Time Bound

by Lora Andrews

  Dream Ewen grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “This is no dream. Look at me. We are caught in some type of magic spell, mayhap something tied to the stone.”

  “What?” Her synapses shorted. “A spell?” She stopped and paid attention to her surroundings. He was right. Whatever this was felt more like a vision than a dream.

  His?

  “Have you been here before?” she asked.

  “No.”

  No? Hmm. If it wasn’t a dream, or a vision…

  Caitlin stooped to the ground. “Tell me what you feel when you touch the earth.”

  Ewen crouched beside her. “It is like running your fingers through air. It looks real, it sounds real, and I can almost smell the soil’s musty scent, but none of it exists.”

  Wow. “Yeah, me too. Normally, when I’m having this dream, everything feels tangible. I stub my feet or smell the mist. This feels like a vision, but if it’s not yours or mine, and if I’m not touching anyone else, then what the hell is it?” Being trapped in some kind of psychic limbo scared the bejesus out of her. Her pulse spiked. “Ewen, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  “Aye.” He stood and pulled her into his arms. “Something is amiss.”

  She made a face and stepped out of his arms. “Ya think?”

  “I’m a practical man.” He shrugged, flashed her his signature devilish grin, and grabbed hold of her hand. “Come, I hear the sound of rushing water ahead.”

  After a steep climb, they passed a waterfall to their left and continued the trek through the woods. Caitlin marveled at the scenery. Moonlight poked between the tree cover, reflecting off the lush Scottish foliage. Insects chirped into the night air. As they spilled out of the woods into a clearing, a small stone cottage set near the edge of a cliff came into view.

  Most of her nightmares consisted of running from this house into the woods. And now here they stood. Stone cottage in view with no scary monsters in sight.

  Yeah, the calm before the storm.

  Ewen’s grip tightened.

  “Ow.” She pulled her hand free to massage the bones and followed his point of focus to a misty chunk of land wedged in the sea beyond the house.

  Clenching his jaw, he pointed to the island. “Eilean Molaise. We are in Arran.”

  An island in the Firth of Clyde near the mouth of Loch Fyne. That was the extent of what she knew about Arran.

  “But not the Arran of my time. Or yours.”

  “You mean like the past, past?” she asked.

  He nodded and grabbed hold of her wrist, moving toward the cottage like a man possessed. Miraculously, she managed to stay upright despite his killer strides over the uneven grass.

  “In my day, a castle stands where we are.”

  She squeezed out a wimpy “oh.”

  Outside the door, Ewen motioned for her to stay put and entered the structure before she could fire a protest. He was back before her jaw slammed shut, grabbed her hand and dragged her to the rear of the house.

  “There,” he said. A well-worn path wound to a rocky beach below. “A passage through the cliffs.”

  Something inside Caitlin urged her forward, tugged her in the direction of whatever lay waiting down below. A something that ignored her fear of heights and the panic firing at her feet to run in the opposite direction of the house. A voice that filled her head and told her to move faster. To hurry to the shore.

  Without speaking a word, she and Ewen traversed the narrow path to the beach, hands and feet scraping against the earthy rock. The lack of feeling was a blessing in disguise. Too bad it didn’t apply to the butterflies in her stomach. Would she die if she fell? Because technically their bodies were back at the B&B and not slipping on makeshift sandstone steps hundreds of feet above a rocky shore.

  By the time they reached the beach, Caitlin had run through every prayer she’d memorized during her Catholic school years. Then her mind went blank as she stared at a ragged stone jutting from a cliff that looked like a Titan had fist-punched three holes in its face. Ewen guided her inside the cave.

  The middle passage was about five feet wide. Caitlin slowed and scrutinized the large stone walls as they moved deeper into the cavern. She yanked on Ewen’s arm and pointed to the symbols carved on the walls. The same symbols they’d seen at the ruins. Studying the wall, Ewen rubbed a hand repeatedly across his jaw, then finally nodded. Almost as if he’d come to some life-altering conclusion.

