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

by L. L. Muir

  "You want to bury your brother?" she asked.

  She didn’t know if she was trying to distract him or help him.

  Percy grabbed her hair and yanked her closer to him. He pushed the blade up against her skin, obviously no longer caring if she got cut.

  "Eegit,” he hissed. “I want him to never go into the dungeon in the first place! I want Quinn Ross to stop it from happening. Six years ago. Ye'll find him six years ago. I've been here for days, listening. I heard enough from ye all to ken ye can move from one year to the next. So ye must go back. Go back and stop me father. Bring William to...now. Hang a plaid from yer battlements when ye have him, and I’ll return yer woman. Fail to save him by Samhain, and that day she begins to die—the same death me brother suffered, alone and with nothing. In an oubliette. Ye’ll ken not where."

  Jules was pulled back off her feet, then carried out of the little room. Percy paused to slam the door shut, then held her with an arm crushing her neck while he jammed something against the door.

  “Percy. Please. Don’t do this.”

  “Enough!”

  He dragged her down the corridor, in the wrong direction, barely allowing enough space in the crook of his elbow for her to breathe. Arguing further was impossible. In his other hand, instead of the dagger, he held a large torch that dripped fire with every step. At least, when they hit a dead end and had to return, there was a chance the others would have made it out—a chance they could save her.

  He stopped.

  Here is the end. We’ll have to go back.

  But then she heard metal bang against wood, like a ring handle on a door. The giant door in the great hall had that type of ancient handle. She’d held onto it while she’d teased James into following her away from the keep.

  A moist breeze brushed past her face in the wake of a small round door. It looked like the end of a wooden barrel. She strained to the side, but saw only darkness beyond.

  A tunnel?

  Was this where the modern Muirs had hidden from James once they’d sent her up into the tomb?

  Percy reached through the opening and set the torch in the wall so he could drag her through. The threshold was high and she struggled to keep her feet beneath her while he pulled her to the other side. Percy released her neck and grabbed her wrist. She tried to wrench it free while he pulled the round door shut. He hardly noticed.

  “Those Muirs came sneaking down the hall while I searched for the entrance to yer enchanted tomb. They had to have come from somewhere, and I knew if I waited long enough, they’d lead me to their secret. Let’s hope the torch lasts long enough to reach the other end, aye?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Once they broke through the door, Quinn followed closely on Ewan’s heels. Montgomery brought the second torch and led the women.

  Daniel turned from his post at the top of the stairs just as Annie’s blue skirts swished around the corner.

  “Why did you not come to let us out, when he got past you?” Ewan shoved at the man, nearly knocking him over.

  Daniel shook his head. “No one’s passed me, laird.”

  “Oh? And how would ye know if yer tongue was down Annie’s throat and yer eyes were shut tight?”

  Daniel straightened his spine and lifted a haughty nose. “She but came to ask how long before I’d be home, yer lairdships. Not a soul has come up those stairs since the lot of ye went down them, may God strike me dead if they did.”

  “All’s right, Daniel. All’s right.” Ewan turned to face his following. “Did he get lost, do ye suppose?”

  “The dungeons,” Quinn said. It was the only other place they could be. The cellar twisted a bit, but didn’t go much past the workroom beneath the tomb. Even in the future.

  Montgomery led the way. The Muirs brought up the rear, too stubborn to leave off, Quinn supposed. When it was clear that no one had been in the dungeons for a good while, one of the Muirs, Margot he thought, began to wail, which was odd; they never carried on. Oh, they were difficult to best in an argument, but he’d never seen one shed a tear, not in either century.

  Montgomery and the rest looked about the dusty hallway, waiting for someone to explain the matter with the woman. Mhairi wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders, then turned a look on Quinn that scared him to the bone.

  “What?” he asked. “What is it? What do you know?”

  Mhairi shook her head. “He must have found the tunnel. Mayhap there will be footprints, so we’ll ken for sure.”

  “What tunnel?” he asked, then turned to Monty. “Is there a tunnel?”

  “None that we could ever find.” Monty nodded to Mhairi. “Show us.”

