Not Without Juliet - By L.L. Muir Page 0,20

years from now, mind—a lass comes to Castle Ross with the Immediate Blood of both Ross and MacKay clans runnin’ through her veins. With the help of a pair of Muir Witches—for there are Muirs in my time as well—we helped the lass into the tomb, gave her the torque to wear, and sent her back here, to save Morna and Ivar.”

He wasn’t about to tell The Gordon’s son that Jillian had actually reunited the couple and taken them back to the twenty-first century, since the Gordons believed that Morna threw herself into the sea. Nothing good could come from telling a mighty and prideful man that he’d been fooled by a neighboring clan, let alone a woman.

It was a cowardly thing he’d done, to tell Percy his own secret in hopes of saving himself, but his tongue and his wits were the only weapons left to him.

“And she failed, this woman from the future.” Percy snorted, but Quinn could tell the man was eager to hear the rest.

“Aye, her good intentions went terribly wrong. Even Isobelle came back from the grave to try and sort things out. Her ghost cried out from the tomb on the day Montgomery was to marry yer sister, as ye may recall.”

“I heard of it. I was not there.”

The sad note in Percy’s voice made Quinn look up.

The man was staring into the next cell. After a moment, he shook himself and turned his attention back to Quinn, who pretended not to have noticed.

“After Morna was brought back here,” he said, “ye ken what she did.”

Percy turned angry, but Quinn couldn’t guess why.

“Then the prophecy was not fulfilled after all,” the man snarled and got to his feet. “And whatever prophecy there might have been for the one who kills Cinead is worthless as well.”

Quinn shook his head calmly.

“Nay. As soon as Ivar heard the news, he came to Castle Ross and threw himself from the northeast tower. They were united. In death. Had the woman not come, they might have gone on, pining away for each other for the rest of their lives. The prophecy said nothing about reuniting them in life. Only that they would be reunited. And the rest of the prophecy states clearly that as compensation to Cinead Gordon for the loss of Morna—for he was destined to lose her, one way or another—a curse was placed on the head of the one who would spill his blood."

"Pah!” Percy paced for a moment, then settled back on his short stool. “Tell me this curse."

Biggest fear. Biggest fear. What did every man fear? What would make this man frightened enough to—

"Impotence." Quinn even managed to say it with a straight face.

"What mean you?"

"The man who kills Cinead Gordon will be impotent for the rest of his days. He will have no power. Over anything.” When it looked as though the word had little meaning to the man, he realized he must elaborate. “Neither will be able to bed a woman. Ever again.”

Percy's eyes widened and he stood and walked away. He was buying it. The only risk, which Quinn realized too late, was whether or not Percy was interested in bedding women. One never knew.

Percy paced, which stirred up the smell from the poor man in the next cell. He seemed to notice it too, for his nose curled and he stopped pacing. A moment later, he nodded, as if he’d come to some conclusion, then he walked to the torch and removed it from its ring. Instead of coming back to let Quinn out, which was too much to have hoped for anyway, he headed for the archway.

“Wait a moment,” Quinn called. “I answered your question. We had a bargain.”

“Nay, Ross,” he called, without turning back or slowing his step, “I have yet to decide whether or not I believe ye.”

Quinn was once again left in the dark.

He tried to remember the details of his cell and crawled to his right, putting as much distance between himself and the rotting corpse as possible. In truth, he was getting used to the smell unless someone stirred the air.

He rested his back again to alleviate the soreness of his stomach muscles. He was thirsty, but alive, and if all went well, his little prophecy would keep Cinead alive long enough for history to unfold as it was supposed to. And hopefully, he’d planted enough fantasy in Percy’s brain that the man would be coming back to place a request for the future—hopefully