Timeless

by Teresa Reasor

  Behind her glasses, Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “He sent Argus because he wanted to be sure to get a look at Regan’s drawings and notes first thing instead of asking Dr. Fraser to give them to him. Wonder what he’s got up his sleeve?”

  Hearing Hannah voice her suspicion made it easier for Regan to state her own. “I don’t know, but I don’t trust it. As much as I’m thrilled to have a computer—“ She shook her head. “When it looks too good to be true, it usually is. There’s got to be a catch.”

  “I know what it is.” Sheary leaned against the corner leading into the hallway.

  “Well?” Helen asked.

  “Argus is a vampire, and we’ve opened the door to being attacked in our sleep because we invited him in.”

  Regan and Hannah groaned. Helen threw a pillow at her.

  Sheary batted it away, and it bounced onto the couch then off into the floor. “Well, he does always dress in black and resemble a bat, doesn’t he?” She picked up the pillow, and as she straightened, focused on Regan, her expression serious. “Watch your back Regan. Nobody does anything for anyone for nothin’. Especially men.”

  Sheary’s unexpected cynicism intensified Regan’s anxiety. “They don’t offer you politics one-o-one when you train to be an archaeologist. I want to be in the thick of things on the dig, not singled out by, or dropped into political quicksand with someone like Nicodemus.” She drew a deep breath.

  What would Quinn think? What would he suggest she do? What could she do but continue to do her job?

  “Relax, Regan. It could be as small a thing as him wanting to use your drawings to drum up publicity later on,” Hannah said, in an obvious attempt to comfort her.

  “I hope so.” She ran fingers through her hair and flinched as the muscles in her shoulders protested. If she had accidentally included something on the drawings or notes… “Now that I’m completely freaked out, I’m going to bed.”

  Her shoulders ached from reaching up all day. She swallowed a couple of ibuprofen and set up the laptop. It booted up faster than her old machine. Her hand shook as she plugged her flash drive into the port and opened the files she’d given Dr. Fraser.

  She scanned each drawing and read through every note. They were clean. Perhaps Hannah was right and Nicodemus wanted a drawn record of the site as it progressed for advertising purposes.

  She got ready for bed and slid beneath the covers. As she stared at the ceiling, a persistent niggling claustrophobia attacked her. She was in over her head. If only Quinn were here to talk to.

  She shivered and rolled onto her side. Curling into a ball, she folded her arms against her. It was so hard to admit that she needed anyone. She was too used to making her own way. Striving to do a good job. Working to make her parents proud.

  Why was she so driven to do that? To prove she was worthy of love?

  Had Coira had the same drive? Or had she just had the conviction of her faith? The conviction that she was there to heal her people.

  What had that conviction cost her? Braden? Her child?

  Regan flinched from the thought. She had experienced Coira’s fear, her love, and experienced the passion they shared. Braden’s concern for her had been sincere. Braden wouldn’t have left her, or she him.

  Why did she feel she had to figure this out? What did she have to gain from it?

  For a long time she pondered the questions.

  The physical and emotional connection she had to the woman was what drove her. Though she didn’t know it—she had no physical proof—Coira felt like family.

  Could that be why Coira had reached out to her? But what was it she expected her to do?

  With a groan she turned her face into the pillow. She had worked her way back to where she’d started. The only way to find out was to go to Edinburgh and see if they could uncover some reference to the couple in any texts at the library. That could take days, weeks, months, and years. And she’d only have a few days. What could she do to expedite things? An idea sent goose bumps chasing across her skin and she shivered. Quinn would be with her. She could do it.

  She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

  *****

  Mist rolled in off the water and shrouded the lower half of the stones. The lintels perched atop them appeared as a bridge that crossed the mist. They had proven in the past few days they crossed other things as well.

  He hated them, hated the calling they represented to Coira. He continued on down the dirt path. It widened and he quickened his pace as he heard voices from below.

