by C. A. Szarek
“Claire-bear,” she breathed. The childhood nickname slipped out and Jules crossed the distance between them, running.
Cormac said something, but Jules tuned him out. Maybe Claire thanked him. Soon, the big guy bowed and was gone.
The dark-haired baby on Claire’s hip took Jules’ attention—the something—her sister was rocking by the warm fire.
He was adorable, with curls at the back of his little head. Big blue eyes dominated his chubby-cheeked face, but Jules saw Claire all over him. His little nose, the shape of those big eyes. Even his lips looked like her sister’s.
Her heart plummeted to her stomach.
My baby sister has a kid.
“Jules. Jules. Jules.” Her name was a chant. “What? How? Are you really here?” Claire’s words fell out of her mouth on fast-forward.
Jules laughed; it was just like her sister. And damn good to hear.
She closed threw her arms around her shorter sister, but tried to be mindful of the baby.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Claire whispered into Jules’ shoulder.
She smiled as she got a whiff of clean baby. She reached out and stroked his downy hair. The little guy flashed a smile that Claire echoed when their eyes met.
“This is Lachlan,” Claire said, beaming now.
“He’s beautiful, little sister.” Jules stroked the baby’s arm. “I have a nephew. How old is he?”
“Eighteen months. We’re trying for number two.” Her sister’s cheeks were tinted pink and she pressed a kiss to her son’s forehead.
Jules’ heart started to thunder in her ears. “Claire, I came for you.”
Her sister frowned. “Came for me?”
“Yeah. To bring you home.”
Claire stared, green eyes that matched Jules’ own raking her face. “Didn’t you read my letter?”
“I did, but—”
Her sister shook her head, making her long blonde hair shift. Claire had always kept her locks on the long side, but it was more so than Jules had ever seen it. Down to her waist. And she was dressed right out of a period movie—in a long olive skirt, ivory puffy-sleeved tunic with a lighter green corset over it. The colors brought out her eyes. She looked gorgeous.
“There’s no but, Jules.”
“Claire—”
“Claire!” A deep booming voice took their collective attention. A huge guy with long dark hair crossed the great hall. He had a sword in his hand, and was only wearing a kilt. Sweat sheened all over his heavily muscled chest.
Damn, are there any normal-sized guys here?
The man on his heels was wearing pants, but was also missing a shirt. The sword at his waist was sheathed, though. He looked just like the guy in front of him.
Twins?
“Duncan!” Claire’s shout made her jump. “Duncan, my sister is here!”
“So Cormac said. But how, mò gradh?” the kilted one spoke, sheathing his huge sword.
Her sister’s husband kissed Claire and swept the toddler into his arms. The tiny boy giggled and clutched his dad, throwing small arms around his thick neck. Then her sister slid her arm around the guy’s waist and grinned.
Jules’ heart skipped a beat. Her sister glowed with love. She had a child with the man at her side. How was she going to get her to come home?
“Hello, I’m Alex, Laird of Clan MacLeod. Are ye all righ’, lass? Ye look pale.”
“I-I’m good.” She met concerned blue eyes and forced a smile. “Happy to be with my sister again.”
Alex smiled and squeezed her hand. “Welcome, lass. Yer family as much as Claire is.”
Jules took a breath—because she wanted to fall over—and nodded. “Thank you.” The guy was hot, but his eyes were kind.
“Our cousin said ye arrived with a MacDonald?” The name was a curse, and Claire’s husband scowled as he spoke.
“Yes, the laird, Hugh, found me on the beach.”
“Did he hurt ye?” This was a demand from Alex.
Jules squared her shoulders. “No.”
Duncan studied her. “Did tha’ coward wretch put his hands on ye?” His voice was low, full of menace.
She prickled. Wanted to defend Hugh for some reason.
Seriously?
He manhandled you. Kissed you. Touched you.
Kidnapped you.
You want to defend him?
There you go again, Stockholm-Syndrome-Girl.
