by L. L. Muir
Thank goodness!
The second time Monty cleared his throat, he was a foot away.
Quinn pulled back. “What is it, Uncle? I ken she looks a great deal like yers, but this one’s mine. Yers is over there.” Then he pulled her close again.
This time, their lips didn’t even touch before she and Quinn were pushed apart. His hands slipped out of her reach.
“I beg pardon, nephew,” Monty said cheerfully, “but as Juliet’s brother of the law, she is mine until such time as I hand her to ye, aye? And I doona see a priest about.”
“In truth,” said Ewan as he squatted before the hearth poking at the flames of his fire, “James has gone to fetch Father McRae, just in case mind ye.”
Jillian started laughing. “Poor man! He’s going to think he’s marrying us again, Montgomery.”
Monty didn’t seem to hear because he and Quinn were locked in some kind of staring contest, like they were summing each other up. Was Monty daring Quinn to back out? Maybe run away before the priest showed up?
Jules felt the smile slip off her face when the word marrying finally registered. She heard a whimper and realized it had come from her own throat.
Quinn noticed her distress and pushed Monty out of the way. He scooted close again and ran his fingers along her hair. “Don’t listen to them, lass,” he crooned. “We’ll marry when ye’re ready and not before. I’ve more family who will want to be in attendance, aye?”
More family? The idea was shocking enough to get her mind off a rushed wedding.
What a difference a week made. No family, no ties. Now plenty of family with more waiting in the wings? It seemed like a pretty picture, but with one, unwanted face looming on the back row.
Gabby, the father figure, smiling for the camera. It was one tie she needed to sever before she’d be ready to join this family of Scots.
“We need to go, Quinn. I have to get back to New York in the next thirty-six hours, or I’ll have to hide for the rest of my life. None of you will be safe if Gabby comes looking for me. I have to make sure he gets put away.”
The color drained from Quinn’s face. “You will be safe,” he demanded. It sounded a lot like the time Monty had shouted at Jillian that she would be fine, when she’d been crying beneath the tree.
“Here we are!” James led in a priest wearing a floor length robe. The man looked a little nervous, like he thought Satan might rear his head out of the giant mass of curls on James’ head.
“Face the wall, Father McRae, if ye please.” Monty’s voice boomed around the room.
The priest did as he was asked, like he was invited to face the wall on a regular basis. Then he fainted dead away.
Everyone looked at Monty because it had to have been his voice that scared the man.
Ewan laughed. “Och, forgive me,” he said. “The man’s likely been planning the words to say o’er yer grave, and here ye are, orderin’ him about.”
Chapter Thirty
Standing in the tomb once more, just to the side of the hole and surrounded by all those who were supposedly traveling with her to the twenty-first century, Jules lowered the necklace onto her collarbone, just as Jillian had done a minute before.
Again, nothing happened.
The torchlight still rose through the hole. Ewan still gawked up from barrel below.
Jules huffed. “I don’t know why I need to do this. I wasn’t wearing the necklace when I came through the first time. Neither was James.”
She didn’t mean to sound cranky, but the six of them had been standing there for a while, and with five hands clamped on her arms, for fear she’d leave without them, she was feeling more than a little claustrophobic.
Quinn’s arm, wrapped securely around her waist, gave her a little squeeze. When she looked at him, he winked.
Percy was squished between them with one hand on Juliet’s arm and one wrapped around Quinn’s wrist. The poor kid was scared to death.
“Each time I’ve done it,” Jillian said, “it happened right when the silver was lowered onto my skin.”
“Perhaps there are too many people,” James suggested. “I can stay behind—”
“No,” Monty growled.
There was something going on there that Juliet didn’t know about.
Jillian perked up. “I know what it is! The Muirs. There were always Muir twins nearby.”
Everyone turned to stare at her. No one bothered to say it out loud, that there were Muir twins already inside. Jillian wrinkled her nose and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, we’re not old,” she said.
