by L. L. Muir
“Who is Jillian?”
Ewan laughed. “Jillian is the faery lass. Did James not tell ye the tale?”
Gaspar resisted the urge to cross himself again, but he thought that since the Muir Witches had been real people, then maybe this faery would be as well. His heart lightened instantly when Isobelle returned to his side and slid her hand into his.
They moved further into the cellars, then filed into a small room. He thought it ridiculous to climb up into the small stone tomb, but he could not falter for Isobelle’s sake. He simply placed all his trust in James.
And if James had led them astray, Gaspar would beat him to a bloody puddle.
“Dinna fash,” James repeated once the three of them were inside. “We’ll just cover the hole here…” He scooted a heavy round of wood, like a slice of a stump, into the hole at their feet without bothering to light a torch beforehand.
“Where is the door?” Gaspar reached out and pushed against the nearest wall.
“There’s no door but the hole in the floor.” James said. “But I think it best if we hold tight to each other for a moment before we open it.”
“James,” Gaspar said with warning in his voice. “Where do we go from here?”
A large hand reached out and took hold of Gaspar’s tunic. “It is not so much that we go anywhere. But I believe the tomb itself…goes, and we are…taken.”
“You are mad!” Gaspar whispered. Then he noticed Isobelle was shaking again. “Here. Open the hole again. We are finished with this.”
James’s hand held firm for a minute more. Then he sighed. “I hope it was long enough.”
There was a bit of whispering in the room below and as James fumbled with the wood, Gaspar grew more and more furious. But he would see Isobelle tended to before he took her kin to task. No matter what their secrets, their silliness could not be overlooked. First thing in the morning, she could bid them all a final fare thee well, and together, they would be gone from this place.
“Witches,” he sneered to himself.
The hole in the floor was suddenly open and the room below much brighter than when they’d left it.
“Don’t be grumbling about witches, Dragon.” An ancient woman frowned up at him. “You’ll thank us before the day is done.”
A strange ladder was suspended below the hole and James climbed down upon it first. Then the device was gone and a large man stood beneath the hole and frowned as the old woman had. “Is she up there, James? Ye didna come back without her, did ye?”
“Nay, Monty. She’s there, if her dragon will let her out.”
“Monty!” Isobelle fell to her knees. Then suddenly she squeaked and tipped forward. Gaspar barely caught her by the backs of her calves.
“Here, now. Let her go, ye bastard. I’ve got her, but ye must let her go.”
Gaspar released Isobelle’s feet and prayed she would be safe, though why her brother had suddenly arrived, he knew not.
“Come out, Gaspar. Ye’re safe here.” It was James’ voice.
“Gaspar?” Isobelle was now beneath the hole with her head tipped back and her lovely pink face smiling up at him. “I’ll begin kissing every man in sight until you come down from there.”
He needed no further provocation. “Then you’d best move to the side, my love.”
A heartbeat later, he landed on his feet before her and he was certain she hadn’t had the chance to kiss any of them. Unfortunately, there were a great many men in the room from which she might choose.
He pulled Isobelle behind him, but his hand was suddenly empty. He turned to find her wrapped in the arms of the large one who was hopefully her brother, though there was another man in the room that looked precisely the same.
“I assume you are Montgomery Ross,” Gaspar said by way of greeting. Then he gestured toward the man’s replica. “And I hope you are not also a set of witches.”
The brother grinned and opened his arms, allowing Isobelle to step away from him. Gaspar feared the man was going to embrace him as he had his sister, but he shouldn’t have worried. Montgomery Ross had nothing so affectionate in mind…
When the man’s fist failed to knock Gaspar to the ground, Isobelle beamed with pride. Too bad he allowed his attention to linger on her, for the second blow was much more effective.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Jillian was thrilled for Monty—he might finally be able to forgive himself for what had happened to Isobelle while he’d been head of their clan. She wanted to sit down and have a good cry on his behalf, but there would be plenty of time for tears later. For now, she had to keep from scaring the newcomers to death. Remaining calm was essential. No use having them run screaming out of the cellars only to die of shock once they got a glimpse of someone talking on a cell phone.
