPD detective, to check on her parents. And with them safe, she, Ewen, and anyone else stuck in this horror-flick manor, could escape. Marissa was bound to text someone. All Caitlin had to do was wait and watch.
How hard could it be to steal a phone?
The bathroom was a dream come true. Countless hours of binge watching HGTV in search of the perfect makeover for her godawful bathroom didn’t prepare her for the grandeur and ambiance of MacInnes’s guest bath. Gorgeous floor-to-ceiling white marble lined the room. She pressed her face against the wall. The smooth, cool feel of the expensive stone soothed the throbbing in her head. The jets in the glass-enclosed rainfall shower had her aching for the feel of hot water spraying against her sore flesh. And despite her pounding headache, she couldn’t help but gawk at the claw-foot tub sitting invitingly beneath a frosted glass window.
The bathroom’s over-the-top décor shouldn’t be a surprise, not after what she’d glimpsed of the manor. Still, it took her breath away. Caitlin raised two fingers to each side of her head and massaged the veins throbbing at her temples. She splashed cold water on her face. Her reflection in the mirror confirmed what she already knew. She was a wreck, and she hadn’t even made it to breakfast yet.
She contorted her back to lower the zipper and shrugged the dress to the floor. Her grandmother’s pendant hung from her neck. Thank god she’d kept it hidden from MacInnes. She’d be damned if she lost the last physical link to the family she loved.
God, was it all a lie? The many stories told around the dinner table about her grandparents’ arrival to the States with a toddler strapped to
a hip and barely a cent to their names? Her seanmhair had worked the textile mills alongside a crew of Portuguese, French, and Italian-speaking immigrants, while her grandfather had labored long hours installing sewers and water mains for a construction company in Boston. They had scraped and saved to buy a house and raised a daughter in a seventies-era textile city on the verge of industrial collapse.
Life for the Walker’s began the minute they had stepped foot onto American soil. Everything prior to that moment had been destroyed by fire in Scotland. Her mother’s scarred legs were a living testament to the past her family had fought so hard to forget.
But secrets hurt. Caitlin had learned that the hard way. Brian’s affair had destroyed her. What if what MacInnes claimed was true? Could she blame her grandmother for hiding her identity? She had a young child to protect. Exposing a fantastical truth, one that proved the existence of time travel, would have turned their quiet, suburban lives inside out.
No, the Mary Walker she knew and loved would have died before jeopardizing her family’s safety. The Walker-Reeds were an impassioned, irritable bunch, but when push came to shove, family came first. And despite the endless arguments stemming from her mother’s overprotective meddling in her life, Caitlin never doubted their love.
Or loyalty.
God help her. She would find the stone. She would protect her family and rebuild her life. There was a little boy waiting for her who deserved a future filled with love, and a wacky set of grandparents who would cherish him as much as she’d been cherished at his age. Caitlin placed her hand over the pendant, emotion overwhelming her. Energy zapped the palm of her hand.
She snapped her arm back with a yelp.
“Miss?” Marissa knocked on the door.
“Um, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second.” Caitlin examined her hand. Not a mark to justify the sting she’d felt. Man, stress was really taking its toll. She had to focus. Shower first, then she’d worry about breakfast. She raised the pendant to her lips, kissed it, and grasped it in her hand.
Everything was going to be okay.
She closed her eyes and repeated the words over and over until the metal warmed her skin. Heat crept over her body, cocooning her in air that felt alive, a pulsing vibe that radiated outward from her core. She snapped her eyes open. A green radiance emanated from the pendant clasped in her palm. Rays of light circled her body, curving around her arms, and then spat out through her fingertips.
Oh. My. God.
Mouth open, she wrenched her hand away and jumped back, slipping on the tile floor. The light dissipated from her hands, but her fingers tingled and the metal lay heavy against her chest. She didn’t blink. Just stared at her reflection. Stared at the disappearing tendrils of light fading in the air. She swung her head from the mirror to the pendant and back again. Lifting her hand to the necklace, she anticipated the zap but felt nothing but cool metal under her fingers.
She’d officially lost her mind.
Maybe the glow was the result of the sunlight reflecting off the frosted glass.
Or the gold accents.
Maybe, but she wasn’t in the mood to analyze what had occurred. She just wanted the damn thing off.
“Where’s the thingamajig?” She slid the chain through her fingers. Yep, she was becoming one of those crazy ladies that talked to themselves at the supermarket. It was bound to happen. She spent most of her days conversing with seven year olds, and the rest of the time battling her inner demons. “I know it’s here,” she mumbled. “I distinctly remember inserting the two pieces together.”
How ironic she’d chosen yesterday of all days, the morning MacInnes had ambushed her in the woods, to wear the pendant.
A chill ran up her spine.
Weird yes, but one thing didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the other.
The length of the chain was too small to yank over her head. She didn’t want to damage the necklace, but at the same time she wanted it off. She found a pair of toenail clippers in the draw and pressed the metal teeth to the link, squeezing with all her strength. The clippers slipped from her grip and ricocheted against the tile floor, striking the foot of the tub.
The door swung open. Marcus stood at the entrance, gold eyes glowing like some feral animal.
