The Curse of Clan Ross (59 page)

But since meeting Juliet in spirit, and then in person, he’d realized that filling space was no longer enough for him. And if she were consulted, Libby would agree. He had much to give, and just because he mourned Libby still, it did not justify turning his back on the rest of his life.

“Aye, lass. I’ll come.” Then he covered her one ear and held the other to his chest so he could shout. “Jillian! Just how many people to you reckon we can fit in Isobelle’s tomb?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

 

One week later...

Jules had choked down a dry biscuit breakfast with absolutely no coffee for washing it down. She was thrilled to be going back to civilization before lunch.

If Quinn wouldn’t have agreed to come along, she suspected she would have stayed behind with him. She would have had to learn to live with herself for not putting a stop to Gabby, but she couldn’t have forgiven herself for leaving her Highlander behind. Besides, Gabby’s sins were not her own. Neither were her grandmother’s.

And like Jillian said, the tomb wasn’t the most reliable mode of transportation. There was no guarantee she could have come back for him later.

Her sister led the way to the workroom where they would begin their journey back to the world of caffeine.

“I’m sorry, Ewan,” she said. “We’d stay longer but we need to get these two to a doctor, just to be safe.”

Ewan squeezed Jillian. “Never ye mind, lass. I’m sure we couldna stand to feed ye, and that was before you starting carrying Monty’s child about.

“Children,” interjected one of the Muir sisters.

Montgomery blanched. Jillian bit her lip. The Muirs just laughed.

Jules could never remember the sisters’ names. It spooked the hell out of her that there were Muir twins everywhere. And standing there in the cellar, with Jillian, Quinn and Monty, and the Muirs, it looked like a reunion that excluded anyone who wasn’t genetically duplicated. James and Ewan stood off to the side, looking nothing alike.

The last time she’d been in that room, she’d been filled with bitterness, disagreeing with Ewan over the sainthood of Jillian Ross. But the second Jules had let go of that bitterness, something else had flooded in and filled the gaps. If she liked sappy, she’d say it was love. But she wasn’t sappy. Okay, not
too
sappy. If she had to put it into a single word, she’d call it...home.
 

Into the arms of yer family
.
 

Montgomery’s words were still stuck in her head and she had no wish to unstick them.

Now, they were safely ensconced in Castle Ross. The tomb’s entrance was waiting patiently. The prying eyes of Clan Ross had been swept from the building and a state of mourning had commenced in honor of Laird Montgomery Ross who had died of battle wounds at the hands of the Gordons.

Quinn had once again assumed the role of the dead body and had been led through the streets of East Burnshire. The real Montgomery had ridden with his plaid over his hair and blue paint re-applied to his face. A few people noticed Jules and her sister and murmured “Muirs!”  Jules figured it was as good a disguise as any.

All of them standing in the workroom had been moved by the respect shown for Montgomery Ross by hundreds of clanspeople who’d had to stand in the pouring rain to do so. Although, if Ewan shed a tear, it wouldn’t have been distinguishable from the rain pouring down his upturned face as he led the procession.

The emotions wrung from Jules that day had been emotions she didn’t believe herself capable of feeling. And no one had even died.

What a wuss.

She looked at Jillian and couldn’t help but see her now as the little girl on the other side of the table, soaking crayons, thinking the same things she thought. She remembered a lot of laughing.

The importance of that day, long ago, when the laughing had stopped, was fading.

In the morning, Clan Ross would bury a box that Ewan and Quinn had built and filled with stones. The Muirs had suggested it might be bad luck for Montgomery to have a hand in it.

No one had argued.  

During the course of the past week, she’d even forgiven Ewan. She’d had no choice.

For some strange reason, Quinn had insisted that Daniel try his hand at sculpting Jules’ face. Apparently, the young man had a talent for it. Quinn had even found a stone for the guy to use, insisting that he’d do as fine a job as the Italian had done on the likeness of Monty. Ewan had moped around in front of her the entire time she was forced to hold her pose. Finally, she’d forgiven him just to get him to leave her alone.

Jillian and Quinn had acted freaky every time they’d checked on Daniel’s progress. Jules had started getting jealous of them excluding her from some inside joke, but Quinn promised he’d share their little secret as soon as they got back home.

While they’d waited for Daniel to finish, their wounds had healed nicely. She was going to have to get a tattoo to cover up the scars made by Ewan’s cauterizing job, but they would be a permanent reminder of the way she and Quinn had met. It had been a pretty hellish vacation from reality, but she didn’t want to forget it.

Also, while she’d posed for Daniel, she and Jillian had talked about their lives. Now she knew the old wives tale about twins was true, that Jillian’s pain caused her pain and vice versa. And even if there wasn’t that supernatural connection, she couldn’t bring herself to break her sister’s heart. For all Jillian would ever know, their parents had simply died in a car wreck. She would never know they’d been on their way to check out another lead on their missing daughter and her lunatic grandmother.

