Time Everlastin' Book 5 (35 page)

Precious stones of every
imaginable kind and gold artifacts were heaped on outcroppings
resembling shelves built into the walls. Patches of amber moss lit
the room, casting the treasure in an ethereal glow.

"Lannie," Roan said,
displaying cut and polished rubies the size of walnuts on an
upturned palm. Lachlan glanced at them before meeting Broc's dour
gaze.

"Much good can come from
this," he said.

Broc shook his head. "Dinna
want them."

Taking one of the rubies
from Roan's hand, he closed the distance and held it up to Broc's
face. "But a few will secure yer and Taryn's future. Many mair can
serve poverty. Dinna be a fool and leave them lost
here."

Broc reluctantly focused on
the gem. "They can but feed a mon's greed."

"They can feed nations,"
Lachlan argued. "Help pay for research into abolishin’ diseases
tha' plague children and adults alike. Karok left them to you, mon.
Use them to create a foundation in his honor to help the
needy."

Broc's mulish glower
softened with the passage of seconds. "It doesna feel
right...takin' them from here."

"You want these buried here,
when the money they will bring can do so much good?"

Broc glanced about the room,
indecision a slice quartering his heart. "I dinna ken."

Reith stepped forward. "One
day, ithers will find this world, and they willna use this treasure
for the good o' the world. Better ye serve Karok's
memory."

"I agree," said
Roan.

Contempt crept into Broc's
expression. "The treasure serve ye as weel, aye?" he said to
them.

Lachlan chuckled. "Roan and
I have mair money than we can spend in several
lifetimes."

"And I have no need o'
wealth," said Reith.

Shamefacedly, Broc lowered
his gaze. He looked up, startled, when Lachlan placed a hand on his
shoulder. He took Broc's hand and curled his fingers around the
gem.

"Does it feel cold to
you?"

Broc flexed his fingers.
"No."

"Tis warm," Lachlan said.
"Tis a part o' you."

Broc knew at that moment
that the treasure was indeed a vital part of him. "How will
we—"

"We'll manage," Lachlan said
cockily. "May take a few wee trips, but we'll manage.
Aye?"

"Aye."

Taryn, Blue and Braussaw
were impatiently waiting when the foursome first surfaced. Taryn
released a cry of joy and threw her arms about Broc's neck, and
kissed him soundly until he laughingly held her away.

"Miss me?" he
grinned.

"What took so
long?"

Broc glanced at the
clothes-wrapped bundles the others stacked on the ground, and
dropped his alongside it. "We've agreed to bring up the
treasure."

"Treasure?" Taryn asked,
frowning at the pile. "Karok's treasure? Is that wise?"

"Tis Broc's," Lachlan
said.

"But—"

"Hush, lass," Broc said
affectionately, and kissed her mouth. "We'll keep but a wee to set
up our future thegither. Lachlan convinced me the rest should go to
charities around the world."

The tension in Taryn's
shoulders vanished and she smiled. "Karok would approve!" she
exclaimed.

"Aye, I believe he does,"
Broc said, and passed a grateful grin Lachlan's way. "The treasure
is offerin’s to the gargoyles over centuries from men seekin' his
wisdom and blessin's. And mayhaps from men fearin'
them."

"How much more is there?"
Blue asked from her sitting position on a rock.

"Quite a bit," said Roan,
scratching his head thoughtfully. We need some sacks or somethin'
to haul it all."

"Trash bags?" Taryn asked.
"I can go to the house and gather whatever I can find."

"Me, too," said
Roan.

"Take Braussaw," Broc said.
"He'll speed yer journey."

"Ride a horse?" Roan said
with a grimace.

Braussaw snorted and licked
Roan's face, prompting the others to laugh.

"It's a cinch," Taryn piped
up. Broc swung her onto the animal's back, then cupped his hands
and cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Roan, who grimaced again, but
allowed Broc to give him a hoist up. Settled behind Taryn, Roan met
Lachlan's merry gaze and frowned.

"Enjoyin' this are
you?"

