Time Bound

by Lora Andrews

“Indulge me for a moment, will you?” A charismatic smile followed his request. “At a minimum, read the inscription on the casket.”

  At her hesitation, he raised his hands and stepped away from the table. “Peruse without fear of encroachment.” He snapped his wrist to the items laid invitingly before her. “I promise to behave myself.”

  A charming Simon MacInnes rattled her almost as much as his intimidating, death-sentencing persona. She shoved aside her suspicion and stepped into the spot he’d vacated.

  The box appeared untouched by the effects of time. Three carved ivory panels wove a historic tale of battle, victory, and love. A subtle spark of energy flowed into her hand when she lowered the lid.

  Foreign lettering meandered along the casket’s edge. Gaelic? She examined the lines of prose, following the detailing of each scrolled figure until she reached the word Mariota. She skipped to the next recognizable word. Mac Eoghain. She whipped her head to MacInnes.

  He walked around the table with his arms clasped behind his back and came to a stop directly across from her. The casket sat innocently between them.

  “These belonged to Mariota MacEwen of Otter. Now, they belong to you.”

  She felt her mouth drop, but was powerless to stop it. Words scrambled to form in her brain. The man had tortured her. Threatened her parents. Hauled her kidnapped self across the Atlantic Ocean and held her hostage in a magnificent manor. And now he offered her a small fortune in museum-quality artifacts that would make a curator drool.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Another charismatic laugh. “You are indeed a peculiar woman. I am extending an olive branch. Will you accept it?”

  Anger fisted her gut. “You’ve threatened my parents’ lives over this stone. An hour ago, you Tasered an innocent man because you felt like it. My life is in complete shambles, thanks to you. And now you expect me to forget all of that because these ancient trinkets may, or may not, have belonged to my grandmother?”

  His lips lifted into a wry smile. “I suppose when you word it in precisely that manner, it sounds rather presumptuous of me to assume trinkets would absolve me of my poor handling of your situation.”

  Poor handling of your situation? Caitlin massaged her temples to ease the throbbing ache growing beneath the pulsing vein. The man was delusional. And dangerous. She moved to the door.

  “Where is your compassion, Ms. Reed?”

  She spun on her heel. “My compassion?”

  “Yes, your compassion. Imagine a twelve-year-old boy born into an abusive family, a boy very much like your Jadiel.”

  “Don’t you dare compare yourself to him, do you hear me? You don’t know a thing about what that boy has suffered.” Her throat clenched. No tears, she chided herself. No tears. She would not cry. Not in front of this man. Never again.

  Yet the tears stung the back of her eyes and fueled an anger that beat hard against her chest.

  “How blinded you are by your own prejudices. Have you ever hungered, Ms. Reed? Hunger so fierce your body burns as it feeds upon itself?”

  The memory of Simon MacInnes’s abuse reared its ugly head.

  “I propose young Jadiel Torres has experienced such hunger. But you’re right. I was not found screaming in a public park clinging to the bodies of my dead parents. That humiliation I do not share with the boy, therefore, I cannot truly empathize with what he has suffered.”

  “That information was confidential. How did you—?” It had been months before Jadiel could function. Months before he could fall asleep without screaming out in terror.

  “I make it my business to know.” He paused and studied her face. “Ms. Reed, torment is not limited to opioid addiction. There are many other vices capable of torturing a young boy in the hands of those deemed a capable caretaker. Substance abuse. Neglect. Violence. Time has not changed these human conditions.”

  He rounded the table. “No, my humiliation was not of my making. Ripped from my time—the familiarity of my home—and thrown into a society that rewarded strength while annihilating the weak. Yet, I survived.”

  “You can’t use your past, however horrible it was, as an excuse for what you’ve done,” she said.

  “Will you berate me my choices, then? Perched as you are high above the frailties of men in your tidy, immaculate world. Do you dare judge? Take a long, hard look, Ms. Reed, for what you see standing before you is the future for a boy like your soon-to-be-son without the guiding influence of someone like you.”

