Timeless (11 page)

*****

Quinn shook his head as he watched her climb the hill. The lass was daft. He’d worked days on the tune. Rob and Logan could attest to that. There were no other tunes like the one he had written. The thought didn’t ease the nagging uncertainty that wormed its way into the pit of his stomach.

The words she’d sung seemed familiar, like an old tune he’d heard as a child. Her Gaelic pronunciation had seemed different, flavored with a thicker accent closer to those on the Hebrides. When had she learned the language, and how had she become so fluent? He’d gained the impression this was her first time in Scotland. At least she had led him to believe it to be.

He’d been right to warn Logan off. She was obviously unbalanced. The strange way she had behaved here, and at the pub, was proof enough. He’d talk to Fergus Fraser about her in the morning. ‘Twould be best for her to be sent home where she might get help for whatever problems ailed her.

His whole body reacted to the thought as though he’d ripped off a patch of skin. Quinn raked his hands through his hair. Bugger! He didn’t want to turn her in. He didn’t want to see her leave. But what if her behavior endangered others on the dig? The diver’s safety was his responsibility, and that included hers. He could use his authority to see she didn’t dive again, to ensure she didn’t endanger herself or the others.

Jesus! What had happened? There hadn’t been anything strange in her behavior on
Grannos
today or earlier tonight. He should have never danced with her, kissed her. What had he been thinking?

But when he had held her just now, it had been as though— he had known her before, his body had known hers before. His aroused state attested to that.

It was the dreams he’d had when first he’d arrived. And they hadn’t stopped. But grown stronger. What the fuck could be going on with the both of them?

“Is there a problem, Mr. Douglas?”

Quinn turned to face a man holding a flashlight at the end of the dock. From the man’s hulking size, he recognized Kennedy McLeod, one of the security guards who patrolled the dig at night.

“I saw you talking to someone and thought I’d come check.”

“’Twas one of the students. She’s gone on her way now. I’m just back from the pub and am going to sleep aboard
Grannos
tonight.”

“All right then.” The man waved the flashlight and started back around the path toward the lab.

From the corner of his eye Quinn caught movement at the top of the hill. He paused expecting to see them step out of the trees. Nothing moved. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. He untied the skiff from the dock and stepped aboard the vessel. The small outboard motor started right away, and he piloted the craft to the ship. The few lights he’d left burning lit his way below decks. Quinn went to his cabin to retrieve a pad and pen. He settled in the galley at one of the tables and attempted to write down the lyrics Regan had sung. He had almost finished when he heard someone come aboard.

Rob appeared in the galley doorway. “I’ve brought your flute, Quinn. When you didn’t return, I thought you might have forgotten it.”

Quinn took the case from his brother and set it beside the pad on the table. “Royce knows to hold it behind the bar for me should I leave it there, but I appreciate your bringing it along just the same. ‘Twill save me a trip retrieving it should I want to practice.”

A cell phone ring sounded and Quinn nodded toward his phone on the end of the table close to Rob. “Grab that will you?” He gathered the papers he’d been working on.

“It’s Marissa,” Rob said as he cradled the cell in his palm.

Anger tightened the muscles of Quinn’s face. “Let it ring.”

“You’re going to have to deal with her sooner or later,” Rob said, a frown creasing his brow.

He’d deal with her. “Give me the phone.” He held out his hand. Rob passed the cell to him. Quinn quickly accessed the settings of his phone and blocked Marissa’s number. “She’s taken care of.”

Rob shook his head. “She’ll find a way.”

“She’s the one who walked away, Rob. And the only reason she’s calling now is to try and use me to get a place on this dig. Since I wilna help her do that. I haven’t anythin’ to say

to her. That chapter’s closed.”

“Just like that?”

“Aye, just like that.”

Rob raised one shoulder in a shrug. “The song you and Regan did was a hit with the locals. Had you stayed, they’d have told you so. As it was, there were quite a few who stopped by our table and asked us to tell you.”