  The petroglyphs weren’t a coincidence. Whatever this was, it was directly tied to the stone.

  Goosebumps spread across her body. She reached down and pulled the glowing pendant from her shirt. A wild look crossed Ewen’s face. Sound trickled from somewhere deeper in the cave. Human voices.

  Ewen pressed her against the wall. “Stay here,” he whispered.

  “No way. I’m going with you.”

  “Caitlin,” he warned.

  “I’m safer in there with you than waiting here by myself when anything”—and by anything she meant something non-human—“can walk through that entrance.” This was her nightmare. She was all too aware of the creatures that prowled in the night.

  Ewen’s eyes shifted to the opening. “Stay close to me. Hide the pendant, lass.”

  She scooped the pendant back inside her shirt.

  The voices grew louder. Multiple tones in a low chant she could only assume belonged to some ancient language. Or Latin. Or a combination of both. Definitely not Gaelic, at least not the Gaelic her grandmother spoke.

  Ewen swung his arm out and shoved her against the wall. He opened his mouth to speak but then said nothing.

  Crap. That meant magic. The supernatural was the only thing that riled him. Her breath skittered.

  “I will not hurt you.” A woman’s voice. But the sound didn’t come from the chamber. It came from inside her head.

  Caitlin whipped her gaze to Ewen. He’d bared his teeth.

  “You heard that?” she mouthed.

  He nodded.

  Oh shit.

  “Come. You haven’t much time.”

  Ewen grabbed her arm. “I donna think…I doona think what lays beyond that wall is real. But I fear it nonetheless. She is here.”

  She?

  “The druidess from the field. The one in the tome.”

  Oh. My. God.

  Her legs shook. “Okay. Whatever it is, I think we’re meant to see it.”

  Caitlin leaned into Ewen and peered into the cavern. The scene from the MacEwen journal was playing out like a Shakespearean tragedy right before her eyes.

  THIRTY

  The woman stood before an altar, arms raised high. Her jet-black hair blew against her face as an invisible wind slapped the folds of her robe. Her lips faltered, and she tilted her head. Eyes the color of emeralds sliced through the darkness as if she could sense someone near.

  Caitlin sucked in a breath. They were standing at the mouth of the room. Four figures wearing black hooded cloaks stood behind the druidess like monoliths hailing the night. Not one of them had acknowledged their arrival. It was as if she and Ewen were ghosts trapped in another dimension.

  “This is going to sound really wonky, but I wonder if this is an echo of a memory linked to the stone. Or maybe the pendant’s proximity to the stone has something to do with it.” She was grasping at some serious straws here. “I don’t know.”

  “Mayhap. Given all that has occurred, the idea would not be far-fetched.” Ewen narrowed his eyes.

  A hymn of notes and chords fell from the woman’s lips. The sound penetrated Caitlin’s body, a soothing melody that calmed and warmed her from the inside out. Magic burst from her hands.

  Ewen jolted, the side of his arm bumping against her shoulder. “Christ, Caitlin.”

  Nostrils flared, he was stiff as a board, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. He’d reached his cracking point, and in that moment Caitlin knew he was doing everything in his power to not freak out. Hell, she was doing everything in her power to not frea
k out and she was the one streaming magic from her fingertips.

  The chanting grew louder and drew their gaze away from the power sailing around the chamber to the three stones floating in a perfect circle above the altar. The Refiçío, the Tempus, and one other, a greenish stone Caitlin didn’t recognize.

  She and Ewen stared with identical shocked looks spliced across their faces.

  The woman spoke, and the cloaked men responded in a musical chant. Light flared around the stones as each oscillated higher and higher above the druidess’s head, vibrating with a unique pulse that expanded in the hollow of Caitlin’s chest. Magic flowed through the triskele hanging from the druidess’s neck and stabbed through the center of each stone. From behind her, more magic flowed, exploding from the torsos of each shadowed figure to link to each of the stones.

