by L. L. Muir
It had all taken so long she expecting the hitter to meet her at the bottom of the steps, but he wasn’t there. Of course, there was a chance Ewan had managed to get the man locked up again, but she couldn’t risk going back to find out.
She ducked beneath the nasty-looking spikes along the gate’s bottom edge and started running. The hitter would have to have pretty poor eyesight to miss the fact that it was open, but it was the last bit of help she was going to give him. Once he was away from all those people, what he did was no longer on her head.
I’ve done what I could. Now I have to start protecting myself.
She knew the crescent hill pretty well after three days. She could think of a few places to hide. And when Gabby’s man got far enough away, she would run back to the castle and have Ewan help her get into the tomb. After that, she planned to click her heels as many times as it took, but that friggin’ tardis would take her home.
If she didn’t return soon, she’d miss the trial. In a text, she’d warned the DA that she had some business to take care of, but she’d be back in time to testify. She’d be damned if she was going to miss it. They were idiots if they called it off.
Her FBI babysitters had drilled it into her head that she’d have to start a new life, that she’d have to leave her old one behind. She’d played along, of course. No use ranting and raving to deaf ears. But the world was just too small a place to hide in unless you had a helluva lot of money. Luckily for her, though, she knew where she could get more than she’d ever need. And it was rightfully hers.
There were just two people she had to deal with first—Gabby Skedros and Jillian Ross. As soon as she made the two of them pay, life was going to be good. But Jillian first. In ten days, it would be Gabby’s turn.
Ten days. Plenty of time.
And by the time she’d finished that thought, she was running up into the trees—or rather, where the trees should have been. With her eyes adjusted to the starlight, all she could see were stumps and dirt and patches of grass. The trees had been there only hours ago. Hours ago. Her hiding places were gone. All of them.
She’d have given her last candy bar to see that stupid squirrel and his tree again.
Jules wanted to sink to the ground and convince herself she wasn’t going crazy, but it would have to wait. She had to put a lot of space between herself and that castle, and she had to be careful not to get lost while she did it.
The trees had probably been cleared so the Scots could easily see their enemies approaching or something. But at the moment, it was more useful for a hitman to clearly see his target.
Jules turned and looked into the outer bailey/parking lot just in time to see a large dark figure run across the bridge and head for the gate.
She turned north and started running.
Chapter Eight
Jillian was giddy on the way home from Edinburgh. Quinn’s brother, and his wife, Maggie had decided to stay a few more days in the city, with their kids, so she and Montgomery would have the manor house to themselves. She sent a text to the small staff, to tell them to enjoy a couple of days’ vacation too.
Holiday, that was. Scots didn’t call it a vacation. She had to remember that so she didn’t sound completely American every time she opened her mouth.
She noticed her husband watching her instead of the darkening road and she raised a brow.
“Are ye finally thinkin’ what I’ve been thinkin’?” he asked.
“Aye,” she said in her best Scots accent. “I’m thinking we should have a grand barbeque and invite the staff... And their families, o’ course.”
“Truly?” His brow worried into a pucker.
“Wasn’t that what you were thinking?” She looked back at the road and tried to keep a straight face.
After a moment, she looked back at him. He was still speechless, though at least he was watching where he was driving. She took pity on him.
“Or maybe you were thinking they’d rather have a longer holiday.”
Monty’s head whipped around. His boyish smile made her heart flip. She really shouldn’t have teased him. Sarcasm was not as common in the fifteenth century.
“Of course that means we’ll have to take care of ourselves,” she warned. “Or maybe we could take care of each other. Would you like a bath?”
He laughed. “I thought ye far too generous with the servants, madam, but only because ye might mean to give yer attentions to them instead of me. I am relieved.”
“I thought you might be.” She held out her hand to him and he took it, pulled it up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She was embarrassed her skin wasn’t smoother, but she’d become an obsessive compulsive lately and washed her hands constantly. There was this stuff her grandmother used to use on her hands when they got chapped doing chores around the farm. Cornhuskers Something-or-other. It looked like snot, but it worked. If they couldn’t get it here, she’d have to order some.
“Bitches!” Monty dropped her hand and grabbed the steering wheel with both of his.
In the beams from the Hummer’s headlights, Jillian couldn’t see what might have spooked him. No sheep or anything else in the road. When it turned out not to be life-threatening, she laughed. He had taken up modern cursing like it was a sport, but he was still getting things a little mixed up.
“I believe you meant to say son of a bitch. And it’s not a nice thing to say, just so you know.”
He shook his head and instead of taking the upper road to the house, he drove a bit farther and turned into the castle’s parking lot. She thought maybe some tourists had ignored the closed sign again, but there were no other cars to be seen. When he stopped the car, she finally understood.
“I said witches, Jillian, not bitches. Though I suspect you were not far afield.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
The Muir sisters, Loretta and Lorraine, stood just beyond the reach of the headlights at the corner of the crumbling inner wall. Jilly’s first thought was that the twins were much too old to be running around at that hour. Then she remembered they were much too old to be doing any of the things they did, the time of day didn’t matter.
Muir twins were never good news, no matter what century they popped up in.
