Time Everlastin' Book 5

by Mickee Madden

  A river perhaps?

  She walked to the edge of the path and peered down. Tiny specks of light were visible in the otherwise blackness.

  "Where the hell am I?" she murmured.

  Her gaze crept upward to where columns and some stalagmite peaks vanished into menacing patches of darkness. Taryn shivered uncontrollably, not from cold because the air was surprisingly comfortable, but from the vastness of this underworld. For the first time in her life, she truly felt inconsequential.

  "Hello! I want my clothes back! Hey, barbarian, do you hear me?"

  Silence but for her echoing words.

  Her knapsack came to mind. She hadn't packed a clean set of clothes, but she did have a small revolver hidden in one of the inner pockets.

  Releasing a breath out one side of her mouth, she forced her legs to carry her along the rock and dirt floor of the pathway and past the small blue pool ten feet from the opening of her chamber. Minutes on, she quickened her pace, her gaze darting in every direction, her ears keened to detect the slightest sound, of which there was none but for those she made, and the distant rippling of flowing water.

  The path gradually merged onto an enormous plateau predominately lit by the mysterious blueness. At first glance, she thought she had entered an ice cavern, but the magnificent formations bordering her on two sides, at closer inspection, were radiating fibrous crystals of natrolite.

  Her boss' wife, Jaclyn, was a crystal enthusiast with a renowned collection from around the world. Taryn remembered admiring this particular type of crystal, and was sure Jaclyn said it came from Bolzano, Italy.

  Meandering across the landscape, she came to another breath-robbing view. A stalactitic grotto lit with pockets of white-green glowing moss. The water trickling through the roof deposited limestone, creating over the years, stalactites. The water dripping from these formed corresponding stalagmites on the floor. From her vantage point, the scene resembled monstrous teeth, and she decided not to chance walking through the grotto in her bare feet.

  Circumventing the grotto, she happened along another path, wider than the one near her chamber and with a steeper descent. Nearly two hundred paces later, she came to another plateau and spied a golden glow at the end of a long, narrow tunnel. She ran toward it, her heart racing with anticipation. The light appeared to be that of natural sunlight, giving her the hope she had found an exit. But that hope was dashed when she burst into another massive, high-vaulted room.

  Indeed, the light had the feel and look of natural sunlight, but the beams angled down from rock far above. She squinted hard to see the objects emitting the rays, but all she could make out was something lurking high in the shadows.

  Something large and winged.

  Something her mind couldn't accept.

  Sunlight can't pass through rock, and yet....

  A chill smacked her spine and she spun on a heel to face the direction she'd come. A fiery liquid replaced the blood in her veins, and the muscles in her legs seemed to turn to gelatin. It was all she could do to stand. While he advanced into the chamber, she clutched the frond against her like a temple virgin confronting a demon god.

  He was not a pretty sight. She hadn't thought he could look more unkempt or surly, but he did, as if he had been dragged through oil and tar pits on his way to hurricane-force winds. His shoulders were slumped, not in despair but distinctly that of a Neanderthal predator. And his body odor was an entity unto itself.

  "Where are my clothes?" she said, her authoritative tone surprising her.

  His gaze remained fixed on her eyes.

  "Did you eat them?" she asked heatedly. "I know you sure as hell didn't use them for wash rags!"

  His gaze remained fixed on her eyes.

  "There are laws against walking sewers!" she spat, her anger dousing any remnant of fear. "Laws of nature!"

  His gaze remained fixed on her eyes.

  Forcing a breath through her constricted throat, Taryn thrust back her shoulders.

  Breathe. That's it...breathe.

  "I'm not afraid of you!" she shouted. "I don't know how we survived that fall, but I do know I'm not afraid of you!"

  His gaze remained fixed on her eyes.

  Taryn moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. "You're pathetic," she charged, frustration quivering through her. "You're not a man. You're a festering zit on the face of mankind!"

  His gaze remained fixed on her eyes.

