The Curse of Clan Ross (57 page)

“First of all,” Jules began, “I want to thank you for taking care of Quinn. I don’t know anything about stitching wounds. I’m probably a lot better at inflicting them. I’m sure you’ll agree in a minute.”

Jillian put a hand on the ground and got to her feet. “I guess if you plan to hurt me, I shouldn’t take it sitting down,” she said. Then she wiped a sleeve across her face and lifted her chin.

It was all too painful to watch, like Jules was seeing herself move, hearing something she might have said under the same circumstances. But she shook off the empathetic impressions and got back to the script she’d practiced on the hillside.

“My parents... Our parents died in a car crash...” She couldn’t go on. After all this rehearsing, she couldn’t tell this ghostly version of herself that it was her fault her parents died. Maybe, now that she wasn’t alone anymore, she could see through that red, angry fog and admit that it hadn’t been Jillian’s fault. All the fault should be laid at their grandmother’s feet.

“My grandmother,” Jillian began. “Our grandmother told me my parents died in a car wreck. She never said anything about a sister. She said we had no other family. I’ve known about you for about thirty-six hours.”

Her sister swallowed, then gave a little smile, but it didn’t stay long. She must have read something on Jules’ face that told her not to start celebrating. It must have been the shock. When Jules was able to speak again, she couldn’t seem to turn up the volume enough to hear herself clearly. What she did hear clearly was her heart pounding against the wall of her chest.

“You don’t remember me?” She didn’t know if she was more hurt or outraged. She’d considered the possibility, but it hadn’t seemed possible that Jillian’s memory would be worse than her own. The second time she spoke, she was nice and clear. “You’re claiming you don’t remember me?”

When her voice bounced around the trees and back into her face, she glanced over at Montgomery, to see if he was going to come to his wife’s defense, but he was gone. Jillian followed her gaze.

About twenty feet away, the missing husband had his arms over the shoulders of Quinn and Ewan and the three of them were sneaking quickly away into the mist. James, who now stood guard over the horses, seemed to realize he’d been abandoned. He turned aside and whistled softly.

“Cowards,” she and Jillian said in unison.

Neither of them laughed.

“To answer your question,” Jillian said, “no, I didn’t remember you. Since the Muir sisters told me we were twins, I’ve remembered just a few things. Little, stupid things. I didn’t even remember your name, although Jules sounded a lot more familiar than Juliet. I should have been able to remember your name. I’m so sorry.”

“I would have given anything to forget yours,” Jules mumbled.

Jillian’s mouth opened like she’d just been punched in the stomach, but she recovered quickly for someone who’d just been bawling her head off.

“First blood goes to you,” said her sister. “Fine. So I’ll tell you what’s been bothering me for the last day and a half. If you’ve known about me, remembered me, why the hell didn’t you come looking for me before now?”

Jules’ mouth opened with an indignant grunt. “Are you kidding me? I spent my life looking for you! You stupid, self-centered bitch! You never looked back!
You
never looked for
us!”
 

To her horror, that little outburst opened a floodgate of her own wild emotions. She couldn’t catch her next breath and was at the mercy of her own contorting body. The only way to breathe was to bawl.

Quinn came out of nowhere, but it wasn’t
his
arms that came around her, it was Jillian’s.
 

“Get out of here,” her sister barked at him.

Jules was grateful he went. Even her hand spread wide couldn’t hide her gaping, howling mouth, and she turned toward her sister and buried her face against her so no one else could see the ugliness. There was just too much pain for her to handle on her own. For once, just this once, she’d lean on Jillian, but just until the tide in her chest turned.

Jules hadn’t noticed when they’d made it to the ground, but as her surroundings crept back into her awareness, she realized they were seated right hip to right hip facing opposite directions, with their heads on each other’s right shoulders. Jillian flipped a small square of plaid over her arm and Jules hurried to blow her nose on it before anyone told her it was meant for something else. Scots were funny about their plaids, weren’t they?

Jillian let go of her and pulled back to look in her face.

“You said,
You never came looking for us
.” She took a deep breath. “Who is
us?
”
 

Jules wasn’t sure she could talk, but she tried.

“Mom and Dad,” she said.

Jillian frowned. “But they died, when we were three.”

“No. They died when just before our tenth birthday. We looked for you for six years. It’s what we did. Then, after I was old enough to drive, I was always looking for you too. By then I was pretty mad and wanted to take it out on somebody. It wasn’t until I was snooping in an FBI agent’s stuff that I found the file they had on me. They’d known about you, and about grandmother. Suddenly I knew right where to find you.”

Jillian was shaking her head and tearing up again. “I don’t understand. Why would Grandmother have lied to me? Why would she keep me from my parents? Were they abusive?”

“No! No, they were wonderful.” Jules realized she’d been so angry for so long she’d forgotten how lucky she’d been. “It was Grandmother,” she said. “She was crazy. Mother refused to believe her conspiracy theories so Grandmother took you away. Supposedly, she was protecting you from something that was supposed to happen in the future. Now that I know about the tomb, I’m not so sure she was crazy. But how did she know?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s just say, she misunderstood something she heard. I’ll tell you all about it another time. And you can tell me what our parents were like.”

“Deal,” Jules said.

Jillian leaned back on her hands and looked at the toes of her green boots.

“I remember a little girl who I thought was just my reflection in a mirror,” she said. “And a bear named Necklace.”

“White bear with purple legs and arms?”

“And head.”

Jules shook her head. “It wasn’t Necklace. It was Jewels. Your bear was Jules. Mine was Jillybean. They’re in a box, somewhere.”

“Grandmother called me Jillybean.”

“So did I.” Jules swallowed back a wave of tears rising in her throat.