Once James, Isobelle, and Gaspar were out of the tomb and on their feet in the little workroom—and the latter recovered from his introduction to Montgomery’s fist—Jillian explained that they’d travelled forward in time and now stood in Castle Ross in the 21st century. Isobelle had laughed and thought it was a joke. Gaspar hadn’t even smiled.
“If there are witches and faeries in the world,” he’d said, “then anything might be possible.”
“And if Isobelle has allowed her hair to be cut,” said Morna, “then the world is not what any of us knew it to be, aye?”
They waited until Isobelle understood they were serious then gave her a moment to accept it. With a firm hold on both Gaspar and Morna, she seemed ready to at least try.
Since there were twelve people packed in the little room, they were all relieved when Isobelle and Gaspar were ready to be exposed to the 21st century. They filed out of the workroom and up into the hall. The Muir sisters were followed by James, then Juliet and Quinn and their son Percy, Morna and Ivar, and Isobelle and her handsome friend. Jillian and Montgomery brought up the rear, mostly because she was too pregnant to climb the stairs quickly.
It only took a good look at the drastic changes to the hall, with its red velvet tourist trappings and crumbling stones, to convince Isobelle. As agreed beforehand, Jillian and the rest bit their tongues and resisted revealing too much too fast. Instead, they allowed the two newcomers to ask the questions. They’d also agreed not to speak of cars and airplanes and television until necessary. They figured computers could maybe wait a month.
To the disappointment of two dozen tourists, they closed Castle Ross for the day. And as someone who had once been a tourist of the castle, hoping to have a peek at the famous necklace of Isobelle Ross, Jillian felt truly sorry they had to be turned away. But she had also helped Monty, Morna and Ivar adjust to the shock of the 21st century, and she knew the best thing for Isobelle and her man was to keep them inside the castle until some things had been explained.
It didn’t help matters that James hadn’t given them any warning.
It had all been decided long ago that seniority-wise, Montgomery was rightful Laird of Castle Ross, even though the clan now consisted of the immediate family at that point. So, since her husband was The Shiz, and she, Lady Shiz, Jillian ducked outside and did her lady-of-the-castle duty and called for supplies on her cell. She figured they might be in for a long siege. There was no telling how much time the couple would need to process each bit of information, and Jillian made it clear to the others there would be no rushing. She wasn’t going to see her newly reclaimed sister-in-law end up in the loony bin.
The modern-though-ancient set of Muir sisters produced umbrellas and massive sunglasses from their car and, together with young Percy, sat in folding chairs at the entrance to the car park, prepared for whatever weather came up. To be helpful, they sent the tourists away as gently as possible. The excuse that upset the fewest people was to claim that an intervention was being staged for one of the family members with a substance-abuse problem. Most folks nodded in understanding and turned back without much grumbling. For where better than Scotland might someone need help overcoming their love for the drink, o
r whatever it might be?
That explanation was much better than Lorraine’s first suggestion—she’d wanted to tell everyone the castle was closed for the annual meeting of the local witch coven. Montgomery threatened to cut out her tongue, and Loretta’s too, if she so much as mentioned witches. He’d been suspected of being a witch one too many times that day. Lorraine really should have known better than to tease him.
Jillian could tell Isobelle and Gaspar weren’t the only ones who would need adjusting since Monty couldn’t keep from glaring at the couple’s clasped hands. So she watched and waited, knowing there would be trouble, but confident she carried an ace up her sleeve for when that trouble came.
By the time the pizzas arrived, they’d covered the basics. A bit of history, a lot of plumbing, and the circumstances that brought Morna and Ivar back together. Jillian thought it best not to let Isobelle know that she and her sister, Juliet, were also, quite probably, Muir Witches. They were still trying to wrap their own heads around it. But she did admit to being the faery prophesied to reunite Morna and Ivar—though she insisted she wasn’t a true faery, just a woman who’d been put inside a tricky tomb.
