Going Back for Romeo

by L. L. Muir

  His cousin was mad.

  “Ewan, see reason.” He felt the wildness in his eyes and forced a few deep breaths of whiskey-heated air into his lungs.

  How could he sound calm and reasonable and still make the man understand? How could Ewan ever understand his grief? He’d never lost his heart and soul to a woman, had never watched in torment while she took both from his life -- without looking back.

  Reason. Reason.

  “Ewan. Cousin.” Monty spoke softly, while his legs crossed and re-crossed each other. His grip on the chair’s arms threatened to crush the wood, but with his eyes, he held Ewan’s attention. “If we took down the tomb, we’d have an audience, aye? And how would we explain Isobelle’s missing bones? How would we explain the hole?”

  Ewan saw reason, but he didn’t care for it. The curl to his nose said he was disgusted with either Monty’s argument, or with something he’d just bitten into.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “We canna bring it down, but sure as there’s heather in Scotland, we can find a way to seal it up.” Ewan folded his arms and stood his ground.

  “I see yer in a fine mood, cousin.” Monty, ever the player, showed no signs of the fear Ewan just struck inside his gullet. “Perhaps we could discuss that as well if the celebratin’ ever ends.”

  * * *

  Monty hadn’t slept well.

  To prove he was past the point of continually checking the tunnels, he’d bid his cousin a good rest and gone to his bed. Unfortunately, staying there had been much harder than he’d expected. Mayhap he’d gone mad after all.

  Every hour he’d flung his coverings aside and jumped from the bed without a thought as to where he was going. Only when his hand touched the door did he stop and drag himself back, forcing his body to lie still. It had been about as easy as willingly lying down to die.

  But he would not die. He had a tomb to guard. And he worried what drastic means Ewan might use if Monty were not capable of at least pretending he was going to recover.

  That morning he’d feigned sleep as some lass brought him a tray of food and drink. Finally, none had coerced him into eating; he’d only drunk the mulled wine, and even that did not sit well in his sleep-starved stomach.

  The door swung open.

  Ewan stood with his hands on his hips, looking from the uneaten food to the cup in Monty’s fist.

  “You canna make me eat, mon. It’ll no’ stay down.” Monty set the cup on the tray and turned his attention to his boots that seemed to move away from him even as he reached out to pluck them up. “I canna be sure the wine will stay down either. Ye’d best step back.”

  Ewan grunted and picked up the boots, then opened his mouth to speak, but clapped it shut again.

  “What is it, Ewan? Are ye ill as well, then?”

  “Monty.”

  That was all? Just his name? Fine.

  “Ewan.”

  “Monty...”

  “Ewan. As you can see, I’m no’ runnin’ off. I’ll be here when you remember what it is you wanted to say.”

  His eyes had gone dry but he was finding it hard to blink them wet again. Ewan was putting on his boots for him, but he hadn’t noticed when the big man had taken a knee.

  “You’re going to be needin’ these on, Monty.”

  “I am.” He was? Just when he believed he might be ready for a fine long rest, Ewan wanted him to go somewhere? “And just where would I be goin’ in me boots, cousin?”

  Ewan finished and stood. Watching him stand made Monty dizzy enough to drop his torso back to the bed.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell ye, Monty.” Ewan’s hands were back on his hips. “Ye’re not yerself, ye ken? Ye can no’ lead yer clan the way ye’re actin’.”

  Monty sat up quickly, reaching for a sword he couldn’t see clearly. Finally, he realized it wasn’t in the corner where he’d left it.

  “This is about the tomb.” Panic welled in his veins only to boil with the wine in his belly and splash up inside his chest. “We cannot tear it down, Ewan. You know that.”

  “And we won’t tear it down. We won’t.”

  Ewan, bless him, wouldn’t let him down. Unlike Luthias, Ewan would never turn on him. They’d been as brothers all their lives.

  “But Monty, you need to be free of this place. Free of the ghosties and memories. Far enough away so ye can’t imagine your Jillian is calling for ye.”

  It wasn’t panic, but anger now that cleared his muddled mind.

  “You wish to rule the clan.” He nodded. “I see.”

  And he’d thought nothing in this life could cut him deeper than he’d already been cut.

