Timeless (40 page)

“Strap in please.” She rushed away to help a passenger with a seat belt issue.

The plane shimmied. Regan yelped and braced a hand on Quinn’s wide shoulder, coming close to sitting in his lap. She tumbled into her seat and snapped her seat belt.

Quinn didn’t stir. She studied him. Reading tension in his features, she gripped his arm and shook him. “Quinn—” She fought to keep her voice down. When he didn’t awaken, her heart thudded dully in her throat.

Lightning cracked like a howitzer outside the window, and someone cried out. The plane dipped, and a collective gasp filled the cabin. How much stress could the wings take? Regan shook Quinn again. “You have to wake up, Quinn.”

His head lolled to one side as the plane did a bump and grind that would have made a cha-cha dancer proud. Regan swallowed another yelp and gripped Quinn’s unresponsive hand tight in her own. She shook him hard. “Please wake up, Quinn.” Her voice sounded hoarse with stress. His body remained heavy and unresponsive.

The plane fell in midair like an elevator that had broken its tethers, then leveled out. Pressing her hand to her stomach, Regan swallowed against the fear clogging her throat.

If he didn’t come back now, they weren’t going to survive to return to the henge. She had to go after him and pull him out. She closed her eyes and forced her muscles to relax. She concentrated on Quinn, on the feel of his hand in her own. She took deep even breaths, easing the tension from her body. And reached for him.

CHAPTER 35

The rumble of thunder vibrated through his headphones. What the hell had gone on in that room? From where had the sound emanated?

He hadn’t believed the wild tale the hypnotist had told him, but the session he’d listened to over and over didn’t make sense, either.

Diagonally across the aisle from where he sat he caught glimpses of the couple. Quinn’s head lolled as the plane hit a patch of turbulence. Regan’s profile appeared now and then between the seats when she shifted position. She spent her time either hunched over her computer or studying the stack of papers she’d pulled from her backpack.

What were the pages? Did they contain anything of importance?

The real sound of thunder mirrored the noise on the MP3 player as he hit the play button again. Dr. Reinhart’s voice, high-pitched and frantic came once again, demanding what was going on.

A crackling sound like static overwhelmed Quinn’s response. What kind of interference would cause that? He rewound and played the spot again and again, but still couldn’t hear him. They’d have to get someone to filter out the background noise and see what he’d said to the woman.

Regan’s voice was clear. The accent she spoke with seemed so familiar chill bumps rose on his arms. Though he’d listened to it over and over, it had that effect each time.

Lightning flashed outside the plane window. The aircraft bobbed and weaved on the air currents like an out of control ice skater.

With the next jolt, he grasped the seat arms. His Adam’s apple seemed to have swollen large enough to choke him. The headphones dropped down to rest on the bridge of his nose, and he jerked them off.

Regan rose and stepped out into the aisle. He ducked down behind the seat in front of him, but remained able to see her and the flight attendant. They struggled with the backpack and stowed it in the overhead compartment.

The plane dropped, then settled on the next pocket of stable air for just a minute. Regan staggered into her seat. Her hand on Quinn shoulder became visible between the seats. She shook him. Her eyes widened and her efforts to waken him grew more insistent.

What was wrong with him? Had he taken something to put him to sleep? Jesus—how could he sleep through this?

Regan grasped Quinn’s hand and leaned back into her seat cutting off his view of her face. What was she doing?

The plane dropped like a puppet on strings, and a communal gasp filled the compartment.

He could die in a plane crash before he knew the secret she had discovered. No, it wasn’t happening. The stones were his. He was going to know what she knew, use them as she had discovered they could be used. And if they made it on the ground in one piece he was going to beat the truth out of her, just as he had that old woman.

He’d learned an immediate way of getting information, and it made him feel a hell of a lot more powerful than shadowing her every step and sneaking around to read her emails. Fuck that, he was in charge from now on.

The plane shook as though the air outside the fuselage would rip it apart. High-pitched cries of alarm filled the third class compartment.

He bit back the urge to scream—-in rage.

