by L. L. Muir
She took a deep breath and ordered herself to get her butt back out there and suck it up. When she got closer to the road, she realized the excited voices she heard were less excited than they were angry. Flanders and James were arguing. When she got clear of a drooping willow tree, she could see them. Flanders was trying to keep James from coming any farther down the road.
James stopped struggling when he saw her. Flanders turned and hung his head, like he was embarrassed she’d seen them fighting.
James waved. “Phoebe, lass!”
She slowly walked to the road, then turned and headed toward him, holding tight to the side of her dress, wishing she had a couple of pockets to stick her hands in.
“Phoebe, ye’ll never guess what I found.”
She couldn’t imagine what could have him so excited, but if he’d found the love of his life since the last time she’d seen him, she wasn’t about to celebrate with him. “What did you find, James?”
He frowned at Flanders, then gave him a good shove so he could slip past him. She froze as he closed the distance between them, worried that just the touch of his hand might cause pain.
He was clearly worried about her, but his forehead smoothed when he hid his concern behind a big grin. He snatched up her hands, pretending to be caught up in his excitement, but she could tell it was all an act. His touch didn’t hurt, though. It felt like heaven. The pain, she realized, would come when he let go.
“Ask me again,” he said.
“Fine. What did you find, James?”
He leaned closer. She wondered if her neck would break while she waited for him to get it over with so she could get back on the road to nowhere.
“Maybe ye won’t remember the conversation we had about Viking pirates?”
She nodded.
“Well, I’ve discovered that particular something I want badly enough to steal it.”
“Okay, James. What is it?”
His face crumpled and he shrugged those big shoulders. “You, Phoebe Jones.”
She shook her head, not daring to hope that he’d said what she’d heard. “Maybe my software isn’t functioning right. I misunderstood you—”
“Then I’ll demonstrate, shall I?” He bent and wrapped his arms around her middle, then lifted her off the ground to bring her lips up to meet his. It took a long time before she dared kiss him back.
Flanders cleared his throat. When he cleared it a second time, the Muirs laughed and James finally ended the kiss, but he didn’t let her down.
“Those bloody Muirs were right about us,” he said. “I only hope they were wrong about me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hope they were wrong when they said I couldn’t go home again.”
He couldn’t mean it! “You don’t want to stay?”
He shook his head, his grimace said he couldn’t help himself. “Not without ye.” After another brief kiss, he finally put her on her feet. “Now, what’s this I hear about the promise ye made? Something about yer software?”
While the others pretended not to listen, she briefly gave him the more complicated account of how Wickham borrowed her memory from the future so she could speak Gaelic in the present.
“So you see? I can go back, because I do go back. And I know I go back, because I did learn it. Or rather, I will.”
“Dreadful nonsense.” James kissed the end of her nose. “But I am glad it gives ye hope.”
“So, you’re not going to make me go away?”
“Never again.”
“So, when Wickham comes, you won’t mind coming with me?”
“I won’t mind. I never did get used to scratchy socks. But I am glad I came. I needed to come, if only to recognize that there was only ever one woman for me. The question is, if Wickham doesnae come…”
“Where’s yer faith, man?”
They turned toward the far side of the road where Wickham Muir stood, wearing his dark blue kilt, shaking his head and grinning.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Phoebe might have cried when she set eyes on her ticket back to the future, but she was all cried out. She probably wouldn’t be able to squeeze out a tear for a week.
“We can go home, now?”
Wickham nodded and walked their way, nodding to the others as he did. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Ye can go home, now.”
“May I please take this red-headed Viking along with me?”
“Ye may.” He shook James’ hand.
“I’m grateful.”
Wickham laughed. “Ye should be.”
James’ eyes flew wide. “Uh oh.”
“What?”
“I forgot our underwear.”
“I refuse to ask,” Wickham said. “But will they be found and cause trouble, do ye suppose?”
