The Curse of Clan Ross (21 page)

His hands were behind his back. So much for chivalry.

Another man’s hand, Ivar’s, opened in front of her and all the air was sucked out of the hall, right through Monty’s teeth.

“Touch her and ye will die whimpering, Mac-Eye.”

She looked up to see Ivar shaking his head at The Ross, but he did not remove the hand. There was no way Jilly was going to take it now, however, and she pushed herself to her feet awkwardly. There was a reason no one wore long skirts anymore.

“Thank you just the same, Ivar. He doesn’t need extra reasons to be angry.” She turned to Monty. “It’s my fault. I brought him here. Don’t blame anyone else, please.”

As she spoke she reached out a hand to lay it on his chest, but he eyed it as if she were a leper, so she pulled it back.

It would have hurt less had he struck her.

The most awful pain shot from the pit of her stomach up her chest and exploded into tears that demanded to be released, but she held her breath and refused to turn them loose—not with him watching. She could never let him know how easily he’d hurt her. If he knew he had such power, he could crush her, and even Deano at The Body Shop could never get the dents out.

Her eyes filled anyway. She turned her head to the side just in case.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your hair now. I think I can find the way by myself.” It was amazing she could find her voice at all, when she so badly needed to bend over, clutch her stomach, and cry. “Come on,” she called, hoping Ivar and Morna would understand she was talking to them. If she had to speak another word, a whisper was all she had left.

“What do ye mean about my hair?” Monty asked, stopping her with his voice alone.

She wouldn’t face him. She wouldn’t allow him to see the tears splashing off her eyelashes like a water fountain out of control.

“What did ye mean, ‘out of yer hair’?”

There was only curiosity in his voice, not concern. Good.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Later was always the best time to cry.

“We’ll be out of your way, won’t be in your hair, we won’t bother you anymore.”

“And how do propose to summon such a miracle?”

She could tell the word miracle had left a bad taste in his mouth. Surely he knew the source of miracles in his home. It was about 15 feet away from him.

“I’ll take them back with me. That is the way Isobelle intended it, I think. I’m sure you can stop worrying about the faeries after this.”

Monty concentrated on breathing in and out. He wanted to hurt someone, everyone. He wanted to shake this MacKay woman and send her scurrying from his life.

He wanted to do everything in his power to keep her near.

How dare she talk of taking his sister away, letting that MacKay have what he wanted, and just leaving him like this?

He snatched up his sword and headed for Ivar, who was at the very least clever enough to back away, looking for a weapon. The man finally understood the danger he’d been in since he’d crossed The Ross/Mackay Burn. It mattered not who had invited him.

If he killed Ivar, there would be no need for either woman to go back through the witch’s hole, but unfortunately the deed would likely run them both off.

As his blade shattered the stool his foe had used for a shield, and at the same instant he realized it wasn’t so much his sister’s departure that disturbed him. She would be off to the Gordon clan on the morrow; he’d see her rarely, as before. But the thought of missing the MacKay wench was far different. When Isobelle had gone away, his heart had ached. The thought of Jillian leaving ripped the organ from his chest and burst it against the wall.

Her betrayal, he could understand. She’d been plain about her purpose. Honesty need never be punished, his father had taught him. Hell, the man had taught the same to his sisters. ‘Twas likely why the two spoke their opinions rather freely, for women. His parents would have liked Jillian. Would have been pleased Monty had chosen to keep such a woman. But could he keep her?

If he allowed Ivar and Morna to be together now, he could have the lass, but there would be many made to suffer. The Cock of the North took personal insults none too lightly. A slight against his runt would cause war.

Better they all just went back to the way things were, Rosses and MacKays fearing the mixing of their blood lest prophecy and witchcraft be their reward. Ivar to the west, Morna to the North, and Jillian with nowhere to go at all.

Good enough.

He dropped the tip of his sword and stepped back.

Morna cried out her relief, and as MacKay held open his arms to her, she ran straight for him, damn her.

He turned toward the fire and acted as though he cared not what they did.