  She gave Margot one last pat, then Mhairi took Monty’s torch and started back up the passage. They all followed close on her heels. Margot had recovered enough to keep up. Soon they were passing the broken door of the workroom. Then beyond.

  At the end of the tunnel, where the walls had been shored up with odd bits of barrels, beams, and planks, Mhairi reached out a hand and pulled on a metal ring attached to a barrelhead.

  Much to his surprise, and apparently to the surprise of all, the barrelhead swung open on silent hinges. A tunnel gaped beyond.

  Quinn moved forward, but Mhairi fairly jumped into his path, her arms spread wide. Margot moved around behind her and did the same.

  Mhairi shook her head. “Ye cannot enter, Quinn Ross. None of ye can enter here. The tunnel is cursed. We’ve only showed it to ye so ye can see if Percy took Juliet this way.”

  Quinn tried to push around her, but she blocked him again.

  “Mhairi, I care not for faery tales, or ghosties. I’m going in. Look there.” He pointed to the dirt floor beneath the hole. Their footprints, clear as day. Juliet is draggin’ her feet, smart lass. Now let me pass.”

  Mhairi shook her head again. Margot moved closer behind her sister, as if she truly believed that together they could stop him.

  “The tunnel taketh and giveth,” said Margot, over her sister’s shoulder. “As Percy and Juliet travel beneath the hillock, the tunnel is taking from them. It takes all.”

  Quinn froze at the last, not because he was afraid to enter, but afraid of what the cursed tunnel was doing to his brave Juliet.

  Monty had hold of another torch and held it high, peering at the sisters as if he thought they might not be real. The firelight reflected off twin streams of tears—one running down Mhairi’s right cheek, the other running down the left cheek of her sister.

  Muirs did not cry.

  Quinn swallowed the bile rising in his throat and turned to Monty. “Do ye understand a word of this?”

  Monty shook his head and looked behind him, to Jillian. His wife hurried forward and slipped beneath his arm.

  “Mhairi,” she said. “Please. Help us understand. What is the tunnel taking?”

  The woman nodded, her graying hair swung forward and back. But she looked for a nod from her sister before she answered.

  “Age.”

  The word hung in the air.

  Jillian frowned, as did they all. “Age? Do you mean that the tunnel will make them younger?”

  Mhairi sighed, then nodded.

  Margot came around her sister’s shoulder and together they dropped their arms.

  “Takes the years, dries the tears,” they chanted in unison. “Quiets laughter, lulls the fears.”

  Tears poured a fresh trail down Mhairi’s right cheek. Her sister tried to console her while keeping a steady eye on Quinn.

  “They’ll lose ten years by the time they reach the other side,” she said. “But it takes the memories of those ten years as well. Young Percy will be younger still. He won’t remember his purpose, so your lady fair will be in little danger. But I’m afraid young Juliet won’t remember... Well. You.” She patted him on the arm, then stepped back to guard the tunnel once more.

  Quinn listed to his left as his heart turned heavy like a stone. Monty left his wife’s side to shore him up.


  Jillian stepped up to the sisters. “What if we can stop them from getting to the other side?”

  Mhairi shook her head. “I doubt Percy would come back just because ye ask him, nicely or no. Besides, the tunnel is not so long. They are well beyond halfway.”

  No. That couldn’t be. It couldn’t be too late!

  Quinn’s strength rallied with the silent denial.

  “No!” He pushed his way toward the opening. He was right; even three women were no match for him. Someone grabbed hold of his waist but he was progressing. His fingers were but an inch or two from the frame when a gentle hand came to rest on his outstretched arm.

  “Quinn.”

  It was Jillian.

  “Quinn, if you go, you’ll forget too. Think of the memories you’ll lose.” She shook her head. “You’ll lose Libby.”

  As quick as a lightning bolt, he lost all the strength in his arm and it dropped.

  Libby!

  James was suddenly at his side, but Quinn noticed little else as he conjured Libby’s face in his mind. All those memories had become so clear since he’d met Juliet. He remembered all the little creases around Libby’s eyes, the dip below her nose. The sound of her laughter.

