Time Everlastin' Book 5 (23 page)

It was sometime later before
she discovered a pathway hugging the cliff walls. She eagerly
descended, her eyes straining to drink in every ounce of beauty
that stretched before her. When she made it to the flat ground, she
heard a snort and looked off to her left. The horse. Grazing among
gnarled trees, their branches laden with leaves. It ignored her
presence. She hadn't even given the animal a thought since seeing
Broc ride it below before her entrance into this world.

Her feet padded across
cushiony patches of moss and grass as she made her way toward the
waterfall. To reach her destination, she had to cross through a
forest of brilliantly gleaming, towering crystal spires that
reminded her of stick pines. She realized, despite the thundering
of the waterfall, the singsong beacon emanated from this area, now
not so angelic but mystical.

When she glimpsed a dark
movement beyond one crystal copse, she slowed her pace and more
cautiously proceeded.

In the heart of a small
clearing, Broc came into view.

Again, she found it
difficult to breathe.

He wore only a kilt, his
muscular arms, impressive broad shoulders and smooth, powerful
chest, more visible by the fact his beard was trimmed to several
inches below his jawline. Pencil-thin shafts of sunlight revealed
auburn highlights in his waist-length clean and shiny dark hair,
which was queued at his nape with a strip of leather. His large
hands gripped the swept-hilt of a rapier, its shiny blade sparkling
from the fragmented gleams off the crystals as he danced slowly
round and round, sword gracefully swinging up and down and to and
fro. She realized his movements caused air currents to collide with
the crystals, producing a series of harmonies not unlike what
happens when running a wet finger along the rim of a crystal
glass.

The deliberate rhythm of his
actions set a cadence that thrummed among the surrounding crystals,
the orchestral tones crescendoing, harmony building upon harmony.
Man, motion and tones mesmerized her. She never would have thought
him handsome or graceful, or capable of making her mind, heart and
soul respond to him with such abandon.

Each time he leapt into the
air and twirled his sword held high, his kilt lifted, exposing
muscular thighs and rounded, firm buttocks. When Taryn had soaped
his genitals not so long ago, his body held no interest to her. Not
then. But now, her nether region throbbed with need, growing warmer
and moist, craving that with him, her mind had refused.

She had thought him a dirty,
uncivilized barbarian.

Wrong on all accounts. He
was incredible.

His orchestration singing in
her blood and her skin tight in feverish response, she stole away
and headed for the promised coldness of the cascade. She had to
climb over rocks to reach a small shelf jutting out from beneath a
section of the waterfall. Once there, she stood beneath a portion
of the cascade, grateful for the icy wetness that rescued her from
the spell the sight of him and the music had cast upon her. He
slipped from her mind as she reveled in the watery embrace, feeling
more alive than she had since entering the gargoyle's
realm.

Taryn wasn't sure what made
her turn in the direction of the crystal forest. Standing on the
opposite bank of the pool was Broc, his rapier point lowered to the
ground, his dark eyes watching her through a guarded expression.
She couldn't move. Again, couldn't breathe. She was only vaguely
conscious of water pounding at her back.

What are you thinking,
barbarian?
she mused.
No, you're hardly that. What you have allowed me to see and
what I have witnessed without your knowledge, tells me there is
more to you than I will ever know.

She breathed
sparingly.

What are you thinking, and
why is it so important to me to know?

Her gaze lowered to the rise
and fall of his magnificent chest. She dared to wonder what it
would be like to rest her head upon it. To hear the heartbeat
within. To run her hands over the muscular planes.

If only....

"Taryn." Her name echoed
softly in the chamber, the richness of his tone a lover's caress
over her exposed skin.

Suddenly, she was unbearably
cold and couldn't stop the chattering of her teeth. At the same
instant she hugged herself, she looked down at her linen shirt,
practically invisible as its wetness clung to her like a second
skin.

Taryn Ingliss, a woman who
had never cared what another human being thought of her, a woman
whose career went before the needs of others, shriveled within as
an inexplicable avalanche of shame crashed down on her.

"Taryn, come down from
there. Come here, lass."

Every molecule of her being
wanted to do just that. Wanted to feel his arms encircle her, and
his body warmth take the edge off her chill.

"Taryn?"

He just wants to be rid of
you,
she wept silently.

Pretending to obey, she
traversed the rocks and landed on flat ground. When he stepped in
her direction, she ran with all her might, blocking out his shouts
for her to wait.

Well beyond the other side
of the crawlway, she continued her flight, determined to find a
place to hide until she had better control of her
emotions.

Something had happened to
her in the crystal forest. A large portion of the old Taryn died
amidst those prismatic formations, and a newer, less
sure-of-herself version emerged. As she ran blindly on, she
realized she feared loneliness more than anything else, and that it
had reigned over her most of her life.

How could she return to her
world and survive as she had in the past? She had nothing to show
for her life but material things. Inanimate objects incapable of
feeling. Of nurturing. Her family ties were tenuous at best. She
had no friends. Acquaintances tolerated her. She had enough dirt on
her peers to keep them in line—including her boss.

Her obsession to control her
life had gotten her where?

Witnessing Broc's ritual had
left her heart open to invasion, and invade it now he did. She
didn't want to be alone in this world or her own.

Crawling into a niche of
volcanic rock, she folded her legs to her chest, buried her face in
her arms, and wept.

Across from her position, a
solemn Karok watched her from the shadows. Moments later, his palms
slid over his pointed ears to muffle her piteous sounds, and he
sighed with what suspiciously sounded like regret.

