Time Bound

by Lora Andrews

  She looked all of sixteen.

  “Get. Off. Her.” Caitlin’s voice boomed in the darkened hallway, shocking her with its strength.

  The man turned his head. Gary had ripped the bandage off his nose, but the area was swollen. Dark purple splotches had spread beneath his steely blue eyes. Unlike the clear blue of Ewen’s, Gary’s eyes made her want to cover herself and hide.

  “Oh, yeah?” He pushed himself off the girl with a lazy cockiness that made Caitlin itch to slice her fist into his stomach with the same gusto he had used when he’d punched her at the warehouse. His lips curled into a smirk that darkened his all-American looks into something ugly. “And I suppose you’re gonna make me?” He grabbed a fistful of the girl’s hair.

  The young woman shut her eyes.

  Caitlin ignored the clammy feel of her palms and thrust her chin in the air. “I said leave her alone. But if asking nicely doesn’t work, I can always scream at the top of my lungs. Maybe that will get your attention. Or your employer’s. Which would you prefer?”

  Holy crap. Had she just said that? Was she seriously baiting the guy?

  He took two angry steps toward her until he stood inches away from her face.

  Marcus cleared his throat. Caitlin hadn’t seen Gary’s raised fist until he lowered his arm.

  “This is far from over, bitch.” He barreled into her shoulder and plowed down the hallway.

  Oh great. Another antagonist to add to her growing list of enemies. Caitlin blew out a breath and kept her back ramrod straight until she was sure he was no longer in sight. A minute more, and she would have shamed herself, collapsing onto the floor in a tangle of knocking knees.

  Crouching beside the girl, she grabbed a handful of loose grapes. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m…I’m just fine.” The young woman’s gaze flew to Marcus and then back to Caitlin who had the impression the teen wanted to say more, but she collected the scattered food items with shaky hands and dumped them onto the tray. “I thank you for your aid.” She took the fruit from Caitlin’s hands and dropped it with the others. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

  Answers? “Um, no.” Caitlin rose from the floor. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I am.” The young woman excused herself and hurried in the opposite direction toward the main stairway.

  “Ma’am.” Marcus gestured ahead. They stopped outside one of several large paneled doors. She could almost see sympathy in his golden eyes.

  “Thank you.” She stepped inside, closed the door, and slumped against the hard surface with a groan. His footsteps settled in the hallway, and she waited to see if he’d leave. He didn’t.

  What had she expected? To be left alone, free to roam the manor unsupervised?

  She closed her eyes. She was in Scotland. Imprisoned in a small castle. So much for, “No more hiding or taking the conservative path.” This wasn’t exactly the situation she’d had in mind when she’d said those stupid words. How was she going to pull herself out of this mess? Where exactly did one even begin to look for a time-traveling stone? And with a sexy Highlander to boot.

  Well, that part wasn’t too bad.

  She raked her hands through her hair. Maybe she’d tripped over a root, fell, banged her head, and was lying somewhere in a hospital hooked up to some very serious drugs—the heavy-duty kind that conjured a wild fantasy starring a psychotic villain and a medieval warrior.

  The psychotic villain had taste. Her room was palatial, an oasis filled with an oversize bed and soft downy bedding that would lure any weary traveler to its fold. When lit, the stone fireplace centered in front of the massive four-poster bed, would birth a warm, crackling fire with seating for two. To her left, a small sitting area led to an adjoining bath.

  Caitlin moved across the room to the large picture window spanning a good chunk of the outside wall. It was constructed of triple-paned shatterproof glass. She ought to know. She’d priced comparable models to replace the old windows in her house and had almost died of sticker shock when her contractor had forwarded the estimate.

  Still, shatterproof was not unbreakable, and the cute sitting chairs positioned by the fireplace could double as weapons—all fifty pounds of wood with matching floral upholstery. She could smash the chair against the glass, and despite her height phobia and her lack of secure knot-making skills, she could Rapunzel her way down the twenty or so feet to the ground.