CHAPTER 36

Quinn strode toward the opening to the underground chamber. The ground fell away to reveal the stone steps leading down. A torch, mounted on the wall, burned at the bottom.

He breathed in the smell of peat and wax as he descended the stairs. At the bottom, the chamber opened up before him. Wooden shelves lined two walls. Assorted crocks, sealed with fabric and twine, set in rows upon them. The smell of spices, herbs and tallow candles hung thick in the air. A wooden worktable stood in the center of the floor, a mortar, pestle and several batches of dried flowers lay sorted on its surface.

A sound from the back of the room drew his attention.

“Can you help me?” a man’s voice penetrated the open doorway as Quinn walked toward it.

“You canna trust him, Coira.”

The second voice, the same tone and timber as his own, triggered a viral wave of chill bumps up his arms. It had to be Braden.

“I can help you, but as Braden says, you havena shown you are trustworthy, Nathrach. You have spoken agin me to all who would listen. And would see me burnt as a witch if you could.”

“Aye, I know I have wronged you.”

“Then why would you have me trust you now?”

“Because he is my nephew, my only living relative. And I would do whatever I must to see him whole again.”

Quinn eased to the door and glanced into the room. Braden stood close by the door, his gaze focused right at him—or rather through him.

Quinn drew in a harsh breath as shock raced along his nerve endings. They were mirror images—separated by nearly seven hundred years. The raw emotion on Braden’s face, worry, anger, distrust, all played across his features.

“’Tis surprised I am you would find your way here,” Braden said, as he turned toward the priest. “Why are you not on your knees before your altar instead?”

Nathrach looked away. “I have been.”

Braden folded his arms. “Are you not afraid you may be laying your nephew’s soul upon the altar of a witch?”

Nathrach shook his head. His gaze turned to Coira. “I have seen nothing but acts of kindness from you, despite my attempts to make you into something less.”

Coira stepped forward between the two men. “’Twas it you who encouraged Ross to spy on me?”

Nathrach shook his head, a frown digging ridges between his brows. “Nay, your brother’s reasons are his own. But it has been my ken that his works of kindness may be more motivated by what he may gain for himself than a desire to serve his people.”

Quinn shook his head. Who was this Ross? What part had he played in the death of Coira’s baby? Had he been responsible for Coira’s death as well?

Coira and Braden’s gazes met

“If I do this thing—”

“Coira—”Her name erupted on a breath. Braden turned away his body taut with frustration or anger. Quinn could not see his face to read it.

”I would ask that Braden be the only one present. And that you find some distraction for my brother. I will have him hound me no more.”

“Aye, I will do that.” Nathrach said, his tone heavy with relief.

Coira remained silent a moment. “’Twill storm the next two days. You must bring him before it begins. ‘Tis dangerous to enter the circle while the lightning strikes.”

She turned aside, her hands bunched in the fabric of her shawl. Her gaze wandered to Braden’s broad back and pain flickered across her features. “I must prepare.”

“I am grateful, madam.” Nathrach bent at the waist. “We will arrive midmorning.”

Coira nodded.

The man straightened, his shoulders pushing back as though he’d shed a horrible weight. “I am grateful. I will not forsake your kindness. Your brother will be kept away.”

Coira bent her head in acknowledgement.

As Nathrach brushed past, Quinn pivoted to one side to avoid touching the man. The Priest hurried up the stone stairs and his footsteps receded.

For several moments, silence hung between the Coira and Braden as sharp as a blade.

“It must happen this way, Braden,” Coira said, her voice a husky whisper. “We have spoken of this before.”

“Mayhap it does not.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, and his tormented growl of frustration echoed through the room.

Coira flinched.

“Why must we forever relive these moments? And why can we not see what follows?” he asked.

“Because we have not gotten it right. Fate canna show us the way. We must make the right choices ourselves.”

“Not if we leave this place, Coira. We take the decision out of fate’s hands and put it in our own.”

“You canna run from this, my love,” Coira shuffled to him, slid her arms about his waist, and leaned into him. “We have found aid this time.”

