Not Without Juliet (A Scottish Time Travel Romance) (Muir Witch Project #2) (28 page)

Juliet laughed at something the lad said and for Quinn it was magic enough. Just enough.

He kicked a foot forward, then the other one, as if he were kicking his way out of his own grave. His boots stomped loudly on the packed earth of the street. With no attention to spare his horse, he dropped the leads as he went, determined to face Juliet again, no matter what reaction he might see there.

“Juliet!” he cried as he strode, feeling like a man walking into a wall of spears aimed at his heart. If he stayed back, he’d be safe—he’d never know if she’d forgotten him. But what would it matter? He’d win her heart all over again, even if he had to enlist the aid of a Muir witch to slip him back into her dreams. Even if he had to bide his time while she grew a half-dozen years.

The lad pointed at him. Juliet turned, her eyes following the small filthy finger. Then she straightened and waved to Quinn, waving off that wall of spears.

She knows me!

When he heard Ewan laugh, only then did he realize his distant cousin was still at his side.

“Quinn,” she called, and in her smile, he saw the reflection of all the relief he felt himself.

No one would need to bid him breathe again.

“Quinn! Ewan! Come and meet this young man. His name is Percy. He’s a terribly brave boy who saved me. I was lost in a cave, and he saved me.”

“Jillian Ross!” Montgomery’s bellow filled the misty air.

Quinn turned in the direction of the sound and saw Jillian running from the road to the right, toward her sister. The Mhairi and Margot appeared next. Montgomery, on horse, was headed up the street behind them. James followed.

Jillian and Juliet embraced as the older sisters slowed and stopped behind them. Quinn was a little disappointed she had yet to throw herself into
his
arms. He closed the distance to make it easier for her to do so, but she only winked at him and turned back to her sister.

After a flurry of conversation that was too fast for Quinn to understand, Juliet stood speechless while Jillian moved over to the little wall and bent to speak with Percy. The Muirs patted Juliet on the shoulders and laughed.

Quinn prepared to shoo them away just as soon as Juliet gave him permission to do it, but it looked as if Montgomery wanted that pleasure all to himself.

“Mhairi Muir,” he shouted as he dismounted. “Ye’re done for, do ye hear? That goes for yer sister too. But ye’ll be placed in separate dungeons. Mayhap even separate centuries.”

The very pale laird pushed the twins aside to get to his wife, then physically wrenched her attention from young Percy—he took her by the shoulders and gave the slightest shake. “Why would you risk such a thing, Jillian? Why?”

Though Quinn was thrilled to find Juliet untouched by the tunnel’s curse, he, too, was shocked by the risk Jilly had taken.

The woman smiled and patted Monty’s chest. “There was no danger, husband. Because the tunnel holds no curse for
Muirs
. My grandfather Wickham was a Muir if you remember. Just a drop of Muir blood is enough, so the children were never in danger either.”

Monty suddenly looked around, then sat abruptly on the short wall next to Percy. It took him a moment to catch his breath.

“Children, ye say? Ye ken it for certain?” He smiled, but he still looked a little sick. “That’s grand, aye? But Muirs?”

The last bit he whispered to Jillian but everyone in the vicinity of the well heard it and laughed.

Jillian shook her head. “Only a little bit.”

Monty moaned. Percy offered him a filthy wet cloth and the man took it and pressed it to his head.

The look Jilly then turned on Quinn made him wonder if there was more room on the wall, next to the lad.

“Quinn,” she said. “I’ve just broken the news to Juliet that our grandfather was a Muir. It’s the reason the tunnel had no effect on her. But I think she might need a little consoling too.”

Juliet stood just out of reach looking a mite green, but he couldn’t seem to cover the distance. His knees had dissolved—his legs just didn’t know it yet. Any second, he was going to be a lifeless pile of pudding in the dirt. He could only look at her, helpless.

Finally, Juliet stepped up to him and took his hand, and just in time too. At least he was still standing—that was, until James pounded him on the back.

“She might be a Muir,” he said, laughing, “but she doesna look too young to me, laddy.”

Quinn’s mind sputtered.

A Muir?
He was in love with a Muir twin? And possibly a Muir witch?