  Odds were pretty slim she could crack the window. Slim, but doable with multiple whacks to the glass. The noise would do her in. Marcus would run into the room before she could throw the bedsheets over the sill. Besides, even if escape was an option—which it wasn’t until she was certain her parents were safe—where would she go? MacInnes seemed to have everyone on his payroll, and with her luck, she’d make it out of the manor to run smack dab into a crooked cop.

  The picturesque Scottish landscape was lovely. Outdoor lighting illuminated most of the grounds so she could see to the loch. Lila would love everything about this place, even the cloudy, starless night sky. And she’d die for that view. Yep, the manor was breathtaking.

  Caitlin fell into one of the chairs facing the fireplace. Her duct-taped defenses fell apart as the unnatural quiet swarmed her. She was psychic and in denial. Apparently, she’d done such a good job of hiding that part of herself that she’d forgotten about her abilities altogether. She’d forgotten about how the visions had tortured her young mind. How the voices and images had violated her consciousness until she’d curl into a small ball beneath her bed. Safe from touch. Safe from intrusion. Safe from the monsters chasing her in the dark.

  She couldn’t recall when the visions had ceased, just that they had. But the nightmares had remained. Always the same dream. Running blindly through a dark grove, hunted by some unnamed evil. She’d wake breathless and coated in sweat. It had taken years before she could walk alone in a forest, never mind run in one. Weetamoo had taken every ounce of her resolve. She’d fought her fear. She’d overcome the terror. The panic attacks. The anxiety.

  Caitlin pressed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. For twenty-three years, she’d led a semi-normal existence. For twenty-three years, she’d been vision free.

  Until today.

  Now her life lay in shambles. She was god knew where in Scotland. She’d missed her meeting with Mandy and the adoption was probably in the toilet. And her parents…Jesus…for all she knew MacInnes had them kidnapped.

  Or worse.

  She’d never felt more helpless than she did at this moment. Somehow, she would find a way to save her family and free Ewen. She didn’t know how, or when, but she would, and then she’d find a way to get her life back. Whatever it took, even if it meant she had to crawl home on her hands and knees, she would find a way.

  Somehow.

  FOURTEEN

  Ewen sat on the dank, dirt floor of his subterranean prison with his back flush against an uneven stone wall that cut into his flesh. He shifted his body into a more comfortable position. A stab of pain shot across his bruised ribs. How many hours had passed since he had been thrown into the cell? Difficult to tell, but he assumed the sun had risen by now.

  Odd how the light had disappeared. Although the dungeon had been lit during his descent yestreen, he had seen no torches on the walls. And yet, after the guards had left him, darkness descended like the fall of an axe. Much like the strangely illuminated grounds of the manor when they had arrived after nightfall. No torches. No flames. No words to explain the extraordinary occurrence. At least no words he would care to use.

  He would count his blessings. No broken bones. He wasn’t in the pit. And, except for the chains binding his wrists at his back, he wasn’t manacled to the wall. A heavy iron grill gate sealed him inside the dungeon. The musty scent of moisture and slime coating the stone permeated throughout. He twisted his wrists against the restraints, longing to rub a hand behind his sore neck.

  Off in the distance, he could hear the rhy
thmical drip of water falling against stone. Hear, for the room was starved of light, blinding him from further assessment of his surroundings. Aye, it was a place meant to be dismal. Meant to tear hope from a man’s soul.

  He had taken a chance. Every ruse came with a risk. The wee lumps on the back of his head and his sore muscles were well worth goading MacInnes. He would do it all again, both for the pleasure of slamming the bastard against the wall, and the information he’d gleaned in the process. The man wanted him alive, and the why would be forthcoming.

  More importantly, Ewen learned his enemy was skilled. Twice, Ewen had instigated a challenge, and each time, MacInnes refused to cede the attack to his guards. MacInnes wanted to win and enjoyed besting Ewen. Pride was a demon that lured most men into recklessness, and it was MacInnes’s pride Ewen would use to unsaddle the wretch when the time came.

  Of course, he wasn’t fool enough to believe two minor episodes would lure MacInnes into a false sense of security. Nay, he would have to be strategic in his dealings with MacInnes. The man had not reached this level of wealth and status without an eye for machination. But with thoughtful planning, MacInnes would fall—as had many before him—vanquished by the roots of a flaming ego.