Quinn drew a deep breath and tried to shake free of the anger that tightened his jaw muscles. “What did you think of the lyrics? Did they suit the tune?”

“Aye,” Rob said. “’Twas a perfect fit. I didn’t know you had written them.”

Quinn shook his head. “I didn’t. ‘Twas Regan who composed them.”

Rob frowned. “I didn’t know you had shared the tune with her.”

Quinn shrugged. How was he to explain what had happened? “She helped herself to it.”

“When?”

“The night she spent aboard ship.”

Rob shook his head. “Impossible. She was asleep the entire time we were here with that bloke, Henry. What did she do, get up in the middle of the night and find it lying about?”

Quinn shrugged.

He had had the sheet music in his cabin with his flute. The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed she would have had an opportunity to go into his cabin. He had checked on her several times during the evening and night, and she had been asleep each time. But she must have gotten up some time. How else could she have written the lyrics?

“Well, however she managed it, it sounded fine, more than fine. The girls sitting with her said she had never spoken a word of Gaelic to them. I wonder how she was able to write lyrics in Gaelic if she doesn’t speak it.”

The hairs on his arms rose as chill bumps spread across his skin. Quinn mentally reviewed everything Regan had said about Coira and Braden. Who the hell were they? And what did they have to do with his song? Those moments of familiarity he had experienced at hearing the words, and his feelings of grief when she had sung about the bairn, had been real enough.

Quinn shook his head. How could he even give the ramblings of an obviously disturbed woman credence? He had just been moved by her words, her voice.

That was all.

CHAPTER 9

The song played over and over in his head. The Gaelic words sounded so familiar. Had he heard them before?

The brogue that had flavored her voice had sounded different, thicker and more lilting than the regional dialect. And her voice—he remembered it. How was that possible?

And why had she run when everyone had thought the tune beautiful and touching? Her behavior had been strange. What was she up to?

With her brains and drive she would make a good partner. But she couldn’t be controlled. She was too impulsive, too driven. But he needed someone like her to get things done. Yet, if she got too close, he’d have to—end her involvement. And that would be both a pity and a relief.

The growing attraction between her and Quinn was interesting and could be used as leverage later. But as angry as Quinn had seemed at the dock, perhaps that attraction would end before it began. But if she were distracted by a relationship with Quinn—

HE would get his chance.

Or would he? Like overheated air, anger filled his chest and tightened his throat. Blood pulsed at his temples. His face grew hot.

She was always one step ahead, or in the right place at the right time. It was as though she had some sixth sense guiding her when on a dig.

He needed to get a look at her research and see where she was going with her notes. That would be easy enough. The cabins had little security.

This was his dig, these were his stones. He had discovered them, and he meant to discover their secrets himself. And if he used the others to do that—so be it.

He’d do whatever it took.

CHAPTER 10

Regan knelt on the scaffolding. A brush, a bucket of soapy water, one of clear water, and a sponge sat close beside her. She studied the dried flaky algae on the side of the stone. The sun had bleached it to a gray-blue, where it had been a slimy dark green while wet. She remembered her fingertips sliding in the slick surface as she rubbed through it to the carvings beneath and how pinpricks of energy had run from her palm across her chest. Would it happen again when she touched this one? Would her ears be filled with the crackle of static electricity? Would she be sucked into this stone as she had the other?

She looked down the wooden scaffold to where Hannah sat working on a small section at the base of the next stone. Sunlight glinted off her glasses, obscuring her eyes, but she seemed focused on the task at hand. Would she notice if something happened? Would anyone?

Regan’s heart beat in her ears, her breathing growing labored. Fear trickled along her nerve endings, making her limbs weak and her face numb. She knew she was hyperventilating and tried to slow her breathing. It had all been a nitrogen-induced hallucination. She had to believe that. Otherwise, she’d have to pack up and go home, because she’d be useless to herself, and to the dig.

