by L. L. Muir
That was the moment Jules had recognized as her chance to end his heartache. If he didn’t remember loving William yet, then losing his brother wouldn’t break his heart. And if she took Percy with her...
She suddenly realized why she’d been so set on saving the boy.
Deep down, she’d felt like erasing his father’s betrayal would somehow make up for Gabby’s betrayal of Nikkos. But it wouldn’t. Nothing was bringing Nikkos back. And nothing could erase what had happened to William Gordon. All she could do was keep Percy from reliving the loss. She only wished she could have done the same for Nikkos.
She thought of William’s body still waiting in Gordon’s dungeon and wondered if he knew she would be preventing Percy from ever loving him again. But if he knew that, he’d also know that Percy would be spared, wouldn’t he?
“Sorry, William,” she muttered. “I hope you understand.”
“What was that?” Quinn whispered in her ear.
Jules was sitting on a bench with Quinn standing behind her like he thought that hundred-year-old man might run through the door any second and drag her away.
“I said I’m not leaving without Percy,” she whispered back.
“Well, of course we’re not leaving without him,” he said. “Who knows what those blood-thirsty Muirs might do if they ever got their hands on him?”
She jumped to her feet and faced him, then grinned like an idiot, trying to show him how grateful she was.
“Does this mean I can have that kiss now?” He pulled her close and barked his shin on the bench. “Why is there ever something between us, Juliet?”
She climbed over the stupid bench and stepped up close. Just as Quinn’s mouth touched hers, Monty cleared his throat nearby. They ignored him and kissed like they’d been waiting all day for a chance to do it. Her lips were going to be bruised.
Thank goodness!
The second time Monty cleared his throat, he was a foot away.
Quinn pulled back. “What is it, Uncle? I ken she looks a great deal like yours, but this one’s mine. Yours is over there.” Then he pulled her close again.
This time, their lips didn’t even touch before she and Quinn were pushed apart. His hands slipped out of her reach.
“I beg pardon, nephew,” Monty said cheerfully, “but as Juliet’s brother of the law, she is mine until such time as I hand her to ye, aye? And I doona see a priest about.”
“In truth,” said Ewan as he squatted before the hearth poking at the flames of his fire, “James has gone to fetch Father McRae, just in case mind ye.”
Jillian started laughing. “Poor man! He’s going to think he’s marrying us again, Montgomery.”
Monty didn’t seem to hear because he and Quinn were locked in some kind of staring contest, like they were summing each other up. Was Monty daring Quinn to back out? Maybe run away before the priest showed up?
Jules felt the smile slip off her face when the word marrying finally registered. She heard a whimper and realized it had come from her own throat.
Quinn noticed her distress and pushed Monty out of the way to come to her. He hugged her to him, then ran his fingers along her hair.
“Don’t listen to them, lass,” he crooned. “We’ll marry when you’re ready and not before. I’ve more family who will want to be in attendance, aye?”
More family? The idea was shocking enough to get her mind off a rushed wedding.
What a difference a week made. No family, no ties. Now plenty of family with more waiting in the wings? It seemed like a pretty picture, but with one, unwanted face looming on the back row.
Gabby. The father figure. Smiling for the camera.
It was one tie she needed to sever before she’d be ready to tether herself to this family of Scots.
“We need to go, Quinn. I have to get back to New York in the next thirty-six hours, or I’ll have to hide for the rest of my life. None of you will be safe if Gabby comes looking for me. I have to make sure he gets put away.”
The color drained from Quinn’s face.
“You will be safe,” he demanded. It sounded a lot like the time Monty had shouted at Jillian that she would be fine, when she’d been crying beneath the tree.
“Here we are!” James led in a priest wearing a floor length robe. The man looked a little nervous, like he thought Satan might rear his head out of the giant mass of curls on James’ head.
“Face the wall, Father McRae, if ye please.” Monty’s voice boomed around the room.
The priest did as he was asked, like he was invited to face the wall on a regular basis. Then he fainted dead away.
Everyone looked at Monty because it had to have been his voice that scared the man.
Ewan laughed.
“Och, forgive me,” he said. “The man’s likely been planning the words to say o’er yer grave, and here ye are, orderin’ him about.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Standing in the tomb once more, just to the side of the hole and surrounded by all those who were supposedly traveling with her to the twenty-first century, Jules lowered the necklace onto her collarbone, just as Jillian had done a minute before.
Again, nothing happened.
The torchlight still rose through the hole. Ewan still gawked up from barrel below.
Jules huffed. “I don’t know why I need to do this. I wasn’t wearing the necklace when I came through the first time. Neither was James.”
She didn’t mean to sound cranky, but the six of them had been standing there for a while, and with five hands clamped on her arms, for fear she’d leave without them, she was feeling more than a little claustrophobic.
Quinn’s arm, wrapped securely around her waist, gave her a little squeeze. When she looked at him, he winked.
Percy was squished between them with one hand on Juliet’s arm and one wrapped around Quinn’s wrist. The poor kid was scared to death.
“Each time I’ve done it,” Jillian said, “it happened right when the silver was lowered onto my skin.”