  The only repercussion was Caitlin. Ewen had sworn to protect her. Leaving her alone, unguarded, and susceptible to MacInnes’s artifice while he was locked away in this filthy cell like an animal, was an outcome he struggled to reconcile.

  A restless energy wound through his body and prickled the back of his neck. He couldn’t discern if danger loomed or if it was the dungeon’s dark energy affecting him. He blew out a breath. Charmed, they had called him, those that dared to whisper about his uncanny ability to sense danger. Yet those whispering voices paid no heed to what the intuition cost him and the guilt heaped upon his soul when he’d failed to heed those warnings.

  Aye, but the memories lived to remind him. The sound of his màthair’s voice when his uncle had dragged her by the hair, away from the warmth and safety of their home, to punish her with death in a cell achingly familiar to the one he occupied now. Run home, my boy. Hide. Dinna let them find ye. On her knees, gripping the metal grates, she’d begged him to flee, her raspy voice rising from a body ravaged by hunger to rattle among the anguished wails of the others locked inside the cavern’s walls. He hadn’t listened to his intuition then. Nay, he’d left to never again see his beloved mother alive.

  The reminder would haunt him for as long as he lived.

  Christ, it had been years since the memories had choked him. Out of habit, he scrubbed his cheek against the inside of his upper arm, the shackles preventing him from raking a hand across his face. He spat. Never again would he ignore the premonitions prickling his skin.

  Light filtered in from the distance and silenced the memories. Footsteps sounded against the stone. Then miraculously, the whole room lit. He squinted, sheltering his light-sensitive eyes from the sudden intrusion.

  MacInnes entered with the pomp of a would-be king, guard in tow, and came to a stop before the iron door. “Ah, here sits the man of the hour.”

  Daniel was not among the guards, but the cur, Gary, led the charge. Ewen reclined his head against the wall and closed his eyes. MacInnes hungered for attention—attention Ewen would never indulge, but he would use it to his advantage. He steadied his breathing and mentally counted. By the sound of the huffing breaths leaving the bastard’s mouth, it would not take long.

  “Unlock it,” MacInnes barked.

  The rattle of iron alerted him to the opening of the gate. Ewen suppressed a grin.

  “Get up.” Someone kicked his foot.

  Ewen creaked open an eye and homed in on the guard. He caught the slight pause in the man’s step. Aye, be afraid. He relaxed his shoulders and turned a blank eye to MacInnes.

  “You do amuse me, boy.” MacInnes laughed. “Shall we barter, eh? What shall it be?”

  “I’ve already told you, I’d no’ barter with the likes of you.”

  “You are nothing if not consistent, lad. I admire that in a man. Unfortunately for you, the stakes have changed.”

  Ewen’s survival instincts twitched with awareness.

  “Time-travel, as with all magic, comes with a cost. Are you aware of yours?” MacInnes asked.

  “Nay, but you’ve the looks of a man who is about to disclose another man’s destiny, whether he cares to hear it or no’.”

  “You mean to tell me you have absolutely no interest in what has become of your clan since your unfortunate departure?”

  Ewen smiled a lazy smile, but his pulse sped. “Am I to believe your telling of that history then, is it? Do you take me for a fool?”

  MacInnes crouched to the ground until he was eye level with Ewen. Gary loomed behind him. “I’ll tell you what I think, lad. Men such as you and I do not waste our breaths with foolish threats. The line of Ardgour will cease to exist in less than a fortnight.”

  The sharp intact of Ewen’s breath pulled a victorious glint from MacInnes’s cold eyes. “Have I your attention? The Camerons attacked your clan two weeks after your departure from the Scotland of old. Annihilated your people. The MacLeans of Ardgour are no more in this time. Think you a coincidence?”

  The betrothal. Would the breach of his contract to Ailsa Cameron have pushed the clan to war?