“Come on,” Jillian said, but she didn’t move. She was waiting, but for what?  Him?  Did she want him to fall to his knees and plead with her not to go?

Never. Montgomery Ross would not beg. Besides, she was playing right into his hands.

#  #  #

Stealthily following the trio through the maze of tunnels below the hall was simple enough. He knew where they were going. Jillian only made a wrong turn once and he had to backtrack quickly to keep from being seen.

She led them, although Ivar had spent half his life here and knew the tunnels as well as Monty did himself. Morna was caught against Ivar’s side and kept her eyes upon his face, her hands upon his arms, obviously caring not where they went. Jillian carried a torch and walked as if her feet were made of stone. If she didn’t walk faster, they might all topple over from lack of speed.

She really didn’t wish to go, Monty realized, and he was so pleased he nearly laughed aloud. Or mayhap his frown had wounded her deeply, when he’d only wished to show her how much her defiance had displeased him. Next time, he would wait until they were alone and then tell her. Later, when this was all over.

There was no time now. He only had a moment to compose himself. They were nearly to the workroom.

Someone sniffed.

A few paces later, she sniffed again. It was Jillian; she was crying. His heart plummeted. What an ogre he was to put her through this. And he was not yet finished acting like one.

“This is it. This way,” she said in the smallest of voices. Surrounded by rock, they all heard her clearly. No doubt all that sniffling could have gone undetected as well had they been anywhere else.

He wished they were anywhere else. Jillian standing so near the door which led to the witch’s hole made him panic. Suddenly the smell of earth was overwhelming, as if he were being buried alive. He might well wish to be if she made it up into the tomb hole before he stopped her.

“Hold,” he growled. “
That
is not the way.”
 

Jillian spun around in a swirl of dust and skirts. Her eyes were lit with a combination of hope and the dancing flame of the torch she held. For a moment, he savored and memorized her face this way. His next actions would erase that look for some time to come.

“To yer left, MacKay. Ye know the way. Take them both along.”

He finally looked at the two he’d been ignoring. Morna’s shock turned to outrage. Ivar’s smirk told them all he was not surprised in the least. He stood aside and gestured for Jillian to go before him.

“The new Montgomery never ceases to disappoint,” MacKay said.

No matter. Let him talk, so long as he moved along without fighting. Although, if Monty did have to kill him in defense, the women may forgive him sooner.

They worked their way down into the bowels of Castle Ross, past the cistern and deeper still until the light ahead stopped abruptly. She’d seen it, then.

Montgomery moved forward, pushing MacKay before him, fully prepared for the man to come to his senses and fight his way out. But he didn’t; with one hand firmly anchored around one of Morna’s, he seemed content to embrace his fate, whatever it may be.

Jillian was reluctant to release the torch, but a stern stare led her to reconsider and she took a step back from him. The hope, he could see, had truly left her eyes. He wanted to chide her, tell her she was foolish not to trust him, but he could not. He had to look away lest he lose his purpose.

“In ye go. Ladies to the right. MacKays to the left.”

Jillian looked confused.

“All ladies, MacKay and otherwise, to the right, please.”

She shuffled her feet into a cell that was blessedly empty. She looked at the floor and swallowed hard.

Could he really go through with this?  Was she wondering the same?   Were they all?  No matter.

“Get on with ye Morna Gordon.”

“Bastard,” Morna screamed and ran at him. He dropped the torch and grabbed one of her clawed hands and spun her around, unwilling to drop his sword to get hold of her other hand. For a wee moment he savored holding his sister in his grasp, hugging her back to his chest, wishing he could be the one to comfort her, wishing he weren’t the reason she needed comfort. Again.

“Morna, join Jillian if ye please.”

She straightened, leaned out of his embrace then stepped away. Before he could stop her, however, she fled into Ivar’s arms, who reached out and pulled his barred door closed.

Monty walked down the tunnel and came back with keys.

“For pity’s sake, Mr. Ross, let them alone.”

Jillian’s voice was stronger now, but cold. Menacing. When all of this was over it would take time for her to forgive him. He knew just how he’d begin to warm her. But for now, he had to worry about getting Ivar back on MacKay soil and keeping Morna put until the Runt arrived on the morrow.