“Be nice, Montgomery. If it weren’t for them, we’d have never met. Remember that.” She was reminding herself as much as her husband.
“How do they always find their way into my castle, I’d like to ken. Some mornings they’re already inside when I unlock the bloody doors.”
“Maybe they’re not witches. Maybe they’re ghosts,” she joked as she got out of the car.
“Not ghosts yet, Jillian dear,” called Lorraine. “But funny you should use those words today.”
Jillian almost climbed back into the car. Monty was right. It was never good news when those two came around. And why did they have to pop up when she and Monty finally had a chance for some privacy—enough privacy to share her exciting news? She hadn’t quite told him the truth about their little shopping trip to the city, unless you could call it shopping when she was hunting for a trustworthy OB/GYN.
Loretta looked at her funny. Her eyes dropped to Jillian’s middle, then looked away. Jillian instinctively covered her stomach with both hands, then she forced them to her sides before anyone noticed.
“Why is it odd that she speaks of ghosts, ladies?” Monty left the lights on and walked to the middle of his hood, then leaned back against it, crossing his arms, bracing himself for bad news. Jillian shut her door and stood next to the front tire. She didn’t want to get between her husband and the women he considered his nemeses.
“Someone else thought we might be ghosts, just today if you can believe it.” Loretta gave her a nervous look. Guilt? Pity?
“I’ll bite,” Jillian said, against her better judgment. “Who thought you were ghosts?”
“Would you like to sit down, dear?” Lorraine also stared at her middle.
“No. I don’t want to sit down. Spit i
t out so we can get out of here.” She would never forgive the sisters if they messed around and told Monty she was pregnant. How the hell did they know anyway?
“Fine, then. You remember we gave you a chance to sit down.”
Jillian glared at Lorraine, daring her to piss her off. Didn’t she know better than to mess with a pregnant woman?
“Your sister,” the old woman blurted.
“Morna?” Montgomery pushed away from the hood and unfolded his arms. He was alarmed as he always was just because Morna and Ivar lived too far away for him to be any protection. It hadn’t quite sunk into his head yet that dangers in the twenty-first century were very different. If they had problems, they would call.
“Not your sister, Laird Ross.” Lorraine paused and looked her in the eye. “Jillian’s.”
Jillian didn’t understand. She didn’t have a sister. But the thought of finding more family caught her breath.
“Yes, lass. Your sister. We met her today. Lovely thing, too. I’m sure you’ll agree—Montgomery, catch her!” Loretta ran forward.
Jillian was surprised to find that she was the her that needed catching. She hadn’t noticed before, but she was teetering to her left, sliding along the fender with little attention for the ground rising up to meet her. She ended on her bottom, in the gravel, with Monty kneeling beside her.
“Jillian! Ye will be fine.” It was definitely not a question, but an order. She’d gotten used to his fifteenth century, bullying ways, but she knew he was only bossy when he was worried. Unfortunately, he worried a lot.
“Yes. I’m fine. Of course I’m fine. I was just caught off guard. I forgot to breathe. I don’t have a sister, that’s all.” But deep down somewhere, it sounded true. Deep down, she wanted it to be true.
After her grandmother’s death and the shock of her huge inheritance wore off, the first thing she’d done was go looking for more family. She’d started at the genealogical library in Salt Lake City, but she hadn’t even started digging when these Muir sisters had gotten her distracted by the Curse of Clan Ross. Of course, she couldn’t be angry with them now, in spite of all their conniving. If it weren’t for them, she’d have never slipped back in time to find the one and only love of her life.
She’d been waiting for the right time to tell her husband she wanted to start looking again, but the poor man hadn’t completely adjusted to the twenty-first century yet. She had to wait until he was comfortable with his own country before she exposed him to too many Americans.
But a sister? She’d been hoping for a distant cousin. Hoping for a sister would have been...greedy.
And if there was a sister she hadn’t been told about, who else might her grandmother have hidden from her?
She searched her memory for some image, for a time when it hadn’t been just her and Grandmother, but she found nothing. She remembered a doll she named Necklace. Seeing a bear at Yellowstone. Little else. There couldn’t have been a sister. Grandmother couldn’t have been that cruel.
“Yes, Jillian. You do have a sister. Didn’t we tell you we thought you might have a twin? In the dark corridors of the castle, remember?” Lorraine grinned down into her face as if she deemed her news to be the most wonderful surprise. But if it was a wonderful surprise—if Jillian truly had a sister—then why did Loretta look like she had bad news?
Did she say twin?
“Twin? A twin s...sister?” Jillian’s mind stuttered as badly as her mouth. She remembered just a flash. A feeling. Her own image, in a mirror, looking up and smiling at her. She’d always remembered what she looked like as a small child, but maybe it hadn’t been a mirror after all.
Then there was another memory. A white room with a low table in the middle. She and the girl with the smiling face. She was wearing a maroon jumper. They were wearing maroon jumpers? Little cups of water on the table, each holding a crayon. They were taking the papers off and soaking the bright sticks—trying to color the water. Then grandma came in and spanked her for ruining the crayons. She remembered that spanking, but she always remembered it as an observer, seeing herself being swatted on the butt.
