Time Everlastin' Book 5 (24 page)

He stared in wonder at her
peaceful features. A smile was turning up the corners of his mouth,
froze, and grew lax within moments. The truth struck at the center
of his heart and twisted like a serrated blade in the
muscle.

When did it happen?
he lamented.
How?

His mind raced over the past
months, searching for a clue, for some indication of when he had
been cast from the protective confines of his emotional
keep.

At what point had he come to
love this woman?

Tis daft! Me no' in lust
but...love?

He slapped his palms to his
temples, moaned, and glowered at his lap—rather, what lay beneath
his kilt.

Och! Ye weak, bloody worm,
ye! Yer needs have infected ma heart and mind!

How many times must I tell
ye, We canna have all we want? Do ye listen? O' course no'! Ye live
to piss and for pleasure. Again and again I warn ye, dinna rise on
ma account. Tis no' me wha' needs mair complication in ma
life!

Ye're in league wi' Karok,
arena ye? Ahh, o' course ye are. He kens yer bloody weakness, he
does. He kens ye will convince the mind it needs to love—to have a
womon!

Aye, ye squirm, ye useless
whorin' instrument o' the devil! I'll no' consider ye a friend
again, I willna.

Broc scrubbed his hands up
and down his face, his vexation lava beneath his skin. "See wha' I
be reduced to? Talkin' to ma Gabby, bloody hell!" He expelled a
breath and slanted a dark look at his lap. "Wha' possessed me to
name ye Gabby? Tis me who's daft. Too long alone. Why else would I
consider a body part a friend?"

His gaze crept to Taryn's
face. Contentment washed over him as he studied each detail of her
face, branding them on his memory for those long years to come
after her departure.

"Och, ye're the sorriest
bastard to walk Gawd's green earth," he whispered.

Although the insides of his
lids were scratchy and his eyes tired, he remained awake. And eon
seemed to pass before she began to stir, moaning, and languidly
stretching her arms and legs. When she saw him watching her, she
sat up, maintaining the visual lock as if distrusting his
presence.

"Hello," he said.

Taryn went to the basin and
thoroughly rinsed her face then popped into her mouth one of the
abrasive, thin leaves. She turned to him, arms folded against her
chest, and her tongue moving the leaf over her teeth to clean them.
Broc observed her, prepared to flee the den should she jump into
one of her tirades.

When she was through with
the leaf, she spat the wad onto a small pile to the left of the
basin.

"Feelin' better?" he asked
hesitantly.

"Yes. I can't believe I
nodded off."

"Sleepin' the sleep o' the
dead be mair like it," he said humorously.

She nodded while rolling her
eyes heavenward. "Ah...do you ever wear underwear?"

"Wha'?"

"Trews," she said, flicking
a glance his way.

Broc frowned until her
meaning struck home. Feeling a heated flush spread from his neck to
his face, he flattened his legs to the stone floor, drew the kilt
over his knees, and stared off to one side.

"I-ah, didn't m-mean to
embarrass you."

"Twas no' a proper way to
sit wi' ye—"

"Staring up your skirt?" she
chuckled.

"Kilt, womon. Tis a kilt,
no' a bloody skirt."

Taryn returned to her bed
and sat facing him, her expression pensive, her mood unreadable.
Broc tried not to fidget beneath her scrutiny, but he was
uncomfortably warm and...
self-conscious.

"Why were ye weepin' in the
sun room?"

"It's just one of those
female things," she said with a hint of bitterness.

Broc's eyebrows climbed
upward. "Ye dinna strike me as a lass who easily cries."

"I read the wall," she said,
staring into his eyes with such intensity, weightiness built in his
chest. "I won't pretend I understood it all, but...you did say you
killed his mate."

Broc nodded.

"What happened?"

"The Sassenachs
threatened—"

"The what?"

"The English. They were
plannin' to take part o' Scotland to sell to—" His mouth formed a
sneer. "—the English
'gentlemon'
farmers. We didna have the money to buy back our
land."

"Go on."

"Ma clan was desperate to
hold on to wha' we had. Too desperate, I think now. Anyway, one o'
our village men, Siras—an old, demented coot—told tales o' a hidden
treasure beneath these standin' stones. Ma cousins and I set ou',
hopin' if we found such a treasure, we could save our
village."

Broc slid a hand down his
face, and slumped against the wall at his back. "We searched the
grounds above for days and found naught. One o’ ma cousin, in a fit
o' frustration, struck a rock with his sword. Next we knew, the
ground parted, and descend we did into this world. Aye, we found
treasure. Mair'n we could all carry. We hauled wha' we could up the
steps, but afore we reached the top, a creature charged at us. I
didna think, lass. I didna see clearly wha' threatened our retreat.
So quick were ma companions slain, I could do naught but draw ma
sword, and I slashed at the beast then plunged ma blade into the
breast o' the flyin' monster. As it fell from the steps, anither
caught it up and carried it off, howlin' in such anguish, I canna
shake it from ma mind, even now.

"I returned to our village a
hero. I remember the pride in ma da and mither's eyes, as if I was
some wee blessin' they'd only just discovered. It meant everythin'
ta me—efter so long they shunnin' me—and the whole village
celebrated hearty tha' eve. Ma aunts werena really angry their sons
be dead, nor the Campbell folks who lived in our village. No one
cared for aught but the treasure. We were all rich—wealthier than
the king, hisself."

He lapsed into brooding
silence, his gaze lost within some faraway world. Coldness nipped
at Taryn's spine, and she hugged herself.

"Did you return here for
more treasure?"

"No!" he snapped, his dark
eyes boring into her. "No' for treasure!"

"Then why?"

"Durin' the night, a great
beast came to our village and snatched ma cousin Kennaugh. I was
drunk, aye, but awake enough to witness him carried off into the
night. And I recognized the craiture wha’ took him.

