Time Everlastin' Book 5 (33 page)

Roan laughed outright, and
Lachlan joined in.

"He doesn't know you as well
as I do," she said, glaring into Reith's eyes.

"Ye grand Gargoyleness!"
Reith boomed. "Ma queen and I belong thegither, aye?"

Karok grinned and offered a
nod.

"Aye," Reith beamed into her
face, "we fit thegither like a proper glove."

"Mismatched gloves at best,"
she sputtered.

Broc ran into the chamber,
straight to Taryn, and handed her the knapsack. Without wasting a
moment, she flipped the bag upside down, opened an outer zipper,
and stripped back the Velcro strips on an inner pocket. Holding her
breath, she removed the dirk and held it out to Karok, whose eyes
shone with tears as he beheld his long awaited key. He took it into
a trembling claw then looked at Lachlan as if trying to convey his
emotional turmoil.

Lachlan stepped forward to
close the creature's hand over the dirk.

"I would no' exist in this
time but for your key, Karok," Lachlan said, his tone denoting
respect. "Twice this dirk has taken ma life. But as it brought
Taryn here, as it has brought us all here, for tha', I will
remember it fondly."

Karok swallowed convulsively
and pressed the key-holding hand over his heart. His eyes rolled
heavenward and he released a gurgling mewl of thanks.

Blue's chin quivered as
tears pressed for release. Kissing the top of her head, Reith
snuggled her in his arms.

"Ah, Blue, he has awaited
release a verra long time."

"I don't want him to die,"
she sobbed.

Broc smiled in
understanding. "It isna dyin' as we know it. Karok?"

The creature's expressive
eyes shifted to Broc, serenity glowing on its face and softening
the angular planes. A melodic gurgle echoed in the chamber. Taryn
backed into Broc's embrace, tears streaming down her
cheeks.

"Thank you," she
whispered.

Karok canted his head
inquiringly, and she laughed. "For Broc, and for giving me the
greatest adventure of my life."

A rumbling sound came in
response. Then, to the amazement of the other occupants, Karok
laughed. Laughed with the glee of a child who awakens on Christmas
morn to a multitude of treasures beneath an ornate tree. His wings
danced on air, and he bestowed a sweeping bow of his
head.

The blade of the dirk glowed
golden as his splayed talons held it flat against his chest. He
looked in the direction of the standing shrine. Without further
ado, he lumbered toward it, stopping when Broc called his
name.

Broc asked Taryn to give him
a moment, kissed her cheek, and walked to where Karok
waited.

"We have maist times been
cruel to one anither," Broc said, his voice raspy with emotion. He
heaved a breath, his naked chest expanding. "I have no right to ask
anythin' o' ye, Karok, but ask I will."

Karok nodded, and Broc
sucked in another breath.

"Yer mate. Will ye tell
her...." He turned his head aside, his throat constricting
painfully. "Tell her," he continued, forcing himself to look into
the gargoyle's eyes, "I...for the rest o' ma days...will regret ma
actions tha' night. And...tha'...I wish ye both an eternity o'
happiness thegither."

Karok looked heavenward with
a sad smile. His gaze lowered to Broc, his eyes misted. "She long
ago forgave you," Karok said, as if speaking underwater. He smiled
at Broc's stunned expression, but grew solemn when he continued, "I
could not till now."

"All these years," Broc
said, stunned. He shook himself. "Ye never spoke!"

"The treasure is
yours."

"I dinna want
it!"

Karok’s smile returned. "Do
with it as you will."

The gargoyle was nearly to
the shrine when Broc caught up and placed a tentative hand on his
arm.

"Karok," Broc began, his
voice quavering. "Ye dinna need to pass on."

A look of poignant
contentment glowed in the creature's eyes. "You will miss
me?"

Broc grimaced and released a
nervous chuckle. "Guess I will. Tis...hard to imagine ye no' in ma
life. We've shared this realm so verra long."

