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

by L. L. Muir

  She faced forward. "Yes. I know."

  "You know?" Quinn’s words were muffled, but intelligible just the same. His carcass didn't move. The hands still hung limp.

  "You're doing a fine job, Quinn. You still look dead." She knew if she was the one who had to play dead for miles and miles, she’d appreciate a little encouragement.

  James gave a rude laugh. She decided to ignore him.

  "How did you know?" came Quinn’s voice again.

  "I’m not an idiot,” she said. “I figured it out while I was still in the dungeon."

  "You did not," whispered James.

  Jules shrugged. "You'd be amazed how much clearer things seem in the dark."

  "Bull. Shite."

  His breath on her ear made her shiver.

  She shook her head and gave him a frown. “That tickles my ear.”

  “What?” Quinn demanded. If he wasn’t careful, their distant escort might hear him.

  "Hush,” she hissed.

  When she realized James had been tormenting Quinn on purpose, she glared over her shoulder. James grinned back.

  She rolled her eyes and spoke loud enough for Quinn to hear.

  “It was something Martin, the blind guard, said. That you didn't sound like a monster to him. That made me consider what else you might be. And I remembered you’d never actually come out and said you were going to kill me or deliver me to Gabby.

  “There were only two possibilities when you chased me into Castle Ross. Hitman or cop. If you were a British babysitter—I mean agent—then you wouldn't be beating my boyfriend to death. Then there was the small detail of you winking at me every chance you got.”

  Quinn grunted.

  James laughed. "Shut up, man. Twenty minutes and I'll let you sit." He then gave her a little squeeze around the middle. He was enjoying himself. For a few quiet minutes they were lulled by the clap of horses’ hooves on wet mud. Finally, Quinn’s voice interrupted again.

  “Did she say boyfriend?”

  James laughed. "She did."

  Jules was mortified. The man was at least ten years older than her, and she’d called him her boyfriend.

  Gah!

  Somewhere, under all that burlap, he was probably rolling his eyes, wondering how he was ever going to get rid of her.

  She'd plunged into a special kind of hell when she'd seen Quinn lying on the floor and for that second or two afterwards—until she’d convinced herself it was a hoax. She would have thrown herself across his body and started checking for vital signs if it hadn't been for the slow twitch of James' eye. Then, she was able to do a little method acting of her own. But had it been enough? Was someone suspecting, even now? Would Gordon send men after them?

  Jules turned in the saddle. "Can't this horse go any faster?"

  James gave her a little smile. "Oh, aye. But it will jostle our package to death in truth. We only need to get over that ridge. Just keep watching the ridge."

  She realized his arm had inched up a bit from her waist. Then she felt his long fingers twitch. Maybe he was enjoying himself just a little too much.

  "You can let go of me now. I promise this Wyoming girl can keep her butt in the saddle. And it's not like I'm going to run off, right?"

  "Oh, right ye are. I beg pardon." He pulled his arm away.

  He still sat too close, and she could feel his breath against the top of her head, but she was done complaining.

  "James?"

  "Aye?"

  "Are you married?"

  "Uh uh."

  Quinn mumbled something she didn't understand, but James must have. He scooted his rump back behind the saddle, until their bodies were no longer touching.

  ***

  As it turned out, they had to leave Quinn across the saddle for a lot longer than planned because at the top of the ridge, there were a dozen Gordons guarding the border. All of them watched James and her like they were suspected pick-pockets leaving a jewelry store. She could feel their stares while they headed down the other side of the ridge with their package in tow.

  When the ground leveled out again, James finally turned off the road and into the woods. Remembering the wolf she’d faced, she didn’t know if it was time to relax, or time to worry harder.

  “This is the straightest shot toward Ross lands. They would expect us to leave the road here,” he said.

  As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she realized they were on a well-worn trail. A minute later, the hairs rose at the back of her head and on her forearms. They were no longer alone. She frantically looked around for a stick and discovered they weren’t surrounded by wolves, but by Highlanders all decked out in blue paint like they were headed for a Colt’s game. Then she remembered. War Paint.