  Trouble was, he remembered the same of Juliet.

  Tears filled his throat and rose behind his eyes as he realized he would give up the past, even the memory of it, if he might save his Juliet even a little horror.

  “Goodbye, Libby,” he whispered and lunged.

  A large hairy arm rose between himself and the road to his woman. And worse, it held fast.

  “Quinn,” James said calmly, as if holding him back was taking no effort at all. “Don’t give up on her. She’s slippery, that girl. She might get away from him and head back.”

  James was right. She always had that back-up plan. Any moment she might come running back into the light, having bashed poor Percy up the side of the head.

  “If she does,” Mhairi said, “the tunnel giveth the same. It will give ten years from stem to stern, but it gives naught more. She’ll gain the age she lost, but the memories will not be restored. ‘Tis a wicked curse. One meant to protect Clan Muir. What foe cannot be bested as a child? What better punishment for a fleeing enemy than to age him quickly without the benefit of wisdom?”

  Margot pushed past his body and put her hand through the middle of the opening. She rubbed her fingers as if testing the texture of the darkness.

  Chills assaulted Quinn’s spine and spread beneath his hair. He tasted metal on his tongue.

  “’Tis finished,” Margot said. “They are through.”

  Quinn refused to believe it all. Of course they’d always called them Muir witches, but they’d never done anything so ridiculous before. They were just trying to keep him from following after Juliet. But why?

  “Quinn Ross, how can ye be so unbelieving when ye’ve traveled from yer time to ours?” Mhairi was behind him, shaking her head.

  “Come,” Monty barked. “We can cut them off if Percy tries to take her north. Younger or not, he might think to take her back to Gordon land.”

  He halted before his wife. “Jillian, my love. Ye’ll stay home, and ye’ll keep away from that tunnel. Mhairi, Margot? I trust ye to see to it. Doona fail me. Someone stay here, in case Juliet comes back this way.”

  “Aye, yer lairdship. We’ll watch her like our own.”

  Monty had taken half a dozen steps, but stopped short. Quinn nearly plowed through him.

  “I expect the pair of you to do better than that,” Monty shouted. “Remember she carries my child.”

  ***

  Jillian should have followed the men out of the cellar. The Muirs dried their faces and turned their clever smiles upon her. When they wrapped their arms around her shoulders, the feeling of deja vu should have sent her running, and praying, all the way to the twenty-first century, but she could never leave Montgomery behind. She’d done it once. She would never do it again.

  “Jillian, dear. We have a great deal to talk about,” said Margot.

  “Aye,” added her sister. “And not much time.”

  ***

  Monty was about to lead them all out the kitchen door when Ewan put a hand up to stop the thing from opening.

  “Monty, ye’re dead,” Ewan said. “No one can lay eyes on ye who doesna ken the truth. And neither can Quinn be seen. The funeral’s in the mornin’. I doubt the clan will believe that Montgomery Ross is dead while two men walk about who look just like him, aye? Our clansmen are no’ blind. Nor are they daft.”

  Five minutes later, in ridiculous disguises, he and Monty waited by the door for Ewan and James to bring round the horses.

  “She’s a fine lass, Quinn,” said his uncle. “Almost as fine as my Jillian.”

  Quinn realized he’d been chewing off his fingernails and stopped.

  “Oh? I admit your wife is a fine woman. There was a time I wished I would have been worthy of her myself.”

  Monty’s smile dropped.

  Quinn held up a hand to discourage the other man from swinging at him. His head had only begun to heal from all the pounding of the week before.

  “But Jillian was never for me, Monty. She was always as a sister, though in my dreams I believed myself to be falling in love with her. But when I laid eyes on Juliet, I realized she was the one I’d been dreaming of. The Muirs had a hand in that dream, but I cannot begrudge them for it. Which reminds me, if that tunnel is as cursed as they claim, it should be destroyed. I find it hard to believe that danger has lain below our feet all these years.”