  “You see nothing, you great arse.” Ewan flung the tray from the table, food flying against the wall. He then pulled the table over in front of Monty and sat upon it. “I’ve never been so ambitious, you witless bastard, and ye ken it well enough. I know you’re thinking of how Luthias turned on ye and for what you once believed of Ivar, and you must stop.”

  Breathe? Vomit? Cry? Just what was Monty supposed to do here? For the life of him, he couldn’t decide for himself. His belly threatened to take the choice out of his hands.

  “You’ll go away, Monty. You’ll get yer mind right again. And when you come back -- ”

  “The Gordons will let me rot.”

  “Ye daft mon.” Ewan grumbled for a bit. “You think I don’t ken that?”

  “Ye can no’ send me to the MacKays. The Gordons would treat me as a king compared to the MacKays.”

  Oh, how he wished to sleep, but sleeping wasn’t wise when his fate danced in the palm of someone else’s hand.

  “Monty, you’ll be goin’ to the Muirs.” Ewan held up a hand. “Now, now, then. It won’t be as bad as all that. They’ll see to ye. They’ll keep their tongues tied in a trusty knot. And they’re keen healers, aye? Maybe they can help hasten your heartwounds to closing.”

  Ewan stood and moved the table back. Out of reach. Not a good sign, that.

  “And?” Monty took a deep breath, but it only served to relax him more. Sitting up was no longer convenient, but he barely felt his shoulders bounce against his bedding. Ah. That was it, then. “My bastard cousin has drugged me.”

  Ewan’s head swam above him, shaggy blond hair reaching down toward his face. His greasy beard stayed well away, praise God.

  “Aye, laddie. I did. And when you return, the tunnels will be sealed.”

  Monty could do nothing, move nothing. He couldn’t stop the tears from filling his eyes or overflowing their swollen banks.

  “Ewan, you must leave her some air...and light...and water.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “No.”

  “Now Jillian, I can certainly understand how you’ve no intention of ever again following a suggestion of the Muir sisters, but I tell you it was Quinn’s idea to bid you fare-thee-well in the Great Hall.”

  Maggie had her back against the bedroom door, but Jillian couldn’t believe the woman would actually try to stop her if she didn’t go to a no-longer-a-surprise farewell party.

  “I tell you my brother hasn’t been this animated in a great long while. Can you not do it for him, lass?” The woman moved aside and opened the door. “You have no idea the sacrifice he’s makin’ for ye.”

  Oh, now tears were a bit over the top. What had the man sacrificed? A morning of tourist fees?

  Maybe tourist fees actually were that important.

  “I’ll go. But I won’t miss my flight.”

  “Dinna fash about that, lass. You’ve a good hour before you’ll need to leave here. I’ll make sure your bags are down and your taxi waitin’.” Maggie’s smile faded. “And whatever will make my brother happy, will make us happy enough for him.”

  The woman was sobbing before she made it very far down the hall. No doubt about it, Castle Ross was a sad place for a lot of people.

  No one had ever thrown Jillian a surprise party before, but one thing she assumed was that she would walk into a quiet room an
d people would say, “Surprise!” Apparently the UK version of such a party was to have all the guests milling about having a good time, and the surprised should just walk in and start mingling.

  The hall was not quiet. In fact, the party would have gone on just fine without her. She decided to find Quinn, give him a thanks and good-bye, then slip out the front door and wait outside for her cab.

  “Jillian! Oh, there she is. Jillian!”

  Right veiny hand holding lemon punch -- Loretta.

  “Jillian I would like you to meet someone.” She turned to a very handsome man with black hair and green eyes. “Wickham, this is our Jillian. She’s the one you came here to see.” Lorretta looked behind him. “Where’s your ladyfriend gone off to?”

  “I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.” Wickham turned to Jillian. “How do you do?” He shook her hand, looked her up and down, and whistled.

  Jilly couldn’t help but laugh.

  Maggie turned up at Loretta’s elbow and said something in Gaelic Jillian must have misunderstood. Maybe her ears were still tuned to a medieval Gaelic station. She thought Maggie said, “The toilet might contain Jillian’s grandmother.” Then Maggie ran back out of the Hall.

