by Lora Andrews
Ewen plucked the bottle from his crotch with a grin and held it out to her. “Nae bother.”
The amusement in his voice flamed her cheeks to a degree hotter than before.
“Thank you.” She drank and quickly re-capped the bottle.
“How can this be?” A vee formed between Ewen’s dark brows as he scanned the furnishings, the carpeting, and the plane’s construction. “In all my days, I could no’ imagine such…ingenuity and craftsmanship. Is this representative of your world?” A tiny scar sliced through the stubble on his chin. “Do all your people travel in machines such as this one and SUVs?”
Caitlin bit back a smile at his pronunciation of SUV. “Yes and no. SUVs are a type of car, a vehicle with four wheels and an engine. It’s the standard form of transportation for most people of this time. But we travel by plane when necessary, or trains and ships. All of these advances have been centuries in the making, Ewen. Everything you see progressed from an idea that was improved and built upon over time.”
Bright rays of sunlight bounced off the clouds. Ewen leaned back in his seat and loosened his tie further. He seemed too calm. If the roles were reversed and she had been the one sent back in time, she’d be freaking out and probably inciting a witch hunt.
“You’re handling this situation remarkably well.”
“Mayhap it is because I can only understand half of what I hear.”
Caitlin smiled. “Mayhap you’re right.”
“It doesna work with my eyes.” He touched a forefinger to the corner of one clear blue eye and winked. “Here, I’ve no such relief.”
“Do you believe him, Ewen?”
More than anything, she needed him to say “no.” To reach across the table, squeeze her hand, and tell her the words MacInnes had eloquently stated with such conviction were lies.
Blatant lies.
Lies that bred doubt in her gut every time she replayed MacInnes’s confession in her head.
The humor faded from Ewen’s face. He glanced over his shoulder. MacInnes hadn’t budged from his position at the front of the plane. He cradled his cellphone to his ear and accepted a paper Daniel handed him, lowering the sheet to the table without a hitch to his conversation or a shift in the unrelenting focus he funneled her way.
The other two guards sat across the aisle with Gary facing the back of the jet, showering her with his hostile attention. Or maybe it was the back of Ewen’s head. What difference did it make at this point? They were both being watched like mice in a cage.
Caitlin lowered her voice another notch. “Ewen, we…in this time, we don’t believe in magic. There are no time-altering stones. We have science. People we call scientists devote their entire lives to the study of this discipline, whether it be biology or quantum physics. Time-travel may one day be possible, maybe through specially built crafts, or the manipulation of worm holes or strings, but as of right now, it isn’t possible.”
“How do you explain what we both saw with our eyes? A man’s hand healed from a wound that should take months to mend if the fever dinna take his life first.”
Caitlin set her elbows on the table and clasped her hands beneath her chin. “An illusion, maybe? I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” She’d felt the energy in that room. It was no illusion.
Ewen moved the crystal glasses aside and leaned forward. “Lass, a man like MacInnes would no’ waste his time with the promise of no return. If this man seeks the Tempus Stone, then he truly believes in its power and your ability to locate his prize.”
“I don’t want to believe that, Ewen.” She cupped the side of her neck with her left hand, lowered her right arm to the table, and rubbed the smooth surface of the polished wood table with her forefinger. “He’s wrong about my grandmother. About me.” He had to be.
“Is he wrong about me, then?”
His words halted the circular movement of her finger against the wood grain. Her last defense—denial—crumbled beneath his logic.
“You do not believe in shifting through time, but how can you explain my presence here? I know Swene MacEwen, and that man who claims to be his son bears a resemblance to the bastard that canna be explained any other way.”
“He’s a threat to my family. I have to find a way to contact the authorities before he hurts them.”
“Caitlin, the man is no’ to be trusted. Promise me you will proceed with caution in all your dealings. Do not give him cause to rue your capture until I have a defense in place.”
Ewen slid his strong hand over hers. An electric jolt shot up her arm. Her thoughts ripped from her mind, replaced by a memory that was not hers to recall.
