by L. L. Muir
Though Quinn was thrilled to find Juliet untouched by the tunnel’s curse, he, too, was shocked by the risk Jillian had taken.
The woman smiled and patted Monty’s chest. “There was no danger, husband. Because the tunnel holds no curse for Muirs. My grandfather Wickham was a Muir if you remember. Just a drop of Muir blood is enough, so our children were never in danger either.”
Monty suddenly looked around, then sat abruptly on the short wall next to Percy. It took him a moment to catch his breath.
“Children, ye say? Ye ken it for certain?” He smiled, but he still looked a little sick. “That’s grand, aye? But Muirs?” The last bit he whispered to Jillian but everyone in the vicinity of the well heard it and laughed.
Jillian shook her head. “Only a little bit.”
Monty moaned. Percy offered him a filthy wet cloth and the man took it and pressed it to his head.
The look Jillian then turned on Quinn made him wonder if there was more room on the wall, next to the lad.
“Quinn,” she said. “I’ve just broken the news to Juliet that our grandfather was a Muir. It’s the reason the tunnel had no effect on her. But I think she might need a little consoling too.”
Juliet stood just out of reach looking a mite green, but he couldn’t seem to cover the distance. His knees had dissolved—his legs just didn’t know it yet. Any second, he was going to be a lifeless pile of pudding in the dirt. He could only look at her, helpless.
Finally, Juliet stepped up to him and took his hand, and just in time too. At least he was still standing—that was, until James pounded him on the back.
“She might be a Muir,” he said, laughing, “but she doesna look too young to me, laddy.”
Quinn’s mind sputtered.
A Muir? He was in love with a Muir twin? And possibly a Muir witch?
His feet bid him run. His heart bid him stay. His body made the decision and leaned toward her.
No. I am in love with a lass...
He gathered her into his arms and the world around them quieted. Her leather sleeves were cool against his neck as she wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled him close. When their lips were separated by only a breath, she spoke.
“Are you sure you want to kiss a Muir?”
He pulled back an inch and gave her a frown. “Do ye suppose we could discuss yer lineage another time?”
She shook her head. “No, actually. I’m not going to fall in love with a guy who thinks I’m some kind of jinx.” Her fingers started slipping away, so he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her, to encourage her to hold on a bit tighter.
She squeaked. His heart tripped but his legs held up fine.
“First of all,” he said, “it’s far too late for that. Ye’re already in love with me.”
“Oh?” She raised a brow, but her eyes were still locked on his lips. A good sign, that.
He ignored her interruption and went on. “Secondly, how can I curse yer Muir blood when it brought ye to me? And now that same blood has seen ye safely through the accursed tunnel? Fine blood indeed.”
Juliet studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. You can kiss me then.”
He reluctantly lowered her to her feet and bent to kiss her, but pulled back and searched her face. “No arguments?” he asked.
“No arguments.” She gave a little grunt of frustration as she was poised on her toes for that kiss.
“Swear it.”
She frowned and lowered back onto her heels, suspicious. “Just what am I swearing to?”
Ewan poked his nose between them. They both recoiled a bit from the man’s beard.
“He wants yer vow, lass,” he said. “That ye love ‘im. Ye made no argument when he claimed that ye’ve fallen in love with him, aye?”
Quinn glared at Ewan until the man backed away with his hands raised. Then he turned to Juliet, lifted her hand, and gave the back of it a long gentle kiss. He stared into her eyes and willed her to know that he’d prefer to be kissing her lips.
“No arguments?” he murmured.
She shook her head and bit her lip. “You won’t want me.”
“Too late for that as well, Juliet.”
“But what if I already had a child?” she asked. “Would that make a difference?”
His brows rose. There was no stopping them. “I’m surprised to hear it,” he admitted. “But only because ye’ve never mentioned a child before now. But no, it would make no difference.”
He dropped down on one knee, never more sure that he should do so. Ewan snorted off to his right. Quinn would have taken a moment to gather his courage, but he needed none. It was the simplest thing he’d done since he’d agreed to change places with Monty a year ago.
“Marry me, Juliet.”
She sucked in a breath. Her consent was already written on her face, dancing in her eyes. But then she sobered enough to give him pause.
“But how would you feel,” she paused, “about raising a boy that wasn’t yer own?”
Quinn grinned. That was her only worry? “He’s mine already. Now take pity, so we can get around to that kiss.”
She looked to the ground and bit her bottom lip again.
So, there is more?
“And what if he were a Gordon?” she said. “Could you find it in your heart to love a Gordon?”
She’d whispered the last, as if fearful someone might hear her words and be offended by them. Then he understood.
He leaned to the left and peered around her hip at the childlike version of Percy Gordon. He looked quite the orphan in his ill-fitting garments. The problem was, the child was no orphan, and even if he’d forgotten the past ten years of his life, he would still remember who he was and the fact that his father was laird of the mighty Gordon clan.