  "I'm tired of playing this game, mister. I want my clothes, and I want out of this whatever-the-hell you call this place!" Keeping one arm braced across the concealing frond, she jabbed an index finger in his direction. "You don't know me, mister. I don't cower to intimidation, and I certainly don't respond well to being cornered. Your big hands and cliff-sized shoulders aren't going to stop me from doing you bodily harm. And you know what?" She offered a saccharin smile. "You won't even know what hit you until it's too late. I'm that good—or that bad, depending on your point of reference."

  His gaze remained fixed on her eyes.

  Anger raged behind Taryn's breast. "Fine. Why don't we just get this showdown over with, huh? You come to me, and I'll demonstrate what the fastest knee in the States can do for you." She gestured for him to come forward. "C'mon, you hairy abomination. Come to mama."

  His gaze remained fixed on her eyes.

  "I want my clothes," she said with surprising calm, "and I want my freedom. I'm not opposed to stomping over you to get either." She dropped the frond and said seductively, "Come and not get what you think, big guy."

  His gaze remained fixed on her eyes.

  Taryn was dumbstruck. With the exception of Lachlan Baird, no man had ever resisted her body, especially when she delivered an open invitation as she was now.

  "Are you brain dead?"

  His gaze remained fixed on her eyes.

  "You sonofabitch!" she hissed, retrieved the frond and held it against her. Heat stung her cheeks as she glared into his unemotional stare. "Of course you don't have a sex drive! It probably rotted away beneath that filth you wear!" She sucked in another breath and forced herself to calm. "I want my clothes. Do you hear me? I want my clothes! I'll find my own way out of this hellhole, but I'm not going anywhere without my things! Do you hear me?"

  "I'm no' deaf," he said in a thick Scottish accent, his deep voice rumbling. "And I'll no' have ye despair the womb wha' brought me life."

  It was several seconds before Taryn's shock permitted her to speak. "All this time...."

  "The ither has your clothes. Vent yer spleen on him."

  "There's someone else down here?" she asked shrilly.

  The stranger turned and brusquely walked away. Taryn dashed after him, dogging his wake.

  "Who is he? Can he let me out of here? Does he have my clothes? Where's my knapsack? Where can I find hi—"

  She braked and swallowed her last question when he swiftly bolted around and faced her. His livid countenance swam before her eyes, and she backed away two paces.

  "Gawd, womon, have ye no respect for a mon's sanity?"

  "What?" she gasped.

  "Aye, I've understood yer every word, and aye I chose no' to waste ma breath talkin' to ye! But I warn ye fair now, womon, I've no' wanted to silence yer foul mouth mair'n I do now! Take heed and crawl off to yer room, lest I decide to vent ma spleen on ye!"

  Again, he stormed off. This time, Taryn hesitated before following.

  "Why are you holding me prisoner?" she cried, furious.

  Again, he stopped and turned on her with a speed that reeled her senses. "We both be prisoners!" Lifting a fist head-high, he shook it, and released a heated stream of Gaelic to the darkness above. When his eyes lowered to her face, she read such madness in them, she nearly ran, but something compelled her to hold her ground.

  "Tell me," he said scathingly, "wha' induces a womon to whore for him?"

  Taryn jerked back as if struck. "Whoring? Who the hell do you think you are? And who is this him? Look, you moron, I
came in search of answers. Any whoring is a figment of your delusional imagination!"

  "Och, aye. Twas ma imagination ye shamed yerself back there, in hopes o' tyin' ma testicles in a wee knot, aye?"

  He raked his gaze over her trembling form as if she were no better than a bit of discarded meat. "Ye no' only be a foreigner but no mair a seductress than a bloody rock. Spare me yer indignation and yer—"

  Her fist swung out. By the way he reeled back, both pain and surprise had caught him unawares. Pain sliced through Taryn's hand, and she worked the fingers as she cautiously stepped back. Straightening, he first looked wary. Then, a mask of rage slid over his features.

  Taryn had no idea where she was running to, only that she was putting as much distance between herself and the barbarian as she could. Infuriating a madman was not one of her smarter moves, but she hadn't realized that she was going to strike him until it was too late.

  Late as in...contact.

  The hand throbbed, and the soles of her feet were tender from pounding rock and dirt.