"Och, aye," Lachlan
chuckled.

"Old mon," Roan grumbled,
and said to Taryn, "Make the bloody thing go before I change ma
mind."

Laughing, Taryn took the
reins and directed the horse in the direction of the path leading
to the inn. When they disappeared down the hill, Reith asked,
"Should we wait or bring up anither load?"

"Wait, I think," Broc said.
"Braussaw can haul the rest wi' greater ease than we
can."

Reith and Lachlan nodded,
both staring in the direction the horse and riders had gone. After
a time, Broc cleared his throat and, without meeting the men's
probing gazes, said, "I intend to leave some for ma clan at the
inn."

Broc glanced up to see
Lachlan's face darken with outrage. "They tried to kill Blue an'
Reith!"

"Aye. I dinna condone wha'
they did, but the clan has long given me presents over the
years."

"In hopes o' gainin' access
to the treasure!" Lachlan fumed.

"Aye, tis true, but I feel
indebted to them."

Lachlan shook his head
peevishly. "Tis yers to mete ou' as ye see fit."

"Ye dinna approve," Broc
said flatly.

Lachlan stared into the dark
eyes, trying to fathom Broc's reasoning. "Doesna matter if I
approve or no'. I dinna understand yer sense o' loyalty—first to
the gargoyle, now this clan who would so easily destroy beings as
precious as our fairy friends."

Fairy friends?

The thought made Broc ill,
despite his earnest fondness for Blue and Reith. His gaze shifted
to them and he bowed his head respectfully. "I must follow the
dictates o' ma heart."

"As well you should," said
Blue.

"Aye," said Reith, and
passed Blue a smile.

Lachlan's chest heaved with
a sigh. "Aye, you should. I could have no respect for a mon who
didna embrace wha' he believed was right. But!" He wagged a finger
in Broc's face. "It nevertheless sticks in ma craw those worthless,
black-hearted corbies will be gladdened by yer
generosity!"

"Duly noted," Broc said, and
grinned.

It was dawn by the time the
treasure was extracted from Karok's world, twenty-nine heavy
bundles in all. Except for the one left in the inn parlor for the
MacLachlan's locked in the basement, and the bags designated to be
held by the passengers, the others were loaded into the trunk of
Winston's dark blue Audi that Roan had parked a half mile away from
the inn.

Reith engaged his wings and
returned inside the inn, where he slipped the key beneath the door
for the MacLachlan's to free themselves. The others waited until
his return to pile into the car, Blue protesting when Reith
insisted she sit on his lap in the front passenger seat, the only
space available. The once Briar Prince laughingly told Roan to
speed away, and Roan complied.

During the journey to
Stornaway, where a ferry would carry them to Ullapool, Lachlan
turned a deaf ear to Taryn's prattling about her and Broc's future.
Lachlan had paid handsomely for the out-of-season service and
expected to arrive on the mainland without incident. He did notice
that Broc's hand gripped the back of Roan's seat so fiercely, his
knuckles were white. Broc's eyes shifted and caught Lachlan
watching him with an understanding smile.

"Tis a car," Lachlan said.
"Once you get used to them, you'll want to sit behind the
wheel."

His pallor sickly, Broc
jiggled his head in denial. "Tis no' right to move this
fast!"

Roan chuckled and glanced in
the rearview mirror. "We're only doin' thirty-five, mon. Now
seventy or mair is fast!"

"Thirty-five and seventy
wha'?" Broc asked, his face scrinched up.

"Miles per hour," Taryn
replied.

Broc released a gush of
breath and hastily blessed himself. "Ma stomach juices are crashin'
against the linin' like waves in a gale."

"Sweet Jesus, mon" muttered
Lachlan. "Roan, pull over afore—"

Too late.

Chapter 18

The walls were closing in on
him. His vision was bleary, his head in a spin he couldn't stop.
Icy chills frolicked over his feverish, perspiration-coated skin.
And his stomach. Lancing, painful surges.

Too much happenin’. Too
little relief.