  “Och, aye, nephew. We’ll see to it as soon as Juliet is safe.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Quinn allowed Ewan and Monty to take the lead. He was a poor hand at finding his way beyond Ross lands, but it was more than that. As desperate as he was to have Juliet safely in his arms, he was afraid of what they might find. He hoped someone else might catch sight of her and Percy before he did, so he might have some kind of warning. It was cowardly, he knew, but allowing the love of his life to be buried had almost killed him once. He was certain he couldn’t survive doing it again.

  How unworthy he was.

  They’d been together for nigh a week and he’d never even asked her age. He had no idea how old the lass would be if she’d truly had ten years removed. If she’d been thirty to begin with... But she hadn’t. He was sure of it. And what teenager would want a thirty-five year old man waiting about for her to grow up and fall in love with him?

  She wouldn’t.

  Then he realized the answer rode before him.

  “Monty! How old is Jillian?”

  His uncle turned but did not slow his horse. “Doona think it, man. Just keep prayin’, aye?”

  “Easy for you to say,” Quinn mumbled.

  “Twenty-three,” said James. “The yanks forwarded her file, aye?”

  Quinn gave the agent a curt nod in thanks.

  That would make her thirteen.

  Oh, God!

  He could not wrap his mind around it. He could not conjure an image of her at thirteen, but hopefully, Monty could, so they’d know what kind of lass to be looking for.

  Blasted Muirs! Blasted tunnel.

  But wait!

  If Juliet was now thirteen, he’d just have to go through the tunnel as well—and twice! He’d make Monty promise to pick him up and send him through again. He’d be fifteen.

  Perfect.

  But would he remember to fall in love with her? Aye, there was the rub. If he weren’t going to end up with Juliet by his side for the rest of his days, would he take that chance? Was he willing to live the horror of being a teenager—again—for the chance of winning Juliet’s heart?

  “Please, God. Help me.”

  He whispered the same prayer a dozen times while they came ‘round the northern tip of the wee mountain. Ewan dropped to the road and peered closely at every hoofprint.

  “Nothing fresh. They’ve not come through yet.” Ewan remounted and
headed southeast.

  None but Muirs from that point until they crossed back into Ross land. It was an odd bit of land that jutted from the sea to the hill that separated their clan homes. As if Fate had decreed the witches have access to Ross lives. They certainly had enough to do with their history, and their legends. But in modern times, Muirs had become a sept of Clan Gordon.

  How he hoped he wouldn’t be around to see that bit of history unfold. He could almost pity the formidable Gordons.

  As the road turned due south and slowly filled with people, Quinn began searching faces. A boy there. A young lass there. The Muirs were a friendly lot, smiling and nodding as the four horsemen cut their way into their home ground.

  An old man stepped back to give them a wider path. He looked at Quinn, then Montgomery, and back again, then slid a finger along the side of his nose as if it meant something. A heartbeat later, Quinn noticed the man again, only on the other side of the road, touching his nose in the same manner.

  James leaned closer.

  “Twins,” he said. “There are many.”

  Quinn was relieved he wasn’t losing his mind, but the presence of more Muir twins in their midst left him unsettled. Again, he tasted metal and wondered if it was new or just the phantom of the time before.

  The taste was gone. Memory then.

  A young lass with black hair turned away from her mother to watch their passing. Quinn looked closely, to see if her eyes were green. The lass smiled and shook her head as if she’d read his thoughts.

  Another chill ran up his spine when he noticed something else. He glanced at James to find the man staring at him with eyes wide.

  “It’s quiet,” Quinn told him. “Why do they not speak?”

  But he was afraid he knew the answer.

  James shivered. “’Tisn’t possible.”

  Monty, being Monty, pulled his sword from behind his saddle. The Muirs stopped making eye contact and wandered their way off the road. A hundred yards later, the four horsemen were alone and Quinn was grateful for it.

  Monty and Ewan fell back until they were four abreast.

  “We will go slowly now,” Monty said, “to be sure we doona pass them in haste. I think ye should prepare yerself, nephew. I believe Margot and Mhairi might have been telling the truth. If anyone could devise the devil’s own tunnel, it would be these people, or their ancestors, aye?”