  “’Tis a pagan ritual you are doing. ‘Tis blasphemy.”

  Coira’s voice, higher pitched than the other, traveled easier to him. “Are priests the only one who can pray, then? I’ve done nothing different from you, Nathrach MacLeod.”

  “But to do it in such a place— In front of such an altar. Do you fashion yourself a priestess?“

  “Nay. Never! Do I testify to your flock in any way, Father? Do I heal their hurts and give praise to anyone but God?”

  Fear raced through Braden, capturing his breath and making the simple act of drawing air into his lungs difficult. He lengthened his strides. The mist parted to reveal Coira and the priest facing each other across the stone altar. What had he witnessed? What had she been doing?

  “It is just a place.” She thrust her hand upward followed the circle with a gesture that had the priest flinching. “Is the world not God’s temple? Is he not everywhere we walk and breathe?”

  “Aye, but this is a pagan place. Possibly filled with evil,” Nathrach said, his voice trembling.

  “The only evil I have ever witnessed comes from man, Priest.” Braden spoke as he closed the distance between them. He folded his arms and looked about the circle. “What evil can a rock do lest it be thrown by a man?”

  “Do you not feel uneasy here?” Nathrach asked.

  Braden leaned close to look into the man’s face. “They are stones made by God, fashioned by man, for what purpose we may never know. So, nay, Father, I feel no uneasiness. Are there any instances in the Bible where a place may be evil unto itself?”

  Nathrach straightened and raised his chin. “Sodom and Gomorrah.”

  “Was it not the people God destroyed there because of their sinfulness?” Coira asked, her voice soft. “Could he not have used the stone cities as his weapon to do it?”

  The priest’s bird-like black eyes were swallowed by shadows and impossible for Braden to read their expression.

  “You know God’s word?” Nathrach asked, his tone surprised.

  “I do not worship with you, but it does not make me a heathen, Father. Nor anything else.”

  In the moonlight reflected from the stones surrounding them, Nathrach’s features appeared skeletal. Braden shivered. The man represented more of a threat than any other force he’d experienced here? Should his ignorant superstitions overtake him—

  “Why will you not worship with us?” Nathrach asked, his tone a challenge.

  “Mayhap we do not need guilt, or the threat of damnation heaped upon us, to do what is right for our people, Priest,” Braden answered. “Everything Coira and I do is for their benefit.”

  Nathrach’s jaw jutted forward. “You would look to doing it for the benefit of God as well.”

  When priests start discussing the benefits owed to God, ‘twas usually tied to a purse for themselves. Was it money the man was after then? Anger tightened Braden’s jaw and quashed his uneasiness. “What has brought you to us this night?”

  “I thought to, one last time, urge you to join your clan in worship.”

  Braden bit back an impatient oath as Coira’s soft breast brushed his arm and she leaned against his side. Her hand closed about his and gave it a warning squeeze.

  “We will discuss it, Father,” she said. “Perhaps a small tithe to show our fealty to God and the church would suffice until we make a decision.”

  He bowed his head, in a show of humility. “A small donation would be a start.”


  Braden removed a purse from his belt and tossed it on the altar.

  Nathrach caught his breath, his gaze focusing on the bag. After a long pause, he reached for it with such fearful haste Braden grinned in amusement.

  “Did you think something might reach through the stone and take it from you, holy man?” Braden asked. “Is your faith not stronger than rumor and superstition?”

  The purse disappeared into the folds of Nathrach’s clothing. “How strong is your faith, Braden?”

  “I have stayed the course during battle and faced hell on earth, and I remain here. I’m standing here without fear, as well, Priest. Can you say the same?”

  Nathrach remained silent.

  “Mayhap your next visit should be in daylight and announced beforehand.”

  “Aye, m’lord,” he bowed. “I wish you both well.”

  “As we do you, Father,” Coira said.

  Coira’s fingers dug into his arm as they watched the priest disappear down the path and into the mist. “By challenging his faith you will only provoke him, Braden.”

