by L. L. Muir
When her voice bounced around the trees and back into her face, she glanced over at Montgomery, to see if he was going to come to his wife’s defense, but he was gone. Jillian followed her gaze.
About twenty feet away, the missing husband had his arms over the shoulders of Quinn and Ewan and the three of them were sneaking quickly away into the mist. James, who now stood guard over the horses, seemed to realize he’d been abandoned. He turned aside and whistled softly.
“Cowards,” she and Jillian said in unison.
Neither of them laughed.
“To answer your question,” Jillian said, “no, I didn’t remember you. Since the Muir sisters told me we were twins, I’ve remembered just a few things. Little, stupid things. I didn’t even remember your name, although Jules sounded a lot more familiar than Juliet. I should have been able to remember your name. I’m so sorry.”
“I would have given anything to forget yours,” Jules mumbled.
Jillian’s mouth opened like she’d just been punched in the stomach, but she recovered quickly for someone who’d just been bawling her head off.
“First blood goes to you,” said her sister. “Fine. So I’ll tell you what’s been bothering me for the last day and a half. If you’ve known about me, remembered me, why the hell didn’t you come looking for me before now?”
Jules’ mouth opened with an indignant grunt. “Are you kidding me? I spent my life looking for you! You stupid, self-centered bitch! You never looked back! You never looked for us!”
To her horror, that little outburst opened a floodgate of her own wild emotions. She couldn’t catch her next breath and was at the mercy of her own contorting body. The only way to breathe was to bawl.
Quinn came out of nowhere, but it wasn’t his arms that came around her, it was Jillian’s.
“Get out of here,” her sister barked at him.
Jules was grateful he went. Even her hand spread wide couldn’t hide her gaping, howling mouth, and she turned toward her sister and buried her face against her so no one else could see the ugliness. There was just too much pain for her to handle on her own. For once, just this once, she’d lean on Jillian, but just until the tide in her chest turned.
Jules hadn’t noticed when they’d made it to the ground, but as her surroundings crept back into her awareness, she realized they were seated right hip to right hip facing opposite directions, with their heads on each other’s right shoulders. Jillian flipped a small square of plaid over her arm and Jules hurried to blow her nose on it before anyone told her it was meant for something else. Scots were funny about their plaids, weren’t they?
Jillian let go of her and pulled back to look in her face.
“You said, You never came looking for us.” She took a deep breath. “Who is us?”
Jules wasn’t sure she could talk, but she tried.
“Mom and Dad,” she said.
Jillian frowned. “But they died, when we were three.”
“No. They died when just before our tenth birthday. We looked for you for six years. It’s what we did. Then, after I was old enough to drive, I was always looking for you too. By then I was pretty mad and wanted to take it out on somebody. It wasn’t until I was snooping in an FBI agent’s stuff that I found the file they had on me. They’d known about you, and about grandmother. Suddenly I knew right where to find you.”
Jillian was shaking her head and tearing up again. “I don’t understand. Why would Grandmother have lied to me? Why would she keep me from my parents? Were they abusive?”
“No! No, they were wonderful.” Jules realized she’d been so angry for so long she’d forgotten how lucky she’d been. “It was Grandmother,” she said. “She was crazy. Mother refused to believe her conspiracy theories so Grandmother took you away. Supposedly, she was protecting you from something that was supposed to happen in the future. Now that I know about the tomb, I’m not so sure she was crazy. But how did she know?”
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say, she misunderstood something she heard. I’ll tell you all about it another time. And you can tell me what our parents were like.”
“Deal,” Jules said.
Jillian leaned back on her hands and looked at the toes of her green boots.
“I remember a little girl who I thought was just my reflection in a mirror,” she said. “And a bear named Necklace.”
“White bear with purple legs and arms?”
“And head.”
Jules shook her head. “It wasn’t Necklace. It was Jewels. Your bear was Jules. Mine was Jillybean. They’re in a box, somewhere.”
“Grandmother called me Jillybean.”
“So did I.” Jules swallowed back a wave of tears rising in her throat.
Jillian smiled. “I can’t believe you kept them all this time.”
“Yeah. Neither can I.”
They sat in silence for a minute. It was a comfortable silence. Jules could almost imagine she heard her sister’s thoughts.
Someone cleared his throat on the far side of the tree. “Does this mean you two are ready to—”
“Go away!” they shouted together, and this time they laughed.
The guy was gone so fast Jules didn’t know if it had been Quinn or Monty who’d tried to interrupt them.
“So. Is there anything else you wanted to get off your chest?” Jillian asked. “You know, in case we need to cry some more before I finish stitching up Quinn?”
“No. I think—well, at least I hope—I’m done being mean to you.”
Jillian laughed.
They heard a scuffle, then a strange thunk, then silence.
“Jillian! I’m bleedin’,” Monty called.
Jillian shook her head and didn’t move.
“Then stop fighting with Ewan,” she called back.
They giggled, then waited.
A few minutes later, there was another plea for attention.
“Quinn’s bleedin’ again!”
That time, it sounded like Quinn’s voice, but they both jumped to their feet and went hurrying around the tree. Monty and Ewan didn’t look too happy to see them. They both passed a coin to first Quinn, then James.