  He strode to the patio door in long strides with his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders stiff.

  The analogy frightened her. Children like Jadiel fell through the cracks of a broken system every single day. The odds were stacked against them. Was it too late for Jadiel?

  God, her heart hurt. She had to get home while she still had time to salvage the adoption. She would not become another disappointment—another well-meaning adult spewing false promises and unfulfilled hopes—that would further crush the spirit of a broken boy.

  But maybe fate had already decided for her. Maybe his grandmother had pursued custody and…

  The loss spilled into her heart like an icy wave. “You ruined any chance I had.”

  “I’ll warrant I’ve made mistakes in my dauntless pursuit of the stone.” He turned from the glass pane. “I was twelve when I landed in your world. I began my search five years later. I have weathered four decades of defeat. Forty-two years, Ms. Reed. Have you any idea the mental anguish I’ve suffered?”

  If she didn’t find the ritual, Ewen would suffer the same heartache. The thought caught in her throat. Year after year of struggling to conform would change him. He’d become a shell of the man he was today. A carcass like Simon MacInnes.

  The ice cracked.

  “You are all that is left of my kin.”

  You? “My mother and I. That’s what you mean, right?”

  “But, of course.”

  Something about the way he said the words “of course” worried her.

  Simon MacInnes smiled and moved from the French panes to stand before her. “Accept the casket, Caitlin.”

  She flinched at the sound of her name on his lips. “Let me to talk to my parents. I want to make sure they’re safe.”

  “Everyman has a price. Is that yours?” He raised a mocking brow. “Would it earn me your highly esteemed confidence?”

  “Trust has to be earned. You can’t buy it. God, I am such a fool. You’re toying with me. You have no intention of letting me talk to them, do you? Because that’s what you do. You use people. You use their hopes, dreams, and loved ones to taunt and torment. I can’t take any more of this.”

  He blocked her path to the door. “Have I underestimated you, Ms. Reed? You would risk the lives of those you love to defy me?”

  “For all I know, they’re already dead.” Lila’s words rang in her ears. They’re missing. The New Hampshire police called. Caitlin, there’s been a fire at the cabin.

  “What do you want from me?” she screamed. “I’m doing everything you’ve asked. What more can I do?”

  “Had I come to you, told you my story, and asked for your help, would you have aided my cause?”

  “Maybe, I—”

  MacInnes shook his head. “Tsk, tsk. A lie would mar that lovely face, and you are by far the most facially expressive woman I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. The truth just blossoms on those lovely cheeks of yours.”

  Bastard.

  “So, what is this? A change of tactics? Butter me up with expensive gifts to hide the fact you’ve got a gun to my head? Lock me in a beautiful room with a well-dressed guard outside the door and expect me to forget you’ve threatened my parents and the lives of everyone I love? Forget the coerced agreements and forced oaths and pretend this is a mutual undertaking?”

  “Ah.” He turned a knowing smile in her direction. “More evidence of my poor handling of your situation, I suppose.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, my dear, our situation ha
s become precarious as evidenced by the attack at the ruins. Sit down, Ms. Reed. We have much to discuss.”

  He didn’t deny killing her parents.

  Oh, god. Her body shook.

  “Stop ordering me to sit down. Tell me the goddamn truth for once. Where are my parents? What have you done with them?” She was bordering on hysterical and she didn’t give a damn.

  MacInnes handed her the envelope and waited. “I’d sit down if I were you.”

  Caitlin ripped opened the large yellow envelope and pulled out a manila folder. She looked inside. “A stack of photocopied news clippings from my hometown newspaper?”

  He nodded but didn’t say a word.

  “What does this have to do with my parents?” She glanced at the paper shaking in her hands. The articles dated back to 1987 with headlines about a missing five-year-old girl. She fell into the chair.

  She was the missing five-year-old girl.

  “What is this?” Black and white photographs of her parents huddled in front of a sea of reporters were mixed in with the clippings. She had no memory of the disappearance. Nor had her parents ever discussed the matter with her. Of course, in hindsight, if what she read was true, it would explain their overprotective nature. It would explain everything. Their irrational fear of strangers. Their isolation. Their fear of losing her.