  “He will never admit that his faith is weaker than his fear, or that his greed is more than both.”

  “Quinn wake up. Open your eyes, you dog faced wanker.”

  Through narrowed eyes, still heavy with sleep, Quinn stared up at Struthers. He raised a hand to his arm where Coira’s breast had pressed. He could feel her warmth still lingering there. She had been there. He had been there. Groggy and disoriented, he rubbed a hand over his face. “What is it?”

  “Your girl is on the com.”

  His girl. Sleep dissipated instantly. He focused on Struthers’s frowning, unshaven face. “Is she all right?”

  “Get up and ask her yourself. I’m going back to bed for another twenty minutes.”

  Quinn raised his arm and glanced at his wrist. Five after seven. He swung out from under the edge of the bunk above him and grasped the COM receiver Struthers handed him.

  “Aye, hello, Regan,” he said.

  “Hey.” She paused. “I’m sorry I got you out of bed.”

  Her voice so much like Coira’s in tone, held none of her Scottish brogue. It still grabbed him inside and gave him a shake. “It’s all right. Is something wrong?”

  “Argus showed up at the cabin last night. He brought Hannah and me new computers.”

  He had missed something. “Why new computers?”

  “There was a break in the other night. Someone stole our computers.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Concern sharpened his tone. What was he going to do about it in here? “Never mind.” Quinn tamped down his irritation. Regan was smart she could take care of herself. He hoped. “Were they the only things taken?”

  “Yes. They’re the only things worth taking, other than the television of course. The police think it was only one person because he took small things he could carry.”

  “The four of you are sticking together, aren’t you? There’s safety in numbers.”

  “Yes, we’re traveling in pairs. Watching each other’s backs. Stuff like this happens a lot on digs, so we know the drill.”

  There was more. He could hear the tension in her voice. “But?”

  “Argus gave me instructions. I’m to forward all my notes and the drawings I do of the stones directly to Nicodemus, before I turn them into Dr. Fraser.” She drew a deep breath. “When I say it out loud to you, it doesn’t sound as – I’m just a little hyper-sensitive.”

  Quinn’s mind raced. “You’ve attracted his attention. Your ability has drawn his interest.” He remained silent a moment. “It’s one of two things. He’s thinking of a way to use you. Or he’s been so impressed by your drive he’s planning on keep an eye on your progress for future projects. He hasn’t approached you directly?”

  “No, just Argus.”

  Just Argus. The fear Braden had felt for Coira raced back to bite him. “Stay away from Argus, Regan. He may have his own agenda.”

  “All right. How are you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  The velvety softness of her voice grabbed him right by the libido and he grew hard. “Aye, but ‘twill have to wait until I’m out of this tin can.”

  She laughed. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Sheary said you have phone sex here in the UK.”

  Surprise warred with temptation. If they weren’t being taped—Hell, if they even had some privacy. “You need to stop running about with her. She’s not a good influence.”

  Regan laughed again. “This coming from a man who hangs out with Salvage Divers.” He heard a whoop of laughter from one of the team in the control van. “I’ve heard how you guys talk when you think there aren’t any women around. Besides, I get the idea that she’s more talk than action. I know your brother hasn’t gotten as far as he’d like.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “From the feverish look he has in his eyes every time he picks her up.”

  Rob’s protest sounded muffled in the background.

  Quinn smiled. “If she’s putting up a fight with Rob, my faith has been restored in womankind.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so. You’ll be careful,” she said, her tone turning serious.

  “Always, Lass.”

  Her voice dropped back to a whisper. “Quinn—This is like—I feel like I’ve been thrown into the deep end of the pool without a life preserver, and I’m learning to swim all over again. It’s been hard for me to let anyone truly close.”

  “Aye, for me, too. Having the choice taken out of our hands has confused things a wee bit, eh?”

  “Yes. But it’s growing clearer for me now.”