Gaspar seemed relieved to hear it, but he often glanced between her and her sister Juliet, who resembled her in every way except her darker hair. The pink hair extension drew the man’s attention every few minutes, but he looked afraid to ask.
For lack of chairs, they sat about on the floor while they ate. Monty insisted Jillian at least sit on the edge of the dais. The pizza didn’t seem to bother the new couple, and remembering what 15th century cuisine was like, Jillian wasn’t surprised. James was eager to list an entire menu of things he intended to eat, in order of priority. Morna told what foodstuffs she missed the most, but admitted there were plenty of things to make up for the loss, like chocolate. Food, it seemed, was safe topic that eventually helped everyone relax—everyone except Montgomery.
“James,” Monty barked. “Let’s you and I take the old sisters something to eat.” He stood and started piling pizza on a paper plate.
Since Monty usually didn’t care if Loretta and Lorraine fell off the face of the earth, Jillian knew something was up. But he gave her a look that warned her not to meddle. She gave him a warning look of her own, but didn’t say anything as the two men left the hall.
She turned to find Gaspar looking at their disappearing forms. Then he turned his gaze directly at her. His brows were slightly drawn together, and she felt that, deep beneath that calm and cool exterior, he was a shaking, nervous wreck. She’d noticed how he’d kept Isobelle on his left side and his right hand near the hilt of his sword. And she didn’t think all that wariness came from the fact that he’d just been plunged into completely foreign circumstances.
The man was afraid of Montgomery. But why?
She narrowed her eyes and asked him, silently.
In answer, he gave her a frighteningly vulnerable look, squeezed his eyes shut, then turned away.
The pizza did a somersault in her stomach and she looked around for Juliet. They exchanged a thought.
“Something is wrong here.”
And from a strange, inner distance, she heard another thought from the Muir sisters sitting outside.
“You must keep the dragon away from the tomb!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Isobelle,” Jillian said loudly, drawing the young woman’s attention away from Morna. “Lorraine and Loretta, our own set of Muir sisters, told us you’d be bringing a dragon with you. We were prepared for just about anything to come out of the hole. I think some of these guys were a little disappointed you didn’t bring a small scaly pet along.”
Everyone chuckled, then waited for Isobelle to reply.
She smiled wide and shared a glance with Gaspar. Then she nodded at him. “This is my dragon. Gaspar Dragotti—”
“God’s Dragon!” Monty’s voice boomed around them as he strode menacingly in Gaspar’s direction. “Surrender your sword!”
Ivar and Quinn jumped to their feet and moved quickly to surround Gaspar. James reappeared, looking both sheepish and angry. His right hand was tucked behind him and Jillian realized he kept his gun there. But they’d dealt with the man when rescuing Juliet from a 15th century Gordon chieftain and Jillian trusted him to keep a level head, even though Monty was over-reacting. After all, James was familiar with Monty too.
Poor Isobelle’s mouth hung open, and she shook her head as Gaspar pulled his hand from hers and rose to his feet. Then he gave a heavy sigh and removed his sheath and sword from his belt. Ivar took them and glanced at Monty for some explanation. But her husband’s attention was on Gaspar and no one else.
Isobelle reached up to Quinn and he helped her to her feet. “Until you hear the entire tale, brother, I insist you hold your judgment.” She gave James a disappointed look.
The tall one shook his head. “He didna give me the chance to say much. Only what I learned before I found ye on the island, aye? Only who he was and that he’d taken ye. For all I knew then—”
“He is one of them, Isobelle.” Monty choked on his emotion, then growled past it. “He tries witches, puts them to death. Deny it, Dragon!”
Gaspar’s eyes narrowed. “I do not deny that I have put women to death—”
Isobelle stepped closer to Gaspar. “Only when there was no way to save them, Monty. He saved as many as he could.”
“Is that what he told ye, mavournin’? To win yer…affection?” Monty hissed the last word.
Tears washed silently down Isobelle’s face, but she stood proud. “He saved me, brother. He saved me from myself, then he saved me from the kirk’s men. Just as ye did. Was it so long ago?” She looked at her tomb still perched on the dais. “I remember the last stone ye placed there, brother.”