Karok’s gaze shifted briefly
to Lachlan, and a secretive smile quirked on his mouth. "I will
remain here," he said, thumping Broc's chest. "And here." He tapped
Broc's brow with a knuckle. "Your destiny lies
elsewhere."

Swallowing hard, Broc
nodded. When Karok knelt before the shrine, Broc backed toward the
waiting group, his movements slow. He flattened a palm over his
heart in a vain attempt to alleviate its terrible ache.

He realized with abstract
sorrow, he was not ready to begin a new life. He was not ready to
let go of the connection he had shared with the gargoyle these
long, long years.

Chapter 17

Six hearts swelled with
sorrow. Six pulses slowed. Six pairs of eyes grew moist.

Karok knelt before his
mate's shrine, the dirk pressed over his gladdened heart. He
murmured incantations in the forgotten language of his clan, his
crooned gurgling a bitter-sweet song to the observers. Karok bowed
his head reverently, raised the gleaming blade and pressed his
mouth to its sleek surface then slowly let his massive hands fall
away. The dirk remained suspended, each jewel in the handle
sparkling with an enchanted resplendency.

Round and round the dirk
began to spin, going faster, faster with each passing second.
Pinpoints of lights matching the colors of the gems, reached out
twenty feet beyond the dirk, each luminance pulsating with the
cadence of the gargoyle's heartbeat.

Karok released a delirious
moan of satisfaction and tilted his face upward. He lifted his
hands, palms upward, and chanted, his song reminiscent of the
sounds of countless rivers and streams, of oceans and
waterfalls.

The chamber filled with
golden specks of light. His eyes shut, Karok was oblivious. He
rocked to and fro, chanting, his hands held out in
supplication.

A swirling ball of golden
light the size of a baseball appeared ten feet away, level with
Karok's face. Broc, his chest tight with a sudden feeling of panic,
was about to lunge toward the gargoyle to stop his needless
demise.

Lachlan firmly gripped his
arm, giving it a squeeze once, twice, in warning for Broc not to
interfere.

Dark eyes met dark
eyes.

The pressure in Broc's chest
lessened. Something in the depths of Lachlan's eyes conveyed
understanding, although how this man could fathom Broc's fear of
abandoning Karok and this realm was beyond him. He didn't
understand it himself. For better than two hundred years, his life
below the Callanish Standing Stones was his only reality. He had
long ago stopped wondering what his future held. Stopped
fantasizing what kind of life he could expect once free. He didn't
belong above. Now he didn't belong below.

He simply didn't
belong
anywhere.

A long inhalation filled his
lungs with much needed air, and he felt his muscles relax. He had
forgotten, briefly, that he wouldn't be facing a life above,
alone.

Lachlan's head turned and
Broc followed his line of vision back to Karok.

The most incredible joy
filled Broc's heart. The swirling golden ball was large enough for
Karok to fly through. He stood before it, his face, which Broc once
thought hideous, angelic in the golden light bathing it.

His massive head swiveled
and he smiled serenely at the group. His majestic wings lifted and
spread out, and he cast off. The
whoosh
of his wings was like a
heartbeat echoing in the chamber. As the sound dimmed, the vortex
gradually closed until a pinpoint of light flicked off, sealing the
afterworld the gargoyle had for two centuries, longed to
join.

A disquieting stillness and
oppressive silence followed.

No one moved or spoke, as if
each were profoundly immersed in thought.

Broc shook himself then
walked to where the gargoyle had knelt moments ago. He stared down
at the dirk lying at his booted feet, one ruby in the handle
winking at him. The instant he palmed the weapon—the key—an
electrical charge dispersed through his hand. He cried out in
surprise. Before he could drop the dirk, it shot up and streaked
through the air, its velocity producing an eerie, serpentine
hiss.

Broc's vision sharpened with
preternatural accuracy, homing in on the dirk's intended target.
His gaze met Lachlan's. Without breaking their visual lock, Lachlan
sliced a hand upward and gripped the handle, stopping the dirk's
razor tip a fraction of an inch from embedding in his heart. Broc's
legs gave out and he fell hard on his rump.