  A slow smile slid across his face as his pulse leapt. “’Tis my larger than life personality that’s impressed you, then.”

  “I’m reserving final judgment until I see the whole package.”

  Her soft breathy tone had him growing hard as the monoliths outside his window. He laughed to keep from groaning. “I’ll see if you’re still so bold when I’m not trapped inside this thing any longer.”

  “I suppose we both will.” She hesitated as though wanting to say more. “Stay safe.”

  “You do the same, lass.”

  As he hung up the receiver, he turned to gaze out toward the bow of the boat. Regan paused and glanced back at the SAT modules and, seeing him looking out, smiled and raised a hand. He placed his palm against the porthole in return. She climbed down into a small aluminum Johnboat to return to the dock.

  As he rolled back into his bunk, the cramped chamber resounded with the sound of air kisses from his two bunk mates. He laughed. “Sod off, the both of you.”

  CHAPTER 21

  As they moved through the line at the canteen, affectionately dubbed the Bait Bucket, Regan chose grilled salmon to go with her eggs, one of the cook’s specialties. “I don’t know that I’ve ever eaten fish for breakfast before I came here,” She said to Hannah as they waited to pay for their meal. “No, I take that back. I did try lox once with bagels. That must be an acquired taste, because I wasn’t really impressed.”

  Hannah smiled. “You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten eel porridge.”

  The idea of any kind of water snake cooked with oats popped into Regan’s head, and her stomach started doing weird jumping jacks that promised a quick return.

  Hannah’s laughed. “I was just teasing. Don’t think about it.”

  “That was easier done before you planted that picture in my head.” Regan handed her money to the cashier and turned to scan the tables for the rest of the students.

  Rick rose from a table against the back wall and gave a wave.

  “How are the new computers working out?” he asked as Regan and Hannah took a seat at the table with their trays.

  “Very nicely, much faster than my old machine,” Hannah answered.

  “It really sucks that they were stolen. You get used to a machine, adjust to all its idiosyncras
ies, get all the software installed you like, and then some asshole takes it,” Henry said.

  Regan laughed at his woeful tone. “It sounds as though you’ve been there.”

  “Yeah, a couple of times, and it sucks.”

  “Yeah, I have to say it does. But it’s wonderful having a replacement. I thought we’d go the rest of the summer using one of the office computers.”

  “That would have been an inconvenience. I like to email my family every day. I promised my mutter I would,” Stephen said.

  Rick groaned. “Oh man, you’re not supposed to admit that, dude.”

  Regan caught Hannah’s eye and smiled.

  “I find a man who emails his mother every day rather endearing,” Helen said from the end of the table. “That’s very considerate, Stephen.”

  His grin flashed deep dimples in each cheek. “She likes to know I am safe and doing well.”

  “As do everyone’s,” Regan said. “I emailed my family this morning. They weren’t as nervous about this trip as some of the others I’ve done. This dig is pretty tame, and we’re using saturation divers to do some of the more dangerous things.”

  “In comparison to—?” Henry asked.

  “Two hundred thirty foot dives in the open ocean.”

  “I’ll agree with that,” he nodded.

  “Wonder why we don’t train for SAT dives? Then we could do all the work,” Rick said. “I could really get into being able to spend more than fifteen minutes bottom time. And all the decompression would be done at once.”

  “I’ll agree with that,” Henry agreed. “Imagine all the bottom time you’d have. Imagine all you could accomplish. But the cost would be astronomical, and the chances that we’ll ever work on a dig like this one again are just as slim.” He popped one of the fried potatoes, called chips, into his mouth with his fingers.

  “There are quite a few archaeologists here who do hard hat diving. If you’re on any kind of deep archaeological dive they insist on it,” Hannah said as she cut her grilled salmon into bite-sized pieces with her fork.

  Regan’s brows shot up. She quickly swallowed a bite of toast. “Have you done the training?”