by L. L. Muir
“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 coul
d 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.
But she’d seen Monty fight. She’d seen all of them fight. And the one to worry about was Gaspar. Even if he were hiding some impressive dragon scales beneath his tunic, he was in trouble. And if Monty ordered him back into the tomb? She had to decide just how far she’d go to stop him. After all, they each owed Isobelle a debt for starting it all. If she’d never tried to help Ivar and Morna, none of them would be together.
None of them.
There was movement, and Jillian watched as Gaspar kissed Isobelle on the forehead and then turned her, to hand her off to Morna. Then he headed for the archway that led to the kitchens. Juliet frowned at her—Quinn had her locked in his arms and it didn’t look like she would be getting out any time soon. The guy had nearly lost her too many times to count, and he still wasn’t quite confident enough to let her get beyond arm’s length from him. Most of the time, they had to kidnap her and leave a note if they wanted to go shopping, and Quinn would still come looking for her. Poor guy.
Jillian found Gaspar standing at the head of the stairs that led to the cellars, but he wasn’t looking down, he was staring at the kitchens. There was an addition there that he wouldn’t have seen in the 15th century version.
He glanced at her, then back into the kitchen where empty pizza boxes covered every inch of an old table.
“She will love it here, will she not?” he said. They both knew which “she” he was talking about.
“Yes. Actually, no one cares if you’re a witch nowadays—not that Isobelle’s a witch, because she isn’t.”
He nodded. “I know she is not.”
“And no one bats an eye when a woman speaks her mind.”
That got his attention. “Truly?”
She nodded and smiled. “Truly.” Then she realized what he was saying. “Uh. You know, you’re going to be very happy here too.”
He smiled politely. “We both know that is not true. Your husband seems quite capable of spilling as much of my blood as he wishes to spill. But I believe I can avoid causing Isobelle too much shame.”
“So you plan to fight?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at the bottom of the stairs. “I thought maybe you were looking for the tomb.”
He shook his head. “No. Just wishing for a quiet moment to prepare for battle.”
“Ah. Well. Maybe I can help you there.”
His brows rose. “You would aid your husband’s opponent?”
She grinned. “I would, if that enemy promised not to hurt my husband too much.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Jillian thought it was ridiculous, really, how stoic all the women were as they stood on the sidelines. If most of them weren’t dressed in jeans and t-shirts, you’d think it was a medieval reenactment or festival of some kind. There was a simple stock fence that edged the field that ran between the manor house and the castle, mostly to keep tourists from parking their cars there. The four of them leaned on the top rail and waited for the men to come to their senses, or to need an ambulance, whichever came first. Poor Isobelle didn’t even know about ambulances.
What worried Jillian more than a little spilled blood, however, was the danger of Montgomery Ross starting a new nightmare. If he did force Gaspar out of Isobelle’s life, his sister might do more than just haunt his dreams.
Swords in hand, the men gave a slight bow, then to Gaspar’s credit, he advanced first. It just wasn’t fair that he was weighed down by his heavy tunic. In fact…
Jillian looked at her sister and shared an idea. Then together, they put their hands around their mouths and chanted, “Take it off! Take it off,” over and over again.
Monty stood in the middle of the field and waited for Gaspar to come to him. But the yelling distracted them both until finally, Monty demanded to know what they meant.
“Tell Gaspar he can take off the tunic,” she yelled. But she wasn’t about to tell him it was the kind of thing you shouted at strippers.
Monty nodded at Gaspar. The man handed his sword to Ivar and pulled off the gray tunic, leaving him wearing a strange shirt with sleeves actually tied onto the arm holes. But that didn’t keep her attention long because the only other thing the man was wearing was an incredibly revealing pair of hose. There was no codpiece. Just a lot of…stuff…where that codpiece should be.
As one, Jillian, Juliet, and Morna turned to look at Isobelle.
Isobelle frowned. “Why do ye look at me?” But it didn’t take long for her eyes to stray back to Gaspar’s body. Her eyes widened, and she bit her lips together.
Monty actually blushed and raised his sword to point at Gaspar, but lowered it quickly. “Quinn,” he shouted. “Ye’re of a size with the man. Lend him some clothing. And for pity’s sake, show him the loo.”