  Lorraine showed up and exchanged a nervous look with her sister, then gave Wickham an elbow usually reserved for her sister.

  Wickham noticed Jilly noticing.

  “Oh, don’t worry about Lorraine. She’s my sister and she throws her elbows around no matter what decade she’s in.”

  “Sister?” Jillian started counting fingers. “Are you kidding me?”

  This time the old woman looked like she was going to strangle him, but he just grinned at her.

  “You see, Jillian, I’m trying to impress my new gal by bringing her here to meet you, the one who ended the Ross curse. You know, the prophesy.” He looked behind him. “We’re actually from the 50’s, see? The nineteen fifties.”

  Lorraine tried to grab him by the ear, but he ducked like he’d ducked that move all his life.

  “Relax, Lorraine. If anyone understands time-travel, don’t you think Jillian would?” He turned back to her. “In fact, my brother and I came up with a right genius way to travel -- yeouch!”

  Lorraine had his ear then. He looked around twenty-five, but an elder is still and elder, Jilly supposed.

  “It’s time to go, Wickham. It was wonderful to see you, but you’re messing in our nest, here. You really are.” Lorraine looked anxiously behind her. “As soon as she comes back, you need to go.”

  “But Ivy needs to meet Jillian. Then we will go.”

  Lorraine’s face was a thundercloud when she turned back to him.

  “Wickham. Listen to me. Ivy must not meet Jillian. I know you don’t understand, but you’ll have to trust me.”

  Wickham nodded. “Okay, okay. We’ll go.” He threw his arms around Lorraine. “It was good to see you, sis. I always told you you’d live to be a hundred.”

  Lorraine whacked him on the head.

  “A violently beautiful hundred.” He grinned, then turned to Loretta. “Try to teach her kindness, Retta. It’s never too late, you know.”

  Lorraine came forward and pulled Jillian aside.

  “What time is your flight, dear? Wouldn’t you like a nice cup of tea before you go?”

  Beware of Mormons pushing tea. If it wasn’t on a t-shirt somewhere, it ought to be. Something was up, and if the Muirs wanted Jilly gone, she wasn’t going anywhere. Last act of defiance, and all that.

  Jillian gave Lorraine her most brilliant smile then removed the old woman’s hand from her shoulder before looking deep in those glassy blue irises.

  “Not on your sweet aunt’s fanny.”

  A young woman, dressed, well...in a dress, came running through the archway into the hall. Her bell-shaped green skirt came just past her knees and she teetered on a matched a pair of very old-fashioned pump heels. She wore a pair of honest-to-goodness cat-eye glasses as a head band and clutched a small beaded purse in her white-gloved hands. She tossed her head around until she saw Wickham.

  Suddenly the man’s clothing made sense. His jeans were what Grandma had called high-waters; tight against his leg and not long enough to get wet while walking through large puddles. His hair was smoothed away from his face and he wore a bomber jacket that looked as if it he’d gotten it off a real pilot.

  Jilly suddenly believed every word he’d said. They had to be from the nineteen fifties, or else this was all staged by the Muir sisters. She’d reserve judgment for as long as she could.

  “Come on, Ivy. We’ve got to run, now.” He held out a hand to her.

  “Wickham, you’ve got to help me.” She grabbed his lapels and pulled him close. “Those people! I heard them plotting to kill someone. We can’t just leave, we have to stop them.”

  Wickham dropped his smile.

  Lorraine grabbed Jilly’s arm and turned her toward the archway, but Jilly kept turning until she was again facing Wickham and the girl. In an impressively smooth move, she also got her arm free. In a heartbeat, she was running toward Wickham, to put the young man between herself and Lorraine.

  And as she stood there, one hand on Wickham, the other on Ivy, it struck her.

  “The toilet contains my grandmother...my grandmother is in the toilet,” she said aloud, turning to Ivy. “My grandfather wasn’t wicked, he was Wickham.”

  Lorraine winced and stopped trying to get to her through the couple. She then looked at Jilly. “You should have trusted me, missy,” she said softly.

  “Wickham, who is this woman, and why is she running from your sister?” Ivy clutched Jilly’s grandfather a bit closer.

