Time Bound

by Lora Andrews

  “Is that meant to instill fear?” Ewen cocked a brow. “You have much to learn, gealtaire.”

  The man’s face reddened.

  “Meyers,” Daniel warned.

  Smiling, Ewen stepped past Gary and followed Caitlin into the room.

  The reverend turned his attention from the doorway and cleared his throat. “I took the liberty of searching for Mariota MacEwen as you asked, Mr. MacInnes. I have no recent birth entries for Mariota, other than one dated in the fourteenth century. It is not uncommon for modern day clans to name their children after those of their ancestors. However, I did find record of a marriage between a Mariota MacEwen and one Duncan Lamont. Here.”

  Reverend Mitchell pointed to a scrawled entry in one of the books. “In 1965. I’ve no other records for Mariota except for this.” He picked up another of the open registers and placed it on top of the last journal. “But there is a funeral entry for Duncan Lamont, husband of Mariota. Held here in 1967.”

  “Do you know how he died?” Caitlin asked.

  “That I cannot tell you. You can request an official extract from the registrar. The cause of death will be listed on the certificate. The nearest office is in Dunoon, but if you’re savvy with a computer, you may be able to apply online.” The reverend looked up to MacInnes. “Now as to your other family member, Mary Walker.”

  Caitlin’s face blanched.

  “We also have a record of her marriage to Douglas Walker in 1968. I have been unable to locate any other records. Are you sure she was born and raised here?”

  “Yes,” Caitlin answered.

  The pastor scratched his head. “Well, it’s not to say she wasn’t, however it’s very possible she received her sacraments elsewhere. Records have been shifted over the years to other churches. Or misfiled. For example, these were uncovered during our most recent renovation.”

  Caitlin shot Ewen a look over her shoulder.

  Aye, the recent discovery of documents pertaining to her kin’s history was suspect.

  “We’re a hamlet of seven hundred people, give or take a head,” the reverend said with a smile. “But we’ve many who seek the beauty of Kilfinan and our lovely church to celebrate their special moments.”

  “Like a wedding,” MacInnes said with a confident air.

  “Exactly,” said Reverend Mitchell. “I’m afraid I have no other information to give you. Would you care to see the vaults?”

  “That won’t be necessary, Reverend. I trust the money will be well spent. Now, we’ve urgent matters at hand.” MacInnes stood, shook the minister’s hand, and signaled the group to follow him out of the church.

  Caitlin hesitated, staring at the documents spread across his desk.

  “Mr. MacInnes has asked you both to join us at the car,” Daniel said from the door.

  Panic flashed in her eyes, an invisible plea to Daniel he chose to ignore.

  “Remind MacInnes of our bargain,” Ewen retorted. “If he tires of waiting, tell him he’s free to return to the manor. Without us.”

  Daniel shot him a warning look. “I’d be quick with your business if I were you.” He exited the room without waiting for Ewen’s reply.

  She mouthed “thank you.”

  He nodded, a bit more curtly than he intended, the gratitude in her eyes leaving a funny sensation in his chest.

  “Reverend, I hope you don’t mind answering a few more questions.” Caitlin gripped the back of the nearest chair.

  “Not at all. Please, sit.” The man gestured to the chair facing the opened documents.

  Caitlin shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you. Are you sure there’s nothing to prove the Walkers lived in Kilfinan? Even for a brief time?”

  “One can never be sure. But I’ve no records to show otherwise.”

  “Okay, well, maybe you can help me locate a parishioner who could. Her name is Janet McCabe. She was a resident and a friend of the Walkers. A dear friend of my grandmother’s, actually. I met her here, at the church, last year.”

  The minister shrugged. “I’ve no parishioners by the name of McCabe, but I’d be happy to check for you in town. Perhaps she is known—”

  “Um, no, no, that’s okay. I wouldn’t want to embarrass her.” Caitlin twisted her mouth, disappointment written across her features.

  Ewen leaned over Caitlin’s shoulder and assessed the journals. “Who were the witnesses to the earlier wedding of the MacEwen lass to the Lamont?”