His feet bid him run. His heart bid him stay. His body made the decision and leaned toward her.

No. I am but in love with a lass.
..

He gathered her into his arms and the world around them quieted. Her leather sleeves were cool against his neck as she wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled him close. When their lips were separated by only a breath, she spoke.

“Are you sure you want to kiss a Muir?”

He pulled back an inch and gave her a frown.

-old skull. E“Do you suppose we could discuss your lineage another time?”

She shook her head. “No, actually. I’m not going to fall in love with a guy who thinks I’m some kind of jinx.”

Her fingers started slipping away, so he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her, to encourage her to hold on a bit tighter.

She squeaked.

His heart tripped but his legs held up fine.

“First of all,” he said, “it’s far too late for that. You’re already in love with me.”

“Oh?” She raised a brow, but her eyes were still locked on his lips. A good sign, that.

He ignored her interruption and went on.

“Secondly, how can I curse your Muir blood when it brought you to me? And now that same blood has seen you safely through the accursed tunnel? Fine blood indeed.”

Juliet studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. You can kiss me then.”

He reluctantly lowered her to her feet and bent to kiss her, but pulled back and searched her face.

“No arguments?” he asked.

“No arguments.”

She gave a little grunt of frustration as she was poised on her toes for that kiss.

“Swear it.”

She frowned and lowered back onto her heels, suspicious.

“Just what am I swearing to?”

Ewan poked his nose between them. They both recoiled a bit from the man’s beard.

“He wants yer vow, lass,” he said. “That ye love ‘im. Ye made no argument when he claimed that ye’ve fallen in love with ‘im, aye?”

Quinn glared at Ewan until the man backed away with his hands raised. Then he turned to Juliet, lifted her hand, and gave the back of it a long gentle kiss. He stared into her eyes and willed her to know that he’d prefer to be kissing her lips.

“No arguments?” he murmured.

She shook her head and bit her lip. “You won’t want me.”

“Too late for that as well, Juliet.”

“But what if I already had a child?” she asked. “Would that make a difference?”

His brows rose. There was no stopping them.

“I’m surprised to hear it,” he admitted. “But only because you’ve never mentioned a child before now. But no, it would make no difference.”

He dropped down on one knee, never more sure that he should do so. Ewan snorted off to his right. Quinn would have taken a moment to gather his courage, but he needed none. It was the simplest thing he’d done since he’d agreed to change places with Monty a year ago.

“Marry me, Juliet.”

She sucked in a breath and held it for a moment. Her consent was already written on her face, dancing in her eyes. But then she sobered enough to give him pause.

“But how would you feel,” she paused, “about raising a boy that wasn’t your own?”

Quinn grinned. That was her only worry?

“He’s mine already. Now take pity, so we can get around to that kiss.”

She looked to the ground and bit her bottom lip again.

So, there is more?

“And what if he were a
Gordon
?” she said. “Could you find it in your heart to love a Gordon?”

She’d whispered the last, as if fearful someone might hear her words and be offended by them. Then he understood.

He leaned to the left and peered around her hip at the childlike version of Percy Gordon. He looked quite the orphan in his ill-fitting garments. The problem was, the child was no orphan, and even if he’d forgotten the past ten years of his life, he would still remember who he was and the fact that his father was laird of the mighty Gordon clan.

Quinn pushed up off his knee and pulled Juliet aside so none could hear their conversation but the odd Muir witch or two that might be eavesdropping on his thoughts.

One of the sisters, likely Margot, laughed loudly and led her sister over to the well.

Quinn tasted metal, but it no longer frightened him, knowing the cause. He only wished it would go away before Juliet tasted it from his own lips. First, he had to explain why she couldn’t simply claim Percy Gordon as her own.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

“I’m not sending him back to that bastard,” she said. “And I’m not going to tell him that his beloved William wasted away in that dungeon. If he goes back, he’ll have to suffer that loss all over again. And they’re not going to believe who he is—they’ll probably burn him as a witch like they were going to do to you!”

“Juliet. Sweet. We’re going to have to send him back through the tunnel. When he gets to the other side, we’ll explain to him what’s happened, help him all we can before we’re on our way.”

She stepped back from him then, horrified. Slowly, her head began to shake.