  Caitlin rummaged through the rest of the file. Hospital reports. Dr. Hughes. She had a vague memory of an overweight woman with a friendly voice. “I remember her. I remember talking to her as a little girl. What does this mean?”

  “The truth, Ms. Reed, and the reason you were nearly killed yesterday afternoon. As a five-year-old girl you disappeared from the safety of your familial home and reappeared days later without explanation. Well, without a conventional explanation, that is.”

  Caitlin shook her head. “I have no memory of this. Are you sure this is accurate?”

  “Ms. Reed, I did not fabricate decades-old news articles for your benefit. Nor did I inject psychic abilities into your mind.”

  Her mouth dropped. “How did you know?”

  He pointed to the files. “It’s all there. Dissociation, paracusia”—he paused when she frowned—“auditory hallucination in layman’s terms. Schizophrenic episodes. You certainly caused quite a stir in the medical community.”

  Caitlin closed the file and dipped her face into her hands. She should be outraged at his intrusion into her past, but all she felt was shock.

  “There is more.” MacInnes sat on the coffee table and avoided touching her knees with his. He pulled the second file from the envelope. “I believe you when you say you have no knowledge of the stone, which only adds to the mystery of Ewen MacLean’s arrival. If you did not call him to our time, then who did?”

  A druidess by the name of Brigid. Caitlin fought the urge to avert her face and give away the truth.

  “I took the liberty to delve into his past.” MacInnes paused, and for a second she feared he’d reach out and touch her knee. “The attack yesterday was aimed at you, and you alone.”

  Tell me something I don’t know. “What does Ewen’s past have to do with the attack?”

  “Our ancestors have long been hunted for their abilities.”

  That statement got her attention. “What are you talking about?”

  MacInnes opened the file and tapped the first page. The documents inside the second folder were historical in nature, copies of an original work written in a foreign language. Translation of the text ran along the wide border on the right side of the page. A history of the MacLeans of Duart.

  “The MacLeans have a long history of persecuting those they deem different. His brother and chieftain, Donald, The Hunter, annihilated the McMaster of Ardgour, long rumored to practice white magic. Lachlan MacLean, Ewen’s father, was responsible for the annihilation of the MacEwen’s of Otter. Our people. I’m sure I’ve no need to tell you of our special abilities, do I, Ms. Reed?”

  His statement conflicted with what she knew about the demise of the MacEwen clan. Swene MacEwen, the clan’s last chief, lost the barony to the Campbell’s, and with no heir… “That’s a lie. Give me assess to the internet, and I’ll prove it.”

  MacInnes laughed. “The internet? Ms. Reed, how naïve. I’d be careful of whom I trust.”

  “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

  His face contorted, and patience drained from every muscle of his body. “You provoke me with your denials.”

  Oh, she’d pushed the wrong button all right, but there was more than threat backing his words. She felt it. MacInnes was up against a wall, and she wanted to know why.

  “I know what you’re trying to do, and it isn’t going to work.” Caitlin shoved off her seat and stepped to the side of the winged chair, away from MacInnes and the lies that spewed so believably from his mouth. “Ewen warned me you would attempt to drive a wedge between us. He’s an honorable man. You, on the other hand, are filled with anger and hate. Why did the Order attack us?”

  His left eye twitched.

  “How quick you are to protect him. Did you think his act selfless? That he bound himself to me on your account?” He deflected. “Ask yourself, Ms. Reed, what would drive a man, a warrior, to vow an oath of protection for a woman he barely knows? Hmm? You’ve been attacked, and even after I’ve provided you with evidence to doubt his loyalty, you question my motives.”

  For the umpteenth time, she wondered what propelled a man like Simon MacInnes to risk losing everything he had amassed in the twenty-first century—his power, his wealth, his prestige—all of it for a possible one-way trip to a dark time in the fifteenth century.