The vision unraveled. Ewen raced along a rural path, the horse sweating beneath his thighs. The wind whipped against his face. From the corner of his eye, several men burst through the tree cover with axes raised. Their savage roars rang in her ears.
An ambush.
Rage exploded in his chest. He jumped off his horse. A burning sensation lanced his side, and when he looked down, blood smeared his léine.
Caitlin snapped back into her seat with a shuddering gasp. The memory—his memory—had been so powerful. So real. She could almost feel the blood on her hands. She knew what would occur next. The woods. Her. MacInnes.
She raised a cold hand to her face in denial.
The visions were back. Oh god, they’re back.
Ewen slid his hand from the table. A shadow of emotion crossed his face. “Are you ill?”
“No.” She wanted to scream. She wasn’t sick. Just crazy. The characteristic weakness invaded her body, a weakness she had not felt in decades. Stealing memories would do that to a person. She released a bitter sigh.
His eyes bore into hers. “Caitlin, what ails you?”
She couldn’t ignore his question, but she didn’t have the heart to lie to him either.
He leaned his elbows flat against his thighs. His steepled fingers fell between his knees. “I’ll no’ lie to you, lass. Our circumstances are not ideal. You’ve reason for worry. But I’ll not turn my back on you. I offered you my protection, and I mean to keep it. You’ve my word.”
Her chest hurt. “I know.” She tried to focus on the sincerity of his words, but her mind kept swinging back to what she had seen, to the memory clogging her mind. “I’m sorry. I just…”
The vision might have been a fluke, a throwback to her youth, but the idea his touch could generate another episode scared the hell out of her.
“I just can’t stop thinking about how this all started,” she blurted, rubbing her hands against the leather armrest. The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. And after everything he had done to help her, including his offer of protection, she felt like a total fraud lying to him.
“Aye. I’ve no’ thought of much else,” he said.
She knew. She saw. Crazy didn’t begin to describe the feelings volleying within her.
“I need to use the restroom.” Without waiting for his response, she quickly rose to her feet and nearly ran the few steps to the lavatory. When she opened the door, dark wood lacquered walls greeted her. She grasped the white countertop, leaned over the glass bowl, and lifted her head. Puffy eyes stained with dark circles stared back at her. She splashed cold water on her face.
Time travel, kidnapping, and a mysterious stone were all too fantastic to be true, but she could almost wrap her mind around it until the added dash of ESP pushed her over the edge. And now she was a hot mess. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She should have recognized the flashes of sensation she’d felt at the warehouse for what they were. But freaking out in MacInnes’s lavishly appointed lavatory was not going to help her figure out a way to save her parents or herself. She dried her face and opened the door.
Ewen watched her as she approached. Concern quickly replaced the suspicion she’d seen in his eyes. She pushed her anxiety aside and slid into her seat, determined to stay in the present. She took a sip of water. A muscle ticked along his jaw.
“When I overtake the pilot
, can you drive this airplane?”
Water sprayed from her mouth across the table. “What?”
“You heard me. Can you operate this airplane?”
“You want to hijack the plane?”
“Watch yourself,” he warned.
Caitlin shifted her attention from Ewen’s lips to the man facing her at the front of the plane. MacInnes still observed them through hawk-like eyes.
“I can’t fly a plane, Ewen. It’s not like driving a car.”
“I lay siege now.” Ewen leaned forward, his face intense. “He will not sit as vulnerable outside this contraption as he does now with only three guardsmen by his side. I must strike now or lose an opportunity that will not find us anew.”
He couldn’t be serious. “What purpose will an attack serve if we crash into the ocean? Before, in my car, we were lucky. That won’t happen here. We crash. We die.”
She looked up in time to see Gary walking toward them and groaned an “oh no.”
“The boss wants to see you. Now, darlin’.”
It should have given her some satisfaction to note the bandage on the bridge of his nose, but instead, her stomach dropped.