“By Muir standards, we’re far from old ourselves,” came the voice of one of the sisters. It was hard enough for Jules to tell them apart when she could see them. It was impossible to tell anything from their voices.
“Mhairi, Margot. We’re ever so glad to see ye,” said Monty to the hole in the floor. “What have we forgotten, ladies? We’re all hangin’ on to Juliet for dear sweet life. She’s wearing the torque, as Jillian has already tried, but it doesna seem to be working.”
“Och, Laird Montgomery, haven’t we said it had naught to do with the torque?”
“Aye. Ye did. I remember now. But there must be something more.”
“Aye, laird. There’s more. But we must have yer promise before we help ye on yer way.”
Everyone’s eyes bugged out a little, all but Percy’s. They all suspected that making a promise to the Muirs might not be the wisest move. But Jules was desperate. She was going to lose her effing mind if she didn’t get out of there.
“What is it?” she hollered. “What’s the promise?”
“The tunnel. You must all promise that no one will ken of it.”
“An easy promise to keep,” said Quinn.
“But ye must all vow, and Ewan as well, that the tunnel will never be destroyed.”
Monty was already shaking his head. Jillian bent and looked through the hole. “Why, ladies? Why can’t we destroy it? What if our children wander inside?”
“They would need to be shown the way. If ye keep the first promise, ye’ll have naught to fear.”
“Why?” Jules had the feeling they weren’t telling them everything. “Why can’t we get rid of it?”
There was a long pause. No one moved. No one let go of her.
“Someone else moves within the tunnel. Cursed. And yet there is hope, as long as the tunnel remains.”
There hadn’t been anyone inside the tunnel but Percy and her. Or had there? They’d been watching their feet the entire way.
A shiver rose through her and she looked at Jillian. Her sister felt it too. The tunnel shouldn’t be destroyed.
“We promise,” they said in unison, then laughed. No one else in their little circle seemed to think it was funny. Under the circumstances, Jules resisted the urge to call out, “Jinx!”
“We need to go now, ladies,” Quinn called out. “What is it we’ve forgotten?”
“Wrought with love and sacrifice, Quinn Ross. Love. And sacrifice.”
One of the sisters laughed. “And shame upon ye, fer thinkin’ we’re a blood-thirsty bunch. The lad would never have been harmed—but what better way to make a Highlander do what he should? But to forbid him?
Quinn stiffened at her side.
Jules gave him a little squeeze. When he met her gaze, she gave him a wink.
“Enough love in here to choke a horse, I’d say.” She turned back to her sister. “What about the sacrifice?”
The seconds ticked away. No one spoke, though it was clear by their frowns they were all thinking. Then suddenly, James laughed.
“Sorry, Monty, lad. I ken ye dinna trust me near Isobelle for some reason, but it seems there’s no other choice.” James looked Jules in the eye. “Give ‘em hell, Juliet Bell.”
One hand loosened its grip on her arm, then disappeared, and with it, the light from below. She was standing in the darkness with the echo of James’ laughter fading from memory. Monty and Jillian released her. Quinn and Percy still held t
ight. A second later, a flashlight came on. Monty held it in one hand, his other was locked around Jillian’s forearm in a death grip.
There was an empty gap in their little circle, where James had stood.
“Son of a bitch.” Monty glared at the empty space.
Jillian laughed. “Well, at least your cursing is improving.”
“Jillian, dear!” came a sweet shaky voice from below. It had to be one of the old Muir sisters who’d first sent Jules into the tomb.
“I guess we’ve arrived,” she said.
It was a little shocking that she’d felt nothing at all. Inhaling in the fifteenth century, exhaling in the twenty-first.
Quinn finally let go of her wrist and tapped Percy on the shoulder. “Ye can let go now, lad.”
“Jillian? Did ye find yer sister?”
“Yes, I did,” Jillian said with a smile.
“Well, then, there are a couple of surly gentlemen who suggest that Juliet comes out with her hands where they might readily see them.”