  Shit.

  They didn’t have time for this. They needed to get Quinn off the horse and treat his wound, not defend themselves again.

  She took a deep breath and prepared to pull out her best bravado, when James gave her a little squeeze. He’d scooted close again.

  “Don’t move,” James said clearly, and she knew his warning was for Quinn too.

  The biggest painted man urged his horse forward until he was in their faces. He held a heavy sword in one hand, reins in the other. He glanced from James to her and back again. His expression told her nothing.

  “Hello again, ye ruddy bastard,” he said.

  James laughed. “Ewan, is that you? Only my own grandda calls me that.”

  “More like he’s the only one to say it to yer face.” Ewan suddenly grinned and his paint cracked around his lips. His beard looked like he’d cleaned the blue off his fingers with it.

  To Jules, he looked beautiful. And only when her body relaxed did she realize how tightly she’d been wound. She nearly fell off the horse, shaming the state of Wyoming.

  Ewan looked at the other horse. He had to know whose body it was.

  “And where’s me cousin, then?” he asked anyway.

  Quinn groaned.

  Ewan nearly jumped off his horse. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”

  “He’s not dead,” James announced, like he should get credit for that.

  “But I am bleeding,” Quinn mumbled.

  James had promised that as he was tying Quinn’s body to the horse, he’d been sure to place pressure over the wound in his back, promised that pressure was the only thing they could do for him until they met up with Ewan. He’d also promised the hole wasn’t deep, but that didn’t keep Jules from worrying.

  Frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t passed out, hanging over a horse, all that blood going to his head.

  Jules swung a leg over her horse’s head and jumped down, but when she ducked beneath its chin to get to Quinn, a big man was blocking her way. She tried to step around him, but he was already lifting Quinn’s body off the horse and onto his shoulder.

  “Quinn!” It was pitiful, really, but she had to let him know she gave a damn that he was bleeding.

  The big man turned to look at her and she tried to read his expression through the slashes of paint. He looked an awful lot like—

  And he looked just as shocked as she was.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded. She could feel herself blush, for all the things she’d fantasized about this man in spite of the fact he was technically her brother in law.

  “Juliet, is it? We’ve come to bring ye safely home, lass. To the arms of yer family.”

  And just like that, her insides started falling apart, like she was a human sized pastry that had just had all its filling sucked out. Pieces of her broke away like crust, including the words she’d intended to say to this man once she got up the courage to knock on his door, the words she’d laid out in her mind to make damn sure his wife suffered enough in five minutes to make them even. If they were going to be nice to her... If they were going to be nice to her, she was doomed. None of the mental weapons she’d prepared would be effective against nice.

  She fought the urge to turn and run, not sure her le
gs would cooperate and damned sure she didn’t want to leave Quinn.

  “Monty Ross,” came Quinn’s muffled voice. “Keep yer bloody arms to yerself. She’s mine.”

  The big man put Quinn’s feet on the ground and steadied him, then began unwrapping him, carefully, frowning at the wide bloodstain as he pulled it away. Quinn grasped at the plaid at his waist when the unwrapping might have gone too far. Jules couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. His back was a bloody mess, but the hole looked small. And she was relieved to see he’d stopped bleeding for the moment.

  “I’ve yet to touch her, Nephew.” Montgomery laughed. “And I can’t tell ye how pleased I am to find yer still alive.”

  Quinn ignored him and turned to face her. The way his eyes crinkled, she figured he was pleased to find her so near. She gave him the same smile, but what pleased her was the fact that he’d claimed her.

  Too bad it was only for the moment.

  Leaving him behind was going to suck. If she was smart, she’d start preparing herself now. But she didn’t want to waste what time they had left.

  Who was she kidding? It was already sucking. The reality that they would never see each other again, after she climbed back in that tomb, made her feel hot and sick on the inside. The cool air of shadows surrounded her. A few deep breaths of it helped.