Gary folded his arms across his chest.
Ewen sprang from his seat. Aggression emanated from every pore of his massive warrior body.
“Alone,” the guard said to her. “And reel the mutt in before I put it out of its misery.” He shot Ewen a murderous glare before returning to the front of the plane.
“You will not go alone.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s going to kill me, right? He needs me alive.” Taking a slow breath, she capped her bottle and stood. Her tortured toe chose that moment to scream bloody murder.
Ewen took a step to move with her.
“No.” As Caitlin shot a hand out to stop him, he leaned forward. Her palm flattened against his chest. Another jolt. Another memory rocked into her mind.
Ewen inside a stone-walled room. A cloaked woman stood before a heavy wooden door. “Twill be but a fortnight, I promise ye,” she whispered.
Ewen’s heartbeat accelerated at the sound of her voice. “Nay, Isobel. I will travel with you.”
“Shush.”
The woman turned slightly. Blond hair escaped her hood. “I must go before Father finds us. Trust me, love, I shall return.”
Wrenched back to reality, Caitlin worked to adjust her vision as the cabin whirled around her. She bent over with her hands on her knees and stabilized her breathing, pushing away the remnants of Ewen’s feelings—the helplessness of his past that now suffocated her in the present.
He rushed to help her but stopped short at the screeched “no” that flew from her lips.
“I’m okay, really,” she said, hoping to ease the alarm in his eyes. “I’m fine. I just got up too quickly.”
His response went unheard as she struggled to control the agonizing thoughts racing through her mind. Breathe one, two, three. Her therapy sessions had not prepared her for this. Exhale one, two, three, four, five.
Refocusing her thoughts, she stowed her runaway panic. She would not crumble and lose control, not now when her life depended on a clear head. She would bottle up the worry, the dread, and the fear and store it somewhere cool and dark until she could find the strength to confront it and see it for the gift it was meant to be.
Yeah, okay.
Until then, she’d have to embrace her denial. She had heaps of denial she could use to shield herself against Simon MacInnes and the craziness that seemed to follow him. Caitlin squared her shoulders, locked eyes with a psychopath, and walked straight into the devil’s lair.
TWELVE
Clad in the black Carolina Herrera dress Simon had specifically chosen for the occasion, Caitlin Reed marched up the narrow carpeted aisle like a woman about to face a death sentence. She masked the fear in those lovely eyes with courage or some other feeble emotion he had no desire to name. No, what sparked his curiosity was her volition and the kernel of defiance burning in her expression, so like her grandmother’s.
Perhaps she had misled them all with her boring ordinary façade.
Touché, Ms. Reed.
Her body stiffened at the sight of his guard. Of the three men, Gary Meyers affected her most. Simon flicked a hand to Daniel Cohen, signaling he disperse the men temporarily. Marcus DeGabriel slid into the cockpit. When Meyers refused to move, Cohen immediately ordered him to the back of the jet.
Interesting. Meyers was a scoundrel, yes, but if nothing else, the American’s violent tendencies were manageable. This subtle insubordination revealed a break in his conditioning. Reapplying the Protocol could fracture his mind. A pity. The man was one of his best assassins.
Caitlin sank into the chair with a stiff back and clasped her hands in her lap. A cut marred the pale skin above her left cheekbone. She threw a lock of her dark chestnut hair over her shoulder and casually examined the elegantly arranged china and silverware placed before her.
“Thank you for joining me.” Simon reeled in his anticipation and focused his attention on the woman before him. “I thought we might get to know one another. After all, we are family.” Cohen removed the silver domes from their plates and exited to the galley. “Please, enjoy your meal.”
His guest shifted in her seat and made no move to sample the fare.
“I assure you, Ms. Reed, I have no intention of poisoning you. Do you not eat meat?”
He cut into his steak, anticipating her reaction to the words he would speak next. “The Portuguese steak is quite delicious. Catered by a lovely restaurant in New Bedford—Antonio’s, I believe. Do you know it?”