James shook his head and smiled. “Not for a while, no. Hopefully, they’ll stay put until some archeologist comes along.” The others joined them, and he nodded to Flanders. “I’m certain the new laird of Todlaw can find them?” He then told his friend what they were talking about. “Can ye burn them?”
“Sure. If I can find them. But what about the stockings?”
James shrugged. “Wear them if ye dare.”
“Perhaps I will at that.”
James shook his head and warned him to be careful. “Although, speaking of witchcraft, it might interest ye all to hear that after King Robert gave me the message from Phoebe, he essentially suggested that everyone should have a set of Muir witches in the family.
Phoebe squeaked and grabbed his arm. “What?” Her voice rang in her own ears but she couldn’t help it. “What do you mean, King Robert? I thought his name was Bruce.”
“Aye. What kind of Scot do ye call yerself if ye didnae recognize the name of Robert the Bruce?”
“Holy cow. He didn’t say anything. The other guy just laughed a lot.”
He told her about his first meeting with Stout Duncan, and how well that all turned out.
“After all that, I can’t believe you put me in a hole in the ground.”
“I’ll have ye ken the hole was freshly dug. No bones or ghosts for ye to bump into. But if ye’ll remember, it was Flanders who sent ye there. I had left the keep.”
“That’s right.” She gave narrowed her eyes at the blond. “That was your first mistake. If you’d have just waited for James to come back, you might have had a better shot with me.”
“Nay,” James interrupted. “I only returned in the first place because Raulf reported ye’d been placed in the pit. If ye hadn’t been, I would have made that journey to find the Muirs myself. Stephen might have already taken possession of ye and the keep, before I returned.”
“If ye go,” Flanders said, “what will happen to the keep? Ye can’t leave it for that bastard to take.”
“Nay, my friend. Todlaw is yers to manage until such time that young Robert Duncan might want it. All except the second tower. That belongs to Stephan now, the boon for sending me Phoebe.”
Phoebe watched the poor man struggle for words, but she could tell James was just setting up a joke.
“By the king’s command, I had to reward Stephan with the keep right then and there. So...”
Flanders snorted. “So, Stephan was given a pile of rocks?”
“Exactly.”
Wickham clapped his hands together. “We must be off. Say yer farewells, if ye don’t mind. I’ve got a wife and bairns waiting on me.”
Thomas moved closer to his descendant. “How is it ye can move through time, Master Wickham?”
The younger man shrugged. “To satisfy yer curiosity, Father, would put all of history at risk, aye? But I will tell ye two things. First and foremost, my gift is unique. It will never be recreated. And second, I do not move through time. It is time that moves through me. Those who cling to me are affected. And most times I rely on inspiration.” He held his head still, but looked up with his eyes.
The Muir man nodded like it all made perfect sens
e.
Phoebe just wanted to go home and stop all the mind-yoga. Like James, she’d decided that all she really wanted was a simple life that didn’t need a map, a witch, or an outhouse.
James and Flanders shared a hug that probably would have broken every bone in an average body. Then they knocked each other on the shoulders in some primitive, male ritual. Flanders then stepped over to her, grabbed her shoulders, and planted a firm kiss on her lips that went on long enough to be awkward. It only stopped when the man went stumbling backwards. Then James gave her a kiss that was obviously intended to make her forget the last one. She knew that because it succeeded so well.
“As soon as we are home again, ye will marry me, Phoebe Jones. The moment we are home, do ye hear?”
She laughed. “Or you’ll throw me over your shoulder and take me to your longhouse?”
“If I must.”
She made a face. “I guess living with a barbarian won’t be so bad—with the right barbarian.”
Wickham made an impatient sound and came to stand between them. “Certainly, he’s the right barbarian, for ye’ve ceased stumbling about, have ye not? No need to scare this one away, as ye did the other blokes?”
Phoebe could only blink, trying to understand what the man was saying. While it was true her relationships never lasted long, she never had the heart to dump anyone. And when they could no longer handle how accident prone she was, it was always a relief when they broke up with her.