“Perhaps there are too many people,” James suggested. “I can stay behind—”
“No,” Monty growled.
There was something going on there that Juliet didn’t know about.
Jillian perked up. “I know what it is! The Muirs. There were always Muir twins nearby.”
Everyone turned to stare at her. No one bothered to say it out loud, that there were Muir twins already inside. Jillian wrinkled her nose and shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, we’re not old,” she said.
“By Muir standards, we’re far from old ourselves,” came the voice of one of the sisters. It was hard enough for Jules to tell them apart when she could see them. It was impossible to tell anything from their voices.
“Mhairi, Margot. We’re ever so glad to see ye,” said Monty to the hole in the floor. “What have we forgotten, ladies? We’re all hangin’ on to Juliet for dear sweet life. She’s wearing the torque, as Jillian has already tried, but it doesna seem to be working.”
“Och, Laird Montgomery, haven’t we said it had naught to do with the torque?”
“Aye. Ye did. I remember now. But there must be something more.”
“Aye, laird. There’s more. But we must have yer promise before we help ye on yer way.”
Everyone’s eyes bugged out a little, all but Percy’s. They all suspected that making a promise to the Muirs might not be the wisest move. But Jules was desperate. She was going to lose her effing mind if she didn’t get out of there.
“What is it?” she hollered. “What’s the promise?”
“The tunnel. You must all promise that no one will ken of it.”
“An easy promise to keep,” said Quinn.
“But ye must all vow, and Ewan as well, that the tunnel will never be destroyed.”
Monty was already shaking his head.
Jillian bent and looked through the hole. “Why, ladies? Why can’t we destroy it? What if our children wander inside?”
�
�They would need to be shown the way. If ye keep the first promise, ye’ll have naught to fear.”
“Why?” Jules had the feeling they weren’t telling them everything. “Why can’t we get rid of it?”
There was a long pause. No one moved. No one let go of her.
“Someone else moves within the tunnel. Cursed. And yet there is hope, as long as the tunnel remains.”
There hadn’t been anyone inside the tunnel but Percy and her. Or had there? They’d been watching their feet the entire way.
A shiver rose through her and she looked at Jillian. Her sister felt it too. The tunnel shouldn’t be destroyed.
“We promise,” they said in unison, then laughed. No one else in their little circle seemed to think it was funny. Under the circumstances, Jules resisted the urge to call out, “Jinx!”
“We need to go now, ladies,” Quinn called out. “What is it we’ve forgotten?”
“Wrought with love and sacrifice, Quinn Ross. Love. And sacrifice.”
One of the sisters laughed. “And shame upon ye, fer thinkin’ we’re a blood-thirsty bunch. The lad would never have been harmed—but what better way to make ye determined to take him along than to forbid ye?”
Quinn stiffened at her side.
Jules gave him a little squeeze. When he met her gaze, she gave him a wink.
“Enough love in here to choke a horse, I’d say.” She turned back to her sister. “What about the sacrifice?”
The seconds ticked away. No one spoke, though it was clear by their frowns they were all thinking. Then suddenly, James laughed.
“Sorry, Monty, lad. I ken ye dinna trust me near Isobelle for some reason, but it seems there’s no other choice.” James looked Jules in the eye. “Give ‘em hell, Juliet Bell.”
One hand loosened its grip on her arm, then disappeared, and with it, the light from below. She was standing in the darkness with the echo of James’ laughter fading from memory. Monty and Jillian released her. Quinn and Percy still held tight. A second later, a flashlight came on. Monty held it in one hand, his other was locked around Jillian’s forearm in a deathgrip.
There was an empty gap in their little circle, where James had stood.
“Son of a bitch.” Monty glared at the empty space.
Jillian laughed. “Well, at least your cursing is improving.”
“Jillian, dear!” came a sweet shaky voice from below. It had to be one of the old Muir sisters who’d first sent Jules into the tomb.
“I guess we’ve arrived,” she said.
It was a little shocking that she’d felt nothing at all. Inhaling in the fifteenth century, exhaling in the twenty-first.
Quinn finally let go of her wrist and tapped Percy on the shoulder.
“You can let go now, lad.”
“Jillian? Did ye find yer sister?”
“Yes, I did,” Jillian said with a smile.
“Well, then, there are a couple of surly gentlemen who suggest that she comes out with her hands where they might readily see them.”
***
Up at the manor house, Jules the Prisoner, was held in the upstairs bathroom—or rather, the upstairs loo—for two reasons. First, no one trusted her not to escape before things were settled, and secondly, Quinn refused to let anyone lay a hand on her, let alone allow two agents to hold her by the elbows. The loo, with its small transom window through which no adult human could escape, became the only option.
She didn’t know what those good old boys from New York had told them about her, but the men sent to apprehend her treated Juliet Bell like she was trouble. The fact that James hadn’t turned up with the rest of them hadn’t helped. What did they think, that she was a cop-killer. A bobby-killer?
It wasn’t funny, but you know, it kinda was.
“James would have thought it was funny,” she mumbled.