“No,” she said. “He’s a child. You send him back through that tunnel, and he’ll be a child in a man’s body. And he’ll have to learn it all again, including what his father did to William. I won’t let you do it.”

He thought it best to hold his tongue for a bit. The village square was no place to discuss such things, even though anyone with the Muir name likely knew about the tunnel and its workings.

He turned to James.

“Would you mind rounding up the horses?”

James grinned and headed down the street.

“Quinn Ross!”

The gathering crowd parted and an ancient man made his way forward with an equally ancient walking stick that must have weighed thirty pounds. Patches of white hair covered less than half of the hundred-year ach time the stick lifted seemed a miracle. Each step he took seemed a victory over death itself.

“Quinn Ross,” he said again, with the strong voice of a much younger man. “This lad’s fate is out of yer hands and now into mine.”

Juliet was suddenly at Quinn’s side again, clutching his arm like he was her personal walking stick—or the stick she planned to use to beat back an old man if he was foolish enough to get in her way.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

The old man looked her over, then stared into her eyes. His own glittered as if he were quickly reading over a document, and yet those cloudy orbs never moved. Quinn had to suppress the urge to push Juliet behind his back, for he knew she wouldn’t appreciate his protective instincts when her own instincts were demanding she protect Percy.

“I’m laird here,” said the ancient one. “And any who come through the tunnel must be weighed and measured.”

“Are you kidding me?” Juliet’s volume made it clear she’d misunderstood.

Quinn would have laughed at her, but he didn’t care for the idea of the old man making any sort of judgment concerning his woman, let alone young Percy. He glanced behind him and was pleased to see that Monty was up off his arse and ready to fight. The lad was tucked in behind him and Jillian. Monty gave Quinn a slight nod. Ewan stood at the ready with the old Muir sisters behind him, as if they belonged to Clan Ross and not in the midst of these mind-reading strangers.

When Quinn once again faced forward, the old man was watching him closely, his head tilted slightly to one side as if he were somehow weighing and measuring Quinn. Or maybe the heaviest rock in the old one’s head had shaken loose and rolled to one side.

“Our land. Our rules, Quinn Ross,” he said.

Quinn leaned forward. “Stand back, laird. We’ll be taking ours and going.”

Although he never noticed the movement, the clansmen had shuffled around to form a tight circle, shoulder to shoulder, in front of them. There was nothing threatening in their eyes, just as there is nothing threatening about the pawns on a chessboard. But there was no doubt, they’d been moved into position.

Quinn’s hand went to his sword, but the weapon would not release its sheath. One look at Monty and Ewan told him they suffered the same problem. The fact they’d tried to arm themselves didn’t seem to concern the crowd, or their leader. They only waited and watched, pleased with the entertainment.

Margot moved around Ewan and came forward. She stepped in front of the old man and gave a little bow.

“Father,” she said. “These young women are of Muir blood. Surely they can be allowed to go on their way.”

“Our ways, Margot.” A gnarly finger raised and pointed at Juliet. “That one’s been in the tunnels. Even my auld nose can smell it on her, aye? And the lad as well.”

Quinn resisted the urge to give Juliet a sniff. If they’d ever gotten around to that kiss, she might have tasted of metal. But he didn’t care if she had liquid silver running through her veins; she was his.

“And mayhap it’s me yer smelling, father. I was there, on the far end of the tunnel. I ken this lass was forced inside. Surely, she shouldna be punished for it?”

The old man smiled and nodded. “As you say, daughter.” He looked at Juliet. “Come forward, Juliet. And bring yer sister.”

Quinn tried to reach for Juliet’s arm as she stepped forward, but his hand never rose. Jilly moved forward to stand next to her. Monty strained behind his wife, but couldn’t stop her either. A fizzy chill ran up Quinn’s spine and poured fresh metal into his mouth.

“
Haud yer wheesht
,” he heard whispered into his mind.

“Granddaughters to be sure,” the old man greeted, taking one of each lass’s hands. “I’ll allow ye to go, and take yer mighty warriors with ye, but ken that ye’ll always find a home here, and shelter, and protection. As will yer sons,” he told Jilly. “No matter the century, aye?”