But no, she couldn’t imagine trying to scare James away. Did that mean her clumsy days were over?
Flanders and the other Muirs watched avidly as the three of them created a triangle; she and James one of Wickham’s arms, then held tight to each other.
“I certainly hope I don’t drop ye in the wrong year or something,” the dark Scot said. Then he laughed at their worried faces. When the ground began to shift, Phoebe closed her eyes tight. When she opened them, it was suddenly dark, like someone had dropped a blanket over the sun. A light glowed from somewhere behind James’ broad shoulders, and she heard a voice sing out.
“Welcome home, everyone. Kettle’s on. Find a cup!”
Epilogue
“I got the mail,” Phoebe announced when she came through the door of their new mountain home. She still couldn’t believe they were going to live in an old castle for the rest of their lives, but with all the modern conveniences, and some breathtaking renovations, James didn’t have to twist her arm.
She could hear his boots hurrying down the hall from his study.
“Excellent! I’m starved.”
She rolled her eyes when he started searching the entry table, then her purse. “I said I got the mail. Real mail.” She pointed to the stack of envelopes, then handed him the box wrapped in brown paper. “This is for you, by the way. And if I come home with groceries, I’ll say I got some groceries, not messages.”
He winked and kissed her neck, then started picking at the tape on his package. “And what will ye say when ye’ve retrieved the messages on yer phone, that reminds ye to pick up the messages?”
She laughed, then sighed. She was never going to learn the language like he expected. Oh, she’d probably pick up a few of the quaint things the locals said, like “that’s me,” to say they’re done, or “Hee Haw,” that means nothing. But the Gaelic classes were not going well at all.
James made a strange little noise in his throat, then lowered the package to show her what was inside. The rectangular box was packed with corrugation and tissue paper, and nestled into either end were two matching teacups. Bright blue with gold trim. A little couple painted in the center.
He picked out the little card from between them, opened it with one hand, and read.
“Wishing you good luck on the election, James. We have a good feeling about it. Signed, Lorraine and Loretta Muir.” He then said something in Gaelic, but she didn’t catch a word of it, so she stuck out her bottom lip.
He set the box aside and pulled her against him. “Dinna fash, Phoebe lass. It will come.” Then he said something in Gaelic that he usually only said late at night.
Phoebe shook her head again, then shrugged. She might not understand what he was saying, but she definitely got what he meant. And she wrapped her hands in his shirt to pull him close, so she could speak in her new favorite language.
Love.
THE END
Thank you so much for spending your precious reading time with my characters. The next book in the series is PERCY, but FLANDERS will be along after the beginning of the year.
In the meantime, if you like the world inhabited by various Muir Witches and haven’t tried them yet, you want to check out THE GHOSTS OF CULLODEN MOOR series to find out what Wickham and his great-niece have been doing on the battlefield at night. Here is the link to the series page on Amazon.
(As of April, 2017, there are already 43 tales to try.)
The Books page will give you a complete picture of the other LL Muir stories you might like. You can also follow me on Facebook, Amazon, and Bookbub. Or sign up for my newsletter at www.llmuir.weebly.com
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About the Author
L.L. Muir lives in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and family. She appreciates funny friends, a well-fed campfire, and rocking sleepy children.
A disturbing number of Parson’s Bakery donuts were consumed while writing Unravelling James.
If you like her books, be a sport and leave a review on the book’s Amazon page. You can reach her personally through her website— www.llmuir.weebly.com , or on Facebook at L.L. Muir.
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Dedication
To Kelli Ann Morgan
my cover designer
and friend…
for all the inspiration
that has come
from your creations alone.
Copyright
Published by Lesli Muir Lytle
James © 2018 L.Lytle
Unraveling James © 2017 L.Lytle
All rights reserved
Cover Art by Kelli Ann Morgan
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