Not Without Juliet - By L.L. Muir Page 0,47

breath caught, then he moaned. "Jillian! Tell me it’s not you, lass. Make me believe it!"

"Okay. I’m not Jillian."

There. The truth was out there. The fact that she’d been flippant and he wouldn’t believe her wasn't her fault, right?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Castle Ross, 1496

Ewan Ross, laird of Clan Ross, groaned into his hands. "Oh, God!"

Jilly looked at Monty and shrugged. “After being gone a year, that’s not the reception I was expecting."

Monty looked a bit disappointed too. "I'm no' here to ask for the chair back, if that's what ye're worrit o'er."

Ewan shook his head and tried to stand, then thought better of it, but his butt missed the seat and he slid down the front of the Great Ross Chair. She averted her eyes when his sporran and kilt started to rise along with his knees as he sank to the floor.

"I've been drinkin’. Quite a bit, as a matter of information." The shaggy man peered around the dim hall. "Looks like they all ran away, the cowards."

No fires were lit. There were only the torches that Monty had lit when they’d come into the hall. Jillian had tucked her little flashlight into her sock for safekeeping. The last time she’d come back to the fifteenth century she’d realized the only things that traveled with her were the things she was touching, so she was careful to keep it in hand. But now they were out of the cellar, she had to keep it out of sight. She had no intention of being burned as a witch.

"Who ran away?" asked Monty as he approached the dais.

"My clan. No, yer clan. The whole bloody lot of them."

Jilly laughed. "It sounds like they're having their supper outside."

Ewan perked up. "Aye? Well, then. That's fine. Hello, Monty," he said, like he'd just noticed his arrival. "Did you see? Jillian has come back to kill me."

This time it was Monty's turn to laugh as he helped his cousin lift his backside onto his chair.

"And why would harmless little Jillian wish ye dead, cousin?"

Ewan leaned toward Monty’s shoulder. "Because I've lost her sister is why."

His whisper was loud enough he might have been heard outside. Why did men always go deaf when they drank?

She tried not to panic. After all, Juliet was her age; it wasn’t as if she were a child wandering aimlessly around a jousting tournament without enough to sense to stay clear of the horses.

"I'm sorry you've lost her.” She tried not to sound worried. “Do you remember where you lost her?" For all she knew, the woman was outside having supper with the rest. She could hardly trust what Ewan said, as drunk as he was.

"I lost her out the hall door,” he gasped, as if the hall door were the gate to Hell. “That ruddy bastard got away from us and went after her, but he didn't get her either. Do you ken why?"

Okay, the gunman didn’t get her. It was a start.

Monty gave her a wink and put both hands on the arms of the chair, demanding Ewan’s full attention.

"That’s fine, cousin,” he said. “So how do you ken the ruddy bastard didn't find her?"

"Because I’ve men watchin’ the Gordon Keep. They came upon Gordon allies who were taking the lass with them. They’d have taken her back had they knows she was ours.” Ewan turned a little green, but swallowed hard. A few seconds later, he looked at Monty again. “So the ruddy bastard didna get her. But alas, the Gordon bastards did."

Ewan started slipping again. Monty stood back and let him pour into a puddle on the floor.

"By way of information, Monty darlin’,” Ewan said, “did I tell ye that I've lost your great nephew?"

Jilly took a deep breath and looked at her husband. It was their worst fear...

She’d lived a wildly exciting and wonderful year as the wife of Montgomery Ross, made doubly so by the fact that she’d gotten the best of both worlds, or both centuries at least. He was bold and beautiful and unrepentant. He saw things clearly, simply, like an old cowboy. He loved and never analyzed why he loved. He judged only himself. The dangerous life he’d come from made him enjoy every minute he had. Nothing was wasted, especially not a chance for a nap together—or whatever else they could think of.

And she’d been able to enjoy the gloriousness that was Montgomery Ross in the comfort of the twentieth century. She didn’t have to worry about losing him to infection or