When several gasps rang out,
he assumed it was from Lachlan's close call. To his chagrin, it was
not.

"Have the decency, mon,"
Lachlan scolded, tucking the dirk into his waistband, "to wear
trews or keep yer legs thegither."

Heat suffused Broc's face as
he scrambled to his feet. The main focus of his mortification
lowered her head, but the Faerie queen could not hide her grin from
him. To calm the racing of his heart, Broc smoothed the front of
his kilt, squared his shoulders, and closed the distance to stand
before Lachlan, the man's intense, black eyes boring into
his.

"Ma apologies," Broc
muttered. His gaze dropped to the dirk then crept up to stare
Lachlan in the eye. "I no' be sure wha' confuses me mair; the
weapon's intent...or ye catchin' it in time."

A crooked smile appeared on
Lachlan's mouth as he patted the dirk. "It and I share a long
history."

"So ye said." Broc's eyes
briefly shifted to Taryn when she stepped to his side. "I would
think ye wary o' it then."

"I'm only wary o' wha' I
dinna understand."

"Lachlan, stop growling at
him like a wounded bear!" Taryn said, exasperated.

"Mayhaps the dirk should
remain here," Broc said, glancing at the others in hopes of their
confirmation.

"It stays wi' me," Lachlan
said.

"No sense arguin' wi' him,"
Roan piped up, and laughed. "I've yet to win one."

"There be always a first
time for everythin'," Broc said, his gruff tone daring Lachlan to
challenge him. Another, less humorless smile, twitched on Lachlan's
lips.

"Are we free to leave?"
Reith asked.

"Aye," replied Broc, and
passed Taryn a look of uncertainty. "Do I go wi' ye to yer
home?"

Taryn had the good grace to
blush. "Well...I actually don't have a home—here in Scotland, I
mean." She grinned impishly at Lachlan and Roan. "You'll put us up
until we decide what to do, won't you?"

Lachlan grimaced before
casting Roan a disgruntled look.

"Ye're still the true
laird," Roan said with an airy shrug. "Yer call."

"Lachlan?" Taryn said
nervously.

"He welcomes you both with
open arms," Blue said cheerily, and cocked her head to one side.
"Isn't that right, Lachlan?"

Lachlan closed one eye and
regarded Broc and Taryn with the other one. "O' course."

"I'll no' go where I'm truly
no' wanted," Broc said between clenched teeth. "I've survived this
long wi'ou' yer bloody charity, I can certainly—"

"Swallow yer pride, mon,"
Lachlan grumbled. "I said you were welcome, didna I?"

Broc stepped forward. They
stood nose to nose, hands on hips, tempers climbing.

"Wi' abou' as much warmth as
an iceberg!" Broc snarled.

"You get wha' you give,
mon!" Lachlan fumed.

"Enough!" Reith boomed. His
hands flattened to each man's chest, he pushed them apart at arm's
length and stood between them, his vivid blue-eyed glower
effectively diminishing their hostility.

"Ma apologies, everyone,"
Lachlan said with sincerity. He looked beyond Reith's head to Broc,
whose expression flickered from shame to frustration. "Broc, you
and Taryn are welcome at Baird House, for as long as you care to
stay." Lachlan scratched the back of his head and offered a shaky
chuckle. "I dinna know why you and' I have this animosity atween
us...but we canna let it affect our judgments anymair'n' it has.
Are we in agreement on this?"

Broc nodded.

Taryn released a theatrical
sigh and flung her hands into the air. "Thank God for small favors!
The testosterone levels were making me nauseous!"

Blue laughed outright and
Roan chuckled, while Broc, Lachlan and Reith frowned.

"Male hormones?" Taryn said
sarcastically.

Broc wryly regarded Roan.
"Yer sister, aye?"

"The mouth-piece o' the
family— Och! Actually, our mither's worse."

Broc's shocked expression
even elicited a laugh from Lachlan.

"Fegs, mon," Lachlan said
humorously as he draped an arm about Broc's shoulders, "you have no
idea wha' life at Baird House entails."