Not Without Juliet (A Scottish Time Travel Romance) (Muir Witch Project #2) (31 page)

All Jules got out of it was
loo
and
marriage
. He’d married her in the bathroom? Was he effing kidding?

There was no time to find out.

“And I’m certain,” Quinn addressed Dunbar again, “the legality of handfasting would have to be addressed, as would any extradition of a British citizen, would take a wee while to sort out.”

She really didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. She wanted to go back to the states. And she needed to go now.

“Look,” she said. “I have to get to New York, to testify. If we don’t get moving, it will be too late.”

If anyone could get her there in time, it should be these guys.

Dunbar stopped playing with his fingers and leaned forward. “I’m afraid your testimony is no longer necessary. The defendant was murdered.”

“Defendant? You mean Gabby?” Her heart sped up. It was all she could hear.

Gabby was dead? Her Gabby?

“Gabby Skedros is dead?” She was finally able to ask it out loud. “You’re sure?”

“I’m afraid so.” Dunbar watched her closely. “He was poisoned. Of course you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You’ve been in Scotland since you landed nearly two weeks ago?”

He’d said it, but he didn’t believe it. His condescending tone made her nauseous. He was no different than the Feds she’d dealt with for months, trying to make her feel like a guilty prisoner, instead of the witness they were supposed to be protecting. But with Gabby dead, she wouldn’t need protecting anymore.

“I didn’t want Gabby dead,” she said. “I wanted to look him in the eye when I testified. I wanted to tell him what a coward he was for shooting a defenseless boy. I wanted to assure him that Nikkos would have hated him in those seconds before he died. I wanted to show him he would never get the chance to betray me like that. I was going to betray
him
. For Nikkos.”

Quinn’s hand rested on her shoulder and she reached up and touched his fingers. She wanted to double over and puke out the hate she’d been carrying around for a man that was already dead. She didn’t need to hold onto it anymore. She could let it go. And she did. In a flood of silent tears.

She didn’t care who saw, or what they thought. She had to let it out.

She had Quinn. And she didn’t want that stored up hate anywhere near him.

Jules thought of Percy and the fact that he would never have to taste that intense hatred of his father. And she wouldn’t either. She was done. It was over. She and Percy would move on.

Quinn cleared his throat. “If her testimony is no longer required, why the need to restrain her?”

Dunbar’s smile helped her get a grip. She could almost hear the rattle of his snake’s tale.

“Assault of a Federal Officer is a serious charge,” he said pleasantly. “An FBI agent by the name of Dixon is demanding her head, or at the very least, her extradition.”

Quinn laughed. “What did she do, bash him on the head?”

Jules laughed as she wiped away her tears. How well he knew her already.

Dunbar opened up a laptop and turned it to face her. Agent Dixon’s mug flashed up in a Skype frame.

She stopped laughing, but didn’t lose her smile.

“Hello, Dickie,” she chirped.

The man’s face turned red. It was always red. Easiest man in the world to goad. She couldn’t believe the FBI took him on.

“Yes, Lord Dunbar,” Dickie said. “That’s her. Be careful. She’s very dangerous. I’d suggest a full set of chains and perhaps a muzzle for transport.”

Quinn reached over and spun the laptop away from her. “Lord Dunbar? May I have just a moment’s time to defend my wife?”

Dunbar smiled and nodded. “You may have five minutes. Then we’ll take her and go in spite of your handfasting. If you want to spend that five minutes defending her, be my guest, but—”

Quinn was already gone.

She could hear him running down the hall and then...nothing.

Well, at least he was hurrying. Maybe he’d even get back in time for some macking before they hauled her out. And she needed to remind him that he would be in charge of taking care of Percy while she was gone. She just hoped she wasn’t going away for a very long time.

She refused to panic. She’d gone from witness to defendant so fast her head was spinning. They were going to have to give her some time before they could expect her to take them seriously.

But if she really was going to face charges, it would be Dickie’s word against hers. She’d only been defending herself from the slime ball. Surely the ass had treated other witnesses like he’d treated her. She just had to insist the FBI look into that. But it might take some time. She just hoped Quinn’s and Percy’s lives wouldn’t move on before she could make it back.

