Yet as the morning rays of light started to filter in the sky, he tried to grasp onto one bit of logic.
Remorse. Did he fell that? Not completely.
Under it all was an exhilarating thrill he’d experienced as he pushed his taser against Helen’s skin, as he felt her trying in vain to hold still. Just thinking about it hardened him all over again.
He eased his seat back as his eyes drifted closed. He’d know what to do after a few hours of shuteye.
A little sleep and he’d be good.
* * * *
Every muscle in Helen’s body screamed in protest when she woke.
“Aspirin,” she mumbled from her prone position.
“All I can offer is tea,” Tara replied from across the room.
Helen popped one eye open and shut it quickly. Sixteenth century. No toilets, long dresses, big, bad men in kilts. One of these days, she’d like to wake not thinking of anything other than when she was going to drink her morning coffee or maybe take a run around the block. Damn, when was the last time she’d done that?
A month.
“Tell me it has caffeine.”
Tara chuckled. “Not sure if it does or not. Tastes good though.”
Helen wiggled her other eye open and winced as she sat up.
“Well, I’d like to say you look better.”
“But you’d be lying.” Already she could feel the stinging skin around her lips where the duct tape had held her gag in place and the tenderness over her eye where Philip has struck her. Even the back of her head hurt like hell. Oh, yeah, he’d knocked her out to begin with.
What a helpless sap she’d been. A stupid rabbit waiting for a fox to pounce.
“Here.” Tara handed her a cup. She graciously accepted and placed to her lips.
What it lacked in sweetness, it had in taste. The warmth trickled down her throat like a balm. “Thanks.”
“I wish I had some ice to put on that eye.”
Helen brought her hand to the right side of her face and let out a little moan.
“That bad?”
“I’ll live.”
“But it hurts?”
“It does.”
Tara’s hand sat on Helen’s leg in comfort. “If Cian was here, we’d have you fixed in a minute.”
Funny, Cian didn’t seem the healing type. Yet she knew of his gift to heal others. “Where’s Lora?”
“Oh, uh, she and Ian left the room about an hour ago. I think they’re trying to figure out what to do next.”
“What’s to figure out? I need to go back and try and stop Philip from…from…”
“You can’t change the past. If Malcolm has already made it to this century, there is nothing you can do. Too many events would be wiped out if the Malcolm behind these attacks is the same as in your century.”
“It might not be too late.”
Tara shook her head. “Let’s assume Philip’s brother is the one here. He’s been sending men after us for over a year. Simon wouldn’t have been fighting in the Highlands the day you accidentally fell through time. You might never have met. The men chasing you might have—”
“I get it.” Oh, did she get it.
“One of the reasons we didn’t use the stones over the years was the fear that we’d screw up something catastrophic and void something important. It wasn’t like I didn’t miss pizza, or a bar of chocolate.” Tara’s gaze drifted back in obvious memory of said delight.
“The point is we avoided all travel. We thought it was for the best.”
“Well I sure as hell can’t stay here, and your kids can’t stay there.”
“Of course not. But you can’t undo what’s been done. One phone call, one instant message, and Philip will have informed his brother how to use the stone. If he’s Druid, he’ll slip away. If he isn’t…”
But Helen knew already that Philip’s brother Malcolm and the Malcolm raging war on the MacCoinnich’s were the same guy. She’d bet her next nonexistent paycheck on it.
“It’s the same guy.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, yes I do.” Helen’s body vibrated with the knowledge. It was her Druid gift dammit, and she knew when it was singing to her. Right now, it was hitting a high ‘C’.
“Even if it is you can’t change it.”
This was all Philip’s fault. He should be the one here fixing this and not the MacCoinnichs.
A warm rush of calm washed over her. “Of course.” Bring Philip here. Make him stop this stupid war.
“Of course what?” Tara’s eyes met Helen’s.
Helen kicked back the blankets and shifted to get out of bed. “Come on. I need you to help me look presentable.”
“Why?”
“I’m going home.”
* * * *
The grandfather clock in Mrs. Dawson’s hall chimed the noon hour.
Simon pushed out of the chair and started for the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve waited long enough, Cian. She’s out there somewhere. I need to find her.”
Cian stood poised between him and the door, blocking him. “Amber said she didn’t sense her anywhere.”
“Amber could be wrong.”
“When has that ever happened?”
Never. “There’s a first time for everything.”
“Not in this. Patience.”
“Fuck patience.” His woman was missing and sitting around doing nothing wasn’t finding her.
Cian’s gaze shot to Simon’s.
The air stilled around them and neither spoke.
“You love her.”
Simon started to deny the charge.
He couldn’t.
Cian shifted his gaze.
“We’ll go together to find her.”
“Someone needs to stay with the women.”
“You make it sound as if they’re weak. We both know they out power both of us.” Cian turned away.
“Neither one of us knows how to drive a car and a horse would prove useless here.”
Cian shrugged. “’Tis time we learned the ways of this century, or be hostage to it. I’ll find our host and we’ll borrow her transportation.”
A plan, they had a plan.
Simon made his way to the back of the house and Mrs. Dawson’s kitchen, where he’d found her more times than not feeding one of the many hungry children in the house. A plan, they had a plan. He heard Selma’s voice scolding one of the children at the same time he noticed a flash of light from the back window.