Maybe it hadn’t been her butt at all.
Why hadn’t she remembered before? And why would her grandmother never have told her about a sister? And a twin? Why would she tell her nothing more than her parents died in a car wreck and there was no one else?
Jillian took a deep breath and let her anger with her grandmother wash away from her. She didn’t want to upset the little life inside her with the spite she felt for the old woman. She shook her head and held out her hands. She had to get up.
Montgomery pulled her to her feet.
“Where is she?” She brushed the rocks from her rear end, then the dirt from her hands. “When was she here? Is she still here? Are you sure she’s my sister? What was her name?”
She looked around the car park. No other cars. No cars parked at the house either. Then she noticed Monty glaring at the Muirs and taking deep breaths, like he was building up enough air to start yelling at them. And that never did any good. She put a hand on his arm and pulled him close, both to restrain him and for a bit of needed support.
“Juliet, I believe,” said Loretta, then she bit her lip.
Juliet? Juliet. Juliet.
Jillian said it a dozen times in her mind, but it didn’t ring any bells.
“Where is she?” she asked calmly. All happy thoughts vanished when she’d read their guilty faces.
“Don’t worry yourself, dear. She’s hale and healthy, we’re almost sure of it,” said Lorraine.
“Where?” Monty’s patience was gone.
“Well, the last we saw her was when we put her in the tomb. Then of course we had to hide ourselves, what with that man chasing her.” Loretta put an arm around her sister and patted her shoulder, as if they’d been through some terrible experience.
Jillian smelled a rat, like she usually did when those two started over-acting.
Montgomery squeezed her hand. “A man was chasing her?”
“Yes,” said Lorriane. “Now we don’t want to worry you, Jillian. Not in your condition. But the man was carrying a gun.”
“I wouldn’t call him a gunman, sister, just because he carried a gun,” Loretta offered.
Lorraine frowned. “I didn’t call him a gunman.”
Loretta waved away the argument. “Of course you didn’t. I’m just saying I wouldn’t call him a gunman, that’s all. Some men just look the type. He didn’t look the type.”
“Heavens to Betsy, sister,” Lorraine chided. “You can’t expect Jillian to stay calm if you go on spouting the word gunman.”
“Spouting?” Loretta’s face turned red.
“Shut it!” Montgomery had everyone’s attention. Even the insects shut up. “Now then, the pair of ye will disappear for a moment whilst my wife explains this condition of hers.”
With bulging eyes and thin, tightly shut lips, the blue clad pair walked off, but stopped about ten feet away.
Jillian burst into silent tears as Monty’s arms came around her.
“Ye were about to tell me ye carry my son, were ye not?” he asked.
“I was not,” she said with a hiccup.
He pulled back. “Then I misunderstood?”
“I was going to tell you we’re going to have a baby. It might be a girl, you know.”
He laughed and lifted her into the air, then spun her around until she thought she was going to puke. He put her down immediately, smart man.
“But that doesn’t matter now,” she said.
“The hell it doesn’t.” He started pulling her toward the car door, but she pulled back.
“I mean, what matters right this minute is finding my sister.”
“Come, now, Jillian. Just because those two think some woman looked a bit like ye, doesna mean she’s yer kin, does it? Once ye have a babe, perhaps it will put an end to yer search for more family. Ye’ll have me, and the babe. What more could ye need?”
&nbs
p; Jilly struggled against his hold and he loosened his arms.
“It haunts me, Montgomery, not knowing anything about my family. And the idea that I have a sister just feels like there’s hope, like the haunting might stop. Besides, one day there will be a little girl, or boy, who asks about the American side of the family. And if I do have a sister, she might have those details.”
He pulled her tight again and tucked her head beneath his chin.
“Haunted, ye say? How can a man, even as braw and brave as I, fight a haunting?”
She smiled against his shirt. “Let’s go find my sister.”
“Oh, she’s gone, Jillian.” The Muirs were back. “We checked. She did not come out of the tomb.”
“She disappeared?” She was afraid of that. She’d done the same every time she’d been in the tomb.
“And the gunman—er, the man with the gun went in as well. He didn’t come out either.”
“And she is yer sister, Jillian dear. You look as much alike as Quinn and Laird Montgomery.
For some reason, she resented the Muirs for meeting her sister before she could, and resented them even more for sending that precious woman into the tomb. No one ever wanders into a stranger’s cellar, sees a hole in the ceiling and says, Hm. I think I’ll climb up there and have a look around.
There was no doubt about it. They’d sent Juliet back in time on purpose, just like they’d sent Jillian a year before. The question was why?
The old sisters shrugged and looked away as if in answer.
Jilly tugged Montgomery toward the old castle. “We’ll just have to go after her.”
Monty stopped walking. “No. We will not. Ye will go nowhere but home. Who knows what might happen to my child?” His eyes went wide. “Not to mention my wife. Nothing can happen to you, my Jillian. Nothing!”
Jilly shook her head. “If you think I’m going to let you go off to who-knows-where without me, you’re out of your mind. Where you go, I go.”