“He-he-he didn’t hurt me.” Jules forced the words out and swallowed hard. Shifted in the borrowed boots.
Nice going. Stuttering? Again?
Now she had her sister’s keen interest. Claire stared, fair eyebrow arched. “Duncan, Alex, I’m going to take Jules up to the solar. We need to talk. Alone.”
Jules could have kissed her sister.
Claire stood tiptoed to press her lips to the kilted man’s mouth, and took their child back into her arms.
“I’ll have Mairi bring some food,” Alex said.
“I’m not hungry, but thank you,” Jules blurted.
“Verra well, if ye are, please let Claire know,” the laird said.
Jules nodded.
“Go back to the yard and your sparring. We’re fine here. I want to talk to my sister before the family descends.” Claire smiled.
The men headed out of the great hall.
Claire took Jules’ hand. “C’mon. Let’s go to the solar.”
“Solar?”
“It’s a sitting room with lotsa windows that hold the warmth. I spend a lot of time in there with Alana, Alex’s wife, and Janet, Duncan and Alex’s sister. My sisters now.”
Jules ignored how the comment had bite. Claire wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings; she was just stating a fact. Both women were her sisters-in-law. Her tone said she cared for them, too. “What, have you learned how to knit or some shit?” she teased instead. Claire—like her—had always been a tomboy.
“Yeah, there’s no TV here.” Her sister threw her a look that was half-amusement and half-annoyance. “It’s called needlework.”
She snorted. “Big difference.”
Claire flashed a grin. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Yeah, me too.”
They climbed a wide staircase and went all the way down a long, dark corridor. Claire pushed open the room at the end of the hall, and light exploded, making Jules squint.
“See? The solar. Sunny. Warm. Comfy.” Her sister pointed to the various chairs and sofas. There was a fire lit in the wide hearth, the scent of peat moss filling the air.
Claire set the baby down on a piece of tartan on the floor not far from the hearth. It was a different pattern than the dark red of MacDonald. She assumed it was MacLeod, since it matched the kilted guards at the gate, as well as what her sister’s husband had been wearing.
Lachlan cooed and waved a wooden block around, babbling happily. There were several more in front of him, along with a stuffed doll. It was a boy, though, clad in a kilt with the same plaid he was sitting on.
Jules grabbed her sister’s arm as soon as the door was shut. “Claire, I want you to come back home with me. Back to the twenty-first century. Back to Texas. Bring your son and come with me.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“I would never take my son away from Duncan. Nor would I leave my husband.” Her sister’s green eyes flashed, and she propped her hands on her hips. “I haven’t seen you in almost three years, and I don’t want to argue with you.” Her words had a slightly Scottish edge, but Jules didn’t focus on that.
“Three years? I saw you last week.”
“Maybe in your time, but I’ve been here two and a half years, Jules.”
Your time.
The words rocked Jules to her soul. “Claire.” She rested her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “Think about Lachlan. Modern day meds, computers. Hell, even TV. He’ll never know any of that here.”
“I am thinking about him. How could being raised with technol
ogy be better than being with his father?”
Jules frowned. She didn’t have the balls to retort to that. They’d been raised without either parent, so she didn’t blame her sister for wanting her kid to have both.
Foster care sucked.
Her sister’s eyes were kind, not angry, when she met her gaze. “I made a choice. I chose Duncan and the past. My life is here. Duncan and Lachlan are my life.
She bit down until her teeth ached and her jaw creaked. “I can’t lose you, little sister.”
“I don’t want to lose you, either. But I’m happy here, Jules. I promise.”
“Without…everything you know?”
Claire laughed. “I do miss tampons.”
Jules swallowed a giggle. “But not antibiotics?”
Her sister scrunched up her nose, reminding Jules of when they were little. “An epidural woulda been nice.”
“I bet.” She snorted.
Claire took a chair and planted it next to her son. She motioned for Jules to join them. “You can always visit, you know. Magic is real and all that.”