"By dawn, the elders
convinced the villagers the craiture would return and murder them
one by one till the treasure was returned."

"You brought the treasure
back."

He nodded and sucked in a
wavering breath. "Aye. Twas ma plan to seek the treasure. Twas only
fittin' I return wha' we had stolen."

"Even knowing what was here?
The gargoyle, I mean."

"The booty was sacked and
strapped to ma back. A few gems were kept, enough to pay for our
village, and so little we thought the craiture wouldna
notice."

"You came back
alone?"

"Aye. He was waitin' when I
arrived. Kennaugh was hurt but alive, and the craiture cast him
above and sealed the ground behind us. I returned the pieces as
best I could remember. The beast knew things were amissin'. Gems
were amissin', then...he raged abou' a lost key."

"You understood
him?"

"I did and I didna. Somehow,
he made it known the key was mair precious than the gold and gems
we'd taken. But I didna know o' a key."

"What was the key
for?"

"A gateway to his heaven, is
the best I can translate. When I...killed his mate, I unknowingly
ended his line. Ma act left him wi’ou' clan. Left him stripped o' a
future amongst his own. He be the last."

"But you were only defending
yourself!”

"Och, aye, tha’ be true, but
we were trespassin’ and thievin’."

"So...you don't hate
him?"

"Hate?" Broc smiled tiredly.
"Aye, I do. And I dinna. Hard to say wha' I would've done if
someone killed ma womon and left me hopeless o’ faitherin' a child.
Mayhaps I wouldna shown his restraint, for I expected him to end ma
life. Despite all, he be no killer. Tis only fair I give him tha'
due."

"How long have you been down
here?"

He locked eyes with Taryn,
and she read something in their depths she couldn't understand.
Perhaps it was something akin to desolation. Perhaps a regret so
profound, it went beyond her comprehension. Whatever his inner
turmoil, it affected her in ways she never thought
possible.

"Too long," he said
finally.

"Will he ever free
you?"

"Do ye care,
Taryn?"

His soft tone caused her
heart to flip-flop. For the first time, she saw him as a vulnerable
man, who, like herself, was only trying to survive against
impossible odds.

Getting to her feet, she
crossed to the basin, knelt, and splashed cold water on her face.
She drank some, biding time to rally her thoughts.

Emotions swept through her,
creating aches behind her breast, her belly, and at her temples.
She lowered her buttocks to her heels and stared into the cascading
water above the basin, hoping to break the spell of
despondency.

"I trimmed ma beard. Does it
please ye?"

"It's a big improvement,"
she murmured.

Silence hung heavily in the
air for a time.

"Wha' are ye thinkin',
lass?" he asked softly.

Tears misted her eyes so
quickly that she had no time to will them back. She rubbed the area
over her heart, the organ heavy with sorrow. "I was uh...asking
myself why I'm so unlovable."

A grin of surprise flashed
across his face before it became lost beneath a mask of perplexity.
"No' so verra," he murmured.

Taryn sighed and continued
as if she hadn't heard him. "I know I make it hard for people to
get close to me. It's some ingrained barrier I conjure up whenever
anyone tries. Ironic, because I hate to be alone. I hate my own
company."

She closed her eyes for a
time, nibbling on her lower lip. "I've been searching for something
most of my life and I don't have a clue what that is. A little
voice in my head keeps telling me that if I don't find it I'll
always be lost."

Rivulets of tears streaked
her cheeks and her chin quivered despite her attempt to stop it.
"Lost as in, spending the rest of my life feeling empty and
miserable."

"Mayhaps yer confinement in
this realm—"

"Do you know what I am?" she
interjected, staring at him through a wall of tears.

"I'm no' sure wha' answer ye
want from me."

In a monotone, she told him
of her childhood, of losing her brother and moving to the States.
Without sweetening her ruthless pursuit of attention, she said, "I
never cared who I hurt or how I went about getting what I wanted.
Everyone else was to blame for my shortcomings. I inspired to be
the top photojournalist of the twentieth-century. When it didn't
happen, I turned to yellow journalism."

"I dinna understand tha'
term."

Shame-faced, she lowered her
gaze. "I invented stories and embellished the truth on factual
accounts." She shrugged and focused on the mesmerizing momentum of
the water coursing down the rocks. "I took compromising photographs
of people. Privacy was never a word I held much respect for. I used
to think being called a ‘bitch' was high praise, because it meant
my weaknesses were well hidden."

"Down here, lass, we tend to
think too much."

She looked at him for a long
stretch, weighing the kindness his eyes portrayed, and questioning
why that made her feel all the more unworthy.

"I didn't come back to
Scotland to see my brother," she said in a small voice. "No...I
came because I started researching my ancestors and figured he
could help me with some of the information."

She frowned and stared off
into space. "Maybe deep inside me...in some more human corner of my
mind...I did want to mend things between us. I don't
know."

"Do ye love yer
brither?"

"Yes," she said without
hesitation then blinked in surprise. "Yes, I do love him." She
smiled tremulously. "He doesn't respect me. I've given him no
reason to see me as anything but a disappointment."

"I'm sure he—"

"No," she again interrupted.
"I behaved abominably at his house. I doubt anyone there cares a
hoot if they ever hear from me again."

A low laugh escaped Broc.
"So all yer sass was no' for me alone."

Despite her mood, she
chuckled. "Unfortunately, no. You would like Roan."

"And wha' o' the
ither?"

"Other?"

"The mon ye believe ye
love?"

A chill snaked up Taryn's
spine and she shivered. "I'm not sure if it's love or...lust. Or
even if I care at all, or just that he belongs to someone else and
I wanted to conquer him. Oh, God, he does love Beth."