  She heard a snorting sound behind her. He was chasing her, probably with the intent of finishing what the fall should have and didn't. Blueness vied for her attention. Ahead a short distance was a large quartz pool at the base of a wall. Without hesitation, she dove in. The water was cool but tolerable. The frond long forgotten, she surfaced and found the barbarian standing at the edge, his hands on his hips and his eyes glaring daggers at her.

  "Come ou' o' there!"

  Taryn swam to the wall and braced her back to it, paddling her legs to keep afloat. A good seventeen feet separated them. It was enough. The seemingly bottomless pool was her only sanctuary.

  "I demand ye to come ou'!"

  "Come in and get me," she said merrily, although her pulse raced. "Ah, but you won't, will you? By the looks and smell of you, you haven't touched water in God knows how long."

  Amidst his beard and mustache, one corner of his mouth turned up. A chill of apprehension coursed through her as he lowered himself to a sitting position.

  "Dinna ye know?" he laughed low. "I have all the time in the world. Ask him?"

  "Who is he?"

  "The him?" The barbarian lifted his shoulders in a mocking show of indifference. "Who's to say. No' ye. Certainly no' me."

  "I liked it better when you didn't talk!" Taryn snapped.

  He stroked his beard. "No doubt. I told ye to get away. Fegs, I told ye I wanted no whore."

  "I'm not a whore!"

  "Wha' are ye then?" he snarled. "Ye and the ithers are sport for him. He uses ye all to punish me!"

  "You're insane," Taryn murmured.

  "Aye, and wi' bloody good reason." He gestured to the water between them. "Come ou'. I'm in no mood for anymair o' yer games."

  "This isn't a game!"

  Black eyebrows lifted in cynical amusement. "Ye're a player nonetheless. He'll no' let ye leave till I've had ye and he believes yer leavin' will pain me."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Ye know bloody weel."

  "If I did I wouldn't be asking! Look, I came to the standing stones in search of answers!"

  "Wha' kind o' answers?"

  "That's none of your business."

  His nostrils flared, and his eyebrows drew down, hooding his eyes. "Suit yersel. But the only way I'll get ye ou' o' ma way is to bed ye proper, then pretend I care mair'n a wit abou' ye. I canna talk plainer than tha'."

  "Go to hell," she breathed.

  "Am here," he said wryly. "Now, come. Yer presence here offends me. As soon as we be done doin' wha' he wants o' us, the sooner ye return above."

  "If I...have sex with you....I'm set free?"

  He nodded impatiently.

  "We have a problem, though."

  "Only one?" he said mockingly. "Tell me."

  "I'd rather suck slug slime than let you touch me!"

  "Definitely a big problem."

  "Take a bath!"

  "Tis against ma principles."

  "Water is against your principles?" she asked, astounded.

  "Aye."

  "Then I guess we'll see who wins out."

  "Meanin'?"

  "Offending you has just become my first priority."

  "Ye do offend me."

  "Jerk."

  To her dismay, he stretched out alongside the pool, his arms pillowed beneath his head, his ankles crossed. "Ye canna stay in there forever."

  "Maybe you'll suffocate on your own stench!"

  His head turned and his gaze found hers. "Maybe ye will. I'm used to it."

  He straightened his head and closed his eyes. "I can be a patient mon when need be."

  Taryn eased across half the pool then sliced a hand along the surface, forming a wave to cascade on him. No sooner did the water touch him, he was on his feet, sputtering and glowering at her. She laughed, but it soon died when a wave of dense odor crashed down on her.

  "My...God! A wet dead dog smells better than you!"

  He flashed white teeth in a parody of a smile. "Ye will pay for gettin' me wet."

  "I am paying already," she grumbled. "Go away!"

  He bowed at the waist, straightened, and offered a mock salute. "As ye wish," he said, and headed back in the direction he'd come.

  When he disappeared into one of the tunnels, Taryn dog-paddled to the edge and pulled herself up onto the rocks.

  She swiped a palm down her face, muttering, "Great. Now what do I do?"

