Timeless (12 page)

* * * *

Quinn studied Regan’s wary expression as he stood beside the ladder. He stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “May I speak with you?”

She continued spraying the stone as she looked down at him. Her gaze shifted to Hannah. The woman raised her brows and lifted one shoulder. “I can finish this.”

Regan climbed down the ladder, handed the hose to Hannah, and dried her hands on a rag.

Quinn walked down the scaffold as it curved around the stones and she fell into step beside him. “Does this place make you feel uneasy?”

“Not at the moment.”

Her choice of words had him studying her.

She turned away to survey the circle. “They look like old men.”

His lips quirked upward. “Not women?”

“No, old men with gray beards.”

He scanned the stones and nodded. “Aye, they do. But they have the feel of something else, as well. We’ll start recovery of the other two tomorrow. Search for more bones has been delayed until we raise the stones.”

As she looked up, once again, he read wariness in her expression. “Is there something I can do to help with that?”

He shook his head and came to a stop. He fought the urge to touch her, to cup her face in his hands and kiss her and find out what the connection he felt was all about. He clenched his hands. It was hard for him to resist the connection. Harder still for him not to act on it.

She was so driven. The signs were in the way she stood her ground, the quick way her mind worked. She’d put her wants, her desires, ahead of everything else. She’d as much as said so that first day on
Grannos
when they’d gotten into the scrimmage over her tanks.

He’d had enough of driven, selfish women.

Then why was he bargaining with her? He drew a deep breath and reached into his pocket. “One of the lads found this today. I thought you were the person to give it to.”

She held out her hand and he dropped the coin into her palm. Her eyes widened and her mouth flew open. “My god, it’s a Roman coin.”

“Aye. Gordon Murdock, one of the divers, recovered it. It was just lying on the bottom close to the cofferdam. He’s marked the area and written up a report so it can be explored further.”

“Do you know how rare this is? This is—“ She shook her head as though stunned. “There have only been a very few coins found here in Scotland.”

“Aye, I know. They thought us savages, because of our custom of painting our faces blue before battle. We had them afraid for their lives if they crossed over onto our land. Kept the buggers out, it did.”

Regan laughed aloud and an answering smile tugged at Quinn’s lips.

“Sometimes I think the Scots as a people think the past isn’t the past at all, but today.

“Look about you, lass. Doesn’t it feel as though it is?

She looked around the henge that surrounded them. “Yes, it does.”

Would she be more receptive to answering his questions now? “How do you know the song, Regan?”

She turned to focus on him, her blue eyes dark. “I don’t know how I know it, Quinn. If I knew, I’d tell you.”

“There’s a music publisher interested in the tune. But I can’t sign a contract if there’s any question as to the composer.”

A frown drew her dark brows together. “Perhaps it’s never been written down. Would there be a conflict then?”

“I can’t take credit for something that isn’t my own.” His pride alone would keep him from doing that.

She bit her lip and looked away. “Is your family from around here?”

“No not here, but close by. We moved to the coast years ago, where my Da could find work as a salvager. Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered. Could Braden be one of your ancestors?”

So they were back to that again. “This is Scotland, lass. Most of us can trace our family back hundreds of years. I dinna ken of anyone named Braden swinging about in the family tree.” Hearing the edge of impatience that had crept into his tone, Quinn drew a deep breath. Why did she try his patience so easily? Why did he feel like shaking her one minute and kissing her the next?

“Where did you get the idea for the song?” she asked.

He frowned, debated. Would she read too much into his answer? “From a dream.”

“When was it you dreamed about it?”

“’Twas the first night I spent on
Grannos
.”

She turned to look up at him. “Was there anything strange about the dream?”

So real. Too real. Quinn jerked away from the thought. “All dreams are strange, lass.”

“Was it as though you were there, yet you were someone else?”

Her description triggered memories he wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge, memories that continued to make him uneasy. “You’re not going to trick me into buying into your—fantasy, Regan.”