  The druidess’s eyes found Caitlin’s in the dark. “Long ago, we sacrificed blood to ensure Earth remained free of tyranny. Guardians were chosen from each of the noble families to uphold the covenant and to protect the Fusion. For many years, peace reigned. But one walks amongst you with vengeance in his heart. One with the power to destroy the veil.”

  The vision wavered and the druidess’s form dimmed.

  “You must stop him, guardian.”

  “Who are you?” A sense of familiarity gripped Caitlin, some distant memory on the edge of her periphery.

  “I am Brigid.”

  Thunder clapped. A flash of light speared the room, blinding them. The next thing Caitlin knew, they were back at the B&B, hands clasped, levitating in the air.

  Caitlin screeched when they crash landed on the bed. Ewen’s massive body pinned her to the mattress and squeezed an “oomph” from deep in her throat.

  He rolled to the side, his long legs tangled with hers. “Are ye hurt?”

  Before she could catch her breath, the light flicked on. She jerked her head to the door and groaned.

  MacInnes stood at the edge of the bed, lip curled in disdain. He shot his number one guard an irate look. “And I suppose this is your idea of secured?”

  Daniel shrugged.

  Whoever wrote, “When it rains, it pours,” must have been writing about her life.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Breathe. Intimidation was MacInnes’s M.O. He’d perfected it to a science. He would try to break her then force her to betray her feelings. All she had to do was maintain eye contact and refuse to be rattled. But every time her thoughts reverted back to the B & B, to the click, click, click of the Taser hitting Ewen’s skin, Caitlin wanted to scream.

  “He’ll be fine. Surely a nineteen-kilometer sprint is nothing our Mr. MacLean can’t handle.”

  God, the man was a monster. He’d left Ewen vulnerable, lying on the bedroom floor where the Order could find him and finish the job they’d started earlier yesterday afternoon.

  The word hate didn’t do justice to the emotions warring in her gut.

  “Now, where were we? Oh yes, you were about to tell me where I can retrieve my stone. Isn’t that right, Ms. Reed.”

  “If your men hadn’t attacked us with the intent to kill, then maybe that might have been the case. You threw us to the wolves. You failed to uphold your end of the deal. I don’t have the stone, and you have yourself to blame.”

  The one-hundred-percent truth. She didn’t have to set her face or look him in the eye to drive home the point of that message because she had no idea where Ewen was right now. But she’d beg any god who’d listen to protect him on his way back to the manor. Because Ewen MacLean wouldn’t abandon her. This she knew beyond a doubt.

  She gripped the back of the chair she stood behind. “I want to talk to my parents.”

  “All in good time, my dear.”

  MacInnes reclined into the leather sofa and draped his arms over its scalloped edge. Morning light spilled into the study. Persian rugs—or maybe oriental—were scattered under the furniture. A stone fireplace ate up one wall with bookshelves on the other two. The remaining wall, the room’s focal point, was a masterpiece constructed of floor-to-ceiling glass panels. Gorgeous French doors were centered in the middle and opened to a beautiful stone patio leading to a sitting area and garden.

  His eerie silver eyes locked on her face, and he leaned forward. “Well, then, I suppose I owe you an apology for my most unfortunate lack of follow-through.”

  Yeah, right.

  “Let’s put this nasty business behind us, shall we?”

  As if. “You can start by calling my parents.”

  Caitlin looked to the French doors separating the library from the outside world for signs of an angry Highlander treading the expansive lawn.

  “He’ll become a liability once he learns the truth about you.”

  Her anger quickly morphed into wariness. “What truth?”

  Cool as ice, MacInnes gestured to the chair in her death grip. “Please, Ms. Reed, have a seat. Your standing is making me rather weary.”

  “I’ll stand if you don’t mind.”

  “As you wish. Tell me, what drove you to Iona Murray’s residence yesterday? Hmm?”

  The burnt-out remains of her mother’s childhood home flashed through her mind. “Reverend Mitchell suggested we speak to someone he referred to as the town historian.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Murray has quite an extensive collection. And did you learn anything of value to our investigation?”