  Caitlin’s skin prickled. Brigid had warned about the breaking of a covenant. Keep the veil intact. Maybe Simon’s motives weren’t about going back in time to reclaim his family or his youth. Maybe this was about collecting the stones to undo what she and Ewen had witnessed in Brigid’s vision. And, with the Refiçío in his possession, he was a third of the way there.

  Caitlin’s fingers dug into the file folders she waved in the air. “Why would a man of your considerable wealth go to these lengths? Kidnapping. Forging documents. Manipulating me to act on your behalf. None of this makes sense. What aren’t you telling me?”

  MacInnes grabbed the files from her hand and threw them on the floor. He sneered. “The clock ticks, Ms. Reed. Where’s my stone?”

  The headlines spilled across the floor.

  “Where’s the stone, Ms. Reed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do not lie to me.” Something snapped in his cold eyes. He grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the wall. “Tell me where you’ve hidden my stone.”

  “I don’t”—spots danced before her eyes—“know.”

  The sounds of a scuffle outside the room caught his attention. MacInnes narrowed his eyes and released her. She slid to the floor.

  “Say what you will, the man knows how to make a grand entrance.”

  The door swung open and slammed against the wall with a crash. Ewen invaded the room, the air crackling with menace. Behind him, one guard rolled off the floor. The other stumbled in, clothes torn and his face bloodied.

  “Ah, Mr. MacLean. Right on cue. Come in.”

  Caitlin stood, gasping for breath. Here was the brutal and terrorizing warrior who’d fallen from the sky. He made a beeline to where she stood. Breath tight, her stomach somersaulted.

  “Are you well?” His eyes combed her body and turned to ice when they settled on her neck.

  “I’m fine,” she stuttered.

  He examined her and nodded, then noticed the documents fanned across the floor. “Go to your chambers.”

  “I’d stay right where you are, Ms. Reed. Take a seat and watch the fireworks fly.”

  Ewen swung his dark gaze to MacInnes.

  Oh shit.

  Chaos was about to be unleashed, and she had a front row seat.

  THIRTY-TWO

  “We were just discussing our t
ruce.” MacInnes lifted Mariota MacEwen’s possessions off the table and carefully returned each item to the casket with the ignorance of a man unaware of the predator growling at his back.

  “Caitlin, leave now,” Ewen repeated.

  World War Three would kick off the minute she stepped out of the room. Ewen could handle himself, but she didn’t trust MacInnes. And she wasn’t running away. Not if she could help it.

  “I propose Ms. Reed has every right to participate in our discussion and hear what you have to say.” MacInnes moved to the center of the room in a direct challenge. “After all, her role is central to our mission, is it not?”

  Anger emanated from Ewen’s body like toxic gas belching into the air right before a volcanic eruption. Caitlin approached him. “Nothing happened, Ewen. Just more of the same.”

  “On the contrary, Ms. Reed. Much more occurred in this room than a rehashing of the past. Your intentions are called into question, which unfortunately puts us at an impasse.”

  “My intentions?”

  Ewen angled his head toward her with a what-the-hell-is-he-talking-about look in his eyes.

  “He tried to bribe me with a box that supposedly belonged to my grandmother and refused my repeated requests to speak to my parents. And then there’s that file”—she gestured to the floor—“which he used to insinuate your truce was fueled by a vendetta against the MacEwens. He showed me documentation chronicling your clan’s eradication of the MacEwens and some other clan. The McMasters. All lies, right?”

  A dozen of MacInnes’s guards rolled in from the hallway, amplifying the tension that vibrated in the room to a whole new level.

  “Your agreement is with me now,” Ewen said to MacInnes with an eye to the sentries moving into position.

  “Is that so?”

  “Aye, it is if you ever hope to hold your precious stone.”

  She didn’t like where this conversation was heading. “Ewen, stop.”

  MacInnes shook his head like a disappointed parent. “I knew you’d let your honor get in the way, lad. If only you had kept to our arrangement.”

  Something had happened to MacInnes in the short time he’d been away from the manor, and whatever it was, the effect flamed his neuroses to a new level.