She flinched, and her dark eyes held a look of reproach before her expression went blank with control.

She stepped away from him and he grasped her arm. “If I’m able to clear the tune, would you be open to having the lyrics published as well?”

She jerked free. “They aren’t my lyrics, so you can do whatever you like.” She looked down at the coin she still held clasped in her hand. “I’ll turn the coin in to the preservation lab.” As she looked up at him, her expression held more hurt than anger. “Just stay away from me. I’m through with this.”

Quinn swore beneath his breath as he watched her walk away, her back stiff, her hands fisted at her sides. He’d blown any chance at gaining her cooperation. He found he wasn’t nearly as upset by that as he should be. Regan’s hurt expression stung worse. That, and the knowledge he hadn’t been completely honest with her, or himself.

“Think about it,” he yelled after her.

She didn’t look back.

CHAPTER 11

Regan sat down at the end of the small dock and watched as the sun slowly sank behind the gray brown peaks down the loch. She drew her bulky sweater around her to ward off the chill. From the cabin behind her, high-pitched laughter tinkled like wind chimes across the compound. The sound abruptly ended as one of the girls closed the door. Regan breathed in the marshy smell of the water with relief. She needed some time alone to think, and her roommates’ constant chatter wasn’t conducive to that.

Drawing her feet up on the dock, she looped her arms around her knees. She should have never tried to talk to Quinn. He didn’t believe her. And that was his prerogative. But his hard-assed condescension still stung like a slap.

Part of the problem was her own. She was seeing him through Coira’s eyes. She was seeing him as Braden, not Quinn, and was expecting him to be—different. She had to put aside her feelings, instincts, whatever it was that drove her to feel a connection to him, and move on. But it was difficult.

Experiencing the acceptance, the unconditional love Coira so easily gave Braden had opened her eyes to something missing in her own life, and shown her possibilities she hadn’t allowed herself to believe in. Recognizing the same thing in the way Braden had looked and responded to Coira had driven it home.

How could she envy a couple who had possibly been dead for hundreds of years? But she did.

The idea that something lacking in her had prevented all the foster families she’d lived with in her first ten years from loving her had sunk its roots deep. Her biological mother had loved drugs more than she’d loved her. She had’nt even loved her enough to pass her on to responsible people either.  She’d been trapped in limbo waiting to belong but never free to be adopted.

After adopting her, her parents had worked hard to make her feel confident in their love. And still she had doubted her own worthiness of their affection. Why couldn’t she put those feelings of worthlessness behind her?

Tears burned her eyes. She
was
worthy of love. She deserved to be loved just as much as anyone.

Perhaps she was experiencing these visions for a purpose. They had already opened her eyes to this major chink in her feelings. Maybe she could learn something more from them, from the people in them.

She would look at the schedule, and the first two or three consecutive days she had off, she’d go to Edinburgh to the National Library of Scotland and the National Archives building to do some research. They were both primarily research facilities, and she might be able to find some reference to Coira and Braden in one of the rare manuscripts. The library housed a music library of every song published in Britain, as well. If Quinn’s-Coira’s song was there, she’d find it. And prove to Quinn they’d existed.

Her decision made, her tension eased. She looked out over the dancing play of failing light reflected on the water. Coira and Braden had seen this every day. They had looked at those huge barren mountains that seemed to slide right down into the loch and called them home.

“’Ey, Regan.” A voice called to her from the cabin door. “We’ve popped in a movie. Do you want to watch the telly with us?”

Regan turned to look over her shoulder at Hannah. The light behind her silhouetted the woman’s figure. She might get Hannah to go with her. She was probably familiar with the library and its facilities. They’d have fun wandering about and exploring the city together.

“Aye, what kind of movie?” she asked in her best Scottish accent as she scrambled to her feet.

“In honor of the coin found today, we chose one about Roman Gladiators.”

“That’s my kind of movie, to be sure. I love checking out the men’s muscular legs in those short Roman skirts,” Regan said.

