Not Without Juliet (A Scottish Time Travel Romance) (Muir Witch Project #2)

by L. L. Muir

  Ewan had flung his arms around the enemy’s stomach and plowed him into the side of the archway, but the big man just laughed. When he noticed the small army waiting their turn for a piece of him, he laughed harder.

  Jules had to move. Now.

  She hustled to the giant wood door that stood open to the night air, then paused. It was covered with metal and rivets and looked like a shield for a giant. It was probably part of that Scottish carpentry that Ewan was talking about. But that’s not what made her stop.

  She realized if she slipped away, Gabby’s man would keep searching for her there, among all those innocents. They might be slaughtered. She needed to go, but she needed the hitter to follow.

  Jules searched the back of the room for those long red curls.

  “Hoo hoo!” she hollored. “Hey! Red!”

  The red head popped up and he scanned the crowd until he saw her. He looked none too happy to be pulled away from a good time, like he was in the middle of a neighborhood basketball game and she’d told him he had to come home for lunch. He really was enormous. Ewan looked like a kid hanging on his back with one arm around his neck. The hitter was all but grinning. Ewan, on the other hand, looked furious.

  “I’m going now,” she called, as if she were popping out to the store. “Give me a few minutes’ head start, Laird Ross. Would you?”

  Ewan sputtered like a fish.

  “Bell! Don’t do it!” The hitter’s voice died in her wake. And she made damn sure she left a wake. Dogs scattered. She pulled a pile of wooden buckets over next to a wagon, making sure a mess pointed the way out of the torch-lit inner bailey, through the opening where the old Muir sisters had been waving at her.

  She was standing on the bridge before she remembered about the moat. But it was no land bridge, just a wide, sturdy piece of construction built across a large creek. The cheerful gurgle of water over rocks was not the toxic water full of vicious creatures she’d always imagined a moat to be.

  Once she was on the other side of the bridge, she realized that old crumbling curtain wall was now perfectly intact, probably two stories tall, and caging her in. And more importantly, caging in a hitman among a clan’s worth of collateral damage.

  She kept moving.

  Little buildings were scattered around the edges of an expansive outer bailey that had once been, or rather, would one day be, a huge parking lot. Light glowed orange from behind a window here and there, but for the most part, the structures were random gray shapes in the blackness. The air was cool against her face and the combined smells of grass and manure reminded her of Wyoming, but she pushed the memories away—not out of pain this time, but from necessity. She had to stay alert.

  Thanks to torches lit on either side, she could see where the massive main gate was closed up for the night. It stood where, not long ago, the chain had hung between two modern posts with the little sign that read, “See Us Tomorrow.”

  The long stone battlements had torches burning every fifty yards or so. Some of them moved back and forth—probably carried by guards. Above the gate, the torches held still while men moved back and forth just below them.

  Jules hurried toward that gate, past the buildings and out into a dark stretch of ground that seemed to move in waves. She walked right into something short, nearly toppling onto her face. When her hands shot out to steady herself, she felt something soft—and mobile.

  Sheep.

  The wool-covered creatures bumped around her for a second or two, then moved away when they realized she wasn’t one of them. She said a little prayer, grateful they’d stayed quiet, then she got moving again, bracing herself to step in sheep dung.

  The wall was gigantic. She couldn’t believe there wouldn’t be more of it left in five hundred years. Something that big couldn’t just erode away. People would have to tear it down and carry the stones away. But why?

  She moved more carefully as she neared the light of the gate torches, but the two guards manning the wall there were facing outward. A grid covered the wide opening, and on the inside, giant doors stood open. Apparently, they weren’t expecting an attack. Too bad they didn’t realize it was going to come from within.

  Off to the left, there was a staircase that led to the top of the wall. What could she do, climb up there and explain things, then ask them to lift the gate and let her out? Oh, and leave it open until the killer left too? Wouldn’t they be a little suspicious when she described the guy as being dressed just like her? Jeans and black coat?

  Yeah, she needed a better plan. And she couldn’t just wait around for something to come to her. She moved silently until she was next to the stairs, then plastered herself flat against it, in the shadows, while she figured out what to do.

  Come on, Jules. Think!

  If it had been the twenty-first century, she could just pass herself off as Lady Ross, and they’d do what she told them.

  A woman’s scream rang out from the inner bailey, maybe the castle itself. Had the hitter gotten free? Had he killed someone?

  “Go!” a man shouted from somewhere above her. Then fast footsteps on the stairs. Then more muffled strides as a man struck out across the dirt and grass toward the castle.

  One man left. Or at least, she thought it was only one.

  Her only hope was to sway one man into helping her. She just hoped she had a good idea by the time she got up the steps because she couldn’t waste any more time.

