Time Everlastin' Book 5 (31 page)

"Yes. Why?"

Broc shrugged as if to make
light of his strange mood.

"It's time we have that talk
with Roan and Lachlan," she said, and took him by the
hand.

Side by side, they strolled
from Karok’s chamber and down the main passageway. No words were
exchanged as they swung their clasped hands between
them.

* * *

"Sweat Jesus, Lannie, wha'
are you hopin' to accomplish?" Roan bellowed, and spat aside rain
water as it pelted his face.

With a cry of outrage,
Lachlan whacked the ground another time with his sword. Unable to
stem his frustration, he lifted his face to the icy
downpour.

"She figured ou' how to
trigger the openin'," Roan said, positioning himself to Lachlan's
right. "If she can, we can."

Squinting, Lachlan scanned
the site. "Aye. But wha' prompted her to suddenly leave the
parlor?"

Roan wearily shook his head.
"I don’t know. You kept clangin' the damn sword tip on the
hearthstone, and I couldn’t think straight."

Aye," Lachlan said,
disgruntled. "I dinna handle feelin' helpless weel."

"Maybe—"

Both men stiffened when the
ground beneath their feet shook, and both stood wide-eyed as an
opening stretched lengthwise in front of them.

"Wha' opened it?" Roan said
breathlessly.

"The craiture," Lachlan
said, the knowing kicking in.

"This could be a trap," said
Roan.

"Trap or no', I'm goin'
down."

Roan nodded.

Lachlan was first to descend
four of the wide steps disappearing into darkness, and tested the
boundaries with the tip of the sword. "Be verra careful," he said
to Roan. "No way to tell how far down these go."

Clenching his teeth and a
palm cupped over his wounded shoulder, Roan cautiously descended
until he was beside Lachlan. "Och, this is scary."

"Aye," Lachlan muttered.
"I'll go first. Stay behind me."

Roan nodded.

They were fifteen steps down
when the slab activated. Again, they stiffened in anticipation of
the unknown. Upon closing, hoarse breaths gushed from
them.

"Tis bloody dark," Roan
said.

"Verra bloody
dark."

"Wha' now?"

"Proceed wi'
caution."

Roan released a mewl of
despair. "Whose idea was this?"

"Grip the back o' ma shirt
and dinna let go," Lachlan instructed.

Roan complied.
"Lannie?"

"Aye?"

"I shouldn’t have drank so
much tea."

A dry chuckle echoed in the
blackness. "Roan?"

"Aye?"

"Me, too."

* * *

Fairies. Wha' cursed
luck!

Broc had always refuted
their existence because, if they were but a myth, then the
villagers' superstitions were unfounded. Their fears for
naught.

No coincidence
here.

Karok's devious mind was
formulating something, and this worry only compounded his
trepidation in facing the other two men in Taryn's life—Lachlan in
particular.

As he and Taryn strode
through one passageway after another in the direction of the
stairs, Broc mused,
So, he has the knowin',
too. Is it the cause o’ the mon's hostility toward me? Does he ken
o' the shame I have brought upon the MacLachlan clan?

He was running scenarios
through his mind when they rounded a bend that branched off into
three passageways. Next he knew, Taryn cried out as she was yanked
from his grasp, and he found himself backed against a rock wall,
the point of a broadsword digging into the base of his
throat.

"Lachlan, no!"

Her voice swam in Broc's
ears as he stared into the furious dark eyes of the man called
Lachlan.

"Dammit, Roan, let me go!"
she demanded, struggling within the band of his left arm cinching
her middle.

"Have care no' to set ma
shoulder bleedin' again," Roan said, his tone calm, as if speaking
to a child.

Broc shifted his gaze to the
wild look in Taryn's eyes, and he forced a half-hearted grin. "Tis
all right, lass."

He winced when his Adam's
apple bobbed against the blade. As if compelled, he stared into the
dark eyes again and felt his skin tighten on his frame.

"How did you find your way
down here?" Taryn said angrily, her struggles weaker.

"Wha' matters is, we did,"
Roan said dryly.

Lachlan's mouth was set in a
thin line, his eyes blazing.

"Quite a stairway," Roan
remarked, his humor intended to break the tension. "Lannie's
knowin' was all tha' kept us from steppin' off the wrong
way."

"Lachlan," she pleaded,
"lower the sword. Broc hasn't hurt me!"

Lachlan's gaze flitted her
way before returning to Broc. "Blue and Reith?"

"They're sleeping," Taryn
said on a rushed breath. "Karok hasn't harmed them."

"He wanted
them...
safe
...till
they awakened," Broc said, unable to break the visual lock with
Lachlan. "The other be alive as weel."

Lachlan scowled. "The
other?"

"Dougie?" Taryn
asked.

"Aye." Broc shifted his gaze
to Roan. "Yer shoulder should be nearly healed."

Roan's eyebrows lifted then
dipped into a frown. Taryn nudged from his hold, unbuttoned his
shirt, and non-too-gently removed the tape securing a bandage in
place on his right shoulder.

"See!" she exclaimed. "It is
healed! Karok brought the others down here for their
protection!"

"Lannie," Roan urged
softly.

Lachlan hesitated, his gaze
burning into Broc's. He stepped back and lowered the sword. "I
dinna trust you."

Broc nodded. "Ye dinna know
me."

"When were you born?"
Lachlan asked, his tone laden with contempt.

"Seventeen-seventy-one."

Lachlan, Roan and Taryn were
rocked by the reply.

"Your imprisonment here?"
Lachlan asked.

"Seventeen-ninety-nine."

"And I thought you were
old," Taryn said to Lachlan, who now looked more bewildered than
threatening.

"Ma ancestor on ma mither's
side," Lachlan murmured.