  “Let’s see.” The reverend flipped the page and ran his finger down the length of the sheet. “Here we are. It was witnessed by Jean and John Currie of Kilfinan.”

  Caitlin’s brow furrowed. “Currie? Wait.” She whipped around, her dark hair arcing behind her. Excitement brightened her eyes. “MacInnes asked me if I knew a Jean Currie. Aboard the jet. He said she was a friend of my grandmother’s.” She lowered her voice. “Ewen, he intercepted a letter my grandmother wrote to Jean Currie. A letter that supposedly told of the stone’s origin. It’s how he knew the stone had been returned to its ‘genesis,’ or whatever that means.”

  A lead?

  Ewen met the pastor’s curious expression. “Who were the witnesses for the other pair?”

  “Mary and Douglas Walker,” Caitlin clarified.

  “Ah, let’s see. That one’s a wee bit difficult to read now. Looks to me ’twas a Graham Patrick, and well now, there’s a bit of a smudge. Can’t rightly make out the name, but I’d say it’s the same Jean Currie. See here?” He pointed to the smudged signature. “Hmm, interesting but not surprising in a town the size of ours.”

  “And the ceremonies were officiated by the same priest?” Ewen asked.

  “Yes, Reverend Patrick performed both weddings and the funeral. A good man, missed by many still. A tragic death, but his memory will live on with those of us left behind to mourn his passing.”

  “I’m so sorry. Was he sick?” Caitlin asked.

  “Nay, lass. A nasty fall. Right outside, on the stairs leading to the vault. He was found by one of our parishioners but, well, there wasn’t much to be done.”

  “Oh, my god. How awful.” Caitlin’s wide eyes broadcasted the same doubt brewing in his own over the circumstances of the poor minister’s death.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Ewen intercepted. “Thank you, Reverend Mitchell, for your time. We are most appreciative. Caitlin, ’tis best we go now, eh? Our party awaits our return.”

  “Oh, by the way, Ms. MacInnes, please give these to Mr. MacInnes.” The man handed her several sheets of paper. “Copies of the registries we’ve discussed.”

  Caitlin glanced at the papers in her hand. “Not MacInnes, Reed. I’m Caitlin, and this is Ewen MacLean.”

  “Ah, then, Ms. Reed, a pleasure. Mr. MacLean.” His eyes flicked between Caitlin and Ewen before returning to the books on his desk. “We’ve a historian of sorts amongst us. A parishioner, Iona Murray, who lives just a ways from here, down the road about a mile or so. If you’re looking to learn more about your ancestors, there’s no better place to start than with Iona. Her family has lived in Kilfinan for generations.”

  Reverend Mitchell leaned over the desk, pen in hand, and wrote onto a short piece of parchment. “I’ll call her and tell her to expect you.”

  “Thank you.” Caitlin folded the piece of paper and slipped it into the front pocket of her trews.

  “God bless you both. May you find what it is you seek.”

  Caitlin smiled at the minister before they exited the room. Outside the man’s door, she turned to Ewen. “We have to speak to this woman. If her family has lived here for decades, then she or someone in her family is bound to remember my grandmother.”

  “Aye, but no’ with MacInnes breathing down our backs.” How the hell could he distance them from the man to speak to this Iona Murray?

  “Something doesn’t make sense,” she whispered as they crossed the pulpit into the main aisle. “MacInnes told us that Mariota MacEwen was my grandmother. Yet everything we learned in that room
contradicts his story.” She waved her hand, the sheets of paper clutched in her fingers. “Here’s proof Mariota MacEwen and my grandmother existed separately. Separate lives. Different husbands. They may have known each other. They may have been friends even.”

  She looked up with the face of a woman holding on to her last strands of hope. It touched something inside him, something deep that understood the cold loss of hope.

  They stopped at the front door. “MacInnes wasn’t surprised by anything the minister told us. Why drag us out here? I don’t know. I have this feeling like the other shoe is about to fall. I can’t explain it. It’s just…”

  “Foreboding?” Ewen said.

  “Yeah, I guess it is, but worse. I feel like I’m staring at the outline of a puzzle. The pieces should all fit, they always have in the past, but now suddenly they don’t. And right before my eyes, the picture changes, and I can’t figure any of it out. I have a really bad feeling about all this.”

