Timeless (39 page)

A groan stifled by the pillow reached Regan as she tossed her belongings next to the door and rushed to join him.  She toed off her shoes and lay back against the luxurious bank of pillows. “What a year today has been.”

Quinn grunted in reply.

Regan rubbed her stomach where a rock of anxiety had settled, bordering on nausea. Her worry for herself was nothing compared to the grinding pressure she experienced when she thought of Quinn. He didn’t deserve any of the trouble she’d brought him. It had been her idea to visit the hypnotist, her idea to try and change things for Coira and Braden. If only she’d left him alone. He’d have never been dragged into this situation.

 Had it been her need to succeed that had driven her? Or was it really Coira’s need that had guided her?

The woman’s love for her husband and child had reached across eons.

With all they had both experienced—that was undeniable.

But had their relationship progressed because of their connection to the couple in the past? Or was it more than that?
It has to be more than that.

She turned on her side toward him, and fought the urge to touch him. The thick black hair at the back of his head lay in heavy waves and curls against his neck.  She longed to run her fingers through it.

Quinn turned his head and his green gaze moved over her features. “What is it, lass?”

Worry notched a crease between his brows and etched lines of stress around his mouth. Tenderness welled up inside her. He deserved better than she had given him, had brought to him.

She shook her head and slid her fingers through the curls that fell over his forehead, pushing them back. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his forehead, his cheek, his lips.

He turned, encouraging her touch. She traced the curve of his jaw, the coarse texture of his beard prickling her skin.

This opening of her senses and her heart had nothing to do with Coira, and everything to do with him.

Quinn sat up and in one smooth movement tugged his sweater over his head.  He tossed it into a nearby chair and drew her against him.

Regan rubbed her cheek against the hair on his chest, pressing close.

“I need to be skin-to-skin with you, lass.” His hand ran beneath her sweater and the camisole she wore beneath, drawing both layers up between them.

His deep husky voice rumbling beneath her ear sent a sensual tremor through her. Regan shimmied out of the garments, and he tossed them aside. Her breathing grew unsteady as his hand ran upward from her waist to her breast in a slow sweep. He cupped the tender flesh and bent his head to take the nipple in his mouth. Watching him, feeling the rough texture of his tongue caressing her so intimately, opened a well of guilt and regret.

He was the man she was meant to be with, no one else. Here was where she was meant to be, always. It didn’t matter how they had come together. Or why.
I have to believe that.

Regan ran a hand up the back of his neck and combed her fingers through his hair.

He raised his head to look down at her, and tears stung her eyes. This is what Coira had felt with Braden. These all-encompassing feelings of fear and hope blended with the need to protect. But these were her feelings, her experiences, and Quinn was her—

She had to find a way to protect him.

As he bent his head to kiss her, she pushed aside her thoughts, her fear for him, and concentrated on giving to him.

She ran her hands over the broad width of his back, drawing him down. Her lips parted against the eager thrust of his tongue. One kiss fed off the other, growing deeper, more demanding. Beneath the heady rush of desire the taut muscles of her abdomen relaxed. Her limbs grew weak.

Her fingers followed the hollow dip of his spine and traced the waistband of his pants.

She cupped the tented front of his jeans and paused to caress the firm ridge beneath the fabric. But when she reached for the zipper, Quinn jerked the button free and tugged it open. He cast his jeans and underwear aside on the floor. The hard length of him jutted forward and she ran her fingertips along his erection, caressing him.

Quinn’s lips found her ear, then the sensitive bend of her throat.  His mouth came back to hers even as his hands were busy dragging her jeans down. Regan wiggled free of them and shivered with anticipation. The brush of his body ignited the need to get closer. The muscled plan of his stomach caressed hers. His arousal brushed against her, tempting, teasing.

 She bent one knee across his hip, guiding him to the opening of her body. His groan of pleasure vibrated beneath the tangled thrust of their tongues and fed the ache of need that writhed between her thighs.