Marissa tugged his arm. “I’m so sorry. I tried to tell him.” She turned and faced the guard. “Go on now. Can’t you see she’s fine. Have you no decency?”
The clippers lying on the floor caught his attention. He scanned the room one last time. “Five minutes,” he said to Marissa.
“Aye, she’ll be ready.”
Caitlin would have laughed at the sight of the pint-sized woman shoving the six-foot-tall guard out of the room if she weren’t standing there in her underwear with her lungs seizing and her feet itching to bolt out the door.
Marissa reached for Caitlin.
“Don’t touch me,” she croaked between gasps of air. Panic was in full swing. Between the visions and the family relic sealed around her neck, Caitlin was falling apart. She was beyond her therapist’s recommended four-step process to manage her anxiety. Beyond the use of a coping statement. And there was no way in hell she was ready to accept her feelings.
“Let me help you to the bed,” Marissa offered.
“No. I’m all right. I can manage on my own.” Wary of the girl’s outstretched hand, Caitlin skirted around her.
“You’re up to high doh, now, aren’t you?”
That was an understatement. She was tired of letting her anxiety get the best of her. Tired of feeling defeated. It had to stop. “I’m fine, really.”
“Can you not shield yourself?” Marissa asked.
“What?” What did she just say?
“From the emotions of others. You can feel them, no?”
Caitlin’s heart skipped.
Marissa grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the bed. “I’ve got you, now. I’ve shielded my thoughts, see? Let’s get you to the bed. You’re paler than a specter.”
She accepted Marissa’s help. The girl was incredibly strong for her age, easily supporting Caitlin’s weight. And to her credit, Caitlin didn’t feel a single sensation.
“How are you doing that?” She sat on the bed and sucked in several deep breaths.
Marissa reached for the bottle on the nightstand. “Here, best you take a swallow.” She handed Caitlin the water and stood back, arms crossed over her chest, assessing her patient.
Caitlin’s lips were parched. She raised the bottle to her mouth and drank. The liquid soothed her dry mouth.
“Did no one teach you how to control your abilities?” Marissa asked.
“How did you even know?” Caitlin raised her eyes, then gasped. “You, too?”
“No, I’ve not the ability to read as you do, but I can sense energy. I presumed it’s why you’re here, but I wasn’t sure until now.” Marissa took the bottle from Caitlin’s shaking hands, screwed on the cap, then placed the bottle on the nightstand. “You’ll have to learn to shield yourself and quickly before others arrive.”
Others? “Will you teach me?”
“You’d best get dressed and hurry down to the morning meal. He’ll be suspicious, and that’s one man you don’t want sniffing around you.”
Caitlin had been dead wrong about this girl. This was no timid lass. Heck, she was beginning to think this was no girl either. “How old are you?”
“Old enough. I’m not as young as I look,” Marissa said with a defiant tilt of her chin.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t that old. Caitlin reached for the jeans.
Marissa turned her back to give Caitlin privacy. “You’ll want to hide any signs of your physical distress. Do you take sugar in your tea?” Marissa asked.
“Yeah, why?” She shimmied into the jeans.
“Good. Then add a few teaspoons. It will help your body recover from the effects of your ability. You’ve headaches, no?”
Hell, yeah. A killer headache continued to tenderize her brai
n as they spoke. She threw on the blue sweater and then proceeded to shove her feet into thick wool socks.
“The toiletries are there.” Marissa pointed to a draw in a chest near the sitting area. “Face powder and lip color. Did your mother not share her knowledge with you?”
Frowning, Caitlin shook her head and continued lacing her boots.
“My gram taught me,” Marissa said. “My mother died when I was but knee high. My gram, she was a seer, like you, I’m supposing. Her bloodline carries the gift.”
“You can turn around.” Caitlin couldn’t help but wonder why her own family chose to hide her gift. If her mother or grandmother shared the ability, why had they refused to tell her? “I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Aye, well”—Marissa’s eyes clouded—“it was a long time ago. Anyway, this is what I’ve seen in my own family, but that’s not to say it’s true for all.” Her voice softened, and Caitlin could hear the sympathy lacing her words. “Gifts such as yours are rare.”
Banging at the door had both women jerking their heads to the sound.
“Quickly.” Marissa handed her the hairbrush. “You must hurry.”
“I’ll make do without a shower or combing my hair, but I’m not going anywhere until I brush my teeth.” Caitlin grabbed the hairbrush and headed into the bathroom.
It was amazing what fresh breath and deodorant could do to a person’s state of mind. She quickly brushed her hair. If only she could fortify the rest of her in a minty fresh coating, maybe she’d have a shot at surviving breakfast.
“Shielding is not a skill to be gained in a day,” Marissa warned in a lowered voice. “I began my training as a wean on my da’s knee. Now, I can focus on any emotion to mask my true feelings. Disinterest is a particular favorite of mine as it will frustrate someone like you.”
“Good to know,” Caitlin answered. Who would have known there was a mischievous personality lurking behind Marissa’s innocent smile? Caitlin couldn’t help but like her.
They moved to the door together.
