Time Everlastin' Book 5 (12 page)

Taryn numbly watched him
cross the room and return with another blanket. This time when the
gargoyle held it out, she read something in his expression that
rocked her.

"You understand, don't you?"
she said shakily.

The creature's gaze swept
over her features before he nodded.

Taryn dropped the wet
blanket and, trembling uncontrollably, wrapped herself in the dry
one. "You...ah...you're a gargoyle?"

He nodded.

A heaviness filled her lungs
as she glanced at his wings. "You caught me when I first fell from
the stairs, didn't you."

He nodded.

"What about when that man
and I—"

He shook his
head.

Taryn's mind reeled with
questions. "Ah...are you keeping me down here?"

After a short hesitation, he
nodded.

"Why?"

The gargoyle glanced in the
direction the barbarian had gone.

"Because of him?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

The gargoyle grinned and the
sight of it made her collapse, her butt hitting the floor.
"Oh...God. I must be losing my mind."

A ruminative gurgle came
from the gargoyle before he cast off and flew out of the chamber.
For a long time, Taryn remained atop the cold stones, staring off
into space, pondering the events that had led her to this place.
The dirk and Ciarda's diary had been the bait. The why remained the
greatest puzzle.

No. Not anymore.

What about the
barbarian?

Had he, too, accidentally
stumbled upon this realm?

Who was he?

And why couldn't she shake a
gnawing gut feeling that the animosity between him and beast held
more substance than was readily apparent?

What secret were they privy
to and she not?

And why did the barbarian
bear a striking resemblance to the mural at the inn?

He’s no ghost.

Taryn chuckled. It rapidly
escalated into roaring laughter. It was this or cry, and she never
cried. Not since that time as a child when she'd stared out the
back window of her parent's car and watched her brother stonily
accept her disappearance from his life. Obviously, he hadn't
recognized her reasons for sticking out her tongue or making faces
at him. Hadn't heard her mind try to penetrate his stubbornness and
plead with him not to remain behind without her.

The laughter went on until
she was too exhausted to continue. As it wound down, a thought
occurred to her.

Had she cried, shed a tear,
when she'd thought the dirk had killed Lachlan again?

She remembered the same kind
of pain behind her breast she'd experienced as a child in that car,
watching her brother grow smaller in the distance until she could
no longer see him.

"Roan," she moaned softly.
"I came back for you."

She curled into a fetal
position and snugged deeper into the blanket. The advent of sleep
embraced her without warning and, for a time, she escaped the
barbarian and her prison. She escaped the lonely memories of her
first years in the States, when the child she'd been had prayed to
an unlistening god to reunite her with her brother. And, she
escaped the bitter woman she had become.

Unbeknown to her, the
barbarian entered the chamber. He approached on soundless tread. By
the time he crouched at her back, a scowl he couldn't erase was
deeply etched in his brow. She whimpered in her sleep and he saw
her nostrils twitch. That she could smell him in her slumber should
have made him feel shame, but he did have cause for his appearance
and actions.

Aye, he had just cause, but
she would never understand.

Unable to stop himself, he
touched the back of her wet hair. Longing cracked through the
carefully constructed walls he'd built around himself over the
years.

Emotions were too
painful.

Need, even in the guise of
wanting companionship, was too cruel a weapon against
him.

She thought him the monster.
He didn't like the sting of hurt that had delivered. It meant he
was weakening and that his enemy would again win.

"Why didna ye listen to me,
lass?" he whispered and brushed a fingertip along her temple. "I
dinna want ye harmed."

She squirmed in her sleep,
prompting him to shoot to his feet and stare down at her with
barbed wariness. He placed a hand over his heart and breathed
sparingly.

"Ye are no' like the
ithers," he said, his tone but a strained whisper.

He turned to leave. He was
given a jolt at the sight of the gargoyle poised at the threshold.
The smug, knowing look on the creature's face enraged him. This
time, though, he would not relent to brute force. He would not
strike out. He would not rant.

"This be verra wrong," he
told the gargoyle, his voice calmer than he felt.

The creature's gaze shifted
to the woman then returned to him.

"Let her go."

The gargoyle stared
unblinkingly.

"Find anither way to punish
me."

The gargoyle straightened to
his full height, projecting the regal bearing he had hidden from
the woman. He no longer resembled the meek creature she had seen,
and for these games the beast played so skillfully, he hated him
all the more.

Strutting past him, the
gargoyle stood beside the woman, one talon pointed at her in an
unmistakable command.

"I will no' succumb this
time! Ye can hold her here till yer arse freezes in hell, ye deil,
but I willna forsake ma self-respect again for yer
amusement!"

He backed out of the
chamber, his eyes glued on the menacing smile stretched across the
gargoyle's mouth. The creature was a master manipulator, as well as
intelligent and...
dangerous.

This made his task all the
more difficult.

A deep, rumbling chuckle
came from the gargoyle as it pointed at him, mocking his inability
to win the woman's trust.

"Ye bastard," he said in a
low, harsh tone, and ran down the corridor in the direction of his
chamber.

Chapter 6

There was little to do but
sleep and Taryn grew tired of that as well. Another day had passed.
Or so it seemed. Whenever she woke she found small stone bowls
bearing vegetation. Only when cramping accompanied her rumbling
stomach did she give in and eat. Much to her surprise, most of the
questionable food was tasty, although the texture left a lot to be
desired.

Sleeping, eating and too
much thinking.

The idea that this was to be
her life indefinitely, chipped away at what little patience she had
left.