Quinn turned, bringing her beneath him. He entered her, his movements quick and compelling. With each hard thrust a drowning pleasure built within her.

Quinn guided her bent legs upward tilting her pelvis and bringing the direction of his movements deeper. Pressed as tightly into her as possible, he rocked gently.

Regan caught her breath at the intensity of the sensation, the depth of their intimacy.

Skin to skin, physically as close as they could get, she focused on Quinn’s face, and was once again overwhelmed by fear.
She would not lose him
.

Quinn rocked one more time and the intensity of her orgasm sent a wave of prickling heat racing down her body to her fingers and toes.

“Quinn—” his name broke from her like a sob.

She would not lose him
.

But even with the throb of his release echoing inside her, she couldn’t fight off the tormenting apprehension.  Something was going to happen.

*****

Quinn tugged the covers down a few moments later, and they slid naked beneath.  He drew Regan close against his side, and she rested her head within the hollow of his shoulder. Their physical intimacy had eased his anxiety for the moment. He ran his fingertips over her forearm.

In response, Regan caressed his chest, her touch both soothing and sensual.

“If we can help Coira and Braden, do you think they may be able to do the same for us?” he asked.

“If we can figure out a way to communicate with them, maybe.”

What if they repeated the mistakes of the past and they ended up being ripped apart as Coira and Braden had been? How were they supposed to know how to avoid them if they didn’t experience them in the past first? And how were they to learn about them?

And who were the different players?

Nathrach was Argus. His bird-like features and obsequious attitude had not changed in seven hundred years.

But who was Nicodemus?

And who the hell was Ross?

If they could find out who Ross was, perhaps they’d have the key to everything.

“We forgot to use a condom,” Regan’s voice, softened to a whisper dragged his attention back to the present.

“Aye, I know.” Quinn turned his head to press his lips to her forehead.  “I wanted no barriers between us.”

Wetness trailed across his chest and he turned to find her eyes tear-drenched.

“There aren’t, Quinn.”

He dried her face with the sheet. His thoughts were full of things he wanted to say, but couldn’t. He read the same uncertainty in Regan’s expression. “Aye, I know, lass. I know.”

*****

With the British Airways engines humming outside the window beside her, Reagan studied Quinn’s features. Worry etched its lines across his forehead even in sleep. She resisted the temptation to rub a fingertip across and wipe the frown away. It would wake him and after a restless night, he needed to rest.

An exhaustion-triggered tension headache beat at her temples, and she raised a hand to get a flight attendant’s attention. The woman sauntered down the aisle with practiced ease, even though the cabin bounced in a sudden patch of turbulence.

“Could I have some Tylenol or aspirin, please?”

“Of course.”

While she waited for the attendant to return, Regan focused on the copies sitting on the tray before her. She scanned the pages marked with pencil and read the phrases she’d translated. She sighed. It was going to take a year to finish this.

The flight attendant returned, and Regan murmured her thanks as she took the tablets and water bottle from her. She swallowed the pills and returned to her systematic search for any reference to Braden or Coira in the pages. The antiquated Latin often faded to chicken scratches. She caught herself nearly pressing her nose to the page and squinting to see the words. She needed to look at this on the computer, where she might be able to enhance the print.

Quinn’s breathing hitched, snagging her attention. She laid a hand on his arm to soothe him. As soon as they were back at the site, they’d hide out and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with their extra day’s stay.

She hoped.

Just the thought triggered a tight, nauseous feeling in her stomach. Whatever repercussions they faced, they’d done the right thing staying the extra day. She would find the secrets the journal held. But it would take time. She suppressed a groan of frustration. The niggling feeling of time running out made her itchy all over.

The aspirin took effect. The pain eased away, and with it the tension in her body. The monotone drone of the plane’s engines soothed her anxiety. With renewed determination, she leaned over the pages and continued to scan them for references to the henge or Coira and Braden.