“How much did you lose, husband?” Jillian walked over and prodded Monty’s arm with a sharp fingernail and he winced.
“Naught,” he said.
“But I saw you pass coins,” she argued.
Monty looked at Quinn and grimaced. Quinn shook his head so slightly Jules wondered if she’d imagined it—if it weren’t for the guilty way he avoided eye contact when he reached for her.
“What did you bet on?” she asked him.
“Nothing of import,” Monty claimed.
“What did you bet on, husband?” Jillian ran her dangerous fingernails up Monty’s chest and by the time she reached his neck, his defenses were forgotten.
“The first wager was determined by which was made of sterner stuff and wouldna greet first.” He cleared his throat. “Knowin’ ye fer the strong woman ye are, I bet on ye, wife.” He grinned like he expected a reward.
Jules figured greet meant cry. Well, at least Quinn had bet on her. He’d lost, but he’d bet on her. She made a mental note to reward him later, but saw nothing wrong with hugging him tight right then.
“And the second wager was whose blood would bring ye runnin’,” Monty continued. “I must admit to being a wee disappointed in ye, mavournin’.”
“Be disappointed later, uncle,” said Quinn. “For I meant what I said. I am bleeding again.”
***
Jules resumed her pacing between the same two trees while she waited for Jillian to finish with Quinn. He’d already pulled out a stitch, and didn’t mind getting poked again, but something about it bothered Jules and while she paced, she realized what it was.
What if he got an infection? Here. Now.
Could she convince him to go back to the real world with her? Was she wrong to even think it? Wrong to ask him?
But there was something else both
ering her too. Something more immediate. Another foreboding.
She spun on her heel and met her sister’s gaze. She suspected the frown on Jillian’s face matched her own. Whatever the foreboding was, her sister felt it too.
“Montgomery,” Jillian called. “We need to leave. Now.”
She said something to Quinn. He nodded. Then Jillian shoved her supplies in her little first aid kit and headed for her horse. Jules could only think to go to Quinn. He raised an arm and waved her to him, smiling, oblivious to whatever it was she and Jillian were feeling.
She took two steps through the pine needles when she was stopped by James’ bellow—the alarm she’d been dreading to hear for months.
“Gun!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A dozen thoughts flew through Jules’ mind while she ran and lunged for Quinn.
Would she hurt him when they collided? Could she protect his head? Had the Gordon’s been watching and decided to perform their own execution? Or had a hitman been following her after all? It wasn’t impossible to think a Skedros might have tagged along, might have jumped into the parade line through the car park and into the tomb. It didn’t matter that it was fourteen hundred something and guns might not have been invented yet—James was there, and James had one. Therefore, it was possible someone else did too.
Jules had spent far too many months in close quarters with FBI agents not to react as she did. With all the false alarms and dry runs, she was programmed to hit the ground when anyone yelled gun. But Quinn was another story. Maybe his twenty-first century senses had dulled over the past year. Of course he still knew what a gun was, but he might not react so quickly. Not to mention he’d been sitting on that ancient log with a hand in the air like he was just asking to be someone’s target.
Just as Quinn reached for Jules-The-Flying-Squirrel, something pinched her in the waist. Hard. The impact of her body slamming into Quinn’s hardly registered at all. But when she landed on top of him on the far side of the log, she felt it.
Below her, Quinn gasped for air. The wind must have been knocked out of his lungs, so she needed to get off him so he could breathe, but she couldn’t seem to move.
“Let me up,” she panted. “You can’t breathe.”
He shook his head and held her close. “Dinna move, love. We’re pinned. An arrow, I’m certain.”
She put her chin down but couldn’t see anything. If the arrow went into her waist, then into him, it could have hit just about anything depending on the angle.
“Dinna panic, lass,” he whispered. “And be still. He’s still out there, aye?”
“Enos!” Ewan bellowed the name over and over. “The threat has passed, Enos. Stand ye doon!”
“Ewan?” A different man’s voice then. “How the hell was I to recognize ye with all that paint?”
“How do ye think, ye big bastard?” Ewan’s voice again. “Ever seen the Ross tartan afore?”
Jules and Quinn only looked at each other while they listened to a short fist fight. Only when it ended with a satisfying thunk, did she dare speak.
“Enough!”
“Sounds like Monty,” Quinn said.
“Sounds like you,” she whispered, then gave him a peck on the lips when it looked like her comment hadn’t pleased him. “You’re going to be fine,” she added, ignoring how bossy she sounded.
He was even more handsome than he’d been in dungeons or dreams. She could have stared at him all day, but he would need stitching again. She supposed she would too. And without anything to numb her!
Her head fit nicely against his collarbone. At least the arrow hadn’t gone through either of their hearts because they were both beating hard up against each other.
“Is anyone hurt?” James this time.
“Will ye stay with me, lass?” Quinn’s question brought back all the dreams and all the emotions in them. It was a little painful, but she reached up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. For once, she was going to look into them while they had their conversation.
“Until it’s over?” Jules shuddered as the dream echoed in her ears and sharper pain shot through her shoulder— like lightning, branching off in mean directions. She could see it doing the same to Quinn.