Shock rolled across her lovely face.
Yes, my little lamb. I know it to be your favorite dish from your favorite restaurant. Simon kept his expression devoid of emotion and raised the fork to his mouth. The seasoned beef was no match for the play of emotions flushing Caitlin Reed’s pale face.
“Did you follow me there, too?”
Ah, the chase—his favorite part of the hunt—was underway. “Do you not believe in coincidence, Ms. Reed?”
Averting her yes, she shook her head and said, “No.”
Smart girl.
There were no coincidences in life. Although, it had been a stroke of luck that led him to Caitlin Reed. Imagine his surprise one rainy night when he had spied the carbon copy of Mariota MacEwen sitting alone inside Antonio’s. And then to follow her home and discover the old hag lived! Well, who was he to question fate?
Caitlin’s hands were no longer in her lap but tucked inside arms folded across her chest.
He set the silverware on his plate, slow and deliberate. “Shall we deal with the unpleasantries first? The hostility between us can serve no good purpose, don’t you agree? Besides, it would be a shame to waste this magnificent meal.”
“No good purpose? You’ve threatened my parents. You’re forcing me halfway around the world on some crazy notion—”
“Not crazy. You are mistaken in your conclusion. Surely, I’ve given you sufficient proof, have I not?”
She let out a sigh. “Fine. You’ve made your unreasonable demands very clear. I’ve already told you I’d cooperate.”
“Unreasonable?” He dabbed the cloth napkin to the edges of his mouth and leaned back into his chair. Perspiration coated her fair skin. She raised her hand to her forehead and brushed her temple. “Are you ill?” he asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure? You appeared a bit unsteady a moment ago. Perhaps a bit of chamomile or peppermint tea will help?”
“I’m fine.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure you are.” The smile he unleashed was sincere, but not for the reasons she would imagine. When the Refiçío had flared unusually bright in her presence, his senses had zinged. Even now, wrapped in its protective covering, the stone burned his leg, humming in his pocket as if it had sprung to life. A complete contrast to the dull shimmer and cold feel of the stone pre-Caitlin Reed.
&
nbsp; Likewise, at the warehouse, she’d been affected by the Refiçío’s proximity, the same effect now producing the sheen to her skin and draining the pale color from her face.
How very interesting. This woman had no idea she could detect the magic of the stone. Of course, his assumption would merit additional experimentation to ascertain her gift, but as the mortals of this world were apt to say, good things came to those who waited.
Or some such rubbish.
Forty years he had waited, and finally the discovery of the Tempus was within his reach. She would locate his stone, and if she didn’t, then she’d be instrumental in launching his plan B.
He caught the slight shudder of her body as she stiffened her spine against his scrutiny. “I give you leave to speak your mind freely without repercussion. Unless, of course, you are coming around to my way of thinking? Could that be the case, Ms. Reed?”
When her mouth twitched, Simon almost laughed aloud. She paused and measured her words, and he waited, playing the role of the cultured gentleman to perfection while savoring every moment of her unease.
“I’m not coming around to your way of thinking. Beyond the possibility this stone even exists, you gave me no evidence to support its location is in Scotland. This is a wild goose chase. You’re setting me up to fail. So, yeah, I find your demands unreasonable.”
With her arms folded across her chest once more, she sat stiffer than a rod with her lips pursed.
Ah, yes, not so timid after all. This was the most fun he’d had in decades. Simon licked his lips and leaned forward. “That is where you are wrong, my dear. Mariota all but pointed her finger to the stone’s location.”
“If that’s the case, then why would you go through the trouble of ransacking my house and kidnapping me if you already knew where to find this thing?”
“Why indeed, Ms. Reed? Do you fancy me the type of man who would waste his time pursuing a dead lead?”
She eyed him warily, but did not say a word.
Where to begin the story? For if he told the truth of how he had intercepted her grandmother’s letter, the lovely Ms. Reed would run screaming from his presence. And that would put a nasty kink in his plans.