  MacInnes stood, tugged on his coat sleeve, and aimed his uncanny eyes at Ewen. “I’ll conclude your family has paid the price for your unfortunate journey to the twenty-first century. Swear fealty to my cause, and I promise to return you in time to save your people. Refuse, and I will cut you loose. I have the power to send you out into my world without a second thought. A world you’ve glimpsed. Should you refuse me, you will spend what’s left of your pitiful existence regretting the choice you made.”

  MacInnes gestured for Gary to step outside the cell. “It’s a rather simple proposition, don’t you agree, MacLean?”

  As much as Ewen wanted to discredit the man, to laugh in his face and call his bluff, caution warred with the alarms stirring him to action. If what MacInnes claimed were true, then his clan—his family and brothers in arms—had endured a horrible fate, one that was not theirs to suffer.

  But to leave no trace of the clan in this time…

  Only a major defeat, one dealt in devastating proportions, could account for the eradication of the powerful MacLeans of Ardgour. The Camerons did not have the numbers to carry out such a feat alone, not without aligning themselves to another clan. But who? Who would have the most to gain from his brother’s downfall?

  “So tell me, Ewen, son of Lachlan, what’s it to be?” The silver-eyed wretch folded his arms and casually leaned one broad shoulder against the iron post framing the cell’s opening.

  Choice? What choice? MacInnes had cleverly bound him to the stone’s recovery in the same manner he’d bound Caitlin—by threatening the lives of those he loved. Aye, he would assist in the recovery of the Tempus Stone to right the wrong done to his family. But pledge an oath binding him to the biddings of a blackheart like MacInnes?

  Never.

  Ewen rose to his feet. “What would you have me do?”

  MacInnes raised two fingers. “The first is a simple matter. I need you to convince—no—encourage our lovely Ms. Reed to stay the course during her pursuit of my stone. Its procurement is a time sensitive matter, and you will serve as my eyes and ears.”

  Oh, for the love of god, had he heard right? Did the bastard have the gall to consign him to the role of spy? Ewen held back his contempt. “Why focus your efforts on this lass and not another member of her kin?”

  “Ah, yes, yes, I wondered when you would ask.” MacInnes clasped his hands behind his back and walked a circular path outside the cell door. Gary was stationed to the man’s left, and the two other guards were evenly spaced behind him like two stone statues.

  MacInnes stopped midstride and faced Ewen. “Let’s just say Caitlin Reed has talents her family does not possess. Talents th
at will aid her in the recovery of my stone in a timely manner.”

  The veiled remark hit its target, waking the whisper of suspicion born from the first of MacInnes’s targeted barbs against Caitlin. Ewen didn’t have time to ponder her mysterious talents, not when he was knee deep in a game of chess with the man attempting to orchestrate their demise.

  Ewen took two strides toward the opened cell door and twisted his torso, jerking his bound wrists to the guard nearest him. The clanking of the chains reverberated through the stone room. He arched a brow meant to urge the man to step forward and release him.

  Neither of the unfamiliar guards moved. Gary remained rooted to his spot a foot away from MacInnes, firing hostile glances Ewen ignored.

  MacInnes smiled. “I take it you agree to the first term?”

  “Mayhap.” Ewen shrugged. “Why the urgency, MacInnes?”

  “Unbridling the stone’s power requires the fulfilment of a delicate Samhain ritual, which, unfortunately, allows us only the space of ten days—no, correction—nine days to both recover the stone and perform the rite. So you can understand my angst, can you not?”

  Brother Rupert believed an ancient ritual was responsible for the deaths in Mull and Ardgour. Were Caitlin’s talents somehow connected to this ritual? The hair on the back of his neck bristled. He would never cooperate in the execution of such a ritual, not while there was breath in his lungs. “Your second term?”

  “Ah, yes, the injections. Due to your unique arrival to this century, exposure to our time poses an unavoidable health risk. Therefore, without proper immunization, you will be rendered useless to my cause. We have medicines at our disposal to shield you from our modern illnesses.”

  Immunizations? And what the hell did the man mean by injections?

  “I can well imagine how strange this must sound to you. Fear not, my boy, if I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. Now, if you agree to my terms, my man”—MacInnes cocked a head at Gary—“will outline each step in detail. However, I will be the one administering the vaccinations, and as such, you have my word that no harm shall come to you.”