Of course, she’d have plenty of money for the ticket, but that hardly raised her heart rate anymore. Money was everything ten days ago. Now there were so many more things in line ahead of it.

Well, not things—people.

Quinn came back in the room breathing hard. He gave her a wink, but didn’t come to her for some quality goodbyes. He walked around the desk and shared a very private whisper with Lord Dunbar.

Lord Dunbar cleared his throat, like he was trying to cover up the fact that he’d almost laughed. Then he nodded and turned forward.

“Proceed, Mr. Ross,” he said.

Quinn spun the laptop to face her again, then stood beside her.

“Agent Dixon, are you there?” he asked, even though the man’s face was filling the screen.

“Yes, I’m here,” he said, like he was doing everyone a favor by squeezing this conference call into his schedule.

“Is this the woman who assaulted you, sir?”

He took Juliet’s head and moved it until it was up close to the monitor.

“Yes. That’s her.”

“You’re certain?” Quinn’s hands wouldn’t let her sit back in her chair and she was dying to ask him what he was doing. Dunbar had one hand over his mouth and he was turning as red as Dickie.

Suddenly, Quinn let go of her head.

“Just one more moment, if you please, Agent Dixon.” He spun the laptop away again, then went to the doorway and pulled Jillian into the room. He gestured for Jules to get her ass out of the chair, then sat Jillian in her spot. He wiped the smile off his face and spun the laptop back.

“Hello, Dickie,” Jillian said.

The agent’s face darkened again. “What is this?”

“Just tell us what you see, Agent Dixon,” Quinn said.

Jules backed up against a bookcase to make sure she wasn’t part of the picture. She’d needed something to lean on anyway.

“I see the face of my assailant. How many times do I have to say it?”

Quinn butted in front of Jillian and grinned into Dickie’s face. “That should do it, I think.” He spun the laptop back to face Lord Dunbar. “My lord?”

Dunbar cleared his throat and sat forward in his crisp expensive suit to address the screen.

“Agent Dixon. You have just positively identified two different females, and I refuse to extradite a handful of British citizens just so you can take your pick. I strongly suggest you drop the charges against Juliet Bell—that is, Juliet Bell Ross—and if you feel we have erred, please invite your American superiors to contact me personally. I, for one, am certain they will find today’s events to be quite amusing.”

Lord Dunbar snapped the laptop shut and gave Jules a wink. Then he turned to Quinn.

“You might have made an entertaining barrister, Mr. Ross.”

“Once upon a time, my lord, I was.”

Dunbar laughed. “With a wife like yours, that experience should come in handy.”

Quinn gave a little bow.

“And Mr. Ross?” Dunbar got up from the desk and gestured for his men to leave the room ahead of him. “I’d make it legal before Dickie there comes to call.”

Quinn tilted his head back and gave Jules a look through narrowed eyes.

“Oh, I intend to, my lord. I intend to.”

Quinn reached out a hand and drew her away from the bookshelf and over to the window. Jillian joined them and together they watched eight cars fill with suits and policemen before moving down the drive toward the remnants of Castle Ross.

“They’ve prepared a little wedding supper for us, Mrs. Ross,” he murmured as he nuzzled her behind the ear.

Chills flooded her body, but it wasn’t quite enough to make her forget.

“
Mrs.
Ross? You must be talking to Jillian because I sure
as hell
didn’t just get married in a bathroom.”

Quinn cleared his throat. Then cleared it again.

“Don’t worry, sister,” said Jillian. “We’ll make sure he gets it right.” She walked to the door, then paused. “Don’t take too long with your apology, Quinn. Supper’s still waiting. And my sons and I are starved.” She patted her stomach. “Tomorrow, we can run to the city and get that package from Grandmother’s lawyer.”

Jules nodded, but food and a mysterious package weren’t enough to get her attention when she was about to be left alone with her very own Highlander, and there were no bars or benches between them.

The door snapped shut, but Quinn took two long strides and opened it again.

“Pity, Jillian!” His voice boomed in the hallway. He sounded way too much like Montgomery for comfort. “Have pity! Eat without us!” Then he stepped back and slammed the door.

Jules laughed. “You watch. Monty will be up here before I can forgive you enough to kiss you.”