  She ran to the end of the staircase and started up. The stairs were suddenly well-lit. The problem was, a man was standing at the top holding a torch, looking right at her. He glanced in the direction of the other guard, probably wondering if he should call him back, so she distracted him.

  “Hello!” She smiled and gave a little wave.

  He didn’t wave back, but she had his attention. She knew the moment he realized she was wearing pants, because he caught his breath. As she made her way up the stairs and stepped onto the wall walk, he moved back and rested his butt against the battlements. She figured he didn’t think a woman—even a woman in pants—was much of a threat. He set the torch in a ring, folded his arms and smirked at her, like some club bouncer who wasn’t going to let her in.

  “And just where do ye suppose ye’re goin’, lass?”

  “I’m just coming to pay my penalty,” she said, hoping her accent wasn’t too horrible. But Ewan hadn’t had any trouble understanding her.

  “Oh, aye? And what penalty might that be?”

  She looked out over the wall, to gage how far she’d have to run to reach her precious hillside, but she saw only darkness. She would have the distance of at least a road before the beginning of the slope. The man followed her gaze and tensed, pushing himself away from the wall.

  “Who be ye?” He looked toward the castle, then back at her.

  “I’m just visiting. With the Muir sisters,” she said coyly.

  He froze and his eyes bulged for a second.

  “Oh, I’m not one of them,” she said, and he looked relieved to hear it. “But I did lose a wager. And my penalty is to find a guard and give him a Glasgow Kiss.”

  By the guy’s reaction, she could tell he didn’t know what she meant, that he assumed a kiss was just a kiss. She looked down the wall walk, to where another torch was perched against the stone. She saw no guard there. Maybe all of them weren’t manned. The sentry followed her line of sight.

  She gave her best impression of a pout. “But if you’d like me to find another man, I can—”

  He was already shaking his head. “Och, nay. There’s none on this wall with me tonight that would be worth the kissin’, lassie. Ye’re right lucky ye found me first.”

  He stepped up to her. She looked behind her, to make sure she wasn’t too close to the edge, since there was no railing of any kind. The man grabbed her arm gently, like he was promising to keep her from falling.

  She blinked a lot, trying to look innocent. Hopefully, he thought she was a harmless idiot.

  “If you’re
sure,” she said. “You’re such a tall one. You’ll have to bend down a little.” He didn’t resist when she put her hands on his furry cheeks and angled his head down. “And I think we’re supposed to close our eyes.”

  She closed hers for a couple of seconds, then peeked to make sure he’d fallen for it. Then she reared back and gave her first Glasgow Kiss ever, putting her weight behind it to make sure she got it right. A half-hearted head-butt would only get him mad.

  The impact surprised her, but she was most surprised by the fact she was still able to stand. Everyone in the castle had to have heard it, like someone hitting a coconut with a hammer. She was just grateful her head got to be the hammer. Her forehead was numb, but at least she wasn’t falling to the ground, like the sentry was.

  Unfortunately, he crumpled forward without time for any reaction whatsoever. She had to ignore the gong sounding in her own head while she broke his fall without them both pitching over the side, onto the steps. It wasn’t easy getting out from under him.

  She’d been trying to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for the hitter, and Kissy-face was going to be the last crumb. His body, with his arm dangling over the edge of the walkway, was well lit. Anyone looking toward the gate would see it.

  Perfect.

  She walked carefully to the center of the gatehouse—carefully, because she was pretty sure she’d just given herself a concussion—and found the mechanism for raising the metal gate. It was much easier than she thought it would be to turn the gears to bring the thing up. Unfortunately, she couldn’t figure out how to keep it suspended if she let go. In the end, she jammed the handle of a torch between cogs and it held.

  It had taken so long, she was 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. In the starlight, all she could see were stumps, and dirt, and patches of grass.

  The trees had been there only hours ago. Hours ago. She’d have given her last candy bar to see that stupid squirrel and his tree again.

  She 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.

  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 Edinburg. 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 would have to call the butler and tell him to give the staff a few extra days of 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.”

  His 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!” He dropped her hand and grabbed the steering wheel with both of his.

  In the beams from the Hummer, 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 sisters 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 cast
le, 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, Jilly dear,” called Lorraine. “But funny you should use those words today.”

  Jilly 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 Jilly’s middle, then looked away. Jilly 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. Jilly 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 Jilly a nervous look. Guilt? Pity?

  “I’ll bite,” Jilly said, against her better judgment. “Who thought you were ghosts?”

  “Would you like to sit down, Jilly dear?” Lorraine also stared at her middle.

  “No. I don’t want to sit down. Spit it 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.”

  Jilly glared at Lorraine, daring her to piss her off. Didn’t she know better than to mess with a pregnant woman?