There was a long silence while both of them stared at the aging structure.
“Blow us a kiss,” Monty whispered. “And douse the light…”
He often mumbled those words in his sleep. It meant he was stuck in the nightmare again, and he never came out of it easily. She just hoped that Isobelle’s arrival might mean the end of those long, horrible nights.
“Gaspar sacrificed himself,” Isobelle said, bringing Monty’s attention back from the tomb. “He offered himself in my place so James might bring me home to you. But we got him away as well. The man he thought of as a father planned to torture him, perhaps kill him, and he accepted it gladly if James was allowed to take me away. He was a powerful man and he lost everything for loving me, Monty.”
“And now he will lose a little more, I think, for locking my sister in a cage. I cannot bear to think what else ye have done to her.”
Gaspar’s arm shot out and the back of his hand connected with Monty’s cheek. “How dare you do her the dishonor!”
Jillian wanted to run to Monty, but she stood still with the stone image of her husband at her back. Constant as that stone image—that’s what Monty was. He fiercely loved everyone who belonged to him, a true laird of his clan. And he was clearly in Hell at the moment because he hadn’t been there to protect Isobelle yet a second time.”
“We will let our blades decide who has dishonored my sister,” Monty snarled.
James pushed past Ivar to get in Monty’s face. Jillian hoped Scotland’s James Bond could stop the fight, since she wasn’t able to breathe, let alone speak.
“You canna kill him, Monty. I willna allow it. I’m still in Her Majesty’s service until I’m told otherwise. If ye try to kill this man—”
“I am not dead yet,” Gaspar said with a smile.
Isobelle pushed herself between the men and held Gaspar behind her. “I will not allow it!”
Monty ignored her. “Fine, then. We will not fight to the death, but to first blood. That shouldna tax ye beyond bearing, Dragon.” He put his hands on his hips as he often did when he thought he could lay down the law. “If ye are the victor, my sister may keep ye. And if I draw first blood, ye will climb back into the tomb
and return from whence ye came. And if ye’d prefer not to face me blade, ye’re welcome to hie thee home while I fetch me weapon.”
“No!” Isobelle shrieked. “He is in as much danger from the kirk as I ever was, Monty. He canna go back! The man from whom he saved me will send men to hunt him and kill him, and only because he defended me! And I’ve finished with it, brother. I’ve finished with others suffering because of my foolishness. Do ye hear?”
Monty turned away from her, still caught up in his own emotions.
“I love him, brother. I love him as sure as ye love yer wife! And ye, and Ossian, and Ewan—ye teased me all me life that no man could ever love me, but ye were wrong.”
Isobelle’s declaration fell on deaf ears as Monty avoided looking in Jillian’s direction and left the hall. Jillian was torn between running after him and keeping her eye on Gaspar. If the Muirs had some idea of what was going to happen, she thought the safest thing was to follow their advice and keep the dragon away from the tomb. Besides, she knew better than to try and stop Monty when he was in warrior mode. He was going to be fighting a man with a sharp blade and she wasn’t about to cause him any distractions.
Gaspar and a distraught Isobelle moved away from the others and bent their heads together, and Jillian looked away to allow them a little privacy. This was no time to inform the woman that another man named Luthias had loved her so much her supposed death had driven him mad. That story would wait until Monty’s tantrum was over.
Quinn had drawn Juliet into his arms and they held each other silently, probably remembering how it was not so long ago they had to fight to be together.
Morna stood a bit behind Isobelle, ready to comfort her sister if she could, but all the while she carried on a silent conversation with her husband, Ivar, who stood holding Gaspar’s sword and sheath, waiting on Monty.
Always watching each other’s backs, Ivar and Monty. And she could imagine them as young boys, becoming like brothers, one test of bravery at a time. It gave her hope for her own sons, that one day they would have each other’s backs. Too bad they would probably support each other in some pretty stupid stuff too—like fighting someone with a real sword.