He hadn't known he had a
problem with confines until his journey in the car. Even with the
glass down, breathing was impossible. The closeness of the other
passengers, their body heat, their voices, pressed down on him as
thoroughly as a mountain of boulders.

Arriving at Baird House had
not eased his mental and physical turmoil. He had never been close
to, yet alone set foot inside, a house so grand. And more people,
their widened eyes watching him as if he had crawled from beneath a
rock some like spiny lizard. Granted, he was sweaty and pale, his
hair in wild disarray, his kilt frayed, his linen shirt rumpled. He
had changed clothing twice during the journey at what Taryn
explained were "rest stops."

Rest, no.

When Roan asked if he wanted
to clean up before they reached the manor, he had declined. It was
not in him to explain to his companions that if the journey didn't
end soon, that if the motion and sounds and smells and sights
didn't cease soon, he would throw himself upon the first sharp
implement he encountered and end his misery.

Now, he stood cowering
inside a small room, trembling like a child and unable to pull
himself from the insidious clutches of his experiences.

"Broc?"

Taryn's voice came from far
away, barely penetrating the unmerciful drumming of his pulse in
his ears.

He swayed.

"Broc! Don't pass
out!"

"Taryn, go downstairs wi'
the ithers. I'll take care o' him."

"Lachlan, he's—"

"Dinna argue, lass.
Go"

Gawd, spare me further
humiliation,
Broc mentally groaned,
pressing his folded arms against his stomach. He leaned against
solidity, shivering, panting hard.

A firm hand gripped his
shoulder and squeezed. "Tis only a bath, mon!"

Lachlan's voice rang in his
ears, pushing back encroaching darkness. He vaguely recalled,
during the ride, Taryn telling of their first encounter and of her
hog-tying him and the bathing that followed. The others had
laughed. Perhaps he would have, too, under better
circumstances.

"You must get past this wee
problem you have wi' water," Lachlan chided, but humor laced his
tone.

Laugh at me again, and I'll
thrash ye!

"Tis a tub o' water, mon,
no' a torture chamber."

"Too enclosed," Broc
managed.

Silence, then, "Ah. The
water closet—or bathroom, Beth calls it. Guess twould seem so to
you." Silence again, during which Broc's vision cleared a little
and his chills lessened. "Look, mon, you survived the journey here.
Ma first long ride in a car was no less scary. I didna chuck ma
innards, though."

"No' amusin'," Broc
growled.

"Weel...ye're right. Twasna
a pretty sight, no' to mention the smell." Lachlan's hand applied
more pressure. "The water is coolin', Broc."

Sucking in a shuddering
breath, Broc tightly closed his eyes. He opened them and forced
himself to focus. The tub before him shimmered, stilled, shimmered,
then beckoned.

"Steady, mon," Lachlan said,
supporting Broc's arm as he inched toward the tub. "Once ye're in,
the wee devils in yer mind will play elsewhere."

Broc lowered one foot into
the water. It's warmth embraced him, and he swung the other leg
over the porcelain rim.

"Steady," Lachlan repeated.
His hand fell away as Broc sank into the bath, his eyes closed once
again, his breathing more regular.

"Here's soap and a face
cloth. I dinna think Taryn will mind you usin' her shampoo. Tis for
the hair. Yer beard, too, if you've a mind."

Broc lifted his eyelids and
nodded.

"I've brought you a razor.
Tis on the sink."

"Razor?"

"Aye." Lachlan backed away
and perched on the closed toilet seat. "Taryn...ah...mentioned you
might want to remove yer beard."

Broc narrowed his eyes on
Lachlan, the man's mouth twitching with a poorly suppressed
grin.

"You are a sorry sight,"
Lachlan said.

Broc nodded. "Havena made a
good impression wi' the ithers," he grumbled. "Ye either,
aye?"

"I canna imagine yer life
afore," Lachlan said, serious, his eyes boring into Broc. "An' I
canna explain the feelin's o' mistrust tha' at times sparks atween
us."