They’d had plenty of chances to giggle like sisters since Daniel’s new bride, Annie, kept sneaking into the hall to lure Daniel away. They had giggled about Quinn, about Monty, and giggled a helluva lot about the comparisons between Quinn and Monty. When Daniel had swaggered back into the hall, they’d giggled about him too. It was like they’d been making up for all the years they’d had no one to laugh with.

And now Daniel’s sculpture—which he called The Green-Toed Fairy, even though it was Jillian’s boots she’d been wearing half the time—was finished. Ewan was forgiven. And there was nothing left in the fifteenth century left undone.

It was time to go home.

“All right then, get ye gone.” Ewan turned to Monty. “I’ll miss ye, cousin. Perhaps when ye’re needin’ some peace from all yer bairns, you’ll come here. I’ll keep a barrel below the hole. Always. And the next time ye come visit, I’ll tell ye all about yer grand funeral.”

Monty shook his head. “No, my friend. Carry on as we’d already decided. The Ross lairds must keep their course, so everything stays right for the future. Guard our secrets. The clan is all.”

“Aye, cousin. The clan is all.” Ewan gave Monty a knock on the shoulder. “Up with yer sorry arse, then.”

Monty hefted himself up into the hole where Jillian waited for him.

James gave Jules a wink, then followed Monty. “Oh, aye. Plenty of room still. Come on, Juliet.”

She shook her head. “Quinn first. I’m not taking a chance on this elevator leaving before he can get in.”

Quinn laughed and jumped on the barrel, then he looked over her shoulder in horror. Monty and James already had a hold of his arms and were lifting him up.

“Wait! Stop! Let go!” he shouted.

Jules didn’t know what terrifying creature might be behind her, but she lunged for the far side of the barrel where the Muirs and Ewan stood, sure the adrenaline shooting through her would help her fly. But hands grabbed her from behind. She struggled until she saw the flash of a blade, then felt it pressed against her throat. She’d felt such an edge before, when she’d awakened in Debra’s bed.

Back on the barrel, Quinn held out his hands. “Percy! Percy, don’t hurt her. You can have whatever you want. Just don’t hurt my lass.”

“Just what a man likes to hear,” the young man snarled in her ear. “In truth, I’ve come to tell ye I’ve made me decision. I’ve decided to believe ye, that ye are able to change history. When the big red bastard turned aside to stab yer heart, so no one could see how deep the blade went, I kenned ye’d cheated death yet again. It’s a charmed life ye live, aye?”

“History is written by the folks that write it,” Quinn said. “I can write whatever history you wish. Is it your ambition to replace yer father, then? Or make certain the Gordon clan will be ruled by your children? Whatever you wish. Just let her go.”

Quinn had slowly lowered his body until he was squatting on the top of the barrel. He started to lower a leg to the ground, but pulled it back when Percy hissed.

The knife bit into her skin but she didn’t dare make a sound, afraid Quinn might attack to save her, afraid Percy might feel threatened enough to start slicing and dicing. Besides, with his injuries, Quinn might not be able to move as quickly as he’d expected to, just as she hadn’t been able to get to the other side of the barrel as fast as she thought she could.

“I’m no’ daft, Quinn Ross,” said Percy. “I’ll not take yer promise and let ye flee. Besides, it’s no’ the future I wish to change, but the past.”

Quinn frowned. “I canna change the past, Percy. What’s done is done.”

The man behind her grunted, maybe even sobbed. Jules almost felt sorry for him. She reached up and laid a hand on his elbow. He jerked away from her touch, but luckily, not with the hand holding the knife.

He stiffened.

She thought she was screwed.

“I don’t believe ye,” he spat. “If ye can change the future, ye can change the past. And for yer sake, ye’d best think of a way to do it. Or for her sake, that is.”

She could hear Monty and James shuffling around inside the hole. They were probably going out of their minds not being able to come out and fight. But Quinn was in their way, and he couldn’t move without pissing off Percy.

She needed to distract him.

“What is it, Percy?” she asked calmly. “What is it you want to change?”

She could feel his chest at her back, shaking as he tried to compose himself to speak.

“It’s all right, Percy. Take your time,” she said.

Quinn nodded. “This is about your brother.”

Percy sucked in a breath and held it. When he let the air go, it came out in a rush.

“William. His name is William. We’re forbidden to say his name.
William
,” he
said again, like it was a relief to say it. He sobbed, sucked in another breath. “He’ll never be allowed to leave the dungeon. My father’s no better than Montgomery Ross, refusing to bury his dead. Keeping them close. Killing us all.”
 

He was losing it. She had to help his focus.

“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?”