Jillian couldn’t help snorting because there wasn’t a chance in hell what they’d just seen was the man’s full bladder. Juliet suppressed her laughter, but just barely. She moved next to Isobelle and put her arm around the worried and still-innocent young woman.
Morna scooted closer to Jillian.
“Poor Monty,” she said.
“I know, right?”
“‘Tis just as it was that day he found me with Ivar at The Burn, aye?”
Jillian gave her sister-in-law a wink. “He’s going to catch on any minute now. Surely.”
“I pray so.”
Jillian gave the worried woman a grin.
Morna’s eyes widened and she leaned even closer. “Ye ken something. Tell me.”
“Let’s just say he’s about to have his memory refreshed.”
“Ooh. I like the sound o’ that, aye?” Then she frowned. “We canna allow him to send the Englishman back, Jilly. No matter what happens here.”
“Anything for Isobelle.”
Morna nodded and put her arm through Jillian’s. “And if the man turns out to be a monster, we send him back at the first show of fang or claw.”
While they waited for Quinn and Gaspar to return, she watched Monty as he looked the rest of them over like so many children—and he was the babysitter. He spent an especially long time frowning at Ivar while his friend smiled lovingly at Morna. And Jillian suspected the man was refreshing his memory all on his own.
~ ~ ~
Gaspar walked from the manor back to the field trying to block from his mind the things he’d just seen. The loo was impressive, as he’d been promised. But the carriage he’d seen rolling down the hillside had moved along without the aid of horses, as if it floated along some unseen waterway that remained constant no matter the angle. But the carriage that floated up the same hill?
He wished he might have been able to stay in this place long enough to discover the mechanism for that. Of course, he also would have liked to linger long enough to kiss Isobelle until she never had need of kissing again.
But that was not likely, and he prepared himself for the truth—that Isobelle would need more than just kissing and he wouldn’t be there to satisfy that need. She needed, and deserved, to be loved and cherished. To have a worthy man at her side and a hand to hold all her waking hours. To be appreciated for her wit, and to be unspeakably happy. And it was highly likely he would not be the man to supply any of it. After all, the chance was remote that Lady Ross’ instruction might aid him, even if he used it. But it was hardly honorable, and therefore, unlikely that he would employ the tactic.
The one called Quinn had been quite hospitable. The manor house was his, as it happened, returned to him when his sister and her family had moved to Edinburgh. He had a nearly-grown son, although he was wed to the young woman, Juliet, the lass with the strange hair. Quinn had confided that his marriage to Juliet had taken place in that very loo, only months ago, but it was never to be discussed
.
Would that he might have lingered long enough to understand how two men so similar, but not brothers, had come to marry sisters that also mirrored one another. For all their lives, their children would likely mistake the wrong people to be their parents.
What brought his attention back to the battle at hand was his disgust with these people who took Isobelle’s wishes so lightly. Did Morna and Ivar not owe their happiness to Isobelle’s attempts to reunite them? For shame. On them all. And it grieved him to think of leaving her in their hands, especially with the brother who worried more about his pride than the truth. Montgomery Ross didn’t wish to believe his sister loved an Englishman, or that the Englishman loved her. He simply excused his actions with whatever of Gaspar’s sins he could find.
Albeit imprisoning Isobelle was a dreadful sin, it was a sin for which he’d been forgiven.
He should have known better than to remain when the barbarian greeted him with his fist. He should have fought his way back into the travelling tomb and pulled Isobelle up with him. They would have found another home, one they could have shared. Together.
Gaspar finally set his regrets aside and watched the line of women standing along the side of the field with their backs to the sun. Why then did they have need to shade their eyes while he walked past them? Did he look as foolish as he felt with his legs wrapped so tightly? And the tunic he’d been given was little more than a second skin. He felt decidedly naked, but he could not worry over such things with his last chance to impress Isobelle looming before him.
Ivar held his sword out to him, but he hesitated. He turned and held out a hand to the woman who inhabited every fathomable inch of his heart and unfathomable inch of his soul, and he thanked God when she hurried to his side.
“Dinna fight him,” she pled. “We will refuse to obey him. We leave here, run away. My sister will aid us, I know she will.”
He smiled down into her eyes. “I will not run away, Isobelle. And neither will you. You’ve wanted so long to be back with your family, I will not take that from you.”