Clenching her eyes shut, she slapped her hand palm first against the stone. Her skin stung and curling dried bits of algae flaked away from the force of the blow. No buzzing. No prickles. She opened her eyes. The scaffolding was still there. Regan drew a shaky, relieved breath. Tears stung her eyes.

As she picked up the four inch wide brush, her hand shook so the tool felt clumsy in her grip. She focused on the small section of stone before her and brushed on the non-ionic soap solution in slow circular movements saturating the algae. Bits of greenish debris tore away with the soft bristles and she rinsed the brush, and then using a sponge, rinsed the soap from the stone.

The notches and grooves carved into the rock looked as familiar as her own writing. She ran a fingertip over the edge of the hieroglyph
. Believe.
The word popped into her head. She jerked her hand back.

God, it was happening again, only this time she was reading ancient Celtic symbols only an epigrapher should be able to decipher. She closed her eyes and debated what to do. How was she to know she was truly reading the hieroglyphs or just imagining it all? Just as she had imagined Coira and Braden. Just as she had imagined the lyrics to a song she had never heard.

Regan sat back on the wooden decking and studied the carvings.
Believe.
The word filled her mind. She pressed the heel of her hands to her temples and squeezed. She wasn’t crazy. She was caught up in some kind of strange, bizarre—occurrence, more powerful than anything she had ever experienced, but she wasn’t crazy. And if she were?

To hell with it! She’d probably be leaving before sunset anyway. After her exchange with Quinn the night before, she’d been expecting Fergus Fraser to call her into his office and tell her to pack her bags. She might as well get down to it and work as long as she could.

Regan scrambled to her feet.

Hannah leaned back on her heels and straightened as she passed. “Are you taking a break already then?”

“No. I’ll be right back.”

It took only a few minutes to get a drawing pad, pencil, and measuring tape from one of the labs. She returned to the stone, and measured and drew its surface area. Tomorrow she would do a laser survey and record the stones position in reference to the dam and the altar stone.

Sweat ran in rivulets between her breasts and down her sides, as she soaped and rinsed, measured and drew the symbols she uncovered. At the back of the pad, she recorded the words she sensed each time she touched the surface of the stone. By noon, she had to stretch to reach the area over her head.

“You’re already farther along than I am, and sketching them as you go, too.”

Regan started at Hannah’s voice and glanced down at the pad at her feet, making sure her translations were not evident. “I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. I need to rinse this entire area more thoroughly.”

“I’ll get the water hose, and we can give them both a thorough rinsing before we go to lunch.” Hannah strode down the scaffold to where the hose lay coiled.

Regan looked down the ramp and realized the rest of the workers had already gone. She walked down to the next stone and lifted the aluminum ladder left there lying on its side. She carried it back and set it up. Perching on the top, Regan took the nozzle Hannah offered her. She held the hose high over the cleaned area and allowed the water to run from the top down over the entire span.

“Henry didn’t know you spoke Gaelic,” Hannah said from below her.

She’d wondered when someone would ask her about what had happened at the pub. “I don’t. Well only a few phrases.”

“You did very well singin’ it last night.”

“Thanks, but anyone can learn a song. I imagine it’s easier to sing languages than it is to speak them.”

“Perhaps so. Why did you rush away afterward? The locals wanted to offer a word of praise for the performance.”

“I’m not a singer, and to be truthful, Quinn was a bit angry at me for singing it. It’s his song.”

“Was that the reason now, or somethin’ else?” Hannah teased.

“It wasn’t the something you’re thinking. Mr. Douglas isn’t interested in me. Far from it. He thinks I’m an irresponsible ninny because of the diving accident I had the other day.”

“I wonder what business he has to talk with you about right now, then. He’s headed this way, and I doubt it’s me he’s here to speak to.”

Regan looked up and swore beneath her breath. After their run in the night before, she could almost lay odds he thought her crazy. He probably hadn’t kept the belief to himself either. The closer he got, the harsher his frown appeared. Her stomach muscles tightened as anxiety settled like a stone inside her chest. She looked down at Hannah. “Whatever it is he’s going to say, it can’t be anything good.”