The bathroom door whipped open and Jules had to back up against the side of the toilet to allow enough room for Quinn and Monty to squeeze inside and shut the door behind them.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I made a few calls,” Quinn said. “They are British Secret Service. One of them is James’ supervisor. He had no problem believing that James would take a leave of absence and head to Spain after making sure we were home safely. A couple blokes climbed into the tomb, but came back out again, thankfully.”
“Aye, thankfully,” said Monty. “Get on with it then,” he said to Quinn.
“Get on with what?” she asked.
Quinn’s face reddened. “Och, my uncle here doesn’t believe you mean to wed me.”
Monty snorted. “That’s a fact. I doona believe it.”
Jules didn’t know whether to be offended or not. Of course Monty didn’t know her well, but did he really believe that she’d take the money and run?
“It doesn’t matter what he believes, though, does it? It matters what you believe,” she said to Quinn. It kind of hurt that he doubted her, after all they’d been through.
“Och, now, Juliet. Of course I believe you. I just want Monty to shut his gob and stop his teasin’. If you’ll just tell him...”
“Wait.” Monty pulled out a plaid scarf he’d had dangling from his waistband. “If she’s going to make a promise, she’ll need to bind it. Hold up her hand.”
Quinn inched around to the far side of the toilet and took her hand right hand in his right hand, then lifted it up. Monty stepped forward and started wrapping their hands together. Jules was just glad the toilet lid was down.
“What in the hell are you doing?” she demanded.
“Binding yer promise,” Monty said simply, like she was stupid to have asked. “Ye canna break a promise that’s been bound, lass.”
Quinn just smiled at her and shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world to be holding hands over a toilet asking her to promise that she would marry him.
“Of course I’m going to marry you,” she said, “but only if you don’t make a habit of doing silly shit like this.”
Quinn looked at Monty. “Yes, I pledge to marry the lovely foul-mouthed lass. Will that do?”
Monty frowned, then nodded. “I bear witness to it.”
Jules rolled her eyes.
The scarf was pulled away and Monty stuck only his head out the door.
“I think you should kiss me, lass.” Quinn leaned forward.
She shook her head. “I am not kissing you over a toilet.”
He huffed and stuck out his lovely bottom lip. She was incredibly tempted to reconsider.
Monty laughed quietly. “Stop yer moonin’ and come on. We’re not supposed to be in here. Juliet, ye’ll stay put.”
Quinn gave her a wink and then backed out of the room, grinning, pulling the door shut behind him.
She hurried to the door and pressed her ear against the thick white paint. She thought she heard men giggling on the stairs.
Men.
She shook her head and climbed into the footed bathtub. If they were going to make her wait, she was going to sleep and it wasn’t going to be on the toilet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The bathroom door burst open.
“She’s gone!” a man shouted.
“No, I’m not,” she hollered and sat up in the tub.
An agent jumped sideways with a gun pointed at her.
“Nevermind,” he hollered toward the door. “She’s here.”
He kept his gun trained on her while she stretched her shoulders—the tub was far too short for her to have slept comfortably.
Then she laughed as the pins and needles worked themselves out of her muscles. Out of all the things that had frightened her in the last ten days, the guy with the gun was the least frightening of all.
“He’s awake,” another man said from the hallway. “He says it wasn’t her.”
The agent sneered at her but holstered his gun. Then he went out and shut the door.
“What?” she called over the side of the tub. “No apology?”
About five minutes later, the door opened again.
The squatty one must have picked the short straw. He stood back with his feet braced apart like he thought she was going to rush him. He looked so nervous, she hoped they didn’t allow him to keep real bullets in his gun. Thankfully, he hadn’t drawn that weapon, yet.
She climbed out of the tub and stretched.
Squatty nodded the direction she was supposed to go. She wanted to yell boo! at him as she passed, but she was afraid she’d get shot for it. Some laughs just aren’t worth dying for, but she couldn’t help holding up her hands and shaking them.
“Uh, oh. Where’d my handcuffs go?”
Squatty’s eyes bulged and she thought he was going to pee himself. Then he frowned. He must have remembered she hadn’t been cuffed in the first place.
She chuckled while he nudged her down the wide hallway and into a large study. The very handsome middle-aged man in the suit sat behind the desk and smiled. He’d been the same man who’d been sitting in the great hall when they’d all been escorted out of the cellar.
She smiled back.
Behind her right foot, something snorted, and she jumped. But it wasn’t an animal—it was Quinn. He was lying on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind him. His head was up, though, and he winked.
She was thrilled to see him and worried about the handcuffs, but with as nervous as everyone seemed to be, she didn’t dare kneel next to him. Since their little conversation in the bathroom, he’d taken the time to change into jeans, but he still had on the loose yellow shirt he’d been wearing since they’d returned from Muirsglen. And he was barefoot.
Nice jeans, she thought, but she’d have to study them later.
She turned back to the suit. “What did he do?”
The man’s smile turned into a grin. She didn’t trust him worth spit.
“Assaulted one of my men,” he said.
“Allegedly,” Quinn said cheerfully.
“Well, I’m not about to disbelieve my own agent, Mr. Ross. And I doubt he bloodied his own nose.”
