The Curse of Clan Ross (61 page)

Blasted Muirs! Blasted tunnel
.
 

But wait!

If Juliet was now thirteen, he’d just have to go through the tunnel as well—and twice! He’d make Monty promise to pick him up and send him through again. He’d be fifteen.

Perfect.

But would he remember to fall in love with her? Aye, there was the rub. If he weren’t going to end up with Juliet by his side for the rest of his days, would he take that chance? Was he willing to live the horror of being a teenager—again—for the chance of winning Juliet’s heart?

“Please, God. Help me.”

He whispered the same prayer a dozen times while they came ‘round the northern tip of the wee mountain. Ewan dropped to the road and peered closely at every hoofprint.

“Nothing fresh. They’ve not come through yet.” Ewan remounted and headed southeast.

None but Muirs from that point until they crossed back into Ross land. It was an odd bit of land that jutted from the sea to the hill that separated their clan homes. As if Fate had decreed the witches have access to Ross lives. They certainly had enough to do with their history, and their legends. But in modern times, Muirs had become a sept of Clan Gordon.

How he hoped he wouldn’t be around to see that bit of history unfold. He could almost pity the formidable Gordons.

As the road turned due south and slowly filled with people, Quinn began searching faces. A boy there. A young lass there. The Muirs were a friendly lot, smiling and nodding as the four horsemen cut their way into their home ground.

An old man stepped back to give them a wider path. He looked at Quinn, then Montgomery, and back again, then slid a finger along the side of his nose as if it meant something. A heartbeat later, Quinn noticed the man again, only on the other side of the road, touching his nose in the same manner.

James leaned closer.

“Twins,” he said. “There are many.”

Quinn was relieved he wasn’t losing his mind, but the presence of more Muir twins in their midst left him unsettled. Again, he tasted metal and wondered if it was new or just the phantom of the time before.

The taste was gone. Memory then.

A young lass with black hair turned away from her mother to watch their passing. Quinn looked closely, to see if her eyes were green. The lass smiled and shook her head as if she’d read his thoughts.

Another chill ran up his spine when he noticed something else. He glanced at James to find the man staring at him with eyes wide.

“It’s quiet,” Quinn told him. “Why do they not speak?”

But he was afraid he knew the answer.

James shivered. “‘Tisn’t possible.”

Monty, being Monty, pulled his sword from behind his saddle. The Muirs stopped making eye contact and wandered their way off the road. A hundred yards later, the four horsemen were alone and Quinn was grateful for it.

Monty and Ewan fell back until they were four abreast.

“We will go slowly now,” Monty said, “to be sure we doona pass them in haste. I think ye should prepare yerself, nephew. I believe Margot and Mhairi might have been telling the truth. If anyone could devise the devil’s own tunnel, it would be these people, or their ancestors, aye?”

Quinn had been coming to the same conclusion.

Ewan laughed. “He’s been to Muirsglen before, aye?”

Monty grunted and faced forward with an unkind stare.

“I drugged him a year ago, when Jillian took Morna and Ivar into the future and left him behind. I thought he would kill himself with grievin’, wear himself out walking the path from the Great Ross Chair, to the witch’s hole and back again. More than a dozen times a day, mind. And he wouldna eat. So I drugged his drink. Had him taken to the Muirs to keep him away while I had the cellar filled in. Turned out for the best that I only filled it with barrels of whisky, because the lass came back for ‘im.”

James laughed, then laughed harder when Monty glared at him. As they rode on, the rest of Morna and Ivar’s story came out including a few details that had never been included in his script for the tourists of Castle Ross. Monty also explained how they’d gotten Isobelle out of the tomb.

A few minutes later, Monty and Ewan shared a horrified look, and Quinn knew just what they were thinking.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told them. James here will keep the secret like the rest of us. Who would believe him anyhow? When he starts telling someone that he’s spent time in the fifteenth century, they’ll stop listening.”

James frowned. “But what about Isobelle? Only a wee while ago, we were all ready to go back into the tomb and never return, and no one made mention of her. Did she die?”

Monty turned away, silent.

Quinn didn’t feel as though it was his place to speak of Isobelle.

Ewan shifted in his saddle, then finally, he spoke.

“We dinna ken where she is, James. Our man Ossian went with her, to get her safely settled. We received word from him once, that he and his travelling companion had decided to make a go of things in Spain. We sent a letter there, only to have it returned. A note had been written upon it, claiming the pair had disappeared in the night. We’ve heard nothing since.”