  “Aye, lass, you’ve the right of it.” He didn’t understand the metaphor she alluded too, but he could smell the deception like poison trickling into his gut.

  “So what do we do? Where do we go from here?”

  Her worry kicked up an instinctual need to protect her. To shelter her from the incoming storm. He gave in to the strong pull between them and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Soft silk brushed his roughened skin. She intrigued him, this modern day woman with her quiet strength laced with an innocent vulnerability that could easily wrap itself around his heart if he wasn’t careful.

  He swallowed, his throat tight, and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Dinna worry. You have me at your back. Do you hear me? Whatever it is, you’ll not stand alone.”

  Seer or not.

  She raised her fingertips to the spot his fingers had brushed. “I feel it, too, Ewen,” she whispered. “This thing between us. Every time we touch, I feel it, too.”

  He cupped the side of her face and traced his thumb along a path on her bottom lip. The wanting, the longing he’d spent an eternity fighting, rushed to the surface, and his chest ached. He was tired of walking alone.

  Eyes closed, Caitlin leaned into his touch.

  Desire flooded his veins.

  Her lips parted, and she opened her eyes.

  Heart racing, his gaze dropped to her mouth, to the glistening along her lower lip. He’d imagined sipping those soft, supple lips—a fantasy that had replayed itself, over and over, since the day they’d met. He leaned in, his eyes locked to hers.

  Say yes, lass. Christ, say yes.

  Her breath hitched and everything inside him froze.

  Anticipating.

  Waiting.

  Then she ducked and ran to the exit, disappearing into the Scottish air without a glance back.

  A sigh hissed between his teeth. The woman stole his breath. Standing there, his body shaking with need, he was loath to admit he was damn near a man obsessed with a woman he wasn’t sure he could trust.

  TWENTY

  “That is not a request, but an order, Simon. Get your ass, here. I tire of your games.”

  The stupid bitch had no idea the games he played. Anger rose inside his chest, mimicking the rolling thunder and darkening clouds swirling in the skies above. He would topple the Morelli Empire before her very eyes and crush every last vestige of power until not a trace remained. Only then, when the dust had settled and the Morelli name was long forgotten and replaced with his own, would he relish his kill and drain the life from her mirthless eyes.

  “Games?” Loosening his grip of the cell phone at his ear, he inhaled slow and deep to calm the fury raging within. “Hardly, Cordelia. I am simply following the plan you have outlined. Even now, my men and I scour the countryside in search of the stone. By your command, I might add.”

  A command he would use to tie the noose around her neck.

  Just wait, my dear. The fun has only just begun.

  “However,” he added for good measure, “should you need me by your side, I can delay the stone’s procurement and immediately settle matters here without delay.”

  “You are so very shrewd, my pet. What are you hiding between those cleverly placed words, I wonder? Perhaps it is I who should visit so I can see firsthand the fruits of your labor.”

  The “fruits of his labor” stumbled through the church’s entrance. Caitlin Reed turned and closed the door behind her, hands lingering on the solid wood frame. Tall and lovely like his recently departed aunt, Caitlin’s dark hair fell in tousled waves, half over her shoulder, half inside the windbreaker’s hood. When she turned, their eyes met. Her wide-eyed expression fell, quickly replaced with a look of surprise and a flush of color to her cheeks.

  Hmm…a guilty conscience? How interesting.

  Blah, blah, blah. Cordelia’s incessant tone droned on and on in his ear.

  Caitlin descended the stairs and hesitated at the last step, obviously waiting for the warrior to vacate the building. A seer with the ability to sense the power of the stones. What else did his cousin hide from him? For there were bound to be other secrets. Of that, he was certain.

  “Are you ignoring me, Simon? Must I question your loyalty—”

  Fools. His loyalty was his and his alone.

  “—you who we saved from a pitiful existence would dare betray your benefactors?”

  Ah, yes, his pitiful existence, but to which one did she refer? His time before or after Tereus? He supposed he did owe them some semblance of gratitude for the hand they played in his creation.