  “Nothing we didn’t learn at the church”—truth—“except she mentioned a fire that killed a local.” Truth with a minor omission. She wasn’t about to tell him who she’d recognized in that old photograph.

  “Ah, yes, the fire.” He cocked his head, assessing her with those scary eyes.

  Caitlin resisted the urge to squirm, feeling much like a worm caught in a bird’s beak. Any hint of emotion pertaining to the fire that had scarred her mother’s legs would reveal more than she was willing to let on at this point.

  “I’m curious, Ms. Reed. I was told you ran from the room, thereby compromising your security. What did you see that would compel such a response?”

  “I…” Shit, shit, shit. “I felt sick. You know, it’s not every day a woman is whisked away from her home and thrown into the adventure of a lifetime.”

  Adventure, my ass.

  A tense beat of silence thickened in the wake of her statement. Neither spoke until a perfectly timed knock at the door broke the uncomfortable quiet. Caitlin swallowed a sigh of relief. She had to hold it together and proceed with the plan: ensure her parents were alive, then find the ritual.

  Daniel entered the room with a wooden case. Upon MacInnes’s signal, he deposited the box on the antique coffee table centered in perfect harmony between the sofa and its coordinating chairs.

  A quick, curt nod from Daniel left her wondering if there was more to the gesture than a simple acknowledgement of her presence. Was Ewen here?

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Daniel exited the room without another cue.

  MacInnes pulled a large, brown envelope from beneath the case and dropped it on the table beside the box. “Where to begin, Ms. Reed, where to begin?”

  The small wooden chest drew her attention. She couldn’t help wondering what it or the large envelope had to do with her and this truth he insinuated would turn Ewen against her.

  MacInnes slid forward and ran his hand along the top of the carved lid. “Perhaps a truce is in order first?”

  No truce. He was up to something.

  “I believe I’ve shared my fondness for collecting items of a particular era, yes? And now you have a better grasp of why.”

  How could she forget. A collector of unique items. The exact words he’d spoken before jabbing a sharp implement into her toe. But he’d been right about her grandmother’s identity. A sobering admission.

  “I discovered this artifact during one of my many expeditions in search of the Tempus Stone.” He unlocked the chest and opened the lid. “You’ll find its c
ontents most interesting.”

  Damn curiosity. It lured her to the box. She walked around the chair. Up close, she realized the chest was not constructed of oak as she had originally thought but some other material that was inlaid with ivory pieces carved in a variety of scenic images. None resembled the designs she and Ewen had discovered at the castle ruins.

  MacInnes stood. “It’s a casket. Bone and ivory construction. A peculiar design for a Scottish piece. We believe it to be a betrothal gift of Parisian design, circa the late fourteenth century. Designed to hold a woman’s jewelry or other personal accessories.”

  He leaned over, retrieved an item, and came perilously close to touching her arm. She jerked away.

  “I don’t bite, Ms. Reed.”

  “I don’t care to be touched.”

  “Is that so? You appeared perfectly at ease an hour ago.”

  She felt herself flush, then took a step to her left, creating space between them to prevent an accidental touch that could spark the resurgence of another horrific vision outlining his brutal treatment at the hands of an unnamed monster. In spite of her anger, the memory of a young Simon cowering in a dark hole while shackled to the wall colored her perception of the man. It was easier to hate him when she knew nothing about him.

  “Mr. MacInnes—”

  “Simon.”

  “You said Ewen would become a liability. Why?”

  He regarded her in a decisive arc of his frosty eyes, then removed all the items from the casket, laying them neatly atop the heavily ornamented table. A gold brooch with garnets and sapphires embedded within its circular pattern. A button with a filigree design, followed by a pearl ring. A mirror case and double comb, both made of ivory, completed the lineup.

  “Splendid, are they not? Antiquities in this condition are a rarity, Ms. Reed.”

  Really? She hated being ignored, and right now Simon MacInnes was pushing all her buttons. “You didn’t drag me here to discuss antiquities.”