Jules rolled her eyes, but could stop smiling when she sat on the tartan and Lachlan toddled over to her. “I have a feeling this is a one-time trip. Not a fan of the disorientation. Oh, and the naked part.” She took the baby’s hand when he reached for her.
Claire grinned down and patted her shoulder. “I bet Laird Hugh MacDonald liked that part.”
She stilled, avoiding her sister’s gaze as her neck burned.
“I thought so.”
“Thought so? What does that mean?” Jules bristled.
“Juliette Ann McGowan. You. Like. Him.”
Jules glared at her little sister. “He’s a freakin’ barbarian. Like a real one. I think not. Wait ‘til I tell you what he did to me. Kidnapped me. Carried me around like a sack of potatoes.” She bit her tongue on the kissing and touching—and sharing a bed. Claire would have a field day.
“You were pissed when the twins were talking crap about him. You shoulda seen the look on your face. I can still read you like a book, big sister.”
“Was not.”
Claire threw her head back and laughed. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
“How seventeenth century of you,” she snapped, which made her sister fall into a fit of giggles.
Lachlan laughed too, and climbed onto her lap. Jules distracted herself with an armful of adorable baby, but she managed another glare for his mother.
“I think…” Claire’s chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, “that Shakespeare said that, so it’s more like sixteenth century.”
“Shut up.”
Her sister slipped off the chair, kneeling on the tartan and threw her arms around Jules. “God, I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Jules stroked her sister’s long hair, sighing against her.
Lachlan hugged them both with his little arms and they laughed when their eyes met.
“He likes you,” Claire said. She ran her hand through her son’s curls.
“Of course, I’m awesome. I’m gonna be his favorite aunt.”
Her sister smirked, but then her expression sobered. “I cried the day he was born. I thought you’d never see him. I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. I made Duncan feel like crap.” Claire’s green eyes went misty, and Jules kissed her cheek.
“Well I’ve seen him now, and he’s gorgeous.” Jules stroked her nephew’s dark curls and he smiled, patting her cheek and babbling. She grabbed his little hand and blew raspberries on his palm.
Lachlan giggled and clapped.
Claire grinned. “Thanks. I think so too, but I’m his mom, so I’m biased.”
“His dad isn’t so bad either.”
Her sister’s gaze held a wicked glint. “No, he’s not. He’s hot.”
Jules laughed. She refused to think about Hugh as he popped into her head. He was hot, too. “You’re really happy here, Claire?” she whispered, scrambling for anything but the MacDonald laird.
“Yes.” Her sister’s nod was earnest, but she flashed another grin. “Or, aye, I should say.”
She found herself smiling again. Claire was practically radiating happiness. Jules knew her sister too well to think any of it was for her benefit. She sighed and averted her gaze.
Going home without Claire didn’t sit right in her gut. Even if she could see with her own eyes how happy she was. “You found happily ever after,” she muttered.
“I did,” Claire whispered. “I really did. I love Duncan and Lachlan more than life itself. I love his family. You’ll meet them soon, I’m sure. Janet’s pregnant and about to pop, so she’s resting, but she’s fab. Her husband is Fae, but so’s Alana.”
“Like Bree.”
Claire stilled. “Bree?”
“The chick that helped me get here. Opened the…Faery Stones?”
Her sister nodded. “Yeah. The Faery Stones.” Claire’s eyes were narrowed and she cocked her head to one side.
“Something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Where’d you meet this chick?”
“I put an ad in the paper when you went missing. She saw your pic and answered it.”
“What?”
Jules’ instincts pricked and she sat straighter, letting Lachlan go when he pulled away. “Claire, what’s wrong?”
“Keep talking, Jules. What else happened?”
“She said she was from here. Like this century, and she knew you. She said she could help me get here because she needed to go home.”
Claire’s green eyes were like saucers. “Bree? You said her name was Bree?”
She nodded. “Yeah. When Hugh found me, I couldn’t find her; I looked.”
“What did she look like?”
“Why?”
Her chest rose and fell with a breath. “Just…tell me.”