Quinn pushed up off his knee and pulled Juliet aside so none could hear their conversation but the odd Muir witch or two that might be eavesdropping on his thoughts.
One of the sisters, likely Margot, laughed loudly and led her sister over to the well.
Quinn tasted metal, but it no longer frightened him, knowing the cause. He only wished it would go away before Juliet tasted it from his own lips. First, however, he had to explain why she couldn’t simply claim Percy Gordon as her own. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.
“I’m not sending him back to that bastard,” she said. “And I’m not going to tell him that his beloved William wasted away in that dungeon. If he goes back, he’ll have to suffer that loss all over again. And they’re not going to believe who he is—they’ll probably burn him as a witch like they were going to do to you!”
“Juliet. Sweet. We’re going to have to send him back through the tunnel. When he gets to the other side, we’ll explain to him what’s happened, help him all we can before we’re on our way.”
She stepped back from him then, horrified. Slowly, her head began to shake. “No,” she said. “He’s a child. You send him back through that tunnel, and he’ll be a child in a man’s body. And he’ll have to learn it all again, including what his father did to William. I won’t let you do it.”
He thought it best to hold his tongue for a bit. The village square was no place to discuss such things, even though anyone with the Muir name likely knew about the tunnel and its workings.
He turned to James. “Would you mind rounding up the horses?”
James grinned and headed down the street.
“Quinn Ross!”
The gathering crowd parted and an ancient man made his way forward with an equally ancient walking stick that must have weighed thirty pounds. Patches of white hair covered less than half of the hundred-year-old skull. Each time the stick lifted seemed a miracle. Each step he took seemed a victory over death itself.
“Quinn Ross,” he said again, with the strong voice of a much younger man. “This lad’s fate is out of yer hands and now into mine.”
Juliet was suddenly at Quinn’s side again, clutching his arm like he was her perso
nal walking stick—or the stick she planned to use to beat back an old man if he was foolish enough to get in her way.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
The old man looked her over, then stared into her eyes. His own glittered as if he were quickly reading over a document, and yet those cloudy orbs never moved. Quinn had to suppress the urge to push Juliet behind his back, for he knew she wouldn’t appreciate his protective instincts when her own instincts were demanding she protect Percy.
“I’m laird here,” said the ancient one. “And any who come through the tunnel must be weighed and measured.”
“Are you kidding me?” Juliet’s volume made it clear she’d misunderstood.
Quinn would have laughed at her, but he didn’t care for the idea of the old man making any sort of judgment concerning his woman, let alone young Percy. He glanced behind him and was pleased to see that Monty was up off his arse and ready to fight. The lad was tucked in behind him and Jillian. Monty gave Quinn a slight nod. Ewan stood at the ready with the old Muir sisters behind him, as if they belonged to Clan Ross and not in the midst of these mind-reading strangers.
When Quinn once again faced forward, the old man was watching him closely, his head tilted slightly to one side as if he were somehow weighing and measuring Quinn. Or maybe the heaviest rock in the old one’s head had shaken loose and rolled to one side.
“Our land. Our rules, Quinn Ross,” he said.
Quinn leaned forward. “Stand back, laird. We’ll be taking ours and going.”
Although he never noticed the movement, the Muir clansmen had shuffled around to form a tight circle, shoulder to shoulder, in front of them. There was nothing threatening in their eyes, just as there is nothing threatening about the pawns on a chessboard. But there was no doubt, they’d been moved into position.
Quinn’s hand went to his sword, but the weapon would not release its sheath. One look at Monty and Ewan told him they suffered the same problem. The fact they’d tried to arm themselves didn’t seem to concern the crowd, or their leader. They only waited and watched, pleased with the entertainment.
Margot moved around Ewan and came forward. She stepped in front of the old man and gave a little bow.
“Father,” she said. “These young women are of Muir blood. Surely they can be allowed to go on their way.”
“Our ways, Margot.” A gnarly finger raised and pointed at Juliet. “That one’s been in the tunnels. Even my auld nose can smell it on her, aye? And the lad as well.”
Quinn resisted the urge to give Juliet a sniff. If they’d ever gotten around to that kiss, she might have tasted of metal. But he didn’t care if she had liquid silver running through her veins; she was his.
“And mayhap it’s me yer smelling, father. I was there, on the far end of the tunnel when the lass was forced inside. Surely, she shouldna be punished for it?”
The old man smiled and nodded. “As ye say, daughter.” He looked at Juliet. “Come forward, Juliet. And bring yer sister.”
Quinn tried to reach for Juliet’s arm as she stepped forward, but his hand never rose. Jillian came through the crowd to stand next to her. Monty strained to move his feet, but was stuck.