  A soft, melodic hum drifted from one of the tunnels. For all she knew, the barbarian could have back-tracked and was waiting to snare her. She had no idea where she was, nor how to find her knapsack. This subterranean nightmare could take years to search. Once she had the gun, the stranger would show her the way out, or she would start shooting off his toes. The latter would slow his pursuit.

  As she made her way through one tunnel after another, the humming now a strong beacon guiding her, she tried not to dwell on the fact that she was as naked as the day she was born. She'd always thought herself uninhibited.

  Until now.

  It was most disconcerting not to hide behind the cover of clothing.

  Two men trapped down here, and one wanted to watch the other in the act?

  Kinky.

  Not her kind of kinky, either.

  A warm golden glow routed her to a specific cave where the humming was most prevalent. Although liquid-sounding, the melody was as sweet as if crooned from the throat of a nightingale. She cautiously crossed the threshold. The air was much cooler in this chamber, but this was not the cause of her intense shivering. It was the incredible beauty of the room that left her breathless and quaking in awe.

  Seemingly endless quartz and crystal columns rose into a dark awning speckled with dully glowing purple, green, gold, blue and red stars, the pattern distinctly that of a constellation. Not one she could identify, although it was vaguely familiar. The walls were chiseled scenes of bygone centuries. A long altar stood before a flat, standing stone, its facade depicting runes. Various marble statues of standing, crouching and sitting gargoyles were scattered about, several around a massive pool illuminated with golden light.

  As she walked further into the cavern, she realized that the humming had stopped. Her arms were crossed against her breasts, her hands rubbing the goose-fleshed skin to elicit some warmth.

  "Incredible," she breathed, her eyes unable to take in everything quickly enough to satisfy her.

  By the flat, standing rune slab of the altar, a greenish mist arose from the ground. It coiled and pampered the offering site, caressing in such a manner that Taryn likened the phenomenon to human hands displaying reverence to something sacred.

  Taryn walked to one of the columns by the altar. The stone was also intricately chiseled with countless gargoyle faces and runes. She hesitantly touched one of the visages and jumped back when a tingling sensation swept through her fingers, across her hand and up her arm. When it reached her breast, heat bled beneath the skin then swiftly van
ished.

  The MacLachlan dirk popped into her thoughts, startling her more than her experience with the column. She clearly saw the infamous weapon on her mindscreen. It lay innocuously hidden in the secret panel at the bottom of her knapsack. Tiny winking starbursts were visible on the blade although no light penetrated its temporary tomb.

  Again she rubbed her arms for warmth.

  Why think of the dirk now?

  The face carvings on the column appeared to shift. Was it her imagination or were they watching her?

  A thought made her expel a breath of relief.

  Of course! The dirk's handle is carved with gargoyles, too.

  Twice the damn thing had killed Lachlan. Was the dirk cursed?

  If not for me, Roan, I would think you would come for the dirk.

  An uncomfortable twinge fluttered in her heart. She shrugged it off. Hoping for the cavalry to come to her rescue was ludicrous. If there was a way out, she would have to uncover it herself.

  To avoid dwelling on her predicament, she approached another wall carved with scenes of winged creatures—gargoyles—erecting massive standing stones. She blinked in bewilderment when the entirety of the work registered.

  The Callanish Standing Stones.

  The crown of her prison.

  Moving deeper into the room to another scene, she studied it briefly before identifying it as Stonehenge, this, too, depicting gargoyles at work.

  "Gargoyles," she murmured, walking on. "This can't be a coincidence." Gargoyles on the handle of the dirk and on these columns and walls. Did a race once worship these creatures?

  Something moved in the outer corner of her left eye. She cast the altar a furtive glance. The green mist had become thicker, twisting into various ribbons as if disturbed by shifting currents of air. Drawing in her shoulders, she backed up. The ends of her wet hair tickled the upper curvature of her buttocks. Her gaze remained riveted on the mist, trepidation a nest of squiggling worms in her belly.

  She bumped into something solid and glanced over her shoulder to see a boulder at her back. Warmth emanated from its surface and she cozied against it. For several minutes, she allowed the back of her to bask in the heat then turned to take the chill off her front.