*****

Water seeping into his clothing woke Quinn. The ground beneath him felt spongy with moisture. His jeans clung to his hip and thigh. His sweater wrapped around his arm and side like a wet towel. Panic shot a flood of adrenaline into his system, whipping his heart into wild beats. Had the plane crashed? Jesus, Regan! His ears buzzed. Her name tore from him as he lunged to his feet.

And staggered to one knee as he looked down on the henge.

A dream, it was only a dream. Thank God!

No, not a dream.

Blood rushed to his head, making him dizzy, and he braced his hands on the ground. Wheezing in air, he waited for his pulse to quiet and his ears to clear. Grief tumbled over him, paralyzing and painful.

He hadn’t lost her. She was fine. He was sitting right beside her. If he opened his eyes, she’d be asleep, or sorting through the pages of the journal they’d copied. If he could open his eyes—but how?

God, he was tired of being fucked with like this

Anger thrust him to his feet. He took in his surroundings. Dusk touched Mt. Slioch’s peak, etching its profile with a corona of light. He looked down at the site. No, not the site, no scaffolding ringed the circle. A clammy mist rolling, spectral and dense, down the loch came aground in billowing loops, thickening the air. It swirled around the bases of the monoliths. The heavy gray stones appeared like sentinels standing guard. Was it the loch they protected? Or was it Coira? Braden?

Damn it.

Where was Coira? Was she here?

Fuck this. Riding the crest of his anger, Quinn strode down the hill.

As he reached the outer edge of the circle, a prickling heat raced along his skin. He stopped. He’d experienced the sensation before, when he’d been trapped inside the energy field. And though it had healed his hand, it had almost cost him his life.

Wary, he eyed the posts and lintel closest to him. No light shone within the area they enclosed, no scene from another time transposed itself over the present.

A small glow from the center of the henge caught his attention as he edged closer.

The underground chamber. Was Coira there?

Every time he or Regan had a vision like this it revealed some small secret. But dream world or not, the journey was never without danger.

Would it be worth the risk? And if he didn’t follow through, would he miss something important? Was Coira manipulating him as she did Regan?

Thunder rumbled in the distance and his head jerked up. When the sound came again, anxiety lanced through him. What would his being here do to the plane? If his vision had the same strength as Regan’s—

His heart drummed against his ribs as though trying to escape. Fuck! There was no way out but to play Coira’s bloody game.

Every muscle tensed as he backed away to get a running start. As he broke into a run, lightning flashed overhead. He leapt between the stones.

*****

Finally, a reference to Braden and Coira. Excitement kicked her heart into a wild gallop. She leaned forward to reread the antiquated Latin and decipher its meaning. She swallowed to release the pressure in her ears.

The couple had disappeared after the huge earthquake that had broken away the knoll of ground separating the stones from the loch. Several clansmen had been lost as well. The short passage was ended with a brief prayer for the dead.

Shit! Why couldn’t Nathrach have expanded on the passage with a little more information? Braden would have never left Coira. He would have been searching for her. Had he been swept away during the earthquake, or had he been killed before?

A short passage a few pages later captured her attention. Several graves were constructed on Isle Maree. Was it there Braden had been laid to rest? Or had he gone on alone? 

Regan braced a hand against the edge of her tray table to hold her computer in place as the plane hit a violent patch of turbulence. The angry sound of the building storm penetrated the aircraft. The seatbelt sign flashed on and a high-pitched tone sounded.

The flight attendant paused on her way up the aisle.

“Please secure all personal belongings until we get through the rough patch, Miss.”

Regan nodded and closed her computer. She stowed it in her bag. She extracted the few pages of the journal with the information about Isle Maree and the loss of life to share with Quinn.

Checking on Quinn, she found him still deep asleep. She wanted to wake him to tell him what she had discovered. But he had to be close to exhaustion to be sleeping so soundly. She rose to secure her laptop case in the overhead bin.

The plane bucked and jerked. She grabbed the armrest to stay on her feet. The flight attendant rushed to help her. The woman made short work of shoving the bag in and closing the compartment.