Not Without Juliet - By L.L. Muir Page 0,70

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.

He was even more handsome than he’d been in dungeons or dreams. She could have stared at him all day, but he would need stitching again. She supposed she would too. And without anything to numb her!

Her head fit nicely against his collarbone. At least the arrow hadn’t gone through either of their hearts because they were both beating hard up against each other.

“Is anyone hurt?” James this time.

“Will ye stay with me, lass?” Quinn’s question brought back all the dreams and all the emotions in them. It was a little painful, but she reached up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. For once, she was going to look into them while they had their conversation.

“Until it’s over?” Jules shuddered as the dream echoed in her ears and sharper pain shot through her shoulder— like lightning, branching off in mean directions. She could see it doing the same to Quinn.

“Nay, lass. This will never be over. You and I will never be over. We’re meant.”

Monty peeked over the log and laughed. “Ah, here they are. Moonin’— Dear God! Juliet’s been hit!”

***

Other than the day Jillian and her grandmother had gone missing—and granted, she didn’t remember much more than her mother bawling and ranting and pulling on her own hair—this day had been the most emotional of Jule’s life. And considering she’d also witnessed the murder of a dear friend that was saying a lot.

As it turned out, the man who’d shot her had been ordered, by Ewan, to kill Quinn. Ewan had tried to explain why, but Jules seemed to be the only one in the bunch that didn’t understand.

“Mayhap ye’d have a better understanding after ye’ve spent more time in my century, aye?” said Ewan, standing over her where she leaned against an equally traumatized and bleeding Quinn. Jillian had done what she could. The little round holes were clean. The arrow had been removed. And she was certain that nothing organ-ish had been affected in either of them. They’d been extremely lucky.

She shook her head. “Spend more time here? No way am I sticking around until it all makes sense. You people will never make sense.”

Quinn tensed and she realized what her little statement would have sounded like to him. She looked over, ready to explain, but he was watching a long lanky man walk toward them. A bow was slung over his bare and bony shoulder. She tried not to stare at the creature-like tufts of hair that filled his armpits.

“Jules,” Ewan said, “this is Enos.”

Enos, the man who had nailed both her and Quinn with one shot, gave her a little bow and mumbled something she didn’t understand. An apology, she assumed.

She gave him a little smile and a nod, having no problem forgiving him for following orders. If Quinn would have died,