Up at the manor house, Jules the Prisoner, was held in the upstairs bathroom—or rather, the upstairs loo—for two reasons. First, no one trusted her not to escape before things were settled, and secondly, Quinn refused to let anyone lay a hand on her, let alone allow two agents to hold her by the elbows. The loo, with its small transom window through which no adult human could escape, became the only option.
She didn’t know what those good old boys from New York had told them about her, but the men sent to apprehend her treated Juliet Bell like she was trouble. The fact that James hadn’t turned up with the rest of them hadn’t helped. What did they think, that she was a cop-killer—a bobby-killer?
It wasn’t funny, but you know, it kinda was. “James would have thought it was funny,” she mumbled.
The bathroom door whipped open and Jules had to back up against the side of the toilet to allow enough room for Quinn and Monty to squeeze inside and shut the door behind them.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I made a few calls,” Quinn said. “They are British Secret Service. One of them is James’ supervisor. He had no problem believing that James would take a leave of absence and head to Spain after making sure we were home safely. A couple blokes climbed into the tomb, but came back out again, thankfully.”
“Aye, thankfully,” said Monty. “Get on with it then,” he said to Quinn.
“Get on with what?” she asked.
Quinn’s face reddened. “Och, my uncle here doesn’t believe ye mean to wed me.”
Monty snorted. “That’s a fact. I doona believe it.”
Jules didn’t know whether to be offended or not. Of course Monty didn’t know her well, but did he really believe that she’d take the money and run?
“It doesn’t matter what he believes, though, does it? It matters what you believe,” she said to Quinn. It kind of hurt that he doubted her, after all they’d been through.
“Och, now, Juliet. Of course I believe you. I just want Monty to shut his gob and stop his teasin’. If you’ll just tell him...”
“Wait.” Monty pulled out a plaid scarf he’d had dangling from his waistband. “If she’s going to make a promise, she’ll need to bind it. Hold up her hand.”
Quinn inched around to the far side of the toilet and took her right hand in his right, then lifted it up. Monty stepped forward and started wrapping their hands together. Jules was just glad the toilet lid was down.
“What in the hell are you doing?” she demanded.
“Binding yer promise,” Monty said simply, like she was stupid to have asked. “Ye canna break a promise that’s been bound, lass.”
Quinn just smiled at her and shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world to be holding hands over a toilet asking her to promise that she would marry him.
“Of course I’m going to marry you,” she said, “but only if you don’t make a habit of doing silly crap like this.”
Quinn looked at Monty. “Yes, I pledge to marry the lovely foul-mouthed lass. Will that do?”
Monty frowned, then nodded. “I bear witness to it.”
Jules rolled her eyes.
The scarf was pulled away and Monty stuck only his head out the door. “I think you should kiss me, lass.” Quinn leaned forward.
She shook her head. “I am not kissing you over a toilet.”
He huffed and stuck out his lovely bottom lip. She was incredibly tempted to reconsider.
Monty laughed quietly. “Stop yer moonin’ and come on. We’re not supposed to be in here. Juliet, ye’ll stay put.”
Quinn gave her a wink and then backed out of the room, grinning, pulling the door shut behind him. She hurried to the door and pressed her ear against the thick white paint. She thought she heard men giggling on the stairs.
Men.
She shook her head and climbed into the footed bathtub. If they were going to make her wait, she was going to sleep and it wasn’t going to be on the toilet.
Chapter Thirty-One
The bathroom door burst open.
“She’s gone!” a man shouted.
“No, I’m not,” she said, and sat up in the tub.
An agent jumped sideways with a gun pointed at her. “Nevermind,” he hollered toward the door. “She’s here.” He kept his gun trained on her while she stretched her shoulders—the tub was far too short for her to have slept comfortably. She laughed as the pins and needles worked themselves out of her muscles. Out of all the things that had frightened her in the last ten days, the guy with the gun was the least frightening of all.