Quinn walked back to her slowly, freezing her with a look that made running away impossible...and unthinkable. She also found it hard to breathe.

“Don’t believe it,” he said. “That man was a witness to our ceremony. He gave you to me. I’ve already explained, you’re mine now.”

He gathered her into his arms and her hands found their way around his neck. His thick black hair caressed the backs of her fingers, inviting them to play. His face turned deadly serious as he lowered his forehead to hers.

“Pity, Juliet. Have pity.” He smiled then. “My uncle will be busy fighting Jillian for a small share of supper. Have you ever seen your sister eat?”

They laughed and sighed, then they got down to apologizing and forgiving. The apologizing was quick and sincere. The forgiving took a very, very long time.

THE END

Excerpt from GOING BACK FOR ROMEO

PROLOGUE

Castle Ross, East Burnshire, Scotland  1494

Odd.

The stone closest to Laird Montgomery Ross’s foot looked to be the same shape as the hole remaining in the side of his sister's tomb, but he refused to reach for it.

"Nay. I'm not ready to be finished."  Monty whispered his complaint to God, for surely it was God's hand that wrought such an appropriately shaped thing.

Behind him, one of the priests cleared his throat. Monty knew without looking it had been the fat one who could not cease rubbing his hands together, even while Monty’s sister was led inside her would-be grave. The bastard had been rubbing them for a fair two days, since he’d arrived to try Isobelle as a witch. No doubt they were itchy for the feel of a woman’s neck since Monty had cheated them out of wringing his sister’s.

He could let the priest live, or he could be silent, but Monty could not manage both.

"If you canna seem to clean those hands, Father,” he said without turning away from his morbid creation, “I'd be happy to rid you of them before I finish my task here. I'm sure my sister wouldna mind the wait."

A gasp of outrage was followed by silence, although the Great Hall was filled to the corners with his clan. Those who could not find space inside would soon enough hear of each stone lovingly placed as their laird buried his sister alive within their very hall, upon the stone dais, behind the great Ross Chair. Hopefully they would remember Isobelle’s bravery and not how oft his tears mingled with the mortar.

None breathed, none dared rub their hands. How could he possibly continue?  How could he not?

“Nay, I wouldna mind a bit, if you’re quick about it, brother mine.” Isobelle’s voice echoed eerily from the tomb and she smirked at him from within the tiny patch of light the same shape as the odd stone. “In fact, toss the bloody things in here with me and I’ll leave them at the gates of hell. Himself can collect them when he arrives.” 

Her unholy laughter no doubt had even the dogs wishing they could cross themselves, but it was music to Monty’s ears. The Kirk’s men allowed her no blanket, but she’d have the image of revenge to keep her warm.

“Isobelle!” Morna screamed. Monty’s other sister stood off to his right, restrained by her puny Gordon husband. “’Tis all my fault. Forgive me.”

Isobelle’s sober face came forward to fill the hole as she searched for Morna, giving Monty one last glimpse of red hair.

“Morna, love. Dinna greet. The faery will come to make it all right again. Watch for the faery...and keep away from your husband!”

“Silence!” the robed bastard roared.

Isobelle laughed again, backing away from the hole. After all, what could the man do to her now? 

Monty would not ruin her trust in the blasted faery, but if the creature ever placed its magic toe on Ross land, it would be dead before it ever took a breath of heathered air.

‘Twas time
.

He looked at the stone.

‘Twas meant.

“I love you, sister mine.”  His words were quiet, for Isobelle alone.

“And I you, Monty. Blow us a kiss.”

When he raised his crusted fingers to his lips, his palm filled with tears but they washed none of the nightmare away. He blew a kiss that was instantly returned.

“I’m stayin’ right here, pet. Ye’re no’ alone.”

“Get on, then.”  The whimper in her voice was slight. “I’ll have a wee nap if ye’ll but douse the light.”

With a final wink she disappeared.

Monty reached for the stone, dipped its edges in muck, and pushed it home, breaking his heart in the doing. After long moments of stillness, his hands slowly opened and dropped away.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Morna swoon, but someone else would have to catch her—someone without mud or blood on his hands. Morna wouldn’t welcome his comfort anyhow. She claimed it was her fault, but he knew both sisters blamed him.