  When he reached for her, she stepped up to him quickly, ecstatic there were no longer any bars between them. And as he pulled her to his bare chest, her fingers started tingling. She couldn’t tell if that tingling was due to the fact her fingers were finally getting a little oxygen or if they were anticipating the touch of Quinn’s chest.

  His breath caught.

  She pushed him back to look at his face. He smiled and gave her a wink, but she could tell he was in a great deal of pain.

  “You can hold me later,” she said and tried to step back.

  He held her fast. “I believe I’ll hold you later as well,” he said, then bent down to kiss her. It was a glorious kiss with no bars pressing into their faces. “You promised,” he whispered. “‘Till the end, aye. ‘Tisn’t the end yet.”

  He kissed her again and she heard the chuckle of more than one man, then the gasp of a woman.

  “Montgomery! He’s bleeding!”

  The woman’s voice sounded a little too familiar. Jules hadn’t considered that her twin would sound like her too.

  Quinn looked down into her face. He was worried.

  “Ready or not, aye?”

  Tears welled in her eyes, but not because she was afraid. She was just so relieved he understood her so well.

  “I’m a coward,” she whispered. “Who knew?”

  Quinn laughed. “I suppose you could bash her on the head and try to fight your way out.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, but that plan’s getting a little old.”

  Quinn nodded. “Will you let me handle this?”

  Jules smiled, grateful, and got a wink as a reward. He pushed her hair back behind her ears, straightened her coat, then pivoted so they both faced the woman waiting behind him.

  Binoculars hadn’t done the woman justice. And she’d been right. Jillian Ross was a beauty—like a Photo-Shopped version of the chick Jules saw in the mirror each morning.

  “Holy shit,” she said at the same time Jillian said, “Holy crap.”

  No one laughed.

  “Jilly?” Quinn gave the woman a little bow. “This is my... This is Juliet. She’s mine. I’m certain the pair of you will find the time to get to know one another, but just now, I need you to tend to my back, aye?”

  Jillian’s pale face stared at her. It was like looking at a ghost. Jules was frozen in place.

  “I’m bleeding, Jilly. Remember?” Quinn lowered his head to get the woman’s attention.

  Jilly noticed him again, nodded, then hurried away to one of the horses. When she came back, she was carrying a first aid kit.

  Jules suddenly felt...extra, like she’d been holding someone’s place in the world and now that someone was there to take it back. She was nothing more than a seat-filler, and the appropriate thing for her to do at the moment was to get the hell out of the picture.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  For a half hour, James paced around their little group while Quinn was cleaned and sewn up by her sister. The woman seemed to know what she was doing, so Jules let her at it. But she couldn’t bear to stand near her.

  Quinn seemed to understand. At least he didn’t complain about her not holding his hand while a needle was poked in and out of him.

  They still hadn’t spoken. Quinn had needed all of Jillian’s attention. But the woman kept glancing over at her. She paced about twenty feet away, between two trees, feeling like an orphan looking through the dining room window at a real family sitting down for Thanksgiving.

  She felt a heavy arm descend over her shoulders and glanced up, sure she would see James there, trying to make Quinn jealous. But it was Montgomery.

  “Ye see, Jillian?” the man called to his wife. “I’ve got her. She’s not going anywhere.” In a lower voice he said, “For the love of God, don’t go anywhere.”

  Jules laughed.

  Quinn’s head snapped around. He looked at Montgomery, then at her. There was a question in his eyes and she knew just what he was asking. Was she remembering the dream? Imagining it was Montgomery on the other side of the bars? The fact that he would worry made her tear up.

  She looked intently into Quinn’s eyes and shook her head slowly, clearly.

  He smiled and nodded. Then she looked from him to Jillian and back, asking him the same silent question. He laughed and shook his head.

  “What the bloody hell was that about?” Montgomery asked it none too quietly.

  “Private joke,” she said.