This morning—day,
night...whatever—she woke to find the usual three bowls on the
floor near her bedding. Sitting up, she ate without interest,
cramming the leafy and tubular bits into her mouth and chewing with
the enthusiasm of a cow on its cud. Her heavy eyelids remained at
half-mast as she surveyed her den. Not that there was anything to
see. As far as living quarters went, it rated zilch.

Swallowing the last of her
meal, she burped, grinned, and sighed woefully. She needed clothes,
her knapsack and a means to escape.

Same-o, same-o.

Besides the gun and dirk in
the knapsack, she had pens and two notebooks. To escape and have a
written account of the story behind the story of the gargoyle and
the barbarian would escalate her journalism career. But the
gargoyle didn't talk, and the barbarian...well, most of what he
said and she was able to understand, wasn't printable.

Yawning, Taryn stood and let
the blanket and fronds fall away from her. The den was warm and
cozy, and maintained a constant temperature.

The gurgling cascade of the
fountain drew her attention. She stepped in its direction before
she noticed a white object laid out on the floor at the foot of her
bedding. Lifting it, she inspected the linen shirt, slipped it over
her head and tugged it on. The garment was clean. It was a good bet
the barbarian had never worn it. The hemline reached to two inches
above her knees. It was too wide for her frame, the collarless
neckline barely concealing her breasts despite the laces she tied
down the top half of the front. The full sleeves fell three inches
beyond her hands. Rolling them to her mid-arms took care of that
problem.

Taryn crouched to gather a
few swigs of a plant that reminded her of baby's-breath. At the
fountain, she used the plant to clean her teeth, keeping her mind
off the fact she resented using a part of her bedding for this
ablution. When she finished and had rinsed her mouth, she filled
her cupped hands with icy water and splashed it against her face
and neck. One blanket corner served as a towel.

A sensation of ants crawled
across the skin of her arms as her gaze explored the boundaries of
her solitary world.

"I have to find a way
out."

Folding her arms against her
middle, she walked around the bedding. Again. And again. She
couldn't focus her thoughts long enough to formulate a plan. It was
as if her mind had accepted this world as her fate. Her mind had
succumbed to hopelessness. Boredom was a frightening concept to a
woman who lived each day seeking adventure, and creating adventure
where none was available.

How much adventure can there
be in the innards of an island
? she
thought, slowing her steps as she neared the fourth bowl. She was
still hungry, but she wasn't sure if that was due to the amount
she'd eaten or a craving for normal food.

Steak and eggs. Biscuits and
gravy. Fat, browned sausages and crisp bacon. Not to forget fresh
fruit on the side. And coffee.

She groaned. Even a cup of
bad coffee was preferable to none.

Peeved with the restlessness
she couldn't shake, she returned to the fountain and regarded a
fourth bowl set upon a jutting shelf of rock next to the basin. As
yet, she hadn't tasted the contents. A grimace tightened her facial
muscles.

"Gross. They look like tofu
nuggets. Not for this girl."

She peered longingly into
the basin's pool then at the bowl. "Maybe if I rinse them
off...."

Her grimace intact, she sat
at the basin's edge. The round, lumpy pods were an unappealing
gray-green and slimy to the touch. Definitely not something that
should pass her lips, let alone mingle with the contents of her
stomach.

She took one of the pods and
immersed it. After working it against her palm with her fingers,
she lifted it out of the water. Her eyebrows shot upward at the
sudsy foam covering the hand. She hastily placed the bowl on the
floor and mashed and rubbed the pod between her palms. Pale green
foam elicited a low laugh from her. She rubbed the soapy matter
over the exposed skin on her arms then lowered them into the water
and scrubbed. Seconds later, she was elated to discover her skin
was soft and clean.

"Soap!" she squealed
gleefully. Now it made sense why this bowl had been separated from
the others.

Suddenly, the prospect of
boredom was no longer an issue. What more could a
trapped-in-hell-with-a-gargoyle-and-barbarian woman ask for than
something as cleansing, pleasant-smelling and potentially deadly as
soap?

Ahh, and vines. How nature
does granteth the deserving.

"Thank you, God," she
whispered, grinning from ear to ear as her mind played out a
fantasy about to become reality.

* * *

He couldn't remember the
last time he dreamed. Nor could he remember when one had been so
vivid and real. In the sleep world, he was aware that he was
dreaming, and aware that he could end it by waking up. For reasons
beyond his comprehension, he chose to subject himself to the
ridiculousness of his mind's wanderings.

He stood in the center of a
grand ballroom with brightly colored banners, decorative cascading
fountains, floral displays, and gold wall sconces, the flames of
which danced to a lively Scottish melody performed by unseen
musicians. Masked couples swirled around and around him, their
naked bodies bedecked with jewels that magnified the torchlight
gleaming off them. Vying with their perfumed hair were the enticing
aromas of roasted pig and lamb, of breads and puddings, of ale and
wine, and of fruits and sweets. The scents awakened his longing to
know the pleasures of his world again. To sit around a campfire and
share roasted game with a friend or kin. To gulp back an ale and
laugh as portions of it dribbled down his chin.

Steak and eggs. Biscuits and
gravy. Fat, browned sausages and crisp bacon. Not to forget fresh
fruit on the side. And coffee.

Now and then one of the
dancers poked him. Many laughed. Jeers sang out.

The music brought about a
hollow ache in his chest. Perhaps, more than anything, he refused
to awaken because of the tune. He didn't recognize the piece. He
didn't need to, to appreciate a well-played fiddle and bagpipe.
Clapping hands set the rhythm. The dancers spun around and around
him, faster, faster, until most of the time they were but a
glittering blur.