Jules stared at Claire. Her sister was leaning into the edge of the chair’s seat, gnawing on her lower lip. “She was about your height. Shorter than me. Long dark hair. Brown eyes and darker complexion, like she was Hispanic or something. But she’s Irish. Said her grandma was Fae. I didn’t believe it until the bubble thing opened.”
Claire gasped. “Bridei.”
They both ignored Lachlan tugging on his mom’s sleeve.
“What?”
“Her real name is Bridei. She’s dark-skinned because she’s a gypsy. We thought she was dead.”
Chapter Ten
Jules could only stare as Claire explained a ton of unbelievable things—despite the fact she’d time traveled. People with wings called Fae Warriors. Magic. Funky colored trees and grass in a place called The Realm of the Fae.
Evidently her friend Bree wasn’t exactly good people.
Claire’s husband cursed savagely. The whole freaking family—including the pregnant chick—had filed into the solar.
“What’s the problem?” Jules asked. “She didn’t seem bent on some revenge plot or anything, she just wanted to get home.”
“You don’t understand, lass.” A guy with purple eyes—like for real violet purple—spoke. He had white-blond hair and was as freaking tall—and built—as the MacLeod twins. Claire had told her he was a former Fae Warrior, but Jules didn’t see any wings.
“What don’t I understand?”
Alana, who was supposed to be a real princess, stepped forward. She was beautiful—ethereally so. Long, white-blonde hair was loose to her waist, and she wore a shimmery lilac gown. Her eyes were purple, too. She looked related to the former Fae Warrior but no one had said so. “Bridei’s lover was killed when we were fleeing.”
Ah, so that’s what Bree left unsaid. Jules remembered the emotions flashing in the woman’s dark eyes. “Well, she’s disappeared now.”
“I doona’ believe she’ll remain so,” Alex said.
Duncan nodded from beside his brother. Both twins had shirts on now, but their stances were the same—crossed arms over broad chests. Alex had donned a kilt, so they looked even more al
ike. Swords were sheathed at their waists, too.
“Her magic isn’t that strong here, so I guess we have that going for us,” Claire whispered.
“Time may have changed that, I’m afraid,” Alana said. “We just canna’ know.”
Claire nodded, a frown marring her face.
Jules sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t have readily agreed to go with Bree. Then again, she wouldn’t be sitting here, having this conversation, nor would she know Claire was okay, had she not. Or have met her adorable little nephew. She made a fist and shook her head.
“Jules, don’t worry. You didn’t know. Besides, she brought you to me. For that, I’m grateful.” Her sister hugged her and Jules squeezed her tight.
The twins exchanged a look over Claire’s head that Jules didn’t miss.
What’s the real danger they’re not mentioning?
“We must find her,” the purple-eyed guy said.
“I agree, Xander.” The laird spoke, his mouth a hard line. He looked at his brother. “We need ta send the men out. Small groups. Scour the Isle.”
“Jules can help!” Claire piped in.
All the men in the room zoned in on her sister, but no one said anything.
“Jules is a cop,” Claire continued. “You remember me explaining it to you, Duncan? It’s like…a knight.”
Now both twins, and their father had dark brows drawn tight, but the silver-haired guy looked thoughtful.
“I catch bad guys for a living. Criminals. Law breakers.” Jules nodded. She waited for the tell-tale but you’re a woman, which was sometimes even present in the twenty-first century.
“Verra well.” Alex cocked his head to one side. “Do ye remember where ye saw Bridei last?”
“Well, not specifically. I was pretty out of it when I came to on the beach, but I’d be happy to help.” Besides, it would give her something to do. Maybe even wipe Hugh MacDonald from her head.
A giggle floated into the room, and a baby girl popped in from thin air—literally. Jules blinked to clear her vision—surely she’d just lost it—but a dark-haired child had most definitely just joined them.
Alex lifted his arms to catch her, gathering the baby to his chest. Good thing, because she didn’t look old enough to walk. Which just made the situation even weirder.