“Aye. I’ve noticed how you prefer those manly men with the creases in their cheeks and bulging biceps,” Hannah said, her tone dry. “You don’t seem to be able to resist the challenge they represent.”

Regan paused at the bottom of the steps. “I’ve found a cure for that by the name of Quinn Douglas,” she said, dropping the accent.

Hannah frowned. “I’m sorry, Regan, I was only teasing.”

Regan forced a smile to her lips. “We’ll watch these bonny Romans, and depending on how many clothes they have on, we’ll see how many other body parts they have bulging besides their biceps.”

Hannah laughed and held the door wide.

The room had looked sparse with no pictures on the walls, but one of the girls had tacked up a poster of Stonehenge, adding a little personality to the décor. Helen sat on the brown couch set against one wall. She was studying the photos of the skull Hannah had taken after Dr. Woo had recovered it from the base of the cofferdam. She spread them on the heavy coffee table before her.

Two chairs upholstered in an indistinct pattern of muted beige and brown stood on either side of the couch. Regan opted for the floor before the television so she could stretch out. Sheary walked around the island bar that separated the long narrow kitchen from the living room, a large bowl of popcorn held in the bend of her arm and two bottles of water in the other hand.

Helen stacked the pictures together and Sheary set the bowl on the table between them and smiled at Regan. “Has the loch given up any secrets to you, yet? You keep looking out at it as though t’will.”

Regan smiled. “If it tells me anything, I’ll be sure to share it with the three of you.” She shrugged her shoulders where they had stiffened. “I wasn’t being antisocial. I’m just a little tired and needed a few minutes to myself.”

“I can understand why,” Sheary said. “You worked like a demon today and showed up the rest of us. They were beautiful drawings you did of the stones, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Regan smiled. “I was just inspired with the dignity of them. Up until now I thought Ogham was like a Celtic shorthand to offer directions or inscribe bible verses. I never dreamed I would see it covering the stones like a kind of instruction manual.”

“How do you know that’s what they are?” Hannah asked, her words slurred as she munched a hand full of popcorn.

Regan hesitated. Once the epigraphic expert had a go at them, eventually they would all know what the stones said. “What else would be the purpose of it all? I believe, once the text is translated, it will offer us an insight into their religious beliefs and practices. And explain the purpose of the stones.”

Helen Kegan, the quietest member of the group said, “I hope you shan’t be disappointed. The symbols will have to be studied, copied, discussed, and finally the findings put on paper.” She propped her feet on the coffee table and crossed her ankles in a movement feline and graceful. “The lot of us won’t be about to see it while we’re here. Our summer contracts will be over long before someone in a stuffy academic’s office will publish a paper with the findings.”

“Don’t sound so bitter, Helen. Perhaps once we’ve finished at university, we can return to study them again. ‘Twill take years before everything is done.”

She would be long gone before anything definitive was discovered. Regan’s stomach clenched with anxiety. And what of Coira and Braden? How could she leave without discovering who they were and what it all meant? She needed to know now.

A niggling impression of having left something undone, something important, taunted her. She needed to hurry, but toward what?

And if she left the stones, left the loch, left Coira and Braden? A sadness bordering on grief struck her.

Sheary distracted her when she stretched, then groaned. She rolled her shoulders and flexed her arms. “I’ll have trouble moving tomorrow. You girls may have to pry me out of bed.”

Several murmurs of agreement followed.

“Pop the movie in, will you Hannah? I have a terrible need to lose myself in a different era than what we’ve been digging in for the last eight hours,” Helen said, raking her fingers through her chestnut hair and gathering it into a tail at the back of her head with a elastic band.

Regan reclined on the floor in front of the television. “I read somewhere that the word gladiator meant penis. Do you think that might be true?” A pillow hit her in the chest then bounced off onto the floor. She looked up to find Hannah grinning at her.

“No more academic discussions,” she ordered.

“I didn’t realize penises fell into that category,” Regan said with a laugh as she propped the pillow beneath her head.