James shifted in his saddle. “And she wasn’t a witch, ye say?”

“Nay,” said Ewan. “Bewitching to be sure. Red hair, like yers, but nary so many curls. Turned men’s heads since the day she was born. Always causin’ trouble.”

James turned to Monty. “Allow me find her for you, Laird Ross.”

Monty wiped an arm across his face before he turned back.

“Why would you say such a thing? This is not yer time. You canna locate her on the internet. She could be anywhere in the wide world—a world that is not so small as you might think at this point in history.”

James grinned. “To tell the truth, I’m not quite ready to go back yet. If this is the only chance I have, I’d like to see more of your time. I may as well see Spain and look around for your sister while I’m at it, aye?”

Monty shook his head. His brow was a threatening thundercloud.

“It willna matter,” he said. “The tomb’s a bit touchy. Only seems to work with Jillian and now, with Juliet. A Muir creation and not to be trusted. For all we ken, we’re stuck here for the rest of our days,” he turned and looked at the Muir clansmen who were once again making use of the road. “Here, among so many Muirs. A tomb. A tunnel. Only God kens what else. We’ll none of us be safe.”

James let the subject drop.

No matter what Monty had said, Quinn had the feeling the man was just touchy about anyone getting a look at, or getting their hands on, his sister. Even if it meant he might see her again. After all, hadn’t he become immediately protective of Juliet? It seemed it was just Monty’s nature.

He hoped Jillian’s baby was a boy, or boys rather, because he pitied the lad who came to court any daughter of Montgomery Ross.

They reached the glen and headed for the side of the hill where a couple of youths might have emerged and perhaps had their presence noted.

“Keep a sharp eye. A young lass and a younger laddie,” said Monty. “I’ve no ken how old Percy was, only that he was a mite younger than our lasses.”

Quinn nodded. He was also hoping that since these Muirs seemed to read their minds, there might be some among them to lead them in the right direction.

Juliet, sweet. I’m coming.

The village spread much further than expected. From a distance, it hadn’t looked like much. As they came nearer, a small city unfolded like a wild rose in bloom. Patches of mist clung to it like morning dew in defiance of the midday sun. Would the mist ever lift completely from a place that sheltered witches?

A tall fort stood at the Eastern edge of town and Quinn wondered if perhaps it hid a good sized castle behind the wooden facade. At one point, they passed through the gates of an ancient wall that likely contained the entire settlement in decades past. Into his mind popped a fanciful image of a city wall that might hide everything and everyone within it from the eyes of their enemies standing ten feet away.

He shuddered.

Ridiculous.
He needed to find a handle on his imagination.
 

An entire clan of witches?
Nonsense.
 

They split up. Monty took James and followed the edge of the hillside. Quinn and Ewan dismounted and led their horses into the village, following the flow of its citizens who seemed much too busy to stop and read the minds of strangers. He was relieved to hear the rather normal hum of voices and laughter.

Eventually, they followed a curve and through a light cloud, they saw a well at the top of the street. Two dozen women stood in line awaiting a turn with the bucket. While they waited, they were all turned their attention to a young woman who stooped before a youngster while she washed his face. The lad was seated on a low stone wall beside a large white-washed cottage.

Quinn froze.

The woman wore Juliet’s leather coat over her plaid gown. The mist made the colors unclear. Her hair was not nearly so neat as Juliet’s had been, and the color was dark, but again, unclear. When she turned to the side, to take a bucket of water from another woman, she didn’t look a day less than twenty.

“But that can’t be!” Quinn’s voice stretched across the distance between them, daring her to turn and prove him wrong. But she didn’t turn.

The boy might have been Percy. He looked like a lad of ten wearing his father’s clothes. His sleeves hung nearly a foot past the bend of his wrist. For once, his plaid covered his knees. When the lad turned and noticed Quinn, there was no hint of recognition. His attention returned to the woman washing his face. She took a handful of his hair to hold him still while she scrubbed.

Turn. Please, turn.

And yet he dreaded her turning. What if she looked at him, as Percy had done, and she would see a stranger. If she, too, turned away from him, what then? Who might stand beside him for the rest of his life and remind him to breathe in, and then out again? Because he would need reminding.

But if he couldn’t find the strength to move his bloody feet, he would never know.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

 

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.”