  “Ivy, this is the woman we came to see. Her name is Jillian.” He put a steadying arm around Jilly’s grandmother and turned her to face Jillian properly. “Jillian, this is Ivy MacKay.”

  Ivy reached out the hand not twisted in Wickham’s jacket and grabbed Jilly’s fingers. “Jillian is the name of the woman they plan to kill, Wickham!”

  Loretta walked up behind Lorraine. “That’s why we couldn’t find any record. We thought MacKay was her married name.”

  Jillian took stock of her grandmother. Ivy MacKay was standing in front of her once again. It was a miraculous chance to tell her grandmother everything she’d never dared say before. True closure. A foot away.

  But in Ivy’s eyes she saw fear, not meanness, and that fear was for Jilly. Maybe it always had been.

  What this woman deserved was some hope, but how much could she bear to hear at her young age? Then Jilly remembered what a tough old bird Ivy MacKay had turn out to be.

  “Ivy, honey, I’m going to be your granddaughter, and you are going to own oil wells and make an embarrassing amount of money.” She left out the part about living alone and lonely except for an awkward, quiet granddaughter who was headed toward a similar destiny.

  Whether from heartbreak or shock, Jilly’s remaining energy spilled out of her boots and she wobbled as she patted her young grandmother’s hand.

  “And if you think someone around here is going to kill me, you’ve misunderstood. I’m already dead.”

  Wickham freed himself from Ivy just in time to catch Jilly as her knees gave out. He pulled her up against him.

  “Nice catch, Grandpa.” She searched his face for some likeness of herself and found it in his eyes. “You don’t look very surprised. You could at least admit you didn’t know I was your granddaughter when we were introduced.”

  “Aye, lass. I admit it. I’m pleased to know you, but I’m even more pleased Ivy and I will be grandparents together.” He made sure Jilly could stand, then stepped back to Ivy. “But you know my sisters. If you were a brother of theirs, could anything truly surprise you?”

  Lorraine laid a hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about the lass, Ivy. My sister and I have things in hand. You have to trust sometimes.”

  Loretta walked to the Great Hall door and pulled it open. “You have to go, brother, before any more
secrets slip.”

  Behind Lorraine, Quinn finally entered with a returning Maggie on his arm.

  “It’s them!” Ivy cried out and pointed. “They were the ones! Jillian, run!”

  Everyone turned to Quinn, who lifted his brows and shrugged, his hands open in innocence. Wickham tried to calm Ivy while glaring daggers at Laird Ross. Lorainne calmly ushered them out the door and eventually, Ivy’s complaints stopped.

  Oh yeah, Ivy MacKay was not going to like that.

  “I don’t know what she was talking about,” Quinn said behind her.

  “Jillian, dear?” Lorraine stood with her arms crossed. The first tears Jilly had ever seen from the woman were coursing down her cheeks. Loretta joined her and gave her a squeeze and Jilly suddenly understood.

  “You didn’t get to say good-bye.” Jilly wrung her hands. It was her fault Wickam and Ivy had been hurried away. “I’m so sorry.”

  Lorraine wiped her face with her trusty handkerchief while Loretta clung to her, staring at the floor.

  “Are you worried he’ll go back and tell you about the tomb?”

  “No. He won’t. He never makes it back.” Loretta cleared her throat and pulled out her own hankie.

  Yes, Castle Ross sucked.

  “Jillian, dear.” Lorraine had her control back. “It was a wonderful treat to see our Wickham again. You can stop feeling sorry about it. However,” she raised her brows at Loretta, then the rest. Quinn, Maggie, and the rest of the family gave her their full attention. As did Jilly. “If you were Ivy MacKay,” she continued, “and you’d just seen what she has, what do you suppose she’ll do when she’s presented with a granddaughter named Jillian?”

  Of course. “I’d do whatever I could to keep her away from Scotland.”

  Her head spun with memories -- of warnings, of paranoia, of the sadness lurking in her grandmother’s eyes at the mention of her wicked grandfather.

  Quinn stepped forward. “One mystery solved, then. But there is a new one. I have a little going away present for you.” He took Jilly’s arm securely in his grasp. “Now, it’s inside the tomb, but you’ll want to see it.”