“He’s awake,” another man said from the hallway. “He says it wasn’t her.”
The agent sneered at her but holstered his gun. Then he went out and shut the door.
“What?” she called over the side of the tub. “No apology?”
About five minutes later, the door opened again. The squatty one must have picked the short straw. He stood back with his feet braced apart like he thought she was going to rush him. He looked so nervous, she hoped they didn’t allow him to keep real bullets in his gun. Thankfully, he hadn’t drawn his weapon, yet.
She climbed out of the tub and stretched again. Squatty nodded the direction she was supposed to go. She wanted to yell boo! at him as she passed, but she was afraid she’d get shot for it. Some laughs just weren’t worth dying for, but she couldn’t help holding up her hands and shaking them.
“Uh, oh. Where’d my handcuffs go?”
Squatty’s eyes bulged and she thought he was going to pee himself. Then he frowned. He must have remembered she hadn’t been cuffed in the first place.
She chuckled while he nudged her down the wide hallway and into a large study.
When they’d all been escorted out of the cellar, a handsome middle-aged man, in a very nice suit, had watched them march through the great hall. That same man now sat behind a large desk and smiled as Jules entered.
She smiled back.
Behind her right foot, something snorted, and she jumped. But it wasn’t an animal—it was Quinn. He was lying on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind him. With his head turned to the side, he winked up at her.
She was happy to see him but worried about the handcuffs. Since their little conversation in the bathroom, he’d taken the time to change into jeans, but he still had on the loose yellow shirt he’d been wearing since they’d returned from Muirsglen. And he was barefoot.
Nice jeans, she thought, but she’d have to study them later. She turned back to the suit. “What did he do?”
The man’s smile turned into a grin. She didn’t trust him worth spit. “He assaulted one of my men,” he said.
“Allegedly,” Quinn said, smiling cheerfully.
“Well, I’m not about to disbelieve my own agent, Mr. Ross. And I doubt he bloodied his own nose.”
Quinn laughed. “Is he certain it was me?”
A man walked in from the hallway with a small bag of ice held to his face. “Oh, I’
m quite certain it was you,” he said, and drew back a foot, just a little, to kick Quinn, but he stopped when Jules cleared her throat. He stepped away from her and moved to the window like he thought she might sully his suit. But she would have done more than that if he’d have finished that kick.
Montgomery barged in behind the injured man, ignoring the uniformed policeman hanging around his neck. Someone from the hallway hollered for a stun gun. The policeman jumped down and backed out the door.
“What the devil have ye done to me nephew?” Monty took Quinn by the shoulders and helped him to his feet. “Well?” He turned a threatening frown toward the suit.
The suit just grinned. “Just one moment, sir, while Chambers here gets a good look at you. Perhaps he’s not so certain who struck him after all.”
Chambers looked from Ross to Ross and back again. “Shit,” he said, then stormed out.
The suit nodded to another man who stepped forward to take off Quinn’s cuffs.
Quinn smiled at Monty. “Thank ye, uncle.”
“Not at all. But be quick about this, if ye can. We’re waitin’ that special supper on ye.” Monty threw Jules a wink, then left.
Someone in the hallway shouted, “Halt!” Another shouted, “Tase ‘im!”
“Shite!” shouted a masculine, but high voice.
There was a loud thud, then a knocking.
After a second or two of silence, they heard Monty’s laughter moving away.
The Suit rolled his eyes and mumbled something about hoping someone got it in the ass. “Please, Ms. Bell, take a seat,” he said. “Let’s get on with it so I can save the remainder of my men from well-meaning Highlanders.”
Jules plopped into one of the two chairs facing the desk. She thought Quinn would take the other one, but he came to stand behind her instead. She was surprised how glad she was to feel him so near. Then it hit her—she wasn’t alone. And if she played her cards right, if she tried to be as nice to these Scots as they were to her, she might never be alone again.
“It’s not Bell. It’s Ross,” Quinn said. “Juliet Ross. My wife.”