  “Ah. And just how much privacy did you and my nephew enjoy?” He’d sounded like a protective father, not a brother in law.

  “Oh, we didn’t enjoy it.”

  Quinn frowned, then called out. “The hell we didn’t.”

  Jillian made Quinn lift one arm, pushed it up a little higher, then gave him a good frown. Then she bent back to her stitching. A second later, Quinn cried out.

  Montgomery laughed. Jillian slapped her patient on the shoulder, like it was his own fault he’d gotten hurt.

  Quinn held very still, but spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “I’d be better able to concentrate, Jillian, if a certain great uncle of mine would just remove his hands from my woman.”

  Jillian straightened and dropped the bloody rag she’d been holding. She glanced in Jules’ direction, but not up at her face. Tears poured from her eyes and she walked away, in the opposite direction, into the trees.

  Montgomery’s arm disappeared from Jules’ shoulders and he ran after his wife. She didn’t go far, though, and collapsed at the bottom of a tree, bawling into her hands.

  “Jillian! You will be all right, do you hear?”

  “No. No, I won’t,” she sobbed quietly, but her voice carried in the moist air.

  “Is it the babe? Do you wish to lie down?”

  “No. The baby’s fine. But...” She was crying too hard to finish.

  She was pregnant?

  Well, hormonal or not, Jules knew the crying was her fault. If she were anyone else, she might have been able to run up to the woman who was supposedly her sister, throw her arms around her, and start celebrating. But she just wasn’t like that.

  Jillian Ross wasn’t just a stranger; she’d been the bane of Jules’ existence. And she couldn’t just pretend it wasn’t true. She had to show a little loyalty to herself, to remember what she’d come here to do. She was finally close enough to speak to the chick. It was time to suck it up and do it. After all, Jillian was already crying—she couldn’t make it much worse.

  Her pounding heart propelled her across the clearing and she didn’t stop walking until she was standing in front of her sister. Montgomery was squatting beside his wife, drying her t
ears with her own hair. He stood and gave Jules a grateful smile, then started to walk away.

  “Wait. You probably don’t want to leave her,” she warned. “Not when you hear what I’ve come to say.”

  Monty’s brows rose, but he looked more curious than worried. He shared a glance with Jillian, then leaned against the tree. Within comforting distance maybe.

  “First of all,” Jules began, “I want to thank you for taking care of Quinn. I don’t know anything about stitching wounds. I’m probably a lot better at inflicting them. I’m sure you’ll agree in a minute.”

  Jillian put a hand on the ground and got to her feet. “I guess if you plan to hurt me, I shouldn’t take it sitting down,” she said. Then she wiped a sleeve across her face and lifted her chin.

  It was all too painful to watch, like Jules was seeing herself move, hearing something she might have said under the same circumstances. But she shook off the empathetic impressions and got back to the script she’d practiced on the hillside.

  “My parents... Our parents died in a car crash...” She couldn’t go on. After all this rehearsing, she couldn’t tell this ghostly version of herself that it was her fault her parents died. Maybe, now that she wasn’t alone anymore, she could see through that red, angry fog and admit that it hadn’t been Jillian’s fault. All the fault should be laid at their grandmother’s feet.

  “My grandmother,” Jillian began. “Our grandmother told me my parents died in a car wreck. She never said anything about a sister. She said we had no other family. I’ve known about you for about thirty-six hours.”

  Her sister swallowed, then gave a little smile, but it didn’t stay long. She must have read something on Jules’ face that told her not to start celebrating. It must have been the shock. When Jules was able to speak again, she couldn’t seem to turn up the volume enough to hear herself clearly. What she did hear clearly was her heart pounding against the wall of her chest.

  “You don’t remember me?” She didn’t know if she was more hurt or outraged. She’d considered the possibility, but it hadn’t seemed possible that Jillian’s memory would be worse than her own. The second time she spoke, she was nice and clear. “You’re claiming you don’t remember me?”