“Nay, lass. This will never be over. You and I will never be over. We’re meant.”
Monty peeked over the log and laughed. “Ah, here they are. Moonin’— Dear God! Juliet’s been hit!”
***
Other than the day Jillian and her grandmother had gone missing—and granted, she didn’t remember much more than her mother bawling and ranting and pulling on her own hair—this day had been the most emotional of Jule’s life. And considering she’d also witnessed the murder of a dear friend that was saying a lot.
As it turned out, the man who’d shot her had been ordered, by Ewan, to kill Quinn. Ewan had tried to explain why, but Jules seemed to be the only one in the bunch that didn’t understand.
“Mayhap ye’d have a better understanding after ye’ve spent more time in my century, aye?” said Ewan, standing over her where she leaned against an equally traumatized and bleeding Quinn. Jillian had done what she could. The little round holes were clean. The arrow had been removed. And she was certain that nothing organ-ish had been affected in either of them. They’d been extremely lucky.
She shook her head. “Spend more time here? No way am I sticking around until it all makes sense. You people will never make sense.”
Quinn tensed and she realized what her little statement would have sounded like to him. She looked over, ready to explain, but he was watching a long lanky man walk toward them. A bow was slung over his bare and bony shoulder. She tried not to stare at the creature-like tufts of hair that filled his armpits.
“Jules,” Ewan said, “this is Enos.”
Enos, the man who had nailed both her and Quinn with one shot, gave her a little bow and mumbled something she didn’t understand. An apology, she assumed.
She gave him a little smile and a nod, having no problem forgiving him for following orders. If Quinn would have died, however, she was pretty sure she would have exacted all kinds of vengeance on his ass.
The man moved on to Quinn, gave him a fierce-looking frown, snatched up the two pieces of arrow that had been pulled from their bodies, then walked away into the trees. She wasn’t too comfortable with him being out there, somewhere, with that frown still on his face, but Ewan and Montgomery didn’t have a problem with it, and they knew the strange man best.
Ewan had decided that since she probably wasn’t going to forgive him, he should be the one to stop her bleeding. She didn’t understand what he was talking about until he came at her with a glowing red knife. She understood perfectly when she woke up to the smell of burned flesh.
It was then that she realized Jillian was a mess. Her sister had serious bed head, like she’d been trying to pull her hair out. Her eyes had thick red rings around them, and her nose didn’t look much better. She’d insisted then and there that if Jules died she’d die too, which Jules found very touching in revenge-free kind of way.
Unfortunately, that made Montgomery freak out and he scooped up his wife and disappeared for a while. When they’d returned, Jillian was noticeably recovered, although she was wearing half of the paint from her husband’s face, and it was Montgomery whose eyes and nose were red.
Jules thought she’d cheer everyone up by announcing that she was determined to live, but she didn’t hold out much hope for Ewan.
Quinn suggested Ewan start spending more time at prayers.
***
Never before had Castle Ross looked as much like a home to Quinn. But never before had he ridden toward it with a lass in his arms who made him want to live and love and laugh again. Well, at least not on horseback. And not for a very long time.
“We have a wee problem,” Ewan pointed out as they started down into the glen where Castle Ross stood waiting for them. The ridge was covered with wildflowers of blue and yellow, wavin
g slowly in the breeze above the pink heather, calling to question the chance that anyone could have a problem on such a lovely summer day in the Highlands.
“What problem, Ewan?” Quinn asked.
“Weel. We’re returnin’ with two living Montgomerys and two green-toed faeries. How do we explain it?”
“Green-toed faeries?” Jules turned to her sister.
Jillian pulled up her skirt to reveal her green ostrich boots she’d been wearing when she first traveled back to the fifteenth century.
Juliet grinned, then pulled up her own skirts. Her boots were grey, but they, too, were ostrich. They were a close match, all but the more intense black of Juliet’s hair.
They’d been crying off and on for hours, with very little said between them, and Quinn wondered if they were somehow speaking in each other’s minds. It was hard to explain it otherwise.
Jillian had insisted on stopping as soon as they reached Ross land, so they could have a chat and the wounded could rest. Then they’d walked into a wee clearing, stood toe to toe, and said nothing at all. Their arms had flown round each other and none of them had been dry since—the rain notwithstanding. Neither had he received much attention from his wee lass. Of course, she was also injured, but he could have used a query or two concerning his own health.
Just then, Juliet twisted the seat before him and looked up.
“Are you okay?” Her hand came up to pat the bandage that covered the hole the arrow had made.
“’Tis a scratch,” he said, mollified.
He pushed her black hair behind an ear so he could see more of her lovely face. How could he ever have believed she was Jillian?
“And how do you fare, my Juliet?”
A pink shadow rose beneath her smooth cheeks.
“It doesn’t hurt like I thought it would.” She laid her cheek against his chest and sighed as if she were truly happy, in spite of her wounds.
“We must get you seen to. As much as I appreciate Jillian’s forethought when bringing a Primary Aid Kit with her, you still need doctoring. And you’ll not be leaving my side. I won’t stand for it.”