Jillian smiled. “I can’t believe you kept them all this time.”

“Yeah. Neither can I.”

They sat in silence for a minute. It was a comfortable silence. Jules could almost imagine she heard her sister’s thoughts.

Someone cleared his throat on the far side of the tree. “Does this mean you two are ready to—”

“Go away!” they shouted together, and this time they laughed.

The guy was gone so fast Jules didn’t know if it had been Quinn or Monty who’d tried to interrupt them.

“So. Is there anything else you wanted to get off your chest?” Jillian asked. “You know, in case we need to cry some more before I finish stitching up Quinn?”

“No. I think—well, at least I hope—I’m done being mean to you.”

Jillian laughed.

They heard a scuffle, then a strange thunk, then silence.

“Jillian! I’m bleedin’,” Monty called.

Jillian shook her head and didn’t move.

“Then stop fighting with Ewan,” she called back.

They giggled, then waited.

A few minutes later, there was another plea for attention.

“Quinn’s bleedin’ again!”

That time, it sounded like Quinn’s voice, but they both jumped to their feet and went hurrying around the tree. Monty and Ewan didn’t look too happy to see them. They both passed a coin to first Quinn, then James.

“How much did you lose, husband?” Jillian walked over and prodded Monty’s arm with a sharp fingernail and he winced.

“Naught,” he said.

“But I saw you pass coins,” she argued.

Monty looked at Quinn and grimaced. Quinn shook his head so slightly Jules wondered if she’d imagined it—if it weren’t for the guilty way he avoided eye contact when he reached for her.

“What did you bet on?” she asked him.

“Nothing of import,” Monty claimed.

“What did you bet on, husband?” Jillian ran her dangerous fingernails up Monty’s chest and by the time she reached his neck, his defenses were forgotten.

“The first wager was determined by which was made of sterner stuff and wouldna greet first.” He cleared his throat. “Knowin’ ye fer the strong woman ye are, I bet on ye, wife.” He grinned like he expected a reward.

Jules figured
greet
meant
cry
. Well, at least Quinn had bet on her. He’d lost, but he’d bet on her. She made a mental note to reward him later, but saw nothing wrong with hugging him tight right then.
 

“And the second wager was whose blood would bring ye runnin’,” Monty continued. “I must admit to being a wee disappointed in ye, mavournin’.”

“Be disappointed later, uncle,” said Quinn. “For I meant what I said. I am bleeding again.”

***

Jules resumed her pacing between the same two trees while she waited for Jillian to finish with Quinn. He’d already pulled out a stitch, and didn’t mind getting poked again, but something about it bothered Jules and while she paced, she realized what it was.

What if he got an infection? Here. Now.

Could she convince him to go back to the real world with her? Was she wrong to even think it? Wrong to ask him?

But there was something else bothering her too. Something more immediate. Another foreboding.

She spun on her heel and met her sister’s gaze. She suspected the frown on Jillian’s face matched her own. Whatever the foreboding was, her sister felt it too.

“Montgomery,” Jillian called. “We need to leave. Now.”

She said something to Quinn. He nodded. Then Jillian shoved her supplies in her little first aid kit and headed for her horse. Jules could only think to go to Quinn. He raised an arm and waved her to him, smiling, oblivious to whatever it was she and Jillian were feeling.  

She took two steps through the pine needles when she was stopped by James’ bellow—the alarm she’d been dreading to hear for months.

“Gun!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

 

A dozen thoughts flew through Jules’ mind while she ran and lunged for Quinn.

Would she hurt him when they collided? Could she protect his head? Had the Gordon’s been watching and decided to perform their own execution? Or had a hitman been following her after all? It wasn’t impossible to think a Skedros might have tagged along, might have jumped into the parade line through the car park and into the tomb. It didn’t matter that it was fourteen hundred something and guns might not have been invented yet—James was there, and James had one. Therefore, it was possible someone else did too.

Jules had spent far too many months in close quarters with FBI agents not to react as she did. With all the false alarms and dry runs, she was programmed to hit the ground when anyone yelled
gun
. But Quinn was another story. Maybe his twenty-first century senses had dulled over the past year. Of course he still knew what a gun was, but he might not react so quickly. Not to mention he’d been sitting on that ancient log with a hand in the air like he was just asking to be someone’s target.
 

Just as Quinn reached for Jules-The-Flying-Squirrel, something pinched her in the waist. Hard. The impact of her body slamming into Quinn’s hardly registered at all. But when she landed on top of him on the far side of the log, she felt it.

Below her, Quinn gasped for air. The wind must have been knocked out of his lungs, so she needed to get off him so he could breathe, but she couldn’t seem to move.

“Let me up,” she panted. “You can’t breathe.”

He shook his head and held her close. “Dinna move, love. We’re pinned. An arrow, I’m certain.”

She put her chin down but couldn’t see anything. If the arrow went into her waist, then into him, it could have hit just about anything depending on the angle.

“Dinna panic, lass,” he whispered. “And be still. He’s still out there, aye?”

“Enos!” Ewan bellowed the name over and over. “The threat has passed, Enos. Stand ye doon!”

“Ewan?” A different man’s voice then. “How the hell was I to recognize ye with all that paint?”

“How do ye think, ye big bastard?” Ewan’s voice again. “Ever seen the Ross tartan afore?”

Jules and Quinn only looked at each other while they listened to a short fist fight. Only when it ended with a satisfying thunk, did she dare speak.

“Enough!”

“Sounds like Monty,” Quinn said.

“Sounds like you,” she whispered, then gave him a peck on the lips when it looked like her comment hadn’t pleased him. “You’re going to be fine,” she added, ignoring how bossy she sounded.