***

Vexed best described Broc's
frame of mind during his search for Taryn. Karok’s domain was vast
and, despite his long years of imprisonment, he had yet to visit
every chamber and catacomb. Timelessness was both a benefit of
existing in this world, and a hindrance. From birth, he was trained
to respect and utilize allotments of time. Time and seasons and
night and day. Man required organization in his life.
Focus.

Timelessness broke down
definitions. He didn't age, but he also couldn't determine the
passage of days, or day from night without frequently visiting one
of the sun rooms. And time now, more than ever since his
imprisonment, served to ignite a fierce sense of frustration in
him.

He'd lost count how many
times he had returned to his chamber and left again to search for
her, skirting farther reaches each venture.

No Taryn.

Numerous times he'd gone to
Karok’s temple.

No Taryn.

Back and forth and round and
round in dizzying circles, he'd hunted for the antagonistic
woman.

No Taryn.

The information he'd
garnered from the diary continued to gnaw at him. So many
questions! And if they weren't enough, what had transpired between
them in what he called "the singing" chamber? He could not get the
picture of her standing in that waterfall out of his head. Grace
and beauty configured into one devastating package, designed to
bury his sanity in a bottomless pit of boiling tar.

So much for convincing
himself he only wanted to bed her for the sake of seeing Karok send
her away.

He felt compelled to find
her. It was as if a part of him was connected to her moods. He
sensed now she was distressed, wallowing in a misery that canopied
his mindscape in impenetrable darkness. She was upset with him.
Why, he didn't know, since when last they were together—prior to
"the singing" chamber, that was—she accused him of being nice to
her.

She was disillusioned with
the gargoyle. She'd grown fond of the beast, and Karok had hurt
her.

But the signal he was
receiving encompassed more, as if she had given up hope of ever
escaping. Not even he accepted eternity in this hell.
Hope
was all he
had.

He crossed the threshold to
the temple. Off to his right, far across the room, he spied Karok
engrossed in his latest stone etching. A visual sweep of the area
told Broc the woman was not here, and he wasn't of a mind to
question the creature as to her whereabouts.

Once again, he headed in the
direction of her chamber. Arriving at the opening, he felt a tug on
his mind, reared back, and hastened down the passageway toward the
nearest sun room. There, he found her, sitting cross-legged on the
floor in a beam of bright sunlight, hunched over her lap and
rocking to and fro.

Broc slowed his steps. The
hairs at his nape and along his arms, stirred against his
sensitized flesh. As he neared the beam, he detected soft sobs. The
sound created a fist behind his chest, pressing on his heart and
lungs. He stood behind her, clenching and unclenching his hands,
pondering what had broken her spirit.

"Lass?"

Her rocking didn't
cease.

Drawing in a steadying
breath, he lowered himself beside her, squinting against the light
bathing them. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. He couldn't
shuck off the burdensome mantle of gloom her sorrow unwittingly
projected.

Several attempts to speak
resulted in croaking sound. Clearing his throat and striving to
keep his tone light, he said, "Tis a woeful day when a wee fire
spirit as yerself, loses her flame. Be I truly tha' disgustin' to
ye?"

She stopped rocking and
inhaled shuddering breaths. Her head remained lowered, her hands
fisted atop her lap.

"Lass, I know tis been
difficult for ye."

Silence.

"Be it me or the beast wha'
hurt ye last?"

"It doesn't matter," she
murmured, and sniffled.

"Weel," he said
lightheartedly, "on the grand scale o' life, mayhaps
no'."

She lifted her head,
squinted a glower at him and swiped the back of an arm beneath her
moist nostrils. "Why am I here?"

Broc frowned and shrugged
his broad shoulders. "In this room, or—"

"In this
underworld."

"Ah. Weel, I believe I told
ye," he said, avoiding eye contact.

"I'm here to punish
you."

He nodded.

Taryn shut her eyes tightly
and struggled in vain to staunch her quaking.

Broc grimaced and scratched
his crown. "Couldna we discuss this elsewhere?"

"Like where?"

"Yer chamber. Mine. Doesna
matter. The light be achin' ma eyes."

"Sunlight," she whimpered
and lifted her face to the warmth of the rays.

"Come wi' me," he said,
holding out his right hand.

When she hesitated, he
wrapped his fingers around her left fist and gently urged it from
her lap to his thigh. "We need to talk, lass."

"You killed his mate," she
said flatly, flexing her fist within his hold.

"Aye. Worse, though, wha' ma
cousins and I did...weel, tis a long story, and I need to leave
this light. Will ye come wi' me?"

"I need to know
why."

"I promise to tell ye, and a
MacLachlan never breaks a promise."

Her eyelids at half mast,
she stared off into space. She released a long breath and offered a
single nod. Broc stood and helped her to her feet. No sooner did
they step from the beam, her knees buckled. She gulped back an
outcry when he swept her up into his arms. He headed for the main
passage, his eyes riveted on the path ahead.

"I can walk."

To her surprise, a lopsided
smile appeared. "I be no' always a barbarian," he said affably, and
briefly met her gaze. "Sometimes, I do remember wha' ma mither
taught me."

"Obviously, not about
bathing. I believe you learned that lesson from me."

Broc wrinkled his nose.
"So...ye are feelin' a wee better."

"Sorry," she said in a small
voice.

"The truth be, ma mither was
a verra strict womon. She didna take kindly to squalor. We menfolk
took a dookin' a week, or she wouldna let us into her
kitchen."

Silence prompted Broc to
look down. Taryn lay with one side of her face pillowed by his
chest, her lids closed, her breathing shallow. He slowed his pace
so as not to jostle her and, entering her chamber, laid her upon
her bed of leaves. Slipping a few fronds over her, he sat across
from her, his back braced by the wall, his arms linked around his
raised knees. The soft blue glow emanating from the basin cast the
room in fanciful light and shadows.