“Do you really believe the man you told me about, the one who looks like me, is trying to help us?”

“Aye, and help himself. Our lives are entwined with his and the woman’s.”

“And what does Nathrach have to do with us or them?”

“’Tis not him, Braden. ‘Tis his nephew who will play a part.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have seen it.”

Quinn jerked as a hand fastened onto his arm. “Jesus, Regan.” His heart punched into a gallop. He’d been so intent on Coira and Braden’s conversation, he hadn’t heard her approach. “What are you doing here?”

“You have to wake up now, Quinn. A storm is tearing the plane apart. You have to open your eyes.”

Jesus. “How did you get here?”

“I don’t know.” She frowned, a look of anxious confusion shadowing her face. She looked back the way she came. “Can you hear that? They’re trying to wake us.”

“You have to go back, Regan.”

“The plane’s being bounced around like a rubber ball. It’s shaking apart. We should have never flown. Until we get this thing figured out, we need to keep our feet on the ground.” Her gaze worked past him to the couple inside the room beyond. “Oh—”

Quinn followed her line of sight in time to see Braden run a hand down the front of Coira’s dark blue surcoat and caress her swollen belly.

“He warned me of Nathrach and of Ross. They will be there at the birth of our child,” Coira said as she nestled against Braden.

“And I wilna be here to protect you.”

The agony in Braden’s voice gripped Quinn by the throat, and his hands fisted.

“I will be prepared this time, Braden. I wilna allow anyone to harm our child. I will ask one of the village women to stay with me until you return.”

Regan grasped his arm. “She already did that.  The woman left for some reason and Bryce was murdered by her brother or Nathrach.”

“I can’t imagine the priest harming the bairn. Especially if she’s going to heal his nephew. Her brother seems driven to learn how to use the stones. Should he do that, he may want to get rid of them all.”

“We have to find a way to warn her not to let the woman leave her.”

“They relive the same bloody moments over and over, Regan. That has to be hell.”

“Coira gave us directions on how to contact her. We can try them as soon as we’re back at the site.” She turned as though someone had called her name. “We have to go.” She grasped Quinn’s arm and tugged.

“And how do we get out of here?” Quinn asked.

Regan shook her head. “I reached for you. Reach for today not yesterday. All we have to do is wake up.” She pivoted and strode toward the stairs.

Quinn turned to follow. She was gone. He eyed the room. “Now what?”   If he returned to where he had started, that might be the key. He mounted the stone stairs.

*****

Fog surrounded Regan, like the mist on the loch. A strange voice said her name. The words echoed over and over.  Regan brushed at the pain in her shoulder and whimpered.   Fingers dug into her shoulder and gave her a shake. She grasped them and tugged sluggishly.

 What was wrong with her?

Regan forced her eyes open. The same flight attendant who had helped her shove her bag into the overhead stood over her. Her frown was a mixture of concern and suspicion.

“What is it?” Regan asked

“Have you taken some kind of medication?”

“Aspirin. You gave it to me earlier.”

“Something more?”

Regan shook her head. “Have we landed?” She looked about the empty cabin. “How long have we been on the ground?”

“We just landed.”

“Quinn.” His name came out in a gasp. Their fingers remained interlaced, as they had been earlier but his grip remained loose. “Quinn—”She leaned forward and placed a hand against his chest. The steady beat of his heartbeat thudded against her hand.  His skin appeared pale against the darkness of his hair and the five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw.

“Quinn.” She shook him hard.

Nothing.

Was he trapped in the past, as he’d been concerned she would be?

How could she help him?

“Quinn.” The high-pitched edge of panic in her voice fed the harsh beat of her heart. It drummed in her throat and made it hard to breathe. Adrenaline pulsed through her limbs like electricity.

“Quinn, you have to wake up.”

“Aye.” He mumbled. “I’m awake.” He rubbed his hair, his movements clumsy. His eyes fluttered open. His hand tightened around hers.

Regan drew a shaky breath.
Thank God.