  “I would never betray you, my mistress.” He swallowed the acid burning in his throat. His act of subservience would be worth the prize in the end, making Cordelia’s downfall all the sweeter. “My apologies if I have been remiss in my duties. I will depart Scotland within the hour.”

  “Very well, Simon. But plan for my arrival all the same. Perhaps an extended visit at your lovely highland manor will remind you of the debt owed my family.”

  The connection terminated.

  Cordelia’s arrival would ruin his carefully laid plans. That was not an option. Nostrils flaring, Simon whipped the phone into the backseat of the car.

  Meyers and Cohen stood on guard just outside the stone wall delineating the church’s property from the road. MacLean exited the church and met Caitlin at the base of the stairs. When Meyers threw her a menacing glare, the woman visibly tensed.

  All par for the course.

  Simon stretched his neck. Cordelia left him no choice. The girl and MacLean were too valuable to risk discovery. Likewise, he was averse to leaving years of carefully orchestrated planning in the hands of his commanders. Meyers was volatile. Leaving him behind to execute his orders without Simon’s firm hand to guide him would be like leaving a Firestarter home to guard the family pet. He might accidently set the house on fire, and Simon needed both his captives alive and well until they had located the Tempus.

  He waved Cohen to his side. “There has been a change of plans. Prepare the jet for Lisbon immediately. Meyers will travel with me, and you will remain here with our guests. Let’s give them the illusion of freedom and see where it takes us, shall we?”

  “Yes, sir.” Cohen pulled out his cell and began making the necessary arrangements.

  Simon approached his reluctant co-conspirator with a smile. “Ah, Ms. Reed. I have a vexing issue requiring my immediate consideration, therefore I must desist from our search for the remainder of the day.”

  Neither of them responded to his report.

  How predictable.

  MacLean shifted beside her protectively. His proximity spoke volumes about the nature of their changing relationship—an unfortunate development Simon would have to watch closely. Pity, he had grown rather found of his squabbles with MacLean.

  “Need I remind you of what’s at stake, Ms. Reed? Any foolish attempts to thwart our arrangement will be dealt with harshly. I would hope we’ve moved beyond such silly sport.”

  “We’ll
stick to the plan,” she said.

  MacLean’s expression remained unreadable.

  “Very well. I will ask for a full report of your progress at some point today. Daniel will be at your service. Have you any idea where you’ll investigate next?”

  She shook her head.

  Liar. Those alluring eyes gave her away, just like her grandmother. Simon smothered a smile. “I am but a call away should you need my assistance. Good day.” He gave them a clipped nod and left for the car with a bounce to his step.

  A lie could only mean one thing. The lovely Ms. Reed had discovered something of value. Perhaps his impromptu departure to Lisbon was a lucky break. After all, when the cat was away, the mice did play.

  Like a good kitty, this cat would be crouched in the field, his eyes honed, his tail twitching. Waiting. Watching. And when they least expected it, he would pounce and collect his prize.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “Need I remind you what’s at stake, Ms. Reed?

  The warning rang through her head as Iona Murray ushered the three of them out of the rain and into her home. She didn’t need a reminder. She knew damn well what was at stake, and endangering another innocent life in pursuit of the stone didn’t sit well with her. Not one bit. But what choice did she have?

  “The Reverend called to say you were coming.” Kind, brown eyes examined the towering men flanking Caitlin with the astute eye of a woman who had raised several rowdy boys of her own.

  Caitlin doubted her sons bore any resemblance to the men at her back. Daniel was dressed in the standard, Men-in-Black uniform minus the shades, and of course, Ewen, the brawny renegade biker in jeans, a black shirt, jacket, and his long dark hair tied at the nape.

  Both men dwarfed her—a pale American schoolteacher who was ready to barf on the woman’s doorstep.

  “Come in, come in,” the elderly woman said, marshaling them into her small but cozy living room.

  Caitlin forced a casual smile. Her hopes were pinned on Iona Murray. If she could shed light on her grandmother’s past, Caitlin would be one step closer to severing ties with Simon MacInnes. “We’re sorry to bother you on such short notice.”