"Lachlan, we need yours and
Roan's help to figure out what is Karok’s key. Broc can't leave
unless—"

"We'll no' let the craiture
keep you down here," Lachlan said.

Broc's sigh echoed in the
passageway. "He isna keepin' me, no' in the way ye mean. Tis ma
conscience wha' holds me prisoner. Aye, he could haul me back, but
I doubt he would. He has only me, lass, and though there be times I
hate him mightily for the games he plays wi' me, I canna leave him
alone."

Taryn slipped her arms about
Broc's middle. "Oh, Broc, we have to find this key."

"Aye, love," he said, and
kissed the top of her head. His eyes met Lachlan's, and he added
solemnly, "For all our sakes, aye."

Chapter 16

Nausea.

Not only did Blue's eyes
refuse to focus, her stomach juices wouldn't stop leaping into the
back of her throat. Never having been sick throughout her
three-hundred-year existence, numbed arms, groggy mind, pain
somersaulting in her head, and the unrelenting urge to purge the
contents of her stomach, disoriented her.

To utter a sound, hurt.
Movement, hurt, yet she dragged herself along rough, cold hardness,
more afraid of doing nothing than subjecting herself to motion.
Memories tried to break through, fractured and faded. She knew only
that she was unable to unfurl her wings to use her magic to heal
whatever ailed her.

She detected the soothing
sound of cascading water. The terrible dryness in her mouth and
throat urged her on. When what seemed like hours passed, her hand
met not rock but air and dipped lower into cold liquid. She blinked
hard to clear her vision.

To no avail.

Fighting back nausea and
pain, she managed to right herself into a sitting position along
what, a groping hand indicated, was a ledge over a body of water.
She scooped one handful to her face then another, the liquid's
iciness causing her to shiver. A third scoop she aimed for her
mouth but the water spilled before reaching its
destination.

Without thought, she leaned
over to shorten the distance her hand would have to negotiate, and
released a hoarse gasp when she pitched over.

Seconds after, Reith entered
the chamber, his hands thrust into the pockets of his wrinkled
slacks, his shoulders slumped. He had awakened hours ago, a little
groggy but grateful to be among the living, and curious how he and
Blue had come to be in the magnificent cavern. He had tried to wake
her. When it became apparent she needed more time to be free of the
drug's influence, he decided to investigate.

Granted, he hadn't traveled
far from this chamber, but it concerned him nonetheless that he had
no sense of placement. Of more important relevance was the fact
that he could not engage his wings.

Is Blue
responsible?

It was a possibility. Her
timing couldn't be worse.

Reith stood by the two bed
of leaves and fronds and scanned the depths of the room while he
unbuttoned and removed his soiled shirt. The cool air felt good
against his feverish skin. He scratched his head vigorously, trying
to remember the last time he had a shower. The soft curls of his
shoulder-length hair felt oily, heavy, and his skin,
unclean.

He looked in the direction
of the golden pool and smiled then happened a glance at Blue's
bed.

"Blue?"

The moment's perplexity
swept aside, he knelt and rummaged through the compositions of both
beds. "Blue!"

Getting to his feet, he eyed
the chamber with sharper scrutiny.

"Blue! Are ye
here?"

An odd sound perked up his
hearing. Listening intently, right ear cocked, his breath lodged in
his lungs, he waited.

It came again.

Blub-blub.

"No," he breathed, and ran
to the edge of the pool. Through the crystal clear water, amid a
bed of golden water grass, he saw her.

He dove in, his arms and
legs pumping wildly, his gaze locked on her still form some thirty
feet down, her hair floating about her like a black cloak. Halfway,
he saw her arms raise and weakly attempt to paddle her up from the
bottom. Then they vanished beneath the curtain of her
hair.

Several small air bubbles
escaped her and ascended, nearly encountering Reith.

By the time he reached her,
his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. He pulled her listless body
into one arm and cast off. The ascent more grueling with her added
weight, he realized his body hadn't fully recovered from the drug.
The instant he broke the surface, he sucked in great breaths, and
side-stroked to the pool's edge.

Blue stirred.

Moaned.

Gagged and coughed and
sputtered.

"I canna climb ou' unless ye
hold onto the ledge," he said, heaving breaths to combat his
exhaustion.

Her fingers hooked onto the
rocks.

"Dinna let go," he warned as
he reluctantly withdrew his arm from around her. She bobbed,
gripped harder, and swept her face across an arm to brush aside the
hair blocking her view. Her dulled eyes blinked owlishly at
him.

"Hold on," he said, planting
his elbows atop the rocks.

He hauled himself from the
pool, his muscles scolding in protest, and wasted no time slipping
his hands beneath her armpits. However, the energy necessary to
pull her out was more than a little lacking.

"Ye need to help," he huffed
and puffed.

His arms trembled with the
strain to clear her waist of the ledge. "Bloody hell," he grunted.
With difficulty, he wedged his legs beneath his arms and slipped
them around her, slid his inner elbows beneath her armpits, held
fast, and used all his remaining strength to thrust
backward.

It didn't work.

Panting, he dipped back his
head and clenched his teeth against a retort that would guarantee
she blushed.

Blue coughed, and whimpered,
"My wings won't unfurl."

Reith released a disparaging
laugh. "Okay, Blue. Ye need to climb over me."

"What?"

"Clamp a hand abou' ma
neck."

She complied.

"Now the ither."

She complied.

"Pull up."

"I can't!"

"Give it a wee muscle!" he
said irritably.

She inched up.

"Hold fast—and pardon me,"
he added on a quick breath, slipped one hand beneath her, the other
beyond her rounded bottom, linked his fingers at her groin, and
pulled. It took excruciating seconds before she was fully out of
the pool, sprawled on her back and gulping in air. Reith sat beside
her, panting, his muscles cramping.