A fizzy chill ran up Quinn’s spine and poured fresh metal into his mouth. “Haud yer wheesht,” he heard whispered into his mind.
“Granddaughters to be sure,” the old man greeted, taking one of each lass’s hands. “I’ll allow ye to go, and take yer mighty warriors with ye, but ken that ye’ll always find a home here, and shelter, and protection. As will yer sons,” he told Jillian. “No matter the century, aye?”
He gave Juliet some sort of blessing, then turned and did the same to Jillian, pulling each low so he could end his benediction with a kiss on the forehead. When he was finished, he dropped their hands and took a step to the side, then craned his neck to see Percy.
Monty stood at frustrated attention when the boy stumbled around him as if being pulled by some invisible rope. Quinn, on the other hand, was able to move just fine and so he did. He rushed forward and planted his body between Percy and the old laird.
The latter tipped his head back on a wrinkled neck and looked Quinn in the eye.
“What foe cannot be bested as a child?” he said, echoing Mhairi’s words from earlier. Only now, that foe was no longer a concept, but a physical child! Quinn was horrified that the Muirs, a clan that had just proven how easily they could control an enemy, would conceive of such a curse—a curse that would end with the slaughter of children! It made no difference that those children might have been full-grown sword-wielding soldiers a half an hour before!
They were mad! All of them. Perhaps Margot and Mhairi were the sanest of the lot!
Mhairi!
Quinn looked in Ewan’s direction and found the old woman meeting his eye.
Please, Mhairi. Help us!
Mhairi, bless her, nodded.
A heartbeat later, he held both Juliet’s hand and Percy’s, and they were pushing quickly through an unresisting crowd. There was no time to wonder whether or not Mhairi was responsible.
They burst down the street with Monty, Jillian, and Ewan on their heels. The Muir sisters remained somewhere inside the mob. James waited at the bottom of the slope with horses ready.
Thank you!
He sent the thought to God, and to Mhairi and Margot, and hoped they all heard, somehow.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was dark when Ewan led his strangely-disguised guests back into Castle Ross. He sent James on some errand and led the rest of them into the big hall, then went to work starting a small fire in the hearth. Thank heavens he’d sent everyone from the building until after the funeral—the funeral where, thank goodness, there would be no body in the coffin.
Jules was just grateful they were all accounted for, including Percy. It was easy to admit she was in love with Quinn and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him—when he’d gone down on one knee, she’d been so thrilled she could hardly breathe. But she couldn’t live with herself, or anyone else, if she couldn’t find a way to end that boy’s suffering. The funny thing was, she’d decided to help him however she could before he’d ever become that little boy.
When he’d taken her from the workroom beneath the tomb entrance, when he’d said his brother’s name and sobbed, she’d been backed up against his chest. She’d felt that sob rack her own bones, but she’d also felt it in her soul. His heartbreak had become hers. And she knew she had to fix it somehow.
All that business about the oubliette was just a bluff. He’d have never hurt her in the end. It was almost like she’d been able to read his mind—
Okay. There was no way she was going to follow that thought to the end. No way. No matter what the old man had said, she wasn’t one of those freaks on the other end of the tunnel.
As they all settled around the hall, she peeked at her sister and was kind of relieved that Jillian wasn’t looking her way, thinking the same thing. She turned away quickly though, just in case, and stared at Percy who was staring up at the sculpture of Montgomery. With ten years of memories wiped away, he wouldn’t remember anything about the statue or the tomb standing close by, or even the entrance to the tunnel.
Once she and Percy had taken a dozen steps into the darkness, he’d forgotten she was his hostage and let her go. He’d wanted to know why they were in a cave. She could have suggested they turn around and go back to the round door, but she’d had an indescribable impression that they should keep going, that whatever they’d begun had to be finished. After that, and about every twenty paces, he’d ask who she was and where they were. By the time she’d given him some kind of story, he’d start asking all over again. By halfway, she realized he’d been shrinking. It had scared the shit out of her, but she couldn’t let him know. He was so scared. So confused. So trusting.
The last time he’d asked who she was, she’d seen the light ahead. She’d told him they were in a cave, that she’d been lost and he’d come alon
g and saved her. Once in the sunlight, she’d asked him his name and where he was from. He knew he was Percy Gordon and that he lived by the sea. He didn’t remember much else. No mother was waiting for him. He had brothers much older, but he didn’t like any of them.
That was the moment, 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, wherever he was, that she would be preventing Percy from ever loving him. 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.”
Standing behind her, Quinn bent and whispered in her ear. “What was that?” He was tense, like he worried that the hundred-year-old leader of Clan Muir might hobble 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 pulled him around and made him sit beside her, then grinned like an idiot, trying to show him how grateful she was.
“Does this mean I can have that kiss now?”
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.