“Her husband will arrive come morning. If she bides the night with Ivar MacKay, The Gordon will start a war. Men will die. Do ye know death, Jillian?  In yer world, do ye know what it is to have families starve because their menfolk are killed in wars they had no hand in?  Do ye ken wars, Jillian Rose MacKay?”

Her chin came up, bless her. She hadn’t given up yet. Thank God.

“My world knows plenty about war, Mr. Ross. More men than are alive today will die in a single war. Families will starve for much less reason than their men dying.”

He could not help but step up to her, to take every advantage.

“Why would ye wish to return to such a place, lass?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, without hesitation.

Dear God, she was asking him for a reason, but he could not give it now. These men in her wars were not men from her clan, from her home, from her family. She would not drag a man’s body off the field and to his door, not be there to hear the first soul-wrenching screams of his widow.

He could only smile and turn away before she realized what a sad smile it was. He had to leave before her pain became as unbearable as the widows in his memory. It was for the would-be widows of the future that he had sought the alliance with the Gordons. He would not undo it for the approval of any two women.

Once again he took the keys toward Ivar’s cell on the opposite side of the room.

“I said leave them be. The Gordons need never know.”

This time Jillian’s voice was angry, but she knew little of anger. Once she’d been betrayed by someone, she’d look back on this day and understand.

“Consider this, Ross,” came Ivar’s voice. “If she grows heavy with child, The Runt can claim the honors.”

Morna pulled away from MacKay and reached a pleading hand toward Monty.

“Brother, if ye ever loved me half so much as ye loved our Isobelle, let me have this night.”

Half so much?  “Are ye mad?  I never loved her best.”

How could she think such a thing?  

“Oh, Monty, ye never would have mourned me so.” Morna’s pleading hand dropped to her side.

“Not so. I mourned the loss of ye the day I found ye and yer traitor at The Burn.” Not a soul in the dungeon wanted to relive that day. He could not believe he’d mentioned it now. A year ago they’d agreed upon one fact; they disagreed about all of it.

“Ye mourned me by punishing me. Ye mourned Isobelle by building her a shrine in yer own hall.”

“Ye’re speaking madness. Had the churchmen come for ye, to burn ye for yer sins, I’d have done no less. And if it were ye inside, would I not also have lost my sanity worrying we may not reach ye in time?  I swear upon my soul I would. Ye are both as dear to me as the other.”

Morna frowned. He must not have explained it well enough.

“She didn’t know,” Jillian said behind him.

His chest lurched, as always, with the sound of Jillian’s voice, but he dared not look upon her lest some strong wall inside him crumble.

“She didn’t know what?” he asked the floor.

“Morna didn’t know until just now that Isobelle is alive. I’m sure it’s wonderful news, but Ivar, you’d better catch her.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Already at her side, Ivar lowered Morna to the ground and wrapped both arms about her shoulders before he turned his stunned face toward his old friend.

For the next hour, the four sat amiably enough while Monty related every detail about their plan to get Isobelle away without so much as singeing her hair.

Morna finally found her voice.

“Ye owe me dearly, brother, for not telling me sooner. Do ye know how I’ve worn out my own throat over the death of my sister?”

“That was a convenience, I think, to keep The Runt away from ye.”

Morna had the grace to blush in the orange flame-light.

“Yes, it was,” she confessed, “but the convenience was not worth the breaking of my heart, believing I was the cause of her death.”

The room went eerily still. Even the torch seemed to burn in rigid silence. Hairs raised on the back of Monty’s neck.

“It is late. For once in the past sennight, I will sleep undisturbed in my own bed.”

He finally looked to Jillian as he stood. Her head bowed over her knees. She ignored him until he picked up the light and moved it, which made her start.

“I’ll not leave ye in the darkness, Jillian MacKay.”

Moving about the room, he touched the torch to three others.

“In a few hours I’ll be back for my sister. Don’t make plans, MacKay. Ye’ll not be able to stop me from sending her back.”